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I’m afraid I got ahead of myself in part 3, racing ahead to the events in England where Victoria went though rehabilitation whereas in fact there were a number of loose ends to tie up back in Harare. I shall back track and take up the story of Msala again.
It seemed Manser Smythe was interested in Msala for his Oomzakoolu wildlife reserve that is if she was still lactating so I decided to send out for a breast pump, I sent little Mimi Alouette one of our counter clerks out to find one but when she returned empty handed I called her to my office.
She stood before my big Mahogany desk as I lounged in my big leather swivel chair.
“You are truly useless, here are your documents, you are fired.” I told her.
She rounded on me, “No you cannot do this.” she raged, “I went everywhere, there is no such thing in Harare.”
“Admit it, you went shopping, those shoes are new.” I challenged.
“Sorry, but it was five minutes, I promise it was only five minutes.” she admitted.
“Then I am I not right to dismiss you ?” I queried.
“I was doing a personal errand for you, not company business. you could be dismissed too, if I complain.”
I flicked the switch under my desk locking the office door.
Her thin blouse tore easily as I reached across the desk to her, then I lifted her small frame and swung her across the desk and sat her across my lap before popping her breasts from her bra.
She looked stunned.
“You tried to seduce me I think.” I informed her, she was a tiny little mousy sort of thing, she looked so small, almost child like, “So take the rest of those rags off and get you fuck hole nice and moist for me.” I pushed her away.
She started sobbing, “No not like this, I am a good girl.”
“Virgin?” I asked, she nodded. she looked child like, malnourished I guessed as her papers said she was 18, but in Zimbabwe anyone could get papers saying they were 18 if they had something to trade.
“Can you stay overnight?” I asked, “because I think you might sill have a job tomorrow if you can.”
“I have to sleep with you to keep my job?” she asked slowly and deliberately.
“Not sleep necessarily, but yes I want sex.”
“I need the job, so yes, may I phone Mr Gerontimus who can tell my mother?”
I agreed and she used the phone and lied that she would be stocktaking.
I found her a spare jacket to cover her torn blouse but she said it was only a seam split and she would mend it.
I took her to my room as soon as the last of the day staff left around seven and she seemed surprised to find Msala there.
“Undress then,” I ordered. Mimi undressed, and I rummaged around in the cupboards until I found what I needed, a medium size white towel, I motioned Mimi to come to me, she tried to cover her little breasts and her pubes with her hands but merely drew attention to the disgusting curly hair round her black snatch. She seemed totally confused when I wrapped the Towel around her like a Daiper and pinned it in place.
“Msala, you have a new baby, perhaps you will feed her?
“What,” Mimi cried. I explained she failed to find a pump so she must milk Msala herself.
I let them play, the embarrassment was plain but they soon they found a comfortable position and before long Mimi was slurping like a baby, a contented baby.
“Is it nice?” I asked.
“Mmm” Mimi answered before she remembered to scowl.
I went to room 604 and spent the evening melting down gold for my next project.
It was late when I returned and I ate a quick snack and headed for bed. A small warm body slithered in to join me.
“Msala says you are kind man but I must not betray you, she says she wishes she had been a better prostitute for you and says I should let you do whatever you want and ask you to take care of me.”
“Climb on my prick then, I am hard already” I izmit escort suggested, and in the darkness she fumbled and shuffled before she forced herself down onto me and became a woman.
The experience was not entirely satisfactory for either of us, so after a short rest I made her lie back on the bed so I could penetrate her properly, my weight crushing down on her pelvis and tormenting her clit. I hope I gave her a taste of proper lovemaking she could remember for all ways, it was better for me too, but still when I closed my eyes I still saw Victoria.
I decided Mimi would do for now, and in the morning we rose early and I carefully shaved her pubes with a tribal knife, she literally shook with fear but I barely even nicked her coarse black skin. I suggested she slip out at lunchtime and have herself waxed, and keep herself smooth if she did not like my knife.
She dressed in her uniform, she had repaired the seam perfectly and around eleven I took her to see her mother in the shanty town area, their shack was tidy, I said I wanted to buy Mimi as a slave, her mother was not happy but she named a price, I doubled it and she agreed and I paid her on the spot.
I made Mimi take off her blouse and bra and said she must remain bare breasted from now on as she was my slave not an employee, then I watched as she gathered her possessions, I checked through them and threw out the blouses and underwear, leaving just her sexy party dress, a few odd bits and her collection of tapes and CDs and photographs.
