4 comments/ 55185 views/ 11 favorites African Adventure By: African Adventure The path led down a small hill into a shallow ravine where a deep stream flowed. Women in colorful cotton dresses were at work doing laundry, kneeling by the stream and washing each piece by hand. He looked for the guard and found him sitting on a rocky ledge, admiring the way the wet cotton dresses clung to the washer women. He attracted the guard's attention and leaned his rifle against the rocks, placing the leather bag next to it. Then he waded into the stream until it was up to his waist and sat down in it, submerging himself completely in the water until his lungs demanded more oxygen. He surfaced and looked around. Sara was standing by the edged of the stream, apparently unsure of what to do. He considered, for a moment, the idea that she might be slow and decided that she was probably just overwhelmed and a little shocked. "Dump the laundry on the ground, bring the buckets over here," he called and made his way to a portion of the stream where the water ran shallow, knee deep, through waist high boulders. He stripped off his pants and tossed them onto the pile of clothing. Sara was wading gingerly through the water towards him. "No worries. The guard will warn us if anything dangerous gets close." She froze at his words, searching the water for threats that she had no knowledge of. He laughed, knowing it was cruel, but doing it anyway. When she reached him he took the small bucket out of her hand and showed her the soft, material inside. "Soap," he said, "Not very nice soap. The ladies have started adding some fruit scent to it lately, so it's nicer than it was." He took the larger can and held it up. "Rinse bucket." He set the rinse bucket and the soap can on one of the boulders and looked her in the eyes. "Wash me," he said. As she worked, he talked. "You might be regretting your decision back on the trail. But you don't really have any other options now. On the trail I could have killed you and ordered your body taken back. That option isn't open to us now. The boys would get mad if I killed you without offering them, all of them, the opportunity to play with you. Imagine that for a moment. Imagine going through what you just went through two or three hundred times. It would probably kill you. Maybe not. But your options now are simple. You can go to them, or you can go to me. You might survive with me. This is a new world. There is no right or wrong. No considerations of morality. There is only survival. You need to learn the rules of this new world if you want to survive. I have the knowledge you need. So long as you don't make my life difficult I'll keep feeding you that knowledge. Make my life difficult or dangerous and the boys will be lining up on the parade ground for their turn on you. "Rule number one is that you do what I say when I say it. You can ask all the questions you want, but only while you are carrying out my order. I may or may not answer your questions. "Rule number two, forget morality. You are not going to be judged on your moral character. You are going to be judged on your ability to please me. To put this in terms you understand, you will act like a whore for me. Or like you think a whore would act. You shouldn't feel guilty about this. It doesn't make you a bad person. You do what you have to in order to survive. A month from now you can be back in the civilized world, telling a shrink or a priest all about your horrible experience. And they will tell you that you are still a good person, to be proud you found the strength to survive, and to go out into the world and live your life. "Rule number three; you are mine and mine alone. If one of these bastards tries to rape you, you had better fight like hell. Put your thumbs in his eyes. You don't want to survive this hell and die slowly of AIDS or hepatitis. Neither do I. So you'll be useless to me if I even suspect you've picked something up. "Rule number four; fit in. Watch the other women. They have survived, and will continue to survive. Learn. As part of this you'll need to learn a new language. We speak Esperanto, sort of, around here. Language helps define identity. Here's your first lesson. Repeat after me. 'Mi estas la virino de la kapitano'. I am the Captain's woman." "Mis estas la virino de la kapitano," she repeated. Her eyes widened. Robert nodded as Sara absorbed the words, comprehension manifest in her eyes. "Jes, Sara. Vi estas mia. You are mine, and right now you are nothing more than property. Like a farmer's horse. I think we understand each other; as much as we need to. I'll keep you alive, I'll even protect you from the worst of this nightmare. You pay attention and do whatever I tell you to do, even if you don't understand my reasons. We don't have time for grieving now. Later. Tonight you can grieve, cry even. But first you must survive today." He searched her eyes for a long moment, watching the inner conflict reflected by her body language. She raged quietly against circumstance, hope and