Mutiny In Léopoldville

[HistBuff]

Warning: The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules. The aforesaid story is about rape fantasy. It is fiction. Its author does not condone rape or sexual abuse in any shape or form. All characters featured in this story are fictitious and all characters featured in any sexual depiction are over 18.

Warning: Racist language and attitudes in most characters. The story is set in a time and place where white people commonly used such words as "Negro" and "colored" without batting an eye. The Congolese too had their own anti-white, anti-colonial slurs.

This is the rewriting of a story that I lost in Ravishu's sinking. I will make it my first original story here. It also draws from my shamefully failed attempt at writing a first story in German. Even my Latin is better than my German!

This story takes place during the wild colonial events that marked the independence of Congo as a newly formed republic. It features a Soviet ambassador, his wife, his secretary and his 18-year-old niece who was born in 1942 and is herself the child of a rape that took place during the German invasion of Mother Russia. Among the foreigners present for the festivities were an American singing trio called the Poni-Tails and also none other than (my fictitious version of) Caterina Valente, who was only 29 at the time.

*** *** ***

June 30th, 1960.

It was a great day for Congo. Crowds were cheering in the streets of Léopoldville, most of them black people. The few whites among them didn't really mind being close to them. Things were perhaps changing, at least on the surface in broad daylight as the newly independent Republic's president saluted the crowd as he was driven in a black convertible limousine, where he sat next to Baudouin Ist, King of Belgians. The King's fiancée, Fabiola de Mora y Aragón, had declined to come, since she wasn't the Queen yet, so her presence wasn't formally required.

"No way I'm coming down there in that place of savages!" the royal lady Mora y Aragón is reported to have said to her closest maid in her boudoir only three days before. The King was quite irritated by her refusal to come. He was even more irritated by her stubbornness to wait until marriage for sex; she would only allow a peck on his lips, but she did say she was in love with him. They were to be married in December, which gave the young King the opportunity to find out how long six months could be.

As he sat under the bright sun in the long convertible car, next to President Joseph Kasa-Vubu, the 29-year-old King thought of Fabiola as he was being driven slowly, along an endless row of soldiers who stood at attention, their rifles held high and their desert-tan uniforms spotless and making their faces look even darker and shinier under their peak caps that protected them from the unimpeachable sun, although the temperature wasn't excessively hot, this being the coolest time of the year in Congo.

After those endless speeches, one of which was to be given by himself as the former King of the colony, he would attempt a gala given by one of the foreign singers who were present for the festivities marking the historical event. Baudouin looked forward to meet Caterina Valente... or Kathrin when she was in Germany, but now it was said she lived in Paris where she was born.

In his mind, he saw her pictures. A very lovely brunette. Baudouin preferred brunettes. This was why he was happy with the choice of her future wife, who was a fit royal match for him, and also a dark-haired girl two years older than himself, a refined polished young lady who spoke French, Dutch, German, English and Italian in addition to her native Spanish. Doña Fabiola de Mora y Aragón was going to be a fine wife for him, but he was about to turn 30 and had yet to uncover the superb brightness of her nudity. She was adamant. No fancy stuff until their wedding night!

Later, as he pronounced his long speech at the presidential palace, King Baudouin let his gaze wander among the rows of his audience. Africans and Europeans were half and half in numbers in this elite gathering, for from those noisy crowds of celebrating commoners. And those well-dressed Africans belonged to a group called "Nègres évolués" in French, that is, the more-advanced Negroes. A word that the old colony would give like one gave a medal to a well-trained, well-behaved dog.

As he harped on with his speech about the "maturing" of the former colony and her "coming of age" as a more-advanced nation, the young King met the gaze of a strikingly beautiful brunette, whom he had never seen before. She sat close to a man whom he recognized as the ambassador for USSR. This girl sat close to him, so she had to be a relative. She looked very pretty indeed, and so young and fresh, maybe 18 or 19 but not more. Shoulder-length black hair that shone like the fur of a panther... A Russian lass with sleek-looking hair wearing a short-sleeved dark blue dress that let her arms freely and silently scream how white they were. With a single-row necklace of pearls that silently screamed how young she was, and most probably single, and most probably too young for him.

Her austere-looking dress highlighted the rosy-cheeked loveliness of her fair skin, with dark eyes that seemed to smile at the spring of her life. He hoped she spoke either French or English so he could perhaps small-talk her to a date later that night. He'd love this. As he went on with his speech, he felt the blissful feeling of a gathering erection under the dignified white uniform he was solemnly wearing for the grand occasion. He was in sweat when he concluded his speech an hour later.

***

"The King looks swell!" Katya said in fast Russian to her uncle, the Soviet ambassador.

"I'm afraid he's a bit too old for you, my lovely little Katyusha!" the 55-year-old ambassador replied, while he couldn't help it but let his eyes wander a fleeting second on the lovely little universe of her boobs, which made deep-blue knolls on the front of her dress. She looked so lovely with her single-row pearl necklace! And the bright whiteness of her day gloves! Little hands that must feel so nice around one's cock! What a fine young woman she was becoming! Time passed so fast! The baby girl his now-dead sister had from an unidentified German invader 18 years ago was now entering her adult life.

While the King finished his speech and a round of applause erupted, Katya smiled at her uncle and leaned toward him, very close to him after making sure his wife wasn't looking. To his ear, she whispered...

"And what about you, uncle? Why are you checking my boobs?"

The dignified-looking ambassador blushed and silently paid attention to the President, who now had the stage and began another long-winded speech. Tonight was going to be a lot more exciting, for he was going to go to a music-hall in the white part of the town and listen to an American pop-singing group called the Poni-Tails. He had learned those Yankee girls were staying in the same hotel as he and his entourage, so maybe they would accept his invitation for a brunch with bortsch and smoked salmon with a touch of vodka next day.

In his innermost thoughts, the balding Russian caressed the daydream of bucking one of those young ladies bent over on his large oak desk. Those girls were very popular indeed among their teenage fans. They were now in their mid-twenties and still looked very much like teens, partly thanks to their ponytails.

This didn't mean he actually intended to do this, but maybe...

At least, the fantasy would give him a hot night of sex with Magda, his wife of 15 years. He looked forward to the massive ejaculation he was going to experience from picturing the deep and hard fuck inside one of those young singers while bouncing his wife on top of him. He would then finger her until she came. As usual. She was a very good wife and they had raised Katya like their own daughter.

