AS A Dodopt 1
“Here is the Death Certificate, sir, I think it is in order,”
I took it from him and checked the date and time, “And the body?”
“Dead as a Dodo, Unrecognisable, look.” he showed me the photograph, some poor girl burned, alive perhaps, to a blackened mess.
“Car crash,” he announced.
I had been waiting nearly a week for this, ever since London sent Miss Reilly to audit the accounts in the Harare Branch, which I managed, well it took almost a whole day for me to decide to actually kill her. She had demanded an office, and computer access and dived right in going right over my head checking, probing, spying without so much as a by your leave.
She could have been beautiful but for her evil nature, she was only just out of accountancy school, a dangerous freshly hatched predatory accountant, with a nasty evil inquiring mind. The nasty gleam in her eye as we first met took my attention from her her very shapely if rather small breasts, her trim waist, her perfect calves and ankles and the stylish high heels beyond her plain mid length skirt, and her severe mouth full of perfect pearly white teeth. All the ingredients for beauty spoiled by such a nasty disposition, her mid brown hair tumbled to her shoulders, would it darken to black or bleach to blond in the harsh sun I wondered.
From some angles she was almost a carbon copy of Lucinda, my former supposed fiancé, who had decided a fifty year old impotent baronet was a better prospect for a life partner than me, and it was Lucinda’s betrayal that had sent me to this shit hole.
Miss Reilly not a great listener, she quickly found that twenty million was missing from our vaults, unaccounted for with no paperwork, but she was deaf to my arguments that we had to pay that to Mugabe just to stay open, she just said she must report the matter to head office and hoped it would lead to my with dismissal and prosecution.
What was worse was that she did it in front of the blacks, humiliating me, it was so unfair after all the business I had sent head office, all the safety deposit boxes back at Finsbury Park which Mugabe and his cronies had stuffed full of other peoples wealth which they carried out in diplomatic bags.
But Miss Reilly tried to apply European standards to the jungle that was once proud Rhodesia, an urban jungle where the stupid were ruled by the even more stupid with their AK47s.
I needed a nice burned body: black, white, yellow we all look much the same with our skin burned off and when some poor girl had met a sticky end, and I asked around for a suitable example my friends Jon Rapsenberg, a doctor at the Robert Mugabe Infirmary and Ido McToto, Inspector in charge of Harare north precinct, had found one for me.
Miss Reilly was becoming restless, I had her arrested before she could do any real damage, put under house arrest in her apartment, before she could send her findings, personally I would have simply have created a third central eye socket with my Kalashnikov and terminated her, if she had not enjoyed humiliating me in front of Desmond and Jannia, my assistants, quite so much.
A bullet was a low risk strategy, she could have turned down any number of side streets in Harare and been shot for her car, her money, her phone even her designer tee shirt by a War Veteran or some other urban Guerilla, Gorilla as I called them.
With the cadaver now available and the death certificate signed we could move forward.
Ido drove me to Miss Reilly’s apartment, he parked the Range Rover and the guard at her door saluted as he let us past and we strode in.
She seemed shocked at our intrusion.
Ido spoke quietly, “You must come down town, I am afraid Miss Reilly,”
“What?” she queried.
He continued “Mr Hanson has formally identified you and he has sufficient evidence to make taking you into custody necessary, I can allow a few minutes for you to pack as I think Mr Hanson wishes to use this property for a new tenant.”
She complied, muttering “You will not get away with this.” and with practised ease she packed her cases and told me to bring them down.
She had this superior air about her, like she was better than everyone else, not just the blacks, but Jon and myself, we were as white as her by ancestry, more suntanned, but ethnically the same.
We drove her to the Bank, business had finished for the evening and I unlocked the back service door and showed her into a long concrete corridor, the emergency lighting cast a soft glow and I led the way past the elevator shaft, to the stairs, no one used an elevator in Harare unless they wanted to spend the night there when the electricity supply failed yet again.
We climbed four flights of stairs and then I showed her in to room 406, an ordinary but soundproofed room with cabinets, an easy chair and a couch and a small wooden dining table.