I insisted she walk barefoot and that she wore no knickers, he mother looked so ashamed, her bank clerk daughter now a slave, and painfully Mimi followed me through the narrow lanes as the people looked on, Mimi the educated one now a slave.
I took her uniform, “Bank property” I told them but as we got away from the teeming shit hole of the shanty I handed her the blouse and jacket, and then her shoes.
“Get dressed I have plans for you” I told her. She did not go out to get waxed at Lunchtime, she had to milk Msala, and at close of business she again scuttled away to Msala’s breasts.
She padded back down the corridor looking very satisfied, licking her lips, and then she helped me with the close down and finally I asked her to lock up, I checked on her but she was very efficient.
Msala had made us a meal, something tribal with rice, but Mimi ate little and allowed Msala to finish her portion off, suddenly I realised she had been taking so much milk from Msala that she was no longer hungry, it all seemed rather kinky, Msala could hardly complain, and later on I found I could take Mimi from behind as she sucked from Msala’s breasts, Mimi confessed she loved it.
“Do you want me to piss in my diaper?” she asked, I had forgotten about the towel but I nodded and she slipped it on.
She wandered about watching TV chasing Msala and trying to get to her tits again then she started crying. “Baby wet” she blubbed.
I am not sure whose fantasy I was acting out as I bathed and changed her, but it was nice to be intimate, and I left a small deposit of cream within her before I wrapped her in another towel. “I am the luckiest girl in Harare.” she beamed.
I gave her the morning off, Msala and Mimi had a wax kit to play with and I wanted Mimi hairless below the chin, hairless and oiled.
She was back at Msala’s breast when I called for her, I thought she would have to be ordered to suck but she was becoming addicted, I knelt beside Mimi briefly and sampled Msala’s spare breast, but I never did like milk much and it did nothing for me.
Mimi was all right but hardly my type so I let her drift back to Bank clerk mode, she looked good in designer lingerie, yellow/gold, red or blue against her black skin, stockings, suspenders, half cup bras, she must have felt like a clothes horse as I kept finding her sexy new things to wear, but it was yahya kaptan escort fun, and it was not as if I did not have the money to finance our little bit of fun.
The weekend approached, I figured I could trust the staff, especially Mimi and I decided to accompany Msala to Manser Smythe’s place and maybe shoot some game while I was there.
It was early morning when Msala left the bank for a final time, I made her wear western jeans and tee shirt, her breasts and nipples still ripe with milk strained the thin fabric as she climbed into the Landcruiser with Michele some bodyguards and myself and we set off out of the city into the countryside.
We had been traveling about fifty minutes when we rounded a bend and saw a crowd of blacks clustered at the roadside, A Black guy lay in the road, a War Veteran, I realised they had set a trap, so they could rob us, steal the car, and probably kill us if we stopped, Nicco my driver slowed.
“No,” I cried, but he laughed and crashed down to second gear and gunned the motor.
Nbuko, his friend with the AK47, shouted, “Yes” as the wheels thundered over the prostrate body. “His head came right off.” he shouted “Right off” they really hated Zanu and enjoyed their jobs.
We drove on and on until a sign to the Oomzakoolu wildlife reserve attracted our attention, we took the impossibly rutted track to the dry river bed and bumped for half a mile across the rocks and tree roots before we rejoined the flat level dirt track on the far side of the seasonal river.
The wildlife sanctuary was like a throwback to colonial times, the bungalows all white painted wood with immaculate lawns, and an equally immaculate quadrangle of stables and cages for the animals.
Manser Smythe ran the animal sanctuary, like all Zimbabwean enterprises it had fallen on hard times. Manser was about seventy, an archetypal white haired expat, and he claimed to be Africa’s leading expert on training exotic animals.
As donations had dried to a trickle and then finally stopped Manser had explored alternative income streams. and exploiting a niche in the market he developed his bestiality roadshow, which brought in the currency to keep his conservation projects ticking along and he had jumped at the chance of giving Msala a trial, young fit attractive lactating black ladies with a loose stretched cunt were rare in a land where malnutrition reigned.
Manser greeted us and wasted no time showing us to the quadrangle, he showed us to the special stables with the raised roof where the Giraffe were kept, he showed us the giraffe saddle used in his show.
“Oh,” Msala was speechless, as Manser showed her the Giraffe saddle.
