Chapter 2

Right after Labor Day, the soldier showed up. Of course, there was nothing strange about a soldier coming to the door of Belle's place. Most of her customers were soldiers. But this one came in the morning and, when I opened the door, he asked to speak to Ranee Godwin. I just looked at him and wondered if I should even let on that Ranee was there. But then the skinny, powerful man came bouncing out of the back room and yelled.

"Jim Webber!" he yelled. "Is that that worthless Jim Webber of the United States Army?"

I guess that he had heard the man's voice. I moved out of the way and the soldier came into the front room and Ranee dashed toward him and clasped both of his hands around one of the soldiers and shook it and grinned.

"Jim Webber. Captain Jim Webber," he said cheerfully.

"Not for long, Ranee. I am getting out of the army in three days," the soldier said.

But even as he spoke to Ranee the man kept glancing back at me, as if he recognized me from some place back in his history. I did not recognize that man at all, but I thought that he looked good. He was white and he had fine, soft, blonde hair that he combed straight back from his forehead. He looked like someone who was real smart, but I don't know why I thought that then. There was just something about him that told me that this soldier read books and did things like that.

"Honey," Ranee said, "Fix Captain Jim Webber a drink."

"No drink," the blonde man said. "Not this early in the morning."

"Then what about coffee?" Ranee asked, as if being a good host meant everything in the world to him.

"Coffee sounds fine," the soldier said.

"How you take it?" Ranee asked.

"Black, of course," the soldier said.

And, when he said that, he smiled at me. I knew then that he was talking about more than just coffee, and it seemed that coffee was the way that a lot of men communicate their desires to me.

But I left the room and went into the kitchen to fix the coffee.

It was still very early. Suzy Q. was not even up yet. The house was as silent as a tomb, except for the conversation that was going on in the living room. So I listened to that conversation. I felt the need to find out as much as I could about that blonde soldier who seemed to know me.

"What brings you here to Massachusetts?" Ranee asked.

"I came looking for you, old friend," the soldier answered.

"How did you know that I was here. I am sort of laying low."

"I know. But Fatty Krepner told me where you were."

"Fucking Fatty," Ranee muttered.

"Don't get mad at Fatty. I told him that he would either tell me the truth or I would have the Military Police bust his little gambling house down there in Washington, D. C. We have had a lot of generals at the Pentagon complaining anyway. One of them lost four thousand dollars to Fatty one night."

And Ranee chuckled. I heard that. I laughed softly too, thinking of a general losing that much money to one of Ranee's friends.

It seemed right, almost noble to take money from a general, I thought.

And then the soldier continued to talk to my master.

"We need you to help us on a project."

"What kind of project?"

"In Africa."

"Shit fire and save matches, Jim, I am not going back to Africa. I almost lost my fucking head last time I was there."

"That was when you were running guns to Bungo Adi, right?"

"Well-I prefer to think that I was aiding a revolution against tyranny, Jim."

"It helped though that you got paid a lot of money for those guns, right?"

"It was good, American currency that Bungo Adi paid me."

"And Bungo Adi won his little fight and now he is charge there in central Africa. And he is killing people right and left."

"So?"

"Well, that does not really bother the government, but something else does."

"Let me get this straight, Jim. You are here to represent the government."

"In an unofficial way," the soldier muttered.

By then I had the coffee fixed. I brought a cup to the soldier and to my master. And then I turned to leave. Jim Webber spoke up.

"Is this your lady, Ranee?"

"Yeah," my master said softly. "Guess so."

"Maybe she should stay and listen to what I have to say. I think that she might be a great help to us."

I did not understand what help I could be to the United States government, but Ranee motioned for me to sit down on the floor next to his chair and I did. I looked at the soldier. He was leaning forward on the couch. When I had seated myself, he started to explain things again.

"All right," he said. "Bungo Adi has kidnapped the daughter of the ambassador."

"What ambassador?" Ranee asked.

"The American ambassador to the United Nations," Jim said.

"He's a nigger, right?" Ranee asked. "That means his daughter is a nigger too?"

Jim looked at me when Ranee said those words, that word. I guess that the soldier was a little shocked that my master would use that kind of language in front of me. But he did not know what our relationship was based on. I just smiled like a cat and Ranee rubbed my kinky hair.

"Yes," Jim finally answered. "The ambassador and his daughter are both black."

"Well, maybe old Bungo just wants a piece of nigger, American ass. Maybe he will let her go when he has had his fill of her."

"No, that is not what he wants," the solder informed us.

