Author's note: The arc of this story is better suited for the Interracial genre.
Some readers will find familiarity in the names of lookalikes of some celebs.
Apologies for any typos or grammatical errors. Comments are welcome.
Prologue part I.
The night air was uncommonly heavy with humidity for this part of Africa. There was no moon in the sky tonight. This cast a nebula blanket over the horizon. The UH 60 Blackhawk hovered slowly in range and a Seal Team sniper took out the two guards outside the main entrance to the warlord's compound. The helo floated closer in range, then six shadows descended down ropes. Seal Team Six Gold unit was assigned a high value target.
A notorious terrorist with the moniker, The Serpent. Eventually, his real name, Solomon bin Umana, became well known on the continent of Africa. The most cold blooded warlord in all of Africa. Orphaned at age four. Child soldier in civil war by the age of ten. Solomon had his first kill by the age of eleven.
Many soldiers say they always remember their first. Solomon did not. Perhaps because there had been so many since. Or perhaps he simply didn't care to remember. In the last twenty years, governments of France, Germany, England, and the USA, declared him responsible for the murder of thousands of men and women. He was even alleged to have raped over five hundred women. But foreign governments state the actual number of victims of his atrocities is likely much larger. But no intelligence agency knew what he even looked like. Except for the heresy that he was as big as Shaquile O'Neal, with a voice similar to Idris Elba. An undiscovered secret was that over the last 10 years, the United States government collaborated and even funded him. Subcontracting Solomon bin Umana and his mercenary units for clandestine objectives that the Pentagon deemed necessary for the sake of national security. But over the last two years, international media decried that Solomon's victims have included UNWRA volunteer staff, medical staff of the Red Cross, and international journalists.
In fact, one victim that fell into his clutches was a British co-ed Rhodes Scholar that was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But the shocker was that she turned out to be the British Prime Minister's daughter, Freya Allan Winterbottom. After her initial kidnapping, word got out that bin Umana exploited the high borne twenty-three year old Oxford grad as his personal cock gobbler. But truth has a funny way of being ignored by the masses. Especially, when powerful governments scheme with the most powerful business corporations for their ill gotten special interests. As for what actually what happened to petite Ms. Freya Winterbottom in Africa...
Freya Winterbottom, all 5'2; 120 lbs of her was in the midst of her Rhodes scholarship travels. Freya was volunteering at an orphanage in the Republic of Congo. When a marauding band of starving civil war refugees attacked the orphanage. They used sticks and farm tools, looting it for any and all food supplies. Once their bellies were full, many of the men turned to their sexual appetites, and unleashed sexual violence on the women care-takers. Soft, supple, milky skin toned British high-borne, Freya Winterbottom, was about to be the main course of an all night gang rape by at least ten Congolese men who had lost everything in the bloody civil war. Their pent up rage was about to erupt on sweet Freya's delicate body.
But just as the men held her down on a table in the classroom, gunfire erupted on the property. A towering large African with almost purple black skin and glaring white teeth strode into the room. His beige camouflage military fatigue had an embroidered emblem of a black Serpent. He calmly executed the would-be rapists with with his Glock17 and Bowie knife. Freya cowered in her half torn clothes, whimpering before her colossus savior. He appeared far more fearsome than the men who died violently trying to assault her. But the obsidian giant barely paid her any mind and simply turned and walked back outside. A shocked and dazed Freya heard the gunfire outside stop as abruptly as it started. She stumbled outside and found most of the orphans corralled safely. The fearsome man giant had a unit of men of his own. The bloodied bodies of the remaining 20 or so marauding looters lay scattered around the property. Freya observed an African paramilitary unit of 7 soldiers, in addition to their ominous leader. He had just saved her from a fate worse than death.
The spin by international news outlets across Europe and the USA, was that the British PM's daughter, Freya Winterbottom, was captured by a splinter group of ISIS. England sent in their best agent from MI-6. Unfortunately, this highly capable female agent disappeared and MIA from all contact. It was rumored that, agent Hallee Atwell was captured and added to Solomon's harem of debauchery. To put the entire matter to an end and save any remaining British dignity, England sent in a UKSF unit from Sierra Leone. Solomon killed all seven British special forces soldiers with a spear and a machete. Then he went dark.
