Any Lactophiles?

[RapeU]

I have always wanted to suck a woman's nipple and have milk come out. During a rape would be amazing.

[Number7]

I'm actually enjoying reading this as it's so well written

[joetex]

Thanks, folks. I take your responses as a "yes" to proceed with the posting of the story. Here are the first couple of chapters. Let me know what you think, and I will post more. Enjoy.

joetex

AFRICAN RETRIBUTION
(rape, nonconsensual, humiliation, bdsm, forced lactation, interracial)


Preface

From an actual report of the BBC:

Dateline: 26 October 2004

REPORT SHOWS DR CONGO RAPE HORROR

“Fighters in the Democratic Republic of Congo have raped at least 40,000 women over the past six years, human rights agency Amnesty International reports. All groups involved in the civil war committed extreme sexual violence during the civil war throughout the east of the country, it finds. Despite a year of peace, survivors lack adequate medical care and many are dying needlessly, the agency adds. It accuses the new government of being "far too slow" in its response.

“Only aid agencies now respond to the needs of the rape victims and they are short of medical staff, drugs and equipment, says the report entitled Mass Rape - Time of Remedies. Aid workers are quoted as saying they have never come across so many rape victims in a war while horrific new cases of rape are reported as recently as June of this year. Amnesty urges the DR Congo government to punish perpetrators and it calls for an expert team to be set up to assess the needs of the country's health sector.”

Chapter I

December 2004

“Memsaab, may I help you?”, inquired the gaunt, elderly black man of the smartly dressed woman. He was eyeing her appearance head to toe, and she didn’t appreciate it. Although he served as an airport security guard, he hardly looked like he could secure anything, with his worn sneakers and unclean trousers and shirt. He wore an airport badge on his breast pocket, but lacked any air of authority.

“No – as you can see, I’m with an official medical delegation awaiting my hosts to transport me from the airport,” she uttered dismissively, flashing the badge she wore around her neck with the lanyard. She made a point of making sure he saw the bright blue “UN” on the badge as though taunting him with a sign of cultural superiority.

For an airport serving a provincial capital city such as Bukuvu in the Republic of Congo, things appeared rather slow to her. She had arrived only 15 minutes ago, and already Dr. Katarina Krueger disliked this environment. She hated the smell, and the general sense of laziness. She was wary of the general population although she had been to African countries before. She was also conversationally fluent in the Bantu tongue, having taken some modest language training. This was her first trip to this country, formerly known as Zaire. Prior to deciding to join this medical mission she discussed its dangers with her friends and family. They urged her not to go, increasingly concerned with her safety.

Katarina was familiar with the racial conflicts in this region, and she knew of the history of this war-torn nation under Belgian domination. She heard the stories still circulating in European circles about the allegedly brutal rapes of Belgian women in Leopoldville in 1960, giving Belgian troops a pretext for invasion. Although the prospect of being assaulted (or even raped) was in the back of her mind, she regarded it as highly unlikely given the presence of the United Nations Peacekeeping Force that would accompany her.

In any event, the issue of rape and violence against women was her purpose for being here. Following the worldwide condemnation of the unprecedented sexual brutality of the unbridled Congolese soldiers against their own women, the United Nations decided to dispatch a medical team to make a health assessment from these mass rapes. Katarina was an infectious disease specialist with the UN, and was the foremost authority on the subject of sexually transmitted diseases. When the call came for a team to be sent, she was at the top of the list.

On a personal level, however, the timing couldn’t have been worse. The German-born and trained physician was now living in Geneva with her family, and disliked traveling unless absolutely necessary. She also had just given birth to their second child, Heidi, a daughter, only four months previously, and had just resumed work for a month following her three-month maternity leave. Because she had experienced a difficult pregnancy -- no doubt caused by the fact that she was now 40 years of age -- she was required to convalesce during this post-partum period.

Heidi also required constant attention and feeding, and Katarina was required to be present as the milk source since the little one disliked being bottle fed. Traveling to a dangerous, undeveloped country, away from her daughter, while still nursing was not Katarina’s idea of how she had envisioned spending the formative years of her daughter’s new life. Her breasts ached just thinking about her daughter, as well as the physiological effect of having just flown from Geneva to the Congo without relieving them of their fullness.

Her physical discomfort jarred her back to reality when she happened to notice the elderly security guard staring at her breasts. Verdammen Sie dieses älterer schielender Mann! (Damn this leering old man!), she thought, getting his cheap jollies by ogling her. But she had to concede that her physical appearance drew the attention of many male (and even jealous female) onlookers.

Tall and statuesque at 5 feet 11 inches, topped by ash blonde hair with some frosting, Katarina was a picture perfect embodiment of a mature, comely woman who bore a slight resemblance to Heidi Klum, the renown fashion model and global celebrity. In fact, that was the origin of her daughter’s name, since many friends and admirers kept mentioning Katarina’s resemblance. Her blonde, styled hair fell loosely about her shoulders, and she was wearing a beige cloth jacket over a thin white pullover top, accompanied by a khaki-colored skirt. The jacket, however, could not conceal her feminine charms. Although her bust line had been ample at 36C prior to her pregnancy, subsequently her breasts swelled and remained a hefty and quite noticeable 39D. Her continuous nursing kept them constantly engorged and functional, and she had to wear a strong, form-fitting nursing bra at all times to maintain decorum, particularly when going back to work.

She decided to interrupt the old coot who by now was immersed in his sexual fantasies:

“May I help you, sir”?, she unexpectedly interjected.

“No. Please have a good day, Memsaab”, he replied, and waltzed off.

Katarina grabbed the sides of her jacket, and pulled them around her front, vainly attempting to shroud her bust. She laughed out loud. It was going to be a long day, she thought.

Just at that moment, Katarina heard her name.

“Dr. Krueger, I presume?”

“Yes, that’s me.”, she answered. Before her stood what appeared to be a short, very young black male, dressed in white shirtsleeves, a simple blue tie, and black trousers. But he also wore a UN identification card around his neck, indicating he must be older than his physical appearance would reveal.

“How do you do? I am Dr. Henry Moyogo, an intern at Panzi Hospital. The local medical team has tasked me to be your escort while here. Welcome to Bukuvu. I am here to take you to the village.”

“Thank you Dr. Moyogo,” Katarina responded. She couldn’t believe that this young, slight person was actually a medical intern. He looked like a boy. But many Africans don’t show their age readily. “The village?”, she asked. “Aren’t we supposed to go to the hospital for an overall strategic discussion, and then make site visits the next day? Also, I haven’t checked into the hotel yet to refreshen and change clothes.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Krueger, but my instructions were to transport you immediately to one of our villages in the far reaches beyond Bukuvu to interview and examine some recent victims of sexual assault,” the young man regretfully explained. “We won’t have time to go to your hotel or the hospital. You will have to change and refresh once we arrive at the village.”

She looked around. “Where is the rest of my medical team from Europe?”

“I’m sorry. Didn’t you hear? Dr. Scardino from Italy and Dr. Williams from the UK were not able to make this trip. You and I are the entire medical team for this UN mission”.

