A Crude Business

Prologue: Fall 1986 – London

Smoke drifted lazily into the air from the end of Gerald Knebworthy’s huge Cigar. Before him, a select group of his brightest students, all mellowed by several glasses of good brandy, eager to share with him the conclusions of their private project. It had started as a post-grad joke, three years ago- “Write a business plan to create an organisation which will be the most powerful organisation in the world within 30 years.”

Paul Hegarty rose to his feet.

“As Managing Director Designate,” he started with a big grin, “I will introduce you to The GODS Corporation, Global Organisation for the Destruction of Society, bringer of pestilence to the world’s major powers.”

His audience chuckled, as he launched into his presentation.

“First, what sort of enterprise? Political?, Industrial?, Financial?”

Knebworthy sat forward in his seat. The guys had delivered…

“…only criminal certain enough, need a real business plan…”

Knebworthy’s mouth fell open. The plan being proposed was exactly the proposition he had come up with, but in a level of detail he had only dreamed about.

“…need seed capital, Rashchid’s father could… operating cash from drugs? prostitution?”

Knebworthy smiled to himself. This was going to work if they all bought into it.

“…all-pervasive power is essential… political… financial… violence… coercion…”

“What about the competition? You don’t think people like the Mafia will just let you take over their path do you?” Knebworthy smiled to himself. Typical of Dan Hegarty to put his brother on the spot.

“No, of course not bro. We need new suppliers, new customers, niches, like these…”

Two hours later, Knebworthy, the newly elected CEO of GODS inc. dismissed his board and set them loose on the world.

South Africa -1987

The sun was going down. As it settled slowly against the horizon, two of the three girls sitting on the veranda got up to go. All three of them had been invited to the party, but Mathilde Steenburg didn’t want to go. Sharp as a tack, Mathilde had excelled at her studies, graduating in chemistry at the top of her year, but she was still deeply unhappy. She looked across at her friends, blonde, lithe, good looking, laughing joyously about life and inwardly cringed. Mathilde knew she was plain. Not ugly, but always last to be asked to dance, avoided by the good looking young men to whom she was attracted. No, she did not want to sit by herself through another party. Her friend Judy came back to her and pulled at her arm.

“You have to come, Mattie, you need to be seen if you are want that grant for next year.”

Mattie knew she was right. Jobs were impossible to come by, even for someone as talented as her. Growing strain within the government, and terror attacks from a few of the black majority were rapidly eroding the White economy. However disillusioned she might be, she needed the research grant to keep her going until things improved, and good networking was essential. She got up and headed off to get dressed for the occasion.

Professor Wyatt always threw a good party, and as soon as they arrived it became clear that this would be no exception. Unusually, he was a defier of conventions. Black faces mingled with the white. Not many, it was true, but it was still illegal to mix in the wrong areas, and only brave blacks were prepared to run the risk in their search for a multicultural social life. The lights were low, and a disco unit created swirling patterns of colour against a background of throbbing music.

Within minutes Judy and Alice had been whisked off to join the throng of dancers, and as usual Mathilde found herself leaning against a wall, glass in hand, people watching. Time was hanging heavy as people got on with their socialising. If Mathilde had been on her own, she would just have left, but that wasn’t an option. Suddenly, things took on a different complexion. Professor Wyatt sauntered across the room with the most stunning man Mathilde had ever seen. He was gorgeous. Tall, slim, but with a body rippling beneath his smartly casual shirt, and with a skin deep coffee coloured giving him the air of a well-to-do, confident businessman.

“Mattie, may I introduce you to Patrick. He’s an English writer, doing a book on our scientific education establishments.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mattie.” The voice was soft, deep, and welcoming. Mattie responded warmly, as the conversation flowed freely. His questions about her life at university slowly changed focus, becoming more personal as the evening wore on. Time seemed to stand still as their relationship deepened unbelievably quickly. Mattie knew she was falling for him. She wrestled with her feelings.

Relationships with blacks was forbidden, but she was having difficulty recognising his colour. All she could perceive was the interest in his eyes and the soft seductive tones of his voice. At the critical point in her deliberations he made his move. He raised his hand, and with the lightest touch, stroked her cheek with the back of his knuckles. She nearly fainted at the unexpected delicacy of his touch.

“Please,” he murmured “follow me.”

As if in a trance, she simply followed, up the stairs, and into a small bedroom at the end of a short corridor. He held her gently in his arms and explained that the next day he had to return to London. The surge of disappointment she felt was quelled by the simple expedient of a kiss. She melted. She yielded her mouth to his, as his tongue probed gently, but insistently around her lips. As he lay her gently back on the bed, he stealthily undid the middle of her button-front dress. She felt the cool press of his hand on the flesh of her waist as his lips moved slowly across her cheek, and down into the crook of her neck.

His hand moved slowly upward, initially cupping her breast through her underwear, then sliding her straps off her shoulder to free her soft skin to his touch. She was losing control now, this was a new experience for her, and the feelings she experienced as his lips gently sucked on her nipple were almost too pleasurable to bear. She had always had her defences planned – don’t let him get his hand between your knees, keep his groping to the outside of the thigh – but nothing had prepared her for this.

She felt his lips move down over her stomach, sending little tickling feelings scattering all over her midriff. She didn’t even notice his hand slide under the waistband of her knickers, but as his hand continued it’s exploration there was no escape from the intense pleasure triggered by the touch of his finger on her clitoris.

Responding to his encouragement, she lifted her hips to allow him to remove her knickers. As he did so, his lips dropped to her groin and he began to slowly lap at her pussy. Her head back, rocking gently side-to-side, she struggled for breath. Her whole body seemed to be twitching with desires she had never felt before. Her cunt flushed with the juices of passion, as her legs fell open, inviting him to move on. He moved off her.

