By Scipio42
Chapter 1.
The warriors of the tribe’s advanced guard moved forwards cautiously, the small
group peered and scrutinised the distance so that they weren’t taken by
surprise. They also probed every bush and clump of grass – it would have been
worse if something had got past them.
Each man carried two or three iron headed javelins, light enough to throw a good distance and heavy enough to have some weight when they arrived. The warriors moved with one javelin on their shoulder, poised for a strong over-arm throw. As well as the javelins they carried a long bladed stabbing spear to use in close-combat, each one with a double edged blade as long as a tall man’s hand-span, on a shaft about four feet long. The makers had made them so that each one balanced about midway along the shaft.
For defence they carried large shields made of wickerwork with hippopotamus hide as a cover. The wicker made them light enough to carry and parry with but the hippo leather made them strong and almost impervious to most weapons they would encounter.
Roughly a hundred yards behind them came the main body, similarly armed warriors, some of them bowmen, interspersed with women and other dependents, dogs, scrawny goats and thin cattle. Unlike the men, all the women carried by way of weapons was a knife, a curved double edge piece that sat in a sheath hung from a strap around their shoulders. Also like the men they wore very little, just a little cover about their loins. Breasts were bared, often with a suckling baby attached, and came in all of the wonderful combinations that were available, perky, full, long, withered, fresh and young. Dark nipples, full areola and small ones. Like the men the Santici women tended to be tall and graceful, and they moved with purpose, often laden with bags or pots. It was a noisy, dusty mix of noises and smells, a leaders’ nightmare as he sought to make sure that everybody kept up and the advance guard never got too far ahead, and that they didn’t leave anyone behind.
At the back of the main body, guarded by the elder boys was the coffle. Naked under the sun, often tethered by their necks, they were the important meat girl herd. The Santici were cannibals, and they protected their food as well as they could. Almost carefully the bare-footed girls made their way through the dust of the main tribe, docilely – any resistance got a prod from a pointed stick in the hands of one of the herd boys.
To either side of the main body a thin
screen of warriors watched the flanks while behind the main body the rear-guard
was as cautious as the advance guard that no one would take the tribe from
behind.
The whole tribe was on the move and Kambula was especially anxious. The dust,
not uncommon, was blowing on the light breeze and at times his screens would
disappear from view totally.
Suddenly there was a shout from ahead. Two warriors appeared out of the dust half-leading and half carrying what appeared to be a struggling animal between them.
As they approached, the tribes people they gathered about their leader and then, as the people saw what they held between them, a savage cry rose to the heavens, for the ‘quarry’ was a man, a white man.
As he was dragged, still resisting, there was a murmur of anticipation.
They reached the leader. A tall man, easily six feet and four inches in height, armed as his men, but unlike them sporting a headdress made from a lion’s mane and a kilt made from the skin of a leopard. Broad across the shoulders and with the physique of a god, Kambula waited for them. Around him the tribe waited in anticipation.
He looked down at the figure between the two warriors – the white man was desperately bedraggled, and obviously in some distress. Kambula gestured for the two warriors to hold him up higher.
“John!” He said to the man, “John Sallyporte! Dear Gods man, you’re a long way from home.”
Lord Sallyporte opened a bleary eye, “Oh!
Hello Bungo, old chap, got a bit of a situation, do you have any water?” Then
he fainted again.
Sallyporte was having a fever dream, a suffocating nightmare. In the dream he
was being carried by two brawny cannibals and he had been tied to a pole by his
ankles and wrists, and he swayed from side to side with their motion as they
brought him to their village. The irony of the fact that he had been captured
by cannibals was not lost on him even in the depth of his dream.
In the dream at the village a girl had begun to prepare him for cooking by wiping his face. The touch of her cool hand woke him, and he found that that some of the dream at least was real in part.
He realised that he was in a hammock
suspended from a stout pole and sat beside him on a tiny stool was the most
divine creature. Her large dark eyes watched him closely as she wiped the dust
and dirt away from his face with a rag. She was, as were the others moving
about him, naked, with copper and brass necklets, and bracelets jingling about
her throat and on her arms. Her breasts – on a level with Sallyporte’s eyes
were just full enough to avoid being conical and perched delightfully on her
chest. They were tipped with nipples nearly the thickness of his little finger,
that stood out quite prominently.
She saw that he was awake and called out in her own language.
The arrival of Chief Kambula filled his vision.
He asked the girl something in their shared language, which Sallyporte took to be something like “How is the patient?”
The girl replied in a detailed manner, before looking him in the face and saying deliberately ‘Bungo.”
Kambula drew himself up to his full squatting height before administering a blistering rebuke that ended, “Isaiah! Makumbe! Ciswe! Kambula!” Each word punctuated with a thumb at his own chest.
The girl fixed him in an impudent gaze, a faint smile lingering about her mouth, adding to the impression of impish mischief, and simply said, “Bungo!” At which point she broke into a huge grin, showing her even, sharp white teeth, and left.
“Terribly sorry, if that’s put you in a difficult position old man.” Sallyporte told him.
Kambula waved it away, “Don’t worry my
friend, she is my fifth _ no sixth _ wife, and has not yet learned proper
respect for her lord and master.” He laughed as he said that, and smiled fondly
at his wife’s neat bottom, as she sashayed away from them.
“Now what in the name of Harrow Hill has brought you all the way out here old
chap. We were quite worried about you, but Elenke stayed with you and brought
your temperature down as the men carried you here. And what is this ‘situation’
you were talking about?” He offered Sallyporte a gourd cup of water, which was
gratefully accepted and drunk slowly.
“Well…”
I was invited out here to view a girl ranch some miles away. I knew you lived
in this area – vaguely -and intended to come and see you after I had done my
business, but I was looking for breeding stock for my stables, so intended to
be for a few days.
The ranch was massive – the owner Theodore van Duzen and his wife – Angeline - made me very welcome. They lived on a green plateau in a large bungalow with two sons and four daughters. The van Duzens are Dutch stock originally and he told me how they had hacked the ranch out of the bush.