He had a son from an earlier marriage; that son was a fighter pilot and now visiting him in Léopoldville with his wife Tatiana, a beautiful female pilot he had met back in '55. His son sat in his Major's uniform, next to his wife donning a Lieutenant-Colonel's uniform, for she was a few years his senior. He was so proud of him! But why did he choose so old a girl for a wife? What he'd give to be 32 again!

"Is this speech ever going to end?" the Soviet ambassador thought as he caught himself fantasizing about his daughter-in-law. Tatiana was indeed a gorgeous brunette whom he would absolutely love to strip out of her spruce-green uniform!

***

Sitting not far from the Soviet delegation, Caterina Valente was bored to death! She let her mind wander again... She once more fantasized about herself getting stopped at a road checkpoint and then brutally dragged out of her car and gang-raped by several Congolese soldiers. She couldn't wait to get back to her hotel suite and masturbate over this. She would then get changed into her evening dress and have a dinner of Italian pastas and fine wine, with perhaps duck meat, before being driven to the fancy music-hall where she was to sing a series of her hits from those past six years, starting with Ganz Paris träumt von der Liebe, the song that was released in late 1954 and sold half a million records the next year, propelling the young woman to international stardom, albeit mostly in Europe and perhaps the French-speaking part of Canada.

Now, after several years of marriage in Germany, the young singer, mother of a two-year-old son, was in the process of getting divorced. She had big ambitions! Europe wasn't enough for her! Caterina Valente wanted to hit it big in America. Maybe Hollywood! She was no longer that teenage-looking girl who sang Es Geht Besser disguised as a hotel maid. Not anymore! She was going places! She also felt sex-starved. She longed for a well-built man. Why not taste Africa's black coffee as a delicacy? To those primitive savages, she had to be a delicacy herself!

When she got back to her hotel suite, her phone rang. A man spoke on behalf of King Baudouin of Belgium. The young King wanted to invite her far a late-night supper in his own suite after her singing concert. She smiled as she knew where this was going to lead in short order. She felt flattered, but she had had enough of those polished gentlemen who turned into commonplace ruffians all too often.

"Well, tell your King that I'm very flattered by the invitation, but I don't feel all that well this evening and I fear that once I'll be done with my singing for the night, I'll just get back home and have a full night of sleep. But tomorrow at noon, I'll be delighted to lunch with him at the Bourbon," Caterina replied in a French that was just as flawless as her own Italian, for she was born and raised in Paris to Italian parents. The Bourbon was the most chic restaurant in Léopoldville; if the King really wanted to fuck her, he wasn't going to have her for free!

The man at the other end of the line experienced a hard erection just from listening to her voice. What a remarkable woman she was!

"All right, Mrs., I'll tell the King and I'm sure he'll be glad make time for you."

"I'm sure he will. Good bye!" Caterina replied in her angel's voice, speaking French like the Parisian girl she actually was in spite of her long years in Germany.

As soon as he hung up, the King's secretary excused himself to the bathroom. He needed to masturbate.

Caterina smiled as she lied down on her hotel bed and kicked her shoes off before swiftly removing her stockings and feeling the sensual relief as she felt the air on her bare feet. She had just bought time that she needed to assess whether she wanted to have sex with the King of Belgians or not. He was kind of cute, well, handsome, but starting anything with him would be like borrowing a book from a library. There would never be any question of marriage. In a way, this offered the opportunity of fun without any strings attached. But this wasn't what she really wanted. What she wanted right now was... this...

Caterina slid one of her hands under her dress, then under her panties as she stared at the ceiling. She closed her eyes and began to daydream about that bunch of Congolese soldiers!

In her mind, she sees them clearer now. The leader is tall. He's an officer, a Lieutenant. A colored officer? Impossible! But why not? This is her dream, isn't it?

She's driving, alone in her car on that dusty road some 10 kilometers away from Léopoldville, and then she comes upon a road checkpoint manned by no less than eight beige-uniformed soldiers, just like the ones she saw during that grand procession where the President saluted the cheerful crowd as the convertible cruised slowly in the capital's streets.

The Lieutenant is tall, well built, looking at her with piercing eyes that make her feel naked in front of him... and in front of his men. Congolese men! With those big bulges forming at the front of their uniform's tan Bermuda shorts.

They must have been thinking of this, because just as she shows him her German passport, Caterina realizes that the officer is grabbing her wrists while another man violently opens her driver's door! And then they grab her and roughly drag her out of the small Citroen!

Next thing she knows, she's held and restrained amid them! With one loud primal grunt, the dark-faced Lieutenant rips her blouse open! He then immediately snaps her bra broken! Her tits are suddenly there under the sun! The Lieutenant rushes at them and begins sucking them with his thick African lips! While he worships her white tits, his men began to chant, "La salope blanche! La salope blanche!" (The white tramp! White tramp!)

"Allez, mon lieutenant, montres-lui ce que c'est que de se faire violer par les Congolais!" (Let's go, Lieutenant Sir! Show her what it feels like to get raped by the Congolese!)

"Je parie mille francs qu'elle en meurt d'envie!" (I bet a thousand francs she's dying to have this!)

"Salope blanche! Salope blanche..." (White tramp! White slut!)

They keep chanting this... The tall officer violates her tits while many hands grope her... Caterina is soaking wet, moaning loud as she thinks of this! Perhaps some hotel staff is listening at the door. She hopes this is so! She longs for one of those big African cocks. She's 29 already. Isn't it time for her to taste that black coffee?

In her mind they are now chanting and jeering, pressing themselves around her as they swiftly strip her naked. Gone is her skirt; they slide it along her legs and past her feet as they lie her down on the dirt next to her stopped Citroen. They get rid of her shoes and she moans as they start kissing and petting her bare feet... They touch her collectively, their hot hands everywhere on her body! Ooh, God! It feels so good!

Then they finally spread-eagle her on that dusty ground while commenting on the shape of that intimate bush of black hair between her legs. Caterina was raped by Soviet soldiers during her youth, when they captured Breslau in what is now East Germany, and since then she never stopped to have strong rape fantasies.

The Lieutenant is the first to strip himself naked. His cock is so big and beautiful to look at that it ought to be in a dictionary! And he lays himself down on top of her, and with this massive implement, he invades and Africanizes her wet pussy!

They all laugh upon hearing her moaning like a tramp as he begins to pound her!