despair wrestling within her heart. In the end, he perceived acceptance. A commitment to personal survival, if nothing else, and, perhaps, a degree of hope. "Bona virineto. Good girl," he said, looking directly into her eyes. He held the eye contact, watching her face color and then fix itself with a determined look. She applied soap to his body, roughly at first but then she caught sight of the amused look on his face and she thought better of her meaningless show of rebellion. When she came to his waist she hesitated until his laugh goaded her into action. Uncertainly she stroked his penis with her soapy hands, curiosity writ large upon her face. The curiosity was replaced by a moue of distaste as her hands reached between his buttocks. She had to kneel to wash his legs, and looked adamantly at the water as she did so. He nodded in approval and walked into the deeper water to rinse himself off. Then he walked over to the shallows and leaned back against a rock. He imagined the water carrying away the stress of the past week and felt his body respond by relaxing. "Puru vi, Sara. Wash yourself," he ordered, "You're a beautiful woman. Belulino. You shouldn't be covered in filth." He looked over at the women by the side of the stream, every last one gawking at them. "Kio vi gapas? Cxu vi bezonas plilaboro?" he snapped. The women quickly resumed working, dropping their eyes to the laundry they scrubbed. She scooped up a handful of soap and began to lather her upper body. It was a moment before she realized that he was watching her. She blushed furiously and turned her face away to hide her emotions. She turned her back to him and stepped further into the water until it reached up to her waist. Carefully she washed herself, wincing when her hands passed over her labia. She sat down in the deep water to wet her hair, using her fingers to work the worst of the knots out and resolutely not looking at anything. She began to work the soap into her long blonde tresses, absurdly wondering what she would be able to use for conditioner. Robert watched her bathe, fascinated by the motions of her hands, flowing over the lines of her body. Her modesty made the actions all the more erotic to him, her half-clothed state made her seem more naked than naked. Her T-shirt clung to her body, molding itself to her contours, half-revealing the flesh beneath those areas it clung to. When her hands dropped below the water to scrub, his imagination quickly filled in the details of her actions. He could, he realized, order her to stand and scrub herself in front of him. He considered doing this, but did not. He was enjoying the way she moved naturally, without direction. She had a certain grace to her actions that was at odds with the mechanical world he had brought to the jungle. Although not a part of the jungle herself, she fit better here than anyone else. He wondered why this might be. When she began to scrub at the bloody T-shirt he muttered, "Don't scrub too hard," to himself, "It never really washes off." He shook himself physically, trying to bring himself back to reality. He laughed when he realized this. "And what is real?" he asked himself. "Puru laj vestoj, Sara. Wash the clothing," he told her. Robert walked out of the water, striding over to his rifle and the leather bag. Finding a place in the sun to sit, he propped the rifle next to him, opened the bag and started to pick through it. The bag itself was a fashion designer's idea of what a backpack should be. Perfect for 'adventure' day trips and completely out of place in the jungle; like a Cadillac at an off-road rally. The contents themselves were about what you would expect from someone who had packed for an adventure but never really been away from civilization. Some of the clothing could be given to the women, and the Tylenol and such would go to the infirmary. At last, all the way at the bottom of the bag, he found what he had hoped for. He popped open the small container and found a half empty set of birth control pills. 'Virginal and naïve, but not stupid,' he thought to himself, surprised at the small feeling of satisfaction the thought created. He counted the pills and then lay back against the rock, basking in the warmth of the sun and calculating. 'It'll be close,' he thought, 'but it should do.' If all went well he, and thus Sara, was in for a very long walk. The walk would be hard enough for her, but if she were pregnant it would likely kill her. He had tried to ensure that the 'army' be well supplied with condoms, but George had over-ridden him, citing several arguments. So far as he knew, he had maybe six condoms left and he had a use for those in mind. With this thought he turned his head to see how she was faring. She knelt by the stream, apart from the other women, and struggled with the washing process, imitating, as best she could, their actions. The other women, for their part, ignored her. Robert knew this was because they didn't know how to deal with this new situation. Normally the women regarded him as something of a