I don’t know where I am when I wake up but I immediately know that I am not at my friends’ house anymore. I am laying in the back of a pick-up truck and my hands and feet are tied to each other behind me. My head hurts so much that I cannot see properly if I open my eyes and I have a horrible metallic taste in my mouth.
I groan when the truck suddenly starts moving. Through the windows in the side of the canopy which covers the truck, I can see that it is dark outside. I can hear voices above the roar of the engine – it may be the people driving the truck. They sound as if they are speaking in a black-language, Zulu maybe – I recognize parts of it from when I used to visit my grandparents on their farm when I was little.
The pick-up is bouncing now – we must be driving somewhere on a 4×4 track or maybe even in the veld and I am being thrown around in the back of the vehicle. The very thin mattress I am lying on does not help to cushion me at all and since I am tied up I can’t hold on to anything.
What is happening? The last thing I can remember is going to a braai (barbecue) at my friends’ house. Some people arrived and I remember he looked kind of scared and distressed at the same time but since I haven’t known him for very long, I didn’t ask questions. Where is he? I remember the people joining us and remember having a drink and then ..
I must have fallen asleep again because I jerk awake with a jolt when the back of the pick-up is suddenly opened with a screeching noise. Before I have time to think, I am dragged out of the vehicle to land on the ground with a thump.
If I wanted to ask questions or scream for help, I can’t because the fall knocked my wind out. And then, while someone forces some kind of cloth on my mouth, someone else cuts me loose and throws me over his shoulder.
I am in the bush. Around me it is pitch black – even the moon is dark. I can see thorn trees and long grass, rocks and dirt. I can hear voices of people chatting amiably – western voices, posh voices, voices with an accent – British or American? I see the glow of a fire somewhere to the one side. A little further away are the sound of black voices – deeper, faster, more urgent. I hear a dog barking and then I hear an Afrikaans accent when someone orders the person carrying me to put me down.
I am suddenly aware of my clothes. I was wearing Jeans with a tight-fitting t-shirt at the braai. I am not wearing my Jeans anymore. The sexy, almost see-through panty I put on (how many days ago?) is all that hides my shame from whoever these people are. I am still wearing my white t-shirt but it is now very dirty. I am bare-foot.
“Please”, I try begging through the thing in my mouth, but nobody even acknowledges the sound I make. They handle me as if I am a thing, not person who can feel.
The man carrying me puts me down on the orders of the man with the Afrikaans accent. We are under a tree in the middle of a bush-camp. There are a cluster of tents a little distance away. Near me, under a gazebo, is a table with chairs – looks like a dining area. On the other side of me is fire. A lot of people seems to be milling around but nobody gives us a second look.
It is a white man who approaches me now. The Afrikaner. It is him! One of the men at my friends party.
I try to speak to him, making as much sound as I can muster behind my gag and gesturing wildly.
“Shut up, bitch,” he says. And then he slaps me through my face. Hard. “Your words and sounds mean nothing here. They are to our ears like the sounds an animal makes. Your crying and screaming will amuse us and your whining and barking will irritate us. So, I will only say this once more, shut up if you want to suffer less.”
And the he hits me again, to make sure I understood his lesson. This time it is so hard that I can’t keep my balance. I fall against the tree next to me and then to the ground in front of his feet.
“Yes, that is where your place is. On the ground. I am your trainer and care- taker. Your owners will arrive shortly. Get up!”
I start getting up but he does not have patience. He calls to his helper and they drag me to my feet. Then he twists my arms so he can tie my wrists together behind my head. I still try to struggle …. who the hell do they think they are to treat me like this?
I scream behind my gag and kick out at them but it is as if they don’t even feel me. The Afrikaner ties a long rope to the ties that bind my wrists and then throws the end over the branch of the tree above my head. They then pull on the rope until my arms are stretched out above me. All I can do now is kick and wriggle my body, but to no avail because one of the black helpers has now grabbed hold of my ankle and is tying it to a peg that has been fixed into the hard ground. He is still tying the knot when the Afrikaner starts pulling the other ankle in the opposite direction. I try to keep my legs together but he yanks hard and then start spreading them … wide, before he also ties my other ankle to a similar peg.
I can’t move. If I wriggle my body too much I can’t even keep my balance and end up hanging by my wrists. So I stop moving.
I realize some of the workers have stepped closer now. They want to watch the show.
The white man who said he is my trainer is now standing before me again. He has a knife in his hand.
“Mmm, now I have you strung up the way we do with animals we slaughter, I might just as well draw some blood.”