Katarina was nonplussed. Now, she would have to conduct the entire medical assessment by herself for the entire time, accompanied by this junior doctor. Moreover, she was still wearing her traveling clothes unsuited for the rural, tropical environment. Her bush clothes were still in her suitcase, but for now would remain there. She could see her beige jacket and khaki skirt already getting stained.

With a deep sigh and grimace, she resignedly picked up her suitcase and carry-on bag for her personal effects, and replied:

“Okay. . . well, I guess this team of ours is off to the village. You lead, Dr. Moyogo.”

“Please call me Henry. We’re going to be traveling together for the next couple of weeks so we shouldn’t stand on formality.”

“That’s fine, Henry. Please call me Katarina.”

Henry led Katarina out of the airport lobby to the curbside outside where a sports utility vehicle emblazoned with a blue “UN” on its hood was awaiting them. Seated in the front of the sports utility vehicle were an armed driver and guard next to him riding shotgun..

Katarina was apprehensive. “I had expected to be accompanied by more security than this. Is this it?”

“Not to worry, Dr. Krueger, er, Katarina. This shall be sufficient. Where we are headed there should be little reason for concern.”, Henry said reassuringly.

Eyeing him nervously, Katarina threw her bags into the back of the SUV. They both climbed into the rear, and with the start of the automobile engines, were off to a village located approximately 50 kilometers west of Bukuvu. Yes, this was going to be one very long day, she thought.

Chapter II

Their SUV had traveled about 30 kilometers over very rough undeveloped roads. It was clear that this part of the country, repeatedly ravaged by war, was in desperate need of help in various respects. The dust from the rough roads filled the air, and Katarina had difficulty seeing through the cloud of dust, and would up breathing much of it.

Despite the road condition, their car had been moving at a fairly rapid clip of around 60 kilometers per hour. Suddenly, it slowed and ground to a halt. Katarina craned her neck to see the reason for stopping. Approximately 10 yards ahead, she spotted what appeared to be two military humvee vehicles with several armed Congolese soldiers manning a roadblock. They appeared to be armed with AK-47s and Uzi submachine guns . A half dozen soldiers approached their vehicle. Katarina’s driver and guard appeared not to be concerned since this appeared to be a routine checkpoint being manned by the Congolese army. They stepped out of the vehicle to talk to the soldiers to discern the reason for the roadblock. As they departed, their driver looked back towards them and instructed: “Stay here. We’ll be right back after we find out what is going on.”

Katarina and Henry remained seated and peered toward the soldiers and their guards while they met in a discussion. Suddenly, they heard a burst of rounds from one of the Uzis and saw both the UN driver and guard fall to the ground, apparently killed instantly. The Congolese soldiers began running toward them. Stunned by the outburst of unexpected violence, they panicked but were temporarily paralyzed by what they had just seen. Katarina abruptly thought of bolting from the car and running away. She grabbed the automobile’s door release handle, and began opening it. As if on cue, she heard one of the soldiers yell at them in urgent, guttural Bantu: “Stay where you are!! Do not try to run or you will be shot!!”

Chastened, they stayed riveted to their seats. The six soldiers surrounded their vehicle around its perimeter, and aimed their weapons at them. Katarina grew anxious and nervous, not knowing what to expect next. Henry similarly become agitated, and started to sweat profusely.

“Get out of the auto and place your hands above your heads!!”, came the next command.

Gingerly, Katarina and Henry opened the door, and eased themselves from the rear of the SUV, carefully calibrating their physical movements to avoid provoking the soldiers. All the while, they eyeballed the soldiers. The men were in various states of military dress, reflecting the appearance of a ragtag band rather than a disciplined, coherent army. Some were in camouflage military apparel, while others wore jeans and tee-shirts with athletic insignia. Only one – the apparent leader -- was attired in full battle apparel, and he did all of the talking.

“I am Master Sergeant Joseph N’como of the Congolese Republican Army, and these are my militiamen from our village. You are now in our custody!”

Henry was the first to emerge. As he slowly exited the vehicle and stepped onto the open dirt road, with his arms held high, the men peered at him suspiciously .

“This trespasser looks to be a boy dressed in a man’s clothing”, exclaimed the Master Sergeant. “Yet he wears the badge of our enemy around his neck,” referencing the lanyard and UN identification badge Henry wore.

Henry answered: “I am Dr. Henry Moyogo of Panzi hospital. And I am escorting Dr. Katarina Krueger who is here from the United Nations in Geneva to provide medical assistance to our Bantu women. Please release us to complete our ---.”

THWACK!! Henry was cut off midsentence when Sergeant N’como brutally slapped him across his face with the back of his hand and yelled:

“Silence!! You shall talk when I tell you. . . you boy who claims to be a man of medicine!!” Turning to face Katarina who was still seated in the SUV, he commanded:

“You, woman. . . !! Get out of the car!! And keep your hands in sight!!”

Unable to use her hands and arms fully to facilitate her exit, Katarina awkwardly stumbled out of the car. Stepping out onto the dirt, she raised her arms high above her head, unintentionally drawing attention to her full, prominent breasts, though still partially obscured by her open beige jacket. Additionally, her oversized chest appeared to pulsate as Katarina began breathing heavily, with her heart racing. She labored to discern how to reason with these armed men. She was clearly afraid.

The militiamen were transfixed by the sudden appearance of the blonde beauty. If leering could make a sound, a cacophony could be heard reverberating in the steamy Congolese jungle. Although they had seen western women in their cities and occasionally in rural precincts, they typically were of the staid charitable or religious type. Any African male with testosterone would not deign to walk across the street to initiate any physical or sexual contact with these lifeless creatures.

Katarina’s physical appearance was just the opposite. Highly attractive, with elegant, refined features, she exuded sexuality, and seemingly possessed the ability to arouse even the most asexual of males. Sergeant N’como was clearly taken by this fair-skinned western female. Seeking to exploit this opportunity, he commanded:

“Take off your jacket! I need to see if you are carrying any weapons.”

“As Dr. Moyogo explained, I am a UN disease specialist on a medical mission. I do not carry any weapons, and you shall find none on my person.”, she answered defiantly.

“Take. . off. . . your. . . jacket!!, he angrily retorted. “Or I shall have one of my men do so for you!!.

Reluctantly, Katarina lowered her arms and began slipping the jacket off one shoulder first, followed by the other. Folding the jacket neatly, she squatted and placed it on the ground. She resumed standing, and slowly reraised her arms.

Unfortunately for Katarina, she had not been able to change out of her thin cotton blouse prior to initiating this hasty road trip. Perspiration from the stifling heat had soaked through the front of her blouse, making the cloth cling to the skin of her chest. It also had the effect of making her front partially transparent, as the round contours of her brassiere could clearly be seen. Because of her heavy breathing, the two oversized cups of her large nursing bra appeared to be dancing up and down for the soldiers’ benefit.
The militiamen could barely contain themselves at this erotic sight, laughing and elbowing one another as they drank in every detail, and disbelieving their good fortune at finding this trapped woman. Sergeant N’como ambled up to face Katarina directly until he stood less than two feet away. Thinking through his options at this point, he decided to have some fun first. Staring directly at Katarina’s breasts so that she would notice, he expelled a huge belly laugh, then asked mockingly:

“My dear woman doctor, are you hiding weapons underneath your shirt? If not, what would you call those? ” He continued laughing.

