Chapter 5
When we landed in South Africa, a fat man met us at the airport.
Ranee introduced me to that fat man. His name was Zero Smelling and he was an old friend of Ranee. Jim Webber knew him too, but I could tell by the way that Jim Webber kept silent that he did not think much of that fat man.
When Zero Smelling started to talk, I knew that he was a Southerner from the United States.
He had that syrupy kind of voice that certain, Southern politicians get when they are trying to talk the stupid people into re-electing them. It was a voice that was made for promises, I thought, promises that would not be kept.
And, when Ranee introduced me to Zero Smelling, the fat man looked me over and said, "You sure are a fine piece of nigger flesh, little lady."
And he reached out with his fat fingers and pinched me.
I hated him then. I did not like to be called a nigger by a fat man. It was different with the men that I fucked. I thought that studs had a right to call me anything that they wanted, but I knew that that fat man could not be a stud. He was sweating and gasping as he stood there and he was the most disgusting creature that I had ever seen.
Zero Smelling took us out of the airport to where his big, black car was parked.
There was a tall, white man standing by that car in a uniform. He opened the back door for us and Zero huffed as he got in. Then Jim Webber and Ranee got in too. Zero pointed a fat finger at me and said, "You, nigger. You ride in front with Nigel."
The man in the uniform closed the door and moved around the car and opened the front door for me. I got in and thought that I would really rather ride in front with that nice man than in the back seat with that sloppy, sweating mass of fat named Zero Smelling.
The man in the uniform got in behind the wheel and started the motor. I kept my head turned and kept my eyes toward the front. But I listened to what the men in the back seat were talking about. Ranee had still not told me how I was going to work into his plan, and I was becoming very curious. I wondered if there would be some hint of my role in the mission in Ranee's conversation with that fat man.
"So," the fat man said, heaving and gasping, "you are going to see old Bungo, right?"
"Yeah. We are going to try to get that girl out of his country and back to the States," Jim Webber said. "But we need something to deal with. We thought that you might be able to get us some weapons. That way we could make Bungo a nice and fair exchange."
"From what I hear," the fat man said, "old Bungo don't need no weapons."
"Thought so," Ranee muttered.
"What have you heard about Bungo, Mister Smelling?" Jim Webber asked.
And I could sense the distaste in that former army officer's voice as he tried to treat the fat man in the most formal way possible.
"Well, I hear that Bungo is getting ready to make some deal with the Russians. Don't know what kind of deal, but he seems to have something that the Russians want."
"Probably the girl," Ranee muttered.
"Maybe," the fat man said. "Maybe that is it. f just know that Bungo is having himself a fine time there in his own little country. There is talk that Bungo wants to crown himself king or emperor or something. And he is killing off his people so fast that some folks say the bodies just lie around unburied for days. Mass executions. You know how these African niggers are about mass executions. They think that it is a real nice thing to do some mornings. Just line up thirty or forty people and blow them away."
"But the girl is still alive, right?" Jim Webber asked, and I could hear the anxiety in his voice. :
"From what I hear, she is," Zero Smelling said.
Then the fat man spoke to the man in the uniform.
"Nigel," he said, "no use you and that nigger gal hearing this. Put the glass up."
And, without a word, the man in the uniform touched a button near the steering wheel. A thin sheet of glass went up and blocked the sound that came from the back seat. :
That pissed me off something terrible. I had thought that I was going to hear something about my role in this little mission of mercy, but the fat man had blocked me off. So I turned and looked at the man who was driving the car.
He was a good-looking, big man, and I thought that I would try to make conversation with him. I tried to study the countryside but it was flat and boring.
And it did not feel like home to me. I wondered if we were really in Africa, and I wondered how a place like Africa could have men like Zero Smelling in it.
Then I looked at the man in the uniform again and I thought that it could not be too bad here, if men like this Nigel lived in that country.
"Your name is Nigel, right?" I asked.
"Yes. Nigel Greener. I work for Mister Smelling."
"My name is Melody."
And the man glanced at me and smiled.
"How are you, Melody?"
"Just fine. This is my first trip to Africa."
And then there was silence. I thought that the conversation had sounded a little stupid.
And I wondered how I could talk to Nigel about something that would have more meaning, something that would interest both of us. I tried again.
"Tell me, Nigel, how long you have lived here?"
"All of my life," he said.