I can’t move and can’t make a sound because the gag has now become a thick lump in my mouth through which I am starting to asphyxiate. He slips the knife under the seam of my shirt. I can feel the cold steel against my stomach. His face is against mine, I can feel his breath against my cheek, his eyes are looking into mine, searching … for what? I am sure he can see my terror when he pushes the blade slowly upwards until I can feel the sharp point pricking the skin just below my breast, and then he turns the blade and pulls his hand back in one sudden, violent, terrifying movement. When I look down I see that he has cut my shirt down the front. Then he proceeds to cutting it from my body until just a few strips are left hanging from my shoulders. I am breathing rapidly and his eyes are now on my breasts, but he does not touch me – not with more than his eyes. He pushes the knife underneath the straps of my bra and cut one after the other until my bra is laying on the ground between our feet. I am now wearing only my panty and some remnants of my shit that does nothing to hide my body.
“Mmmm, my presentation is almost finished …” He is talking under his breath to himself while he takes hold of my long hair, and brushes it away from my face and shoulders so that it is hanging down my back. Then he ties it together with a thong so it will stay there.
“Just one more thing …”
I am terrified again. My levels of anxiety since I came to in the back of the pick-up have ranged from being very afraid to terrified out of my mind and with this man now sitting on his haunches in front of me, taking out his knife again, I feel I might faint with fear.
“Don’t move, cunt, or I may cut of more than I intended to.”
Oh God, he is pulling down my panty. Just a little way, since my legs are tied so wide that it is impossible to pul it all the way down. But he is forcing it over my ass and down my hips until my pussy is exposed. The workers watching are now laughing. And then I feel the blade touching my most sensitive area.
I remember how my father used to test the sharpness of his knife by shaving the hair on his arm. This man has a very sharp knife, and he is shaving my pussy with it. I think I may die of shame. By this time I have realized that he is not touching me in any intimate way at all. He is undressing me and preparing me in the most impersonal way possible, as if I am only a thing, and in a sense that is worse, because
a thing has no rights or feelings or sensations … or shame…
I can feel the blade moving over my bush. And later, I can feel it scraping over my soft skin. I can feel my skin becoming smooth and then becoming raw as he continues to remove every hair. I can feel the eyes of the workers on my private parts, that part that has never been so exposed and vulnerable in my life. I feel the thin point of the blade touching the lips of my pussy, shaving down between my legs and I wish I could hide my face behind my hands, or behind my hair … but even these escapes have been taken away from me.
And then, at last, he is finished. He pulls my panty back into place. The workers begin to disperse. After a while we are the only people left beneath that tree.
It is then that he tells me what I did not want to know.
“Your owner will be here shortly,” he said. “He is a wealthy American trophy hunter and he paid good money for you. You are the entertainment. You are not a person anymore, you are a thing. You are not even a woman, you are all the useful parts of a woman. You do not have a voice, except if you want to use it to scream, which will probably please them very much.”
He is walking in a circle around me, speaking close to my face.
“After I have finished speaking,” he continues, ” I will remove your gag because your mouth is another hole that will be used by your owner and his friends. Believe me when I tell you that any words emanating from that hole will have no effect at all on anyone in this camp – it will be as if you have not spoken at all. They will pay more attention to a dog barking than to something which comes out of your mouth – except blood – they like blood.”
I realize I am crying when he laughs and says: “Yes, crying too, we love to see a woman crying … “
He steps forward to fasten something around my neck. It is a collar. Like the one a dog wears. It looks old and used. Grimy. Fastened to the collar is a long chain which he arranges so it hangs down between my breasts. It reaches down to beneath my knees and I can feel the weight of it pressing against my pussy.
“Your place in this camp is at the bottom rung of the ladder. Actually the bottom of every living thing here. You are below the workers and even below the dogs. What happens to you will depend entirely on how much you are enjoyed and how much of you are left after these three weeks. Usually it is very little. Some are fed to the dogs or left in the veld for the lions and hyenas to dispose of. Some were given to the workers – don’t know what happened to them, maybe they are the slave of a fat chief somewhere. Once they gave one back to me – I sold her a second time. Some they keep for themselves. There are ways to do that. ”
He is now removing the gag from my mouth. It looks like a handkerchief. I drink deeply from the air that floods my lungs.
“You will not be trained, just as you won’t be punished. It does not make sense to do either. You will obey because if you don’t, that which you don’t want to give, will just be taken. It is stupid to expect a thing to act in certain ways. And for the punishment, I expect that you will experience most of your waking hours as punishment anyway. They are going to hurt you for their pleasure, not for your correction.”
