One day Wagner, who had hurried on ahead, and sent word back that he wanted a small number of his white girls to be given a very mild all-over tan. To achieve this, some of the slaves would be put in a coffle at the end of the convoy, to slowly roast in the blazing sun.
Leena found herself one morning being forcibly stripped of her only clothing and being collared into a coffle with about ten other naked girls on. Her hands were brought in front of her and locked into cuffs that hung from the chain in front of her neck. Her anger and resentment, which had been simmering in silence for two weeks, nearly broke, but she remembered the screams and the bloody back of that poor girl. Chewing on her lip, she allowed her breasts to be slapped playfully by the guards.
The coffle was attached to the last caravan of the convoy, so when that slow vehicle lurched into life, the coffled girls stumbled forwards, arms hanging uselessly in front of their necks, and so started a long exhausting walk across the Tasmynorian Desert.
Leena wasn't built for walking across the desert in the blazing sun. Her figure was curvy; perfectly fit but not used to hard labour. Her skin was delicate and white, to match her new hair, which she hated. After 10 minutes she was exhausted. The sun was beating down relentlessly on her back, and there was no escape in the desert from its all-encompassing glare. Walking across the sand in bare feet was hard work, and she didn't like the grit that was working its way in between her toes. That she couldn't steady herself with her hands only caused her more work. Her pace was totally reliant on the caravan towing the helpless slave girls, and she desperately wanted it to stop. It wouldn't. Her eyes focused on the swaggering backside of the girl in front of her; a little skinnier than her, she seemed to be coping better. Leena was now thirsty as well.
Behind the coffle, there were two guards on horses, bringing up the rear of the convoy. Occasionally one of them would use their horsewhip on Leena's soft ass, as if she could go faster somehow. She knew she was being abused, but again she managed to keep her mouth shut. Only silent tears escaped from her eyes whenever she was hit.
After what seemed like an age to Leena, the wagon eventually stopped. The convoy was having its mid-morning break, mostly taken to give the horses a rest. The convoy stopped near a very small oasis. Leena perked up, expecting some rest in the shade. Instead, a group of horses were taken to water under the three trees that made up the oasis; the coffle of slaves was made to stand in the sun. A flask of water was passed down the coffle, a guard thrusting it into each slave's mouth for a sip. All the slaves drank gratefully. By the time it reached Leena, it was empty.
"Unlucky, Big Tits," the guard said unsympathetically.
"Yes sir," was all she knew she was allowed to say. The guard slapped her defenceless breasts and moved on. She was thankful that he didn't notice her tear-stained cheeks, because that would only bring unwanted attention on herself.
***
The day continued like that. The convoy covered nearly 20 miles in the scorching sun, travelling from sunrise to sunset. In all that time, Leena and the girls on the coffle had not once been allowed to sit down or rest in some shade. Leena was learning that her place was clearly lower than the horses and the pack animals. A little warm water, with a little food, had eventually reached Leena at lunchtime, but that had been her only comfort. Never before had she exerted so much energy. Her body was slick with sweat, but with only a very slight covering on tan. That meant she would be back on the coffle the next day.
One by one the girls on the coffle were being released and taken to a tent, where they would be given much-desired food and water. Leena was again last. She had been dreaming of food and water all day, and the smells from the tent were driving her mad. Finally, a solitary guard, an old and plump man, came over to release her.
"Cheer up Big Tits," he said, "it's your turn to entertain the staff tonight." Her stomach churned. He unlocked her hands. "Put your hands on your head if you know what's good for yer," he barked, brandishing a cattle prod. She did as bid, and looked up as the old man fondled her tits. He chuckled. He unlocked the yoke with the rusty key. "Stay still bitch," he commanded. She stood stock still. He went behind her to open up the yoke. As he did so, he tripped on some loose chain from the coffle. Leena watched him fall and hit his head off the wheel of the caravan that was parked next to the coffle. His unconscious body fell into the sand, blood dribbling down his crown.
Leena turned her head to look at the camp. No one was outside, no one was looking her way. Slowly, her heart beating incredibly quickly, she brought her hands down from her head and undid her own yoke. She carefully placed it on the ground, not making a noise. She tiptoed over to the guard. He was still breathing, but he didn't look good. She stood up to call for help, but then she stopped herself. She knew how cruel these bastards were; she would be mercilessly punished for releasing herself, but if she reattached herself to the coffle, she would be equally punished for standing by while their friend was unconscious on the floor. She didn't have time to think, and she did something so reckless and foolhardy, later she would hardly believe she had done it. She turned away from the encampment, and ran away.
