Africantharsis - IV

Disposable Products


Captured Irishmen who won't submit to the will of their African captors or their captors' behavior modification programs are turned over to Abeba Nafula, a ferocious female assassin who not only takes delight in brutally beating and savagely slaughtering the unruly young men who are sent to her for "disposal", she also has a depraved inclination to molest and rape the corpses of her victims.
xxxxA handsome youth named Matthew Doyle becomes the first Anglo "pinker" to be sent her way. Beaten to a pulp, the young man is summarily impaled, raped and decapitated. Keith Dunlap becomes victim number two and, though innocent of any real wrong-doings, was unlucky enough to have become the unlikely object of Abeba's affection.
xxxxHe is methodically beaten, speared like a fish and raped brutally even after death. Finally young Reece Cunningham attempts to rob Abeba on a dare and finds himself beaten within an inch of his life, mutilated, killed and molested in a furor of bloody lust and murderous depravity.

Inancient times an Osu was a person considered to be unclean a slave to the ancient heathen gods of the land. They were people who were set apart and despised by the neighboring villagers.

They were not allowed to marry any members of the adjacent communities, nor were they allowed to be buried anywhere near them. This was how the Osu were treated within Africa in ancient times.

Then they became Christianized.

The Osu abandoned their ancient gods and concentrated intensely on learning as much about the Christian Bible as they could. As a testament to this incredible book's power, it wasn't too many years before the Osu became great scholars, and were even considered the wisest men and women of Olakunde.

They were still set apart from the other villages in the nation not because they were despised, but rather because the other villagers venerated them now! Each year the Christian Olakunde sent their children for biblical study with the Osu.

The children would be taught The Word from the ages of eight to twelve. After that, they would become full contributing members of Olakunde's Protestant Church.

Well, Chief Kenyatta came up with the brilliant idea of placing the Anglo pinker adult captives under the tutelage of the Osu. He felt that these older ACES had learned their fatefulness and bigotry over the years through counterfactual Bible teaching.

Thus the portly ruler figured that it was only fitting that these pink so-called "Christians" be given the opportunity to hear the Bible taught the right way; verse-by-verse at the feet of patient, gentle people who have made Biblical study and teaching their life.

And now that these adult ACES had been administered the olive soup, unlearning their racism was at least a possibility now. You see, though the concoction had rid the ACES of their notion of superiority, the residue of hatred they'd built up in their minds still lingered within most pinkers who had reached puberty.

Matunde thought that the chief's plan was a brilliant one, but Kwesi Somelo as usual had his misgivings. The serviceman was aware that the adult ACES weren't going to be given a choice. Either they attended Bible study with the Osu, or they faced being placed back under sedation. In other words, they were literally going to be taught the precious Word of God against their will. It just didn't seem right to Kwesi.

As the two men waited impatiently within Chief Kenyatta's private sitting room, Matunde asked him,

Kwesi said nothing.

Kwesi nodded,

With a wry smile, Matunde asked,

The principled serviceman was stunned,

The bald zealot nodded,

Matunde nodded,

Kwesi argued bitterly over this plan, but in the end Matunde had his way.

So the unruly pinkers were sent to Abeba....


Abeba Nafula was gorgeous. At five foot nine, she looks like an ebon pixie, sweet and delicate. Petite features that look like they would break under one's hands. Jet black skin that almost appeared to be polished. Slight breasts, firm and perky B cups.

A tiny waist with hip bones gently rounded. Long legs that seemed to go on forever. Her eyes are round and innocent ... and black as the color of deep space. Braided hair that looked like intertwined serpents cascaded gently over her shoulders.

Who would suspect that she was a cold-blooded killer?

After a party at the Chief's palace she came home tipsy and ready for bed. She sat on her bed and contemplated removing her kinte cloth dress before climbing into it.

Slowly she became aware of the soft noise of bare feet as they padded quietly across the animal skin rug-strewn floor. Her kola wine-obscured vision blurred out for a moment, and refocused on the new figure before her.

The tall, lean and yet muscular white body was familiar to her. It was clothed in a loincloth, had red hair, and was distinctly male. It was not until her eyes reached the stranger's handsome angular face, and focused on the softly glowing blue eyes that she realized this youth, twenty year-old Matthew Doyle, was one of the captured pinkers. A very comely one at that.

She realized that this young man was most-likely an unruly specimen who didn't respond well to the "behavior modification" techniques and had been given to her for "disposal". But how could she do away with this extraordinary example of pinker manliness? She stroked the young man's arm.

But an immediately repulsed Matt Doyle recoiled and harshly seized the African woman's arm.

Abeba was rather calm as she said,

She spun back around toward Matt. As she turned she brought her right fist around and up in a vicious uppercut that buried it wrist-deep in his tummy.

Matt forgot all about holding her as pain exploded in his gut. He released his grip on her left arm as he folded over and grabbed his violated stomach with both hands. Abeba decided that she had enough of his disrespect.

Her recently released left arm came around in a picture perfect left hook, smashing into Matt's nose with a loud CCRRAAKK!! Breaking his nose as it blasted in.

Blood spurted on her kinte cloth dress, but she was beyond caring at this point. She wanted to punish this fair-skinned Anglo man for daring to lay hands upon her in such a way.

Abeba smashed her right fist into his eye, splitting the skin, and causing more blood to flow as Matt's eye began to swell. Out of the corner of her eye, Abeba saw that the youth's blood was still ruining her outfit, so she decided to end the brief skirmish right then.

Once more her left hooked around this time slamming into his jaw. Matthew Doyle's head snapped around, he staggered back against the wall of the hut, then slumped to the floor, unconscious.