He is now looking directly into my eyes.
“You are beautiful. And kind of innocent and virginal. I bet you haven’t even used all your holes yet – for the purpose they were intended. Well, that will be rectified. They will enjoy destroying you ….”
With those words, he turns around and walks away.
How long did they leave me there? Long enough for my arms and legs to start going into spasms. Long enough for my head to fall forward. Long enough for me to stop crying, start again and stop again. Long enough to feel the cool breeze of the African bush stroking over my almost naked body. It blew through the last remnants of my shirt hanging on me like a sick parody of a playboy centerfold – emphasizing my nakedness rather than hiding it.
And then I hear vehicles approaching the camp. I see them stop behind the tents and see people moving into the area between the tents. There are a lot of them. I count at least five men. And two women! How can this be? How can women be part of this, of what they are doing to me? I don’t understand. They must have seen me. I am just on the other side of the dining area, in the light of the fire, but they all ignore me. I see servants and workers giving them five star service in the middle of Africa. I see the men seeing to the needs of the two women and offering them drinks and I feel as if I fell through some rabbit hole.
I am hungry, I ache, I am thirsty. I want to go home …
I guess I must have started crying again, I don’t even realize when I do it any more, but it made me miss the fact that one man left the group around the table. When I realize what is going on, he is jerking the chain attached to my collar.
The man is big. I have to look up at him. He is not fat, he is muscular – he looks strong – but he has the face of a businessman – cold, calculating, intelligent, in control. He does’t look at me the way men have looked at me all my life. He doesn’t even look at me with contempt like the Afrikaner did. He is looking at me the way you would look at a new car. He does not acknowledge or see the person or woman in front of him at all, and I suddenly understand why women are part of the group. They are people, I am not anymore.
But still, I am different from an object, because I can hurt and be scared and be humiliated and understand orders and that makes me something between an animal and a thing, doesn’t it?
It takes a second for the pain to register but when it does, I scream. At first I don’t realize what he has done but then he shows me the cigarette between his fingers.
“Oh, come on cunt,” he says, “it can’t be that bad. Let’s try again. This time he pressed the tip of the cigarette against my other nipple, right in the centre and keeps it there just a little longer. I can feel my sensitive flesh burning and scream again.
“Hey Mike, bring it here!” I hear a laughing, bubbling female voice calling through my sobs. But Mike is not finished yet. Mike is my owner and he is investigating his property.
He starts by sticking his fingers in my mouth. A lot of them. Deep. Until I start gagging. He withdraws it a little, rub them over my teeth, violate every corner of my mouth, and sticks them down my throat again.
“This thing is going to choke on everything we feed it. Going to be such fun.” His friends laughs when he says this, forcing his finger even deeper than before.
He then starts moving his big hands down my body. He will be able to kill me with one hand, I realize it when his hand folds around my neck, squeezing just a little before he moves on. And then his hands fold over my breasts. There is nothing gentle about this man, not with me anyway. He starts kneading my breasts as if he purposefully wants to leave some marks on them and then he lowers his mouth to them and I scream again when he bites the place where he has left his mark with the cigarette. I hear him chuckling as he moves his hand lower down my body and I know where his next stop will be and I can’t move and can’t prevent it – I am spread wide open for my owner, and he reaches my panty.
He tears it from my body, but he pulls it upwards when he does so the fabric cuts into my pussy before it tears at last beneath his onslaught. And then I am totally naked. His friends have moved by now, dragging their chairs closer to watch the show. I hear them asking if I am tight.
“Wait, I will let you know in a minute.” He is manhandling my pussy, pulling on my soft lips, pinching my clitoris and then shoving four fingers violently into my dryness. I scream for the third time.
“Well, I guess you have your answer, folks. Nice and tight. Imagine what that asshole is going to be like …”
“I am tired” says one of the women. “And bored.”
“Oh come on darling, the night is still young, don’t you want to sample the goods?”
“Well, I don’t know what Mike is planning but it seems he has forgotten about his guests …”
Mike is slowly pulling his fingers out of me. “I would love to put my fist into this little cunt, just so it can feel what being full means, but I will keep that for later. The thing is so tight, almost a virgin in all her holes, I want the opening of each hole to be something memorable. So, tonight I will give you her mouth and throat.
“Nah, I am going to sleep. See you tomorrow … darling … have fun, remember a woman will be waiting in your bed.” She kisses one of the other men and leave.