She clutched desperately trying to pull his head back to her fanny, but he had other things in mind. Sliding his trousers down below his knees, he freed up his dick. Long and thick, he was inordinately proud of it, silently thankful that Mattie would feel it before she saw it. As his lips returned to her neck, he thrust. Gently, but in one smooth stroke, his dick swept into her well lubricated cunt, taking her breath away.

It filled her, she gasped with the shock at it’s size, but immediately began to grind her hips against his groin, making every effort to maintain contact between his dick and the centre of her pleasure. Rapidly the heat built, she began to chew on her bottom lip as her head now thrashed from side to side. Her cry of wonder, when it came, must have been heard in Bulawayo. She screamed with pleasure, right into Patrick’s ear, as her legs tightened around his waist and her feet drummed uncontrollably on his buttocks. Mathilde had discovered sex.


England 1993

Samantha Roberts was pretty pleased with herself. As owner and chief pilot of Roberts Air Cargo, she was about to cast off the burden of VAT forms and Company returns and get back to flying. Leasing a long distance cargo plane had seemed like a good idea at the time, but it had stood idle for weeks. Then, out of the blue, a saviour had turned up. Mark Harrison, a tall, good looking man would be welcome any time, but bearing a contract for a weekly delivery of machinery spare parts to Africa made him doubly so. Her only problem, a suitable available co-pilot, was solved by the customer himself.

The following day, Captain George Dickens turned up, presented his credentials, and volunteered to “get stuck in” straight away by supervising the loading of the first batch of cargo. Dickens was a scruffy, unkempt individual, but had impeccable references, so despite her misgivings, Sam climbed aboard, went through the full gamut of pre-flight checks and set off into the sun.

Two hours out, however, Dickens went AWOL. Sam, concerned about the safety of her flight, found her worst fears confirmed when he returned an hour later, clearly the worse for wear. The smell of alcohol made her turn her head away, and his aggressive response made her decision to leave him alone and get on with flying, a good one. Another hour and almost a full bottle of vodka later, he collapsed in a drunken stupor, leaving Sam alone with her thoughts as she flew onwards.

Earlier that morning, Mark Harrison pushed his way through the double doors of the Stardust club, took the stairs two at a time and bounced into his boss’s office. Steve Washington, Six foot four of mean, looked up in anticipation.

“What’s up man?

“Nothing, boss. Just thought you would like to know that the bird is on her way.”

“Fully loaded? Dickens on board? Excellent!”

In the outer office, Jane Harrison (nee Janey Jeavons) sat staring at the wall. Her life was a mess. Hooked on coke by her now husband Mark, she had been raped, made to perform with animals, used as a whore, and finally forced into a marriage of convenience to the man responsible for her troubles just to protect her stepfather’s reputation. Still she needed a fix, and there was only one way she could get it.

As Harrison left, Washington reached for the phone. It had been more than six years in the making. With the help of oil money from Raschids father, the Emir, the big plan was just about to take off to another level. For too long his operation had relied on small shipments at sporadic intervals to establish his business. Now the demand required volume. It was time for the first bulk shipment. Dialling the international number that would connect him to his “brother” Samuel, he rattled off the details, re-assured himself that Samuel’s men knew what was necessary and sat back to wait. It would only take a few days.

Mark closed the door behind him leaving the boss to make his call. Janey got up out of her chair and pleaded with him.

“Just one, Mark, I’m your wife for Gods sake.”

“Listen, bitch, the only reason we’re married is to protect your Stepfathers reputation so don’t push your luck!”


“Fuck off!”

The door slammed behind him.

Jane sat, shaking, getting up the courage to ask Steve. She walked across the floor, knocked quietly at the door, and stuck her head nervously into the room. Steve was sitting with his back to the door, concluding a phone call. He waved his hand to indicate the chair, leaving her to pad quietly across the room and take a seat. He hung up, turned, and slowly smiled as he saw her sitting there, waiting.

“Long time Jane”

“I know, Steve, and I know you told me never to come back, but Mark won’t talk to me, and I need someone to help me. You know I will do anything to get my fix…”

She blushed with the shame of what she had done before, but she knew that she would have to make a special effort if Steve were to get her what she needed. Putting on her sexiest look, she slowly unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse. When Steve told her to stop she almost panicked, but he reached into his desk drawer, pulled out a small packet of white powder and a business card.

“That’s to hold you over. Be at that address at 9.00pm tonight. Don’t be late, and tell no-one.”

“OK., and thanks.”


Gujana 1993

The heat and dust were getting to him. Bouncing around in the back of his Landrover, President Samuel Mwamba wondered to himself what the hell was he doing holding the meeting out at the farm instead of his air- conditioned office in Gujanga city. The farm was unique. Named “Perigord,” presumably to remind the previous owners, the Rochas, of home, it bore no similarity to its namesake. Apart from being the largest in Gujanga, it had two distinct halves.

One was typical African plain. Dry for most of the year, but lush and green through the two rainy seasons, it was ideal for traditional cattle rearing which formed the basis of the farms legitimate (and public) business. It was the other half, however, which was the reason for his interest. A sharp escarpment ran through the middle of the property leading to steep slopes of semi-tropical bush and forest, ideal not for traditional horticulture, but for the growing of Mwambas cash crop… the coca bush.

The GODS business plan required a supply of drugs. Traditional sources were sewn up by the cartels so a new source had to be developed from scratch. It was the misfortune of Eduardo Rochas, and his French-born wife Alexandra to own the farm. When Mwamba set his henchman, Major Ibo Ngoro on the job, he had no idea just how effective the abuse of power could be.

It was Ngoro who had accused Eduardo of treason, beat him, subjected his wife to sexual abuse of the worst kind, confiscated the farm and finally threatened them with death. Eduardo eventually was allowed to return to the farm as “Manager,” his organisational skills put to new use growing cocaine. His wife also returned to the farm, as housekeeper for the notional owner, Tembo, one of Ngoro’s secret service agents and trusted follower. It was Tembo who welcomed him as his Landrover slid to a halt.

