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An African Seduction Ch. 01

By: author on Africa



The following story is entirely fictional despite its close resemblance to certain events. It is a reflection on the experiences of many white expatriates and their families working in Africa and the Middle East.

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Igwe held the tearful woman close in his arms. To be frank he cared little for her tears, or her fears and trauma's that had led to them. He did, however, appreciate the full warm curves of her body as he held her close.

With one hand around her waist he held her close, while his other gently stroked her short dark hair, comforting her. At six foot six inches he towered over the latest white woman to join his philosophy circle.

His decision to form a philosophy circle had been a stroke of genius in his campaign to seduce the relatively few attractive white women in Zimbabwe. Those disaffected with their life and looking for relief from the boredom of endless poolside sunbathing had been happy to join his circle. Their husbands were happy to be left to drink beer in one of the many hotel bars rather than join their wives discussing philosophy.

Many had subsequently learned the folly of their negligence when their loving 'faithful' white wives gave birth to a bouncy, screeching, black baby.

Angel sobbed in his strong arms, only to glad to find a man who understood her. Igwe was careful that his burgeoning erection did not disillusion her.

His hand rose slowly to gently stroke her back. Her natural reaction was to move closer to him and her full firm breasts pushed against him.

At 36 years old, and with two children, Angel was lucky to have full firm mounds that did not sag. Igwe appreciated his luck in having those mounds pressed firmly to him. He had no doubts how this evening was going to end.

His time in America studying psychology had served him well. Here in Africa he had no qualms about using the knowledge gained to twist and manipulate the minds of white couples. Enhancing their concerns, preying on their fears, offering them security, pampering them, while at the same time scaring them at the same time. Preparing them to accept the need to please him. These white couples were unnaturally afraid of the teeming black masses of Africa. They were often only too happy to accept a luxurious lifestyle, and often willing to take part in sexual adventures, if that is what it took to be part of the in-crowd. 

Personally he preferred those not willing to be seduced. It was much more fun bedding them!

"My husband just doesn't understand me!" Angel sobbed. 

Igwe grinned as he stroked her hair and looked down at the pretty tear stained face buried on his chest.

Stupid woman!

Why should her husband try and understand her? He was a man! It was a woman's role to serve and please her husband. African women knew their place, but these confused western women had lost touch with their role pleasing men. 

'If only I could talk to him like I can talk to you!" Angel sought to gather her senses, suddenly aware that her nipples had unaccountable become erect as she pressed against this charming, educated, and sophisticated black man.

Igwe's nostrils flared as he took in the sweet freshness of the white woman in his arms. Washed, scented, and clean. So typical of these well brought up English women that married skilled and educated professionals. Yet so lacking in the basic understanding or relationships. She was well presented in her stylish western style dress. He would love breaking her in. Teaching this woman her true role in life. He dismissed her husband's acceptance and tolerance of her strange concepts of 'modern womanhood.' He regarded it as evidence of her husband's weak will, and the failure of his masculinity. 

"I understand," he murmured into her soft dark hair. His hand rose from her back to gently stroke the softness of her slim white neck. Angel was relieved not to be held quite so tight, though his strong masculine presence was comforting. His fingers on her neck were soothing, calming, mesmerising as they drew soft circles on her neck. If only her husband would stroke her like this!

The sudden intrusive thought of her husband disturbed her. She was acutely aware of the stiffness of her nipples as they strained against the material of her soft lacy brassiere. She had found herself dressing differently since joining Igwe's circle. There were no men in this circle, and all the other women seemed to take such extra-ordinary care in their appearance. Angel had found herself wearing lingerie she rarely wore for her husband any more.

She did not want to seem rude to Igwe, and his strong hands, while gently stroking, belied the power of this man. They had a power over her that she sought to suppress, even as tingles shivered the soft skin of her neck.

He urged her to sit on his sofa and offered her a Turkish Apple tea. She gratefully accepted and sat demurely while he prepared the drink. She did not notice as he lightly sprinkled crushed mbanje into the drink. He was confident she would not consider the presence of the crushed herb unusual.

She had been married to her doting husband Mark for 18 years. She was a faithful wife, and loving mother to their two teenage daughters. A devout catholic, and regular churchgoer, her current unexpected and unwanted arousal disturbed her. The tea would be calming, help her regain her distance, and reserve. 

"He won't let me drive the car since the accidents," Angel complained.

Igwe stifled a laugh as he prepared the drink. Glad she could not see his face. Of course, her husband had banned her from driving! It was the one sensible thing Mark had done.

"Hmm, well you have had three crashes in the last month." 

He turned back to a fidgeting Angel, and noted her nibbling her lip. He would bruise those soft lips with passion tonight. Angel ignored his words.

"He has undermined my status in the eyes of my friends," Angel went on. 

In doing so he had probably saved your life Igwe thought, but he let it pass.

'Disgraceful, he should take more care of your position!" He responded instead.

Angel looked up at him grateful for his support, as he sat close beside her on the sofa. She edged closer. She found tears edging to the surface again, and cursed her edginess and nervousness in front of this sophisticated African. He was so different to most of the poor Africans teeming through the streets.

Without warning tears coursed down her cheeks, Igwe leaned over and pulled her close. He understood that she was still recovering from a minor breakdown. That she was weak and vulnerable. Her husband should have been here, but he wasn't and Igwe intended to take full advantage.

His black hand rose and lightly stroked Angel's soft white arms. He cradled her into his shoulder. His hand rose to cup the soft curve of her cheek. His finger lightly stroked aside the salty tears. Angel snuggled closer, unresisting as his hand lifted her face.

He was not a handsome man, though he was unmistakeably a powerful, dominant male. At 45 years old he was nine years older than her, but the years seemed meaningless. His dark, craggy looks, his Saville Row suites, and casual confidence all combined to make her feel secure in his presence.

"Oh," she gasped. 

His lips had descended and were kissing away her tears. She smiled at this touch. His hand on her cheek held her head firmly in place, as lips lightly caressed her eyes. She closed her own, and lay still as his lips closed over her eyes.

Her heart leapt. This should not be happening. Her eyes flitted open, as he kissed her forehead, then dropped to her nose, and she laughed. He grinned at her. 

Then his lips dipped and met hers.

Her heart rate soared as this masterful man softly kissed her lips. She sought to pull away, but there was no heart in her effort, and his hand effortlessly held her head in place, as the kiss became more demanding.

Angel melted into the kiss, her sweet lips responding. It had been 18 years since she had kissed another man than Mark, but now her lips were seeking out his hungrily.

Igwe savoured the soft lips of the English woman. He kissed, now lightly, now passionately; alternating in his pattern, savouring the lips, he held her close. Then his tongue slipped out and licked along the line of those delightfully parted lips.

"Oh....please," Angel sought to push him away and recover her senses. It was like pushing against solid rock. For a 45-year-old businessman he seemed remarkably strong. She had since the family's arrival in Zimbabwe become to understand the remarkable strength of African men. Most went from years doing hard farm work, to the relentless and furious energy of the burgeoning factories.

More than once that quick grope in a hotel bar, or between the tight close aisles of a shop, had developed into something more. With one hand holding her firm and still, while a second explored, or a friend's hand explored. At first she had been shocked and horrified. She had screamed. But this was Harare, not a quite English bookstore. She had quickly learned that her screams simply attracted more African men. Like hyena's scenting a kill they would swarm around hoping for an opportunity to sample her charms. Not that the Africans ever seemed threatening, even when she struggled and sought to push them away. Always they would have that happy grin as their hands rose under her skirt, or fondled a breast, or bottom! The bare faced cheek and sexual aggression of these men was something she had never had to cope with in England!

Once, early after they arrived, she had taken her daughters shopping. When an African tried to push her into the changing booth she had screamed her help. Male African heads had popped around corners, and over and through shelves to see the fun. Men had rushed to the vicinity, but instead of coming to her aid, Laura and Tammy had been seized, fondled, and stroked. Her two bemused, confused daughters held while grinning Africans touched and fondled them. She was convinced that only the unusual interference of the shop's security guard had saved them all from a mass gang rape.

Grateful as she was she had refused his demand that she give him her address. "For the report," he had said. Even while shaken and her emotions ruffled she had retained the sense not to give this African man her address. He may be her saviour this time, but knowing the address of a pretty white woman, and her two grown and pretty daughters, may have been too much temptation. Even if he only sold the information to more bold criminally minded Africans.

She was not so naive not to realise that there was a real 'market' in Africa for attractive white women. 

Now as she sought to push Igwe away, she was reminded just how strong he was. While one part of her told her to be sensible and remember her husband. Another stronger, suppressed emotion fluttered to the surface. This man was so strong it was sending wicked signals to her loins. She fought to control that irrational reaction. She was a career woman, an intelligent educated woman. She was happy.

Igwe tilted her chin, his mouth descended. With a fierce passion his tongue darted into her mouth.

Her senses departed and she kissed him back.

Her lithe and nimble tongue seemed to have a life of its own as it met Igwe's tongue, darting and challenging. Even as she berated herself she breathed in his masculine presence. His dark demanding presence as his hands wandered unrestricted. This was forbidden....her eyes closed and she welcomed his demanding passionate kiss.

It seemed so long since her husband had kissed her like this. The thought of her husband jerked her back to reality. Her eyes flashed open and looked up at Igwe as he kissed her. His eyes were locked on hers. His eyes were dark, mesmerising, and powerful. She was losing herself in those eyes, when she again sought to pull herself together.

Then one of his strong black hands closed on her breast.

"Oh...no, my husband," her hand rose and grasped the hand at her breast. It was like trying to move a steel girder, but this bit of steel, was warm. It cupped her breast, and caressed and fondled. No amount of feeble pushing on her part was going to free her breast. Then his hand at her neck grasped her short page boy style dark hair, and jerked sharply down.

"Arghh....oh," she gasped as her pretty white face was pulled sharply up and presented to Igwe. She was not used to pain, and the shock of it ran through her body. Then his big heavy body seemed to bear down on her and her lips seemed to open automatically to receive his kiss.

She was shocked and felt betrayed as her body reacted in ways it shouldn't. She didn't want to feel like this. 

She didn't, she really didn't....

Then his tongue met hers and her mind seemed to swirl and fly.

Igwe grinned to himself as he played this naive and innocent white wife. His hand had risen and clasped her full and firm breast. He savoured its fullness. He loved white women. They looked after themselves so well. An African woman of 36, unless she had married early to a rich and powerful man, would have spent 31 of those years in the fields under a not sun, She would probably have nursed several children, and was unlikely to have ever hand a proper diet.

These white women took such care over themselves. Over their figure, and diet, and appearance. As his hand seemed to weigh the full breast in his hand he estimated that Angel possessed breasts that did not snag, and he delighted in it.

He cupped it, squeezed it, stroked it, and fondled it. A white woman's breast. The breast of a woman married to a white man. He remembered the 15 years guerrilla warfare in the bush. The whites claimed to have won that guerrilla war, but as he held and enjoyed the fullness of that white breast, He knew no policeman was going to burst through his door. No red faced angry white soldier was going to shoot him down like a dog for touching a white woman.

His fingers found a stiffened nipple through the cloth of her dress, and bra. A bra he noted that seemed lacy and frilly. Had she dressed for him? He nipped that thickened pert nib sharply.

The woman beneath him squealed into his kiss, but he did not release her mouth, or his grip on her nipple. 

Pain and pleasure, pleasure and pain.

He released his grip, and she sighed into his demanding passionate kiss.

Even as she relaxed he ran the palm of his hand over her nipple, and felt her body tremble. He estimated that excited little tingles would be surging from her abused bud, as he fondled her that full mound and then lightly stroked his thumb over the over-excited nipple, enjoying her squirm in his arms.

So few of these well brought up, middle class English women seemed to fully understand the nature of pain, and its relationship to pleasure. He would delight in teaching Angel. Oh yes, he would teach her all about the pleasure of pain, and pleasing his cock.

He looked over at the door to his villa.

No, there was no sign of an outraged husband. He glanced across at the shotgun on the wall. He laughed quietly. If her husband did turn up and burst through the door he, Igwe, was the one with the right to shoot the intruder dead.