“I will play along, says the second woman, taking a delicate sip of wine from her crystal glass.
Meanwhile my owner has cut through the ropes that tied my feet to the tent pegs. He is now lowering the rope with which My hands are tied to the branch above my head. For the first time in hours I can move my legs but that privilege will only last a few minutes.
“Kneel cunt!”
I kneel as quickly as I can whereupon my owner proceeds to tie my legs to the tent pegs again. This time my knees are tied to them after I again am spread as wide as they could manage. Having thus lowered me sufficiently he reties the rope above my head.
My owner now takes the chain that is dangling from my collar and pushes it through my legs. It is heavy and thick and dirty and rusted and he moved behind me and start pulling on the chain. I can feel it tightening against my pussy, and then I can feel it starting to bite into my soft pussy flesh and then it is excruciating. I groan.
This is how they initiate my top hole. (That is what Mike decides my mouth will be called. He also likes the word mouth-cunt.) There are five of them, plus the woman. The woman takes control of the chain between my legs. She tortures my pussy. Sometimes she yanks on it, bruising my clit and lips and sometimes she lets the pressure increase slowly until she must be pulling with all her might. Sometimes she keeps it tight for a long period and then suddenly lets it go slack so that the blood rushing back to my lips can do the torturing for her. I can’t help reacting to this treatment and my groans help her fine-tune the pain.
She plays this game for a while while the men look on and while they get turned on. Some started touching themselves through their pants …. and then they start playing their part in the initiation. There are just a few rules. For this game my top hole will be just that, a hole. I will not suck them, or lick them – according to Mike that part will be kept for long evening around the fire.
Tonight is about opening me up. So they do.
How can I describe what it feels like when someone rapes your throat? It is one big sensation made up of many small, horrible one’s. You are gagging – always gagging. Or choking, feeling yourself beginning to loose consciousness, welcoming it – just to feel life crawling back when the man pulls out his dick just in time to be able to continue the treatment.
Your eyes are streaming, your nose is running. Sometimes you feel how the back of your throat is getting pounded, later it becomes raw. Later you can taste blood running down your throat. The blood may also be from the corners of you mouth. It tears when a thick penis is forced into it.
My nose bleeds. It happens when someone takes hold of the back of your head or your hair and force feeds you a penis.
And, off course they come. All of them. My initiation includes my first taste of thick semen. Most of them shoot it deep into the back of my throat.
Through all this the woman makes sure that I do not forget about her…..
Afterwards they throw me in a cage on the back of one of their pick-up truck. They can’t leave me outside since lions may be roaming. It seems that the cage was intended for this use, maybe used previously. It is wide, takes up the whole of the load-bed of the pick-up, but is it very low. I can barely turn on my side and can’t lift up on my elbows at all. They do not untie my hands. Then they retire to their tents. My owner seems excited about tomorrow. They are going to hunt. I turn on my side, feeling the lips of my pussy throbbing. I try to swallow but my throat is dry, aching. I do not have any tears left. The first hours of my new life is over.
*********
The hot African sun is burning my exposed skin. We have been driving through the bush for most of the day and the cage I am still lying in have no canopy, no protection against the sun. The other participants of the hunting party are in the cabins of the other vehicles in the convoy. They have air conditioning.
Early this morning my Afrikaans keeper fetched me out of the cage. He untied my hands so I could crawl like an animal. He said if I am not dragged or carried somewhere, I must crawl. I will not walk like a person again.
He took me out into the veld and told me to pee. He watched me doing it, but never touched me. Then he took me to the back of the camp where the hunting dogs are kept. (They are at this moment in the back of another truck, but not in cages.)
In the kennel area he gave me water. I had to drink it from a bowl like a dog. He also gave me some of the meat mix they give the dogs. I ate it. It made me nauseous, it was horrible, but I kept it down because I still want to live and because I am no better than the dogs.
After I ate, he put me back into the cage where I still am.
Struggling in the tiny space of the cage I roll onto my side and feel how tender my skin is. I am thirsty. And hungry. It seems I will always be that. A while ago the people stopped for a picnic in the shade of a big Maroela tree. The dog were allowed to roam free and ate scraps from the table. I could hear the people’s glasses clinking together … Wonder of they will feed me tonight …
I hear a commotion somewhere to the front of the convoy. We come to an abrupt halt. I can only listen since I don’t have space to lift up, but it sounds like they might have spotted a trophy. I can hear excited shouts and then a shot is fired and then a woman squeals in delight. After a while I hear the sound of voices moving away and then engines starting and then we are slowly moving forward, for a short while, before we come to a stop again. Now, most of the voices are moving away. There are excited shouts from the men, they must have hit something. Men with guns. I can hear their boiling testosterone in the pitch of their voices.