“Welcome, Sir, the others are already in the study.”

“Thank you, Tembo. I will call you when we need your report.”

He strode purposefully across the well-appointed hallway and pushed open the study door. Three of the men inside stood to meet him. The fourth, Ngoro, remained seated, his shorts round his ankles whilst the head of a young woman bobbed furiously up and down servicing his giant cock.

Mwamba crossed the floor, a big smile on his face, and signalled the girl to leave.

“For Gods sake, Ibo, don’t you know there’s a time and place for everything?”

“I sure do, boss.” grinned an unrepentant Ngoro. “I just can’t find time for meetings…”



“Jesus Christ.” Judy Bergsson jumped to her feet and backed away from the splintered door. Four uniformed figures leapt through the door, automatic rifles at the ready.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing!” she screamed at the top of her voice.

A fifth figure, in plain clothes walked slowly across the room. Stopping in front of her he smiled a slow, scary smile. Before she saw it coming, he backhanded her across the room bouncing her against the wall. She slid to the floor in shock, her legs splayed, her nightie sliding up to reveal all to the intruders’ gaze. Scary smile raised his hand, and without a word being spoken, the uniformed policemen left, closing what was left of the door behind them.

“Where is she” he hissed, looking down his broken, stubby nose at the cowering girl below him.

“Who?” Judy asked innocently.

“Don’t get fucking clever with me, bitch. Your flatmate, Mathilde Steenburg, I’m told she fucks Blacks.”

“She’s not here.”

Scary Smile leaned down, gathered a handful of her nightdress and hauled her up the wall, leaving her dangling, feet off the floor, virtually naked.

“I didn’t ask if she was here, did I. I know she’s not here, I asked where she is.”

Judy hung there, terrified, unable to issue any more than a squeak. Scary smile lowered his face to hers. His free hand moved to cup her naked breast, and his knee pushed between hers, forcing her thighs apart. Judy’s hands let go of the wrist at her throat, and she began thrashing about, desperate to release his grip.

“Put your hands down.”

Judy couldn’t believe how evil he could sound. Instinctively her hands lowered to her side. His free hand tightened his grip on her breast until it was almost unbearable, drawing tears from her eyes. His grip released, but his hand set off on an inexorable journey toward the junction of her thighs.

“No. Please. I would tell you if I knew.”

His hand completed its journey, cupping her mound and insinuating its middle finger into the folds of her labia. Her inevitable struggle simply made things worse, helping him enter, and then tear at the walls of her cunt. Tears of frustration and anger rolled down her cheeks as, for a moment, she thought he would stop. She should be so lucky.

“No! NO! AAAAaaarrrggghh!”

Within seconds, his other leg joined the first, spreading hers still further. He had taken the opportunity to free his dick, and as she relaunched her struggle, Judy felt him push himself deep inside her. Fear ensured that her cuntwalls were as dry as sticks, and within seconds his thrusts began to cause irritation and pain.

“Where is the bitch? Where is the bitch? Where is she?”

“OOph! I don’t know. OOph! I would tell you if I knew. OOOph!”

The pain was unbearable. Her cunt was sore, the back of her hips rubbed raw by the rough wall, and the back of her head ached from the rhythmical banging induced by his thrusts.


The gush of his climax took both of them by surprise. He stepped back as he withdrew, dropping her unceremoniously onto the floor. Fastening his pants, he swivelled on his heels, and strode towards the door.

“Tell her! Cunts who shag blacks have nowhere to hide. I’ll be back!”


Airport Gujana   1994

Sam Roberts was beginning to get concerned. She had been sitting on the chair in the small reception room for nearly two hours and still had her cargo manifests on the table in front of her. The heat was oppressive, and her decision to wear Company uniform added nothing to her comfort.

She had removed her jacket as soon as she stepped in the room, but now, perspiration had created damp patches on her starched white blouse. She removed her tie, placed it in the pocket of her jacket, loosened the top three buttons of her blouse, and sighed with frustration.

The door opened quietly behind her, as two uniformed officers and two soldiers in fatigues came into the room. She stood up as the two soldiers stood either side of the door, The younger officer took her chair, twisted it around and sat on it backwards, his arms folded in front of him across the chair back.

The older officer sat on the chair opposite her and introduced himself as Captain Mpenza.

“Well, Samantha, you’ve been a naughty girl, I see.”

Sam looked at him in disbelief.

“My name is Captain Roberts, to you, and I would be obliged if you would refrain from patronising me.”

“I will call you whatever I like, Samantha,” he intoned, pompously stressing her name for effect. “You are in serious trouble, so you had better get used to it.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open in amazement then horror as he quietly informed her about the search of her cargo, the discovery of AK47s, Dickens’ confession that they were destined for the rebels, and his assertion that Sam was a major player.

“So you see, young lady, we have a cast iron case, which has already been heard in our local court, and you have been sentenced to death.”

Sam stared at him, her mind working overtime as the full implications of his words began to sink in.

“You can’t do that, I’m a British Citizen, and demand to see my Ambassador.”

“I’m afraid that will not be possible,” he answered evenly. “This is only a small country, you have only a small Trade delegation who have already decided not to take an interest in your case – It is too politically and economically sensitive.”

Sam was panicking now. As she stepped forward to protest her innocence she found her arms pinned to her side by the two soldiers. She needed to think, get some time.

“I must have the right to appeal,” she muttered, almost under her breath.

“Only the President himself can overturn this decision, and I certainly am not going to ask him in this case.”

To her left, the tall figure of the younger officer stepped in front of her. Despite his age, he was clearly the senior of the two, and, towering over her, he raised his hand and cupped her chin, drawing her eyes to his.

“I might,” he said.