“I do not appreciate your humor, Sergeant. In my country, we treat women respectfully.”, she dismissively answered.

“You dare not speak to me that way. When my men find women in this jungle, they ravage their sex and slash their throats. They look at your body and I know that they want to taste your flesh, seize your breasts, and hack them off with a machete. But they will not if I tell them so. What is your desire, western whore?”

Katarina appeared chastened, answering: “Please. . . please. . . I just ask not to be harmed. I will do as you ask.”

A wide grin slowly crept across N’como’s face. He began leering at her silently, then yelled aloud to his men something in a local Bantu dialect that Katarina could not comprehend. Terrifyingly for her, they began laughing and jumping up and down as though highly amused. Katarina was puzzled, and groped for an answer. She looked at Henry, and nervously asked:

“Henry, you must speak local Bantu.What did he tell his men? What is going to happen to us?”

Initially, Henry did not respond, staring silently ahead. Then he said: “He just made a dirty joke at your expense, so please. . . . you should not hear this.”

Katarina flashed angry at his presumptuousness. “What do you mean? I am entitled to know. I am your superior for the purpose of this medical mission.”, she exclaimed, raising her voice.

Henry was clearly uncomfortable, and exhaled. Finally, he stammered: “You must not be angry when I share translate his remarks as I honor you as a trained medical professional. But he told his men . . . that . . .ummm. . . ‘we will not defile this woman . . right now. We will give her to the women in our village and. . . and let them decide how she may amuse us with her . . . ahem. . . large western cow udders.’”

Katarina flinched. For a moment, she regretted asking for the translation. “He can’t be serious, can he?”, she asked almost rhetorically.

His response was less than reassuring:

“Katarina, we are lucky to still be alive at this point. I cannot tell you what fate lies before you or I in the hands of these butchers.”

At that moment, Sergeant N’como barked orders to his men to prepare to return to the village camp. They thus grabbed both prisoners by their arms and blindfolded them. Katarina struggled momentarily, and then was resigned to her fate. Their hands were bound behind them. The UN SUV was looted of its belongings, including Katarina’s suitcase and tote bag. At gunpoint, they were forced to be seated in one of the humvees.

Both Katarina and Henry were off to experience the next phase of this medical mission that had now veered toward a malevolent destiny.

[joetex]

I haven't seen any responses yet to this story, so I'm going to post some more chapters. Folks, what do you think? Anyone here into this interracial "forced lactation" storyline? I especially would like to hear from the ladies. . . .

Chapter III

After a terrifying ride along a bumpy dirt road, Katarina felt the military caravan grinding to a halt. Behind her blindfold, she could only imagine her surroundings. Abruptly, she heard voices shouting and gales of laughter of men and women. Hands began groping in her direction, and she felt a pair of strong arms pull her from the seat of the humvee, and force her from the vehicle. With her hands still bound, she stood alongside it.

She heard the voices of several women. From the few words of local Bantu dialect she could glean, they were apparently asking the militiaman who she was, and where did they find her. There was a degree of urgency and volatility in their voices.

Katarina heard the crowd of both men and women erupt in loud cheers and yells that sounded like screaming for blood. Inside, she tremored and feared for her life.

Seeking the assistance of her original escort, Katarina yelled aloud:

“Henry! Are you there?? Can you see anything??!!”

“I’m here but also blindfolded! I’m literally in the dark as much as you!,” he answered.

Rough hands grabbed her by the arms once again, and pushed her forward. She estimated being forced to walk around 50 yards until coming to a stop. Firm hands continued to hold both her arms, restraining her, even though her hands remained tied behind her back.

Finally, she heard Master Sergeant N’Como’s voice. He was apparently talking to one of the women of the militia. She could not make out every word of the local dialect, but it seemed to be centered on what to do with her. An argument broke out between them.

“Henry – what are they saying!!?? And don’t hold anything back!!” Katarina admonished.

“All right -- if you want it exactly like I hear it. It seems that the woman wants you to be killed immediately, while the good Master Sergeant N’Como would prefer that the militiawomen take their time and help the men find ways to torture you.”, said Henry matter-of-factly. “It sounds like N’Como is about to get his way, so you won’t be disposed of immediately. You had to ask. He just told his men to remove our blindfolds.”

Katarina felt the cloth removed from around her eyes, and momentarily was blinded by the sunlight. As her eyes adjusted, see saw that she stood in a clearing in the center of a small village. Thatched roof huts surrounded her, and chickens ran wildly on the bare, dirt ground. Her eyes darted left and right, and she spotted at least a dozen ragtag militiamen around her, accompanied by about a half a dozen women. Henry stood to her left, and he looked as wide-eyed as she in glancing about to discern the situation.

She spotted N’Como standing about 5 yards in front of her. He sported a big grin at seeing the fear in her eyes. Standing next to him was a short, stocky woman in her 40’s dressed in combat fatigues. She appeared quite unattractive, with her hair in knots and apparently unkempt. She had heard N’Como refer to her as Corporal Kiki. The woman glared at Katarina, a look of contempt in her face. She began speaking.

Without prompting, Henry began translating for Katarina:

“She is saying: ‘The white sow now looks at us with fear .. . We must not disappoint her . . . Sergeant N’Como, our women will do as you wish and find ways to show her what happens to the western powers when they trespass into our country.’”

She was interrupted when one of the militiamen ran forward and began dumping the contents of Katarina’s suitcase on the ground. Another soldier did likewise with her personal tote bag. A small pile of clothing and personal effects littered the ground. The men began foraging through the pile. One began rifling through Katarina’s lingerie, picking up her panties, holding them to his nose, sniffing them, and holding them up with both hands for all to see. The men started guffawing and the women began tittering.

Suddenly, another militiaman began shouting and laughing, and the crowd’s attention was redirected to him. He held aloft Katarina’s spare brassiere, which was not a small modest, lightweight piece of apparel that one would have expected for tropical wear, but instead an oversized, heavy duty nursing brassiere intended to carry the weight of bosoms engorged with sustenance produced by a new mother (which Katarina was!). The men began shouting at one another and the women giggled.

Somewhat embarrassed, Henry paraphrased: “They are making comments about the size of your brassiere, saying that only western construction techniques are capable of making this ‘holster’ strong enough to carry the . . . udders….of the ….of the western cow.”

Katarina snapped: “You don’t have to translate this filth! I get the point!” Her face began turning red. She was deeply embarrassed and humiliated at being forced to watch this spectacle.

