She awoke to a loud argument. Disoriented, she shook her head to clear the fuzzy
mist that surrounded her brain and clouded her eyes. One voice was especially
powerful; seething with unabashed anger. Her nakedness triggered her memory and
all the images of the last few hours came rushing back to her. She was a
prisoner of African terrorists – and she had willingly fucked two of her captors
ragged. She had seen two men brutally murdered – and she had slavishly sucked
the cocks of those responsible, swallowing their cum, rubbing it all over her
body like cream; revelling in her own perverse lusts and desires. She had
succumbed to the seductive lure of black-skinned Kaffirs – and she had loved
every perverted minute of it.

“Fool!” the angry voice shouted savagely. The exclamation was followed by a
sharp clap of thunder. Looking up she saw the Leader viciously snap his open
palm across Jumo’s face. She saw his bulging eyes and the corded veins in his
neck, and suddenly feared for the poor man’s life. His hand went up again,
poised to strike.

“No!” she screamed, jumping naked from the bed. “No! Don’t hit him again!”

The Leader looked at her, his eyes wide with surprise – and appreciation?
Frantic, she grabbed the first thing she could find to cover her body; Mantu’s
discarded shirt, and shrugged into it. It flapped around her knees as she ran to
Jumo’s side. The man with the Leader moved to intercept her but she ducked under
his arms. Something about him struck her as odd, but in her fear for Jumo’s
life, she discarded the thought.

“Stay out of this, Princess,” the Leader snarled from behind his ski-mask. “This
man has disobeyed my orders. You were not to be molested!” he shouted. “He and
his wormy friend must be punished!”

“You told them to make me comfortable, did you not?” she said, stepping close to
Jumo. She felt his trembling body and couldn’t believe his fear. She realized
that the Leader was an absolute King among these men and his word was law. His
maleness and power radiated to her and she felt the response deep in her loins.

“Yes,” he said, slowly and suspiciously.

“They did not do anything except what I wanted them to do.” she said defiantly.
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was close enough.

“What are you saying, Princess? That you encouraged them? Willingly
participated? Be plain!” he demanded.

She opened the front of Mantu’s big shirt and, hands on hips, displayed her
naked body. Her nylons were wrinkled, her garter belt was cum stained in several
places and she was missing her shoes, but standing there before him, she saw his
eyes change and felt the power of her white body. Their fascination was just as
strong as hers, she thought. She tossed her head back in a regal gesture.

“Do you doubt my word?” It was an Imperial question delivered in a regal manner,
but inside she was churning. This big man excited her, stimulated her. And it
went beyond the ebony color of his skin.

His deep, rumbling laugh echoed through the loft. He pulled his ski-mask off
reveling his face. She was surprised to find him handsome in a rough manner,
with high cheekbones and sharply defined features. And his eyes – compelling
dark and sensual. She felt his laughing gaze all the way down to her toes, but
especially in her pussy, which had become very wet, very fast.

He stood close to her, his size massive and overpowering. “I am Chuka!” he said,
“That means King.”

His companion, the fourth man, made a biting commentary in their foreign tongue
and he answered angrily.

“Kunta does not like you,” he said softly. She believes Royalty should act like
Royalty and not like a common slut.”

She? The Princess snapped her head around as Kunta pulled off her ski-mask. That
was the oddity she had noted; “he” moved like a woman, not a man. Graceful and
fluid. Kunta was tall and had regal bearing – a queen to the Leader’s King, and
she was instantly jealous – and she had a strong, fully developed body, and was
surprisingly lovely, despite the disapproving scowl on her face.

“She also doesn’t think you’re as good as a Zulu woman, or any black woman, for
that matter.”

This time it was she who laughed. “Look at your men,Chuka. I wore them out!”

Kunta gave Jumo and Mantu a withering glance and they seem to shrivel before her
steely gaze. The Princess had never met a more formidable woman, not even the
Queen, herself, and she was surprised at her own physical reaction to this
compelling woman.

“So, the Royal Princess of Wales likes Kaffir cocks. You show good taste, Your
Highness, we are the best.” His finger traced the shape of her bare tit and she
shivered at his electric touch and a warm trickle of pussy-juice dribbled down
her inner thigh.

“But I think I should still punish these men.”

“Leave them be and you can have me,” she said.

“I could have you anytime I so desired, Princess. You are my prisoner. Or have
you forgotten?”

“Taking me is one thing, giving myself to you is another.” Her voice was low and
husky; seductive. But it was a ploy.