England 1993

Jane sat slumped in a corner. The address Steve had given her proved to be an almost abandoned block of flats in the seedier part of town. The damned elevator was out of commission, its broken door jammed half open, stinking of urine and worse. She took the stairs. In her condition, the climb was a trial. Her last fix had worn off, she felt dreadful, her temperature high, her joints aching, she was desperate for a fix. Now that she had reached the flat, she rang the doorbell. No Reply.

Panic struck. Wildly she pushed at the door, which opened under her assault. A frantic search of the place revealed nothing but an empty slum. The place stank. A mouldy carpet and cold gasfire were the only furnishings in the larger room, and apart from a cooker and a couple of cupboards the kitchen was in just as bad a state. The effort was all too much. Tears of despair ran down her face as she slumped against the wall.

She didn’t hear the man enter the flat, closing the door behind him.

“Hello, Jane,” he said softly.

“Clyde? What do you want, get lost, I never want to see you again.”

Clyde smiled.

“I’m not surprised after what you did to the Great Dane last time we met, but Steve sent me with this.”

Jane looked across at the package he was holding in his hand. There was more H than she had ever seen.

“Great, give it here. I knew Steve wouldn’t let me down.”

Clyde smiled again.

“Not so fast, bitch,” his tone harder now that he had her attention. “It needs to be paid for.”

Janey knew it couldn’t be that simple. These bastards never let you alone. She smiled as sexy a smile as she could muster.

“I don’t have any money, can we do a deal?”

“Same old Janey, eh? What have you got to offer, as if I couldn’t guess?”

“Please, Clyde, don’t make me do it, I need the stuff.”

“Shut the fuck up, bitch, and get on you knees. If I remember well, you love it that way.”

Jane moved away from the wall, and lowered herself to her knees.

“Turn around. Pull your skirt up. Knickers to your knees. Face on the floor.”

Jane waited, face down on the stinking carpet.

Clyde pulled a hypodermic from the package he was carrying, took off the cap and inserted it into Jane’s buttock. Taken completely by surprise, Jane squealed as he depressed the plunger. Her hands reached instinctively behind her to protect herself, but it was to no avail. A simple push with the sole of his boot, and she slumped in a heap face down on the carpet.

Casually Clyde pulled up her knickers, lowered her dress, and rolled her over onto her back. Leaving her to sleep, he walked across into the kitchen, switched on the gas and returned. Taking a telephone from his bag, he plugged it into the wall socket and left, closing the door behind him.

The blast, when it came, took out more than half the twelve storey block. Clyde was not around to watch it.



The insistent ringing of the doorbell echoed through the house. John Wyatt left his guest and padded across the wooden floor.

“Good God, Mathilde, you’re shaking. What brings you here at this time of night?”

It was a good quarter of an hour before they could get any sense out of the distraught girl.

“My flatmate… the police raped her… they were looking for me… They know about Patrick… they said they would come for me… I don’t know what to do.”

She was sitting in his study. As she poured out her story, Professor Wyatt listened intently. His guest, a tall, handsome black man dressed in a dark suit also hung on every word as Mathilde described her finding Judy slumped on the floor of their flat covered in blood and semen.

“Why are you worried girl?”

The soft dark tones of his voice startled her, surely he knew that she had broken the law by sleeping with a black man.

“They will arrest me, treat me like Judy, but they will also ruin my career. I will never be able to get a job, and they won’t let me leave the country.”

“Tell me what you do, child.”

“I’m not a child. I have a PhD in Chemistry, and I need a research grant to continue working. Jobs are not easily come by.”

“What’s your specialty?”

“Chemical Synthesis.”

“Then why not come and work for me?”

Mathilde looked at him as though he was crackers.

“What would you want with a chemist, and how could you protect me from the police?”

“General Mwamba is not South African, Mathilde. He is President of the Independent republic of Gujanga.”

“That’s right young lady, and I’m here to ask Professor Wyatt for help in finding a production manager for a small pharmaceuticals venture we intent to start-up. He had just suggested your name when you turned up. Perhaps the gods are smiling on me. I can offer a good salary, excellent prospects, your own workforce, and, most importantly, sanctuary.”

Mathilde stared at him, unable to comprehend her good luck, as he continued.

“I’m leaving for my home at first light in the morning. Smuggling you across the border as diplomatic baggage will be no problem, but I suggest you stay here the night if you intend to join me.”

“I will,” spluttered Mathilde, taking the opportunity before she thought too much about it. Memories of poor Judy flashed through her head, taking away any need for further thought. “I will.”

Wyatt’s maid appeared as if by magic as the discussion ended.

“Ah, there you are Joceline, please see Doctor Steenburg to the spare room. Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “see if you can find her some appropriate clothes for a week or so in the bush. That should do don’t you think.”

As Mathilde vanished up the stairs, Wyatt raised his glass to Mwamba.

“Perhaps we should drink a toast to the gods?”

“Don’t forget that the Gods had a little help, professor. Here’s to our friend Inspector Walwijk.”

“I second that,” whispered a voice, as their friend, Scary Smile, joined them in a toast.


Gujana Airport 1993

Samantha Roberts was not a stupid woman. She stared up into the deep brown eyes of the officer. Her mind was whirring, control had returned, options were being considered. It was pretty clear what he wanted, and it was equally certain that he would ignore her wishes in the matter. She knew the real threat was violence. That frightened her enough to make her mind up to co- operate. Putting on her most innocent expression she explained that she had nothing but the deepest respect for the Gujangan authorities, and pleaded with him to intercede with the President on her behalf.

“I might, but that depends on you.”

“What do you want from me?” she murmured, “I’ve told you the truth.”

“I will need much more than that.”

“Please, send the others away, and I will fully cooperate.”

He smiled at her, bent his head and whispered in her ear. “They are staying! and you are going to show your respect, starting with Mpenza here.” He grabbed a handful of her hair, and, none too gently pulled her around the side of the table and stood her in front of the older officer. “Why don’t you show him how much you want to leave.”