Some time later....

Matt did not know how long he lay on the dirt floor, unconscious and bleeding, but still alive. He managed to scramble painfully to his feet. He was just about to leave the hut, but he remembered the savage black woman who had beaten him senseless.

Then there was a sharp flash of pain. A flash of pain so quick that it took a moment for the Irish youth to understand what happened. Then there it was ... in plain, clear view. The woman called Abeba Nafula had stabbed him with a spear, just like that! It was jutting out of his chest, blood caking it.

Then Abeba yanked the spear out.

Matt's blood splattered everywhere as she did this ... and soon it was oozing on the walls and floor and ceiling.

Pain seared up and down his body, followed by a deadly numbness ... and then his legs crumpled. He fell on his side and didn't move another muscle. His very spine felt as if it had been split in two clear through from the entrance would in his chest.

He felt blood welling in his blue eyes and his vision became blurry. He tried to breathe, but he felt tired and numb. Blood poured out of his loose mouth as he choked softly.

He felt hot tears fall from his eyes, but upon seeing them, the handsome young pinker realized it was blood. In the moment before he blacked out, he heard one, final statement.

Pain annihilated the world into blackness. And Matthew Doyle fell dead.

Abeba then raped the youth's corpse on the spot and then carried it into the jungle for dissection.

Matt's severed head was resting on a pointed stick the next morning when he met with the young pinker's family after they'd learned of his death.

They begged for his remains. Abeba refused to divulged their whereabouts. And after speaking with Matt Doyle's family, she buried the young Irishman's remains near a stream in the thick brush.

And Matt's fate became the fate of every young male pinker sent to Abeba's hut. She would beat them, spear them to death, then take their bodies into the jungle.

Delighted with her "trophies," Abeba Nafula took Polaroid snapshots, dissected the corpses, and sexually assaulted various organs before finally tiring of the game. Bundling the remains into canvas sacks, she buried the truncated bodies in the brush, tossing the heads into the stream.


Meanwhile, back at Kenyatta's palace, the chief's royal co-regent were impatiently awaiting the arrival of the two pinkers who would spearhead their experiment in behavior modification.

There was a loud rapping sound on the door. Both men knew instinctively that their two guinea pigs Will Delany and Mason Sway had arrived.

She pushed the heavy door out for them carefully to prevent it from colliding with their captives' bare toes. Two Kunde Hamidi soldiers followed behind Will and Mace, handling the two youths roughly, pushing them into the room so harshly that both came close to sprawling head over heels on the carpetless floor of the office.

With a startled grunt, Kwesi managed to catch Will before he fell completely, but unlucky Mace collided with the marble headfirst.

Will shook himself loose from Kwesi's grip and cursed up a storm about how he didn't need any help.

Matunde almost smiled,

Will grinned evilly,

It was Kwesi, not Matunde, who lashed out and cuffed the boy's ear. The blow was more show than anything else, however. The principled serviceman was trying his best to intercede to prevent this defiant Anglo child from receiving a real beating at the hands of Matunde.

And the serviceman had to admit that he rather admired roguish Will Delany. The boy was brave, and even though he had been administered the olive soup, he was still chock-full of insubordination.

This meant, of course, that the nature of his defiance lay not in pure racial bigotry, but rather in a general dislike for authority figures. Perhaps young Will would grow out of this phase. Perhaps not.

A lopsided grin on his fat, freckled face, the red-haired Mace Sway announced to the serviceman,

And the boy burst into laughter. He cackled so hard that a light sweat glazed his freckles and tears streamed from his eyes.

And the boy just couldn't seem to stop laughing. It enraged Kwesi to hear his lovely, deceased wife spoken of so scornfully.

Eventually the serviceman grew so angry that he clenched his fist and plowed the redhead's pale face. The laughing abruptly stopped. Kwesi almost tasted a tiny drop of victory at having halted the insolent, pudgy youth's laughter.

But even this single drop began to taste like ash as he emerged from his brief trance of rage. The serviceman stared stupidly at his own clenched fist, and then at Mace Sway who now lay crumpled on the floor. The lad's mouth was torn and bloody, and he was out cold.

He turned and walked away from the fallen freckled lad. The room was momentarily silent. He could hear a couple of Olakunde warriors whispering behind him in the Ibo language, "Lord, look at what he did to that little pinker! That blow even knocked one of the boy's teeth out!"

Kwesi took a deep breath. Though his exterior was composed, inside he was screaming, There is no difference between Matunde and myself. Let a pinker youth infuriate me with a few crass words and I can be just as ruthless as he is!

Eyes wide with horror, young Will Delany sank to his knees. He didn't do this out of reverence for Kwesi, but out of the fear that the principled serviceman would further injure his fallen friend.

Kwesi was about to assure the boy that he had no intention of hurting Mace, but then he stopped himself. He had already injured the pudgy boy, after all ... and not for the first time. His previous assaults on all the young pinkers were already weighing his heart down. Punching out Mace Sway now had not made him feel any worse than he already did.

Luckily the freckled lad was only out for about a minute. Once he had fully regained his senses, he and Will were forced to kneel before Kwesi and Matunde while the principled serviceman explained to them about how they would be spending some time studying amongst a special sect of the Olakunde nation.

By the time his explanation was concluded, both boys seemed to have understood about the ways of the precarious Osu how it was important that these particular tribesmen not be made aware that Will and Mace's immurement within their village was planned but Kwesi had his doubts.

