More Evil Bitches for February 2004
Katharsis Dot Net™
34 pages text 2 collaged screen size images RPE=36


Dalila Ratiba is a Zimbabwean "huntress" who hates Anglo whif­firs ("white kaffirs"), but who isn't above using them to obtain per­son­al and phys­ical plea­sure from when such occasions arose. And just such an occasion arose when a young whiffir named Hen­drik attemp­ted to rob her home at the wrong time. Cap­tur­ed by the hunt­ress, the hand­some youth was used, abused, muti­lat­ed and mur­der­ed like a worth­less pack animal.
xxxxAnd Hendrik wasn't the only white Zim­bab­we­an to make a mis­step with a mem­ber of the black fe­male pop­u­lace in his na­tion. An­other white youth named Klaas Mar­teen had a fatal en­coun­ter with a woman named Akashi Wanjiko.
xxxxNow Akashi liked whiffirs well enough ... in fact she was known through­out Zim­bab­we as a hunt­ress who dealt with the na­tion's Anglo pop­u­lace fair­ly. But her rep­u­ta­tion of hav­ing ne­ver harm­ed a whif­fir was shat­ter­ed when Klaas ac­cus­ed her of cheat­ing during a card game. She was so of­fend­ed and en­rag­ed by the ac­cu­sa­tion that the young Anglo was im­me­di­ate­ly rough­ed up, kid­nap­ped, sold into sexual slave­ry, bru­tal­iz­ed, raped and then mur­der­ed in a rel­a­tive­ly short time.
xxxxBut not all Zimbabwean females expressed hate for the white men who inhabited their country.
xxxxChinara Emefa loved a whiffer youth so much that the two eventually wed despite all the resentment and hatred they knew would be directed against them. Chinara's husband Franz Mewis was already no stranger to danger, but even he learned the simple fact that, of all the man-eating animals that roamed the plains and jungles of Africa, the female of species was always the deadliest!



Within a year Franz Mewis and Chinara Emefa were married.

Now accomplishing this took some doing in a nation where a union of their sort came dangerously close to breaking several new and obscure laws. They could have just lived together and called themselves married, but Chinara insisted on a ceremony of some sort — something to make their coadunation right and legal. They finally got Mr. Dieleman, a blind, crippled and half-crazy ex-preacher from Mhungura to perform the nuptials in the middle of the night.

For the most part, most of the Black Zebran loyalists in the jungle didn't verbally denounced the wedding between the two. The loudest protestations came from a staunch whiffer-hater named Dalila Ratiba.

Dalila and her husband once murdered a young whiffer whom they surprised while the miscreant was in the middle of robbing their home. The slain thief's name was Hendrik Johannes, and his story didn't begin or end with the woman who helped to murder him. It actually began years earlier when he was a kid.

You see a younger, more precocious Hendrik went to the store one day and couldn't hold back his desire to steal. This want ... this need grew so strong that he actually searched for something to pilfer.

There wasn't anything he particularly wanted, but he picked up a set of plastic pencil caps with erasers on top of them. It was a paltry doodad that maybe cost a dollar or so. But it didn't matter. The longer he held it with his sweaty hand, the more he felt that he must steal it and make it his.

There was no one except him and the black African shopkeeping lady who was reading the newspaper behind the register. There was no monitoring camera and no mirrors in the corners of the shop. It seemed easy. So he did it. As soon as he put it in his pocket, he hurried to the door, and then the black lady stopped him, saying that she saw him steal.

Hendrik had been stunned.

He saw the world before him quick­ly los­ing its color, and in­stead all the wor­ries swirl­ed and over­whelm­ed him. Will she call the author­i­ties? His mo­ther? The exe­cu­tion Hunt­res­ses? Would he go to jail? Would he be slain for his crime? He couldn't move but stared des­per­ate­ly at the lady's black fur­i­ous face. He couldn't utter a word like "sorry" or "I won't do it again." He was frozen.

Ashaki Wanjiko

She grabbed his shirt, took the pen­cil caps out of his pocket, and thrust them to his but­ton nose,

She said she would call his mother, so Hendrik gave "Ashaki" his phone number. Handing back the pencil caps to him, she told him to wait outside while she called. And he waited — standing with the pencil caps in his hand, his head drooping with shame.

Soon his mother came.

She was furious. Hendrik didn't know what to say. He was scared, ashamed and trembling with fear, but he just stood there, staring at her. Ashaki the shopkeeper explained what had happened and told her if he apologized and paid for the pencil caps, she wouldn't report anything to anyone. Hendrik's mother turned and looked him in his frightened blue eyes and asked him if he had really stolen.

Hendrik admitted that he had. His mother paid for the items he'd taken and forced her son to apologize. In fact his mother was going to brutally spank the boy right in front of the shopkeeper to prove that she was serious about never allowing him to steal again, but the woman called Ashaki now seemed embarrassed for Hendrik and simply requested that he and his mother leave the store.

After this experience Hendrik felt more angry at his mother for attempting to publicly beat him than he did at the black African shopkeeper woman who'd caught him stealing. Did any of this have a connection to the fact that later, as an adult man of twenty-six, Henrik Johannes felt an overwhelming desire to steal from black women ... and no desire at all to take anything (material or PHYSICAL) from white women? He would never be sure.

What he had been sure of was that, in his late twenties, the desire to pilfer from black African women was still strong within him. And one day many wealthy black Zimbabweans had locked their houses and had gone to the Kisimusi Celebration in Harare.