Insistent pressure on her shoulders was enough to push her to her knees in front of him. Nothing more needed to be said. Sam was angry more than shocked. She tried desperately to hide the thoughts whirling round her head.

Two things were certain, she decided. The first was that this had nothing to do with sex. Sex was only being used as a weapon to make her more amenable to something else. The second was that she had better resign herself to the task in hand. If she resisted, she would be seriously hurt. She had no doubt that violence was a normal part of life with these people. She had to buy time, see what they were after.

Leaning forward, she loosened Mpenzas trousers. He raised himself slightly off the seat and allowed her to pull them down his legs. They dropped to the floor, revealing a short, stubby penis already glistening with precum. Sam had done this before, but never in this sort of situation. Tentatively she opened her mouth, dipped her head, and licked the end of his diminutive dick. A quick upward glance at the young officer told her she was doing the right thing, but then, she thought to herself, that was bloody obvious.

Slowly, she sucked him in, effortlessly, and ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth. The effect on Mpenza was immediate. His breathing quickened, he began to shake and within seconds, shot his load of watery sperm into her mouth. She began to move her head backwards, off the thrusting organ, but a hand pushed it forward, forcing her to either swallow, or choke. She swallowed.

Still on her knees, she was pulled by the hair until she faced the two soldiers at the door. The briefest of nods was enough for the first of them to position himself in front of her, his erection pushing at the front of his uniform, demanding relief. She almost forgot her predicament and had to suppress a wry smile as his tool sprang from his loosened trousers.

This was a much bigger task altogether. Eight inches of black manhood hovered in front of her face. If it had been clean, she shuddered, this could be a pleasure, but the rank smell of him made her retch. The officer holding her noticed her reaction and acted swiftly. One hand twisted a handful of hair, causing her to yelp with pain, the other grabbed her nose, forcing her to open her mouth to breathe. As she did so, he pulled her onto the soldier’s dick.

This time, the soldier’s reaction was more measured. Disinclined to indulge in foreplay, Sam grabbed his arse and set her head rocking, backwards and forwards, rhythmically, in time to the thrusts of his hips. It seemed like a lifetime before she sensed the familiar tightening of his buttocks, the low animal groan, and the ejaculation splashing into the back of her throat. She swallowed again.


Aribundi 1993

Ngoro sat back in his chair. It was good to get back to his air-conditioned office after the baking heat of the Airport. The relatively large grey and glass building stood incongruously amongst the harbourside chic of downtown Aribundi, capital of the republic of Gujanga. Most of the buildings in the city were the same as any other African Capital, huge steel and glass monuments to the Capitalist bastards who held the countries to ransom by lending money they know is never going to be repaid.

Around the harbour, however, beside the original fisherman’s cottages which still stood along the water’s edge, the buildings were of an altogether different quality. The Presidential palace, Chancellory, and several other Government buildings, splendid examples of French colonial majesty, had been left behind by their erstwhile conquerors as permanent reminders of past glories.

Ngoro occupied the top floor of a long low building which contained the most feared members of Gujanga’s ruling class, the secret service, and police force. Even the Army, of which Ngoro was also a member, left them alone to get on with anything they felt they needed to do. He loved this view, watching the eclectic mix of fishing boats, expensive yachts, powerboats, and a single massive cruise liner keeping the economy of Gujanga ticking over. Mwamba could keep his palace, this was enough for him…

A purposeful knock at the door startled him out of his reverie.

“It’s time sir, you’re guests have arrived.”

“Thank you, Jacob. Meeting room? or Suite?”

“I’ve put them in the suite, sir.”


There were four of them, three men and, surprisingly a girl. Paul Hegarty, MD of GODS, Raschid Al-Benarbia, CFO and two others who he hadn’t met.

“Hi Paul!” he gushed. “It’s really great to see you again. And Raschid! a real pleasure, it’s been a long time.”

“Too long, my friend,” beamed Rashid.

“Where’s Steve? As head of Marketing I expected to see him here as well.

It was Paul who responded.

“Steve couldn’t come, he had some urgent business to attend to, but I would like you to meet a couple of people from his organisation. Mark Harrison, Safety officer (he chuckled to himself at the stupidity of the Enforcer’s title) and Sonja Jenkins, Business Development Manager.”

“Welcome, to both of you.” Although he said both, his eyes never left those of the stunning young woman in a white short dress, who returned his stare with such frankness that for a moment it was he who felt nervous. Unbelievable, but true.

“So!” he said, braking the tension. “Let’s get down to business.

Over the next hour or so, the four of them reviewed progress. It was clear that things were going better than Paul had hoped. Ngoro gave a lucid account of developments at Perigord. The first harvest of coca leaves had been brought in successfully. Growing conditions did indeed prove to be perfect. Tembo had, through a mixture of fear and finance created a small dedicated (for Africa) workforce to run the farm and both the Rochas’ had adapted to their new roles with much less resistance than expected.

“I’m a bit concerned on the money front,” confessed Raschid. I don’t seem to be seeing all the bills. We’ve only spent half our budget and I don’t want the Emir to get stung by huge year-end bills. On the other hand, there seem to be a number of invoices which I don’t connect with our business. Bottles, labels, contract packaging and stuff like that.”

Ngoro laughed out loud.

“That’s Mathilde, our Chief scientist. We got her from South Africa, as you know. She has been amazing.”


“She’s motivated. She loves young black men.”

Sonja chuckled. “Don’t we all?”

“Anyway,” continued Ngoro, “She was much better than we thought. She put together designs not only for the cocaine plant, but also for a specialist pharmaceutical operation using the same processing intermediates. If anyone gets suspicious, we have a dummy company, and a warehouse full of legal drugs to explain our purchases. That’s where the extra invoices came from. By the way, we learned that trick from the Iraqis. She also built the Coke plant at less than half our budget. Now she spends all her time either processing coke or fucking native houseboys. She’s in paradise.”