“Mr Hanson tells me you tried to steal from him.” Ido suggested as he motioned her to sit.
“No.” she protested.
“A man’s character is important here in Africa, did you know that?” Ido continued.
“So charge, me.” she barked.
“I hoped to keep this informal,” Ido sighed, “but as you insist.” He took the handcuffs from his back pocket and clipped the shiny clamp round her left wrist then pulling her to her feet he pulled both arms behind her and secured the right wrist as well.
I showed her the document.
“It’s a death certificate?” she seemed bemused. “It’s my death certificate, I died this morning?” she read on in disbelief.
“Yes,” I showed her the photos of the burned body, “You died horribly, I am so sorry,”
“No” she cried but Ido slapped her face and she quietened down.
“I shall take her watch and jewellery,” Ido announced and slipping her good luck charm and ear rings from her and placing them in his pocket Ido wished me good day and left the room closing the door behind him.
Despite the cuffs she still struggled, but in the noise of the city her screams were just another cry of despair, and within a few minutes I had a leather dog collar and leash around her neck.
She had a kick like a mule and so fixing the hobble chains around her ankles was both difficult and essential but as she lost her balance, crashing to the floor I pinned her down face down and then I was able to stop her kicking long enough to buckle the leather straps round both her ankles and connect the short hobble chain.
She squealed like a pig but I decided that the gag could wait.
I moved over to the table, a standard polished wood extending dining table intended for a small dining room, it extended by sliding the two halves of the top apart which in turn allowed an extra section to slot in the middle, except on this one the extra section was split in the middle and had crescents cut from each half providing a neat neck sized hole, it was a work of art, the sawn edges polished to match the rest of the table top the work of a craftsman, well, my own work actually, everyone needs a hobby.
The table was screwed down to the floor and the top secured so it could not be lifted off, it was intended for the correction and the discipline of disloyal employees but I had expected blacks to require it not a white bitch.
“What are you doing?” she asked. as she struggled to her knees again, she looked incongruous, cuffed and bound but still fully clothed in a grey business suit, jacket and knee length skirt with a red shirt or blouse and her trademark black high heels.
“Your new home,” I told her, “I will fetch the tools and a tin for your teeth then I can get started.
The pliers were in a drawer of the cabinet at the far end of the room and I returned with pliers, rags and an old red biscuit tin.
She struggled and swore but it was easy to drag her with the leash and I passed the leash between the table legs and up through the table top and dragged her head through.
The extra pieces fitted neatly around her neck and I screwed them in place.
“So very clever, I suppose you torture me for information, well I know nothing.” she stated rather too condescendingly for my liking.
I shattered her little bubble of security.
“No for pleasure, like when you humiliated me in front of my subordinates, did it turn you on?”
“No but you’re all bluster, all your type are, shits the lot of you.”
I held her nose and when she opened her mouth to breathe I jammed a tapered wooden block in to keep it open.
She stared unbelievingly as I took the pliers from the table top and taking a firm grip I started to work her left upper front tooth backwards and forwards, she screamed beautifully as it came free and then I started on the right front, her lower Jaw wobbled furiously and I expected it to break but in the end all the teeth came out as she screamed and wailed, it took about an hour and twenty minutes of hard patient work but finally there were a full set of her teeth sitting in the biscuit tin.
Yellowed teeth with expensive veneers, false like her.
Blood streamed from her shattered mouth, and tears streamed from her eyes.
“Don’t worry.” I comforted her, “The pain of having your Clitoris burned off with a soldering iron will be much much worse but I may decide not to bother, I will probably shoot you at the weekend.”
“Why?” she pleaded, through bloodied gums “You are English, why do you behave like an animal, I have only done my job.”
“Disrespect: you humiliated me in front of the blacks, it will be weeks before they stop laughing at me, as if it is not hard enough to survive in this shit hole.” I ranted.
I carefully cleaned the pliers, and placed them back on the table. wiped her mouth with the filthy rag, and checked that the CCTV had recorded the operation.
“See you tomorrow.” I suggested and closed and locked her door.