Not that such an eventuality was likely, though a small part of him wished to be so. Four large German Shepherd guard dogs prowled the gardens of his ten acre villa in the exclusive Harare suburb of Borrowdale. Big bored dogs that would have delighted in the sport of finding an intruder. Chuku Olanes, his devoted bodyguard would be alert. Keeping an eye on the CCTV cameras. Chuku owed Igwe his life. After a moment in the war when Chuku had been seized by a crocodile while creeping across a golf course near Victoria Falls. 

Quick work with a machete had denied the crocodile a live meal. Chuku had rarely left his side since, and had soon learned there were opportunities for Chuku. Igwe after all usually found a new and interesting white woman to seduce every few months and was generous with his discards.

Igwe turned back to the lovely panting Angel, as she lay half beneath him. Her eyes were wide as she looked up at him. Those delightful now bruised lips quivering. Her chest rose and fell, her breathing deep and irregular. 

She was a delightful English Rose in her prime. No, he grinned to himself, the whites had not won the war after all, as his dark hand began flicking the buttons that held the bodice of her dress together.

"Noooo! Please...we have gone too far!"

"I love my husband he loves me!"

Her hands reached for his. He ignored them. Her efforts were light and ineffective. Lacking the strength to keep his eager hands from those firm white orbs increasingly coming into view.

His hand pushed inside the dress. He delighted in the sight of her lacy brassiere. A fashionable stylish bra that did little to hide the rounded, full mounds within. His hand swept the material aside and he took the warm firm white flesh into his hand. 

Angel gasped, and thrust her breast into his hand. It was as though she had no control of her own body. Hot sensations radiated from that strong hand. This was not some boy struggling for a quick grope. This was a strong masterful man taking what he wanted, and she struggled against the sudden urge to spread her legs.

Igwe stared with delight at the slightly darkened nipple that still held a touch of pinkness, such a contrast to an African woman. He delighted in the sight, and the feel of that surprisingly firm orb, which as he had guessed did not sag. His head dropped, and Angel jerked beneath him as his greedy lips took that nipple into his mouth, then widened further to gorge on round white woman flesh.

Angel jerked as his hot mouth enclosed her nipple. His lips suckled, and then her drew her nipple deeper into his mouth and she felt his teeth nibbling on the sensitive tip. Her toes stretched as pleasurable sensations overwhelmed her breasts, radiating across her chest and sending tingling sensations down to her curling toes.

"Oooooh!"

Igwe grinned and worked his teeth hard. He could feel her shiver and shake in response to his attention to her aroused bud. His tongue curled around the erect nipple and he was delighted when her back arched, and she inadvertently pushed her breast into his mouth.

Her hands were trying to push him away and he allowed her to push his shoulders back. He released the nipple. He looked down at her. Her eyes were bright. Her untended left breast was in stark contrast to the overexcited right breast.

"Please, enough, I should be going," Angela pleaded. Her hands on his shoulders seemed to be holding him at bay, but she made no attempt to cover over her breasts. He grinned and lowered his head to her left breast. 

"No!" Her slim white hands strained to keep him away. Angel struggled to comprehend how easily he ignored her straining hands his mouth descended to her left nipple and hot wet sensations wracked her nipple.

God! He was so strong! She gasped as his teeth chewed on her nipple, then his tongue soothed the agitated nub. Her back arched and she consciously sought to pull her breast free. Her efforts were distracted by the feel of one of his hands sliding under her dress and stroking upwards over her shapely white thigh. 

She wanted to pull away, but she was trapped on the sofa. His heavy body, holding her down while his teeth, lips and tongue doing indescribably things to her excited aroused nipples, and now his hand was under her dress. 

She felt it each the top her stocking and find the soft bare skin of upper thigh. His hand was hot, and softly circling. A black hand under her dress, stroking gently the soft silky white skin that only her husband had ever touched.

Thoughts of her husband surfaced and she renewed her efforts to push him away, then stopped. Would her husband want her to stop him? It was Mark who had joked about how easy it would be for her to take a black lover here.


An African Seduction Ch. 01



No one would ever know, not even her husband!

Igwe's hand reached higher and she 'allowed' him to push her legs apart. She tensed as his hand found and covered her silk clad vulva, and she jerked as they lightly stroked.

Oh God! I should not be letting him do this, but then she wondered if she was indeed allowing him to do this. He was bigger and stronger than she was. Far stronger than her husband! His hands, lips, teeth were making free with her body, despite her attempts to push him away. She could not stop him, even if she wanted to.

A little nervous flash of thought went through her. Never in her life had she ever not been in control. Here on this sofa, she knew she was not in control. Sensations were wracking through her body. Pleasurable sensations. She did not want to betray her husband. A finger pushed aside the silken gusset of her panties and slipped into her wet feminine centre.

She flushed in embarrassment as she realised just how wet she had become. That Igwe should be able to discover the level of her excitement was deeply embarrassing. Her hands dropped to exploring hand seeking to push it away. Igwe caught one of her hands by the wrist and pulled it to one side.

He guided her hand between his own legs, and her fingers brushed the hot, hard length of his exposed manhood. Her hand jerked away, she was startled by the heat and hardness of his member. She had been unaware of him releasing his cock from his trousers. Igwe however, retained his grip on in her hand brought it back to his aroused and excited black cock. At the second contact as his hand seemed to push her slim white hand along its length. Angel found her hand had grasped its thickness.

She marvelled at its girth. The thick pulsing veins seemed to throb in her soft hand. She struggled to comprehend its thickness and her hands squeezed it. She realised with a sense of disbelief and a certain dread that her fingers could not meet when they closed around it. It was too thick to fit inside her. Not that she was going to allow him to try.

Igwe's hand was back on her wrist and he guided her hand up and down its hard length. Her dread at its thickness was increased and heightened as she realised it was also long, just how long she had yet to discover.

Angel now needed no encouragement to explore its length. Her husband had joked that black men had big cocks, and she knew as did he that it was not true, but Igwe's manhood seemed to defy natural justice. It was both long and thick as her hand slid down its underside seeking it base she was shocked to feel the thick circumcised head push against her upper arm. Shocked she released it. It couldn't be that long! She sought to look down at it but the pressure of his heavy body in hers prevented her from doing so. 

At that point Igwe pushed a thick finger into her body. The effect on Angela galvanised her into attempted action. There was only one consequence of the continuation of her inaction, and it must not be happen!

She was married. She loved Mark, her husband. She must not allow this to proceed further! 

"Let me up!" She demanded. Igwe ignored her. His lips busy nibbling on the soft white skin of her slender neck. His finger pushed deeper. Her writhing legs closed on his hand seeking to squeeze his hand out from between her legs.

"This is too much, we have gone too far! I'm married."

Igwe grinned at the reminder that the delightful curvy body seeking to wriggle from beneath him belonged to another. A white man at that! He circled his finger in the hot, wet, tightness of her married pussy and thrust his finger in a further inch.

As his finger slid deeper Angel found her hand gripping his cock tightly in response. Her fingers could hardly connect around it. She had heard talk of men with big cocks, and knew black men were said to possess larger members, but what she held in her hand was beyond anything her imagination had ever considered. The cock throbbed in her hand. She could feel gnarled veins throb and pulse with blood and eager sperm.

Igwe with drew his finger and shifted in position. His weight lifted from her and she was able to look down at his cock. Her eyes widened as they confirmed the size of cock her hands had explored.

He was huge!

"My God!" 

Igwe grinned. He delighted in the shocked reactions of the expatriate wives when they discovered the size of his cock. He had rarely found one complacent and anticipating such a cock. The surprise on the white wives, was a pleasure, but the additional mix of fear that engulfed them enhanced his own pleasure. If the surprise of white wives was delight to observe, the reaction of the white teenage girls who travelled to Africa with their parents was even more so. Breaking in a white virgin was his favourite pastime. 

Angel was no virgin, though he suspected his first penetration was going to take some effort.

Angel was staring at his cock with fear and fascination. As though she had found herself confronted by a striking cobra and was afraid to move. Igwe enjoyed the conflicting her emotions.

"Is this what your husband dreams of?"

Angel looked up at him perplexed.

"Doesn't your husband have fantasies of his sweet wife being ravished by a big cocked African?"

Angel flushed. The pink glow suffused her cheeks and descended to her breasts. How did he know? It was not just her husband who had such fantasies, though she would never admit that to anyone, especially her husband!

Igwe's cock was not natural! It was too thick! 

It was easily as thick as her wrist. As Igwe shifted in position and both his hands went up under her skirt. As his body shifted more of his cock slid out of his trousers, and she goggled as its length became apparent.

It was far too long to go inside her! It would rupture her womb!

"It's too big..." her words came out in gasps. Her breathing had become heavy. There was a tension in her throat, and a heat in her loins. Igwe grinned when, as he tugged at her panties, her hips rose slightly allowing him to ease her panties down.

She was his.....

"Oh God!....Please....My husband...."

Igwe grinned and his mouth dropped to close her pleas with another kiss. Angela darted her head to one side to avoid the kiss. Her movement presented a small delicate white ear. He grinned and instead of closing on her mouth, his lips caught the soft lobe of her ear and he nibbled it. Angel seemed to jerk beneath him as her body was galvanised by the soft touch of his lips on her ear. His tongue licked the lobe as his hands worked under her dress, enjoying the feel of the shapely full thighs of a well-fed white woman.

He dipped his tongue inside her ear curling it, pushing deeper, twirling his tongue, in the soft sensitive interior. He could feel her breasts surge and push against him in response to the sensations she could not avoid as his tongue excited her. His hands pushed her shapely white thighs apart, her dress rising up around her waist.

He positioned himself between her legs.

Angel was oblivious to her danger. The teasing of his tongue was merciless, and exciting. He really knew how to excite her! It was wicked! It was forbidden. She jerked her ear free of his tongue, turned to face him to tell him to stop. She looked up into his eyes. Eyes that were full of passion and desire. 

Desire for her.... 

Her heart surged. She was confused, as her heart raced and her senses seemed to pulse. She humped her hips and flushed with shame at her action.

She cursed her weakness, but when his mouth dropped to hers she did not resist. Her mouth opened in response to the passionate demand of his kiss. When his tongue slid between her lips, her own tongue darted to meet his and locked with his in a passionate wrestling match.

Then his cock nudged the portal of her feminine centre, and her eyes flared wide. She stared up into the dark powerful passion filled eyes of the African above her. 

Igwe met her gaze. He loved these moments. The shocked surprise in a white woman's eyes as she realised he was about to enter her. He thrust his hips and broke free of her eagerly kissing lips.

"Oooooooohhh!....No!......You mustn't!......" 

He thrust again and he passed through the portals to her womanhood.

He paused. It was always so surprising how tight these white women were, even those married with children. Her pussy clasped his cock tight. Her sheath was like that of a virgin protecting its hymen. He savoured the hot tight grip on his cock, leaned forward and thrust deeper.

Another inch of his thick manhood slid into her, and her legs flew wide in reaction. He grasped the hot warm curves of her hips and lifted, as he thrust. His cock was now three inches into her, and past the restricting grasping portal. He thrust again, sliding a further few inches into her..

"Ooooooh....no....I'm bursting!"

He roared a triumphal laugh and thrust again. Her hips starting jerking spasmodically beneath him, her legs grasped him then released him. She struggled to push him way. She tried wriggling free from him. 

Igwe held himself in position, while she wriggled and struggled. He enjoyed the feel of his cock as is it slithered deeper in her well-lubricated sheath.

Angel stropped struggling realising belatedly that her efforts had only resulted in his cock going deeper inside her. He was too well ensconced inside her how. She was not going to gain her freedom by her own efforts. She was going to have to let him have his way with her.

A warm tingling overcame her at the thought she was helpless to prevent this dominant African taking his pleasure between her legs.

She was going to get fucked.