"Arms? Money? What has old Bungo got up his sleeve?" Ranee asked.

"We don't know. We know that he has the girl, but we don't know what he wants for her. There has been no ransom demand, no official communication at all from Bungo's government to ours. We know that the girl went down there on some kind of crazy, teen-aged gig and she got herself wrapped up with some sort of revolutionary action."

"Well, shit, Bungo must like her. He is a revolutionary," Ranee said with a grin.

"Not any longer. The revolutionaries down there now are revolting against Bungo."

"Oh," my master said softly. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

"That is why we need you. We want you to go to Bungo and find out what he wants. We want you to work with us and try to get that girl out of there in any way possible. I cannot tell you how embarrassing it would be to the United States government to have a black girl, the daughter of a high government official, being held down there. If the word ever leaks out, the press would have a field-day with it."

"Suppose they would," Ranee said softly, thoughtfully.

"And this young lady here might even be able to help us," the soldier added.

"What? Melody?"

Ranee looked down at me and I could tell that he could not understand how I could help anyone do anything. I was just a nigger bitch as far as my master was concerned.

Jim Webber reached into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to Ranee and then he said, "That is the daughter of the U.N. ambassador. She looks a lot like this girl here."

"Yeah," Ranee said. "The spitting image."

And he pushed the photograph in front of me and I looked at it. It was as if I were looking at a picture of myself.

"Naturally," Jim Webber said. "Word of our mission cannot get out either. I will come with you to Africa after my time in the army is up. We will just be a few civilians down there, trying to deal with Bungo Adi in any way that we can."

"What is in it for me?" Ranee asked, handing the photograph back to the officer.

"Money," the soldier said. "Lots of money. If we can get that girl back, it will be worth a hundred thousand dollars to her father and his friends."

"In cash? You know I always deal in cash, Jim."

"In cash, Ranee. The money is in a safe deposit box in New York City right now, ready for you to pick it up the minute that that girl comes back on U. S. soil safe and sound."

"Hundred thousand dollars," Ranee muttered, as if he were thinking about it.

But, by then, I knew my master, and I knew that he had already made up his mind.

I knew that he would take the job and head off for Africa.

And I figured that he would take me with him. "Okay, Jim," my master said, "but I run the show. I call the shots. I don't want you going Pentagon on me in the middle of Bungo's territory."

"You call the shots, Ranee," the officer agreed.

"And the first shot I call is this: I want to go to South Africa first and talk to Zero Smelling."

"Zero Smelling? That fat man? Why in the world would you want to talk to him?"

"Because Zero Smelling has the best intelligence organization in Africa. He has to have one, running all that stuff across the borders and out of the continent like he does. I want to know what Zero has heard and I may even buy some guns from him. I remember that Bungo is a sucker for guns."

"Okay," the soldier said. "Is the girl going too?"

And the blonde soldier looked at me with those eyes that seemed to know all about me. I shivered and smiled at him as my master spoke.

"Sure. She does anything that I tell her to do. She is my slave."

"Your what?"

"My slave, Jim. Now drink your coffee before it gets cold. We have a lot of plans to make here."

When they started making plans, I saw a side of Ranee that I had never seen before. He fell onto those discussions as if they were a fine feast. I discovered then that my man was the kind who liked to plan things out, who liked to see just how much he could get away with.

They did not mention me in their plans. From time to time, Jim or Ranee would look at me, and I wondered what they had in mind for my part in the expedition to Africa. But I did not have the courage to ask.

And I also knew that I should not ask. A slave does not ask about her master's plans.

That night, Ranee locked himself in Belle's room and worked on some charts, some more plans. He did not even need Jim Webber any longer. He said that he would work out the details by himself and then tell Webber all about them in the morning.

So the soldier moved around the house and talked to the whores that night. He was not wearing his uniform and he looked like just any other customer. But he kept glancing at me as I stood back in the kitchen and I glanced at him too. I wanted him badly, even though I did not know how Ranee would feel about something like that.

All day, Ranee and Jim had been talking about revolutions in Africa and I thought that I was making my own revolution by looking at that blonde man and letting him know that I wanted him. And I figured that it did not even make any difference if I actually fucked him. Just letting him know that I would fuck him would be revolution enough for me.

But it would not be enough for Jim Webber. I could tell that.

I had just had my fix about a half hour before and I was standing in the kitchen flying high.

Finally, the blonde man seemed to work up the courage to come back and talk to me. I smiled at him and knew that I would fuck him, if that was what he wanted. I was too high to do anything else.