As he watched a pair of soldiers creep up silently behind the two kneeling ACES, Matunde announced,

Mace and Will were just about to question the bald zealot's last statement when they noticed the strange aroma in the air. Just as both boys were starting to turn their heads, the strong hands of Kunde warriors clamped around their necks. Handkerchiefs wet with chloroform were pressed to their mouths and noses. It only took a few seconds for the solution to overcome both boys.

Two more Kunde warriors rolled a couple of empty wheelbarrows into the sitting room. Will Delany and Mace Sway were loaded onto them and wheeled straightaway to the perimeter of the Osu village. There they were unceremoniously dumped out, leaving them for the Osu people to find.

To find and get the impression that the two boys had like many other pinkers simply passed out from the intense heat of the sun. These religious villagers were being manipulated into believing that Will and Mace's presence near their encampment was a mere coincidence.

You see the Osu themselves chose who they would allow within their sacred village. Not even Chief Kenyatta himself could force them into accepting the two pinker boys into their sheltered, scholarly community.

So the portly ruler had devised this plan so that the Osu people would get the impression that it was their idea, and their idea alone, to take in Will and Mace.

And that's just what they did. Not ten minutes after the two boys were dumped from the wheelbarrows, a caravan of Osu came slowly into view along the edge of a nearby creek.

In spite of the heat, they were dressed in raiment that spoke of ancient rites practiced in the lush tropical brush colorful gowns, caps, beaded necklaces and bracelets. Several of the men positioned up front had painted designs adorning their faces.

Behind them came the musicians, then a double line of zebra pulling along an elaborately decorated statue of Thecla of Iconium.

The two Olakunde soldiers who had transported Will and Mace witnessed all of this from a concealed vantage point behind the trunk of a huge mahogany tree. They watched as the caravan gasped in simultaneous surprise at the sight of the motionless pale-skinned bodies lying in the tall grass.

The Osu women checked both unconscious lads over from head to toe. Not only did they coo to the two eleven-year-olds as if they were infants, but they also curiously fingered Will and Mace's slightly sunburned ears, waggled their fingers and toes, and bent their pale arms at the elbow and their sleek legs at the knee. Except for being weighed, footprinted and measured, the two young ACES were treated basically like sleeping newborns.

The Osu men, upon learning from the women that the two lads would be fine, were not as overbearingly gentle. One of them pulled a zebra away from the caravan. Will and Mace were then slung over the beast's saddle and tied not because they were prisoners, but to prevent them from accidentally slipping off.

The two hidden Kunde warriors were watching as the Osu people led the inert young ACES towards their village. As the caravan moved on, the soldiers returned to the palace to report what they had seen to Chief Kenyatta and his regents.


Meanwhile Abeba Nafula was already mourning the fact that Will Delany would be away from the royal palace. Of all the white Irish-Anglo pinkers she had seen, he was the one who most tickled her fancy. She wanted to kill and fuck him so bad but, in her heart of hearts, she knew that she could never truly bring herself to hurt the eighteen-year-old even if given the opportunity.

It started as a fascination. She began looking at other pinker males ... not just the ones given to her for disposal because they were uncooperative. And the ones she ogled were nameless to her, but gorgeous like Will Delany.

She needed one. She needed to fantasize it was Will ... to feel the pinker youth under her ... around her. It was a need that became an obsession.

She found one about a week after she started looking. He was Will's twin! Even down to the well-shaped bare feet and perfect toes. His body was perfect. His hair was the same sun-bleached blond as Will's, but his eyes were slightly more gray than blue. Watching him Abeba became tortured by lust and she could not think clearly.

She watched this Will Delany look-alike. He, like his fellow captive pinkers that day, was getting slapped about and treated to verbal abuse and humiliation by several African soldiers. She grew moist in her privates imagining choking the life out of the youth and molesting his dead body.

It was getting dark when the soldiers finally stopped abusing him. Then eighteen-year-old clean-shaven Keith Dunphy walked, alone, towards the sleeping Camp Two.

Having been heavily dosed with the olive soup that assured his obedience, no one was worried that he might make an escape attempt. His tiny knapsack hung down over his loinclothed ass and swung back and forth in time to his narrow hips. Abeba had concealed herself behind a kola nut tree near him. All she had to do was move.

She waited until there were no witnesses around and then struck.

Leaping out from behind the tree, she slugged Keith in the mouth as hard as she could.. She had taken him completely off-guard.

Keith screamed as four of his teeth flew out of his open mouth,

One of them stuck in his bottom lip. His lip was soon soaked with blood as it ran down his mouth onto the ground. His chest was covered with blood as were his loincloth and his bare feet.

His feet that were fair-skinned and white were now red as well as his smooth bare chest. Abeba started to remove the tooth imbedded in the now dazed boy's lip, but decided to use her fist to release the tooth instead. A whistling sound could be heard as her fist plowed through the air.


While Keith struggled to remain conscious, Abeba managed to drag the very dazed, very confused, very agonized young man into her hut.

Once inside her fist once more kissed the side of his then lips loosening the tooth as her punch released it, allowing it to hit the floor and coming to a stop near the animal skin rug that she had raped several pinker corpses upon already.

She could see the agony and confusion on Keith's face from the corner of her eyes ... which got Abeba more excited then before. The feel of his flesh giving way under each blow was something indescribable, yet immensely pleasurable.

Little vibes of shock waves flooded her body as she watched Keith react to his beating. He had thrown his hands up, covering his mouth and trying to stop the flow of blood to no avail.

The blood flowed between his fingers as they cupped his mouth. His left hand was covering his belly. He stood there somewhat bent over from the ripping pain that soared through him.

His face had a lost and puzzled look on it as the female African assassin moved toward him, grabbing him by the left shoulder as she gave him a hard push while pivoting toward him.