"La vache! Elle adore ça! Écoute-la, non mais écoute-la!" (Holy cow! She's loving this! Listen to her music! Listen!)

"Salope blanche! Salope blanche!"

Caterina's hand is very busy on her hotel bed as she presses her cunt and fingers herself after urgently pushing her panties down her legs and tucking her dress at her waist. She strokes herself intensely as she pictures the scene... She's gang-raped! By African soldiers!

The Lieutenant gives her a proud barrage of strokes, until he explodes and lets fly one heart-felt groan that echoes against a nearby baobab as he floods her pussy with Congolese sperm. The chance for an unplanned baby. This isn't exactly the right time in her month. And this is why she feels so incredibly horny! She wants to be fucked! So much!

Caterina moans as she pictures herself being raped by each of those seven remaining men. They try her out in every position they can think of. Her own favorite is when they have her down on all fours and she takes her "customers" from behind, moaning like a bitch as they fill her up with their seed and she keeps feeling their hot hands at her lithe waist. She also lets them bounce her atop them, feeling their gaze on the liberating sight of her bare breasts as she keeps moaning hard under that hot African sun...

"Aaaaaaaahh aaaayaaaahhh yes! Yes! Yes! They rape me! One by one! With their, aaaaaaaahhhh! With their big cocks! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH..."

Her session reaches its climatic end... with some extra as she gets taken by one massive aftershock orgasm and spasms freely roam her small frame as she keeps intensely fingering herself where she lay in sweat on her hotel bed. In her mind, those Congolese soldiers are still chanting, "Salope blanche! Salope blanche!" as they rape her while calling her a white tramp and accusing her of secretly enjoying this. And they are right! She does enjoy this! What a hot fantasy!

She suddenly looks at her fancy watch, a small, stylish watch she wears on a thin bracelet. A gift from her soon-to-be ex-husband. It's getting late! Time to have a quick shower and don her fancy evening dress.

Caterina Valente gets up, still a bit panting from her climax, and turns on her small radio. As a touch of fate, it's playing one of her own songs, in German, a hit she really likes from a couple of years earlier... Spiel noch einmal für mich Habanero...



TO BE CONTINUED (natürlich!)

CHAPTER 2 viewtopic.php?p=995#p995
CHAPTER 3 viewtopic.php?p=999#p999
CHAPTER 4 viewtopic.php?p=1089#p1089
CHAPTER 5 viewtopic.php?p=1163#p1163
CHAPTER 6 viewtopic.php?p=1190#p1190
CHAPTER 7 viewtopic.php?p=1226#p1226
CHAPTER 8 viewtopic.php?p=1271#p1271
CHAPTER 9 https://www.ravishmentacademy.com/viewt ... 1400#p1400
CHAPTER 10 https://www.ravishmentacademy.com/viewt ... 1434#p1434

[LaLia]

I would have preferred 2025 and Taylor Swift instead of 1960 and Caterina Valente, but the idea is nice. You don't really dwell on the final scene, where you initially think, "That's not much," and then it becomes clear why her thoughts are the focus. I would also like to mention the criticism from your Wrong Turn story here, although it has already become better with the fact that the victim enjoys it

[HistBuff]

Note: In this story, I'm using racially charged words such as "Negro", "coloured", etc., that were in common use back in those days. I have chosen to use those words just like they were back then, nothing less, nothing more.

*** *** ***

Caterina was now in her evening dress, a pale moss-green model that never failed to underscore her youthful figure in a glamorous way that flattered her child-bearing hips. She then put on a light white scarf of silk to further jazz up her style while covering her décolleté, which she would only show to her audience at the music-hall. She had perky breasts that all men in her life have always been much enraptured by, so she knew how beautiful she looked to most men.

She seldom wore earrings, for she had a most horrible memory linked to her ears from her time in Soviet captivity. The wounds from having had her earrings pulled off had taken many months to heal physically, but spiritually she would carry the scars forever.

Checking herself out one last time in the tiny mirror of her travel vanity that never left her when abroad, Kathrin smiled at herself. Whoever she would sets her sights on this evening was going to have a hard time resisting her! She was already 29 so she had but few years of genuine youth left to charm men in a purely physical way. What evening gloves was she to wear? Black? Not gay enough. Ivory white? Too commonplace. Golden? Yes, those same pale golden gloves that covered her forearms when she sang Komm' ein bisschen mit nach Italien four years ago in Geneva, when that song was just released. For that matter, she was also wearing the same evening dress!

She wore this with light brown stockings that had a tiny fishnet pattern. She wasn't all that tall, so she liked to wear pumps that made her look taller than her 1 m 58 when she sang live in front of her audience. Thus, it was a 1 m 62 young woman in light-brown pumps and a pale moss dress who took a cab through the streets of this high-end white neighbourhood in Léopoldville.

After dining alone in a small Italian restaurant where she very much enjoyed her al-dente pastas and drank her pino grigio, until some oil-snake-salesman type came to bother her, Caterina showed up well before her slated time at the music hall.

The place was filled with teenagers. Like in the presidential palace, it was a public half-half white and black, albeit the sections where white people sat were mostly segregated from the ones filled up by the Congolese. Those were mostly teens and white fathers did not want their daughter to sit anywhere near negroes. Two thirds of the audience was female, and it figured, for the singer was that young man from Canada who had risen to stardom when he sang Diana in '57 when he was only 15. He was ungodly handsome.

Paul Anka was indeed shockingly handsome! Caterina took a look at him from backstage and decided she was going to have a short chat with him in his dressing room just before her own time to sing. Her heart pounding, she hurried to her own dressing room, wherefrom she could hear the 18-year-old star singing his big hit from the previous year, Lonely Boy...



Hopefully, he was lonely for real, for she, the famous Caterina Valente, felt very lonely indeed! She never had a lover younger than herself. Tonight would be as good as any other night to have that first time. Ooh, he looked so heavenly handsome! This were her very last years with any chance at seducing such a young dreamboat! She could almost feel his kisses on her lower legs. Did he was a man to worship a girl's feet? She hoped so. Nothing she loved better than feeling her feet in the hands of a man!

She giggled with herself in front of the mirror, feeling like a teen. She put perfume, the expensive brand she only used when she meant business, and then, leaving her white scarf on her chair and her décolleté open for all to see, Caterina locked and left her dressing room and hurried to look for Paul Anka's room in order to wait for him, for this was his last song for that night.