protector. He had stopped the worst excesses of violence directed against them, some of them so horrific that he occasionally had nightmares. He had also given them meaningful positions within the organization and, in general, made the daily hell of their existence bearable. More, he didn't have sex with any of them, despite the attempts several had made to attract his attentions. That made him a neutral party in any arguments he was called on to resolve. But Sara was a wild-card. How would he act now that he had a woman of his own? That question, or some variety of it, he knew, was running through their heads. Already he was acting more like the men they were accustomed to; abusing his woman by parading her about naked. The men they were accustomed to were to be feared, not trusted. Robert sighed. His reputation among the women was about to be diminished by his treatment of Sara and by the realization that he was not uninterested in women, just in the ones that had tried to entice him. There would be jealousies to contend with. He rubbed his jaw and considered the situation. The women would not risk seriously pissing him off, so the worst Sara could expect was dirty looks and the occasional whispered comment. Not that those wouldn't be bad enough for her, and counterproductive to his efforts. Still, there was nothing for it; the women could make his life less pleasant, the men could make it very short. He glanced over at Sara again. She continued to wash, rubbing soap into her T-shirt in a futile attempt to remove the bloodstains. As he watched, she leaned forward to rinse the T-shirt, again, in the water. The action displayed the tuft of soft pubic hair and the soft folds of flesh hidden within. His eyes, captured by her beauty, noted the way her small breasts shaped themselves, pulled downward from her chest by gravity. The back and forth motion of her scrubbing made them move in a way that he found hypnotic. Her arms were still red and angry from carrying the rice bag through the jungle and she had bruises on her torso where she had been kicked and on her shoulders where the ropes had been. Her wet, golden hair hung down to one side of her face. His eyes followed the line of her body, down her spine, lingering on the soft curves of her unblemished ass and then down her shapely legs, covered in scratches from the march. Even her ankles, he laughed, were lovely, though her feet were covered with ruptured blisters. He felt himself stirring, the impulse to rise and take her so strong that it momentarily over-rode years of painfully acquired self-discipline. He stopped himself and considered options, mentally playing out possible outcomes of his actions. He needed her to get over her shock, to accept, at least temporarily, her situation and the actions she was going to have to take. He also admitted to himself that acting wasn't enough. He didn't simply want feigned obedience and false emotions, he wanted her genuine submission. There was no practical reason for this, just his own perverse desires. He rolled this thought around in his mind for several minutes, eyes fixed hungrily upon her naked form. In the end, he suddenly found himself listening to his own advice, 'Here there is no right or wrong. No considerations of morality.' He rose and walked over to where she knelt. Leaning his rifle, unconsciously carried with the long habit of a lifetime, against a rock he knelt behind her, pushing her legs further apart. She squeaked in surprise and tried to crawl forward, into the water. His hands grabbed her hips, restraining her. "Nothing but sounds of pleasure, Sara. I don't want to hurt you, but I will," he told her in a low voice. One hand slipped between her thighs, caressing her sex with firm circles of his palm, cupping her soft mons. She whimpered, half in fear and half, he thought, hoped, something else. His fingers parted the folds and held them spread, pinned like the wings of a butterfly as he placed the head of his cock against her. He pushed slowly in to his full length, placing his hands on her hips to hold her tightly to him. It had been years since he had a woman without wearing a condom. He simply held her still against him, focusing his entire attention upon the way she felt upon him, the soft warmth of her suffusing his entire body with a warm glow of pleasure. "Vi estas mia, Sara. You're mine. To use as I want, when I want, how I want. Push back against me. Moan. I want to hear you." Sara moaned quietly, barely audible and tentatively shifted her body. When she pushed herself back against him, she moaned again and then gasped in surprise. Robert reached forward with his hand, taking a grasp of Sara's hair and pulling her back until her back was pressed against him. His hand reached down, pushing up under the bra to find her small, firm breasts. His hand played at the nipple, slowly rolling and pulling at it as it hardened beneath his touch. He growled softly as her body both fought and welcomed him. He leaned his head forward, teeth playing at the lobe of her