Her fist ripped upward landing under his chin knocking him onto the dirt. "UHHG!" sounds came out of his mouth as his body hit the ground.

The earth where he laid began to turn red from the flow of blood discharging from his wounds. What a spectacular sight it was! Abeba stepped out the doorway for a quick second as the warm air brushed across her partially dressed body.

She bent over Keith Dunphy now. She grabbed his jaw to look inside of his mouth. A few lose teeth was lying on his tongue. While she was doing this, the youth lost consciousness and collapsed limply to the floor with a thud.

Abeba Nafula was a sight to be seen. Her kinte cloth dressed was drenched with blood and her sandals were a loss. She had blood running off her arms and biceps. Specks of it drifted off her face. Her perky breasts were also soaked from the blood.

She was still scrutinizing her own physical condition when Keith Dunphy, conscious again and fighting mad, attacked her from behind!

They struggled on the blood-soaked bare earth as hard as their weary muscles would allow. Abeba, being stronger and uninjured, flung her opponent off of her and yanked her knife out of its sheathe.

Her opponent leapt with surprising agility at her, but Abeba was ready for Keith and raised her blade. The assailant, accidentally, fell right atop the blade ... and Abeba, unable to support the extra weight, toppled back into the ground. Keith still struggled, seemingly unaware and/or unaffected by the knife that was jutting out of his chest.

Abeba laughed, for she knew it was only a matter of time.

Keith Dunphy fought fiercely, but his concentration was fading fast. As for Abeba, the blood of the Irish youth was pouring into the dirt, making a murky, reddish mud. It wasn't long before the handsome pinker gave his last conscious breath and went limp as he passed out again.

Abeba positioned herself atop the prostrate Irish boy and fucked his unconscious body. Keith cried out and moaned and whimpered still. His young, fair-skinned body was a mess of cuts and bruises and splattered with blood. Abeba pissed on him. She cut his male nipples off with her knife.

Keith awoke screaming. The African woman cut off the sound as her hands enclosed his throat. She choked the boy slowly, letting the eighteen-year-old pinker get gasps of air before tightening again.

Keith's face started turning red and slowly purple. His beautiful grayish-blue eyes bugged out. Then he died, and the female African assassin spent the night fucking and abusing the pinker youth's dead body before disposing of the raped corpse in dawn's early light.


When it was announced to the Christianized Yoruba Olakundes that the Anglo ACE youth would be residing at Kwesi's home, there was much grumbling among the principled serviceman's neighbors.

But it wasn't long before Worth's humility plus the rapidly-spreading tale of how he'd rescued little Odili won them over and the young man was grudgingly accepted. Worth Bridgewater was, after all, an adopted child of Kwesi Somelo according to tribal tradition. And to malign the son was to malign the father. Plus, the young man was a Christian as well.

Worth's folks would certainly have not approved of this. His new bond with the Soyinkas would be just one more factor in his parents' unconscious alienation of him an alienation born of a decade of separation between the amiable youth and his parents.

Duke Bridgewater and his wife had left their young son in the care of relatives in America while they were busy establishing the first incarnation of the ACES in South Africa

And this period of separation could also explain why Worth and his parents were so different, conviction wise, from each other. His parents were structured to a fault fixed within the narrow-minded boundaries set by a racist organization with a hateful view of tenues and people that weren't as white as their own.

On the other hand Worth, having been reared by a jovial uncle in the United States for the long formative years that his parents were setting up shop in Johannesburg, never really spent much time concentrating on people outside of his immediate circle of friends. The idea that he should categorize entire groups of people seemed like dubious thinking to him even after he was indoctrinated into the ACES.

The amiable youth had been worried about how he was going to go about explaining his feelings to his parents. Luckily the ACE's failed assault on Olakunde took matters out of his hands.

And Worth Bridgewater was in the middle of accompanying young Odili Somelo, son of Kwesi, on a visit to the home of two young friends when he was suddenly hailed in the distance by a frantically waving Ezi Owerri.

Running towards the nineteen-year-old pinker and the four-year-old African in his charge, the boy yelped,

Nearly breathless, the pensive lad quickly explained Chief Kenyatta's precarious proclamation that all ACES in or past puberty were to attend a Bible study course in the distant village of the Osu people.

Apparently this was an attempt to de-brainwash the adult pinkers of all the hatred that hadn't been completely eradicated by the olive soup concoction. Worth looked at the boy perplexedly,

The pensive lad was scrupulously chewing on a husk of roasted maize that he had retrieved from his back pocket,

Worth nodded, realizing now that Chief Kenyatta truly was a wise ruler. Having the ACES swear an oath of honor was a stroke of genius. The adult pinkers would never break such a pledge, for doing so would be admitting that they were not morally superior to the Kundes,

He stared at the boy,

The pensive lad shrugged,

He turned away from Ezi in order to face little Odili,

He took the youngster by the hand and began trekking eastward. He glanced back over his shoulder towards the pensive boy,


Matunde Nangila felt the difference the moment he stepped outside of his home.

Leaving his domicile was like being released from a suffocatingly crowded room ... in spite of the fact that he and his father's mother shared one of the most spacious homes in Olakunde.

And not only had the scenery and atmosphere around him changed, his physical interior seemed to be stirring as well. The bald zealot felt that something had changed within himself, but he couldn't put his finger on what it could be.

That morning he had inspected the videotaped footage of the pinker uprising in Camp Two disturbingly violent images that his grandmother had already viewed days earlier.

He watched the televised images of himself and the Olakunde soldiers as they took down the rebel pinker boys, and he bore witness as the camera zoomed in for a close-up on the broken, bloodied bodies of the leaders of the insurgency, Will Delany and Mace Sway.