My own apartment was next door, soundproofed, bomb proof, the managers apartment built into the bank building, it had to be after so many kidnappings.
I ordered a Chinese, but she turned out to be Korean, she arrived by Taxi, wearing a Kimono for a few seconds, but she was very smooth and willing and after she removed my tensions she shared my food, in fact she wolfed down her plate full and then had most of my portion as well, it seemed funny, making her eat Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with Chop Sticks, but I have this sadistic streak and she was too hungry to object.
Even agency prostitutes struggle to survive in Mugabe’s wonderland. I thought of the bitch next door, she was probably in agony, her legs and arms cramped, in agony from her shattered mouth, bursting for a piss. I found myself rock hard again and I took my little Chinese once more.
She licked me clean and asked if she could have some cake, she was still hungry, I guessed she had not been able to catch many rats, the staple food of many Harare whores in these difficult times, and I said yes as long as she ate it naked. She looked so sexy eating black forest gateau, the crumbs falling down between her naked breasts, to nestle in her wiry pubic hair, I almost wished she could be my full time slave, but no, I wanted an unwilling slave.
I paid her with a gold ring, from a safety deposit box of someone who did not need it any more, the label on the lid had said Mr Lolo Iuzmu, a gentleman gunned down along with his whole family by Mugabe’s gorillas, well waste not want not I always say.
She asked to stay the night, I agreed, and we watched video’s late into the small hours.
“I think you soldier, very brave I think, like man on TV.” She told me.
I realised there was a tear in my eye, perhaps Private Tucker from Soldier Soldier was not the image I sought, but she sensed my affinity for those lads, skiving slackers to a man but they would willingly die to save their mates if needed and that made them the British Tommy the finest soldiers in the world.
I remembered Private Doyle, a lad in my platoon, shooting a running Afgan, at about three hundred yards right between the legs taking the meat and two veg right off clean as a whistle, then Doyle had stepped on a landmine, poor bastard, he begged me to shoot him, I could not, its against the regulations but I helped hold a captured AK47 against his head as he pulled the trigger, “Thanks sir, do the same for you one day,” he joked as his finger flinched and he sat off to meet his maker.
My Chinese left with the dawn, and I checked my captive, the stench was overpowering.
“Let me go, please.” she pleaded.
“You shit yourself, you filthy cow.” I accused her. “For heavens sake you are totally disgusting.”
“Please don’t leave me like this,” she croaked.
I left her to her agony.
The blacks were getting uppity, Desmond and Jannia, taking liberties, I had Jannia’s friend Samoe in my office, “Look, it’s not easy to say this but, well your performance has not been to standard, and someone has to go.”
She burst into tears, “No sir, please my mother and my sisters rely on me, please sir, oh I beg you sir.”
I asked her outright. “So who should go?”
She replied with conviction, “Mugabe sir, he must go.”
I smiled at her, “You are a good girl, Samoe, I will let you stay, I shall tell head office something, god knows what, I have been lying to keep us going for months, but that is my problem, run along.”
I knew the word would be round within minutes Mr Hanson struggling to keep the bank open, looking for someone to sack.
The office atmosphere changed immediately, the respect returned, no one knew about Miss Reilly, locked in her stinking prison.
I held out until about eleven thirty that second day, but curiosity got the better of me and I went to see her, the stench hit me like a sledge hammer, and I nearly vomited, but she looked so sweet, her broken body trapped in my prison, my erection strained and I stood before her and as she silently watched I undid my pants and asked, “Do you like it?”
She shook her head, “Please, don’t rape me” she croaked.
“No, I would have to release you for that,” I replied, I stroked my shaft and suddenly I felt the relief flowing, warm, wet, the creamy white cum shooting up my shaft and flying through the air to splatter her face.
She looked horrified, yet she still tried to lick a splodge of cum from her cheek.
“Are you thirsty?” I asked.
“Yes”
“Shall I piss in you mouth?”
She paused before she said no, it spoke volumes, she might last beyond Saturday after all.
I wiped myself on a handkerchief and left it on the table, so she could smell my scent as she suffered, and then I slipped from the room.