Exciting sensations swept from her loins as she became accustomed to his thickness. Her abused pussy seemed to be clinging to his cock, but already it was relaxing and adapting to its size. She realised that he had stopped thrusting into her. She looked up at his face and realised he was savouring the pleasure of being inside her. Without conscious thought her pussy squeezed on his cock sending further excitement shooting through her. To her shame and pleasure the muscles in her sheath seemed to caress his cock. She tried to bring her body back under control.

Then when she had got herself back under control she looked back up at him. He was gazing down at her. She flushed under his gaze.

"Is that it all? Is it all really inside me?"

Igwe grinned.

"No."

Then he ran his hands up from his grip on her curvy derriere, sliding them along the soft skin so that he could secure a firm grip on her shoulders.

"No, that is not all," he laughed and thrust again.

He enjoyed the startled look on her face as he thrust and thrust again. This time firmly holding her shoulders to keep her in position as he pushed deeper. He relished the glove like grip on his cock as it seemed to but against her uterus and push through further deeper unused barriers.

"Ooooooh....oh God....oooooh."

Igwe freed one of his hands and reached up to grasp her short dark hair in his grip. He jerked her head back. Pain shot through her, but seemed to send further powerful surges down her loins. She grasped his cock with her sheath instinctively. She felt the slap of his balls against her bottom. It was in she realised. If his balls were slapping against her bottom he must be all the way in! She stirred beneath him. 

He looked down at her pretty face. He enjoyed the sight of her pale slender neck. He noted the dilated eyes, her gasping breath. Her unfocussed eyes, he gave her time to recover. When her green eyes finally focussed on him again he grinned down at her. She smiled faintly back at him.

"Now," he said, "I am going to fuck you!"

Her eyes seemed to widen. Then he felt her legs wrap around him.

He grinned, she smiled nervously back at him.

The he started to fuck.

She wailed like a hyena in heat as he withdrew then thrust.

His hips rose and fell beneath her splayed thighs.

He savoured the silky softness as the inner thighs of another man's wife clasped him to her.

A white man's wife lost in passion beneath him.

Was there any greater pleasure?

Yes, of course, there was, the pleasure of his seed spurting up inside her clinging tightness.

He gripped her shoulders and took his pleasure, thrusting and driving his manhood deep inside. Enjoying the exquisite pleasure of her tight womanhood.

Her excited wail betrayed her orgasm beneath him as she shook and shivered beneath him. He paused briefly. Then resumed his efforts.

"Please stop...I have come already...enough..."

He laughed and renewed his urgent thrusting.

"Oh please...too much...didn't you hear I've come already!"

He ignored her and thrust away. She wriggled and squirmed seeking to push him away. It was too intense, too powerful, the feelings too strong. Then too her shock a second orgasm overtook her, she jerked and throbbed in spasms beneath him. Shocked, disbelieving, this could not be happening she had never had two orgasms before!

She collapsed in his arms defeated. There was no point resisting. Igwe above her continued his thrusting and surging between her legs still eagerly clasped around him.

A rolling wave of orgasms seemed to overcome her as she abandoned the struggle and let him use her as he wished. This was a strong man who took what he wanted and with a thrill of excitement she realised she was glad he wanted her......

Hot blossoming heat surged in her loins and she suddenly realised he had come inside her. The thought seemed to trigger another even more heated orgasm. It was as though her body was eagerly surging to receive his seed!

A horn sounded from outside the villa! 

A long blast of sound that broke the moment.

Igwe broke free from. His cock long and slick with her juices slithered out of her and she looked in disbelief at its length and thickness.

"That will be your husband. Come to take you home."

Angel looked up at him in shock and alarm as the real world returned.

The horn sounded again, and Angel struggled to her feet.

Her husband was waiting! She struggled to refasten her dress over her breasts. She pushed her dress back down from her waist. She saw her panties lying discarded on floor and snatched them up. 

She turned to Igwe.

"I..."

"Go," he interrupted her. "Don't keep your husband waiting."

She turned fled, pressing her panties into her handbag.

She burst through the door of his villa out into the African night.

The sudden heat of the night passing over her, she saw her husband watching for her. A look of concern left his face as she appeared.

She scurried over to her husband's car as she tried to collect her shattered emotions. Her world had just fallen apart on a black man's cock.

"Hi honey. You OK?"

She glanced at Mark as climbed into the passenger seat then looked away as guilt overcame her. This man loved her and she had betrayed that love.

"Hmm...I'm fine."

"You look flustered?"

"I was...I was in the bathroom." Her breath caught in her throat as she said it. She had just lied to her husband!

He leaned across and kissed her lightly on the lips. She had a sudden thought that he would smell Igwe on her. That he would smells the sexual excretions seeping from her.

"No matter. Nice to see you again. Bill made a right prat of himself tonight. We had to virtually carry him out to his car. You would think with that beautiful wife of his he would be rushing home after work instead of getting plastered every night." 

Angel gathered her thoughts as Mark prattled on. She calmed down then fiercely clamped her pussy tight as she felt surge of semen leak from her unclad loins!



An African Seduction Ch. 02



Igwe Orizu is distracted by staffing problems in his company. (Slow start).

***********

Joseph Okuru sat nervously across from Igwe Orizu as his boss perused the folders he had presented to him. Joseph worked in the personnel department of Orizu Building. One of many companies that Igwe owned. It was a very busy department. Four hundred Africans worked for the company, a mix of men and women. The problem for Joseph was the workforce turnover. It was not because people left the company for another company. The problem was simple and stark. Death was the biggest cause of turnover. He had carefully studied the figures himself. In the last two years over 100 staff had died from illness, variously described as flu, cold, fever. None stated the true reason.

Aids.

According to the country's President there was no such illness, and so it never appeared on Death Certificates. Finding replacement staff was not so difficult, but since half the population of the country were under 15 years of age, skill and experienced workers were hard to come by.

Fortunately for Orizu Building the government had set pay levels for all categories of employees. Good for business if not for employees! So an experienced and skilled older work could not leave his company for a better paid job elsewhere. Since all the pay rates in all Zimbabwe Company's were exactly the same switching from one employer to another led to suspicion of incompetence, or worse misdeeds. So Africans rarely changed jobs. That still left Joseph very busy man finding replacements for the staff and organising whip-arounds for grieving widows and children.

Not the folders Igwe was perusing related to African staff and workers.

The folders Igwe was reading comprised the latest CV's and backgrounds on UK professionals being suggested by International Recruit. Joseph suspected that the company would grind to a halt without the input of the white engineers, quantity surveyors, project managers and accountants like David Burton.

White expats did not die of aids. They came for two years and usually left after that. In those two years they brought modern management skills. A desire to work hard, a notion Joseph struggled to understand, and a drive and energy that sometimes alarmed the African staff.

Igwe was an intimidating and powerful African. Joseph knew well his history in the war of liberation that they had fought and lost against the whites. Igwe's friendship with the new African rulers meant that he now sat in the Chair of one the biggest developing new construction firms. Joseph could not really comprehend the wealth Igwe was reported to own. That wealth and his contacts drove the business development. He could afford to employ the white expats that made his business profitable.

He was also ruthless, and Joseph believed the rumours that at least some of the disappeared staff had been fed to the local crocodiles inhabiting the water holes at the golf course.

Certainly the tax inspectors that Igwe had taken for a game of golf had never been seen again. Tax inspectors had not visited Igwe's business since.

Igwe's thoughts as he perused the folders in front of him could not be further from his own. He held in his hand the picture of Diana Windsor. She was a blond bombshell with a cascade of yellow hair that perfectly set off her blue eyes. He could sense the spark in those eyes. He suspected fire and passion smouldered behind those eyes. He turned the photo over and scanned her statistics. She was 26 years old. Her figure had been discreetly written noted on the sideline 36-28-34. He shivered at the fought of getting his around the waist of this lovely creature and then exploring the fuller curves. Yes, she was just what he required from the wives of a potential employee.

Having satisfied himself with the important issue he picked up the file of her husband, Paul Windsor. He was a Contracts Manager. Twenty years experience. A quick scan revealed that he had owned his own business up until 9 months ago. Then the recession that was doing so much damage in the UK had closed his business. 

Igwe liked recessions in Europe and America. It guaranteed desperate professionals running from the taxman and in need of work and an escape from debts.

Looking through the papers it seemed Mr Windsor had all the competence to be a skilled Contracts Manager. He turned over the photo and was surprised to see in the notes that he was 19 years old and had a figure of 34-26-30!

Igwe looked across at Joseph. He had little time for incompetents. He could see Joseph quail under his gaze. He liked that in an employee! He continued to stare at Joseph, who squirmed in his seat. 

Joseph was struggling to overcome his sudden fear. His boss had missed something but if Joseph mentioned it he might be accused of suggesting Igwe had made a mistake. Making such a suggestion to his boss filled Joseph with terror. So her squirmed under Igwe's gaze and dithered.

Igwe stared.

Joseph realised inaction was going to get him into more trouble than he was in already. He coughed and gestured towards the photo.

Igwe stared at him. Hiding his amusement.

Joseph edged forward and took the photo from Igwe's hand he carefully peeled the two photo's apart. Photographs did not travel well in the steamy African heat. He handed the photo's back looking apologetic and embarrassed.

Igwe took the two photographs. His interest was not so much in Paul Windsor as the 19yo with the figure. He looked down at the pretty face of young woman.

"That's Lauren. She is Mr Windsor's oldest daughter."

"Oldest daughter?"

"Yes he has two daughter's...there should be another photograph."

Igwe shuffled through the papers and found another photograph. He pulled it out and looked it over. Sweet sixteen and never been kissed.

"16?"

"No, she is 18 years old. She just looks younger. Her name is Rebecca."

Igwe smiled.

Joseph relaxed.

He turned over Paul's photo and saw that he was 42 years old.

"His first wife died and he re-married," Joseph explained. 

Igwe pondered these facts for a few moments. A 42 year old man with, no doubt, a demanding younger 26 year old wife, and two nicely developed teenage daughters who had become young women in their own rights. He would imagine there would be a few tensions in this family. No doubt Paul was struggling to keep his new pretty wife happy, and two daughters clashing with the new wife would add to the tension of his company going bust. Yes Paul Windsor was looking for an escape route.

"Hire him."

He opened the next folder. He glanced over the features of a young white man, then glanced down his details. They described a recently qualified engineer of 26 years, single. He frowned. He did not employ single white men!

"Joseph?"

Joseph, who had been relaxing and his thoughts drifting, was startled back to attention. He immediately saw the folder spread across Igwe's desk, and realised Igwe's concern.

"If I may...Sir?..."

Igwe leaned back allowing Joseph to shuffle through the file.

"Here," he handed over a hand written blue coloured letter. There was a paper clip attaching a photo of a very pretty young woman, with long dark brown hair.

"His fiancé," Joseph explained. "If he is offered the job they will marry and have their honeymoon on the way here. She is a Sunday School teacher."

Igwe's interest picked up at that last point. A Sunday School teacher! That would be an interesting challenge, and fresh from her honeymoon! There would be a few high level bets on how quick she could be introduced to a black cock in those sircumstances!

"Hire."

Igwe shuffled the papers together, and pushed them aside.

"Do you have the new contract I told you to prepare?"

Joseph nodded and handed the crisp white sheets over.

"Good! Send Mr Burton to me."

Joseph quickly rose, he was glad to escape the risky confines of Igwe Orizu's office.

David knocked politely before entering the office of his domineering African boss. He dreaded his boss. He had always treated him with professional courtesy. David knew his worth and value, and that he was an invaluable key player in the company's affairs. David liked it that way. However, Igwe Orizu had seduced his wife. In one sense that was OK. They had been married 19 years and things had gone stale, his wife boring.

Igwe had seduced and transformed his wife and rather than being annoyed David had found the situation arousing and exciting. Who would ever have believed his wife would have allowed a black man between her legs? Now his wife did things in bed without him asking or needing to encourage her. 

Igwe had taught her things to do with her tongue that made David shiver at the memory. 

But that was his wife. The horrifying discovery that his pretty daughter had been drawn into Igwe's depraved circle had shocked him to the core. He felt intensely guilty that seeing his pretty teenage daughter underneath a rutting middle aged African had given him an erection! He had thought it had been his wife!