The Anglo young man now known as "Hendrik the Hijacker" did not want to lose this opportunity to break into a home. He went to the house of the richest African woman of the town. He broke into the dwelling and entered the room where the iron safe was kept. He opened it and saw valuable gems and gold jewelry.

He could not have known that

Dalila Ratiba

the lady of the house, would re­turn home un­ex­pect­ed­ly (she wanted to remove all the jewels she had worn before she left the house in order to "keep them safe from the smash & grab thugs in Zim­bab­we's cap­i­tol") and would walk right into the room where he was duti­ful­ly stuf­fing pil­fer­ed val­u­ables into a black bag.

She and her husband Danjuma caught the young man red-handed. Dalila im­me­di­ate­ly held a gun on the surprised thief and, when her husband left the room to call the police or what­ever, she ordered Hendrik to strip down to just his briefs.

Confused, but not wanting to be shot, the young man com­plied. And when the African woman ordered him to kneel before her, he also obeyed without hesitation. Perhaps she would simply use him as a sexual plaything and then allow him to leave without phoning the authorities. She wouldn't have been the first Zimbabwean woman to do so.

But as he knelt before her, practically naked and shivering with both fear and cold, she stroked his dark hair with an almost pitying gentleness.

She regarded the youth dispassionately. By now her husband had returned and was busy mixing up some liquid in a small bottle. Clearly he hadn't left to phone the authorities, but the young thief didn't like the look of the narcotic concoction in the African man's possession. He poured some into a dose spoon and reached out to hand it to Hendrik.

He took the hollow spoon in one shaking hand and swallowed the contents. He then sat down on the bed in the bedroom while Delisha slipped out of her evening gown and into something "a bit more comfortable".

By the time Dalila had strapped on her artificial dildo cock, Hendrik had already drifted into the deep sleep of the heavily drugged. Within moments the only movement from the young man — now sprawled on the bed — was the faint rise and fall of his chest as his breathing slowed.

Dalila later confessed that the feeling of power and Hendrik's helplessness excited her to a level she never would have imagined. She stripped the unconscious youth of his briefs and raised his legs. She then stepped to the whiffer's upraised legs and, as hard as she could, shoved her artificial cock into his asshole! Though still out cold, the young man grunted and tightened up into a ball of muscle. Dalila's husband Danjuma still held the Anglo's arms to keep him stationary.

The huntress felt the tight little hole spasm under her pressure, tighten again, and then suddenly give way as she pushed her artificial dick inside the young whiffir's extremely tight ass.

Through layers of unconsciousness as he felt the fake dick pry open his ass and penetrate into his hungry interior, separating the walls of his hole and grating against the sensitive sides which shimmered around Dalila's invading, fat little artificial dick, the drugged young man screamed,

She pushed back and leveraged herself onto his body by extending her arms against his pecs. She pinched his tits as she continued to plow into his tight hot asshole! What a sight he was! The thief lay there unconscious as she fucked him; every muscle straining, as she slipped in and out of his hungry man-cunt!

Danjuma tied the passed-out boy's ankles and wrists together and tugged the bound limbs upwards to a ceiling fixture. This gave his wife better access to their thieving captor's ass without him having to keep holding the youth steady.

And thanks to the yohimbe ("builder of strong love") narcotic concoction he'd ingested, Hendrik's cock, despite the fact that he was out cold, was throbbing with pleasure! It flopped against his stomach, jerking rhythmically every time she plunged her fake phallus home. The African woman threw herself on top of him, taking his body into her arms, enjoying the feel of his smooth chest and stomach rubbing against her own smooth frame!

While his wife fucked the youth, Danjuma sucked the toes of Hendrik's left bare foot. He massaged the other one with his fingers, switching feet occasionally to ensure that both received equal stimulation from his thick lips and fat tongue.

The knocked-out youth's toes alternately curled and extended in the African's mouth from the drugged excitement. Danjuma's huge cock was beginning to grow hard from the erotic pleasure he was receiving from orally tending to the unconscious young man's feet ... as well as sharing in the sensual-yet-sadistic excitement of his wife.

His oral stimulation of Hendrik's sensitive toes brought him to the peak of sexual titillation as the first wave of orgasm ripped through his body. As he came in his pants he continued to suck and lick the thief's feet passionately. Soon his breathing became deep and erratic as the convulsions of orgasm gripped him.

He released the whiffer's toes from his mouth and placed his open orifice over the lad's arch, sucking it hard, and rubbing his tongue over it and the sole. He enjoyed the texture of the unconscious young man's smooth sole against his licking tongue. He licked and sucked the lad's arch very sensuously until he experienced the last waves of climactic ecstasy.

Dilila, meanwhile, had stopped fucking Hendrik and was now sucking upon the unconscious thief's erection. She kept sucking him until he began to regain consciousness. And when he started to cum in her mouth she took a long, thin, sharp knife and stabbed it into one of his balls. The whiffer squirmed ... then Dalila stabbed the other ball ... as cum dripped from her mouth she cut off his balls and his dick — severing the tool at the base of his groin. The boy, untied now, screamed and contorted in unprecedented agony, but he didn't die.

He didn't even pass out. But Danjuma corrected that situation.

With a cold methodology the African man crouched over the already prostrate boy and swung his big black right fist. He drove it straight into Hendrik's nose. The whiffer screamed as his head exploded with pain.

Clearly he had never been hit that hard in all of his life. His nose was broken and blood started to pour out of it. And, as if to make sure it was broken, Danjuma sledge-hammered his fist into the young man's nose again. Hendrik was immobilized from the agony.