We spent the first couple of days riding the veldt, seeing all sorts of antelope, some elephants and even a rhino. The ranch was big, mainly because the animals and crops raised on the ranch went to feed the girls to butcher weight.
Because of the predators that roamed the bush – it wasn’t unusual for a leopard to help themselves to a girl, the femmes themselves were housed in large sheds, with paddocks around them so that the girls could be out during the day and in and secure at night. However, riding in one day I saw one shed with no girls outside and apparently securely locked.
Van Duzen dismissed it quickly saying that it wasn’t important, but my interest was piqued.
That night at dinner, a delicious, stewed girl meat, with sweet potatoes. I asked about the local tribes, especially as I knew the Santici were in the neighbourhood. Van Duzen knew of you, and the Tolanki and the Ulonga. But when I asked about another tribe I had heard of – the Giri, to all intents and purposes a tribe of Amazons, again my host fought shy of the topic.
Now far be it from me to press my host in his own home, but it bothered me. Van Duzen had told me about his plans to breed a new type of girl, one who would give a good meat yield but be hardy enough to thrive in hot climates. He said that he had added stock from local herds.
But that was what puzzled me, where were these herds? There were no wild herds of femmes roaming the veldt, where was he getting this local stock?
That question kept me awake for a while, until a loud scream and the sound of breaking glass woke me just before dawn.
Chapter 2
I have been accustomed, where possible, when travelling abroad to have a pistol
with me, preferably one with a good sized bore. So taking this and putting some
breeches on, I looked out onto a dreadful scene.
I was quartered in a guest house, and between me and the main house there were a large number of armed natives. Light from the flames of one of the sheds showed them quite clearly. The fact that they all appeared to be women, around or about a hundred or so, armed, nude and painted for war suggested that these were indeed Giri warriors. The scene was quite animated as while the greater number of the amazon warriors close leaguered the main house, to one side a number of the women were battering their way into the shed I mentioned earlier the close locked one. It was designed to protect against leopards and lions and the like, so when they hit it with a large baulk of wood the door splintered. Out came a dozen more of these amazon women.
Obviously, these were the ‘local stock’ that van Duzen had referred to, but it looked like their kith and kin had come calling.
The splinter group made their way to the other sheds but four women broke off from this body and were heading in my direction when a loud report from the house filled the still pre-dawn air. All of the women in the yard immediately looked at the house, and I got my first good look at them. Uniformly they all wore their hair in a bushy hairdo on the tops of their heads, apart from that, some bangles, and some stripes of paint they were magnificently naked. Generally, they were statuesque – the artist Rubens would have creamed his breeches over them - ‘bonny’ women as the Scots would say. Not fat, far from it but strong, full bodied women, milling around giving a high pitched ululating war cry.
The gunshot drew the attention of all of them, and they closed on the house, even the ones who had been heading towards the guest house. More gunshots rang out and the Giri warriors rushed the doorways, repelled at first by the locked doors, more windows were broken and soon the warriors were entering the big farm house. More shots sounded from inside, and screams, but whatever went on did not last long, and soon the doors of the house were thrown open. Van Duzen, his sons and two farm hands were made to kneel in front of the house, while Angeline van Duzen and her four daughters were each held between two of the painted Amazons.
A women stepped out from the throng – obviously, a leader, she carried a parang, what some people call a machete. She shouted in a sing song manner and stepping up sliced the throats of each of the men. Blood spurted everywhere, five men, butchered like hogs. The amazons celebrated with impromptu dances of victory, singing their shrill war song.
This went on for a short time, before the leader called them to order. It wasn’t easy. The amazons were elated by their victory, and it would likely have turned into a feast there and then. But she shouted and yelled, even cuffed a few of them until they did as they were told. Like a general she ordered her troops to gather the bodies, which along with the five white women were tied to poles. They opened the rest of the sheds and herded the van Duzen’s girl herds out into the morning. There was more celebrating as the warriors saw what they had found.
The guest house seemed to be forgotten as they fired the main house and marched their booty off. Several of the meat girls were pressed into service as mules to carry the prisoners and the dead males, and singing and chanting the Giri left the blazing house of the van Duzens.
I suppose I could have raced out, and tried
to save the farmer and his family, I am no coward but neither am I stupid, nor
suicidal.
I found a horse and set off in the general direction of where Van Duzen had
told me the Santici had their lands, but I startled one of those cape buffalo,
a huge bull which gored the horse and I was lucky to escape. I carried on with
no water, got myself into a right state, but eventually I came onto your
scouts.
“Well that was an adventure and no mistake, old man. And I see you’re still riding your famous Sallyporte luck.” Kambula said sitting back on his haunches. “To be honest I wish I had known you were coming here. Van Duzen is one of the reasons we are moving. He had his people have been steadily encroaching on Santici tribal lands for a couple of years now. They have employed mercenaries to enforce their land grab in the past, so between you and me old boy, I am not sorry to hear your story. They have also stolen meat girls and women from our tribe.”
“You said ‘one’ of the reasons?” I asked.
“The dry season this year has been particularly harsh and competition between all of the local tribes has been very keen. In particular your new friends the Giri. We have had to leave our traditional pastures as they encroached into our territory.
“They aren’t very nice people Sally - male prisoners, if they aren’t put in the pot or roasted, they’re bred and then emasculated. If they’re really unlucky they’re emasculated and fed their own organs. And they all end up in the pot eventually.
“Their very favourite delicacy is white woman if they can get them. They sacrifice them to their goddesses at a monthly festival. It’s held on the middle night of the full moon, and they go at it with great gusto. That’s what they will save the van Duzen women for, it’s a few nights from now. ‘Till then the farmer’s wife and his daughters will probably have to endure all sorts of ravishments and ignominies, they will probably welcome death.