When he had discovered it was his daughter, and not his wife, his erection had not subsided. He had felt guilty since and confused ever since.

Over the week since he had witnessed his daughter's ravishment he made up his mind not to renew his contract. There were three months to go and he suspected that this was what Mr Orizu wanted to see him about.

He entered the office and sat comfortable in the chair opposite the owner of the company. Igwe had never stood on ceremony with his key expatriate staff.

Igwe was checking over an A4 sheet of typed paper, which he could see had the company seal on it. Igwe looked up.

"A new contract," he waved it at David Burton.

David coughed, and shifted on his seat. His decision to leave crystallized but he struggled with the nerve to tell this man that.

"I had been meaning to speak to you about that. I...I have decided not to renew my contract." He looked across at Igwe, who was looking back at him. David saw no hostility in that returned gaze. His confidence rose.

" I have had a long thought about this, and after two years here it is probably time we returned to the UK."

Igwe nodded across the table at him.

"That is of course your decision and you have every right to make it. I respect your decision and will regret your departure, but that is expected after all we only offered you a two year contract, and I had not yet considered whether to renew it."

David nodded relieved this was going so easily, but then his eyes turned to the contract that Igwe held in his hand. What contract was that? If he had not been planning to offer him a new position, what was he holding in his hand?

Igwe noticed David's focus on the contract in his hand, and laughed.

"You misunderstood. This is not a contract for you. I would like you to give Tammy her copy."

"Tammy...my daughter...what contract?" David's throat went dry. His chest tightened. He felt suddenly ill.

Igwe pushed the contract across the mahogany table. David's eyes fell to it. Not really wanted to read it. He could see the company seal. His heart pounded.

"I have offered your daughter a contract of employment."

"But...her visa is tied to my contract. She is not allowed to work."

Igwe waved his hand in casual dismissal.

"You should know that such technicalities are easily overcome in Africa."

"But she is my daughter! She is only 18 years old!"

"Quiete old enough to work. Had you not noticed...she is a young woman now." David cursed inwardly. Talk of his daughter being a young woman brought up the image of her eagerly thrusting her jutting breast into the mouth of the greedily sucking Nasam Togbi.

"I'm her father I think you should have discussed this with me first."

Igwe smiled confidently back at David.

"What sort of job have you offered her?"

"Marketing...public relations...that sort of thing."

"But she has no experience of that." David protested.

"I have found your daughter to be biddable...easily trained." 

David's stomach tightened.

"But...what would this job entail."

"Corporate entertainment."

David dithered. He did not really want to know what Igwe meant by corporate entertainment, especially in relation to his pretty daughter.

"This contract. It's for eighteen months. That cannot be we leave in three months!"

"You are perfectly at liberty to leave at the end of your contract Mr Burton, and of course Sarah. You will see that Tammy's contract is under seal. Whatever you may do Mr Burton Tammy will not be leaving. Don't worry your daughter will be well looked after."

David's heart sank. The thought of his white teenage daughter being well looked after by Igwe Orizu and his black cronies was intolerable, but if they did not stay she would be on her own. Much as he disliked the situation, he could not leave Zimbabwe leaving his daughter behind.

"But you cannot just sign up my daughter like this! Didn't you think to discuss this with me first?"

"With you?" Igwe's incredulous tone, betrayed his view of David's importance in the matter.

The moment was disrupted by bedlam breaking out. From the direction of the railway siding raised male voices were accompanied by a shrieking female voice.

Igwe sighed.

Why was running a business such a trial! Incompetents surrounded him!

"Just give this to Tammy and tell she is expected at L'Escargo tonight at 7pm. If you want your contact renewed I will expect you to take her there to make sure she gets there safely."

He rose, and crossed to the window, peering out in the direction of the railway siding.

David rose, staring at the contract in his hand, while at the same time wondering at the escalating commotion outside. Was Igwe really expecting him drive his daughter to an assignation? L'Escargo was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, and the food was tremendous, as he knew only too well.

Igwe released a curse, and turned for his office door, momentary surprised to see David was still in his office.

"I..." he waved the paper in his hand. "Errr...what time should I pick Tammy up afterwards."

Igwe frowned at David, was the man mad. Did he really think his daughter would be going home afterwards? He needed to get down to the siding.

"Mr Burton I have things to do."

He strode out the door.

"Back to work!" He roared at the faces pressed to the windows of the offices.

He grinned as everyone jumped and quickly returned to their desks. He reached the end of the corridor and bounded down the stairs.

"Michelle! You man the phone not the door!"

Startled the young lady jumped. She glanced at Igwe's. A glance filled with fear and concern. Then she scuttled back to the reception desk. Igwe took a moment to enjoy the shock of wavy blond hair. The slim neck and as she leaned forward to tuck her chair in he enjoyed the view of the full firm orbs struggling not to burst from her low cut top. A sweet voice and a full bust were Igwe's primary requirements for a receptionist, and of course being pretty and white. 

It encouraged African businessmen to call and do business. Michelle oozed sexual promise, and one way or another Igwe delivered whenever a new contract was in the offing.

He pulled open the door and strode outside into the hot African sun. It beat down hot and hard but Igwe thought nothing of it. Sun and heat was normal. Bedlam was also normal, but Igwe had little tolerance of it within his own business. Bedlam affected production!

He roared at the milling Africans pushing and pulling each other around an opened railway carriage. The train had delivered a cargo of marble from the port of Beira in Mozambique.

Had his workers found a stowaway? That was hardly new, or warranted this uproar! 

"Roger. What is going on?" He roared at Roger Bullivant. His 60 year old white head of security. The 60yo was a former Rhodie commando who had been happy to stay on a black controlled country.

While Roger was normally belligerent and aggressive in his job, as fitted his history and role, he seemed to be on the outskirts of this group as an observer rather than breaking it up.

At the sound of Ugwe's bellow he immediately burst into the group scattering the squabbling, grabbing and pushing Africans. Even at 60 years old he still commanded the respect of the Africans, whose respect for white people had grown rather than diminished as ordinary Africans watched with despair as more powerful Africans seized not just political power, but stole the country's wealth in blatant acts of corruption.

Roger needed nothing but the power of his voice and a few shoves to separate the milling Africans from their frightened quarry.

The sudden sight of long blond hair appearing as the Africans parted allowed Igwe to realise the cause of the bedlam. They had found a white female stowaway on the train, hard to believe as that was! Africans regularly risked life and limb to leap from bridges on to passing trains for a free ride back to Harare from Mutare, but a white doing the same was rare indeed.

The African workers now that their attention on the blond white woman had been disrupted noticed that Igwe was bearing down on them and promptly scattered. 

"Chuku," Igwe shouted.

Roger was speaking into his two-way radio, and a number of security guards were quick to respond. His chauffeur Dominic was already rushing to the scene.

The young blond woman remained curled in a ball, her fear palpable. The rough attention of the African workers had left her in a state of terror. Igwe could see her trembling.

"Here girl," he reached down offering her his hand.

She looked up and quickly glanced around as though looking for a bolthole. She found none and returned to the speaker. She took in his immaculate suit and his well-groomed appearance. This was the man who had scared off much larger group of rough Africans. He looked like a Government Minister, or someone important.

She reached up and took his hand, allowing him to pull her to feet. Even as she did so she glanced around. There were a few Africans workers still present, as well as the elderly white man who had done nothing to protect her from them. Her hand tightened on the black hand she grasped.

"Tell Sarah to go and fetch some of Tammy's clothes. They should be suitable. Best if you take her to her villa and bring her back Dominic." 

His chauffeur strode off.

"Roger, we will take her to the guest villa for her safety. Make sure it is guarded day and night."

Roger nodded before delegating that job to two of the security guards present.

"Chuku. Go and calm down the office and fetch some food from the canteen, and plenty of water!"

He turned to the white girl tightly holding his hand.

"Are you from Mozambique?"

She nodded.

"My parents farm...overrun by the rebels...they...they are dead!!!"

He watched her brief struggle to control her emotions, but she held them back. She was tough, not like his soft expatriate staff. He guessed she had been brought up in Africa. Taught to control her emotions, especially in front of black men! 

No doubt she had experienced many days of fleeing and hiding to during which she had learned to put these things behind her. Lucky for him the rebels had not caught her. 

Was that a sign of resourcefulness?

"What is your name?"

"Hayley."

"Well Hayley, you come with me and we will have a chat. We will have to decide what is to become of you."

Igwe turned and led Hayley away from the offices, and the railway siding. They came upon an area that was marked by a pristine lawn and flowering shrubs. In the centre was a white washed cottage with a shaded veranda.

Even as they approached Africans rushed to the building carrying trays, and even from this distance Hayley could smell the delicious aroma of hot food. Her body tensed and she leaned forward ready to run for the food, but the last remaining vestiges of her shattered dignity held her back, with Chuku strolling along behind grinning and swaggering.




An African Seduction Ch. 02



Igwe climbed the few short steps onto the veranda. Hayley savoured the coolness of the shade, and the relief from the hot sun, Igwe let her in to the interior of the cottage and waved at the array of foods prepared.

Hayley looked at Igwe, and at his nod ravenously fell on the food. It had been 3 days since she had eaten. The watching Africans he dismissed including Chuku. He looked the girl over as she ravaged the delicately prepared food. His staff knew the importance that Igwe placed on entertaining guests.

She was slim he noted, with nicely rounded hips. She could hardly be out of her teens. Her curves were not restricted to her derriere. Her breasts were full and jutting where they strained against her ragged clothing. Her legs looked shapely and full beneath her trousers.

While she ate he walked over to the fridge. Inside as expected he found fresh orange juice. In the freezer he found ice cubes, which he was confident would have been made from bottled water. It had taken him time to train his staff not to offer his guests water taken from the tap. He mixed the two and returned to the white woman.

When she saw what he held in his hands he could see the grateful relief in her eyes. As she took the drink from his hand, his other arm curled around the slim waist. She made no effort to pull away. He enjoyed the soft warmth of her curvy waist, and gave it a slight squeeze. He was gratified that she did not tense up, or seek to pull away.

"Tell me Hayley, how long did you live in Mozambique?"

She looked up at him, and he enjoyed the flecks in her blue eyes.

"I was born there. I have never lived anywhere else. My parents took me to South Africa once."

The sudden thought of parents sent quivers of emotion through her and he hugged her tight. He could feel her pull herself together. He admired that fortitude.

"And in all those years have you come to an understanding of Africa?"

She looked up at him. He wondered at the expression in her eyes and how well she had been able to hide her thoughts.

"I have a through understanding, if not of Africa, of African men and what they want?"

Igwe grinned and his hand caressed and squeezed that slim rounded waist.

"So tell me Hayley. Who can I contact to help you?"

Her eyes nevertheless wavered and she looked away.

"Do you have any family in Zimbabwe?"

"No."

"Any aunts or uncles in Mozambique? You mentioned South Africa, did you visit relatives?"

"No it was more of a business trip. I have no family left. My father was an only child. His parents died in a boating accident. My mother met my father when he was in England. I have never seen her family, who never once visited us."

Igwe nodded, delighted in what he was hearing, though he did not let it show.

"When you passed through Mutare's border you just hid on the train. No one even knows," his voice paused for a moment while his hand slid down over her hip, to caress the delightfully soft round curves of her bottom. She did not pull away. "No one even knows you are in Zimbabwe do they?"

Hayley looked up at him. He felt her bottom flex and stretch in his hand, but still she made no move to pull away.

"No, no-one...will you look after me?"

Igwe grinned at the blonde teenager, with the soft warm curvy bottom.

There was a knock at the door to the guest cottage.

"Come in," Igwe called out.

Sarah, the wife of one his white executive's bustled in, with a bundle of clothes under her arm. She looked straight across at the young white woman, a look of concern on her face. She took in the tray of food, and the drink in her hand. Then her attention was drawn to the ragged torn clothes.

"I have brought some of Tammy's clothes."

"Sarah, this is Hayley, why don't you take her through to the bathroom and see she has a shower."