“Excellent. Does that answer all your questions Raschid?”


“Then I suspect we’ve finished.”

“Not quite!”

It was Mark who spoke.

“I’m still not happy with the thought of using Mules to get the coke into Europe. It only needs one of these people to land at the same time as flights from Columbia, Asia minor, or even Amsterdam, and they risk being caught. I’m not bothered about losing the odd load, but I don’t want the link with Gujanga to become obvious. I would prefer an alternative.”

“I agree,” nodded Ngoro, “but I have a solution for you. You know the pilot you used for my Arms delivery? well she turned out to be more than the bimbo we expected. The plan was to enjoy her, fuck her silly, and export her to the Emir until he got tired of her.”

“Anyway, I used her to reward old Mpenza and she gave him such a great blowjob that she nearly blew his brains out. Then she gave me a lecture about wasting her talent. She said any woman can be trained to be a great fuck, but not many of them can fly planes. Why not put her to better use. I have to say I agreed, so I locked her up, until we can decide what to do with her.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“I think we should use her to fly our Coke to Europe.” We can put the coke on the inside of pallets of coffee.”

“What the fuck to want to become a coffee trader for?”

“Gujangan coffee is amongst the best on the planet. It’s a legitimate export, The pilot needn’t be told… oh, and it masks the smell of coke from sniffer dogs.”

Ngoro paused for thought whilst his audience recognised the opportunity.

“Sounds like a much better plan to me.” Mark confirmed.

“Right then, let’s do it. If that’s all, I guess that’s the end of our meeting.”

“I know you have a couple of hours before your flight home, so I have arranged a little entertainment for you.” said Ngoro. “It’s a little sexist, so perhaps Sonja would like to go shopping for a while?”

“Not likely! I’m a fully paid up member of this organisation. What’s good for the goose is good for the Gander,”

“OK, please yourself. But please don’t get upset with me if you don’t like what you see.”


Gujanga 1993

Samantha Roberts was free but very suspicious. She had been released in the strangest way. Dickens had re- appeared, surprisingly sober, waving a sheaf of papers in his hand.

“I don’t know how you did it, but we are going home. We have a shipment of coffee to deliver.”

Sam looked at him askance. She had been right, it was not just about sex, but why the hell would anyone pay that amount to ship coffee? Especially since she had already been paid to deliver the guns. One last look in the mirror confirmed that she was almost back to her old self. Blouse fastened to the neck, small black tie back on, jacket fastened, hair combed, almost presentable.

She set off across the tarmac to where Dickens was supervising the loading of the final pallet. As she approached she slipped on a couple of beans on the floor. Still suspicious, she stepped on one hard, crushed it beneath her heel, bent down and sniffed it. Coffee! and bloody good coffee at that. Was she being too suspicious? She didn’t know.

What she did know was that she wished Dickens were somewhere else, and she knew she wanted to get off the ground as quickly as she could. Ten minutes later, as the plane lifted into the sky, she sat back in her seat and sighed with relief. All she had to do now was set a course and wait for Dickens to fall over drunk.

As if on cue, Dickens got up out of his seat, mumbled something about the boy’s room and headed for the back of the plane. An hour later, he had still not returned, so Sam, needing the toilet herself set the autopilot and headed back down the aisle. There was no sign of Dickens as she closed the loo door behind her. Having completed her ablutions, she left, closing the door behind her.

A hand reached across her shoulder and pinned her against the door, squashing her face sideways against the cold laminate.

“Give us a kiss sweetie,” hissed Dickens in her ear. “Or you could give me what you offered the locals to get us the contract.”

“Piss off you cheap piece of shit” squeaked Sam, struggling to form the words.

His elbow increased the pressure on the back of her neck, squashing her face further, while his other hand slid round her waist and grabbed her breast. Suddenly, just as Sam was beginning to be thankful for the fact she was wearing trousers, he let go. His hand shot up and grabbed her by the hair, and she was hauled unceremoniously backwards and dumped on her back in the middle of the aisle. Dickens lurched drunkenly and sat himself down astride her, his crotch just under her chin.

“Cheap am I, Cheap am I,” he repeated, “With my share of this cargo I could buy and sell you any time I liked.”

“You wish! you won’t get much from this lot, the coffee price is falling.”

“Stupid Bitch. What do you know. There’s enough coke on this plane for it to fly back without an engine.”

Sam Looked at him. Stunned! So that was what the deal had all been about. Dickens carried on as though nothing had happened. He was too drunk to understand the importance of what he had said.

“Come on, Chicken!” he slurred, struggling to free his dick. “Get your laughing gear round this.”

As he spoke, he started to struggle to lower his zip, but in his drunken state, and with his ungainly position perched on top of a struggling Samantha, all he succeeded in doing was to fall forward, his stomach covering her face. As he struggled to recover, Sam took her chance. She grabbed the only thing she could reach, a small metal tool case, and brought it to bear on Dickens head. He went down poleaxed. Gasping for breath beneath his stomach, his belt buckle pressing painfully against her chin, Sam slowly struggled free, and stood up. Dickens was lying face down unmoving. She stooped and felt his wrist.

“Shit,” she thought to herself. “No pulse.”

Slowly she made her way back to her seat to think.


Gujanga 1994

Jacob led in the girl. She was late teens, mixed race or Indian descent, Sonja guessed. Her lovely coffee coloured face was streaked with tears, her hands secured firmly behind her back by what looked like a Velcro cable tie. She wore a simple, button through shift dress which cane to just below the knee, and apparently nothing else. Mark looked sideways at Sonja, unsure of how to proceed in the presence of a young woman participant so Sonja decided to take the initiative. She loved the fearful look in the girl’s eyes as she walked around her, inspecting her. Ngoro was fascinated.

“Like her? Sonja?”

“She’s lovely. What’s she done?”

“She was caught thieving.”