Corporal Kiki leaned over the pile of personal effects and picked up Katarina’s billfold. Opening it, she spied first the credit cards and the money. Then she began looking at the enclosed personal photographs. She smiled as though she became aware of something significant. Approaching Katarina, she pulled one of the photos from its sleeve, and held it up for Katarina to see. To Katarina’s surprise, she suddenly said in English:

“Your baby?” She was holding recent photo of Katarina cradling her daughter Heidi in her arms.

“Yes, the baby is mine. And I hope you will understand that I must return for the benefit and safekeeping of my new daughter, ” Katarina answered in her broken Bantu.

Laughing and pointing at Katarina’s breasts, the Corporal began excitedly exclaiming to the other women, who also began laughing. The men heard her words, and they too began shouting and laughing.

This time, Henry remained mute. Katarina was going crazy over his silence:

“What the hell is going on?? Tell me what they are saying!!”

“I . . . I can’t. You will find out soon enough. I’m . . . .very sorry”, he answered.

Corporal Kiki leaned over to N’Como, and began speaking to him in an inaudible voice. N’Como grinned and nodded his assent. She then began barking orders to a couple of militiawomen who took Katarina by both arms and began walking her towards a six-foot- high stake in the center of the village. Katarina began struggling against her restraints, shouting aloud to no one in particular:

“NO!! NO!! Where are you taking me!!?? I’m a medical doctor. Leave me alone!!”

The two women loosened the bindings on Katarina’s hands, but grabbed both her wrists. When her back became flush with the stake, they retied the bindings behind her back so that Katarina was now “tied at the stake”, and thereby helpless to maneuver.

With her arms pulled back behind her, Katarina’s large chest seemed even more oversized. Her breasts seemed to jut forward, stretching the thin fabric of her blouse. Unfortunately, with Katarina’s heavy breathing and dripping perspiration dampening the blouse, her undulating breasts seemed to beckon for attention. She began whimpering, not knowing her fate.

Henry was also led to the same location, but was held in custody by two burly militiamen still holding his arms.

The militiamen and women began assembling around Katarina, clearly relishing the plight of their prisoner. They began chattering with one another in eager expectancy of watching the next episode of Katarina’s anticipated humiliation.

Corporal Kiki approached Katarina, and stood directly in front of her. As Kiki was fully a head shorter than Katarina, she looked up at Katarina’s face. With a wicked expression, she grabbed Katarina by the chin and forced Katarina to look downward at her. She suddenly spat into her face. Katarina was taken aback by the abrupt wetness of spittle across her cheek and nose. Backing away slightly, Kiki lifted one arm and extended the index finger of one hand. With the finger, she poked both of Katarina’s breasts in seriatim, as though she were testing their resiliency. Katarina chest heaved up and down from her nervous, heavy breaths.

Kiki then took the tip of her index finger and, around the tips of both breasts, drew small imaginary circles where Katarina’s nipples were situated. It appeared as though Kiki were seeking to tease and coax the appearance of Katarina’s nipples through the brassiere and cloth of the blouse.

Suddenly, she reached up and grabbed both of Katarina’s full breasts with both hands.. Katarina gasped from the shock of the abrupt abuse as much from the sudden pain. Because she had not been able to express her breasts since landing in Bukuvu, they remained sensitive and full. Kiki maintained her grip on Katarina’s mammaries and began slowly squeezing them. Katarina’s gasps grew more urgent, and finally she uttered:

“Please. . . please stop. My breasts. . . the pain. . . you’re hurting them.”

While still holding Katarina’s breasts, Kiki looked down at them and saw small wet spots starting to form at the front of each. Smiling, she let go. Looking directly at Katarina in a mocking, taunting fashion, she uttered in English: “Milk. Much milk.”

Kiki shifted her position to stand at Katarina’s side, and turned around to face the crowd. She addressed the group, but this time in more formal Bantu language. Katarina surmised she did so she (Katarina) could understand.

“Men and women of our tribe, we have a special treat for you all: a captured, white western woman who belongs to our enemies at the U.N. As you can see, her blond hair, fair-skin, and attractive body make her a rare species. The men of our militia have asked we militiawomen to decide her fate. We will not kill or otherwise harm her. However, we will show you how we may all amuse ourselves with this beautiful creature.”

Katarina could feel her energy draining as she listened intently to the militiawomen’s plans for her.

Kiki continued:

“You will recall the traditions of our tribe when we were victorious in battle over our enemies in rival tribes. You will recall how we made the women of the captive tribe our property. Such is the case now with our western prisoner who represents the aggressors against our people. She will be mated with one of the weaker members of our tribe so that their offspring will be strong for our people.”

A cheer went up from the crowd. Katarina was horrified at the prospect of being subjected to sexual abuse, and began squirming in her bonds.

“But first,” Kiki continued, “we must observe another tradition that all of our men can enjoy. Our western prisoner has borne a child, and to this day, still carries her newborn’s sustenance in her large and heavy bosom. As we did with defeated tribeswoman who also had new children, we must now draw the milk from the western mother and allow our warriors to drink this sustenance to draw strength from the western powers. By seizing the milk intended for the western cow’s child, we weaken the next generation of western aggressors.”

She then raised her fist and emitted a war cry: “Baloo!! Baloo!! (To battle!! to battle!!) ”

“Baloo!! Baloo!!”, answered the crowd.

Katarina was disbelieving what she had heard and was in a state of panic and shock. She began struggling again against her bonds to no avail, and looked around to see how she could fight back. She glanced over at Henry who was still being strong-armed by two guards. He faced down at the ground, slowly looked up, and sheepishly uttered:

“I’m . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to know what they intended to do to you, but apparently you understood what that militiawoman just said. They plan to take advantage of the fact you are nursing, and milk your engorged breasts to feed their men. It is all part of a traditional ritual, so. . . . please don’t be offended by what I’m about to say. . . don’t take it personally.”

“Are you out of your mind, you crazy little Congolese!!?, Katarina angrily retorted. “These barbarians are about to milk me like a cow and rape me, and you say don’t take it personally??!! Screw you!!”

Chapter IV

Katarina closed her eyes tight, and grimaced. Although angry and fearful for her life, she resigned herself to a degree of punishment and humiliation that was unthinkable, musing privately: Let’s just get this underway and over with! It was a remarkable transformation for a woman who was used to getting her way.

However, Corporal Kiki had other things in mind, not wanting to rush to initiate the ritual. Instead, she inexplicably stepped behind Katarina. Katarina craned her neck to see what Kiki was up to, but was no longer able to keep her in her field of vision.

Katarina then felt Kiki’s heavy breathing on her neck, and saw Kiki extend both her arms around Katarina’s sides, as though she were about to embrace her from behind. Instead, she felt and saw each of the Corporal’s hands, palm-side up, emerge right below her breasts. Gently, Kiki appeared to be testing the heft and weight of each of Katarina’s breasts. Katarina was breathing heavily, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Kiki suddenly began moving her palms up and down beneath each of Katrina’s breasts, simulating their movements as though Katarina were running. The rapid oscillation of her breasts created a lewd spectacle. The militiamen and women were provoked to laugh loudly and to shout various obscenities. Katarina was mortified, both at having her breasts used in this obscene fashion and at the catcalls and insults she was able to discern from the men and women who made remarks such as “milk the white cow” and “those udders can feed all the children of Africa.”