ear, tongue tracing the swirls of it as her nails dug into his arm. "Don't fight it, Sara. It's not wrong to feel pleasure. Your body was built for this, to give and receive pleasure. Let your body guide you. Listen to the instincts of thousands of years of evolution," he whispered into her ear. Robert pushed forward with his hands, forcing Sara again to her hands and knees, sliding her forward until only the glans of his member was still inside her. Gently he pulled her back until her ass was pressed firmly against his abdomen. Slowly he manipulated her body, moving her back and forth on his cock. He savored the feel of her body, soft flesh gripped in his hands, the wet silk of her sex caressing the length of him. He groaned softly, pleasure becoming sound, and continued to take the pleasure her body had to offer him. His muscles trembled as adrenaline shot through his body, the pain of her nails, the scent of her musk, the feel of her flesh, and the brazen situation creating a primal cocktail of stimulation. Robert drew in deep breaths of air, nostrils seeking for more of the scent of Sara's excitement. He reached forward with one hand, grasping a handful of her hair. His free hand reached back and came forward, smacking Sara hard on one globe of her ass, driving her forward in reaction, both physical and emotional, his cock almost slipping from her. His hand pulled at her hair, yanking her back against him and burying himself deeply inside her. He repeated this action, again, and again, forcing Sara to ride him. "Kio vi estas, Sara?" He demanded. "What are you, Sara? Tell me." "I'm your woman," Sara whispered. He laughed in delight as the quiet admission slipped from her lips, a brief intelligible phrase amidst her animal moans. The motions of her body, tentatively seeking pleasure, shyly inching towards sensations that she craved but could not yet accept, drove him over the edge of reason. Mad with lust, every sense overwhelmed by her, his cock swelled painfully and he thrust into her, hard and deep, his body pumping semen into her in waves of ecstasy. His hands held her firmly, one gripping at her waist, holding her to him and pushing her down, while his other remain entangled in her hair, pulling her head back. She squirmed upon him, her body flying from her control and shamelessly pursuing the forbidden pleasure that suffused her. She cried out in wonderment, pleasure, and shame and Robert lifted his head skyward, shouting his mastery to the sky in a fierce, wordless cry. He held her motionless against him, her sex massaging his member, as she trembled and gasped. His hand released her hair, allowing her head to drop forward, forehead to the water. A shiver raced down her spine as his laughter rang out, she feared the omission as the sound seemed to yell out his victory over her; she stiffened slightly as she tried to deny the sensations that raped her senses, the pleasure that claimed her whole body, each thrust screamed out as if to reveal to her his domination over her. Struggling to refuse to surrender more she found she could not stop the building need, she didn't know how to escape the delights, her body would not allow her to deny the pleasure, her hips undulated, her ass rubbed wantonly against him with each press of his flesh deep and hard into her sex, the walls spasmed and quivered, the heat searing from within, all thoughts soon lost to the mere animalistic act of mating until she screamed out in longing, throaty groans and husky moans escaped her parted lips as she rode the waves of pleasure that slammed through her. "Bona virineto, Sara. I think you will survive this," he told her. He stroked idly back and forth into her, mind pondering the possibility of taking her again. He looked at the shadow of the sun and decided that there was not enough time. Regretfully he withdrew from her and knew that he would treasure the small sound of protest she made. Robert shouldered his rifle, stood and waded deeper into the stream, standing waist deep in the water and wiping his penis clean. When he was finished he walked back to shore and picked up the leather bag, checking to ensure that nothing had fallen out. "When the clothing is clean, Sara, go back to my hut. All the clothing," he emphasized, pointing to the pile on the bank of the stream, "Hang the clothing to dry. Use the hammock as a laundry line if need be. Then kneel on the floor of my hut and wait for me. Do not talk to anybody and do not wear any clothing. None." Then he turned and walked away, his attentions now fully intent upon the tasks before him. Men striding through the encampment bare-ass naked was not an uncommon sight, Robert had made entire platoons run around naked and armed to drive home how important it was to always have possession of your rifle, so he drew few, if any, glances. At the hut he drew on one of the spare pairs of pants he kept in his footlocker, a T-shirt, socks, and boots. Placing a hat on his head and shouldering his rifle he checked his watch and decided that breakfast would have