“I say Bungo! Is there nothing we can do? These are white women after all.” I said (you must remember I was much younger then and my world view has changed quite a lot over the years).
Kambula gave me a sort of pitying look, “Play up Sally, why would I honestly give a toss about the fate of a few white women? I have my whole tribe to look after.”
“To make it all worse where the Giri live is actually the best spot around, it’s a small flat topped plateau that makes it ideal for during the rainy season, you can see for bloody miles and there are only one or two ways up onto the plateau, a pair of warriors could hold off an army.”
By now I was up and out of the sling, though still a little wobbly on my feet, but we had moved to sit beneath the big acacia tree that Kambula had chosen as the centre for his encampment. Elenke and another of his wives brought us millet porridge and some highly seasoned roasted girl meat. She really was a delightful young woman, and she danced around her husband teasing him as she served us.
“It looked to me like they were intent on celebrating their victory, old man, I’d bet that they don’t post too many guards …” I could see that Kambula was thinking about it.
“They’ve got the most advantageous habitation site, it takes the pressure off your own people, do you think that they would hesitate if the situation was reversed?” My old school friend, the cannibal chief, half closed his eye and regarded me. This was the look he had given me when we were about to commit mischief.
“How many nights is it till we get to the
full moon?” I asked him, knowing that he was going to go with it.
“I’m not doing this for the white women!” Kambula told me.
“Of course not old chap!” I assured him, but I could see there would be possibilities for him if we did, and I think Bungo was thinking about them too. A new, more secure place to live, a whole tribe of women as captives plus the looted herds of the van Duzens.
“How long is it ‘till the full moon?”
“Three nights, and it will take a day and a night to get there, we can’t cross the surrounding plain during day light.”
“Well! How about this for an idea…?”
Chapter 3
Eighteen hours later Kambula, four of his warriors, hard looking men all of
them, and myself were crouched under the shadow of some large rocks that rested
on the steep hillside of the Giri plateau.
Although fully armed, none of the men wore any of their usual bracelets or arm bands – nothing that could chink or glitter. The iron heads of their weapons had been held in the cooking fires before we left to blacken them with soot. We each carried a large gourd of water and sat motionless. The position we had picked was less than a hundred yards from where two Giri warriors stood guard at the head of a gully leading up to the top of the plateau. We had viewed this place from where we had sat during the day, and with more than a bit of luck had arrived here during a night of stealth and caution.
From the hill top above us we could hear the Giri singing and the sound of drumming, and the occasional scream. It sounded like the tribe were working themselves up to a frenzied full-moon festival.
The day dawned and to a man we sank as low to the ground, so that anyone approaching the plateau would not see us waiting there. No one spoke, even the slightest whisper might give us away. The tension was readily apparent. The plan was that at sunset – in the first dark, two of the men would leave to fetch the rest of the tribe, the men would travel as quickly as they could, hopefully we would have secured the passage just at dawn and they would arrive soon after. The rest of the tribe – the women, chi***en, dogs, goats etc - would be summoned soon after at a summons. If it did not go as planned they were to leave and get as far away as possible.
It was very tricky timing. To be honest I thought convincing Kambula’s men of our plan would have been more difficult, but in the end they were quite eager. Far better, they said, to face the threat with a spear in their hands, than to limp away and die slowly. This was not, they hastened to add a reflection on Kambula, their young chief had done all that he could but with the encroaching white farmers on one side and the aggressive Giri on the other, it had been tough on all of them.
Now, they said, the gods had given them a chance and it was up to them to take it with both hands.
After the meeting Kambula and I sat with his wives, he actually had six in total. All of them supported the idea of the action, and I suspect that some of them would happily have joined in, Elenke, especially.
The long tense day passed, without any incident – more drumming, more festivity from the plateau.
After sunset, the two runners slid away into the night.
I was surprised just how noisy the bush is at night, though with the drumming and the sound of singing most of the wildlife had left the area. Kambula and I ventured a slow climb further up the slope, only to come to a thorn fence at the top.
Small gaps in the fence allowed us to see the Giri village, laid out in a shallow bowl on the top of the plateau. The light of several large fires, and many smaller ones illuminated it.
Surrounded by an inner palisade that ran parallel to the thorn hedge around the edge of the plateau, the settlement covered most of the available space, and a there was a pool, that looked like it was fed by a spring. While it looked like some of the land was used for cattle and goats, the huts were spread out around a central area made up of three compounds.
The first of these appeared to be where they had imprisoned the girls that had been lifted from the van Duzen’s ranch. As well as their own we could see the naked femmes huddled together, as the Giri entered the compound and selected one or two and then took them off to be butchered.
The second compound was that of the Chieftain-ess. It was extensive with several large huts. Rows of skulls sat on racks around the compound grinning in the firelight. But for all of the activity that compound was relatively quiet.
The final compound was where the centre of their activities. There was a huge pillar, made from an old tree trunk in the centre. In front and facing the pillar was a many armed statue – the Giri deity – with a large stone in front of it. Four of the van Duzen women were tied to poles on one side, with a fifth pole empty beside them. They still wore the rags of the night clothes they were abducted in. All looked completely terrified especially as naked amazons danced around them, lasciviously touching them and leaning in and pressing their tongues – as if tasting them – against their exposed flesh. If they were not doing this they were simulating cutting strips from the girl’s flesh, I watched one placed a blade under the breast of one of the daughters and make as if she was going to slice it away from her body. They writhed and gyrated about the prisoners in an unceasing parade of bobbing breasts and wriggling hips. All of the amazons were nude, but all were painted in with bright stripes and whorls. Many had also oiled their bodies, so they glistened and gleamed in the firelight.
As we watched the Amazon chief came out of the hut, she sauntered out rubbing her breasts and caressing her mons. The warriors outside greeted her with lusty cheers. It was obvious from her pose and behaviour what she had been doing, then the fourth daughter was brought out, from behind her. Two Giri warriors led her unresisting to the remaining post but from the way she went with them the girl was obviously exhausted and from the way the Giri handled her body they were as familiar with her as the chief had been.