He squeezed Hayley's bottom as he urged her in the direction of the bathroom. As Sarah passed by following the girl he slapped Sarah's more rounded derriere. She frowned at him and he laughed, and made to lunge at her bottom again. Sarah squealed, and scampered from his groping hand. Flustered and embarrassed that he should behave this way in front of a strange woman. Though at the same time pleased that this man could make her feel like an attractive young woman again.

Igwe watched them both disappear and reached for drink for himself. He passed thinking. She was cute little bundle but she was, clearly, used goods. The Africans on her father's farm probably had a good time with her. Taught her how to enjoy sex. Not like the innocent daughters and emotionally suppressed white wives her usually enjoyed debauching.

He would have some fun, but he would find a more profitable use for her than his own entertainment.

e HHe

Half an hour later Hayley and Sarah emerged for the bathroom. The transformation in Hayley was dramatic. Her tiredness was still reflected in her eyes, but otherwise she was fresh and clean. Her hair, still damp, had lost the dust and burs picked up in the cattle truck. Sarah had dressed her in a long flowery dress. The strong sun shining through the window highlighted the curvy woman's body beneath. 

He smiled at the hovering Sarah. She had done a good job.

"She has had a stressful time." Her concern over Igwe's immediate intention was obvious.

"You may go now, Sarah," dismissing her concerns.

As Sarah left he rose to his feet. He had prepared a Pimm's Nr 1 for the girl, no doubt its familiarity would provide her with some reassurance. The girl eyed the pint jug with desire for its cool refreshment. The jug was full of crushed ice, and slices of banana, apple, orange, and slices of avocado. The alcohol content mixed with lemonade was high.

He handed her the drink and she tool long eager gulps.

"So you have lived all your life in Africa."

Hayley nodded.

"You say you understand African men."

Hayley's eyes took on a wary look, but she nodded.

"Would you like me find someone to look after you?"

Igwe's hand rose to lightly stroke the side of her face. Hayley looked into his eyes and could see the carefully controlled lust. Her confidence returned. He was just like the rest.

She nodded. He nodded back at her thoughtfully.

"Nice dress, but it is in the way. Take it off."

He noticed her nervous swallow, then her resolve firmed and she reached behind to release the buttons. In moments the dress lay on the floor by her feet. As expected she was naked underneath. Her body was shapely and full. A typical 18yo old, with full firm pink tipped breasts that had not a hint of sag. She had a slim waist, and shapely filled out thighs. Her mons had a light coating on blond hairs.

She stood proudly before his gaze. She had none of the timid nervousness he found in confused expatriate women from the west. He had no doubt she was sexually experienced with black men.

He removed his own clothes.

He watched her eyes drop to his loins and take in the sight of his own stiff member. There was no alarm in those eyes as she took in his length and thickness, from which he concluded that there could be no further doubt that this white orphan had known black men before today.

She made no attempt to get away as he approached and he slid his hand under chin and turned her face up to meet his. Her eyes were clear, with neither desire not fear. She had a lovely heart shaped face with soft lips. He lowered his head and kissed them. She made no attempt to pull away as his kiss became more demanding.

His other hand slid around her slim waist and pulled her close. He savoured the heat and curves of her body pressed against him. His cock was crushed between their bodies and he enjoyed pushing it against her soft warmth. He took her hair in his hands and pulled her head back, and looked down at her pretty face. 

She looked back calmly and controlled. 

It surprised him that she should be so calm in these circumstances. He speculated that she had withdrawn into herself as a self-defence mechanism. Not that he cared for anything but the soft lush curves of her body, and the hot tight wetness that would satisfy his lust.

His head lowered and he kissed the soft, pink cherubic lips. They parted easily to accept his tongue, though her tongue was perfunctory in response. He savoured the soft sweetness of those lips. Kissing them thoroughly, his tongue traced their soft curves as though he could lap up their sweetness.

His left hand dropped to the easy softness of her round bottom. It never failed to delight him after spending so long in the bush fighting the white colonialists to be able to enjoy a different kind of crop. The young white women who the daughters of the kind of white men he had fought so long ago.

If only those white colonials could see him now, as a thick black finger slid down probing and tracing through the cleft of her white bottom. His finger probed at her bottom hole, and her failure to show alarm or concern served testimony to her sexual experience. 

His right hand stroked her face, caressed her fair head, his fingers trailing through her blond silk, slightly damp hair. Her eyes closed. He wondered if she was fighting her own response to his attentions.

He urged her back onto the bed. She offered no resistance as he pushed her back. Her breasts were full, though not overlarge. He enjoyed their firmness, taking one in his hand as he rested on an elbow above. He took her left breast in his black hand and squeezed the soft malleable flesh in his hand. Enjoying the way her soft skin seemed to ooze out around his fingers. Tired of her easy compliance he squeezed the pink rose of her nipple hard, and enjoyed the sudden jerk and squirm of her slim body. 

At last a reaction, he thought. Though her eyes remained calm and untroubled, as though she had been expecting this treatment. Her breathing had quickened, with its consequent effect on her full, pert breasts.

He grinned and lowered his head to take a swollen pink nipple into his mouth. He licked lightly swirling his tongue around the orb, before his teeth worried it. He raised his head, enjoying the comparison of one highly aroused darkened nipple, wet from his attention, and the still pink if erect nipple of her right breast.

It remained untended for only a short time, before his teeth gripped tightly and he enjoyed her sudden alarmed squirming as shooting flashes of pain enveloped her chest. 

Tired of this preliminary play, his hand slid down over the curves or body, gliding over the slight curve of her stomach, and into the delta of her loins. Her lithe curvy legs slid apart to allow him easy access. He was almost disappointed to find her vulva already wet. His exploring fingers slid apart the entrance to feminine sheath. 

He decided to waste no further time and moved on top of her. Her thighs moved apart to accept him. He lined up his cock, enjoying briefly the hot wetness of her juices soaking his cock then he pushed inside. Her sheath opened and accepted him, and he slid deeper. He encountered little resistance and she merely grunted beneath him as he thrust harder.

Her hands came up to grip his shoulders as he settled on top of her and began a rhythmic thrusting. After a few moments her shapely legs rose and encompassed him pulling him into her loins. He enjoyed the feel of her warmth but did not fool himself that she was becoming excited. This was a white woman who had learned to accept the attentions of African men. Learned to accommodate and please them. As he picked up his pace her arms went around him and she started to hump her hips to meet his thrusts.

He looked down at her. She was such a pretty white woman, with her heart shaped face. Her blond hair seemed to flair out around her head as he humped and thrust. Her nose was small. Her teeth were biting her lower lip, perhaps betraying an excitement she was trying to hide. He buried his cock deep inside her and watched her lips part as he gasped. Yes he determined, she was not immune to sexual pleasure.

He stepped up his thrusting. 

She was young, pretty and white and in his bed.

His pace increased.

The surge of his excitement burst inside and he collapsed on top of her. Not caring that his heavy black body crushed her.

He rolled off her. Thoughts back on his business and what needed to be done. Taking Hayley had been a matter of demonstrating his power and testing her submission. It was over. She had not been particularly passionate or responsive, but then again she had gone through an ordeal.

He smiled at the thought of her parents. Killed in Mozambique by rebels as they sought to get their daughter away from the rebels. She had fled from one group of black men straight into the bed of another. Wry irony filled his soul as his black hand patted her shapely white thigh.

Then he rose from the bed and quickly dressed.

"Wait here," he commanded as he left.

As he strolled back to the office he reached for his mobile phone. Flicking it open he opened one of the folders and typed a two-word text message.

"Auction 7pm"

He speculated that Hayley would raise £35,000 Stirling. She was young and pretty, but no virgin. He would have to make sure the bidders did not discover her passivity. He would make a nice profit at no investment. Her suspected she would complain about her new circumstances.

He strode through the reception with a quick glance at Michelle. Her bust was prominently on display and a dazzling smile greeted him. He grinned once he had passed from her sight.

Bounding up the stairs he noticed with some gratification that no one turned away from him back to their work. They were already working hard.

He flopped down in his leather chair and glanced at his diary.

Hah...Tuesday...it was his Philosophy Circle meeting tonight. His thoughts immediately focussed on the Ice Queen. His pet name for Angel Scott. He wondered if she would be there tonight. Probably she had taken fright and he would never see her at his Circle again. But if she did turn up, after what happened last week, then he would undoubtedly get in her knickers again!

He grinned. Her emotional confusion would be fun to exploit.

The door to the cottage opened and closed. 

Hayley looked up from the bed to see the black man standing there. At least she hoped he was a man. He looked more like a gorilla without hair.

Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath.

His pig like eyes seemed to devour her body as she lay there naked, tired and used.

She sat up and looked around for something to cover herself with. The bed was bare except for the sheet she sat on.

She heard the sound of the African taking a step towards her, and her head flicked back to him.

She saw his eyes focus on her bouncing blond hair as if in wonder. 

She looked at him again and her breathing grew heavy.

He was a brute of a man. No manners. No courtesy, or finesse.

Big muscular, and lusting.

Her heart started to pound.

He took another step. His eyes had now switched to her breasts which now were rising and falling to match her own heavy breathing.

She could see the desire in those eyes. Eyes that did not hide the fierce demanding lust. 

Her pussy flooded with liquid mixing with Igwe's sperm. She was much more excited now in the face of this black brute!

She recognised him now. It the bodyguard...Chuku Olanes she thought his name was.

As he took another step towards the bed she edged slowly back on the bed.

He stopped, grinned in confident leering way that would have scared many women.

Hayley's pussy throbbed in anticipation. She edged a few inches further back.

She watched as he removed the suit jacket and carefully set it to one side. Igwe did not like his bodyguard wearing creased clothes. His trousers went next and she stared at his powerful muscular legs. They looked like tree trunks. She shivered.

His shirt came next. His arms were so thick and muscled they would have made a heavyweight boxer look like a lightweight.

Her lips opened and deep sigh seemed to escape her lips.

He was so like Jo-Jo, her father's African foreman chargehand. 

The man who had taken her virginity....

Taken had been the word.

No courting, or flirting. No charming words. She had been going through a confusing period. She had always been a brat, but at that time he behaviour had been increasingly outrageous.

One day Jo-Jo had found her thrashing her horse after it had bit her. A quietly furious Jo-Jo had snatched the whip from her hand. Seized her firmly and frog marched her into the barn.

She had been so surprised, that she had allowed him to lead her. When she recovered from her surprise, she had sought to pull away and realised just how strong he was. 

Inside the barn he literally hurled over the straw bails, and before she recovered heat flared from her buttocks as the horse whip descended. Shocked she had just lain there as the blows descended. Then she started shrieking, but no one came to help. Her parents were at the Farmer's Market.

Jo-Jo thrashed her and not one of the workers sought to interfere. Not much love or care for the bitch brat on that African farm.

Later he tossed the whip down. The sound of their heavy breathing was the only sound in the barn.

Then he had taken her clothes off.

She had not resisted.

He had not been gentle...that had only excited her more.

The next night, after her parents had gone to sleep, she had sneaked out to the barn. He had been waiting, sitting on a bail of hay and lightly slapping his thigh with the horsewhip.

Her confusion had departed with her panties.

She finally understood what she was for... 

Now hundreds of miles from home in another country. Chuku Olanes stood naked above her. His cock throbbing and erect bounced in front of her face. She turned and scrabbled across the bed.

Chuku grinned as the luscious young white woman attempted to scramble away. He was not fooled. His hand grabbed for her ankle and hauled her back. A shriek escaped her. Not a loud shriek of course, not a shriek that would bring others running to the rescue. He enjoyed the feel of her squirming in his grasp. 

He pulled her easily towards him enjoying the sight of her curvy bottom shaking. He pulled her to the edge of the bed and pushed her down firmly. 

She lay before him, curvy bottom presented to him.

He dropped to his knees behind her and grasped that bottom and pulled the soft curvy cheeks to expose the delicate dimple between. 

Unused, or at least not used recently!

He saw the girl's hands tightly grip the sheets, and grinned at the knowledge that she knew what to expect.

He did not wait or make preparations. He was horny. He thrust.

Hayley shrieked, a full, throated and gratifyingly loud shriek.

Chuku hoped the whole office had heard.