She heard the loud cheers and applause. They were acclaiming him. No doubt girls were devouring him with their unrestrained gazes. Her own musicians walked by, headed for the backstage. They nodded at her with some worry in their eyes. They went right after Paul Anka! But she waived and smiled at them, silently telling them she'd be right along.

Was he ever going to come to his dressing room? It was really getting late for her! The cheers lingered on. She looked at her watch. Dammit! It was almost nine thirty! She had a reputation of never showing up late. So she took out a piece of paper out of her just-in-case bag and penned a short note for Paul, simply asking if he'd like to come see her in her dressing room (room number 2) after her own concert. Then they could go to the Bourbon for a coffee and dessert. She signed... Caterina V., your ever-loving fan.

She slid her all-important message under his door, where it no doubt joined a dozen others. Would he come? She loved the thrill of not knowing for sure, although her female pride had her dreading the sense of bitter disappointment if he didn't. But there was no time left. She was expected by her faithful public and she meant to always respect them by showing on time.

Caterina smiled at a well-built security guard, a Congolese young man whose gaze got acquainted with her décolleté. Why not ask him to come see her in her dressing room? Oh, she wouldn't dare! She had her reputation to think of. What would people and journalists say if she was seen in Léopoldville dating a coloured man? And yet this was what she would really like. She sighed as she made her way backstage. No, she couldn't afford to gamble with her reputation; she wanted to make it big in America.

***

Her own public were mostly grown men who came with their wives, with some young people too. Most of the men in the front rows were totally eye-raping her as she sang her first song of her programme, Komm' ein bisschen mit nach Italien...



It was followed with a few songs in French, the official language of newly independent Congo, just as it was when it was Belgian Congo. As she sang on, she kept making visual contact with the black men in her nearer audience, smiling at them and loving that dark heat that seeped from them and into the pores of her own skin as she sang on, loving how her sweaty cleavage was visible. She felt an immoral urge to sing topless!

She was absolutely wet down there from picturing herself grabbed and disrobed by those tuxedo-wearing Negroes after they stormed the stage to make her theirs. And the weird thing was, they could physically do it. Why didn't they? Why? Social order was so deeply anchored in everyone in normal, untroubled times. And yet she had seen it during the war; it didn't take much to create a climate of lawlessness where women were men's prey.

Caterina Valente kept singing her French hits. One after the other, and she gave her all. She always did. These people had paid and made time to come see her, so she was giving them their money's worth and some more! She felt a bit tight in her pumps and wanted so badly to kick off her shoes and stand on stockinged feet... and feel shorter, smaller and more vulnerable in front of these tuxedoed African men! Oh, God! She felt so horny! She wanted so much to get fucked!

As she sang, she kept imagining how they would undress her with strength and urgency in their brown hands, before relentlessly taking their turns and making love with her with those big juicy cocks and filling her up right there on stage! It would be so erotic! So climactic! She'd be a lone white girl amid a dozen of Negroes! Those tuxedos would get discarded and a hot circle of men would masturbate while watching her getting fucked again and again! And then she'd take them all inside her mouth and drink their tropical pudding!

Now was the right time to sing her Spanish-themed hit from 1956, Granada. It did contain lines in Spanish, but most of the song was in French...



As she sang following the flamenco style of music, Caterina nearly climaxed! She was in sweat! Wow! She never had felt so intensely sexual on stage! She ought to come sing in Africa again! Well, there would be coloured men in USA too. Perhaps she could date one when she'd be over there, but no. She was a prisoner of white establishment. The public eye, also white, claimed her as theirs.

After a couple more songs in Italian, Caterina concluded the night with Spiel noch einmal für mich, Habanero, knowing there was going to be an encore with a request to sing again her first stardom hit or maybe Tipitipitipso.

The encore came, with a request for her to sing Ganz Paris once more. She looked back at her musicians, who had been expecting this, and she nodded. Then the orchestra started playing, and she began to sing amid her audience's heated cheers...



***

Caterina finally sat alone in her dressing room, after signing dozens upon dozens of autographs, mostly for men and lads, half of whom were coloured! And ohh, did she love their short-lived proximity and the feel of their lust-charged gaze on her cleavage! She wanted them to be sucked like she were the milk-feeding mother of Congo! Those men did look, but very cautiously as their wives or girlfriends stood right next. Some lone lads were less shy than others. Oh, let's hope she was just about to have sex with that 18-year-old dream boy!

There was a knock on the door.

"Qui est là?" (Who is it?) she said in her flawless French. Her heart was racing! Could it be... him?

It wasn't. It was a liveried chauffeur, a black man, who came on the King's behalf. Baudouin was in a Rolls-Royce, waiting right in front of the building, and his Excellency wanted to know if she'd like to be his guest at the Bourbon for a late-night coffee and dessert.

"And how about you, Sir? Would you like to have a date with me?" Caterina replied, smiling at the man, who really towered over her. She grinned at the petrified Negro and felt his arms through his rust-colour livery. "Well, that's a strong man here! Nobody ever pays any attention to you, but I want to tell you a secret! Come inside and close the door behind you!"

"But, Milady! The King..." the chauffeur blurted out, unable to believe whether he was dreaming. Did she just call him "Sir"?! White women never called him that.

"The King will wait! He shall wait!" Caterina said as she put her arms around the chauffeur's neck and pressed herself against him. She smelled his strong musk and she almost passed out! So close to his thick brown lips! So close to her fantasy! A Negro! All for herself!

She kissed him on the neck, expecting him to follow up with a full-blown kiss, but it wasn't meant to be.

"Milady, please, stop this... I... I dunno how to tell you but... I... I like men! Please understand and... don't tell anyone!"

Caterina was shocked. Flabbergasted. It never occurred to her. What a surprising outcome! And what a disappointment! So much strength in him! She was already picturing herself bent over in front of her mirror with this strong Negro using her and filling the dressing room with his grunts.

"Tell the King I'm on my way," Caterina finally said with a sigh. She was indeed the prisoner of white establishment. She was their property, a perishable product that was to expire when she'd be pushing 40. She was a star, and a woman with her ills and demons like any other.

Once she was at the stylish bistrot called Le Bourbon, Caterina was with the King and modestly wearing her scarf over her décolleté, and still unsure whether she wanted to have sex with him. Well, this wasn't exactly the right time in her month for this either and she doubted that the King would lower himself to the indignity of using a rubber. She already knew he was very horny and if they did have action together, this was going to be quite intense. But she didn't know him well enough. Could she trust him? Would he turn out a ruffian too? Caterina hated being brutalized and only allowed a man to take control when she felt crazy for him. And she wasn't crazy about Baudouin, whose first name she was already forgetting after he told her.