I came back a few hours later, she looked so wonderfully helpless, I just could not resist releasing my rigid tool and masturbating , I stood behind her and let fly all over the back of her head, then I rubbed it in like hair mousse, she sobbed throughout, but again declined a drink of piss.
I had to attend a function at Government house, I paid for an escort, she escorted me, it was a formal dinner except there was no food for anyone other than the Zanu PF top table. My escort was black,, tall slim, anorexic, or malnourished I don’t fancy black girls, as a general rule but she was graceful and desperate and we did a deal, and I bent her over my office desk and she ate a a whole steak and kidney pie as I took her from behind.
“You’re so bad, Mr Hanson, can I stay with you all time?” she asked hopefully.
I let her stay until morning.
Miss Reilly was asleep when I checked on her, I sat and watched as she slumbered, her head was too far from the edge of the table I decided and I fetched my saw, before I realised the legs were too far forward to allow me to cut the top back far enough.
Her gums had stopped bleeding, I really wanted to fuck her mouth but compromised by wanking and trying to get the cum in her mouth, most of it missed, but she woke and tried to lick some from her chin.
“Water” she demanded, “I’m dying”
“Piss?, you can drink my piss.”
“No please water.” she asked nicely.
“Piss is water,”
“No” she refused my offer.
“Ok”
The floor bore evidence of her continued fluid loss, the pool of piss on the Formica floor covering.
“See you Saturday,” I suggested.
Her will broke.
“Can I have a drink of piss please.”
“Yes of course.” I said and walked round to stand before her.
The piss stream hit her chin then her nose before I got the aim right and pissed straight into the back of her throat, she struggled to swallow but she drank enough of the life giving liquid to allow her to survive a while longer.
“Say thank you”
“Thank you,” she croaked “Will you kill me Saturday.”
“Yes, if you like, good bye.” I left her again.
I came back later, I brought her lap top computer and set it before her.
“Tell me the password and I will show you your emails.” I suggested.
“Never” she answered, “it’s private.”
I typed NEVER, and got a wrong password, I tried Victoria and it fired up.
“Bastard,” she cried.
There were messages of condolence, all her devastated friends emailing, I scrolled it for her so she could read, sharing an experience in the stench of her filth, her broken pain-wracked body living out her last days before the blissful release of death.
She sobbed and laughed occasionally, then I checked her outbox and she screamed at me, “No, it’s private, No.”
“It’s like mind rape,” I whispered.
I read intently. stupid emails to her mates, nothing interesting then Wham! my name.
“Whats this?” I asked, she knew instantly.
“Please no.” she croaked.
“Mr Hanson, a bloody arrogant racist sandhurst bastard just like Justin,” she had written.
“Treats the blacks like shit, I hate him.”
“Who is Justin?”
“Boyfriend,” she admitted.
“Other name?”
“Peters.”
“Not lieutenant Peters?” I enquired.
“Captain,” she croaked.
I had spent too long with her, I switched the Laptop off and returned to my office locking the door behind me, her stench clung to me, so I back tracked and showered and changed before returning once again to the world of banking.
I tried to make sense of things, I knew Peters vaguely, and he was definitely a shit.
I let Miss Reilly rot in her filth for a while longer, and only as midnight approached did I once again open her prison’s door.
“Its Saturday,” I announced.
“Make it quick” she croaked.
I showed her the screwdriver, she tried to scream but her mouth was too dry, then she realised I was removing the screws holding the wood trapping her , I unscrewed the brackets holding the table to the floor and then removed the wood round her neck and lifted the table from her allowing her to fall over sideways.
I loosened her left ankle and tugged her leash to make her stand, she screamed, but managed to crawl and she slowly followed me towards the back of the room, I opened a cupboard door and dragged her through into the bathroom beyond.
Her eyes widened, just a narrow room, an old iron bath at one end, a shower nozzel and lavatories, one conventional low level and one two feet of the floor with a cistern for flushing, but no plumbing other than a two inch diameter clear plastic tube.