The African man lambasted the youth's face with three more powerful punches, left, right, left. The death-blow was a left hook to his jaw, and Hendrik Johannes died as the entire right side of his bloody face shattered with the impact of Danjuma's fist.

Danjuma then phoned for a village worker to come by and dispose of the lifeless young man.

Village tribesmen were paid extremely well to carry the bodies of dead Anglos to the open graves in Masvingo where hundreds of other corpses lay. The morgue in that small town presented the most awful and hideous site: dozens of fair white bodies were piled like pigs of lead over one another in the corridors.

As village tribesmen walked to work they would encounter wagons piled high with whiffir corpses and would immediately become aware that the liquidation of white insurgents was continuing. The victims, whose blood flowed onto the road, were being taken to the mass grave.

A man named Taharka Faraji carted away Hendrik's corpse, and he was accompanied by Dalila to Masvingo because she wanted to pick out the body of a small whiffer youth to cook up for a family get together the following day.

Taharka moved in front of the pile and swelled at the sight of the helpless naked pink bodies before him.

One corpse in particular caught his eye. The corpse of a white boy who was so fresh that he was still wearing clothes. Tattooed across the lifeless lad's forehead was the word "VODUN" which was an African word meaning "demon".

This was a clear indication (even if a potential buyer couldn't read the identification card on the boy's chest) that this handsome youth — whose name was "Barent Steendert" — had most-likely been a member of the white racist Blanche Brigade.

Since whites who murdered Africans were regarded as "poison meat" by older, more superstitious tribesman, Zimbabwean law required that all their corpses be marked. The body had been tattooed on the forehead to make sure that no butcher could simply remove the identification card and sell the boy's body as "good" meat for a regular price.

Taharka didn't believe in the old superstitions and he regularly ate and/or raped Anglos when he got the chance. He even leaned down towards the motionless body of "Barent Steendert", captured the handsome dead youth's lips with his own and kissed him gently. He ran his hands roughly over the body, groaning as the dead boy himself just lay there limp and silent. He then stripped off the youth's clothing.

He pulled off the dead white boy's boots and socks, then the pants and shorts. He then strip­ped naked him­self. Ta­har­ka held the life­less whif­fir's feet and suck­ed his toes. He lick­ed the soles of the dead Anglo youth's bare feet. He lick­ed the life­less lad's calves and up to his inner thighs. He lov­ed the salty taste of the smooth pink­ish-white skin.

He sucked dead Barent's pink man-nipples, half expecting to feel them stiffen,

Taharka swirled his tongue around the lifeless lad's chest and plunged his tongue into the blood-crusted bullet hole above the youth's heart. He sniffed the sparse hair in the boy's armpits and licked them and sucked them.

The Anglo eighteen-year-old lay un­mov­ing like the dead corpse that he was ... his body didn't offer a single twitch dur­ing the tongue bath. Still Ta­har­ka con­tin­ued to lick south, stop­ping to rim Barent Steen­dert's belly­but­ton.

When he had his fill of tasting the dead boy, the African purchased the body. Then he ordered two butchers to "prepare" the corpse at The Meatrack.

The Meatrack was more than a butcher shop. It also had a large storage room where hundred pound sacks of beans, millet, sugar, and other merchandise were sold. About a hundred yards behind the warehouse-like area, near a gate leading to a pasture, was a slaughter area.

A heavy crossbeam lay across two large, thick posts holding heavy tackle for raising white human carcasses like cows. The dead men were hung by the legs or stumps and were skinned. The butcher used a large hacksaw, cutting all the bones to the spine, separating the carcass in half.

Around the other side of the store was a smaller slaughter area for butchering four-legged non-human animals. That area was almost always devoid of activity.


Not too long after their marriage, Franz and Chinara became aware that they had enemies.

In the obscure wooded area where they'd built their cabin, the couple was victimized constantly by what seemed to be cruel pranksters. Once the couple had returned from the juke joint to find what appeared to be three white babies hanging by their necks from the limbs of an elm tree.

As it turns out, that the babies were only ceramic dolls. But from a distance, and in the dark, they had seemed real. Yes, they had enemies ... but just who these enemies were was a mystery. Dakari Lumumba suggested that the couple live with him for a while — safety in numbers and all that.

Prying off his shoes before tiredly collapsing onto his bed after a hard day of tilling the fields in the north-east pasture, Dakari said,

Before Dakari Lumumba could argue he saw his surrogate son immediately drop off into an exhausted sleep.

Seeing the ginger-haired youth in such a helpless position gave the gruff man an idea. He arranged the sleeping Franz upon the mattress into a spread-eagle position. Then he slowly peeled off Franz's socks just as the youth began to awaken.

And as he bared his surrogate son's feet, he saw once again how perfectly shaped they were. Franz Mewis had beautiful feet, with well lined-up toes and meaty flesh. He also had a high arch that screamed for attention.

Tucking the youth's socks inside his discarded shoes, Dakari Lumumba came back toward the end of the bed.

The ginger-haired youth wiggled his toes and giggled.

Then Dakari tickled the youth's right sole lightly. Franz laughed softly, wiggling his foot about.

Moving around to the side of the bed, the gruff man said,

Franz laughed loud and thrashed about on the bed. Dakari tickled his armpits for a few seconds and then stopped.

Eventually the ginger-haired youth was able to stop laughing. Dakari wanted to tickle him a bit more, but Chinara entered the house.

For the first fifteen minutes, Dakari Lumumba pretended to stretch Franz on the bed (a technique he often employed to aid Franz's oft stiff back) while he screamed for help. The gruff man watched his muscles flex and tense as he valiantly attempted to break free of the bonds.