And then, she saw him. Paul Anka. He came in, wearing neat street clothes, a dark jacket and a tie that made him look like a heartthrob in some film noir. A girl was at his arm, a busty brunette who looked really young, certainly no more than 18. She was indeed dressed like an American teenage girl, wearing a jersey, a dark skirt covering her knees and saddle shoes and no stockings, just bobby socks. The only thing she lacked was the bubble gum. The teenage couple took a table near the one that she and the tuxedoed King occupied

"She must be his girlfriend," she thought, bitterly disappointed.

Caterina rose from her seat and smiled.

"Mr. Paul Anka?" she said softly only for them to hear. "Sir, allow me to introduce His Majesty Baudouin the First, King of Belgium!" Caterina said with a clear Italian and French accent in her English.

"King of Belgians," the King corrected. "And mighty glad to meet you, Mr. Paul Anka! Many girls in my country love your songs! And hello, young lady! So, you're American?"

"She is. I'm from Canada," Paul replied as he stood up and shook hands with Baudouin.

They ended up sharing the same round table and double-dating. It was fun, really. The King was actually quite thrilled to make the acquaintance of two young pop singers. It was such a rare occasion for him!

Paul Anka was born in Ottawa and was turning 19 in a month. His girlfriend was none other than singer Annette Funicello, born to an Italian American family in Utica, in the State of New York, but she grew up in Southern California. Her single, O Dio Mio, was really selling well back home.

Caterina was so delighted to find someone she could speak Italian with! They would translate whenever asked by Paul, not to be rude. The King knew enough Italian to follow their conversation and laugh at their jokes.

It was a very pleasing late evening indeed, but the young lovebirds had a plane to catch in only a few hours, as Paul Anka had to be back in Ottawa for a singing engagement on Saturday 2nd July. It was a special presentation for Canada Day featuring Canadian-born performers such as the Diamonds, the singing quartet who released Little Darlin' three years ago.

"I think we're going to sleep in the plane! And we are staying in two separate hotels, as per my parents' request, so this will be our first time sleeping together! Ha! Ha!" Annette said.

Once the lovebirds were gone, Caterina remained alone with the King.

"I had a wonderful night, Caterina. I think it's getting late and I shall take you home now, and by the way, no need to try hard to remember my first name. It's really and simply Baudouin; I just took my first name when my father abdicated for me."

"Well, I don't know. Would you like to have another strudel with me? I don't know how they do it, but they make it just as crisp and good as in Germany! Do you know I was in Breslau during the war? How about you? Where were you during the war? In Belgium?"

"I was only ten years old when the Germans invaded Belgium. My father then took us to La Panne by the ocean, away from the front. Then after Belgium surrendered we lived in France, and then in Spain. Then toward the end of the year, my father had to go back to Belgium as a moral support for his people, and he brought us back along with him to Brussels. Lilian his second wife was so wonderful to us! And yes, I'll have another strudel! And thanks for this lovely night away from ambassadors and the press, Caterina, I'm grateful!"

"His second wife? I'm sorry, but did your mother...?"

"Yes, she died in a car accident while on vacation in Switzerland. I was almost five then, but I still remember moments with her. Astrid of Sweden... Her death crushed my father! I would sometimes hear him cry at night in his bed. They loved each other very passionately. Their marriage stirred some religious controversy. She was Lutherian while of course, we are Catholic, but... omnia vincit amor!"

As he spoke, Caterina had let fall her scarf and after she ordered the strudel and coffees, she realized that the young King kept looking down at her cleavage. They had one point in common. They were both sex-starved. And he rang true as he spoke. He did look and act like a true gentleman.

TO BE CONTINUED.

[HistBuff]

I would have preferred 2025 and Taylor Swift instead of 1960 and Caterina Valente, but the idea is nice. You don't really dwell on the final scene, where you initially think, "That's not much," and then it becomes clear why her thoughts are the focus. I would also like to mention the criticism from your Wrong Turn story here, although it has already become better with the fact that the victim enjoys it

Thanks, LaLia. As for the concluding scene, she is masturbating to a rape fantasy so this is very different. Actually, one of the main aim of this story is to explore the difference between masturbating to a rape fantasy vs. getting gang-raped for real. It will become clearer later on. This is more of a slow burner, where the reader gets to know the characters before the rapes happen.

Caterina Valente was always a really hot fantasy for me. Back when I was 22, I was in bookstores in Montréal and stumbled on a poster featuring a lovely-looking brunette about my age. The poster was from the mid-1950s. The Italian owner said the poster wasn't for sale. We ended up talking for almost two hours and I ended up buying more books and records than planned. Ganz Paris träumt von der Liebe was one of the records I bought on that day. And there was a picture of her on it!

[HistBuff]

Katya was crying in her bedroom, well, more like weeping as not to disturb her uncle who was with his wife just next bedroom in their suite, on the seventh floor of the first-rate hotel in Léopoldville, the Memling. Its prices were out of reach to commoners in Congo, but surprisingly cheap for well-off Europeans. And only well-off people took the plane anyway. Flying was glamorous and so were first-rate hotels. The hotel itself was owned by Sabena, Belgium's national airline that had a propeller fleet of Superstar Constellations.

She could hear her uncle having sex with Magda his wife, her step-aunt, but really she called her "mother" or simply "mom". But now she felt sad, disturbed and quite shaken. A grown man had made a pass at her. None other than Baudouin the King of Belgians!

It had taken place during the reception given only for high-ranked dignitaries in the presidential palace. The 18-year-old girl had felt safe amid all those well-clad people in a sphere she gravitated in since she was a child. The King had begun chatting with her and he seemed really nice. They had begun talking about literature, in French, and he kept complimenting her on her speech, although she did make mistakes here and there. French was so difficult with the care one had to take as to the order of words in a sentence! Russian syntax was just so much more natural!

He then had subtly taken her closer to the door to a library, where he said was a wonderful edition of Dante's Divina Commedia. He asked her whether she knew Italian, and she said a little, not wanting to look stupid by telling the truth. He opened the unlocked door and kindly let her walk in. Nobody noticed.