A black leather phallus stood proud from what looked like a horse racing saddle.
“The Back slopes too much for an ordinary saddle so I invented this.” he said proudly”
“W’what do you want me to do.” she asked.
“Surely it’s obvious?” Manser asked.
“No, not that surely?” she whined.
“You lock her onto it then fit the whole thing on the Zebra,” I asked incredulously.
“Sure do.” Manser agreed, “Can’t tighten it up otherwise,”
I grabbed a pen and sketched something like a press stud fitting. “Why not this.”
“Sure, but who’s going to make it.” Manser asked.
“If you have the tools I will make one,” I offered.
We retired to Manser’s workshop, large building behind a stable, big doors, big enough to get a truck inside, old dusty but really well equipped with blacksmith’s forge, welding gear, a Pillar drill and a couple of lathes driven by a line shafting from an anicent diesel engine, and in the store room behind a large pile of scrap, I found a suitable aluminum shaft straight away, a ball bearings, springs, everything I needed.
Manser was keen to get Msala installed, I tagged along as he introduced her to the native girls gebze escort but they spoke little English and Msala did not speak their dialect, but she was to be a performer and soon he introduced her to the baby Gibbons she was to feed, and the new born tiger cubs, he badly needed tame tigers and breast feeding from a human was a very good starting point.
Msala seemed to like Manser, she let him dress her, he tried various costumes on her before we decided on a very short skirt over a basque and stockings with her bra less breasts supported by the boning of the basque alone.
She was still not my type but she looked sexy as hell, I could see Manser was aroused so I gave him some space, I fear she was too loose to give him much satisfaction but he looked relaxed and she satisfied when I returned, the splodge of cream on her basque revealed that her mouth had been most efficacious for his needs.
I made my way to the workshops after lunch, the sounds of the countryside and the lack of the city’s smell and gunfire made a pleasant change for me as I started work.
I dismantled the saddle, and checked the expansion mechanism, It worked smoothly enough and by simply boring away the center to fit over the aluminum tube and boring in turn the tube to clear the adjusting screw it was clearly going to work,
I made a flange so the tube could be stitched to the saddle, to form a spigot, drilled holes for the spring loaded ball bearings assembled the, spigot tried it in the phallus and then it was time to fit the Phallus into, well into Msala. Msala came to find me, she sat on the bench watching intently.
I wondered how to broach the subject of testing the Phallus but when I lifted it off the bench but she simply took it, wiped it clean and slid it within her, I cranked the hex key, she moaned and sighed but soon she was saying enough, I tried the spigot, moved it around, she squealed, I suspected a sharp edge but she was not complaining, she wanted more. I had started work on a spare spigot and Msala was waiting to try a second Phallus when I heard shouts from outside.
A dark episode was about to engulf us, an episode I shall not relate here, but for those with a strong constitution I have related it elsewhere in my memoir “Feeding Time.”
After the excitement, I returned to find both spigot assemblies sewn neatly to their saddles I assumed they had been done by the nimble fingers of Manser’s native girls but Msala told me she herself had done the stitching, and so all that remained was a live test.
Manser brought the Giraffe, he had already strapped the saddle round it so Msala just had to lower herself onto the spigot, except she could barely walk with the phallus inside her and it took two of us to lift her on and three natives to hold the Giraffe, but suddenly everything was engaged and the Giraffe started to walk around, surprised by his human rider but not surprised at the weight, Manser had trained him well, Msala gasped audibly as she realised that not only was she was not going to fall off but the ride was driving her wild.
She nodded. I helped take her stuff to the bungallow, things she thought I had thrown away, even a breast pump in case she wanted to continue the native contraception, although it seemed pretty ineffective.
I went to see her one last time before I departed for England, she smiled at me, “Thank you Mr Hanson,” she said, “You are a true friend.”
True friend, I thought I was the most sadistic evil theiving bastard that ever worked in a Bank, “I am safe now!” she said, “And I love the animals!”
I sort of grinned, “I’m glad,” I lied but perhaps I meant it and then I bade farewell to Manser and the reserve and made my way back to the UK via Harare to my new life with Victoria and little Jon, and indeed to negotiate my peerage with Gordon, shall we call him Gordon White, half a million for party funds for a peerage, Baron, ah Oomzakoolu was suggested, but we found a compromise.
And then it was merely a case of honing my motor racing skill, but that, as they say, is another story
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