After fifteen minutes, Dakari said,

He then showed Franz the stiff turkey feather that he'd retrieved from within the very mattress his 'son' lay upon. Franz Taylor's blue-green eyes grew wide,

Dakari Lumumba chuckled before moving to the end of the bed and began twirling the feather around Franz's right sole. The youth was hysterical in seconds. The gruff man tickled his toes with the feather and Franz went completely nuts.

Chinara came by the room and stopped at the doorway. She watched as Dakari tickled Franz's feet with the feather. Franz begged his surrogate father to stop and begged for his wife to help him, but Chinara thought it was 'cute'. She lingered for a bit and then moved on to finish making supper.

Franz was laughing so hard now, he couldn't even respond.

Dakari tickled the ginger-haired youth's feet without mercy. Franz was incredibly ticklish and the slightest touch of the feather was sending him into hysterics. Occasionally, the gruff man would forgo the feather in favor of his fingers so he could feel the wiggling flesh of his surrogate son's bare soles as he tickled them ruthlessly.

Franz went crazy. He was laughing hysterically, thrashing about on the bed but unable to get away from the normally gruff man's tickling fingers.

For the next thirty minutes, Franz Mewis was Dakari Lumumba's helpless tickle victim. Dakari tickled Franz's ribs, armpits, stomach, feet and toes until the youth was red-faced and exhausted. But no matter how much or how thoroughly his surrogate father tickled him, young Franz could not be persuaded into abandoning his plans of striking out on his own.

And eventually the gruff man could not argue against his young son/partner's logic. After all, wasn't it Dakari Lumumba who had read to Franz from the Bible each night since the whiteboy was thirteen years old? Wasn't it this same gruff man who had read the verse which spoke of a man being duty-bound to leave his mother and father and cling to his wife?

Well, Franz never forgot the verses that Dakari read to him. And whether the gruff man approved or not, Franz did consider him to be his father. So Franz and Chinara, with the help of Dakari and several other Black Zebran loyalists from Mhungura, built themselves a cabin located about a mile behind the gruff man's. A place where the two of them could be alone and where they thought the eyes of strangers couldn't find them.


Late one night Franz awoke with a harsh, wrenching shudder. His heart was pounding and he was bathed in a thin layer of sweat. It was still dark out, and — to the left of him — Chinara was snoozing soundly. Climbing out of bed, he rather instinctively padded his way across the room.

From the bedroom window he could see a figure in a black hooded robe gazing up at him from across the knoll. At first he thought that the figure was a mannequin — perhaps another warning positioned out in the sylvan by the unknown pranksters in order to frighten him and Chinara.

But upon peering more closely Franz saw the figure move! A thief? Not likely. The ginger-haired young man knew that it would be singularly stupid for a bandit to arrive at this destination dressed in bulky, cumbersome robes.

Franz momentarily lost sight of this visitor when the robed stranger crouched in the bushes upon realizing that he had been seen. Then the young man saw the figure leave the yard, leap into a patch of shrubbery and vanish into the night and out of his field of vision.

Franz was suddenly seized by the feeling that, along with the mysterious robed figure, an amazing opportunity was slipping away. A need to know the stranger's identity invaded him so strongly ... so all-consumingly.

In his unthinking state of accentuated curiosity, the ginger-haired young man leaped into his trousers, and — without bothering with a coat or even shoes — made his way out of his bedroom.

And Chinara Mewis was just sleepy enough to accept this explanation. She lay back down and immediately returned to sleep.

Franz tip-toed silently outside of the cabin, then out towards the distant knoll where he thought he might catch a glimpse of the stranger fading into the distance. Once he was a good distance away from his home, the youth heard movement coming from a cluster of pines.

In an instant he was surrounded by robed, masked figures. It wasn't the Klan, for the robes these marauders wore were an earthy brown color. It didn't take long at for them to close off Franz's escape route from the front and rear.

Then they all rushed foreword.

A growled command from one of them — apparently the leader — kept the others from tearing the ginger-haired young man limb from limb. Franz felt his heart sink, for he recognized the voice. It belonged to Paul Stone. Even with the hooded robe and mask, the ginger-haired young man knew it was the grave-digger,

Without answering, Paul retrieved a small book from the folds of his robe and began to read:

And he continued on and on with verses from the Bible's book of Genesis.

The grave-digger had also revealed that the organization he belonged to was called the Black Stripes — a secret society formed in 1814 in which Black Zebran loyalists covertly gave the oppressors of Colored people their comeuppance as well as meting out justice for the sake of the Higher Truth.

Paul nodded slowly.

This seemed to confound the Black Stripes momentarily. Then another one of them — a rather large one — stepped forward and said,

And he truly was, for he recognized the voice of this second masked Black Stripe as well. It belonged to Big Bikila, the owner of the juke joint,

The masked Black Stripe only shrugged.

And Franz felt a lump of anguish-filled emotion forming in his throat. Not because of his impending execution, but rather because he was about to be done in by a man who'd been as much of a big brother to him as Dakari Lumumba had been a father.

Once again, the Black Stripes rushed forward. This time Paul did not order them to halt.

Franz dodged away from one who swung at him with a shepherd's cudgel — a short heavy rod of iron. Franz realized that they did not want to kill him right away, which comforted him a little.

But he also knew that the reason they didn't want to kill him now was because they intended to string him up from a tree later. So he continued to dodge his attackers, striking at them with his fists, and kicking out at their mid-sections with his bare feet.