The way Angeline van Duzen watched her was heart-rending, but then the warriors began to unfasten her and the poor women broke down. Half carrying, half leading her they took the farmer’s wife into the central hut.
Around the compound the huts were grouped
in clusters, between each group of huts there were celebrations as Giri
warriors feasted on roasting femmes and danced and engaged in all sorts of
sexual activities.
Any action would have to be fast, and Kambula’s people would need to be
precise. To this end the chief slid back into the darkness while I lay there,
and each time came back with one of the other two warriors, whispering to them
what he wanted them to do when we got inside – if we got inside.
These men listened, sometimes they questioned, but I think it was less
objections, and more clarification. After watching the festivities a little bit
longer we slid back down the hill.
I had been given one of the long stabbing spears and a couple of javelins, these I could handle, none of us had brought any of the large shields with us – simply because of our need to be stealthy.
Soon the darkness of the pre-dawn was on us, from nowhere the birds began to sing ready for the coming day. In the shadow of our rock we stretched cramped muscles and made ready. Our job would be to eliminate the guards at the top of the passage and hold the entrance long enough for the other warriors to arrive.
The two warriors slid away into the night, like ghosts. There was the faint sound of a scuffle, and Kambula urged me on. The two Giri warriors had been placed to one side of the entrance way, and the warriors had picked up their shields. However, after such a rowdy night of feasting and celebration that village was quiet.
A bird called in the darkness down the hill. Kambula answered it. For the first time in several hours my heart left my mouth. Silently the Santici warriors filed through the entrance. As they came they were directed one way or another until there were three roughly equal sized groups, and one smaller one. The large one was led by Kambula, the other two large groups led by the warriors who had initially accompanied us. They would sweep around to left and right clearing the settlement, with the aim of killing, or preferably capturing Giri warriors. Kambula would strike up the centre. The smaller group would remain at the gateway to hold it safe and also to warn the rest of the tribe if it all went sideways. There would be no firing the huts, the aim was to take and hold the settlement, kill or imprison the Giri.
I would accompany the centre group. In passing I thought I should pick up a Giri shield as there weren’t any spare Santici ones. But it would only take a minor miss-judgement by a Santici fighter for me to end up skewered, so I decided not to.
Chapter 4
I have to say that the way Bungo handled his men that morning was impressive.
Working by hand signals and the light of the setting moon, he had his three
bodies spread out on a wide front before dropping his thrusting spear, which he
had held aloft. And at that point he let slip the dogs of war.
Each body hurtled forwards, the men running into huts and either subduing or killing the inhabitants. The tricky issue was the subjugation, each captive had to be bound with leather strips that the warriors carried with them, the most common way was to tie them in the same way that we might tie a pig for market. Some elected to bind their prisoners in a ‘reverse’ hog-tie, with the hands tied to the ankles behind the woman’s back. The problem was that, even for the most skilled warrior, it took so long. Already along the flanks the attack was bogging down as they sought to capture as many Giri as possible. Some simply avoided it and struck down their opponents with javelin or thrusting spear. After all it wasn’t like the meat was going to go to waste. Tied captives were left where they lay to be collected but even so some women escaped and ran to the far end of the compound. (some had tried to run to the head of the gully where we had entered but the body holding that took care of them.
Kambula’s body raced straight to the chief’s compound and that of the temple, many prisoners were taken but the Amazon chief evaded our grasp and joined her warriors at the far end of the compound. I reached the van Duzen women but as they were all in an exhausted state they had difficulty recognising that their situation had changed. I decided it was probably best to leave them for a while.
With the prisoners we had taken secured, we formed a line outside the compound facing the assembled Giri warriors.
I caught sight of Kambula, he had that ferocious grin on his face that he used to wear when we played rugby. His men were excited and shook their weapons at the Giri, hurling insults at them.
Individuals would step forwards and call out a long string of imaginative insults at the Amazons who responded in kind. This was, I was told later, quite normal in a tribal fight like this. It was important that your enemy know who they were facing, and the insults were important.
Translated the banter lacked the grace of a Shakespeare or the earthiness of a Kipling but it was obvious that the warriors had put some thought into it.
“Your dugs are as flat as a buffalo’s ears, your teats point at the ground, your arse is so tight you can’t even fart and your cunt is as dry as a dead man’s bones.”
“Any man who tried to fuck you would need to thread his manhood like yarn through a needle.”
“Your mother’s mother lay with wart-hogs, your mother lay with hyenas and you offer your fat backside to baboons.”
And my personal favourite, “Woman! I still have flesh from your mother’s cunt stuck in my teeth, time to join her.”
Like I say, hardly literature but heartfelt all the same.
The Giri tended to say a lot about cocks
and testicles and how they related to jewellery.
Eventually the first javelin was thrown. Some of our warriors threw theirs and
the Giri threw them back. By now the light had grown and it was easy to avoid
the thrown missiles. In fact, you would have had to be very unlucky to have
been wounded at this point, but the fight was escalating rapidly. I heard
noises behind us and looked round to see the rest of the Santici arriving from
the entrance to the gully.
This had several effects – not needing to hold the gully released the guards to join us, the tribal women spread out and started to gather together the bound captives, and the bodies of the slain Giri.
Lastly it inflamed the Amazons.
With their high pitched battle cry they hurtled forwards towards us.
The Giri don’t use a thrusting spear the same as the Santici but prefer to use a long handled wooden club, like a Zulu knobkerrie. They prefer to subdue their opponent, to capture them. The Santici don’t have such bias and will kill as soon as capture. But the Giri have always had numbers on their side, all of them are warriors, there are no women to protect, the elderly and the ill are despatched so they can put more warriors in the field and their raids are ferocious.
We had cut their numbers considerably with our initial onslaught but there were still a lot of the buggers.