To his credit, he didn't lock the door behind him. But as soon as they were alone together, it was clear that he didn't take her there to talk about Dante. He immediately began telling her how pretty she was in that dark blue dress, complimenting her about her hair, her features and the alluring gait she had when she walked. He kept smiling at her, but the more he spoke, the more uncomfortable she felt.

She wanted to tell him she had a boyfriend back in Moscow and she was counting the days until her father's term would be done and they'd move back there, six months from now, but no words came out. Her gullet was stuck with an expanding ball of anguish that got stronger as the King kept getting closer and closer... Didn't he see she was in growing distress?

Katya tried to surreptitiously move closer to the door, but then the King suddenly grabbed her and pulled her with him in a book-filled alley, where they'd be hidden to anyone happening in the library.

He pressed his lips against hers and began to caress her! She felt his hand as he cupped one of her boobs through her dress!

"St... Stop! Stop or I'll scream!" she said in Russian, too distress to realize she had reverted to her native language.

Be it the tone of her voice or her terrified expression, the King stopped his assault as suddenly it had begun.

"I... I'm really sorry... Katya... I don't know what got into me... I..."

She was already gone. She ran out of the library and found her uncle. She did her utmost to keep her composure and just ask him to please call Anton their chauffeur so he would drive her back home. Anton was a lovely man she would trust with her very life. She knew him since she was three.

So there she was, crying in her bedroom as she lay, still wearing her dress, on her bed, while her adoptive parents were making love in the next room. Their sounds amplified her sense of fear. She still felt the King's hand on her breast, the right side. The most sensitive one. The one she liked because it was slightly fuller than the left one. She thought of Grigory, her first love. So handsome!

Grigory was the only boy she would let touch her there. They had only kissed, but they had been writing to each other. Grigory was a weightlifter who had serious chances of making it into USSR's national team. She was meeting him in Rome in early September, where the whole family was to attend the Olympic Games. Was she going to be at Tokyo as Grigory's wife four years from now? As his wife sitting in the stands and watching him lift those monstrous weights! He barely stood taller than her, and weighed about only 60 kilos, but he was the right man for her. She was sure of it.

"Yes!" she said through her tears. "Yes, Grigory. I love you, Grigory! And you will be the only man for me! Just you and I, forever!" she whispered to herself in the quiet bedroom, with the muffled sounds of sex where she could distinctively hear her uncle's heated grunting. So good of him to attend the reception instead of going to that singing concert! He had done this just for her! She heard him as he reached his finish... Two long grunts followed with one sharp moan... Yes, he was ejaculating.

How was Grigory going to sound like during sex? She was going to be the one and only girl to know this! She was keeping herself for him. Only Grigory would know what it's like to be inside her! Once they'd be married. Next year. No way she could wait any longer! They were going to have no less than six children together! Three sons and three daughters.

Wiping her tears, Katya quietly got up and went to the bathroom and met her father in the hallway.

"Katya?! What are you doing still wearing your dress? Put on your pajamas and go to sleep!"

"Y... Yes, dad."

"But you've been crying! What's the matter?"

"Ooh, dad! Hold me!"

Oleg did just that. He loved Katya like his own flesh and blood. He kept her in his arms for long minutes as she quietly wept.

"Is it Grigory? You're missing him? Is that so?"

She nodded, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

"Come now, my beautiful Katyusha! Mother is asleep. We'll go to your room and we'll listen to Katyusha together, just as usual. Would you like this?"

Katya smiled, her eyes glowing with joy. She looked forward to do what she always did on those occasions.

"If Grigory loves you, Katyusha, he'll wait for you. Don't worry. You're both so young! And he's too busy with his training to pay any attention to girls, trust me!" Oleg said, winking at his niece, whose petite figure left little doubt as to whether Grigory was in love with her.

Once they were together in Katya's room, Oleg shut the door while Katya took the old Katyusha record and put it on her travel turntable. The record started playing and as Oleg sat on the bed, he watched her as she began to undress. Katya had always done this, right in front of him.

As always, the teenage girl felt her uncle's gaze on her boobs as she reached behind her and unzipped her long dress, which she let fall at her feet before reaching behind her back again and undoing her white bra, which she let fall as well.

The 50-something ambassador watched his niece, his very lovely niece, as she stood topless and listened to Katyusha. She was getting undressed just as if he wasn't there, and yet she was all too aware of his gaze on her. There was nothing overtly sexual in this display of her nakedness, and yet there was, now that she was a young woman. She had kept doing this. And Oleg did nothing to stop her. It was their little dirty secret, thanks to Magda going to bed early and being a heavy sleeper.

He never touched her. He just watched.

Usually, during sex with his wife, he'd think of Katya's perky breasts that seemed to magically float with fascinating bedroom motions above her slim abdomen, above all the rest of her...

Now Katya stood Eve-nude in front of him as the Katyusha song came to an end. She slightly bent over as she took her pajamas out of a drawer. He smiled as he checked her legs and buttocks, before standing up and putting away the old record from the turntable. What a fine young woman she was!

She then put on her striped pajamas and her loving uncle put her to bed and kissed her good night. She would often giggle upon thinking this was their secret. But she didn't giggle tonight.

Tonight she was still shaken by her unwanted contact with the King. What he did was unforgivable! What a ruffian he really was! But yes, getting changed in front of her dear uncle had done its usual calming effect on her. She fell asleep fantasizing about sex in the arms of Grigory. With her uncle hidden and watching.





TO BE CONTINUED.

Note: I'm so remiss with my spelling! I misspelled Katya and wrote Katia all over the place! I know a little Russian and it's just enough for me to be spelling it as "Ка́тя" in my mind, and since the "ya" sound at the end isn't accentuated, I never give much thought to whether it is "ia" or "ya", but Katya is the usual spelling in Roman letters.

[HistBuff]

Note: This chapter contains consensual sex with characters running rape fantasies.

***

July 2nd -- Four days before the attack

Caterina Valente was eating at the Memling hotel's restaurant, cooling off after her second night of sex with King Baudouin. In a nutshell, the young man was the perfect gentleman... when they were in public. In the bedroom, he wasn't really a ruffian, but just one or two notches above. He was basically a selfish lover. For Baudouin, women existed to satisfy his needs. If he wanted to suck her tits, then he expected his wish to be treated as a command. He wasn't brutal nor anything like that, so Caterina took it in stride and milked all the pleasure she could out of the selfish sex Baudouin gave her.