Eventually one of the Black Stripes managed to bash the young man over the head with the iron rod, and when Franz came to he was on his feet, being supported by Big Bikila who was gripping the back of his nightshirt to keep him upright,

Franz lifted his aching head and saw that the other Black Stripes were sus­pend­ing a rope over the high branch­es of a cypress tree. His worst fears were con­firm­ed. They were going to lynch him.

This was the last thing Franz Mewis saw or heard. He was struck on the head again by Big Bikila. The young man with the blue green eyes slump­ed un­con­scious in his former friend's grasp. Paul Stone shout­ed an order and Franz's limp and now naked form was slung over the horse's saddle and a noose was slipped around his neck.

The Black Stripe's grim task was all over in less than five minutes.


Chinara Mewis awoke suddenly, realizing that her husband was not in bed beside her. She vaguely recalled Franz mentioning that he was going outside to check on something at the chicken coop, but that was all.

The congenial woman calmed herself upon remembering that, for the past few weeks, she and her husband had been having problems dealing with the little four-legged predators who'd been greedily feasting on their poultry and egg supply. She decided that she would wait up for Franz to see if he finally managed to plug that pesky fox which has been taunting him as of late.

Falling asleep after an hour or so of struggling to remain conscious, she awoke in a sweaty, tangled heap of blankets at about two in the morning. She'd had some sort of nightmare concerning her husband, but she couldn't recall the majority of events that transpired within it.

Shivering, Chinara stood up and padded her way outside towards the outhouse privy to see if her husband was in there handling personal business.

He wasn't there. Franz hadn't returned.

The congenial young woman was worried, but she was also quite exhausted (she worked as a seamstress by day and often played the role of waitress at the juke joint by night). After returning to the cabin, she dropped back off into slumber almost immediately.

She awoke again at close to four-thirty. Chinara knew it was way past the time in which her husband should have returned — it had never taken him this long to track and kill a pesky fox or weasel. Her heart thudded with anxiety in her chest.

She stood up and, on weak legs, began pacing the cabin. She began to whimper after a while, and when the chirping birds announced that dawn was approaching, she had tearfully slipped on her clothes so that she might comb the woods in search of her missing husband.

Leaving the cabin, she picked her way across grassy knolls damp with morning dew and traversed into the thick brush and concealing foliage. With her lantern, she spotted patterns covering the ground in this area.

First she saw numerous sets of footprints. There were bare footprints that were roughly the size of her husband's feet, and other various-sized prints of persons wearing boots. Further into the area she scrutinized the soft dirt and saw two long straight lines leading off into the distance, and two parallel lines of boot prints on either side of them.

It was the well-recognized pattern of a limp person being dragged off by two other people. This pattern led all the way to an area littered with horse tracks. Chinara followed these hoof prints, her heart racing.

Across what had once been an ancient Karanga trail she could see a proud cypress tree and a pair of dangling bare feet. She advanced closer, but froze in her tracks and screamed at the blood-chilling sight that greeted her.

From the cypress hung the body of her husband, his arms lying slack at his sides.

Franz Mewis (as he had called himself in spite of the fact that his real name was Franz Maguire) had been mercilessly lynched with what appeared to be a brand-spanking new white rope.

Chinara blindly took a step backwards, tripping over the gnarled roots that lay about the ground. She couldn't take her eyes off her husband's dangling body, and she couldn't stop screaming.


There was a disturbance arrest on Chinua Street. Ashaki Wanjiko ( a member of the all-girl Z.E.B.R.A. loyalist-hating "Huntress" squad) had an argument with a white whiffer youth over her cat and then pinned the young man to the floor for a couple of minutes, covering his mouth and nose and causing the boy to pass out.

When investigators arrived, they reported bruises on the whiteboy's arm from a prior incident. Still the lad, Klaas Marteen, didn't even attempt to press charges (not that whiffer's word meant much in Zimbabwe) so the matter between him and the huntress was dropped.

Strangely, half an hour later, Ashaki got into a game of Pumba with Klaas Ned­er­burg and two other whif­fer boys, Ger­hard Balt and Pieter Schol­ten. Some time during the game Klaas drew his gun and ac­cused the hunt­ress of cheat­ing. Pieter and Ger­hard set out to dis­arm him. They snuck up be­hind him and Ashaki knock­ed him out by slap­ping him in the head with her re­volv­er. The boy was then drag­ged to her home

Klaas regained con­scious­ness in Ashaki's bedroom.

He was then abruptly hauled to his feet — held up­right, be­cause his legs could not sup­port him. Klaas lift­ed his arms to shield him­self as he was thrown to the wall again, turn­ing his face aside as Asha­ki's body be­hind him pressed him hard up against it. He caught his breath sharp­ly as Ashaki's arms wrap­ped around his waist, one hand sliding up and into his shirt, the other smooth­ing down across the front of his jeans to dip be­tween his legs.

He began to struggle again and received another sharp shove, unable to bite down a cry of pain as his bruised jaw smacked the wall.

Ashaki's words spilled over his skin as the younger man bit at the juncture of neck and shoulder,

Klaas felt his heartbeat as an abrupt slash across his ribs. Wamukota. His eyes widened, breath quickening.

No. Something contracted inside him, panic sharpening, swelling to an unbearable pitch. Only now did the scene finally come into focus for him, through thick layers of denial. Ashaki was ... going to rape him. And perhaps his only chance was to scream for help. But if he screamed and woke her husband, there wasn't a chance in hell that he'd leave that house alive.