I undid her handcuffs and tugged her jacket off her, her shirt tore easily revealing to my surprised gaze a tightly laced corset, I cut the laces and her tummy bulged slightly. I threw the useless garment on the pile with her ruined shirt, and undid her bra, I ran my fingers around her nipples, they stiffened slightly, I resisted the temptation to kiss and suck on them, pleasure was off limits to her, she would know nothing but pain and humiliation while she remained with me, and I would decide whether or indeed when death would bring her final release. finally I took off her shoes and made her sit in the bath and hosed her down with cold water from the shower.
“Skirt off,” I ordered. She obeyed slowly stiffly, revealing her soiled underwear, and she handed the skirt to me.
I hosed her privates and then ripped the sodden panties and pantyhose from her and threw them in a bucket along with her shirt. Her private parts were covered in a red rash from the ammonia in the pis and shit, it was obviously hideously painful and it did not seem any point whipping her when she was already so sore.
“Drink?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Champagne?”
I handed her a glass bowl full of yellow liquid, she knew it was piss, yet she had to drink.
She drank then spat. “Its horrible.”
“Worse than piss.?” I asked, she nodded. “It’s flat Cider.” I took the bowl and drank some myself, it was apple juice. she thought it was piss because I told her it was. “Yuck, good enough for you though.” was my verdict.
She drank it down. then lay back and stretched out,
“Have a nice stretch,” I instructed “then take a dump and a piss.”
“Not with you looking, I can’t,” she whined.
“Oh yes you can,” I dragged her to the lavatory and made her sit, nothing happened.
“Is this it, are you going to kill me?”
“No, I want to hear about Peters first, and I want to fuck your nice toothless mouth.”
“And then,?” she asked.
“Just think short term, flex those muscles because you made a horrible smell in my room, now I gave you full control over your bowels and bladder and you shit and pissed everywhere, so from now on I decide when you shit so shit away.”
She literally shit her self with fear, I blasted her backside with cold water from the shower and simply rammed a butt pug inside her anus, she screamed a long animal howl
I pulled her to the ground and re – attached her wrist and ankle cuffs, he struggles were weaker now and it was a simple matter to attach a simple leather belt around her waist and run a strap from it around under her crotch.
I led her back to her prison and carefully screwed it together again, she had the good sense to keep quiet and let me reassemble it.
Finally just to show what a reasonable chap I was, I fetched a plastic bucket and set it under her to catch any stray fluids.
“You didn’t fuck my mouth,”she croaked.
“No, I forgot.” I lied. “So Peters, what did he do.”
“Told everyone he was marrying me for father’s money.”
“Not because you fucked like a dream then.” I gloated.
“No.” she said indignantly.
“Thought not.”
I left her until Tuesday, she was in a bad way, almost comatose, I woke her with a slap
across her face, she was a mess, boils and zits spoiled her complexion, her lips now
cracked and parched the whites of her eyes were that horrible yellow colour, and she
stunk. On the plus side her tummy was lovely and taut, the hint of fatty flab gone.
I gave her an injection of a concoction Jon had made up for me, her eyes rolled and she swore.
“Heroin” I lied.
“No, please.”
I released her from her prison again, and she collapsed onto her side and lay still, I fetched a horse whip and gently coaxed her into movement by taps on her legs and buttocks. she began to crawl slowly away from me and I guided her towards a bowl of water I had placed on the floor, she forgot her pain and charged across to it and tried to lift it, she expressed surprise when she realised it was stuck to the floor. “No” she croaked in despair.
“Good Doggy.” I suggested.
She began to lap it up like a dog.
I checked her out, the rash round her ass and cunt from the ammonia where she had shit herself was almost gone, but her ribs were now visible, and her tits had shrunk even further.
I eased her lower lips apart as she continued to lap at the water bowl, she was dry, and squirmed away from me as I probed her, but not so far as to stop lapping at the bowl, I toyed with the idea of chopping her lower legs below the knee so she always had to remain on all fours, then realised I had just the lubricant I needed, my own cum.