I fenced at school and fought with the Army in Afghanistan and India, so close quarter combat is not a stranger to me, however when the first Amazon to reach me struck with her club I felt the shock of the blow through my spear and all the way down my arm. However, I was not encumbered by a shield as she was and I stepped forwards and body checked her charge, planting my back foot so she ran into me. It rocked her and knocked her back. As she recoiled her right arm came up and I was able to stab up under her right breast. The Amazon went down but was replaced immediately by another. Bungo and I fought alongside each other for a while and several times an Amazon would swing at him letting the impetus of the blow carry her forwards. It was easy for me to then quickly lash out right, and if I did not wound the girl severely she would be distracted enough for Bungo to finish her off.
Another time he repaid the compliment for me.
Soon it was possible to see gaps appearing in the Giri ranks. “Try and capture one or two old man, live meat lasts longer.”
I tried it with the next one I faced, she swung down on me, and if the blow had connected I would have been brained, good and proper. But she telegraphed the blow and it was easy enough to sway back, let it past and tackle her to the ground. I was just tying her wrists when I heard a female voice scream, “SALLEEEE!”
I looked up to see a javelin flash past my face and transfix one of the Amazons, in the chest. She had been about to hit me with her club, but instead she sank to the ground gasping for breath, but still alive. I looked the other way to see Elenke grinning like a demon, as she bent down, picked up a Giri club, and went over to her target and clubbed her into unconsciousness. She pulled the javelin out and went to find her husband.
And that was it! All of the Giri were
either captives or down. We lost a few of our warriors, one of the two that had
led the other bodies had had his skull crushed, as he was pulled to the ground
by a girl he had stabbed. Despite that, we were lucky in our losses. The
Santici warriors looked at each other and the broad grins of men who realise
that they are still alive broke out. I even had several warriors salute me, and
I was more than happy to salute them back.
All told it took about an hour and a half from when we first moved to attack to
where we were now. The tribal women took over and moved around the Giri,
selecting those that would live (however short that life might be) and those
that would be supper. Some were examined carefully before being prodded with a
sharp point. Several who had been lying doggo were caught this way, others were
given a solid bash with a club to ‘make sure’.
I left the aftermath where it was and went
to see to the van Duzens.
They were in a real state and that was for sure. Raped, and ravished for two
days and nights, the battle had been fought around them and so far, no one had
come to succour them.
My arrival was greeted with tears of relief. As the Santici warriors began to rape their prisoners, at the instigation of the Santici women, and those same women began to pick suitable meat for a victory feast, I took the van Duzens into a hut out of sight of the celebrations.
Chapter 5
The first thing I did when I had the van Duzen women sequestered, was to make
sure they lay down and I sought out some trade blankets to cover them and their
disarray. They thanked me profusely and settled down almost meekly. So
exhausted were they that it wasn’t long before they were asleep.
Once they were resting I went outside to wait and watch over them. Around the settlement there was much celebration. The whole of the Santici tribe were celebrating – the Giri had caused much pain and grief to them. All of the tribe had lost family members to the predations of the Amazons and been displaced from their traditional home.
The celebrations were a savage bacchanalia
and generally quite unpleasant for the defeated Amazons. Aside from an
unbridled festival of rape and torture the Santici were able to indulge in a
huge feast of femme flesh. The dry season this year had been long and very
lean. The coffle of meat girls that Kambula’s people had maintained was the
absolute minimum they could afford to maintain in the circumstances, but it had
been very close to the point where even they might have had to go to the pot.
Now, the bodies of Giri warriors were roasting over fires, turning on wooden
spits, or opened with a parang and pulled apart, almost in a spatch-cock
manner. These were held open with sticks and then placed on stakes and
positioned over the fires. Some of the amazons had been butchered and gone into
stewing spots, and I was grateful when Elenke – who greeted me with her broad
grin and a warm “Ayo! Sallee!” and another of Kambula’s wives appeared and
began to cook such a stew on the fire in front of our hut. Similar sights could
be seen in front of all of the huts that the Santici had taken over from their
previous owners.
Drums were beating and women were singing and clapping and the whole thing was
counter-pointed by the cries and screams of their hapless victims. I had not
known the Santici very long but our shared experiences – fighting alongside
their warriors, had bonded us, so I felt happy for them. There was still the
problem of what to do with the white farmer women but Elenke came to me and
pointed at where her husband sat in from the previous chief’s hut, “Sallee go
Bungo!” and she started to push me.
I pointed at the hut and the women sleeping
inside, but she gave me the sort of look that said, “I have this under
control.” So I left.
Kalumba was sat with three of his senior warriors, all of whom had been with us
in the reconnaissance and initial assault. They sat on cow hides, though
Kambula sat on the skin of a lion, and they greeted me with upraised hands “Ayo
Sallee!”
They sat cross-legged, and whereas before they had been dressed for the battle now each man was naked, though their manhoods laid at ease between their thighs. The reason they were all sated was that off to one side two amazons had been tied face to face and then spread legs akimbo on the ground and tied to pegs driven into the earth. In front of the warriors, spitting fat into a low fire was the opened body of the amazon chief. Kambula had killed her himself and her head sat on a short spike by the hut.
As the Giri chief’s flesh cooked, hissing and popping, and spitting grease, one of Kambula’s wives would slice flesh off onto a wooden platter and pass it round, each man would pick some off and eat it. The newly revealed raw flesh would then cook more easily. As well as the sheesh kebab cooking in front of them, another wife tended a stew pot into which she had put pieces from another woman, which were boiling away to make a millet based broth.
The men were laughing and relaxed and from their motions describing how they had gone in the fight, making stabbing and twisting motions. Their hands and subsequently their flesh, where they wiped their hands was greasy from the fat from the amazon meat, the firelight reflected off their skin, their eyes flashed white, their frequent grins and laughter showed white in the darkening evening. Kambula translated for me, while we talked and ate. Occasionally a man would get up and relieve himself by plunging himself into one of the two prisoners, grunting and thrusting until he ejaculated at which point he would return to the fireside. The prisoners would squeal and cry in distress, but no one paid them any heed.