He thought nothing of this but to wonder just who had videotaped this graphic footage at the time of the revolt.

Now that Matunde had departed from his home, he traversed near Camp Two and noticed that most of the guards present were Christianized Yoruba Kunde warriors as opposed to the Moslem Hamidi troops who were loyal to his own religion.

He supposed that Kwesi had convinced Chief Kenyatta that the Yoruba warriors would be gentler and more patient with their pink captives. And Matunde upon strolling through the interior of the camp was inclined to agree with this.

The bald zealot even watched as a group of Yoruba soldiers played games with the little pinklings (now the official title for prepubescent pinker children) who treated the entire prison camp like a giant playground.

These mighty Kunde warriors even allowed themselves to be chased about by these Anglo children in games such as "tag" and some other idiotic sport called "duck, duck, goose".

The Yoruba are too soft-hearted, Matunde thought to himself as he strolled along through the camp. It is doubtful that they are even fit to be Kunde warriors.

But just as the bald zealot was thinking this, one of the pinklings a boy who couldn't have been more than six or seven suddenly wavered and collapsed while running in a spirited game of tag. The child didn't get up right away, and Matunde assumed that the youngster had fainted from heat exertion.

One of the camp guards, a one-eyed warrior called Bori, made his way over to the fallen boy. Bori was one of the fiercest fighters in Olakunde, and a staunch member of the Moslem Hamidi faction.

Well, imagine Matunde's surprise when his fellow Moslem set aside his rifle just set it aside! and walked over to the fallen pinkling. He picked the motionless youngster up, and cradled him gently in his arms.

Then this fearsome one-eyed warrior, after pausing to soak his handkerchief in a full rainwater barrel, sat himself down on a woodpile under the shade of a palm oil tree. Holding the stricken child against his chest, he used the wet hankie to paternally sponge the pinkling's hot face.

The bald zealot decided to leave the camp then, for the atmosphere there had grown as stifling as it had been at his home. He made his way over to the royal palace where, unfortunately, more childish tomfoolery was taking place.

While waiting for an audience with Chief Kenyatta, Matunde watched as Kwesi Somelo's four-year-old son, Odili, played a game of "western shoot-out" with the pinker youth known as Worth Bridgewater. A pinker youth who, even after several loud protests from Matunde, had been hired as a houseboy (though Worth preferred to be called a valet) by Kwesi.

Because this allergy-ridden Anglo hadn't ingested any of the olive soup, he was completely in his right mind and, in the bald zealot's opinion, dangerous. Still, Worth had saved little Odili's life after all, and Matunde loved the four-year-old almost as if the child was his own.

So the bald zealot decided that he would do no harm to Worth Bridgewater.

For now.

He peevishly watched the cowboy gunfight game that was being played-out between the African youngster and the nineteen-year-old pinker.

With his little hands formed into six-shooters, Odili was quick on the draw and pretended to gun Worth down like a dog.

And, after stumbling around a bit while clutching his stomach in mock agony, the amiable Anglo youth collapsed to the floor at the child's sandaled feet. Then he whispered something about "headin' for the last round-up" and pretended to die with a few exaggerated death spasms and a long, final sigh.

Odili knelt near the "dead" youth's blonde head and seemed on the verge of genuine tears for having killed his pretend-enemy.

Matunde shook his head with a grim smile. Yes, that boy is definitely his father's son.


The root cellar looked the same to him.

Dim lights, running on about half-power now. Over forty males, motionless as death, stretched out naked on the wooden bier tables. Kwesi Somelo sighed deeply. He had thought that he might not have to travel back to this morgue-like room. But here he was again.

Well, atleast Chief Kenyatta has sent me here to finally supervise the awakening of these men. Kwesi thought as he advanced completely into the cellar where four Kunde warriors went from pinker to pinker, pressing a hypodermic into the arm of each Anglo man lying in sedation atop each bier table.

They were injecting the prisoners with a chemical provided to them by Dr. Tinubu. Then they stood back, watching as each captive awoke almost instantaneously.

Before the men could fully regain their senses, they were seized by the Olakunde soldiers, forced off the tables and roughly led out of the root cellar ... at atleast those who weren't blatantly shoved and dragged along by the overzealous Hamidi Kundes. Kwesi watched all of this with concealed pity.

The Moslem Hamidi soldiers practically threw several of the more spirited pinkers down the corridor leading toward the next room they were designated to enter.

These ACES were still ready and willing to do battle with the Kunde warriors, but due to the fact that they were still groggy from the sedatives, they simply weren't able. And most couldn't put up a fight because they were using their hands to cover their private parts as the Olakunde soldiers relentlessly rushed them down the halls.

A few even tried to position themselves into battle stances but, because they'd all been routinely oiled down with Lovage during the time in which they were lying in state within the root cellar, their bare feet continued to slip and slide on the polished palace floor.

Several Anglos only stopped their futile struggles after being roughed up by the Kundes. Roughed-up and humiliatingly worn down to the brink of physical exhaustion.

Only two pinker men flatly refused to give up. They continued to fight in a vicious, groggy rage until an Olakunde soldier knocked them both cold with the butt of his rifle. These insubordinates were then degradingly dragged down the corridor by their ankles.

The ACES were all shoved into a room where they were quickly fitted with loose-fitting African attire to cover their nakedness. Then the Olakunde soldiers took hold of them again and harshly shoved them towards yet another room within the palace.

Kwesi took his place on a platform in front of this room, cut warning glances at other potential insubordinates, and tried to ignore the smell that was being created as the room filled nearly to capacity with the pinker prisoners who were still recovering from the effects of the sedatives they'd been given. They all smelled.