Those white men that Igwe relied on to provide him with managerial expertise may earn a lot of money, but he wanted them to live in dread of Chuku Olanes and what he might do to their women!

So he thrust again and Hayley shrieked again. That wail of pain gave him a shiver of pleasure. His hands grasped that slim white waist. He could feel the tension in the girl beneath him and he worked his cock deeper. His muscular body covered the girl, and his teeth sought that slender white neck and bit.

Hayley gave one tremendous spasm, then she started to shake in an unmistakable orgasm. 



An African Seduction Ch. 03



Angel rose from her dressing table satisfied at last. She glanced at the clock 6.45pm. The Philosophy Circle met at 7pm. She had plenty of time; it took only five minutes to drive there. Her husband Mark would be ready to drive her there and pick her up at 9.30pm as arranged as soon as she was ready.

She was tempted to ask him to pick her up earlier this time, but something restrained her. She should have strength and character to deal with Igwe Orizu!

It is not as if she short of experience of using her looks and charm to twirl men around her finger. But Igwe was different! She suppressed the errant thought. 

He was a man, and like all men mouldable and biddable when a pretty woman smiled. She would not allow what happened last time to be repeated. She would not!

Last week almost to the hour he had seduced her. She had been weak, unhappy, and he had exploited her mood to seduce her! She would not allow him to take advantage of her again!

She found herself thinking of his cock. That big thick black horse cock!

Her pussy started to moisten and she cursed her self, slapping her thigh hard to distract herself from such deviant thoughts.

She was happily married! She sighed, well not entirely happy. It had been 19 years and at times it seemed longer. Three children. She had given birth to Rebecca when she was just 17 years old to her own parent's quite fury. They had been too hidebound by convention to prevent her marrying Mark once they realised she was pregnant. Mark had defied their fears by remaining loyal and steadfast. Even when she had been sectioned and sent off to that horrible mental hospital he had stood by her, helped her get back out again. Worked with tremendous patience to help her get back on her feet.

If only he had a bit more spark. She never once considered that her own random and frequently irrational behaviour had drained him in turn. 

Not that her behaviour was really irrational. She had to bite her tongue when the doctors said things like that. Impulsive yes, she took opportunities as they arose. That was not irrational.

Then her uplifted spirits fell again. Reminding herself that she had crashed the car three times in the last month!

She looked at the photograph of her second daughter Amanda, now 18 years old. Born almost a year after Rebecca. Amanda was a beauty that reflected off her mother and could not stop a smile resurfacing.

The smile soon fell. 

Here they were a successful, professional married couple, but their two eldest children were not with them, or at least not now. She felt their loss. Rebecca was still in England finishing off her sixth from studies and would not come out to Zimbabwe for months. Only after she had finished her A level exams.

Amanda should be here, but she was not. She was instead just 15 minutes up the road in an exclusive boarding school. It had seemed irrational and mad to put their daughter in a boarding school so close to home.

Until they landed at Harare and she had seen the black hordes swarm like rampant elephants towards and around their daughter. Amanda had always attracted male attention, but strangely seemed unaffected. She had never had a boyfriend. In England men were polite and interested and politely sought to court her. Here in Africa courtesy was in short supply and sexual demand high.

The first hand to get up Amanda's skirt had been a black hand belong to a porter hauling luggage in the airport! Shocking, as that had seemed at the time it had been only a taste of the aggressive sexual forwardness of the African male. 

Within a week of their arrival Amanda had her pussy stroked by a black man in the swimming pool of the hotel they had stayed at that first week. 

Her breasts had been fondled by a wealthy African sitting at an adjacent table during dinner in the exclusive and expensive L'Escargo restaurant. 

It was impossible to go to the shops without getting goosed and groped. 

Amanda had found it all unsettling. Suddenly the image of an exclusive boarding school had seemed very sensible indeed.

They still saw her at weekends, but Angel struggled at times to understand how things had turned out. Giving birth to Robert two years ago had been a surprise. Soon that surprise had worn off as she had been reminded of the reality of young children!

Here in Harare they had a garden with two acres of land. She only had to open the patio door and Robert would disappear for hours. The African gardener kept a close eye on him.

Unfortunately Robert was fearless and only today had wandered back into the villa with his impish grin holding up for her inspection the green snake he had found. Angela had screamed in shock, setting Robert off in tears, and only agitating the snake.

A green snake! She had thought it was Green Mamba one of the deadliest in Zimbabwe. Kaifus the house domestic had ran into the room, and quickly ran out again. Daniel, the gardener had appeared soon after. He had taken the snake from Robert and taken it outside. Ignoring her screaming he had calmed Robert.

"Not mamba", he said. "Boomslang."

A Boomslang snake! 

Angel felt faint. 

The nearest antidote to a Boomslang bite was in Johannesburg, an eight-hour flight away. She might have been bitten!

So as she stood from her dressing table she was ready, indeed after today she felt a desperate need to escape and a night at the Philosophy Circle was just what she needed to clear today's event and calm her soul.

She could deal with Igwe Orizu. He was just a man after all. She glanced at her perfection in the mirror. Yes, fully armoured and protected by her beauty she could deal with any man.

"Oh wow! You look terrific." Mark looked up in amazed delight that his beloved Angel had taken trouble to look so good. After the last few months it was a relief to see her caring for herself again. 

It still surprised him that at 36 years old and three children his wife could look just as stunning now as when he first met him. Her natural grace, and high cheekbones were all the classic signs of a stylish woman. She looked far younger than she was, and he was confident that he had been lucky enough to marry a woman who would probably always retain those classic good looks.

Now her eyes had a fire and determination in them he had not seen in months. Light touches of her makeup highlighted those eyes and her lips had a gloss that stirred his cock.

Her lipstick was not heavy and overdone, just the light touches that emphasised their natural shape. He was relieved she had refrained from the slapdash approach to her make-up that over the last months had seemed to be a barrier to the world.

His wife looked as though she had finally re-entered the world, and his heart soared in relief. She was getting her act together again.

"Are your ready?"

She nodded back at him. He paused for a moment looking at her. She noticed at looked at him quizzically.

"Not sure I want to take you anywhere looking that good!"

She frowned at him suddenly worried. Mark heart jumped at that frown. The last thing he wanted to do was set off her fragile temperament. This Philosophy Circle seemed to be doing her the world of good. He had even encountered her humming to herself this week. 

"Just joking Honey! Let's get going."

The drive from the Greendale suburb to the Borrowdale suburb was short. It was also typical of this area with high walled exclusive luxury villas. Tree lined avenues. Flowering shrubs, with high bougainvillaea trees swaying slightly in the breeze, and little traffic. 

He passed a neighbourhood watch sign as they drove. He had joined the neighbourhood watch. Back in the UK he would have dismissed such an organisation as a just a group of nosy parkers.

Here where the police took two hours to cycle out to respond to a call, he had recognised that there was a real need for the community co-operation. He had been surprised to find Africans and Asians also in the group. It had so many members that he had only to do two 2-hour patrols a month.

The neighbourhood watch had been a way of meeting his neighbours that he had not expected. It had also been an eye-opener as to what went on after dark in even this respectable suburb.

The patrol members went out in different shifts. So far Mark had done four shifts from midnight to 2am and met a variety of mainly white members. In his first patrol he had been taken to what he discovered was their own Neighbourhood Watch Station. Here he had been inducted, shown how to use the handcuffs, and the police radio they were provided with. Not that they could contact the police with it.

The idea was to radio back to their own station which would be manned through by Geoff Stott. Geoff would then telephone around and Watch members and call them out to any trouble. Oh yes and tell the police, which was followed by a mix of jokes and bitterness about African police!

They had driven slowly and quietly around the suburb while George Cook, and Peter Roberts briefed him on procedures, what to expect, and how to react. 

Mark had been surprised at the thoroughness and discreet way they responded to strange vehicles in the area. It surprised him at how quickly they recognised a car from outside the suburb.

They had cruised past the closed and darkened Greendale shops and pulled up a few hundred yards tucking themselves off road under the spreading branches of a large tree. George wound the window down and the sound of loud music and raucous drunken laughter drifted through the night.

"What's that?" Mark asked.

"There is a bar up there. An African bar."

"I had never noticed it before."

"It's set back a bit. It's a cheap dive for the local domestics and gardeners. A place to avoid."

"I have never been in a place like that!"

"You never want to be! It's for blacks!" Peter's outburst barely suppressed his racism. Mark had been astonished to find just how deep seated was the racial prejudice of the local white population. His own view of the black population was he thought healthily balanced. He would treat each African as he found them.

"We pulled over to warn you about it. You have a wife don't you. Make sure she goes home from the shops via Stanton Road. You don't want her walking past this place even in daylight!"

"You should let her walk anywhere after it gets dark! Their bad enough during the day but once it gets dark no one is safe!" George added.

Mark took their comments with a pinch of salt. He had found most Africans friendly and hospitable. Except those that were working for the controlling political party seemed to be an odd crowd with big chips on their shoulders, and just as bitter as these local white men he was sharing his car with. 

There was a sudden silence in the car. Mark looked around to see what had taken their attention.

To his surprise a white woman was walking down the road. As she passed a streetlight he noted she was pretty Probably in her early 20's. Wearing a typical lightweight flowery dress that seemed to flow around her as she strolled.

"It's Sharon Bowles," Peter mentioned. She lives nearby in Downing Road. Mark perked up. He and Angel lived in Downing Road. He had not seen this pretty woman before.

As she reached the dirt road, she paused. She looked carefully around. She glanced hard over at the car, but the shade of the tree hid them from her eyes. Then she looked again up and down the road. Mark could see her nod to herself, then she stepped off the road and headed at a slightly quicker pace towards the noise and ruckus of the bar. 

"Bitch!" The retort burst from Peter Roberts. The vitriol in his voice was alarming. Mark restrained himself from comment. He was conscious that he was new and not wanting to upset potential new friendships.

"Filthy Slut!" George Cook's comment dripped hate. Mark was even more alarmed. He struggled with his own thoughts and responses.

"It might not be what you think."

George and Peter both turned to look at him. Disbelief and scorn on their faces. They struggled with their exasperation.

"Mark, have you ever taken your wife shopping in the Greendale suburbs?"

Mark nodded looking across at Peter. George butted in.

"Tell me Mark on those shopping trips has your wife ever groped and fondled?" Mark swallowed hard. It was impossible to take his wife or daughter shopping without some enterprising bold African, or two, or three demonstrating a physical interest!

His silence told.

"So what do you think happens at 1am in the morning when a white woman walks alone into a bar full of drunken Africans?"

At that moment he heard the door to the bar slam closed. Followed immediately by whooping and yelling breaking out in the bar.

Mark looked away.

The image of that pretty woman in her feminine flowery dress being fondled and groped….pulled across a bar table as horny Africans gathered around. He started fixedly out of the window and tried to suppress his sudden excitement at the thought of Sharon Bowles being repeatedly fucked by those rowdy excited Africans.

"Look Mark. I know you are fresh out from England with English ideas and tolerance and understanding but this is Africa." Mark turned back to George, and Peter piped up.

"Believe you me Mark, when a white woman takes black cock in Africa. It's just the start of the rot."

"Not that a white man would have anything to do with her again!" 

"Or even her own family if they found out!"

Mark looked at the Rhodies. He had no doubt their sincerity and passion. He wondered if they had any understanding if the depths of their own racism. He hoped he would never descend to such depths of despair as these two.

"Well I'm not sitting here, knowing what is going on over there!" George started the car and they drove off.

Strangely enough he never shared an evening patrol with George and Peter again. Not that he avoided patrols with others like them. Indeed their distrust of the Africans was behind their determination and perseverance with these night patrols. 

He also learned a lot about Harare at night and his neighbours. Clearly not all were so fervently anti-black. He recalled the night with Joe Vogert, and Fred Smith. Their keen eyes had spotted a car deep in some woodland. Naturally suspicious they had approached from behind, parked quietly and closed with the vehicle. 

It was a large estate, and the seats had been lowered. About ten feet from the car Joe said it was the Roberts car. It must have been stolen and abandoned. He was looking to see if any parts had been stolen, when the car seemed to shiver. 