At one point – as I told my tale of the fight – one of the warriors asked if I wanted to release my pent up ‘spirit’ (probably the best way to translate the word - eko) by raping the prisoners– I told Kambula to say that I had women of my tribe to look after. The men looked at the hut where the five van Duzen’s were and nodded sagely.
Eventually I made my way back there to find that Elenke had woken them and fed them before settling them down. Seeing me back in place the two women went back to Kambula’s hut. I sat down to consider how to handle the situation.
The Santici were still fairly annoyed with the van Duzens. Theo van Duzen had lifted femme stock from them and pressed in on the tribal lands. The Giri were still – or rather had been – the biggest threat but I knew that Kambula was very loath to let the farmers off easily.
The night, and the Santici festivities went on. The huge full moon shone down on the dancing, drumming, feasting warriors and their women. the moon that should have looked down on the brutal sacrifice of Angeline van Duzen and her daughters, but instead it looked down on the end of the Giri.
Things began to peter out around dawn and
eventually the village slept, all bar myself. I dropped off eventually but was
awakened by the sun rising and shining on my face.
Behind me I heard someone stirring, and soon Angeline van Duzen looked out at
the growing morning.
“Lord Sallyporte!” She said, seeing me, “Thank you for saving us_”
“It was not me, Mrs van Duzen,” I stopped her, “Though I was a part of it. You need to thank Chief Kambula for your salvation. If he had not decided to intervene, you and your daughters would have been sacrificed and eaten last night.
“I regret I could do nothing earlier, and that you had to go through the ordeal that you did_”
“No! No need, my lord!” Mrs van Duzen interrupted. “At least we are all alive. I will thank Chief Kambula.”
“There is some cold stew in that pot there. If I were you I’d break your fast and wake up properly. The Santici feted themselves until very late last night, I believe it will be some time before we see Chief Kambula.”
She sat down and used a carved gourd to spoon some of the stew into a wooden bowl. I watched her as she ate. She was a very handsome woman, blonde and blue eyed with fine features. Her daughters generally took after their father, tending towards the stocky in form, and truth be told they would have made fine meat girls. Angeline was too slim overall, I fear, and I think it was lucky that the Santici had plenty of meat from the Giri, and they did not turn the van Duzen women into part of the feast.
“My Lord?” Mrs van Duzen asked cautiously. “Are you aware at all of what transpired at the hands of the Amazons?”
“Early yesterday morning Chief Kambula and I were spying out the settlement and I did see you taken from the stake, and taken inside the hut, Mrs van Duzen_”
“Please call me Angeline, my lord.”
“I saw you taken inside Angeline but not what happened after that.”
“That was third time they took me in there.”
“Please Angeline, if it pains you, do not talk about it.”
“But I wish to, my lord.” She told me firmly. “I was brought up a devout Christian girl, observing the Lord and the words of the Bible in everything I did. When I married Theodore I was a good, devoted wife and gave him six fine sons and daughters.”
She paused while she looked for the words. “These last two nights I felt many things. I prayed to Jesus to deliver us, to smite the Giri for their vile behaviour. But he didn’t and no matter how hard I prayed they still lived. Then I started to pray for the earth to swallow me, but then I started to feel.
“I started to feel things Lord Sallyporte, feelings I had no idea could possibly exist. They did things, touched me, my breasts and they penetrated me in places that should have made me die with embarrassment. But instead of how I expected I would feel, I felt a tremendous pleasure. I was made to lick another woman, Lord Sallyporte, while another woman licked me. Can you imagine such a thing, my Lord?”
“Yes.” I told her and saw a look of total amazement come over her. “In many places such behaviour is not frowned on but actively encouraged.”
“This is true?” Angeline asked, incredulously.
“Yes it is. Often it is a lower class of woman that will indulge in such behaviour. But it is not exclusive to them and not uncommon for married women with their husbands to feel such pleasure.”
“But with other women, Lord Sallyporte? Surely not?”
“I am afraid so. There are many ways to enjoy sex, and not all are listed in the Scriptures.”
Angeline thought about this for a while, I could see the thoughts chasing across her face as she wrestled with these new concepts “Then may I ask you something please my lord?”
“Certainly Angeline.”
“Would you fuck me please my lord? I feel I have been wakened but not yet fulfilled and I think I need a cock in me.”
Chapter 6
And with that surprising request, Angeline van Duzen, unfolded the trade
blanket she had wrapped her nakedness in, and spread it on the floor. She lay
down and invited me to join her. My impression of her handsomeness was enhanced
by what I saw, despite having borne six chi***en (that I knew of) she still had
a stunning figure. Her breasts were full and ripe, but still firm and high on
her chest. Her waist was trim, not girlish, but still in nice proportion to her
breast and full hips.
I realised that my eko – what the Santici called my spirit, but which I think also encompasses many manly virtues including virility, really did need some release. My proximity to the nudity and openly sexuality of the tribal women, the combat and the savagery of the celebrations had me in a fine old state. I stripped off my tattered breeches and fairly leapt on Angeline. It was not a tender loving coupling, but rather an energetic rut. There on the floor of the settlement in the growing day, I penetrated her already moist slit, and grasped her hips, hauling Angeline up and pushing myself deeper.
“Oh yes!” Angeline welcomed my entry by wrapping her legs around my waist and pulling herself to me. She was strong and eager, pulling me down so I could kiss and lick at her nipples. “Harder! Pull them harder! Please my lord.”
I breathlessly told her to call me John, and pressed her shoulders back to the floor, thrusting eagerly into her. I have had many enjoyable tumbles over the years, but that dusty, grimy and (quite frankly) smelly fuck, in the new village of the Santici. We had both undergone much over the last few days me fighting and feasting alongside the warriors and Angeline’s ravishment at the hands of the Giri, washing had been low on our list of priorities. We both carried the stains and scents of our experiences.