Much to his credit, His Majesty did lower himself to the indignity of wrapping himself up in a raincoat when the time came to fuck. He didn't like to use a rubber, but he was probably really careful not to sire a bastard, which would expose him to the public eye by the time he would be just married to Fabiola de Mora y Aragon. Not good for a King who went through a full decade of political turmoil in his constitutional kingdom. Such a scandal could prompt his government to rethink the monarchy and perhaps get rid of it altogether.

So a rubber it was when Baudouin would take his round of fun inside Caterina. Oh, he loved this! Caterina could tell. His favorite was to take her doggy-style on the bed, where he filled the room with baboon-like grunts and went rough, so Caterina would just close her eyes and run her favorite fantasy, where she was gang-fucked by a squad of Congolese soldiers at a road checkpoint, next to her stopped Citroen.

She actually climaxed during this hot exchange. So she got a sort of fair deal out of this. And since Baudouin had been sex-starved, the sex was intense and frequent, so Caterina got used to have her head bobbing and get shaken with Baudouin holding her waist and holding his own as a long-enduring stud. He also loved to hold, knead and even slap her butt during sex.

Baudouin had a fairly good size and an unfaltering erection. Fabiola de Mora y Aragon was going to be a very lucky girl on her wedding night, if she was in the mood for it. If not, then she was going to get legally raped by her new husband. Lot's of fun in store for Fabiola!

As per the King's request, during their last day together, Caterina was wearing the same outfit she wore during the 1956 movie entitled Bonjour Kathrin --- Sienna brown pants with a cream-yellow sweater and a mint-green scarf with a stylish knot. The dark brown of her hair was nicely intensified by that pale cream yellow. Her figure was greatly flattered by her well-adjusted pants. She did stir arousal in many hotel guests and black employees as she walked around. Whenever she took the elevator and noticed stares from the liveried boy, she smiled, greatly aroused herself at the notion of a Negro masturbating over her! Or having sex with his girl while thinking of her!

"Oh, Darling! You look adorable! So adorable! You'll make me lose my French!" Baudouin said when he got there, incognito under his sunglasses and wearing some cheap street clothes.

As he kissed and joined her and hailed a boy to order a Martini along with sandwiches, Baudouin spotted and said hello to a teenage girl who sat by herself at the next table. He smiled and waived at her. Caterina knew her only by her face. The porcelain face of an angel with hair even darker than her own. She knew her as the Soviet ambassador's daughter and that was it. She wasn't exactly fond of USSR after spending a year in a Soviet prison camp back in 1945-46.

Upon seeing him, the girl clearly recognized him and became positively frightened. She quickly gathered her playing cards and vanished, leaving her half-empty lemonade.

"Oh, she's a shy girl. I met her two days ago during an official reception at the presidential palace. She's Yekaterína Kutuzov, the niece of the Soviet ambassador, who lives in this very hotel with his entourage along with a delegation that basically occupies the entire seventh floor. They're good-paying customers... with tax money from the proletarians."

"And you're the King, with tax money from the proletarians!" Caterina replied.

The King wasn't amused. His nostrils were distended and his eyebrows frowning.

Caterina rose from her seat, giggled and gave him a peck on the cheek, and he sat down, but she didn't like what she had seen in that girl's features. This Katya was terrified of him! He wasn't telling the whole truth. She was planning for a ride with him out in the country, and outdoors sex at the foot of some large baobab in a secluded spot.

But she couldn't see what she did in this girl and do nothing about it. She wasn't going to suck this up! Caterina only dated honest men.

"Baudouin," she said. "You're not telling everything. I saw that girl's face. What really happened between the two of you?"

"Th... There's nothing between us. Nothing! She's just a kid! A baby!"

"Look, Baudouin! Do you remember me telling you I was in Breslau during the war? I was there in May 1945 when the town fell to a Soviet army. Me and the rest of my family were taken to a prison camp. What do you think those soldiers did with me and the other girls they got their hands on? I know a distressed girl when I see one! So don't try to dodge the issue by pretending you did nothing! You cornered her and made a pass at her, didn't you? Didn't you?"

"Oh, darling..." the King replied with a cheap smile. "Darling, don't make a big fuss out of this! It's nothing! Really nothing! Yes, I'll admit it, I did want to date her and the young lady wasn't interested. That's all there is to it! Now, about this ride together... I brought a map and..."

"Oh, so you wanted to date her, and since the young lady said no, you still had your chances with good old Caterina! Twenty-nine years old, but she'll do as a second choice, won't she? Well, I have my pride, Mister, and I won't date a man who treats me as a better-than-nothing option! See those tits through my sweater! Well, look at them! Take one good look. It will be the last of me you'll ever get!"

"So that's the way you want to play it!" the King said, raising his voice. "Well, you come with me right now! You'll see, I'll discipline you!" he added as he grabbed her arm.

Caterina violently jerked her arm. She got free and stood up, but as she walked, Baudouin grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to turn around and face him. Now the six or seven couples in the restaurant were all staring at them!

"Let go of me, you ruffian!" Caterina said, then she slapped the King! Smack!

Baudouin stood there. And he started to laugh. He just couldn't stop laughing.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Haaa... O, Caterina! You're quite a gal! Really... Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Finally, something outré happening to me! Oh, I'm glad I took this trip after all!"

"This isn't funny! Good day to you, Sir."

Caterina walked out on him and was almost at the door to the main hall when Baudouin caught up with her and grabbed her once again by the arm. He roughly led her to an elevator as she protested...

"Let go of me! Let go of me, you big oaf!"

The men in the hall just grinned and smiled as they watched. A couple of them even laughed. The black servants were smiling too.

"Hey, you! Let go of her!" said one strong voice in American English, a man's voice. He was a tall man, well built too. At least 90 kilos and 1 m 80 (5 ft 11 in., 200 lbs). He looked about mid-thirties.

He had grabbed Baudouin by the wrist! And he was a Negro!

The King had fires of hate in his eyes!

"How dare you touch me! How dare you! Nigger! Do you know who I am?" he replied in French. He meant to make the American Negro look dumb, but he was underestimating him. The man understood French for having spent some time with a Cajun girl in New-Orleans some years back, but he replied in Yankee English.

"And me, do you know who I am? I can assure you that if you don't let her go right now, I'll knock your lights out! I'm Archie Moore! Former heavyweight world champion. I've had over 200 professional boxing matches, and believe me Sir, I ain't joking!"