Because she was distracted from having her breasts manipulated in this outrageous fashion, Katarina did not notice that one of the previously unnoticed militiamen, who was rather short, had slowly crept up and was now standing before her. Standing about four feet, eight inches feet tall, his face was almost level with her breasts. Looking down at him, Katarina saw a very dark, smallish, one-eyed man looking up at her with a wide grin and missing teeth. What teeth he had remaining looked blackened and decayed.

Kiki saw the uninvited little man, dropped her hands from beneath Katarina’s breasts, and stepped from behind. “Private Piku!!,” she shouted angrily. “Get away from here!!”

Piku appeared undaunted. Laughing, he thrust his head between Katarina’s breasts, and began rubbing his face in her cloth-covered cleavage. He then stepped back, grabbed a hold of her left breast, and raised it to his mouth. He made a pretense of trying to bite the breast through her blouse with his less-than-full set of teeth, provoking gales of laughter from the crowd. Kiki relaxed and joined in the laughter, relishing the mockery Private Piku was engendering. Katarina was shocked and revolted at this humiliating display, tears beginning to form around her eyes. Will this nightmare never end?, she thought.

Releasing her breast, Private Piku began slowly backing away from Katarina, making loud sucking sounds with his mouth as he departed, and continuing to draw laughter from the delighted crowd. Kiki resumed her position behind Katarina to continue the proceedings.

Again reaching around Katarina from behind, Kiki extended her hands to firmly grasp Katarina’s blouse by both sides of her open collar, and with a couple of quick jerks, pulled her blouse open at the top. Buttons began to fly, and immediately the top of Katarina’s brassiere was exposed to the crowd, displaying a massive cleavage glistening with perspiration. Kiki looked around Katarina to measure her handiwork, and continued pulling more aggressively at her blouse with both hands, until more buttons gave way and the front of Katarina’s chest was fully exposed, clad only in a nursing brassiere. Pulling the remainder of the blouse from Katarina’s shoulders, Kiki jerked downward so that it bunched up around Katarina’s bound hands.

A hush befell the crowd as they witnessed the baring of Katarina’s notable breasts, though still covered by a brassiere. Kiki stepped forward to face Katrina. Even she was in awe of Katarina’s sheer physicality, sporting mammaries that appeared to have a life of their own.

Elbowing one another out of the way, the militiamen (and women!) eyeballed Katarina’s slightly worn, off-white, 39D-cup nursing bra. The lingerie appeared slightly damp both from Katarina’s perspiration, and from the obvious leakage of mother’s milk caused by over engorgement and Corporal Kiki’s manual manipulations. She was using breast pads to contain the seepage, although they appeared to be drenched and sopping. Uncovered, her bra-encased breasts appeared to be even larger and heavier than when she had been wearing a blouse.

Kiki placed the palms of her hands on Katarina’s bra cups and began lightly rubbing them as one would a small pet or animal. Leaning forward toward Katarina, she whispered almost inaudibly in English: “These udders must now be shared with our soldiers.” Then, almost shouting so that all could hear, she proclaimed: “Prepare to feed them!!”

Katarina started to weep. Panicked and hysterical, she began pleading, lapsing uncontrollably into her native German, oblivious to the fact that she could not be understood by any of the Congolese:

"Anschlag!! Bitte! Ich bin hier zu. . helfen Sie Ihnen. Bitte lassen Sie mich nicht dies tun! Ich bin eine Frau. . . Ich bin eine neue Mutter, die meinem Kind meine Milch einzieht. . dieses gehört ihr!” (“Stop!! Please! I’m here to. . . help you. Please don’t make me do this! I’m a woman. . .. . . I’m a new mother feeding my milk to my child. . . this belongs to her!”)

Ignoring these cries for mercy, Kiki brandished a knife, of a type typically used to slaughter animals. Katarina gasped. With swift dispatch, Kiki took the knife and cut each of the Katarina’s shoulder straps. Without the support of both straps, her breasts started to droop.

“Bitte. . bitte demütigen Sie mich nicht so!” (Please. . . please don't humiliate me like this!), Katarina begged.

Kiki placed the knife’s edge at the center strap holding together both bra cups, and smiled devlishly at Katarina. With a swift pull of the knife that made a loud “thwick” sound, the two cups parted, freeing Katarina’s breasts of their cover and support. The soaked bra fell to the ground with a loud “thump”.

Gasps could be heard from the crowd. Although the militiamen and women had certainly seen women’s breasts before, they were always those of the local women who were bathing or openly nursing their infants. They had never seen the breasts of a western memsaab, or foreign woman before. They were transfixed by the sight of the sheer whiteness of Katarina’s freed breasts. Blue-veined, engorged, and taut like full water balloons, they appeared to be on the verge of bursting. Without the support of her sturdy brassiere, they hung almost down to her navel. But her nipples drew the most attention. Characterized with reddish brown areolas the size of large saucers, her nipples looked like hard rubber erasers extending fully an inch in length. At their tips appeared droplets of liquid, signaling the early stages of stimulation and let down.

As Katarina continued to struggle against her bonds, her heavy, unharnessed breasts swayed to and fro and though having a mind of their own.

Kiki wasted no time in getting the ritual humiliation underway. She positioned herself to face Katarina. Reaching out, she situated both her hands below Katarina’s breasts, slowly lifting them up. She then repositioned her hands to allow her index fingers and thumbs to grasp both of Katarina’s nipples. Breathing heavily from fear and apprehension, Katarina winced at this sensitive invasion.

With her delicate fingers, Kiki began gently pulling and squeezing the nipples, coaxing them to excrete the desired emissions. Following 30 seconds of manual stimulation, Katarina’s nipples began yielding a slow trickle of whitish fluid. Katarina closed her eyes and grimaced. Turning her head around to face the excited crowd, Kiki exclaimed in Bantu:

“The western she cow is now giving us her milk!!”

The crowd cheered, variously shouting obscenities and laughing.

Before yielding her position to the eager militiamen, Kiki decided to conclude her role with a flourish to entertain the militia. Gripping Katarina’s nipples tightly, she pointed both of them upward and squeezed forcefully. Streams of white milk could be seen arcing upward from each breast, spraying the ground below. The crowd hooted upon seeing the dissipation of Katarina’s mother’s milk..

“Corporal Kiki – do not waste this memsaab’s milk!!”admonished Sergeant N’como. “Otherwise, we will not have enough for our entire squad.”

Kiki turned and smiled at N’como, stepped away from Katarina, and gestured at N’como to come forward. “My dear Sergeant, I have prepared the western she cow for you and your men. Come. . . .come taste the milky fruits of our victory over western oppression”, she urged.

As the senior ranking militiaman, N’como relished being invited to be the first to drink from the breasts of the western memsaab. Facing Katarina, he took his left hand and lifted her left breast so that the nipple was six inches below his face. Katarina tried one last effort at reason to prevent this assault on her breasts from proceeding:

“Please don’t! I beg you not to take this from me. . . My milk. . . . is personal. . . it shouldn’t be shared with you and your men.”