They stepped back a moment, then Fred seemed to glide forward silently.

"Bitch! She's back to her old tricks!"

Mark stepped forward to look.

He could see a pair of white legs; a pumping black body hid the rest. His heart leapt in surprise. He had never seen others make love. Never been close to others indulging in sex. Here just a few feet away a white woman was illicitly engaging in sex with a black man. One of his most deep- rooted fantasies taking place literally feet away.

Joe waved them back. As they climbed back inside the car Mark looked between them.

"Do I take it that was Mrs Roberts?"

They both nodded looking sour.

"I guess that was not Mr Roberts?"

"Mike Roberts was crippled in the war. A mine blew up his armoured car."

"Aye, Africans planted that mine, and now his wife lets African men between her legs to get what she can't get from her husband anymore!"

"It's a disgrace."

"Something should be done about it." 

Joe and Fred looked at each other, then as though remembering his presence looked at Mark. Then they looked at each other as though making a secret agreement before looking away.

On another evening he was out on patrol with Karl Voigt and Donald Mc Donald when they had come across a villa with its gates open at 1am in the morning. The normal practice at such a find was to pay a visit to the owner and ask if he knew his gates were open.

To his surprise Donald had said no, and they had pulled up a few hundred yards away.

"Watch and wait," said Donald. "I know this house. I suspect her husband must be away. I don't think he has a clue what goes on when he is away. This is the sort of thing you need to see for yourself."

Karl wound his window down, and the subdued sounds of laughter and music came from the villa. 

A few minutes later three African men strolled down the road. Each carried packs of canned bear. Without hesitation they turned into the villa gates.

Donald nodded his head. 

"I heard Sue Clarke ran a wild house when her husband was away. Now we have seen it for ourselves."

Mark looked across at Karl who nodded.

"Burglars would never have walked in so openly carrying beers."

Mark could see the sense of that. They drove off shortly afterwards to look out for people who wanted protection. 

Now as Mark drove Angel to tonight's meeting he fell into what seemed a natural sweep of his surroundings.

Although it was evening the rich scent of flowering trees pervaded the warm African evening. The drive from the Greendale suburb to the Borrowdale was a seamless drive through secluded well maintained villa's that anywhere else in the world would costs hundreds of thousands, if not millions, but in Zimbabwe fetched prices in the low tens of thousands. An amount that was still an impossible dream for ordinary Africans.

He glanced across at Angel. She was reclining with her eyes shut, and he revelled in the picture perfect beauty of his wife. At times like this he could disregard the confused insecurity her tempers frequently displayed. The last few months had seen a marked improvement. 

Indeed this week they had made love to three times! He couldn't remember the last time they had made love three times in a week. He would happily take Angel to this Philosophy meet, or any other event if it helped her recovery, and their sex life improved as well

He glanced back at her and his gaze focussed on her breasts. Remarkably full and firm after three children. The way in which Angel had relaxed back into her seat, had perhaps without intention resulted in her full breasts standing full and firm from her body.

For a moment a brief image of black hands clasping and squeezing those perfect white orbs came to mind. It was a hugely exciting vision, but one he knew would never happen. His wife was far too conservative to indulge in an affair, especially with a black man. 

Although she denied it he suspected she had inherited a closet racism from her undoubtedly racist father.

He glanced back at her. She looked so peaceful in repose, with her head resting on the backrest. As usual she had applied very little make up, but even so she was lovely. 

Another image flashed into his head.

An African holding her pretty head firmly as he pushed a black cock between his wife's parted lips.

He suppressed the image, even as he did so he wondered if he wanted to suppress such a fanciful image. Fanciful indeed, in nineteen years of marriage his wife had sucked his cock only three times, and then only half-heartedly, and certainly not to completion!

The idea that a black man might persuade her to suck cock was mere fantasy. Though he mused it would be nice fantasy to think about. He loved his wife, but to say she was conservative sexually was a huge understatement.

It seemed ironic that such a beautiful woman could have such a low interest in sex. He had no doubt that many men would look at his wife and desire her. He smiled, as he pondered if their interest would survive discovering her low sex drive.

They arrived at the luxury villa in Borrowdale, which hosted the meet. As he arrived some cars were leaving. Others were pulling up, or parking at the main house. He turned in and drove up the long drive.




An African Seduction Ch. 03



He had never met the owner, and Angel had never discussed their host. As he pulled over Angel jumped out and he glanced at the others arriving and going into the villa. It was 7pm. 

"9.30!" Angel called as she left.

As he had noticed earlier, all those arriving for the meet where white women. Most of the women seemed to be between 25 and 35years old. Angel despite being older was better looking than all of them!

That fact gave him quiet pride. 

He also noticed that like Angel all the visiting women were dressed in their feminine best. It came to him that they were a prime example of the beautiful white flowers of Rhodesia, or Zimbabwe, as it was now known.

He watched as Angel strolled across to the villa's entrance and took quite pride in her effortless grace. Her hips swayed in a feminine, but not brazen manner.

He smiled as he turned the car and headed home.

The evening seemed to pass to quickly for Angel. The discussion was lively and interesting. In the past they had discussed the idealism of Plato, and the ethics of Socrates, and the logic of Aristotle.

Tonight, however, they had discussed a relatively modern philosophy of Nietzsche. Igwe clearly held to this philosophy and the freedom of any individual to create their own values. This concept had led to a vigorous debate as Angel realised her own deep belief in Catholicism might be at jeopardy by such a philosophy.

However, Igwe pointed to Africa, was reputedly the site of the Garden of Eden. He pointed out in graphic detail the poverty, starvation, and chronic disease that bedevilled the continent. Africa he pointed out was the closest continent to the birthplace of the Christ child, and yet in Africa it was not the meek that ruled but the strong and the powerful.

"Men like Igwe Orizu had the power of life and death in Zimbabwe," he explained. 

Words that startled Angel out of her thoughts. She was not accustomed to such stark concepts. Then she recovered herself. Igwe was charming and intelligent. A man capable of discussing philosophy in such deep and meaningful terms was not a man to wield the power of life and death harshly.

She looked at him more closely. 

She had never known a man who had such power. Was he serious? She felt a strange shiver run through her and wondered at its meaning.

Igwe demonstrated by example, not just in Zimbabwe, but also across Africa how men with money and power dominated the continent and took what they wanted from it. 

While at the same time they found a ready audience of followers who were only to ready to blame western companies, and the previous colonial powers for their current misfortune.

He Igwe, had wealth, and that wealth gave him power. While he paid the ruling party a tithe of his earnings that grateful body overlooked minor matters like tax, and the occasional disappearances.

"Police officers would jump to his command for a trivial sum of money. Though it seemed a fortune to them Money made the law in Africa!"

"Africa was a continent that proved Nietzsche right. Moreover, it was the black man who held power! Not white men."

"Here it was black men who were strong and positive, while white men were nervous and on the defensive."

"It was men, and men like him, who found it easy to impose their will on the weak and the worthless."

"There was a time when the white men ruled in Africa. Those days are over."

"Power lies with a handful of men like Igwe Orizu," pointing to himself, "in countries across Africa."

He looked across the room as the white women hanging on to his every word. Every one of which, he had taken his pleasure with. Even the Ice Queen herself.

"Now in Africa when a black man like me wants a white woman in his bed he just takes her, and there is no one who can stop him doing so."

His gaze swept across the now tittering and giggling women, and his eyes met and held those of the Ice Queen.

They he would not have called her that if he understood how quickly her nipples hardened under his gaze. Her breath caught in her throat, and her pussy suddenly inexplicably turned into a swampy morass that steamed.

That comment seemed to close the meeting and a few women stayed for coffee. It was 8.30pm and David was due to pick her up at 9.30pm. Why had she not told him to pick her up earlier? She sipped her coffee listening to the idle chatter discussing the latest shortages.

As Helen Baxter rose to leave Angel realised she would be the only one left if she remained. It was only 9pm but she could not risk remaining in this house alone with Igwe. 

She rose and joined Helen in expressing her satisfaction at the evening and her thanks to Igwe and headed for the door with the other woman.

She had almost escaped when Igwe's asked her to stay a moment. Her heart jumped and butterflies swarmed in her stomach. She quickened her pace, but his hand caught hers holding her back.

"Helen," Angel called out to the other woman to encourage her to wait. To her alarm the word came out in a high squeak. Helen glanced back just as Igwe came up behind her and his arm encircled Angel's waist.

"Helen, wait a moment please," she asked.

Helen glanced quickly at Angel, and then at Igwe. She ignored Angel's beseeching eyes request, and closed the door behind her. Angel could swear she had seen amusement in Helen's eyes.

The door clicked shut.

Angel was about to speak when she felt Igwe's hot breath on her slender neck. She shivered, and then sought to free herself from the arm around her waist.

"It was a mistake." She gasped as she struggled to push his arm away. Referring to last week's passionate lovemaking.

"It was meant to be." His voice was soft and mesmerising, now his hot breath was wafting across her delicate white ear.

Angel could feel herself trembling, and cursed her treacherous body. She grasped his arm and was astonished at how hard and firm it was. Her efforts to pull his arm free had no effect. It would have been very easy to push her husband away, but Igwe's arm was locked around her waist was an immovable object.

"Igwe! I'm married. I can't do this!"

Behind her Igwe's response was a low purr of appreciation as his free hand rose up and clasped one of Angel's full firm breasts in his hand.

"Oh! No! Please1"

Igwe's black hand cupped and fondled the white fullness, delighting in its shape and firmness. Between the light fabric of her dress he could feel that Angel's brassiere was light and lacy. The sort of brassiere a woman wore when she was expecting intimate attention.

He grinned and lowered his lips to the slender white neck and lightly trailed kisses along its perfection.

Angel's head fell back, flopped to one side, as his lips feasted. Then she struggled anew. Knowing full well the adulterous penalty of allowing him to continue. 

"No! I said No!" Angel shouted her protest desperate now, as her body reacted with its own quick recognition of the presence of a warm strong male wishing to mate.

She struggled to walk towards the now closed door, but Igwe pulled her back towards him and her curvy derriere was pulled against his loins.

Immediately she felt the hot hard maleness push up against her soft bottom. She sought to pull her hips away, but Igwe was not having it.

Holding her firmly around the waist. Igwe sensuously rubbed his hardness in the soft round curves of the married white woman. She was no naïve innocent, and knew the power and strength of the male member pressing into her.

Her pussy throbbed and liquefied.

Angel nearly wept with frustration and anger at her misuse. She cursed herself for coming back here after he had taken advantage of her last week. This man was not polite and considerate like her husband.

He was an animal!

A black animal with a hard cock, a throbbing cock, that was sliding and pushing firmly and hotly between the soft cheeks of her bottom pushing them apart.

Her pussy throbbed and purred in response. 

Despite her best intentions her body was reacting with eager delight at his forceful attentions. Igwe's charm and intelligence having been replaced with an animal lust that was threatening to overwhelm her senses.

Suddenly she was free, and she jumped forward. Then she turned intent on a blistering retort, only to find Igwe close behind and his mouth descending on hers.

"Umphh," her retort stifled by his hot demanding lips crushing hers.

Her hands came up intent on pushing him away. Somehow she found herself holding him close as their lips locked and his tongue was eagerly responding to his demanding invasion of her mouth.

He stepped forward and she found herself sandwiched between the wall of the hallway and his hard warm black body.

Again she tried to push him away but his hard black body was immovable. She was overcome by the strong scent of his male arousal. His large cock was now pressed firmly against the welcoming curve of her soft stomach. 

It's length and hardness seemed thicker and longer that she had remembered. Nothing could be that long and thick! Her brain was in turmoil even as his hands were under her skirt exploring upwards. 

She renewed her struggle squirming in his grasp. Her treacherous nipples had exploded into thickened pointy hardness. As she squirmed against Igwe they rubbed against his chest sending flashes of desire and excitement between their excited tips and her overexcited loins.

Igwe could feel the married white woman's hardened nipples rub and brush against him as his body held her pinned against the wall.