"Are there a lot of white people here?"
"About a third of the population in this country. They run everything. The blacks have tried to rebel, but the white people run the army and the government and they put down any rebellion that arises."
I studied the way that Nigel talked about blacks and whites. It did not seem that he was either one. But he certainly looked white, I thought. He looked like a very handsome white man.
"Smelling is a racist, right?" I asked.
"Sure. He hates everyone who is black, and he is not that friendly to whites either."
"Are you a racist, Nigel?" I asked. :
And then I thought that it was a silly question. What man would admit to a black person that he was a racist. Only a man like Zero Smelling would be that rude or stupid, I thought.
But Nigel Greener seemed to be thinking about his answer very carefully.
And, after a few minutes, he said, "I am not sure."
I just sat there. I did not know what to say to something like that.
"You see," he explained, "my step-father was black, and my step-sister is a mulatto. I love my sister. I take care of her because she is not very smart. Very beautiful, but not very smart."
"Oh."
"But I always hated my step-father. I don't know if I hated him because he was black or because he was a bastard. He was both."
And then Nigel Greener turned to me and smiled.
I smiled back.
"There is one way to find out if you are a racist or not," I said. "How is that?"
"Would you like to fuck me while I am here?"
Nigel Greener chuckled.
"I sure would, Melody, but that does not mean anything. I imagine old fat-stuff back there would like to fuck you too. You are a very sexy woman."
"Tell you what, Nigel," I said, touching his leg with my black fingers. "Let's just fuck for the fun of it and act like we are solving some big mystery of your life."
And the man laughed out loud and nodded his head. "It will be my pleasure," he said.
"My pleasure."
Zero Smelling lived in a big, white mansion on the top of a hill. It looked like some kind of ice-cream castle to me, and I thought that it figured that a man like Smelling would live in a place that was so white that it almost gave you a headache to look at it.
And I had no trouble being alone with Nigel Greener, once we got to that mansion.
Zero did not seem to pay any attention to me at all, and he invited Jim and Ranee to join him in the library for more talks about this Bungo Adi. I was left standing in the big, white hallway of the house. Nigel came into that hallway when he had put the car up and he smiled at me.
"Would you like a drink, Melody?" he asked.
"Sure. I think that would be nice," I said with a girlish grin.
We had our drinks in the big parlor. We sat on a comfortable couch together and I put my hand on Nigel's knee. He smiled at me and kissed my cheek and then he asked me the question.
"What are you into, Black Beauty?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I would just like to know how best to please you this afternoon."
And he smiled and I thought that that was very nice of him.
I sat there next to him and I felt a little bit like a queen. This man wanted to please me, I thought, even though his boss totally ignored me. I looked at the man's muscular body and I thought that just about anything with Nigel Greener would please me on that day.
But then I decided that I should just be honest with him.
He had asked an honest question and he deserved an honest answer.
I hoped that he would not think that I was strange, but, looking into his eyes, I just had to tell this man the truth about my sexual desires.
"I really like to shoot heroin into me and then have a man tie me up and abuse me," I said.
I tried to sound as matter-of-fact as possible, but I could hear my voice tremble.
Nigel Greener just looked at me for a second and then he smiled.
"Did you bring the horse with you, Melody?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "Ranee paid off somebody with the airline. It is right here in my purse."
"Then I guess we should go back to my room and let you get ready for me."
He was really matter-of-fact about the whole thing.
And that made me think that this place might not be so bad after all. Nigel Greener seemed to be used to dealing with women like me. I thought that there might be a lot of pain-loving, nigger girls here in this country. If there were, I might fit in after all.
Nigel and I walked back into his little bedroom. It was very neat. He held the door open for me, like a real gentleman.
And then he said, "Why don't you shoot up and get ready? I will be with you in a few minutes."
I felt a little bit like a girl in a doctor's office, but Nigel was so nice that I knew he would be something special.
He left me there in his room and I took off my clothes. I got the H out of my purse and fixed up the needle. Then I wrapped a cord around my arm and found a vein and shot the stuff into me. I sighed as that heat went into my system.
And then I put the stuff back into my purse and I lay back on the bed and let the heat take over. I moaned a little bit as the heat flushed through me. I thought of those wild mares stampeding through my system again, and I felt happy, very happy.
The fog came down from the ceiling and surrounded me and gave me solace.