N’como answered: “No need for concern. I shall not harm you or your wonderful bounty.” He lowered head and placed his mouth directly over her nipple but stopped short of touching her. Instead, he extended his tongue and licked the glistening moisture off the erect nubbin. He then placed his mouth over her nipple and began drawing out the stolen nourishment. He sucked from the breast urgently.

Katarina tilted her head back and closed her eyes, her mouth agape. “Ooooooh. . . . aaaaaah. . . please. . I . . . ooooh. . . stop this . . . I beg you. .. .” she pleaded and moaned. Tears began streaming from her eyes from this outrageous theft of her maternal gift.

Ordinarily, Katarina’s milk let down would have been a relief to her breast’s engorgement. But having this most intimate act of her lactation so publicly displayed left Katarina with such an overwhelming sense of humiliation and degradation that it negated any physical relief.

As N’como’s suckling continued, Katarina opened her eyes to look around her. All of the militiamen and women were quietly staring, wide-eyed and aroused, at this erotic, unusual tableau before them. She glanced over at Henry who was still being held at bay by two of the soldiers. Even he was unable to divert his attention from the scene. His eyes appeared transfixed at witnessing this obscene spectacle. Katarina also noticed that his arousal was becoming manifest by an obvious erection beginning to show under his trousers.

N’como stopped his suckling and finally raised his head, wiping excess fluid from his mouth. Looking at Katarina, he uttered:

“Memsaab, your milk is rich and sweet, no doubt because of your privileged western life. We take this from you so our soldiers of the Congolese Republic can also grow to be rich and privileged like you and your western oppressors.”

N’como turned around to face the crowd. Katarina was stunned when she heard him order his men to form a line, by rank, to determine the sequence of who would take their turn next at her breasts. He admonished them to take only “one suck apiece” to leave enough for the dozen or so hoping to have a taste. Becoming hysterical once again, Katarina again began vainly pleading in German:

“Nein! Nein!! Ich kann nicht alle diese Männer an meinen Brüsten haben!! Dieses ist unmenschlich! I. . . Ich nicht. . . haben Sie genug. . . milch Sie zu. . geben!!” (“No! No!! I can’t have all these men at my breasts!! This is inhuman! I . . . I don’t . . . have enough. . . . milk to. . . to give!!”)

The men began forming a single file line in front of Sergeant N’como, laughing and slapping one another on the back as they eagerly awaited their turns at savoring this highly unusual treat.

Chapter V

Master Sergeant N’como and Corporal Kiki stood astride Katarina, cheerfully witnessing the parade of eager hands and mouths about to descend upon the bosoms of the German woman doctor. The first soldier in line was a short, sweaty rotund man attired in a combination of street clothes and combat fatigues. Almost gleeful, he began rubbing his hands together in eager expectation. Katarina tried to look away, but could not. She disdained this man’s looks and everything about him.

His approach to her ample mammary offering was sloppy. He grabbed her right breast with both hands, lifted it up, and began mouthing and slobbering over her erect nipple, lathering it with his saliva. Finally, he placed it in his mouth and began drawing on it. Katarina grimaced at the hard suction, feeling as though her nipple were about to be pulled away from her body. With a loud “plop”, the soldier quickly removed his mouth, released her breast, and said to Katarina in local Bantu: “Very good! So sweet! Thank you very much.” Rather than return the compliment, she turned her head away in embarrassment and humiliation. He laughed and strode away.

And so continued Katarina’s shame and degradation before these militia men. One man after another had his turn to drink of the mother’s milk provided by this previously haughty, authoritative U.N. medical professional. At one point, Katarina looked down and saw two eager mouths at her breasts. One soldier had apparently decided he could not await his turn and cut in line to draw the milk from the other unoccupied breast. At another time, one soldier took too long at his turn and would not release Katarina’s nipple from his mouth. N’como took the flat side of his hand, and swatted the soldier in the back of the head to get him to move on. The soldier laughed aloud, and ran off.

However, four of the lowest ranking soldiers who were forced to await their turns became unruly as they began losing patience. When their turns finally came, things turned ugly. Rather than wait patiently in line, they all descended upon Katarina simultaneously. Rather than discipline them, N’como decided to let them have their fun so long as they did not harm Katarina or her breasts physically.

Like animals, two of them began pawing at her breasts, and mouthing and chewing harshly on her elongated nipples. In obvious pain, Katarina was dismayed and in a panic, not knowing what they intended to do to her breasts. One of them sucked harshly on a nipple, trying to draw as much liquid as possible. He then tried to kiss Katarina with a full mouth of milk, seeking to make her drink her own secretions. Crying, she attempted to turn her face away, but he brutally grabbed and twisted her face until she was forced to offer her lips to his. He opened his mouth, and white liquid began streaming over her lips and mouth. Tears and milk streaked her face.

To these illiterate rural militiamen, they would dare not touch a white memsaab in the city for fear of drawing a beating by the police. But here they were able, with impunity, to fondle and suck the nipples of an educated, western foreign woman and enjoy her flesh, albeit under the watchful eye of their military supeiorior. Overcome by Katarina’s physicality, they wanted to take advantage of this rare and exciting moment.

Two other militiamen decided to use their turns to make sport with Katarina’s engorged breasts. Rather than suck directly, one stood next to Katarina and wrapped both hands around her right breast, and squeezed. The other stood approximately six feet away, with his mouth wide open. Taking turns, they played a game of seeing how far they could each get Katarina’s milk to squirt, and to catch the spray in their mouths. Laughing and hitting each other every time one was successful, they were on their third attempt when Sergeant N’como ordered them to stop as they were delaying the next stage of the ritual.

For Katarina, the physical abuse of her breasts was humiliating As someone who took a great deal of pride in her physical appearance, particularly in her female endowments, to have her breasts used as an object of amusement in this fashion was degrading and dehumanizing. The German physician was also exhausted and thirsty. She had lost count of how many men she had been forced “ to feed”. She estimated that it had been at least a dozen. Interestingly, she did not recall being required to entertain the infamous little “Private Piku” who had broken ranks earlier to play with her breasts.

There was a momentary lull in activity as Katarina spied N’como and Kiki conferring quietly off to the side. Kiki motioned to one of the militiawoman and began asking for something. The woman brought back to her a small glass jar.

Smiling, Kiki approached Katarina and asked solicitously:

“Are you thirsty? You must be thirsty after offering your milk to all our men.”

“Yes, I could use a drink of water,” responded Katarina weakly.

“ I will give you something better than water.” With that statement, she held the glass jar below Katarina’s right breast, and began pinching and pulling the nipple with her index finger and thumb. Despite her breast having already been sucked on profusely, a small stream of milk began jetting from the nipple into the jar. Katarina grimaced from the pain of the extraction, particularly because her nipples were already sensitive from the excessive sucking and manhandling by the militia men. Kiki continued milking the nipple until the jar contained around a quarter inch of white liquid.