He planted his hands against the wall, trying with all his strength to push away,

The African woman withdrew her hands, flipping him quickly, slamming him again. He reeled momentarily — his whole body was afire, it felt as though his insides were irreparably bruised. His hands fisted, tried to strike but were caught. The huntress sneered at him.

Tears of frustrated rage and fear beaded at the corners of sky-blue eyes.

The whiffer tried to make his voice threatening,

Ashaki snorted,

His eyes glinted dangerously,

Klaas could feel he was close to hysteria. It was all too horrific, it couldn't be real. This was a nightmare, a twisted, awful dream. Ashaki wouldn't do this. Ashaki wouldn't ... But she was.

He strained desperately, but his arms were trapped in an iron grip, seemingly effortlessly by the man before him who simply smiled at his struggles. His legs, once again, were useless at such close range. He couldn't stand it, this feeling of powerlessness, being held impotent so easily.

It shattered every notion he held dear about his self-sufficiency, his ability to protect himself. And if anything, Ashaki had always been one to complement that ability, not to challenge it. He felt the tears spill, searing trails down his face,

Blue eyes widened further in terror, his heart hammering against his chest,

Klaas found that he was crying in earnest now, his chest heaving, tears streaming down his face.

Akashi's eyes narrowed,

Klaas Nederburg felt himself released and staggered forward, thinking for one brief moment of insane relief that the huntress was letting him go. Then his cheek exploded, vision darkening once more, but for wild splotches of color against the dusky backdrop. He twisted in the air, landing heavily on his side, vaguely feeling something soft beneath him give.

She dragged the boy out to the patio, where all of her neigh­bors who lived be­low could look up and see her. There she stood atop the un­con­scious youth's chest. The ul­timate symbol of conq­uest.

Eventually she dragged the body back into the house and tossed Klaas' limp body atop a bed in a guest bedroom.

After removing the uncon­scious boy's shirt and shoes, Ashaki found her­self lick­ing her lips ... truly physi­cal­ly at­tract­ed to the eigh­teen-year-old whif­fer for the the first time. There was a dull gleam of triumph in her dark eyes as the slender white figure failed to move.

Klaas was still out cold. Ashaki doubt­ed he had the strength left to con­tin­ue fight­ing even if he were awake. That same wave of cold swept through her as she sur­vey­ed her young ad­ver­sary. The almost grace­ful sprawl of the help­less body was un­speak­ably al­lur­ing — on his stomach, the soles of his bare feet wrinkled, his bare ass hang­ing out of his pants.

The huntress leaned over the unconscious boy and checked his pulse.

With a chuckle at her own foolishness, she hoisted Klaas up into her arms. Keeping the knocked out boy hugged close to her chest.

He'd come out of their bedroom at the sound of all the ruckus but hadn't seen most of the Ashaki/Klaas battle.

His wife drew the curtains so that a softer light seeped through into the room and across the bed. She undressed and then lay the unconscious bruised boy out on his back on top of the covers.

She retrieved a wash cloth and sat down next to the bed to wait.

Her husband shook his head, mildly amused.

Ignoring her spouse, Ashaki began wringing out a cool damp cloth from the basin of herb laced water by the bed and placed it on the unconscious youth's brow. Her fingers gently stroked the unconscious boy's head, pulling stray strands of damp hair from his pale face. Bending over, she kissed the top of Klaas' head,

After a while she grew bored with waiting for the lad to wake up, so she began to toy with him while he slept. She began by taking hold of Klaas' bare feet. She could smell the sweat from them as she put them in her lap. She then started to massage them. To her the knocked-out boy's feet were very beautiful and she started to lick his soles, in between each toe one by one, then she sucked his toes.

After she kissed his feet she felt a wetness in her crotch. She even manually used the un­con­scious boy's limp right foot to diddle her private parts. She covered his toes with her juices and licked them clean.

Then she really got down to business.

As she stripped the boy completely naked Wamukota could see now that Klaas’ erection was almost 8 inches ... not bad for a whiffer.   The African man shuddered as he realized Klaas Nederburg’s ordeal was not over yet. His wife grabbed the unconscious boy, physically dragged him to the backyard by his feet, and tied him so that he lay spread-eagled, his belly on the grassy earth. She then waited for the eighteen-year-old to regain consciousness, upon which she began to massage his asshole with a clawed finger.

And in response to his pleas for mercy, Akashi asked her husband to fuck the boy ... and Wa­mu­kota Wan­ji­ko tended to let his humungous dick do the talking.

He pressed the tip against Klaas's hole, holding it there teasingly. He smiled, pleased to hear Klaas beg. He bent, licking the boy’s face, tasting the whiffer’s terrified tears.  His tongue went inside Klaas’s mouth for a forced French-kiss that kept the boy’s sobs muffled.  Then with one cruel shove, the African man buried half his member into Klaas.

The eighteen-year-old stiffened, his head going up as his eyes opened wide. He struggled des­per­ate­ly, clawing at the ground as he pulled desperately at his bonds; he tried to screech but Wamukota held firmly, their lips pressed together.

Slowly he pushed his cock deeper and deeper into Klaas, his anus stretching beyond what I thought possible. Again Wamukota’s dick plunge deeper, stretching Klaas's anus wider. The African man growled as he pulled out the entire length, only to bury it again inside, savagely. He thrust slowly at first, then more rapidly, ramming the helpless Klaas, getting more than half the cock out then back again.  Ashaki could hear muffled scream from Klaas, his blue eyes shut tightly with pain, tears rolling down his cheeks. His screams only served to fuel the African couple’s desire to rape him.