The main smell was the Lovage oil they had all been rubbed down with to keep them healthy while they were imprisoned. But there were undercurrents of odors as well. Odors that were indicative to masculine rancidity; sweaty armpits and feet.

The smells one might expect from a group of males who have been lying in state unconscious and unwashed for days within a locked cellar. Formerly clean-shaven men had stubbly hints of beard showing on pale faces that hadn't been treated with a razor in days.

The younger ACES looked even more fawn-like and pitiful as they stumbled into the room hair rumpled and tangled, still knuckling sleep from their bleary eyes. Kwesi loathed himself for what he must have seemed like to them then. A black monster. Still, he would do exactly as Chief Kenyatta commanded.

The principled serviceman, face solemn-looking, climbed to his feet and motioned for everyone within the room to be quiet,

There was silence. Kwesi was grateful. He didn't want to have to resort to forcing these men to cooperate by threatening the welfare of their wives and children. The threats would not have been real, but Kwesi would not have desired that anyone even think that he was that type of man ... the type of man who would place the well-being of helpless women and children on a negotiation table.

He glanced over at Worth Bridgewater who had decided to attend the meeting despite being cognizant that his fate in Olakunde would differ from his other fellow ACES. He was seated next to his father, Duke, and appeared to be very pale and very upset.

There was an awkward silence. Kwesi was very uncomfortable, but he kept his composure. To anyone who was watching, he was black ice. In truth, however, it was moments like these when Kwesi Somelo was most tumultuous inside.

Presently he was rather pierced by the hateful looks of these ACES. But the decision to send them to the Osu had not been his. These men would have to submit to being taught by a group of Africans who still functioned in the old tribal and, therefore, Barbaric in the minds of the pinkers ways of living. And, as if to add insult to injury, they were to be taught the Bible ... a book that most pinkers were certain had been written specifically for them.

Well, that is too bad. The Word of God is no respecter of persons, and neither are the Osu. Still, I hope they remember that I am only a messenger, Kwesi thought to himself as he looked out across the sea of hostile pink faces fixed in his direction.

I would not even be here if Chief Kenyatta had not fallen ill again. These pale-faced extremists, understandably, are going to want answers. And I hope they keep civil tongues in their heads when they demand them of me.

I simply will not sit on my hands and be shouted at by these racist fanatics. I too am capable of being ruthless and mean ... in fact, Matunde and Chief Kenyatta would actually prefer that I be stern with these men.

He didn't mention the amiable youth by name, but he was referring to Worth Bridgewater. Because the youth had been allergic to both the sedatives and the olive soup, the nineteen-year-old was able to roam the villages freely, and would not even be required to attend Bible study with the Osu.

Chief Kenyatta would never had agreed to this had Worth not saved Odili's life. Plus the youth's sincere pleas and the fact that he had been accepted as a son of Kwesi were further constituents in the portly ruler's decision to let Worth be.

Kwesi shrugged,

There was absolute silence within the room for a full minute.

There were several more questions, and several times the air in the room became thick with rage. Still, most of the ACES accepted these terms. But some simply could not give in, however. Like rebellious children, several of these pinkers would not accept authority.

This probably would not have surprised Kwesi had he remembered that many of these "adult" ACES were indeed children chronologically and mentally. The eldest among them was fifty-four, but the youngest was a mere fourteen.

Chief Kenyatta had earlier relaxed Olakunde law and demoted the twelve and thirteen-year-olds to the status of the young pinkers. From that point onward, only Anglos with their man's growth (pubic hair) would be considered adults.

At one point an angry ACE began to rage about the unfairness of it all, but Kwesi quickly matched his anger and said,

The principled serviceman regretted these words the second they left his mouth. Not only had he admitted that the adult pinkers were indeed being forced to study at the feet of the Osu people, the rest of his statement sounded like lies in his ears. True, they were the kind of well-intentioned lies that adults often tell to children ... but they were lies all the same.

Becoming aware of this fact only made the principled serviceman more angry, however. When he opened his mouth again, he spoke from his heart ... and this time his words no longer sounded like lies,

There were more angry questions and statements from the ACES, but their words now lacked their earlier fervor. Eventually Kwesi prepared to leave the room,

And he spun on his heel and stalked out the front door.


By the time Worth got around to visiting the Osu village, his parents were already gathered around the teacher, Lady Umunna, for the daily lesson. The young pinkers hardly ever saw their parents while they were away their prison camp was located just too far from the Osu village.

Sometimes Worth would stand near the religious settlement's perimeter and watch the morning class in the distance. If he strained his eyes, he could make out his father's strong back and crew-cut from amongst the huddled crowd of adult pinkers and adolescent Africans.

But most of all, he could recognize his sire by the brightly-colored outfit he wore.

The only time he really got to speak to his parents was if he rose early enough to catch the ACES his folks included and the African kids marching their way from Olakunde city to the Osu village.

The sight was so strange because the adult pinkers were being sent to school right along with the Kunde adolescents who were already attending Bible study classes with the Osu. The pairing of the two groups just looked so odd.

But each morning they dauntlessly marched to school together, pink adults and dark-brown children, and disappeared down the road that led into the sacred Osu settlement.

They had their notebooks and Bibles in hand and sometimes even talked, laughed and kicked up dust together as they marched along. The Anglo adults looked somewhat ludicrous in the traditional African garb they were being forced to wear.