I refilled her bowl and whipped out my tool and masturbated once more, I aimed my cum along her back, and then when I was spent I carefully scooped the slippery creamy liquid onto my fingers and began to work it within her, she moaned softly, and relaxed slightly allowing my fingers ever further inside.
She was weak from a lack of food and confused but her body responded naturally and her own precious moisture started to provide its own lubrication as she started to thrust back against my fingers, she made delicious little moaning sounds as I scooped more and more of the cum within her. She moaned and squirmed with pleasure that she desperately tried to disguise, then she shuddered, went suddenly limp and rolled on to her side.
I left her, free, just trapped in her soundproof room, I left the bathroom door open and returned to my own room to watch TV.
I decided to call in a favor, Michele Unzambuki ran a seedy brothel a few blocks away, he owed a huge amount to the bank, a sum of several hundred American Dollars which he had no hope of repaying.
I called him in and outlined my request, I suggested Miss Reilly took over his mothers job for a while. His mother, an ugly toothless hag, worked for him in a glory hole, a cubicle like a lavatory cubicle in the foyer of the whorehouse with a hole in the side through which men who could not afford a short time with a whore could shove their pricks through for the woman the far side to suck, or in the case of particular gymnastic ability, fuck. Usually it was the unwashed dregs of society, diseased beggars, rather that the time constrained businessmen who used such facilities in Japan or the west. These men paid just a few notes, which was often a whole days begging money for the weak and vulnerable, in fact they often spent money they needed for food for the family on being sucked off.
Mr proposition was for Miss Reilly to perform this duty for a while, first Michele would have Miss Reilly’s hair braided in the African way, then he guaranteed she would be chained in the courtyard under the hot sun until she browned nicely and then if she started to look like she would pass for a native she could perhaps become a regular prostitute.
We fixed her wages at a half slice of bread or small piece of meat per satisfactory suck.
Michele left my office grinning widely.
===========================================
Miss Reilly stared at the pile of chains on the floor before her as I collected my tools and outlined the plans I had made for her, “No!”she croaked. “Please, let me stay here, I’ll do anything.”
I shook my head and found a suitable Iron loop to fit round her neck.
I clamped it with the Mole wrench then slipping the aluminum heat shield against her neck I connected the earth clamp and started welding, The Mig welder showered the room with blinding blue light, and blobs of molten metal flew from the rusty iron but within seconds she was secured, I quenched the hot joint with oil then trimmed the edges with a hand file.
Manacles for hands and ankles followed, rusty iron with rusty chains, then I fashioned a crotch bar and a metal waist band, all welded up solid, making access to her cunt or anus all but impossible for penetrative sex, but allowing cleaning and use of the toilet.
The girl spent hours on Miss Reilly’s hair, plaiting it like a natives, leaving areas of bare scalp between the rows of plaits, slowly transforming her from western woman to native whore.
I demonstrated the ring gag she would wear, just about the largest we could get, on account of her being toothless and she nodded sadly.
I dressed her in a cloak, someone had died in it, the blood and bullet holes were still there but it was ideal for her.
She clanked as she walked, the short chain between her ankles made the stairs impossible so I carried her down, then she walked barefoot possibly for the first time in her life across the broken tarmac to captivity in a stinking hell hole of a native brothel..
I checked on her a few times, she browned up nicely, her filthy plaited hair now adorned with ribbons, the price of a suck scrawled across her forehead in black paint and the prices of her colleagues upstairs advertised in red across her tits and belly.
She was reluctant the first time, I listened as Michele beat and slapped her then the little wizened shriveled old guy suddenly beamed with pleasure as she began to suck.
I don’t know if she realised that it was me as she sucked me off. I wandered over after work a few times, one time I smeared worcester sauce on my tool and she seemed to like it but no words were exchanged, only notes.
I agreed two weeks, she stayed five months. spending her days chained naked in the courtyard like a dog, and spending evenings sucking cocks. Michele said she was the best he ever had, she had intelligence and never tried to escape, in any case she could not speak native so she was unable to communicate with the other whores, most of whom had been snatched from tribal areas, and sold into prostitution.
Finally after twenty weeks Michele rang me and asked about a delicate matter.
To be continued.