Long minutes passed; Wamukota kept pummeling into Klaas, thrusting mercilessly, time and time again. He seemed to stop once, hissing, as though he’d orgasmed. Wamukota released his lip-lock hold on Klaas's mouth just as he took his cock out, and the African man lowered his head to the ground, his eyes half-shut, gasping and sobbing loudly.

To Ashaki’s amazement, hel husband suddenly buried his cock completely back inside the Klaas Nederburg. The boy screamed;  to this day Akashi think that loud shrill would ever fade from her mind. Klaas's screams were like those of helpless animal prey been torn alive by predators. Wamukota pounded on him faster than ever before.

With each thrust he lifted Klaas clear from the ground. This continued for longer than Ashaki thought possible for anyone to keep that pace. but not before Wamukota gave his last thrust. He withdrew his dick with a loud slurping sound; cum splattered every which way as he pulled out and smiled. Klaas suddenly became silent; a soft gurgle emanated from his throat as he went completely limp and motionless.

The couple, who thought the boy had passed out again, raped and molested Klaas for another hour before they realized he was dead.


As Dakari Lumumba turned from where he had been turning the soil in his vegetable garden, he saw the seven-year-old Karanga girl, Baina, pounding her way through the woods. The gruff man dropped his hoe and rushed in the direction of the running child.

The little girl was yelling and waving her thin arms. When she reached Dakari, she fell panting into the gruff man's arms.

Baina was a member of one of Zimbabwe's smaller tribes. Dispersed groupings of the Karanga often left their normal place of habitation in order to hunt and fish in the woods near his cabin.

Immediately Dakari Lumumba departed for the trail near the north-eastern creek.

He arrived to find Chinara Mewis on her knees in the dirt, weeping and appealing to the heavens with outstretched arms. The body of Franz Mewis swung gently from a high branch of the cypress tree that the congenial young woman was kneeling under.

Dakari Lumumba gazed up at the lifeless youth and gave a long sigh. The gruff man figured that Franz's lynching couldn't have occurred long before his arrival, because the ginger-haired young man still looked so natural.

His face hadn't turned the blotchy dark purple he'd seen on the lifeless faces of the lynched white carpetbaggers and "scalawags" he'd encountered on a recent trip to visit relatives in Tupelo. Franz was wearing his nightshirt and trousers, and his feet were bare — as though he had haphazardly thrown on some clothing just prior to meeting his gruesome fate.

As the gruff man fought back the desire to wail in outrage and anguish, Chinara had rose up from her knees and, still weeping, was making her way over to where her husband hung nearly seven feet from the ground. Straining and standing on tip-toe, she reached up to grasp Franz's feet, which was the only part of him that her hands were able to touch.

Chinara Mewis continued to sob unceasingly ... until Franz's toes began to stroke her palms while she was holding onto his feet. The congenial woman screamed and came very close to fainting.

Without a word, Dakari Lumumba rushed to the tree and began the process of cutting the young man down. He walked behind the cypress where the youth's body was hung and still swayed in the morning breeze. As Chinara looked on with a mixture of horror and confusion, the gruff man reached behind the trunk of the tree and cut the rope free. The body of Franz Mewis tumbled to the ground and landed at his wife's feet.

As Chinara cradled the young man's warm, breathing body, Dakari Lumumba pulled up Franz's nightshirt. There was a second rope tied around his chest, under his arms. It had been run up the back of his nightshirt and out through the head opening.

The noose was attached to the rope across his chest to only give the impression that he had been hung! The gruff man cut away all of the ropes binding the youth and was now hugging him along with Chinara, stroking Franz's ginger-colored hair, rocking him back and forth right there on the ground.

The young man eventually moaned and opened his blue-green eyes,

Then his eyes closed as he slipped back into unconsciousness. Chinara cradled his head against her breasts.

Franz awoke once again, but only remained conscious long enough to name Paul Stone and Big Bikila Sentwali as two of the men responsible for his being suspended from the tree.

These words brought forth a host of question to Dakari's mind, but what the gruff man really wanted to know was why had Franz's attackers taken so much trouble to make it only appear as if the young man had been lynched?

Dakari was contemplating carrying the youth home over his shoulder when Big Bikila came galloping towards them on horseback. Leaping off his mare, he rushed over to where the trio were gathered,

Chinara gazed at him bewilderedly,

Big Bikila's husky voice was filled with annoyance,

He broke off abruptly, and when he spoke again both Dakari and Chinara were visibly stunned by the timbre of concern in his voice.


Chinara was watching as her husband awoke with a jerk. Sitting on a rocker at his bedside, she bore witness as he opened his rather glazed blue-green eyes and made the discovery that he was lying on his own bed. She reached out and placed a cool, soft hand on his brow.

She gently silenced him by letting her hand trail softly over his sweaty face. It wasn't long before his glassy eyes fell shut and he slept again. Chinara sat back and watched him. Her mind soon drifted towards the Black Stripes and how much she hated them. She often wondered what the future had in store for her, Franz and that shadowy organization. She knew that there was still more trouble to come between them.

Days later, Franz awoke again completely and was a virtual fountain of questions. His long, feverish sleeps were not a result of the minor injuries he'd sustained at the hands of the Black Stripes. Rather they stemmed from the pneumonia he'd caught as a result of hanging from a tree for hours while exposed to the outdoor elements.

Most of his questions centered around the reasons why Big Bikila had returned to the scene of his crime after having aided the other Black Stripes in lynching him. Chinara and Dakari Lumumba did their best to answer them,

Dakari Lumumba chuckled softly.