Angeline pulled my head to hers and kissed me hungrily, I kissed her back. We chewed at each other, like starved fiends, pawed and pulled. Angeline orgasmed several times her spend adding to the general mess we were making of the orange coloured trade blanket beneath us. Finally, I felt my own spend building and I doubled my efforts pounding Angeline’s loins until with a guttural cry I shot deep inside her. Angeline held me to her as she also came to a shuddering climax.
We fell apart on the floor, holding each other’s hands.
After a few moments I looked up to see the
four faces of Angeline’s daughters regarding us from the door of the hut.
Unlike their mother none of them wore a stitch, their nubile bodies pressed against
each other – presenting me with a plethora of round, coral nipple tipped,
breasts. Like their mother, however, they each wore the same hungry look that
she had had when she first invited me to fuck her.
Fortunately, Chief Kambula arrived. My dear friend had not yet dressed from
rising and he looked down on us both with a huge grin on his face.
Angeline and I scrambled to our feet, but I noticed that she did not cover herself up.
“Sallyporte!” He boomed, “My warriors will be pleased that your eko is indeed as great as your skill in combat!”
I was saved from saying anything by Angeline’s interruption. She knelt down in front of Kambula, and taking his hand in hers she thanked him for all that he and his warriors had done for them.
Kambula drew her up so she stood once again. “Mrs van Duzen,” he said quietly, “Your family and my people have not been on particularly good terms recently. Perhaps this is an opportunity for us to mend our relationship and start a fresh.
“The Giri were friends to neither of us, so their demise allows us both to prosper. Why should we not prosper together?”
Angeline looked at me, then looked at Kambula, then back at me. Once again her face was painted by her conflicting emotions, as she dealt with this new set of circumstances.
“Chief Kambula, I think perhaps that this might be a good idea.” She paused as she weighed her words, and at the same time dealt with a new reality that perhaps up to that point she had not considered. “I am now a widow, and I have four daughters – who else can I ask for assistance until we can get back on our feet but our strong neighbours the Santici?”
“I am sure, Mrs van Duzen,” I had to admire the smooth way, in which Kambula was handling this. “We can work something out between us.
“Now!” He said, “I realise that it still
early, but we have a mountain of femme flesh which will spoil in this heat, it
needs cooking and once it is cooked it will need to be eaten. I think we should
rouse the cooks and start the celebrations again.”
As we walked over to where Kambula had set up in the previous chief’s hut,
Angeline’s daughters brought their blankets but like their mother they didn’t
make any effort to cover themselves. They chattered and looked about them for
all of the world as if they were at a Sunday school fete, instead of a savage
cannibal festival. Angeline walked next to Kambula, keeping very close to him,
and several times she allowed herself to brush against him.
As we reached the chief’s hut Elenke treated me with one of her warm smiles, and all of the wives greeted me with a cheerful “Ayo, Sallee!”
Angeline looked at me, curiously, but I dismissed it, rather I took the opportunity to let her know how useful Elenke was with a javelin and skinning knife – just in case, I said.
It never came to that fortunately though I
am sure Kambula would have cheerfully taken any and all of the van Duzen women,
instead he was fully occupied with his own women.
They were making the start of a new feast, so I borrowed a pot from Elenke and
took the opportunity to lead Angeline off to the pool at the other end of the
plateau (though it was looking a little weary under the burning sun). I drew
water and washed myself and Angeline, and when they saw what we were doing her
daughters.
I don’t think I have ever enjoyed ablutions as much as I did that time at the Santici pool. There was much touching, some of it quite lascivious, as we sluiced each other and washed each other down.
Cleaned as best we could we walked back to Kambula’s, and the rounded forms of the van Duzen girls – as opposed to the slimmer, harder forms of the tribal girls - attracted a lot of attention from the younger warriors who posed outrageously to gain their attention.
By noon, the party was in full swing again. Giri femme forms roasted over fires or parts of them boiled in stews, exhausted captive Amazons provided entertainment to any who chose to use them and at Kambula’s hut, the chief, Angeline and myself sat and talked about the way things would go forwards between the farm and the tribe. The girls remained seated behind us, and I was reminded how less than a dozen hours earlier I had sat there with the warriors. As we were talking several tribespeople began to dance and sing in the central place.
They were having a great old time, leaping and twirling to the rhythm of the drums, and singing a chanting song.
I realised that a young man stood at the entrance to the chief’s enclosure Kambula indicated he should come in. the youth began a stuttering speech.
Kambula told me. “He wants your permission to dance with one of your women O Sallee.”
“One of my women?” I looked at Angeline, who just nodded.
Amused by this asked Kambula to ask him which one. The young man pointed at the youngest daughter. At this the girl was about to leap up but her mother indicated she should remain seated.
I looked at Kambula, who said “Why not?”
Shrugging I indicated that the girl should go and dance. No sooner had they gone than there was a succession of young warriors asking for permission. Angeline went to watch Elenke and the others and she ended up helping them cook the flesh on the fire, even showing them a rub for the meat, using some herbs crushed in a pestle to prepare a leg of Amazon before putting it on to roast.
Kambula watched this before looking at me
and saying “All in all, Sally, old chap, I think this is going to work. Thank
you for dragging us into this.”
Chapter 7
The afternoon went in very much the same vein – I watched the festival with
Angeline sitting near me. Elenke had loaned her some bangles, and the formerly
very Christian widow of Theodore van Duzen was every inch a blonde blue-eyed
savage.
Just then Elenke appeared and said something to Kambula.
“Sallyporte, old chap,“ he said to me, “It seems like my sixth wife is very taken with you, and she wants to know would you like to spend the night with her?”
I spat my drink out in surprise. “Well, I mean, I think she’s a very beautiful woman, but_ I, er! I mean she’s your wife!”
Kambula took pity on me in my surprise, “It’s okay old man. Let me explain.”