He was motioning towards the colorfully-printed African kinte-cloth robe he was draped in. This nightshirt-like rainment was a loud combination of greens and reds and oranges,

Worth even remembered when the outfits were made. The adult male pinkers having recently been revived from their drug-induced comas, were ordered to march naked from the palace root cellar where they had lain like corpses for days.

They made a hands-over-crotch procession in their birthday suits, and looked so embarrassed that many of the Kundes who saw them were too full of pity to even laugh.

Once the naked men arrived at a huge sitting room within the palace, bolts of cloth were immediately tossed over their shoulders, and they were measured, and pinned and fitted for their new African attire. Attire that looked quite comfortable to Worth thin, cool robes that left their arms and legs free; sandals for the feet.

One ACE asked why they weren't allowed to don their boots, and a Kunde warrior replied that the only reason a man would wear heavy boots in the hot climate of Olakunde was if he was concealing weapons.

I wonder if he had only been joking. Worth thought to himself as he continued to observe a morning class within the Osu village in the distance.

The teacher, Lady Umunna, sat on a tree stump; about twelve pinker adults and African children sat cross legged on the ground in a semi-circle around her. This long-limbed, coal-black priestess had a huge Bible in her slim hands. Her students had smaller Bibles (including an Apocrypha) as well as a notebook.

Groups like these were scattered all over the Osu village. And Worth realized that, because of the exceeding height of the Osu people (surpassing the seven-foot mark was common for the men) the average-sized pinkers must have seemed like interminable children to them ... and the Kunde adolescents were like rambunctious infants.

Turning away from the distant village, Worth thought about how he had almost missed seeing his father at the palace that day. In fact, he just happened to be at the royal domicile that day by mere coincidence, taking little Odili Somelo his personal responsibility to visit Agunwa and Nwibe, Chief Kenyatta's two young children.

After this day the nineteen-year-old would see his father very infrequently. And, because the ACE women were kept somewhat isolated, except when they were attending class with their husbands, Worth Bridgewater saw even less of his mother.

It should have been a rough time for all concerned, but it really wasn't. Because of the decade they had spent separated on two continents, a rift between Worth and his parents had existed long before they were all taken captive by the Kundes.

The amiable youth still loved his parents, but he had discovered a long time ago that he could live with or without them.


Other younger pinkers were adjusting to life in Olakunde.

Reece Cunningham for instance had grown very used to life in Camp Two. Every morning in the confinement hut he'd awake on his straw bed, amazed at the softness beneath him and the pleasurable cocoon of bedding around him.

He'd then leap from bed and would peer through the sleeping hut's only window. The view was magnificent! The expanse of emerald green African hills studded with exotic trees and sapphire streams reminded him of the postcards of the "real, natural Africa" he had seen while living in metropolitan Johannesburg.

Yes, it didn't take much to keep Reece in line.

One day, however, he made a bet with a friend that he could sneak into the hut of Abeba Nafula ... the woman who was rumored to have murdered several unruly pinkers with her bare hands ... and steal one of her personal possessions as a test of courage.

Reece Cunningham didn't buy into the rumors about Abeba. He was too smart for that. And he was handsome as well as smart. He was slender, slim-hipped, but of medium height five feet ten inches tall in his bare feet.

As an eighteen-year-old former center-half for a white Afrikaner soccer team, he normally weighed 140 pounds. Over the course of his one year major league career, he had filled out some gaining fifteen or twenty pounds.

His shoulders sloped dramatically. He was fair-skinned and high-cheeked, his face at once stalwart and delicate. He had a button nose it almost looked too perfect, though there is no record of him ever having a nose job or the like. His ears, large as playing cards, jutted boldly. His eyes were a pale blue sky colored and crystal clear.

With eyes so clear, many would later regrettably state that they wished his thinking had been likewise. Because he didn't believe in the rumors surrounding Abeba Nafula, the strawberry blond young man creeped stealthily into the African woman's hut without too much concern for his personal safety.

And, unfortunately, he was caught red-handed by Abeba when he attempted to steal her necklace. A necklace that appeared to have been comprised of strung-together human teeth!

He noticed the soft, intricately-designed fabric that her dress was made out if. He simply HAD to feel it's texture.

He reached out to touch her chest. Abeba quickly stepped backward leaving her left foot in the lead. Allowing her knees to be very relaxed and slightly bent, she brought her fist upward and turned her slender shoulders using all the power she possessed ... pivoting upward by pushing with her powerful legs as she brought her fist upward, slamming it into Reece's belly.

His sky-blue eyes widened as the sound "OOFFF!!" came from deep within his throat. The flow of puke began to spill out of his mouth. The smell of kola wine filled the air of the hut.

Abeba's kinte cloth dress was covered with puke as Reece dropped to his knees in agonizing pain.

The female African assassin reached out and took him by his strawberry blond hair as she gritted and ground her teeth while lifting him to his feet. She released his hair drilling her fist into his jaw, putting her shoulders mixed with her body weight into the punch.


Abeba felt his jaw as it collapsed under her powerful punch. Reece stumbled and fell to the ground making a thumping noise as his body hit, rolling over on his face. Fighting to remain conscious, he thought the battle was over.

Little did he know the female African assassin was just getting started.

The feel of power with each blow that she had given him began to excite her. It was impossible, she thought, to stop at this point.

The thought of this pinker placing his hands on something that belonged to her had upset the ferocious female even more as she reached down again, placing both of her hands under his armpits and lifting him to his bare feet. His mouth was half open as his perfectly even white teeth could be seen.

Abeba began to lust for those teeth.

She could feel the wetness deep in her loins as it began to flourish. She removed her hands from under the pits of his arms and she drew back again with all the menace that she could muster up ... swinging her lethal fist. She plowed it deep into the left side of his left jaw before coming around with a left hook.