Until now. Intelligence briefs from a network of US and EU agencies, combined with pure luck, found Solomon bin Umana hidden away at a safe house in Uganda. The MQ Reaper drone hovered high above Solomon's safe house monitoring Seal Team Six Gold Unit's status. It's infrared sensors surveyed for any hostiles trying to escape the kill-zone. Time was ticking. Gold Unit had 10 minutes to execute the mission. Just after minute five, the entire compound was consumed in an explosion. The blast was so powerful that the Blackhawk almost went down. There were no survivors from Seal Team Gold Unit.
Some months later, both Freya Winterbottom and agent Hallee Atwell showed up at the doorstep of the British Embassy in Nairobi, Kenya. Both were placed on an MI-6 military plane and taken to England. Within twenty-four hours, a car pulled up at 10 Downing Street, in Westminster London. The Prime Minister gleefully greeted his beloved daughter, who had been missing for over 8 months. He then fainted at the sight of Freya's swollen pregnant belly. Agent Hallee Atwell possessed a gravid uterus as well, and was placed on maternity leave, indefinitely. Sometime later when both women gave birth, the Obstetricians were befuddled. "Did you see the size of the peckers on those wee bastards?!" Each of the women gave birth to twins, half African baby boys.
January 2024
Multi-Millionaire real estate mogul, Jared Kusher, was in the Congo. Official reason for his visit was to negotiate a cobalt trade deal for Israel. But Kusher had a personal agenda. He had created the Caligula Club. An elite, secret social circle where filthy rich couples leased male sex slaves procured from developing or war torn countries. The sex servants were always men. They were either poor, or refugees that had lost everything due to war or genocide. Most of the men had no choice in the "recruitment." But they also had no life, or prospects. When they realized they'd be removed from a hell hole, allowed to stay with millionaires, and get to fuck some of the most beautiful women in the world, well they didn't put up much of a fight. You could buy any man's dignity with ripe, wet pussy and a warm bed.
Kusher found and trafficked the sex servants. His network obtained all the necessary documents; arranged black market transportation and confirmed delivery. The couples would pay all expenses to Kusher. Half on order, remaining half on delivery of their personal sex toy. The clients had to provide room and board. If the couple wished, at any point, they could trade their male sex toy with another couple. Or return the sex servant to Kusher and get partial refund on deposit. This exploitative reverse male human trafficking was making Jared Kusher one of the richest men under the age of fifty.
Jared stood atop the edge of the crater. Through his Ray Ban Aviator sunglasses he surveyed the crowd of African boys and men below digging in the dirt for cobalt. The boys would dig small tunnels with their bare hands or rocks. The men would pull out the heavier cobalt ores. Accidents were a common cause of injury, maiming, or death. But dehydration and sun stroke claimed the most victims. None of diggers really caught Jared's eye. As he turned to leave, he spotted a colossus of a male specimen carrying an unconscious boy in his arms. The man moved like a predator. A lion among prey.
The most common injury for the smaller diggers was a collapsed tunnel. The dig site taskmaster was yelling at the large African to get back to digging. The brute walked up to the taskmaster and lay the boy at his feet. The towering Nubian snatched the water thermos from the taskmaster and poured a small stream onto the boy's face. From Jared's view the boy looked to be about ten years old. Jared, however, was appraising the tall man's lean, sinewy muscles, and the absence of body fat. He had a wild, unkempt afro, and a short, thick beard. The taskmaster instinctively reached for his revolver. But a steely gaze from the large man caused the other man to freeze. The taskmaster's hand trembled.
Jared, stepped forward, just as the little boy began to regain consciousness. The big Nubian first put the thermos to his own lips and took three large gulps. Then he knelt and sat the boy up, and gave him the thermos to drink his fill. Jared gave a flashy smile of a US Congressman, " Excuse me, my large friend. I have a proposition for you." The tall, muscular man stood and stared down at the skinny, soft man with the American accent. Jared's stomach churned, and sweat ran down his spine.