It turned out that the Santici were by practice quite strict in their marital relationships, when a man and a woman married, they were expected to remain married for life, however many other wives there were. However, it was acceptable for a woman to get her husband to ask another man if she could sleep with him. The other man – if he wanted to - could then take the woman and they could have relations. But the second man would have to offer the first man something of equal quality or value, normally one of his women. The swap is always temporary, anything of a more permanent nature has to go before a council of elders, who will rule on it.
It all sounds a little strange but in actual fact it is a very civilised solution to a human problem that is probably as old as Mankind. And what makes it even more sensible is that the women generally arrange the whole thing before time, so that the men really only rubber-stamp the arrangement. Of course if a man wants to sleep with another woman, he will confide it to his wife, who will make the agreement, knowing that she will benefit from it herself, and that the arrangement is a temporary one.
It’s all very clever.
But as I told Kambula, “I would love to sleep with Elenke, but as you know I have no woman to offer you in return, my friend.”
Just then I felt a soft touch on my arm, and I turned to see Angeline looking at Kambula with eager eyes.
“But Bungo, old chap, how can I compare with you to satisfy Elenke?”
Kambula translated this for Elenke, who smiled and then said something back to him.
“My wife says that to her we are the buffalo and the rhino – stick with me old chap I think I know where she is going with this.
“The rhino is big and powerful; the buffalo is as well. But they are two very different animals, in many ways. She says, you cannot compare the rhino with the buffalo, and she says she lives with one but admires the other.”
I was laughing at this point, having never been compared to a rhino or even a buffalo but I could see the point Elenke was making. So looking at Angeline to see if she was still willing I took her hand and gave it to Kambula. He said something and Elenke launched herself into my lap.
The rest of the evening my Santici companion was very attentive, she brought me drink – the Santici drink a sort of fermented milk and blood concoction that can take your head off if you don’t treat it carefully. She fetched wooden skewers of roasted Giri femme flesh, which had been cooked with Angeline’s fiery spice rub. The two of us – Angeline and I – had remained naked all day, just like our hosts, and now like them we were acquiring shiny oiled skin, smeared with girl grease. Angeline and Elenke danced for us, dancing together, in a sensual, foot stamping, hip thrusting way. And what a sight! The white skinned woman and the black skinned, both of them jingle-jangling in the growing evening, the firelight reflecting off their skins and flickering in their eyes.
As they finished their most arousing of
dances, Elenke saw the state I was in, and pounced.
In England fellatio has gone out of fashion a little. After all, one places
one’s penis in a cannibal’s mouth with a fair bit of trepidation. And Elenke
went after my manhood like a starving woman, but dear God in his heaven! She
licked, she sucked, she rubbed, she fondled, I doubt there is a more skilled fellatrice
walking the planet than that Santici woman. Elenke even managed to press all of
my erection into her mouth and down her throat, burying her face in my loins.
She pushed me back on to the floor and bobbed her head up and down, while
fingering my ball sack.
I was in a transport of delight at the sensations she engendered. At one point, as my head flicked from side to side I saw Angeline trying to copy Elenke, though she appeared to be struggling with the size of Kambula’s member. She knelt at his feet and he guided her head with his hands tangled in her blonde locks.
Soon I was ready to spend and I tried to get Elenke to lift her head – some women do not enjoy the taste of a man’s spend. No, my lithe black goddess guzzled it down with satisfaction, even smacking her lips to show how much she enjoyed it.
Angeline, however, did not yet enjoy the
taste of semen and she pulled back only for Kambula to spray his seed across
her face and breasts as he roared his spend into the evening sky.
We had seen very little of the four van Duzen daughters, and it was probably
just as well that they had not watched their mother being doused with Kambula’s
spend. But then again I reflected – I hoped that they may have been seeing
something similar at close quarter, themselves.
Chapter 8
I did spend the night with Elenke, and what a night. The two women were very
different in bed, whereas Angeline enjoyed being fucked and would accept my
actions with passion, Elenke was far more active, and more openly receptive. We
must have fucked four five times, she took me in her mouth twice more and she
and I indulged in that most French of endeavours soixante-neuf, where
she sucked me and I returned the favour. I even took her in her bottom, not
something I had done very much before. She climbed up and placed my cock inside
her and rode me to a climax, and this went on until with dawn painting the sky
we slept.
I don’t think I have ever spent such a vigorous night with just one partner.
I got up to relieve myself, and as I came back to bed, Elenke opened one of her large dark eyes and in a soft, sexy voice said simply, “Ayo Sallee.”
In reply, for I think I was falling in lust
with this beautiful, sensual and sexy woman, I managed, “Ayo Elenke.” Then we
were at it again.
This time however we were controlled, twining together, caressing and measured
with none of the fury of the previous night. This time we made love, though
Elenke insisted on finishing me in her mouth and smacking her lips at the taste
of my spend on her tongue.
After three more days at the village of the Santici, Angeline and I felt it was
time to make our way back to her farm. There were probably some femmes still
there who had not been lifted by the Giri, though they had feed and water in
their sheds, they would need letting out and tending. We sorted the van Duzen
femmes from the now enlarged herd of the Santici, though Angeline left some in
gratitude for their part in the rescue.
Kambula called for volunteers among the younger men, to act as escort to the van Duzen women and help move the girl herds, he was nearly knocked down in the rush. When we parted at the entrance to the gully down off the plateau Elenke pressed necklace into my hands as a parting gift (I still wear it today).
Angeline and I talked much during the walk to the farm.
She had enjoyed her time among the Santici
immensely, and she felt the whole experience had, in the end been a beneficial
one. She certainly resolved never to go back to her old ways. She would keep
the farm up, and I offered to buy stock on a regular basis. She agreed, it was
a given that I would have to return to England, but she said I would always be
welcome there.
And so my African adventure came to a suitable end. My old school friend was
happy, his people were happy, and the survivors of the van Duzens were if not
happy, content at least.
Here endeth the tale of Lord Sallyporte’s adventure in the African bush.