Doug closed the two-and-a-half-mile distance from the falls where his two P.A.I.G.C. escorts had released him to the Mgoro compound at a dead run. He was furious. Tears of indignation and rage were streaming down his cheeks as he burst through the stone gate screaming, "Gimme a God damn Jeep! I've got to find Major M'Bonu! Those fucking jungle bunnies have got my wife!"
Immediately, he was encircled by a wall of curious black flesh, including several of his fellow teachers from the Technical School, but he pressed his way through and past the anxiously approaching Headmaster, La Pierre as well on his way to the bungalow that housed Mgoro's small detachment of Senegalese Militia. There was a Jeep parked outside, but no driver. Doug stormed through the door, badly scaring the little corporal that manned the desk. "Let me have that God damn Jeep," he demanded. "I've got to get to M'Bonu in Dakar!"
The little corporal snapped to attention. "Major M'Bonu is in Liberte on official business," he stammered. "But there is no driver for the Jeep. Everyone is out looking for you and your wife."
Doug grimaced impatiently. He had a strong notion that the Major's business in Liberte was, being conducted at the Jungle Bar…but how in hell was he supposed to get there? "Listen you little brown bastard," he bellowed, "gimme the keys to that rig outside and I'll drive myself."
"But I can't do that, monsieur Glasser. It is not allowed. It is against regulations. If you will wait a little while, I'm certain someone will return who can drive you."
Doug seethed another silent second before turning on his heels toward the door through which he had just come. Fuck it, he thought, I'll just have to hotwire the God damn thing!
Penny failed to notice that Danielle had disappeared, taking the fiendish dildo with her to be cleaned and oiled for the next performance. Instead, she merely rolled over on her back on the fur-covered platform at the King's fat feet, her arms and legs obscenely spread, uncaring.
She could still feel his vile sperm on her face, drying slowly, and the painful soreness in and around her vagina. She could not bear to stir herself into activity, nor even to bother covering her nakedness. The combination of humiliation and satisfaction was too much for the poor American girl to cope with. She was more fully a captive than even she herself realized. Not only had her body betrayed her by reacting so completely to her lewdly engineered rape, she was also half looking forward to the next turn of events. They had promised her a "show" and supper- as if she were some high-priced jungle callgirl.
It was unbelievable, how in the space of less than twenty-four hours, she had become thoroughly used, hopelessly aroused, and twice raped. She was abandoned and lost in a part of the jungle she couldn't even begin to place on map. And, with each passing minute, she feared that she would never again see her handsome young husband. For all she knew, they might merely have taken him out in the nearby bush and slit his throat. Or, if not, she could easily imagine him lying in the bottom of a pool of quicksand, or disemboweled on the horns of a water buffalo or the claws of a prowling leopard. She was lost. Lost!
Slowly, painfully, she gathered herself up and got shakily to her feet. Her fingers moved to refasten the front of her open raffia robe.
"That won't be necessary!" the King bellowed. "I think it would be better if you took it all the way off!"
She hesitated but for a single moment before, seeing the King's angrily growing expression of impatience, she nodded meekly and began to shrug out of the already-gaping garment, letting it fall to a crumpled pool at her naked feet.
"That is better, no?" King Jabavu smiled wickedly as he caught the reflection of the several well-placed torches gleaming goldenly on her smooth white flesh. "If you are to be the wife of a Djambulu King, you must learn your proper place!"
Wife? Penny sickened with horrifying realization. Oh, my God!
"You look concerned, uh "
"P-Penny," Penny supplied.
"You look concerned, Penny," the King continued. "Perhaps I should explain that being the eleventh wife of a Djambulu King is indeed a privilege. you will have servants…fine clothes…the best food and poma "
"I-I don't think I'd be interested."
The King was growing increasingly impatient. "Perhaps you would rather I sold you to an Arab slaver from the north!"
Penny swallowed tightly. "I-Is there a difference?" she managed with a burst of bravery that surprised even herself.
Jabavu's inky-black face bloated heavily with rage, then calmed as he realized that he had been selling the wrong points. After what had happened just moments before, he knew full well where her weakness lay. "The Djambulu are not jealous like the other tribes," he explained with a wicked smile. "We do not circumcise our women…and they are free to take lovers…even the King's wives." Again, Penny opened her mouth to protest, but the King raised his hand to stay her. "As a Djambulu Queen, there are no avenues closed to your freedom of sexual expression. Do you like to whip or be whipped?" Penny cast her eyes downward in embarrassment. The pitchi bark was apparently still working. "Perhaps sex with small children or animals appeals to you?" The idea of such things were positively abhorrent to the young American girl. Her pussy lips flowered open. "I have one wife who has sex with her own son and another who indulges herself with hyenas. Perhaps-"
"Stop it! STOP IT!"
The King smiled indulgently. "Perhaps you should reserve your decision until after the performance," he suggested.
Luckily, the ignition key was still in the dash. That would save precious time. Doug turned it, hit the starter-clutch pedal and fed the engine a little gas. It roared into life and Doug sighed with relief. Quickly, just as the little corporal came running out the door with his arms waving wildly in the air above his head, the angry young husband dropped the vehicle into gear and sped off in the direction of the gate. It was a good twenty miles to Liberte in mounting darkness…on a road that even a native, Montanan like himself had to consider lousy.
Judging from the sun's position, it must have been very close to five o'clock. And, judging from what he'd seen of the Major's bravery, he supposed that he would either be staying over in Liberte until morning, or starting back to Dakar before sunset so he could be safely out of Djambulu country by the time darkness settled in for the night. He had no way of knowing just which were the Major's plans. He knew full-well that M'Bonu would in no circumstances be willing to make the return trip to Mgoro twice in one day after he'd been safely re-ensconced in Dakar.
He hurried, making the torturous twenty miles run to Liberte at top speed. When he caught sight of the drippy red letters, Jungle Bar, on the front of the ramshackle building at the end of the steep mountain street he actually managed a small smile. There, in front like a horse tied to a hitching rail, was the Major's Land-Rover, its official green, yellow and red Sengalese tri-color flapping idly from the radio aerial in the light afternoon breeze.