I lay there in that fog until the door opened and Nigel Greener came back into the room.
I could just make him out in the fog as he stood there at the door. He closed the door behind him and I tried to concentrate on Nigel, tried to see him clearly.
And then some of the fog cleared and I saw that he was naked.
And I saw the ropes in his hands, and I sighed with pleasure.
I floated in the fog as he tied me up, turning me and twisting me and giving me the roughness of those ropes.
They were good ropes. They rubbed against me and made me feel all warm and soft.
"Yeah," I muttered as I felt the ropes against my flesh. "Yeah."
I wallowed in the roughness and the tightness of those ropes and then Nigel turned me over so that I could look up at him and he bent over and spoke to me softly. The words came through the fog and into my face like little drops of rain.
'This is nothing, nigger," he said. "This is nothing compared to what Bungo will do to you."
"What?" I muttered.
But Nigel moved away from me and slipped back into the fog. Bungo, I thought.
That was the man that we were going to deal with, Ranee and Jim and I.
What would Bungo do to me? I wondered for a second, but I could not really concentrate on that question. That was the future, and, as the horse galloped through my veins, I could not think of the future. There was only the present and the present meant so much to me.
I moaned and moved in the delicious feelings of the ropes.
They were tight and my joints were aching, but it was such a delicious ache that I could not think of anything else. My nigger pussy grew moist with juices and the ropes seemed to put off a fine perfume, a perfume that fdled the air and awakened new senses in me.
And then Nigel moved back to me. He lay down next to me and I turned and saw him smiling to me.
His face seemed to be surrounded by the fog. I smiled back.
And then he flicked the little lighter. The flame shot up from it and I looked at that flame and I felt cold, frozen there on the bed.
The flame died away and I opened my mouth and took a deep breath. The air was suddenly hot, as if that flame had set everything on fire around me.
Nigel smiled.
And he spoke to me softly.
"Nigger," he said. "Nigger bitch."
"Yes," I murmured. "I am a fine bit of nigger flesh."
Nigel flicked the lighter again and the flame burned blue in the fog.
He brought the lighter to my body, to my nigger flesh.
I tensed my body and he let that flame touch the area between my big, nigger tits.
"God," I groaned, feeling the muscles tense in my throat. "God."
And then the flame was gone and the air was filled with a new perfume, the aroma of burned, nigger flesh. I sniffed that perfume and I felt the pain deep in my heart.
I closed my eyes and thought that Nigel had cooked my heart with that flame.
"That is nothing," he said to me as I lay there with my eyes closed. "That is nothing compared to what Bungo will do to you when he gets his black, fat hands on you."
"Bungo," I muttered. "Bungo."
The name sounded familiar to me, but, in the fog and in my pain, I sniffed at the perfume of my own burned flesh and I could not remember where I had heard that name before.
Bungo. For all I knew, Bungo could have been the name of my own father.
But then I thought that that was not right.
Bungo was going to do something terrible to me, and my father had never done anything terrible to me. He had never even spoken to me. Perhaps Bungo was my brother, I thought. I remembered that my brother had done something to me at some time, something that was good and bad.
"Bungo?" I asked softly. "My brother?"
But Nigel did not answer me. He just whispered in my ear.
"Nigger bitch. Nigger whore. Nigger slut. Bungo is going to have some fun with you."
I opened my eyes and looked through the fog and I heard the click and I saw the flame again.
This time, the flame moved down my body and caressed the black, nigger flesh of my lower stomach.
And I kicked and tossed as that flame bit into me. Nigel put his white hand over my mouth so that I could not scream.
And then he took that flame away and took his hand away a few seconds later.
I gasped.
But I loved it. I loved what that man was doing to me.
The fog seemed red around me, red with that perfume of burned, nigger flesh.
I heard the words of Nigel Greener come through the red fog.
"You will like my sister," he said. "She is half-nigger. She is beautiful. But she is not very smart. I have to take care of her."
His sister?
Whose sister?
My sister?
I wondered about all of those things as the fog-the red fog-settled in around me.
And then I remembered that I did not have a sister. I only had a brother, a brother named Bungo or something like that. I had loved my brother once, but something had happened and then we had been torn apart.
Torn apart.
I felt my own body being torn apart as that red fog started to lift. Then the pain that had come with the burning made me sigh and shiver and moan. I jerked with that pain until Nigel Greener put his hands on me and held me down.