Suddenly, my cage is opened. One of the black workers reaches in, takes hold of my leg and drags me out. He throws me over his shoulder and starts walking in the direction of the voices.
“Come on, hurry up boy!” my owner sounds irritated and excited at the same time. “You will make me miss the moment by dragging your feet! ”
We are amongst the hunting party now. I can see their feet. The friends, the women, a professional hunter, trackers and workers. And I can also see a Kudu. A massive bull. It is laying on its side in the grass. It is still alive.
“Put it there.”
The worker is now moving in the direction of the dying animal.
“No!!!” I scream this although I know it will not be heard. I scream out of fear and disgust, but then I am dumped on my stomach on the mortally wounded animal.
Oh God, I can feel it trembling beneath my naked body. My head is near it’s head and I can see the fear of death in his eyes. For a moment I wonder if he can see my terror too.
“What can be better than fucking a cunt on the animal I just killed? Two killings in one … Let’s finish the job … Tie its hands to the horns.”
Tying my hands to it’s horn mean that I can now feel its breath in my face. It is struggling beneath me like I am struggling on top of him, but to no avail.
My owner has a knife in his hand and before I realize what he is going to do, he slices the blade through the jugular of the animal beneath my body. I see the blood spurting like a fountain next to my face and watch in horror when he goes on to make a long cut into the belly of the animal. A shudder passes though the dying animals’ body into mine when all his entrails fall out onto the parched African ground.
The people surrounding the scene are tense with adrenaline and all kinds of lust. One of the men moves in behind me and forces my legs open so they hang to the sides of the Kudu’s body. I feel the course hair of the animal rubbing against my sunburnt skin.
I can feel the Kudu’s breathing slowing down, I can see his eyes glaze up. Every now and then he tries to kick out weakly, but there is no strength left behind that kick. He is like me. They are too strong for me, like they are too strong for him.
My owner is now crouching next to the kudu. I see his hand disappear into the innards of the animal and then it reappears, full of blood and guts. I smell it just before he forces his hand into my mouth. There is something hot and slimy in my mouth and I start retching when he pushes it down my throat. No!!
I am trying to get away from his hand but it is locked over my mouth so I can’t spit out whatever is in it. I am also kicking out at the person behind me who is pushing me hard against the kudu rubbing my pussy against the skin of the animal.
“Someone, come help me pin it down!”
I am out of my mind and making a last stand. I must look just as wild as the animal that is dying beneath me.
But this only inflames them.
A worker’s hand takes the place of my owner’s over my mouth and I feel more than one person taking hold of my kicking legs.
“Turn it around,” my owner orders.
It takes two seconds to flip me and I find myself laying on my back, my head on the animals head, my body pinned into submission.
My hands are still tied to the horns (it was tied in such a way that I can be turned), my head immobilized by the black hand over my mouth and my legs are kept open by two of the friends.
There is fresh blood on my owners’ hands now. He dips into the red contents of the animal and then uses it to mark me.
He marks my breasts, my neck, my shoulders, my stomach. He smears the blood over the rest of my face and into my hair. I can almost feel the anticipation of the onlookers. They know how this is going to end and they can’t wait anymore. And my owner obliges them by sliding his hand down, down between my legs and pushing a hand that is covered in blood and gore, up my pussy.
“Now I am going to fuck it!”
They actually cheer him when he maneuvers himself between my legs. They continue cheering when he penetrates me with a dick that fits the enormous size of his appetite. And they watch as he fucks me hard on top of the animal he killed.
He doesn’t take long but his lust is violent. They love watching his thrusts, my body being battered under his. They like the way my legs flap helplessly to the side. They grin at his laugh when he slams into my bruised pussy and they cheer him when he shoots his angry seed into me. And then it is over.
I must crawl back to the cage on the pick-up. The same black worker who fetched me leads me back. I am covered with blood and gore, my owners’ cum dripping out of me. Just before I am out of earshot I hear a woman giggling, telling someone that she has a brilliant idea.
But I am not privy to what her idea is. I have a horrible feeling that I won’t like it anyway. I crawl into the cage and roll slowly onto my side. I pull my legs up, hugging them to me. I am waiting. Because I now know why this cage is so low. They are going to load the buck onto the space above me. It is fitting, in a twisted way I guess. This is where they store their victims, for later use.
********
(can be continued)