Glancing at Katarina, Kiki allowed: “Don’t think that I’m going to give this to you – at least not yet anyway. We need to add some flavoring to this milk offering.”

Suddenly looking at Henry, she instructed both of his handlers:“ Bring him to me!”

Henry began resisting, struggling against the physical tug of the two militia men. Ultimately, he found himself positioned in front of Kiki, his arms continuing to be tightly gripped. Kiki looked around the crowd and spotted one of her female colleagues, a Private Manu. Beckoning Manu to her side, she whispered into the private’s ear what she sought from her, and handed her the glass jar partially filled with Katarina’s secretions. Manu giggled aloud, and nodded her head in eager assent. Henry was petrified at what to expect next.

Kiki turn toward the crowd and announced at the top of her voice:

“This little doctor friend lusts after his western lady friend, but would dare not touch her as that would jeopardize his career. But yet he watched as we took the milk from the bosom of his colleague, secretly wishing he could do the same. Look at the growing manhood under his pants. See his arousal!”

Henry began trying to shed the grasp of the two daily militiamen, crying in vain: “ No! No! Let me go!!”

Kiki instructed the two men: “Hold him tightly!! We shall allow our western woman’s little doctor friend to touch her, or at least part of her, so that both doctors become intimately acquainted.”

On cue, Private Manu approached Henry, looked him in the face with a grin, and dropped to her knees. She began unbuckling his belt and pants. As they fell to his ankles, she pulled down his drawers, revealing an obviously fully erect member. She began laughing, as did Kiki and the rest of the crowd who were slowing inching forward for a better look. Deeply embarrassed, Henry was gasping as though out of breath, not knowing how he could continue resisting and expecting the worst.

Manu began by gently massaging Henry’s scrotum with her palm to heighten his arousal. Once assured, she began rubbing his phallus lightly with her fingertips to continue stimulation. She spat on his member to lubricate it, gripped it, and began vigorously masturbating him. Her hands displayed an obvious degree of experience borne of constant practice.

Afar several minutes, Henry’s breathing grew excited and labored, and his eyes closed. Manu waited until it appeared Henry was about to climax, and situated the partially filled glass jar in front of his penis. Succumbing to Manu’s manual stimulation, he ejaculated, sending two or three ropes of semen into the jar. His entire body seemed to weaken from his climax, so much so that his two guards released their grip, sending him collapsing to the ground, his pants and underwear still bunched around his ankles.

Like a child with a new toy, Manu held the jar up high for all to witness, and then handed it to Kiki. Swirling the jar around in her hand to stir the milky contents, she announced, while chuckling:

“So you see, we have made a cocktail with the milk of this tall western memsaab with the seed of this little African man.”

Katarina stood helplessly watching this unusual and obscene sight. Although she did not dislike Henry, she certainly was not physically attracted to him. The imagery of his sperm swimming around her precious mother’s milk seemed both fascinating and repulsive to her. (Can sperm drink milk?, she thought.) She was reluctant to view this racially, but the thought of an African’s sperm being commingled with her milk somehow seemed invasive of her most private offering.

Kiki walked over to Katarina and held the glass jar to her lips: “Drink!”, she commanded. Katarina kept her mouth closed and stared forward.

“Drink it or you will suffer worse consequences!”, Kiki warned.

Katarina opened her mouth partially, and Kiki lifted the bottom of the jar upward, forcing its contents into her mouth. Katarina began gagging on the viscous, salty, and slightly sweet fluid, making choking and coughing sounds.

“Drink all of it! Drink it all down!”

Despite trying to obey Kiki’s command, Katarina could no longer hold down the contents, and began expectorating. The semen and breast milk mixture began spewing from her mouth, soiling Kiki’s pants, and spilling onto the ground. Rather than rising to anger, Kiki broke into broad laughter. She looked over at N’como, who did likewise.

Kiki glanced back at Katarina. She looked a mess, with her eyes moistened and red from choking on the vile fluid. Remnants of the semen and milk mixture remained on her lips, chin and on the top of her chest. To Kiki, she looked like one of those cheap harlots in Bukuvu who sold their bodies to her male militia members for small denomination coins.

Kiki looked back at N’como and made a gesture toward the crowd. N’como nodded his head in quiet agreement, reconfirming that it was time to move to the final prearranged act in this ritual. Kiki shouted for Private Piku to come forward. Piku had previously been told that he was to take part in this final ritual, and he excitedly agreed. As he dutifully obeyed, she instructed the two guards previously holding Henry (who by now was passed out, splayed helplessly on the ground, rear end still bare) to untie Katarina, move her over to where a large tree stood nearby, and to retie her according to her explicit directions. Katarina was apprehensive, not knowing just exactly what next was being contemplated.

TO BE CONTINUED

[joetex]

I haven't seen any comments yet, so here is the conclusion. Please, to all, let me know what you think.

Thanks,
joetex

Chapter VI

The guards placed Katarina under the tree, retied her hands behind her, and threw a loop of rope over one of the highest branches. They tied the rope with the bonds that tied her hands and pulled. The effect was to pull Katarina’s arms behind her, causing her torso to fall forward at a right angle, and her breasts to hang. Although not painful, the awkward position of Katarina’s body was uncomfortable.

At Kiki’s direction, one of the guards proceeded to undo the buttons and zipper at the top of Katarina’s skirt. Realizing what was happening to her, Katarina reacted angrily to her denuding: “NO!! NO!! Stop it!! You have no right!! Please. . . please. . . “ she pleaded.

He Ignored her protestations. With one swift jerk, he pulled the skirt down on legs, exposing her cloth panties and exposed hose. He then reached into the band around her waist and pulled her panties down until they rested around her ankles. Her womanhood was bared for all to see. Tufts of dark blonde hair accented her pubic area. Although now mute, Katarina continued weeping, now totally denuded and shamed in front of the entire village.

Kiki turned toward the crowd and announced:

“For this ritual, the western memsaab will be given to one of our men who has no woman because none in our village will mate with him. Our little Private Piku is our choice. He will force his seed into the womb of this large western mensaab and together they will breed a strong warrior for out tribe. Piku, you may proceed with the mating ritual!”

Having heard previously what the final ritual required, Katarina was determined to avoid being sexually abused, kicking and pulling at the bonds behind her. But all was to no avail as the bonds and rope remained intact.

“No. . please. . no!!,” she shouted reflexively, all the while moving her body back and forth while still in bondage.

Piku decided to take his time before completing the final act. He stepped forward to face Katarina, although her position made seeing her face difficult. Piku dropped to his knees, an apparent stance to better position himself. Extending his head forward, he turned it upward until his face was situated directly below Katarina’s hanging breasts. Katarina was terrified, and moved her torso about in a vain effort to avoid what she knew he sought. Like a calf seeking milk from a cow’s udders, he made a pretense of attempting to catch her nipples in his mouth, extending his tongue but unable to latch on owing to Katarina’s constant evasive movements and the swaying of her breasts. The crowd caught on to the game Piku was playing, and laughed and hooted at his playful gestures.