I saw that cock in front of my face and I opened my mouth. I sucked in some of the leftover red fog with the cock, and that fog seemed to burn the inside of my mouth.
But the cock cooled my mouth off and I pressed my nigger lips around that flesh.
"I am going to come in your mouth, nigger bitch," the man said. "Keep sucking on that thing until I come in your nigger mouth."
And I did suck on it, thinking that that come from that white man might douse all of my nigger fires, the fires that still seemed to be burning my flesh. I sucked on that cock and felt it harden in my mouth. I lifted my head as much as I could and I moved. And then the snake started to get very tense and hard there in my mouth.
And that hardness made it feel like a club inside me.
The man grabbed my head and held it in his rough hands. He pressed his hands tight against my skull, as if he wanted to break it, as if he wanted to crack it open the way that a nigger cracks open a watermelon. And my brain felt juicy and soft inside my head, just like a watermelon's meat felt.
The only tiling that was hard in me was his hardness, the hardness of a man.
And I accepted that hardness as it rammed deep into my throat and filled up my mouth.
The man continued to curse me as he rammed my watermelon head.
"Nigger. Nigger slut. Nigger bitch. Nigger whore. I am going to fuck your nigger mouth until I come, and then you are going to drink that come and let all of it into your foul, nigger insides."
That was all right, I thought. That was just fine with me.
The cock was so hard in my mouth and throat that I thought it was going to tear my face into pieces.
And that too would have been all right with me.
By then, the red fog had also cleared away, and I could see the man fairly clearly.
He was white and his stomach was muscled. I wished that I could touch those muscles, touch that cock that was going in and out of me.
But I could not do that, because I was tied up.
I tossed there on the bed with the cock in my mouth and I felt the pain of the burning that was still in me. I felt the restraint of those rough ropes. I felt the cock battering the back of my mouth too.
And everything seemed to add up to something in my soul, in my nigger soul.
But I was not certain what that something was.
I was having trouble breathing with that cock jabbed back in me, but I did not mind.
If this man wanted to snuff the breath of life out of me, I thought, then that would be all right.
And then that man started to jerk on me and work his cock around in my mouth. The pain came to me from that mouth, the pain that I loved.
And I knew that this white man was coming in me.
I wanted that come. I wanted to have that come in my system so that it could put out the fire that was still deep inside me. I felt my head tingle and I closed my eyes and then I felt the eruption of that cock into my mouth, the violent eruption that came with the warmth of his fluid.
I swallowed hard and quickly, taking all of that come down into my worthless, foul, nigger guts.
I pressed my lips around the pulsing flesh of the cock and milked it of its good juice.
And then I sighed and felt relieved as the last bit of his man-cream fell down my throat.
That come was putting out some kind of fire down there in my body.
And Nigel Greener moaned and pulled his cock out of my mouth.
I loosened my lips and let it go. I sighed out the words.
"Thank you, white stud," I said.
The man moved off the bed and then he spoke to me.
"I am not finished with you yet. I have to prepare you for Bungo. This is nothing compared to what Bungo will do to you."
I remembered then that Bungo was the man that we were going to meet, the man who held that other girl captive. I had heard talk of exchange, and I knew now that Bungo did not need weapons.
It was then that everything came clear to me. I knew then how I worked into the plans, that Ranee and Jim had made, the plans that they were now discussing with that fat man.
They were going to exchange me for that girl, that daughter of the U.N. ambassador.
And then they were going to leave me there with Bungo.
It seemed like a good plan to me, and I knew that I would not fight the plan.
I kept thinking of what Nigel had said, that this was nothing compared to what Bungo would do for me. I wondered what joys Bungo would have planned for me, what tortures and what passions.
And I knew that I could not fight anyone.
If Ranee and Jim wanted to give me away, I would just have to let them.
Ranee was my master, the best master that I had ever had.
And I found myself looking forward to what Bungo had planned for me, looking forward to something really sexy and painful.
I kept my eyes closed and I sighed. I waited for Nigel Greener to do something else to me. I knew that he would prepare me, prepare me for Bungo and the worst torture of me life.
I had come home to Africa, I thought, home to the place where my people had started.
Home to the start of my life. Somewhere in this land my ancestors were buried. From them I have the blood in my veins. The color of my skin. From them I came!