to be skipped. African Adventure Leaving the hut, he walked purposefully towards the parade ground. The army, less those soldiers guarding the perimeter of the camp, was assembled. The soldatego-major called the formation to attention as Robert approached. The two men exchanged salutes and he gave Robert the morning report. Robert directed him to conduct the training of the day and they again saluted. The soldatego-major turned and bellowed orders to the assembled men. In turn the soldatego in charge of each platoon turned and gave orders to their men. One by one the platoons ran off of the parade ground. Robert chose to accompany number seven platoon. He fell in behind them as they started their morning run. The soldatego detached a group of men who sprinted down the trail ahead of the formation, now running in single file. When the group was almost out of sight, they stopped and took up firing positions a few feet into the jungle on either side of the trail. Another group of men sprinted out ahead of the formation and repeated the process. As the formation passed the first group, they fell into line at the back of the column. The run went on for three miles in this fashion, looping through the trails of the jungle, until the soldatego shouted a command and the group charged into the underbrush. Moving now in small teams by leaps and bounds the group crawled and sprinted through the foliage, simulating a hasty attack. Robert participated, but left the conduct of the training entirely in the hands of the soldatego. A few hours of training satisfied the soldatego and he lead the formation back to the parade ground at the same careful jog. When they arrived, the soldiers broke up into pairs and engaged in hand to hand training. Robert circulated amongst them, taking the time to work with a few of the best. One of them snapped an elbow to the side of his face, grinning at having caught the boss. Robert threw the man face first to the ground, bloodying his nose, possibly breaking it, in the process and then smiled back in a feral fashion as the man picked himself up off the ground. "Unua, venkos la malamiko kaj do festos." he told the man, who nodded his assent and reset himself. When the soldatego was satisfied that everyone was sufficiently exhausted, he ran the group through the encampment to the rifle range. There, each soldier picked up an air rifle and the group spent the next hour running through the rifle range, assaulting targets using movement and fire. The soldatego and Robert reviewed the accuracy of the fire, both being satisfied that the men were doing well and identifying one of the newer men for further training. Robert left the platoon and walked towards his hut, sweat-soaked and filthy clothing hanging against his body. He took an indirect route, inspecting various activities as he went. Snatches of conversation drifted through the trees. At the medical facility the 'doctor' joked about the nature of the bite to his hand, cleaned it up, and put in two stitches. He pointed to the bruise forming on Robert's face. "Cxu via flavpeltulino faris tio?" he asked "Flavpeltulino?" Robert repeated, and then laughed. Shaking his head, he responded "Ne. Ne. Mia flavpeltulino ne faris tio. Una de laj soldatoj en sepa faris ĝi. Mia flavpeltulino estas seksardulina." "Cxu kaj tio?" the medic said, pointing to the stitches on his hand. Robert grinned. "Ŝi estas tre seksardulina," he explained and walked out of the building towards his hut. The medic laughed and waved as Robert walked away. "Vi estas tre ŝanca, sinjoro," he called. Chuckling at the memory of the conversation, Robert walked directly back to his hut. Robert stopped as he drew near to the hut, eyes searching for Sara. He found her a moment later, nestled next to the footlocker, sound asleep. He sat down on the raised floor of the hut to remove his boots. He examined his rifle, partially disassembling it, to make certain it did not need cleaning and then re-assembled it and lay it on the field table, laying Sara's bag beside it. He picked up a bundle of cloth lying on one corner of the floor and gently shook it out. The cotton dress had once been a bright red but had faded to a sort of dark pink, so thin that you could see through it with direct light behind it. He judged it would be long on Sara, reaching down almost to her ankles, perhaps even down to the top of her feet. He threw it over his shoulder and examined the sandals, cheap leather with a loop for the big toe and an ankle strap. He grunted a grudging satisfaction and went to the foot locker, opening it and rummaging until he found what he was looking for. He set the dress, sandals, bandages, rags, and bottle down on the locker and squatted down in front of Sara. He reached out to brush her hair away from her face, hand cradling the side of her face, thumb stroking, gently brushing over her parted lips. She needed, he thought, time to hide and heal. He did not have that time to give her. He was going to have to push her along and hope that she didn't