Jim stood next to me and looked me over. And then he asked the question.

"What is this shit that Ranee keeps talking about? About you being his slave?"

"I am his slave," I muttered happily, feeling that heat from the fix course through me.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I do anything that he wants me to do. It means that my master makes me suffer and I love it. It means that he hurts me before he fucks me and I love it."

I was swaying back and forth in the kitchen, feeling that horse driving through me.

And I was too hot to lie to Jim Webber. I figured that he would have to find out the truth sooner or later, if we were all going to Africa together. I leaned against him and looked up and felt a little sleepy.

"I love my master," I said. "I love it when any man hurts me."

And the blonde man just looked at me, trying to figure out what he wanted to do to me. I thought that I would help him along. I leaned into him and spoke to his broad chest.

"Would you like to hurt me, Captain

Webber?" I asked.

"What?" the man asked.

But he did not seem really shocked. He did not sound like a man who was totally against the idea.

I looked up into his blue eyes. They were the color of the ocean, I thought, and I wanted to dive right into those eyes.

I asked the question again.

"Would you like to hurt me and fuck me, Captain Webber? I will let you do both, but only if you do both. I will not let you fuck me unless you hurt me just a little bit first."

I figured that he and Ranee had made a deal, a deal that involved me. I wanted to make my own deal with that blue-eyed officer. I blew in his face and I giggled.

And the world seemed to spin around as I looked into those blue eyes.

Only those eyes remained in one place and I thought that I would have to keep my eyes focused on those blue eyes in order to make sure that I did not fall down in that spinning world.

"Where can we go to be alone?" the captain asked me.

"My room. Back here," I said.

I think that I led the soldier back there to my little room, but he may have led me.

I was suddenly so high with the thoughts of revolution and the feeling of that heroin in me that I could not lead anyone anywhere without help.

But I knew that I would enjoy myself with that captain.

I knew that I would enjoy being his slave and his victim, almost as much as I enjoyed it with Ranee. '

When we got to that little room, I stumbled away from Jim Webber and I fell on the bed. I turned over and looked up at him and I suddenly wished that he had worn his uniform that night. I thought that it would be very nice to have the shit knocked out of me by a uniformed officer of the United States Army. But he was standing there in his sports shirt and his slacks and I figured that I would just have to make do with that. I started to unbutton my blouse and I moaned to him softly, tenderly, passionately, moaned to him with a slave-like, nigger voice.

"Beat me, White Man. Beat the living shit out of my nigger flesh."

I had trouble with the buttons on my blouse. Finally, I gave up and ripped that blouse open and showed him my firm, full, nigger tits. I put my hands on those tits and I massaged my big glands.

"like my tits, soldier boy?" I asked in a giddy voice. "Want to slap those tits around a little?"

But the man just stood there and acted like he had not even heard me. I thought that he would give up and turn and leave me, and I certainly did not want that. I was making a revolution, I thought, and I wanted that blue-eyed warrior to join me in that revolution. I twisted my nipples and I begged that man to help me in my revolt against my master.

"Come on, soldier," I said, almost sobbing as the heat grew in my body. "I need relief, soldier. I need to be hurt, just a little."

"I can't believe it," Jim said. "I can't believe that you would ask for such a thing."

"I have a right to ask for such a thing!" I yelled. "I am a nigger bitch!"

And I sat up on the bed and felt my head swimming around and I reached out for the crotch of his pants. When I grabbed for his pants, he moved away from me with a jerking motion, as if I had hurt him. But I did not want to hurt him. I wanted that soldier to hurt me.

The man stood there and shivered with his back against the wall.

Suddenly, I thought, he looked like the victim, the slave. He looked like the man who was going to be tortured. Things were not working out as I had planned. I tried to reach out to him again and I fell off the bed and onto the flopr.

I rolled on that floor and I could not help myself. The dope was giving me the heat and I just had to giggle. But, even as I laughed, I tried to move up to my hands and knees. Even as I laughed, I felt like crying. Something was not working. Something was not working at all.

"Please, Jim," I moaned.

And then it happened quickly, so quickly that I felt a rush that was almost orgasmic in just one split-second.

He kicked me in the chest and sent me tumbling back against another wall of the room.

"Oh, yes," I groaned.

"This is fucking sick," he said.

"Kick me again."

"This is perverted."

"Kick my tits. Kick those nigger tits off my nigger body."

"My god! I did not think that Ranee was this strange," the man muttered.

"Strange?"