“Did she take much?”

“Not really.”

“Not worth the death penalty then?”

The girl’s mouth opened in shock, wanting to say something but unable to form the words. Sonja slapped her across the face.

“I didn’t say you could speak!”

The girl hung her head and sobbed silently to herself. Sonja slowly, ever so slowly, unbuttoned the front of her dress down to her waist. The girl stood still, like a frightened rabbit in a car’s headlights. Sonja’s hands moved back to the girl’s throat. The men stood together in a small group, each of them sporting painful erections as the erotic display continued. She parted the dress and slipped it off each shoulder, baring the flesh of her breasts, but leaving the nipples covered.

“Do you want to go home to your husband?” asked Sonja gently, noticing the brand new wedding ring on her finger.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

“I said do you want to go home to your husband?” Less gently this time, and said as Sonja walked around the girl making her turn her head to follow her. The movement of her head pulled her dress, uncovering one nipple, and raising the men’s temperature by another couple of degrees. All three of them were beginning to enjoy Sonja’s act. They knew what the finale might be. Sonja was now standing facing the men over the girls shoulder.

“My friends won’t let you.” she whispered. “Do you think we could persuade them?” As she spoke, she lowered the dress the rest of the way down the girl’s arms, slowly revealing her beautiful breasts in all their glory. The girl looked back at her as best she could, unsure what she was getting at.

“I don’t know.”

Sonja’s hands slid round her waist, and moved slowly upward to first stroke, then cup her breasts, slowly massaging them with small circular motions. The effect on the men, unsurprisingly, was obvious. Less obvious was the effect on the girl herself. Sonja smiled in quiet victory as she felt her nipples stiffen under her ministrations. She removed her hands, and gripped each nipple between finger and thumb. Squeezing gentle, she rolled them this way and that. The girls breathing became shallower.

“What should we do for them? Should we kiss? Should we fuck? Or should you fuck them?”

“I-I don’t know,” muttered the girl, growing more agitated by the minute.

Sonja pulled the tie off her wrist and turned the girl around to face her. She returned to the task of unbuttoning the dress until it was free to drop, but Sonja held it in place. She moved her face forward and placed a gentle kiss on the lips of the now acquiescent girl. Very slowly she extended her tongue and gently forced open her lips. At the same time she slowly lowered the dress, revealing a most wonderful arse to the attentive audience.

By now, Ngoro was getting seriously frustrated and had extracted his dick from its covering. It stood out fully erect as his hand masturbated it slowly. Sonja stepped backwards until her own backside was resting against the edge of the table. Letting go of the girl, she raised her own dress, and leaned backwards exposing her naked cunt to the girl. She pushed the girl on the top of her head, onto her knees. Unbidden, the young woman slipped her face between Sonja’s thighs and began to lick long strokes up the length of her quim.

This was all too much for Ngoro. As far as he was concerned his time had come. Despite the charms of the girl, Sonja was much more to his liking, so he ignored the naked arse bobbing up and down in front of him, and presented his dick to Sonja’s mouth. She gazed up at him with a look of frank admiration at the size of his dick, and parted her lips.

He wiped the end of his tool along her bottom lip, and slowly pushed it into her mouth, forcing it wider as he did so. Sonja arched her back slightly as the tongue on her labia found her centre, sending a series of tingles up and down her spine. Her head went back as Ngoro pushed again, and this time Sonja accommodated the whole width and most of his ten inch length. Mark approached the young girl. Pulling her head out of Sonja’s crotch he asked her name.

“People call me Gem,” she whispered, her head bowed in supplication.

Mark didn’t bother replying. He simply shrugged off his pants and slid into her from behind.

“No, No, please, don’t…”

Mark had absolutely no intention of doing anything but fuck her, and her constant sobbing was beginning to get to him. Another loud sob spurred him into action. He leaned over her back so she felt his presence beside her face.

” If you sob again, I’ll give you something to sob about. Understand?”

She stifled the next one immediately and bit her lip furiously as Mark began to pound into her cunt for all he was worth. Over Gem’s head, he saw Ngoro rearrange Sonja on the table. She now lay face down, Ngoro’s todger sliding in and out for all it was worth. Sonja had her eyes closed, and her gasps slowly grew from almost mute to long, drawn-out wails as her climax built.

The rhythm was contagious. Mark found himself fucking Gee at the same pace as Ngoro. As Ngoros climax built, so did Marks. Gem found herself coming to the boil despite herself. Her cry of surprise when the dam burst caused Mark, in turn, to climax. He gave one final push, and remained buried to the hilt as Gem lay gasping beneath him.

Whatever Gem thought about her ordeal being over, she was wrong. Paul’s instruction to “Get over here, Girl” was soft and quiet, but brooked no argument. Still on her knees, she crawled across the short expanse of floor, her head bowed, waiting for the inevitable.

“I think,” mused Paul,” I shall use your arse. Turn round.”

“NO!>”The girl went pale. No-one, not even her husband had used her there, and she was not simply going to let these bastards do it to her here. She stood up and made a bolt for the door. Unfortunately she got no further. Twisting the handle this way and that, panic set in. She looked around like the cornered animal she was, searching for any way of avoiding her anal rape. Raschid was the first to reach her. Grabbing her hair, he pulled her down to her knees, and slapped her, right, left back-hand, right. Her head rocked backwards and forwards, the whiplash effect on her neck making her cry out in pain.

Raschid dragged her, now with Mark’s help, across in front of Paul.

“I’ve got a better idea.” he muttered, “it’s tea time, I’m ready for a sandwich.”

With that, he sat down on the sofa and pulled the hapless girl up onto his lap. Mark realised what Raschid had in mind and helped him lift the struggling girl onto Raschids rampant dick. She screamed and struggled, but eventually his organ achieved full penetration, and she was left wriggling like a stuck pig. Raschid wasted no time, rocking her backwards and forwards on his pole, until he began to create a response from the girl. Just as he was getting into the swing of things, Paul got into the act.