break. "Sara," he whispered. She stirred and he spoke again, "Time to wake up, Sara. There's work to do." She started then, eyes flashing open, full of fear. "It's okay, Sara. You're safe," he lied, "All you have to do is sit down. Extend your feet out in front of you." She did as he directed, raising up to bring her legs out from beneath her and then sitting with them extended before her. He sat on the floor of the hut, her feet in his lap and reached for a rag and the glass bottle. He wet the rag and began to clean her feet. The alcohol stung and she tried to pull away, only to find that he was firmly grasping her ankle. Ignoring her actions Robert spoke as he cleaned her foot thoroughly. "You've probably already got worms. Nothing for that. Half the camp has them, including me. You can have them taken care of when you get back to civilization, but I don't want you getting your feet infected. Wear the sandals whenever you leave the hut, even when you're in the stream," he pointed to the sandals sitting on the crate next to her, "The dress is for wearing outside the hut. Always wear it whenever you leave the hut. When you are in the hut, wear nothing. Nothing at all." He fixed her eyes with a firm glance as he said this, and then continued, "I'll leave your bag here, for now. You may keep two pairs of panties and two bras from the bag. Put them in the footlocker. You may wear them when you are not in the hut. You can keep the perfume, but if you're smart you'll use it to trade with the other women." He released her ankle and reached between her legs, roughly running a finger between the tender folds of her sex. He reached up and rubbed the finger behind her ear and then held it beneath her nose. "That's the only scent you need to excite me, and you don't want to be exciting anyone else." He took a grip of her other ankle and began to clean that foot. "Stay away from the wildlife. Stay on the paths and don't go wandering around in the underbrush. Flying bugs might bite, probably not. Just brush them off. Same for spiders. If a snake comes at you, run. If army ants come into the camp, run to the stream. If you get bit by a snake or a spider, go to the medical point to get treated. It's really not all that dangerous and you probably won't even see a snake your entire time here, but if you do, you know how to react. What's going to happen now is that we are going to eat lunch. After lunch I will work and you will spend the afternoon in language training. It's important that you know how to communicate. You already know one phrase. Here's another. 'Jes, sinjoro.' That means, 'Yes, sir'. From now on, that's how you will address me: sinjoro." He took a roll of bandage material and wrapped it around Sara's feet, first one, and then the other, careful to cover the worst of the blisters. He handed the dress and sandals to her and then pointed down one of the paths next to the hut. "Go that way for forty meters. On the right you will see a building with a line of people. Get in line. When you get to the front of the line say, 'Mi petas, la mangxo por la kapitano.' Bring the food they give you back here. Iru. Go." He rose and walked over to the footlocker putting away the alcohol and bandages. Pulling a bundle of papers out of the footlocker he closed it and sat on it, placing the papers on the desk in front of him. Robert heard Sara shuffling back down the pathway long before he could see her. He finished checking the numbers on the ammunition usage projections before putting the papers back into order and gathering them into a bundle. He rose and placed the papers into the footlocker that served as his chair. Closing the lid he sat on it and looked outside. Sara was shuffling down the path in the oversize leather sandals, carefully balancing a metal bowl with a large round of flat bread, dried fruit, a metal mug and a small pile of salt atop it. The nets of artificial foliage that covered every path created a tunnel of shade pierced at irregular intervals by brilliant light, slanted columns in which the omnipresent dust twisted sinuously with the breezes born of human motion and nothing else. Where Sara's body passed through a column it turned the dress nearly transparent for a moment. 'I'm going to have to get her something other than that dress to wear,' he thought. The key, of course, was to dress her in a manner that did not inflame the troops and lead to a rape attempt. But neither could he give anyone the slightest hint that he cared for her to any extent. They must believe him to be simply selfish and unwilling to share his new toy. 