The word echoed in my head. It did not seem like the kind of word that should be used in that situation. In fact, at that moment, it seemed like a new word, a word that was not even part of the English language, and I wondered what Jim Webber meant.

"Sick," he muttered. "Strange. Fucking is one thing, but this-"

And then his voice died away and he looked at me.

And something seemed to crack in his eyes. His blue eyes started to burn, and I thought of a fire on a lake, a burning of something like garbage on top of blue water. Was that possible? I remembered a story that I had heard one time of a river near Cleveland that was so polluted that it had caught on fire and burned for days. But it did not seem like Jim Webber's eyes were polluted at all. It seemed like he finally understood something. His mind was finally getting clear.

He moved toward me and he kicked my chest again and he yelled out the word.

"Sick nigger! Sick, perverted, nigger bitch!"

And then he staggered back and looked at me as I pressed my back against that wall and smiled.

"What have I done?" he muttered. "What have I done?"

"You have given a nigger girl some pleasure," I moaned.

My tits were throbbing with the pain. I closed my eyes and I went to sleep as the pain and the dope rushed through me and made me easy and hot and lazy in that little room.

I started to come around when he lifted me off the floor and put me on the bed.

I opened my eyes as I felt Jim unzipping the little skirt that I was wearing and pulling it down my body.

It was like a dream, but it was the kind of dream that could only be real, I thought.

I smiled in a lazy way as he pulled down my panties. Then I was naked before him.

And the horse kept trying to put me back to sleep. I stretched my arms back over my nigger head. I wanted to keep awake a little bit, I thought. I wanted to know what this revolution was like.

And then I saw through the fog of my sleepy, drug-laden mind. I saw that Jim Webber had taken off his clothes too. He was moving toward me and his cock was hard and straight.

He could have fucked me then, but I kept my legs closed.

I was not ready to be fucked at that moment. I wanted something extra, something special.

"Hit me a few more times, soldier boy," I sighed. "Hit me a few more times before you slam that military cock into me."

And, by then, the man was too turned on to deny me.

He slapped my face with a little tap, but that was not enough for me.

"Harder!" I yelled.

And he slapped me harder and made my face tingle with the heat of that blow.

And then Jim Webber seemed to get into it, seemed to understand that there was some joy in this for him too. He slapped me again and again, and I closed my eyes and wallowed in the passion that he gave me with those slaps.

I opened my eyes when the slaps stopped suddenly and the cock slammed into my pussy.

I moaned.

I shivered.

I quaked.

And I lifted my legs and wrapped them around him and I sighed to him.

"Fuck me, soldier. Fuck that sweet, nigger pussy."

By then, Jim was completely lost in the passion of the moment.

He was so lost that he moaned to me too and used that magic, sexy word that I loved so much.

"Yeah, nigger, your pussy is sweet," he said.

And he fucked away on that pussy. He fucked me as if he were digging for gold in my cunt.

And I loved every barging motion that he made into my cunt.

I loved every stroke that he gave me.

And I let the heroin rush through me with the pain and I moved with him, caught his military rhythm and fucked him with a matching rhythm of my own.

We moved on that bed like two wrestlers, like two enemies.

And I closed my eyes and thought of how nice it would be to have a whole army fucking me like that. I imagined myself on bayonets, riding a thousand military bayonets at once, letting all of those sharp, long things slam into me. And I imagined the pain too, the pain that would come when I was cut apart by those soldiers. But I loved the pain as much as the fucking and I tossed under Jim Webber as he rode me and I thought that this was an absolutely marvelous revolution-

The best revolution that a nigger slave could have.

As the man fucked me, I moved my hands between our bodies and I twisted my nipples and I sighed, keeping the pain in me as the fucking continued.

And I thought of armies fucking me and hurting me.

And I felt very patriotic for the first time in my life.

And I wondered what would happen to me once we got to Africa.

Africa, I thought as I fucked Jim. Africa, the land of my forefathers.

And it seemed to me at that time that Africa was the land of my birth.

I would return to the land from whence I had come and I would suffer pain there too. I did not know just what Ranee and Jim had planned for me, but I was almost sure that pain had something to do with it.

Pain seemed to be mixed in my mind with Africa.

And I fucked away on Jim's cock and let that pain, that African pain, that military pain rush through me. It was the best kind of pain that a nigger slave could feel.

And Africa, the dark continent that was filled with niggers, Africa seemed to call me, beckon me with a jungle type of pain.

As I fucked Jim Webber, I could hardly wait to get to Africa.