White women! They were so alike. Protesting their innocence. Denying their needs even as their bodies blazoned to the world their desire for sex. 

His hands rose along the soft curves of her upper thighs, enjoying their soft warmth. Stroking and caressing with his hands he could feel the woman tremble violently. 

His hands slipped up over the full curves of her bouncy derriere and grasped and moulded the full curves pulling her close to him and his eager throbbing cock.

"No", her voice was a low whisper in his ear. A last desperate pleading as he marvelled at the soft lacy knickers he had discovered. He grinned as he realised she had come to his meeting tonight not in the safe protective cotton panties of a woman married 19 years. She had come to him in knickers designed to inflame and arouse.

He grinned and tore them apart. 

Angel wailed and pushed and shoved, and could not stop herself revelling in the hot hardness pushing her skirt between her legs. Her dress was her last protection.

"My husband…please…I'm married…I can't…not again."

The words were music in the ears of Igwe. There was nothing quite like breaking in married white woman emotionally confused and aroused against her will.

He knew what was needed now.

He withdrew his hands and pulled back from her. He could feel her body surge forward seeking to keep contact with his. Her arms once pushing him away now hung tight on his shoulders.

He took her face in his hands. Stroking the soft white cheeks, he turned her face up towards his. He met her eyes concentrating all the warmth and confidence he could muster.

"This is right Angel. This is how it must be."

"But I am married to Mark."

"I love you Angel."

He watched her eyes widen.

"You love me," her voice stammered.

"Of course. How could I not?"

"But…but…but", her confusion was cut short by the feel of his aroused cock pushing and sliding deliciously between her legs.

"I know you love me Angel."

"But I can't love you…"

"I know you do. Your body could not possibly react like this to anyone other than a man you loved."

As if to prove his words his hands dropped to and enveloped her full thrusting breasts. His palms gliding over the aroused stiff nipples sending shooting streams of pleasure that seemed to choreograph with the pulsing needs of her loins. 

She shivered and pushed her aching breasts into his hands. It made sense. She could not remember feeling so aroused and excited.

She looked up at him trying to think but his bruising mouth crushed hers and she gasped into his hot mouth. After a moment's hesitation her tongue sort out his and she was borne back to the wall.

Igwe could sense the collapse of resistance. His hands were back under her skirt. She needed time to think but her skirt was being pushed up to her waist and she found herself clutching it high out of the way as that hot throbbing masculine hardness finally found its way between softness of her silken thighs.

Its heat seemed to scorch her inner thighs as it urged her spreading thighs apart. It throbbed and pulsed against her skin and she remembered what it had felt like last time.

Hot wet liquid seemed to slide over her skin and she realised it was his excited pre-cum leaking from the head of his cock as it excitedly rubbed between her shapely legs.

Then she gasped as Igwe hoisted her into the air. She marvelled at his strength, as he lifter her high and pushed back against the wall. His hands pulled her legs apart and she realised she was at a height that matched her loins with his cock.

Her head fell forward onto his shoulder and waited for the inevitable.

He loved her!

His cock thrust upwards and like an Assegai spear seemed to penetrate deep at the first thrust.

Her toes curled.

Her hands clasped his shoulders.

He thrust again…deeper.

She bit her lip in an anguished attempt at self-control.

He thrust again and she screamed her pleasure.

She could feel Igwe's shoulders shake and wondered at his own pleasure.

Then his cock started to withdraw and she sought to clasp it tightly shocking herself. Her tight grasp on his cock seemed to make no difference to its slithery withdrawal but then he thrust again and she gasped her relief into his neck.

She did not want this to stop. No not anytime soon!!!

Igwe was bouncing and thrusting beneath and she could feel his cock throbbing and jerking inside her. She felt so stretched. It was just as wonderful as she remembered.

Could anything match the pleasure this cock was giving her. Igwe was right. This was perfect. This was right. It must be love. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight.

Igwe had felt the surrender of the soft woman's body beneath his hands. Now he felt the change of mood inside her again. Her breath was hot on his neck, as he thrust and pounded inter her inner tightness.

"Igwe. Igwe," she gasped in his ear. " I love you too…I do!"

She stretched her legs wide in the grip pf his hands, opening herself wide to his black thrusting maleness. Let him take her! Let him do as he will!

He loved her! It was OK! She couldn't be unfaithful if she was with a man who loved her! Not when it felt so wonderful

She felt movement below her then heavy black balls seemed to slap against her loins. She had taken it all! She grinned and held herself wide.

This was nothing like anything she had experienced before.

With her husband she had dutifully lain back and enjoyed his vigorous thrusting atop her. Here up against this wall she was being bounced and jerked around, His cock was thrusting and probing in parts that had been rarely touched. She could swear any moment now he would punch through her uterus and his thick cock head would be in her womb!

This fucking against the wall had her quivering and jerking. Her full bottom was being jerked against the wall with every thrust. Instead of passively accepting her husband's thrusts she found herself grasping at his cock in a most unladylike way! 

Her loins were being thrown against the wall, bouncing off and as she bounced she found herself grasping and twisting on his cock in a way she had never done before. She did not want that cock escaping the hot sheath between her legs. 

Never before had sex been this good!

A car horn sounded outside.

Igwe thrust, and an acquiescent pussy grasped and squeezed.

"Your husband," Igwe grasped.

"Damn!" Angel hung in tight.

"Want me to stop?"

"Oh God No! Don't stop!"

"But your husband?"

Angel's words were muffled in his neck as she vigorously sought satisfaction from the thick length of black meat buried in her pussy.

"Don't stop, Oh please don't stop!"

The words were music in Igwe's ear. 

Angel would be his now. It would only be a matter of time before she was broken in. He would have her eating sperm from his hand in weeks. His friends would be delighted to try her out!

A married white women begging a black man not to stop fucking her while her white husband sat in his car a few feet away waiting.

It was a scenario that Igwe found deeply satisfying. 

Too satisfying. His seed rose and surged into the receptive female sheath like the blow' from a whale.

He listened to Angels desperate wail as she felt his seed surge inside her. Then her own orgasm overcame her. He held her shaking tremulous body against for a moment. Helping her calm down.

"Get dressed. You husband will be coming through the door in a minute!"

Startled and shaken, still trying to recover. Angel pulled her clothes straight, finding her panties were a shredded wreck. 

She would have to go home with her husband without panties on!

She quickly spayed herself to try and overpower the smell of sex and the African male who had just made love to her.

She stopped at the door, before she could turn he had taken her in his arms.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear.

Heart pounding Angel opened the door and slipped outside to join her husband.

Igwe watched as Angel climbed into her husband's car. He wondered if her husband was one of those who minded his wife taking a black lover. Angel would be unable to keep it secret for too much longer.

He turned and picked up his glass. He would leave the rest for his servant to clean up.

He padded through the house. His cock naked and wet from their love making, still hung from his trousers.

He walked into his bedroom. A rumpled mop of blond hair stirred and turned up to look at him. He grinned at Michelle his buxom blonde receptionist. When he had bought the stone making business from her father he had promised to keep the girl on with a secure job.

Her eyes had already fallen to his glistening length of black cock.

"Lick me clean" he commanded.

There was a momentary resentment flash in her eyes, and then she scuttled across the bed. Her soft 18 year-old mouth slid over his cock and her soft tongue started licking him clean.

His hand rested to drop onto her blond curls.

He grinned wishing her white father could see how he was keeping his daughter in gainful employment.

Mark quickly drove Angel home. There was something different about her tonight. She seemed to have a radiant glow about her. He asked her about the evening and to his surprise she chatted to about Nietzsche, the German philosopher.

Back at home they both potted around tidying up and chatting. Then Angel announced she was having an early night, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Mark's head raced. Angel looked truly wonderful this evening that radiant flushed look she had been particularly pronounced. Had her decision to have an early night been a subtle message that she was open to sex tonight?

He grinned and his cock hardened.

He wanted sex with his wife tonight!

When Angel came out of the bathroom she was alarmed to see Mark grinning at her from their bed. His arousal defined by the bedclothes.

Her husband wanted to make love!

Flustered her thoughts scattered.

"Come here honey."

Angel smiled at Mark, successfully hiding her consternation. She was confused she loved Igwe now, and Igwe had said he loved her. Could she make love to her husband?

Husband!

Yes, he was still her husband. Especially before God, and a panicky fear filled her that she had condemned her soul by allowing Igwe to have her. 




An African Seduction Ch. 03



But Igwe lover her!

It couldn't be wrong to make love to someone who loved her, and it had felt so good!

She flushed a deep pink. 

Mark grinned at the sight of his conservative wife flushing at Mark's desire for sex with her.

She was so innocent and charming when it came to sex.

"I…I am not sure." She slipped into bed beside him. "I'm tired."

Mark cuddled up to her. His hands stroked her legs, exploring the soft inner skin of her upper thigh. He loved the feel of that satiny softness. As his hands rose higher Angel desperately grasped his hand before it reached her pussy. She had tried to clean herself up but she was still very wet.

Not knowing how best to distract him she brought his hands up to her breasts. His eager hands happy to accept the alternative offering.

She tried to think of a way to distract him from sex tonight, but she felt so languorous and fulfilled that she struggled to find a put down to keep her husband at bay.

As his hands played with her breasts her nipples burst into a fierce hardness and she cursed her treacherous body.

"Wow, you really are excited tonight."

His mouth sought out one of those thickened, darkened nipples.

"Oh wow honey, I don't think I have ever seen your nipples so aroused and excited.

Angel cursed her body. She could hardly explain to her husband that her nipples were so aroused because they were expecting more of the vigorous demanding sex that Igwe had given her that evening.

How could she refuse her lawful husband when she had given herself so eagerly to Igwe?

Mark's hands sought to explore between her legs again. She had to do something about this! She was not ready to try and explain to her besotted husband that she was letting a black man have his way with her. 

How could he still love her so much after 19 years?

She pulled his hands away and urged him to mount her now! Wide eyed in surprise Mark hastily complied. Usually he had to work hard to get Angel aroused and eager.

He slid himself between his wife's full shapely thighs and felt them rise up on either side of him. A sure sign she was excited. 

Her hands pushed aside his and sought his member. Seeking to direct between her legs. 

To his complete and utter shock he slid all the way inside his wife with only one thrust! He normally hard to work hard to get his cock all the way inside, and she was so wet!

"Oh God Wow!" he gasped above her.

He was so taken up with the experience he missed Angels worried frown.

He brought his hips back sliding his cock out before thrusting back in.

He could not believe just how excited his wife was! He had never known her like this. She felt so slippery with wetness.

He did not know what had gotten his wife in this state but as far as he was concerned these Philosophy classes were doing the trick!!!

He hunched forward and buried his face in Angel's neck, kissing and licking and hiding his face from her.

This was so incredible. He worked his cock fiercely inside Angel.

Oh Wow! Oh God! This was incredible.

In all the fantasies he had indulged in this feeling between his wife's legs was just as he has imagined it would be like to make love to his wife after another man!

Ashamed to think such perverse thoughts her hid his face in neck and eagerly thrust.

Beneath him Angel was struggling to know how to respond to her husband's eager lovemaking. Usually she would lie passive and enjoy his attempts to please her.

She struggled with a new urge to take a more aggressive role.

Her own desire for fulfilment rose to the fore and the clasped her pussy around Mark's cock. The hot air from his surprised gasp filled her ear. It was only as she tried to grasp him that she realised how wet and slippery her pussy was! Frustrated, she rose her hips off the bed and wriggled them around.

The effect on her husband was galvanic.

"Oh wow! Oh God Honey," then he gasped and came inside.

He lay in her arms blurting out his apologies.

She cradled her in his arms, soothing and reassuring him.

Even as she did that her mind turned to Igwe's long black cock and the pleasure it had given her. He would not have come so quickly.

(I hope you have enjoyed the stories. My future stories will not be called African Seduction Ch 1, 2 , 3 etc which I and I am sure others will find boring! So I will give them their own separate titles. They will however in a totally 'fictional' way reflect our experiences and observations in Africa. Where events are beyond the guidelines of Literotica, I will probably publish through another site.)