'And since that happens to be the truth, if not all of it, it shouldn't be too hard to convey. I'll have to manufacture an excuse to get her some decent cloth.' Sara stopped at the steps to the platform and shrugged out of the sandals, stepping onto the thin logs that led up into the hut. She was midway up when she sensed his attention and lifted her eyes to look at him. The action unbalanced her and she teetered precariously. "If you drop the food I'll beat you 'til you bleed," he informed her, his tone conversational and matter of fact. She stepped down, retreating a pace, to recover her balance and then slowly and meticulously ascended the steps. Once on the platform she hesitated, unsure what to do next. "Iru cxi, Sara. Come here. Put the food on the table," he informed her. She carefully placed the bowl on the table and took a step back. "The dress, Sara. Take it off. Genu cxi," he gestured, "Kneel here." He carefully took the round of bread off the bowl and placed it on the table. He examined the pile atop it, spears of dried mango, mug of the foul beer brewed in the camp, and a small pile of salt. The salt he brushed into the bowl as he spoke the words, "Jam nun." Sara ceased hesitating. 'Now' was one of the phrases she remembered, the soldiers had shouted it frequently. She lifted the dress over her head and hung it on one of the wooden pegs driven into the center pole. She knelt next to the table, legs tightly closed and arms crossed over breasts, in the spot Robert had indicated. The smell of the food made her stomach growl and she became aware that she had not eaten since the bananas the night before and precious little for the two days prior. She was famished. Robert ripped off a piece of the bread and picked up the bowl in his other hand. Holding the bowl to his mouth he used the bread to shovel some of the stew into his mouth. He followed this with a bite of the bread, chewed, and swallowed the whole. "Lovely," he commented dryly, "Monkey." He saw the expression on Sara's face, eyes wide, and laughed. "Not really monkey, Sara. In the Legion we called any dried meat monkey. It's a joke that goes back a long way. This is just stew. Probably dried duiker and vegetables. Duiker's like deer meat. Venison. Here, try some." He scooped up a little bit with the bread and held it down to the level of her head. She reached out a hand to take the bread and he pulled it away. "Ne, Sara. Ne manoj. No hands. Use your mouth." He held the bread back down at her level and watched the emotions that flitted across her face: outrage, anger, and despair. He remained still, his eyes casually fixed upon her face as she struggled with her emotions. He could see the desire to strike out in some way, strongly tempered by fear of what retribution might follow. But hunger, however simply it argues, argues compellingly. She leaned forward and took the offered bite of food. Robert grunted and resumed feeding himself, willing himself to eat much more slowly than was his usual wont. He slowly finished the piece of bread he had ripped from the whole and glanced over at Sara. "Do you want some more?" he asked. She nodded, hopeful but hesitant. "Good. An appetite is always a good indicator of general health. The thing to remember, in a hot climate, is that you eat before you drink. The heat suppresses your appetite and leads you to drink lots of water. So you end up starving yourself." As he spoke he ripped another piece of bread loose and scooped up some stew. "You're covering yourself, Sara. I don't like that. You are here to please me and your body is your second most valuable asset. You should display it for me to view, not hide it. You hide your body, as I permit, from everyone else. Iru a via dorso, Sara. Lie on your back." She sighed in protest but, with a glance at the food, lay back. Robert chuckled and reached out with his foot to tap her ankles. "Spread your legs, Sara," he said in a patient voice. It took her a moment to find the willpower, but she did. He gazed down upon her, examining the soft down that covered the swell of her mons and the line of her flesh. "Wider," he said softly. She complied, a small trail of tears dampening her cheeks. He smiled. "You have a lovely cunt, Sara." The deliberate crudity, so out of place with his soft tone and matter of fact compliment, shocked her. He saw the flush on her chest and face grow even as the tears continued to silently trace their way down her face. "I enjoy seeing it. You will not hide it from me while we are within this hut. Now, show me your breasts." She slowly uncrossed her arms. Uncertain of where to place them, she panicked for a moment before laying them on the floor beside her. Robert beamed at the small firm breasts that adorned her chest, tiny nipples barely aroused but pointing towards the ceiling. "Your breasts are also lovely, Sara." This time, braced for crudity, the softness of his words threw her off balance. She was, as he intended, unable to fit this experience into a category with anything she had ever experienced before. This was something completely new, a tabula rasa upon which he intended to create the words which would shape her perceptions. "You will not hide them from me while we are within this hut. Genu." Sara rolled to her belly and knelt before him, leaning her head towards the food. "Unh, unh," he admonished. She glanced down and spread her knees shoulder width and removed her hands from her lap, letting her arms hang down at her side. Robert brought the food