The boy's strawberry blond head jolted to his right then to the left as the punches forced his body onto the floor with a loud thump! Reece cried out in pain as he tried to break his fall without success.

He took his right hand and covered his jaw as blood flowed out of the corners of his mouth. He begun to spit, allowing three teeth to discharge from between his lips, with blood in pursuit.

Abeba Nafula stood over him with her fist clenched, holding her teeth tightly together as she growled savagely through them. She was so angry that she couldn't speak properly as she grabbed the young pinker by his wrist pulling him to his feet.

He tried to murmur something which sounded like a plea for mercy ... Abeba completely ignored it. She held his wrist with her left hand as she took her stance by turning her strong powerful shoulders. Then pivoting and thrusting upward with her powerful knees as her fist soared toward his tummy, gutting him.


One of her ultra-powerful bellypunches! The strawberry blond young pinker had no idea what he was in for in the next five minutes as she rammed her fist over and over again, continuing to gut his tummy.

The look on his pale fair-skinned face, the widening and closing of his sky blue eyes was a sight to see as she continued to turn his tummy into hamburger meat. Reece puked blood and the rest of his dinner after three bellypunches.

The fourth, fifth and six brought buckets of blood wailing out of his mouth as he gasped for air. Abeba continued to hold him by his wrist as she hammered her fist into his belly. The punches were so lethal they caused his body to raise up in the air.

His body rode her fist each time it made contact with his gut. His normally flat, hard tummy was softening as Abeba Nafula proceeded to land punch after punch. He tried to cry out as she released his wrist.

He placed his hands across his tummy. She took her left hand and placed it under his sloppy chin pushing him upward. Just enough to step into a uppercut THUMP!!! Which sent him sailing backward out of the open doorway of the hut.

She thought the boy was lying outside of her hut, prostrate and unconscious, but after a few a few moments she heard footsteps ... footsteps she thought belonged to Reece Cunningham until she realized that the feet advancing towards her home were clad in boots.

Then a voice that she knew so well could be heard. Her heart began to jump as she saw a familiar BLACK face. It was Matunde Nangila, one of the royal co-regents. He had walked towards the hut, not being able to see clearly what was happening, when a ball of fair, pink flesh stumbled into him almost knocking him off his feet.

He held up what was left of Abeba's bloodied, strawberry blond victim. The task was almost over! Poor Reece.

Matunde, seeing the anger in the ferocious female's eyes, pushed the limp pinker towards her ... which made her next move quite poignant. As Reece's body flew toward her, she side-stepped him ramming her right fist into his flat tummy once more.


The impact of her fist with the speed that his body was thrown toward her caused the boy's bare feet to lift off the ground. Matunde stood there with an amused smile on his face.

She quickly walked over to the Irish youth lying on the ground, lifting his limp body to his feet. Pulling him upward by his neck with her left hand. The weight of lifting Reece to his feet with one arm caused large balls of muscle to stand in attention with blood filled veins running across them.

As she pulled Reece to his feet Abeba's arrogance began to show. She raised her right arm up with her fist tightly clenched, bending it at the elbows as she spoke.

As she held them there for a few moments before swinging her fists through the air, releasing the hold she had on his throat as she inserted her fist into the side of his mouth, she snortled,


The impact caused Reece's mouth to partially open as two more teeth, a molar and front tooth, went sailing past her shoulders hitting the ground. They rolled across it with blood following his teeth.

Matunde made a comment ... saying the female African Assassin was getting slack with her punches,

The comment really pissed Abeba off, which made it worse for poor Reece who was still spitting blood out of his mouth.

Before the poor Irish lad could close his mouth, she took advantage of him by using her right fist as a hammer ... and she embedded her fist into the corner of his mouth again. Reece collapsed unconscious and face down.

After some time he eventually awoke, rolled over and managed to sit up ... and was surprised as can be when a speak impaled him through his chest!

Grimacing, Reece turned to face the attacker in time to be punched in the face by a black fist. He fell back onto the ground with a grunt. He looked up and saw his attacker, Matunde Nangila , spear in hand, standing over him as he cowered. He waited for the co-regent to finish him off.

But the death-strike didn't come from Matunde.

Out of nowhere Abeba raised her own spear and brought it down at Reece. The strawberry blond young man's throat became covered in his own blood. The Irish lad tried to scream as his female attacker yanked the spear free, but his vocal cords had been severed. Abeba Nafula raised her spear again and brought it down again. More blood.

Again. More blood.


More blood.

Eventually Reece Cunningham was dead ... bloodied and still.

Abeba turned Reece's motionless body over onto it's back and went down to his bare feet. Taking one of them in her hand, she brought it up to her face, blowing her hot breath on it, then licking all around the youth's toes, holding the foot tight as the dead boy shuddered with death spasms.

Abeba did the same thing to Reece's other foot, then traced her way all the way up Reece's body, bypassing the lifeless pinker's penis. The female African assassin licked over both Reece's nipples, biting savagely at each of them as she swiped them with her tongue.

Then she traced the youth's broken jaw with her tongue, working around to Reece's earlobes, then sticking her tongue in the youth's ear and wiggling it about.

Reece had stopped his death shudders and lay perfectly still as Abeba left the one ear and then did the other one.

Then the African woman began to lick the dead boy's forehead, his cheeks, over his closed eyes, his nose ... and then she placed her mouth on his blood-caked one, her lively tongue searching for Reece's stilled dead one.

A sickened Matunde turned away as Reece kissed the dead youth deeply on his blood-crusted mouth.

There were some things that even a hardened African warrior couldn't stomach.

To be continued....