“Hold her still for god’s sake! I never was any good at hitting a moving target.”

Raschid chuckled and wrapped his arm around the wriggling girl, locking her tight against his chest. Meanwhile, Paul advanced his erect prick and eased the end of it up against the girl’s little puckered arsehole.

Her cries became pleas. Tears ran uncontrollably down her cheeks as she tried to prevent his attack. Unfortunately for her, the same wriggling that was designed to fend him off, simply helped the end of his tool worm it’s way into her nether orifice. Paul, sensing just the right moment, gave a sharp push. Her sphinctre gave way, and with a cry of triumph “Yes!” he was in.

The effect on the girl was just as momentous, but from an entirely different perspective.

“NNOOooooohh! OOophh!” The pain flooded through her arse, and exploded up her spine. She clung to Raschid in a desperate attempt to cope, and cried loudly against his chest. As the pain began to subside, she felt Paul begin to move. With each thrust, she experienced the same stabbing pain, but with each thrust it seemed to diminish. She had never experienced anything like this. Her whole lower body seemed to be crammed full of dick. The nearest she had felt to this was trying to expel a particularly recalcitrant turd, but even that failed to describe what was going on in her cunt.

As Paul began his thrusting motion, Raschid began to do likewise. The friction across her perinaeum began to replace the pain she felt with small pleasurable twitches that slowly built until she wanted to do nothing more than feel the two of them pistonong in and out. Raschid adjusted his position so that he increased the amount of contact between his dick and her clitoris, and at the same time Paul increased his stroke, making huge sweeping thrusts up what seemed to be the entire length of her body cavity. Meanwhile Ngoro, having finished with Sonja, watched the slow change overtaking the sandwiched girl.

Gee, her eyes closed in what had now become pure pleasure, began to pant in time to the thrusting invaders. Suddenly she became aware of another taking interest in her body. Ngoro knelt to one side, offering up his immense dick to her mouth. Without thinking, Gee opened her mouth and slipped it around the end of his tool. Gently at first, he began also to thrust in and out, fucking deep into her throat until he matched the rhythm of the other two.

Gee was powerless, fully absorbed in the wonderful sensations her rapists were creating. As her excitement built, she could no longer keep control and abandoned herself to the first of what proved to be several orgasms. Wave after wave of exstacy sparkled around her body. Ngoro withdrew, and began to spray semen around her face and neck.

In truth it was a good job he did because the next orgasm ripped through her, causing her to clamp her teeth shut so hard she bit her own lip, drawing blood. Wave after wave, she found herself jerking spastically as she lost all control. Raschid and Paul, both came together, pouring their jism into her willing body, and, as things subsided, grinned at each other in their pleasure.


Birmingham Enland 1993

Steve Washington was a worried man. The whole plan appeared to be going south. He knew that the plane had left with all the cargo on board, but from there, nothing. Mark’s intention to meet the plane at the airport had been thwarted by an emergency landing his BA flight had to make en-route to Heathrow. When his men visited Roberts Air Cargo they found the place locked up, a cargo of coffee in the hanger, and fuck all else. Samantha Roberts and the cocaine had disappeared, and Dickens hadn’t been heard of since boarding the flight.

He was on the point of phoning Sir Gerald when there was a brisk knock at the office door. He glanced across to the bank of CCTV monitors and found himself looking at a very determined Samantha Roberts.

“Come in!”

She strode through the door and plonked herself in the chair in front of his desk. She was wearing her Captains uniform, but with a pencil skirt which rode to the top of her thighs as she sat down. She followed his gaze to the hem of her skirt.

“Don’t even think about it, you bastard. You know why I am here, and it doesn’t include that!”

“I’m sure you’re right miss Roberts, but I believe you have something of mine.”

“I certainly do, but first we have some things to discuss.”

“OK. Why don’t you tell me what you want.”

“First, I want to join your organisation.”

Steve was gobsmacked. This was not what he was expecting. “So why should we be interested?”

“First, I have your cocaine, second I have left papers with my solicitor which implicates all of you if something untoward should happen to me, and thirdly…”


“You need a regular way of shipping cocaine, and I have a business to run.”

“OK, tell me where my cargo is, and I will let you know.”

“Come on Mr. Washington, we both know that’s not good enough. Call your principals now. Let’s establish a working relationship and then all things become possible. I will be on the call.”

Steve picked up the phone, dialled Mwamba, waking him in the process, and conferenced in Paul and Sir Gerald. After their initial shock, Samantha outlined the deal. She wanted no more than a regular contract with bonuses at their discretion. She was very reasonable, and it was a matter of minutes before the partners agreed. The call ended and Samantha turned to leave.

“Just a minute! Where is the coke?”

“Where’s my money?”

Steve crossed to a cabinet by the wall. “It’s right here,” he said, extracting a large envelope and giving it to her.

Samantha took it without stopping to check it. She could always come back if it was wrong. She handed Steve a card.

“Your coke is at this warehouse. It’s labelled as Bicarbonate of Soda, but I wouldn’t recommend baking with it.”

Steve laughed as she turned to go.

“Oh, by the way, where is Dickens?”

“He went for a swim – 200 miles off the Liberian coast. Why? will you need him?”

“Not any more… partner.”


It was late when the doorbell went.

Sam glanced at her watch, and considered ignoring it. She decided not to, and opened the door.

Steve Washington stood there, a big grin on his face, a bottle of champagne in one hand, and a small leather briefcase in the other. She waved him in.

“We have one last round of business to conclude. For you – Dicken’s share as a bonus – £20,000. For me? I fancy sampling some of the skills you showed Ngoro in Gujanga. What do you say?”

“I say you shouldn’t listen to big boy’s bravado.” She loosened the belt of her robe, “I may not be half as good as they say… Partner.”

the end