towards her tear-streaked face and, once again, she took the food from his hand. As she chewed the tough meat Robert continued, "It may seem strange that murderers have rules. But we do. You are a dependent. That means that no one else in the camp may use you. That also means that you are fed out of my rations. No one else will feed you. They aren't allowed to. Everything you get, food, water, clothing, anything; it all comes from me. So annoying me is a good way to end up sore, hungry, naked, and tied up on the floor of the hut. But, as with all things, there is always something worse. Serious infractions of the rules will see you beaten on the parade ground, turned over to the troops for recreation, or killed. Same rules apply to everyone." He scooped up another bite of stew. "Still hungry?" Sara sniffled and nodded. "Iru a via ventro, Sara. On your belly." She moved quickly this time, turning to face away from him and dropping to the floor. She spread her legs and then, after a momentary hesitation, spread them still further. "Bona virineto," he said. Her body bristled for a moment at the comment, as if the tuning fork of her legs had picked up the sound of the 'good girl' and echoed it. He regarded her for a moment, drinking in the details. "Bring your knees up, Sara. Keep them spread." Now he saw true hesitation writ large in every line of her body. "Jam nun," he breathed. It was a command, no less imperative for its softness. She sobbed once, twice, and brought her knees up, lifting her ass into the air and displaying her sex. Robert simply stared, enthralled by the sight of her and the sheer sexual joy of the situation; of her obedience. "Spread your lips, Sara. Use your fingers to open yourself to me." Again her body shook with silent sobs as she passed a hand back between her legs. Trembling fingers uncertainly spread the soft folds of skin to reveal the deep pink flesh they concealed. Robert inhaled deeply seeking for the smell of her musk, delighting in the faint hint he found. "Use your other hand, Sara. Rub yourself." Her other hand, shaking, appeared beneath her and reached up to stroke herself; un-willing yet obedient. "You can do better, Sara," he whispered, "You've done this before, at night, in your bed; with clean sheets and a terrible empty ache in your loins. Your body desperate for something you've been told is wrong." Her hands steadied at the slow cadence of his low words, the motions of her fingers becoming sure and practiced. They drifted down to the hood of her clitoris, gently squeezing that pearl free of its covering and then releasing it. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. Robert leaned forward, one hand reaching out to seize hers. Slowly he inserted one of her fingers inside her, the tip to the first knuckle teasingly trapped by the muscles that protected her entrance. Her body shuddered as the muscles sought to pull her finger deeper. He pushed her finger slowly in, then out. He repeated the motion several times, each time with less force until her hand was doing all the work, moving without his direction; his hand merely resting upon her until he withdrew even that contact. "Bona. Bona. Here and now this pleasure is permitted. It is required. Trust your body and it will help keep you alive. This pleasure is your birthright." She had buried her finger inside her, thumb planted firmly against her clitoris as her ass writhed wantonly. She was lost in the moment, Robert knew. Stripped of all references to familiar reality she had no brakes she could apply, no controls at all. This moment, more than any that had come before, she was not in charge of her body or her emotions. She came then, in a staccato squeal broken by gasps as her body sought to breathe between the waves that washed through her. Robert wanted her. Wanted her convulsing upon his cock, but he restrained himself. He had bigger plans. "Bona virineto, Sara. I'm pleased. Genu." Slowly she lifted herself back to her knees. Robert noted that her legs were spread, no correction needed, but her eyes were lowered. "Look at me, Sara," he commanded. He met her eyes, red and puffy within the tear-soaked cheeks. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. You obeyed me. You pleased me. Because of that you will eat, you will not be beaten, and you will continue to survive. That alone justifies your actions." He put the food to her mouth and she took it, chewing slowly. "What happens now is that I go to work, and you go to school. You need to learn the language. You'll be in the class with the new recruits we brought in. Women sit on one side, men on the other. You're smart so it shouldn't be too hard. If you start to drift off one of the assistants will smack you with the cane. It hurts. If anyone starts to bother you, you tell them you're mine. I'm very pleased with you right now. But I need you to know, deep in your bones, that there is always something worse. Eating from my hand may feel humiliating to you. It isn't. It's a privilege. There are worse ways to eat."