He was sitting up in bed now,

Chinara shook her head,

Franz responded to this by sighing deeply, rolling over and dropping back off to sleep. And Dakari Lumumba was still cursing under his breath when Moses Manly, Franz's best friend, arrived at the cabin.

And it was he who helped the gruff man secure a sleeping Franz's wrists and ankles to the four bedposts. Each man had their own agenda for binding the ginger-haired youth. Dakari intended to tickle his surrogate son into submission ... and Moses intended to enjoy watching the tickle torture.

For a few moments Dakari Lumumba and Moses watched the ginger-haired youth sleep peacefully though still bound. That was when he realized it was time to check the restraints. Neither wanted to wake when the boy really needed the rest. The gruff man carefully checked the wrist. Everything seemed fine there. He then moved to the feet and checked the ankles.

As he touched the ankle area and removed his hand, Franz softly moaned the word pops. Moses looked at the sleeping youth. His best friend didn't seem to be sleeping so peacefully. Meanwhile Dakari Lumumba looked down at Franz's feet. His surrogate son's toes were wiggling and his feet were twitching.

Dakari was sure the youth was asleep but how deep he didn't know. He lightly touched the sole of Franz's right foot and when the young man giggled and wiggled his foot but never opened his eyes, he figured he was in a deep sleep.

Dakari Lumumba knelt down at the foot of the bed and began to tickle Franz Mewis' right foot with his fingers running up and down his foot. Franz's foot wiggled and jerked as he giggled and sighed.

Moses Manly looked on with more sexual desire than amusement.

The gruff man continued to caress and tickle Franz's foot. He scratched the heel of the ginger-haired youth's foot and up towards the very sensitive sole and to the toes. Franz Mewis jerked his foot but the restraints prevented him from moving his foot away.

Dakari Lumumba moved to the youth's left foot and began to tickle it, then he alternated between them both. Before long Franz was giggling in his sleep as the gruff man tickled and caressed his feet.

Deciding that the idea tickling the boy into submission was ass silly now as it had been the last time he'd tried it, the gruff man stopped toying with Franz's feet and left the cabin in order to check on the condition of Franz and Chinara's small vegetable garden located behind the little woodland lodge.

And while the gruff man was gone Moses saw an opportunity to indulge in his own desires. He had promised Dakari that he would untie the ginger-haired youth (and he fully intended to), but first he would have a little fun....

Moses then leaned over his best friend's feet and stuck his tongue out and began to lick his toes, sticking his tongue between them causing Franz to wiggle and giggle more. Moses also noticed that Franz had a raging hard on that was tenting his nightshirt. Moses's fingers wiggled and moved as if they were trying to get free.

Moses went back to licking the ginger-haired lad's toes and down his feet and instep. While he licked and sucked Franz Mewis' toes he moved his hands up to the bulge in Franz's nightshirt. Moses began rubbing the bulge as he continued to lick and suck the feet of Franz Mewis, who was moving his hips to encourage Adam's hands and wiggled his toes and feet as he sucked, licked and tickled them.

Franz's breathing grew faster and he began moaning and groaning, but Moses, now lost in his own desire, didn't stop. Franz's hips gyrated and moved up and down. His wrists fought against the restraints, his legs tensed and struggled as his feet were stimulated and tickled and as his cock was rubbed and jacked.

Before long his body tensed and Moses knew that soon Franz would shoot his seed. Soon the ginger-haired youth would be lost in the land of total ecstasy. Franz moaned and groaned. His hips thrust against the hand that was manipulating his cock through the nightshirt, his feet and toes wiggling and all but dancing as his cock erupted and he began shooting pulse after of powerful pulse of warm cum. His whole body went ridged as he came and remained that way until it was over.

Moses managed to clean his best friend up and free him from his restraints by the time Moses Manly returned.

After one final try at convincing his surrogate son and his surrogate son's wife to move in with him, Dakari Lumumba was ready to leave some time later that evening.

'Daddy' ... that word comes so easily to his lips now.' Chinara thought, watching her husband as he conversed easily with the gruff man. She couldn't remember Franz ever using the term before he'd gotten himself strung up three days earlier. He always called Dakari 'Mr. Lumumba' or his 'business partner'.

Now he wakes up from three days of being delirious, and all of a sudden Mr. Lumumba is 'Daddy'. And what I really can't believe is that Mr. Lumumba doesn't seem to mind that Franz is calling him that!

But I suppose they've gotten even closer to each other since Franz escaped getting lynched, but was driven to death's edge again by a severe bug. And Mr. Lumumba has been carrying my sick husband back and forth form the cabin to the outhouse privy for three days now. Guess you can't get much closer that'.

Then the stoic expression on his face abruptly changed. He suddenly leaned over the bed and embraced Franz. The gruff man was close to weeping when he said,

Regaining his composure, the gruff man pulled away from the young man with the blue-green eyes, tipped his hat to Chinara, and departed the cabin.

On September 18th of the following year, Chin­ara gave Franz a beau­ti­ful daugh­ter they named Mye­i­sha (African for "One Who is Great­ly Loved") Hope Mewis.

And within this one child, who would grow into the most ex­tra­or­din­ary wo­man, the seeds of a bright new day for Zim­bab­we / Z.E.B.R.A. were plant­ed. Under her even­tu­al lead­er­ship the gov­ern­ment of Zim­bab­we had matured in less than five years, and she managed to unite white people and black people alike.

Children were born and grew up to know them­selv­es as simp­ly The people. Even to older Huntresses, who had spent so much time fighting in nationalist wars. It was won­der­ful.

©2004 Katharsis Dot Net™