After a couple playful moments, Piku reached up with both hands, and forcefully grabbed both breasts and pointed them at his face. Squeezing them tightly, he forced her milk to spew in small jets toward his face. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue to catch the “rain” being emitted from her still copious breasts. Katarina began crying aloud, pleading with him: “Stop. . please stop. . . It hurts. . the pain. . . in my breasts. . . please stop!”

He let her breasts go, stood up and stared down at her. “I’m not quite through with you just yet,” he proclaimed in Bantu. Unbuckling his belt, he loosened his trousers and pulled them down, along with his drawers. His eight-inch erection sprang forward. He momentarily pointed it at her face for her to witness. But he wasn’t interested in having her service him orally. Rather, he stood next to her until his member was level with her breasts.

Not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing how humiliating she felt, Katarina’s lowerd her head purposefully downward, her gaze fixated toward the ground. Piku would have none of it:

“Look . . up. . . at. . . me.”, he intoned authoritatively. Although he spoke in local Bantu, Katarina knew what he meant. She ignored him.

“Look at me . . . you western cow!”, he ordered harshly. Again, she disobeyed.

Piku looked at Kiki and Manu for assistance. Both strode over until each was situated next to Katarina. Kiki angrily grabbed Katarina by the blonde locks that graced her forehead, and jerked harshly backward until Katarina’s head was pulled back, her face forced to confront Piku’s leering gaze. She was a sight to behold. With her head and neck forced to crane backward, her arms still tied behind her back and elevated above her torso, she reeked of vulnerability. She was breathing heavily from fear and anxiety. Perspiration and tears ran streaming down her cheeks, and mucous dripped from her nose. But no one was really looking at her face. Instead, all attention was focused on her engorged breasts that drooped and hung like water-filled sacks about to burst, accented by nipples from which dripped equal parts sweat and milk.


Piku maneuvered his turgid organ until it was situated between her hanging breasts. Swinging his hips right and left, he made sport of bouncing it off the inner sides of her cleavage, making her breasts wobble to and fro. Both Kiki and Manu began giggling, clearly delighting in the humiliating display of this memsaab’s breasts. The crowd joined in the amusement, yelling at Piku to continue the spectacle. As though on cue, Kiki first, and then Manu, pushed the sides of each of Katarina’s breasts together until Piku’s phallus was enveloped snugly in her cleavage. Grinning and chortling, Piku then began making pistoning movements with his hips, displaying a pretense of having intercourse with Katarina’s breasts.



Forced to witness her own debasement, Katarina was unable to fight back. For many years, she had been able to use her ample breasts as a tool to manipulate men and taunt them with her suffocating sexuality. Low-cut evening gowns at medical formals were de riguer for this voluptuous, vivacious German physician. She took a great deal of pride in displaying just the right amount of cleavage for each occasion, carefully selecting the proper supporting lingerie to fit the particular gown. Now all she could do is stare numbly at Piku’s grinning scowl, all the while feeling the sensation of his oily organ sliding amidst her compressed breasts, thinking about how her carefully managed cleavage was now being used as a weapon against her, all but a toy for the Africa mlitiamen to abuse and degrade.

Continuing to grasp Katarina by the hair, Kiki leaned forward until her mouth was next to her ear and mockingly intoned loudly so all could hear:

“Memsaab, your udders have a purpose other than feeding your young. They are nothing more than an object for our men to pleasure themselves with so that they may spill their seed in you!”

Piku then stepped back, and rubbed the tip of his phallus against a nipple, slowly and methodically smearing her large areola liberally with his pre-ejaculatory seminal fluid. Katarina looked down at the nipple, horrified at witnessing the African’s emissions mixing with the droplets of her milk that dotted her nipple. She squezed her eyes shut as she continued to feel the friction of Piku’s smooth cock flicking at her nipple, bringing the distended nubbin to erection. She was angry and humiliated, but undoubtedly aroused, and couldn’t help herself. She thought of her child suckling at that same breast, dismissing the notion that her baby would ever again be able to place its mouth at that nipple, now fouled with the penile secretions of this small beast.

To add to her humiliation, Piku then backed away and, while pointing her breast at his organ, proceeding to pinch and squeeze her nipple until it shot a small stream of milk onto it.. Katarina was fixated as she saw Piku take one hand and begin rubbing and lathering his organ as though he were cleansing it with her milk. After his penis was duly moistened, he then began vigorously masturbating to maintain his arousal, using her milk as a pre-lubricant. To Katarina, her mother’s milk had always been a precious commodity to be shared only with her child and her lover. But now her it was being used to facilitate her violation, and all she could do was stand idly and watch with horror and shame.

Piku carefully made his way toward Katarina’s exposed bottom, gazing with arousal at her large white buttocks. He fondled them, then raised his hand and brought it down in a gentle, playful slap on one cheek. First spitting onto his right hand, he then inserted two of his fingers into her vaginal orifice to ensure lubrication. With no foreplay or further ceremony, he slid his manhood into her and began slowly pumping in and out. Katarina cried out, clenched her teeth, and tried to imagine she were in another place, another time.

As Piku’s pace quickened, he leaned over to grab both of Katarina’s hanging mammaries, fondling and pinching her distended nipples. Small streamlets of milk began to flow. Piku could feel himself on the verge of climax. At the penultimate moment, he gripped her breasts more tightly. Breathing heavily, he gasped, and allowed his seed to burst into her, flooding her womb with his life-giving fluid.

Piku withdrew and smiled at Katarina. Flaunting his deflating phallus, he uttered: “You will bear my African child who will become a strong soldier to defeat your people.” He walked away.

Kiki announced to the assemblage: “This concludes our ritual. The western cow will remain a member of our tribal village, continuing to provide us with her milk, and bearing warriors to the benefit of our tribe.”

Katarina tried, but was unable, to blank out the horror of the moment. She could not envision being impregnated by this small, disfigured beast. Yet she feared that her fate had been sealed in that brief, horrendous moment. Ultimately, numbed by the experience, Katarina stared vacantly, not feeling, not hearing, not caring to know what lay ahead for the rest of her life.

January 2007

Newsflash

Dateline: 27 January 2007

Reuters – Congolese authorities in Bukuvu reported today that Dr. Katarina Krueger, an infectious disease physician for the United Nations who was reported missing since December 2004, has been found alive and in good condition. She told authorities that she had been held captive during this period by rebel militiamen in an isolated village. When found, she was accompanied by a one-year-old boy, who she reported as her son, born while in captivity. There was no identification of the father of the child. Dr. Krueger reportedly was able to escape the village in broad daylight after most of her captors had left the premises to forage for supplies and food. With her son, she was able to make her way to a main road where she flagged down a passing military convoy for help and assistance. Once she is released from Panzi hospital, where she is currently being examined, she will return to her home in Geneva, Switzerland, where she is expected to hold a press conference.

-30-

THE END

[joetex]

Reviving this thread with an outregeous picture I found. It's obviously a fake, but oh what a fake!!

Comments anyone?