"You, nigger! You're making this up to look good in front of the lady! You want her, don't you! Well, you can have the whore! She's just good enough for Negroes anyway and... OWWW!!!"

Archie Moore had connected a left hook on Baudouin's royal face, and the King got knocked down on his royal ass! Caterina couldn't believe it! How could Baudouin fail to notice the boxer's tell-tale flat nose? And the inflated skin around his eyes... The man was a prizefighter all right. It was written all over his face! And the way he hit him! Like a hammer!

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Now I'm the one laughing!" Caterina Valente said, smiling a mile wild and laughing her head out, tapping her thigh as she looked at the King, down on his ass! Baudoin was stunned and shaking his head, not ready yet to get back up; being struck felt surreal for this man who was used to an easy life and usually surrounded by footmen and obedient staff. He had allowed himself to prolong his stay in Congo and to taken the risk of being by himself because he really liked Caterina.

Then she turned to Archie Moore and said, "I'm sorry about what he just said to you. He's such a ruffian! I'm Caterina Valente and I'm very glad to meet you, Archie. You can call me Caterina, or Kathrin of you prefer."

Archie Moore was completely seduced by the sound of her voice. And such flawless English! Just with a tiny Italian or French accent, or both rolled into one. And those perky tits he could guess through her pale yellow sweater! And those hips! Hips wide enough to hold during sex, while her figure remained overall slim, almost like a ballerina or a gymnast! And warm brown hair with such a pretty face to boot! And her skin. So pale! So exotic to him! She would be an absolute delicacy to fuck! He felt the warmth of a nascent erection down there. A white girl! He never hoped for this!

"You're Caterina Valente?" said a slim man, dapper with a clear Italian accent. "Will you please sign this? My wife loves you! Oh, she'll be so happy when I tell her I met the fabulous Caterina Valente! I'm a journalist covering the Independence and I'll be back in Rome tomorrow. Do you have relatives there?"

"Caterina Valente? Oh! Please, will you sign this?" said a Belgian tourist, also with his wife.

"Bonjour Kathrin!" said a German tourist with a girl looking about thirteen years old, obviously his daughter. The girl was blushing in front of her idol! Caterina smiled at her as she signed, then asked her name. She then added a nice note in German, wishing her a happy life. "Ich wünsche Dir ein glückliches Leben. Für meine liebe Lotte. Kathrin."

The girl was crying tears of joy as her dad thanked the legendary singer and actress, not without surreptitiously taking a peek at her boobs through her cream-yellow shirt. Next time he was having sex with his wife, he was going to scream his bliss while picturing Caterina topless!

"This, please... An autograph!" said another Belgian tourist.

"Mister, you should be ashamed of yourself, the way you're treating her!" the German tourist said to the King, who was laboriously getting back up on his feet, his hand on his jaw where Archie had hit him, quite gently actually. Archie could have knocked him out cold if he had wanted to. Archie Moore was a gentleman.

He stood proud next to Caterina Valente, letting his gaze wander on her lovely figure as the short girl signed a generous dozen of autographs for the fans that had seemed to materialize around her.

The King left. His pride badly hurt, but his incognito intact. Baudouin felt a bit amused by the incident; this didn't happen often in the life of a monarch!

Archie Moore had ample leisure to check Caterina's butt through her Sienna brown trousers as she kept signing autographs for all comers, including the staff.

The all-white hotel guests seemed so enraptured with her that they didn't seem to be bothered by his presence at her side. Or perhaps was it because they were Europeans and more tolerant of Negroes than Americans were; yes, that must be it. He remembered having a conversation with John Davis in New York about this; John Davis was twice Olympic champion as a heavyweight weightlifter and a multiple world champion in 1938, then from 1946 to 1952 and a silver medalist the year after that. Davis always got a hotel room in Paris or London or Helsinki, and fans asked him for autographs! White women would sometimes offer him sex! And back in USA, he often had to sleep in the back of a truck because no hotel would accommodate him!

When the round of signing was finally over, Caterina was left alone with Archie in the hall. She turned to him and said words he couldn't believe he was hearing! She got close and spoke only for him to hear...

"Will you come up to my room? I'm in room 22. I'll go now. Just follow me in two or three minutes. I'm by myself."

***



July 3rd

At last! She got fucked by a Negro! Caterina couldn't believe her luck! His musk would always be with her until the day she dies! As she woke up, she found him still asleep at her side. She cuddled him and kissed his short woolly hair. The man was 46, as he told her during an after-sex chat, but his hair was still all black. No wonder he was nicknamed "Ageless" Archie Moore!

And in bed, he was just as ageless! Wow! What an incredible stud! Indefatigable! He had something she could ride for 40,000 kilometers. All round the world! She was never going to forget this! He had her bouncing on him as she felt completely filled up and stretched by his bruiser of a cock, and also gentleman enough to use a rubber since this was a dangerous time of her month.

He kept telling her she had wonderful, lovely breasts! He kept kneading them while she kept bouncing on him, closing her eyes and abandoning herself to this ever-lasting up-and-down round of gleeful pounding! Lying on her back at dawn, she relived all of it while cuddling the man! She was naked, in bed with him!

***

July 2nd...

As soon as they were alone together in room 22, they kissed and they couldn't stop! He pushed her against the wall! Pushed her, strongly, yet sweetly! And then he raised her cream-yellow sweater! And raised her bra, making his delight known by a peculiar hissing groan as he first saw her tits in their natural display! He then sucked them real good! Real, real good! Oh, great heavens!

No man had ever touched her with such primal energy! A beast! She had a beast in her hands!

After the round of tit-sucking, she got down on her knees and felt a nuclear bomb of thrill as it went off inside her, knowing what she was about to do! She unzipped his trousers and freed his impressive erection out of his pale green boxers. With her small hands contrasting against that beast of an African pillar, she began to massage it and then... Oh, it was magic! She felt his thrill through the throbbing of his cock as she took him inside her mouth!

And she sucked him, real good! She sucked him, looking up right into him as she did so. Soaking wet down there as she gave her love to his thick cock! Her hand ever-massaging his base and enjoying the wonderful softness of his warm maroon skin!

"Ohhh, Ma'am! Ohh! Ma'am! Ohhh, sweet, lovely Milady! Oh, yes! Yess! It's been a aah a while since, aaahh, since a white girl last, aaahh God! Last did this to me! Please, Milady! Keep going, aaahhh, yes! Blow up my sugar, white lady!"

As she gave the heart-felt fellatio and learned the sweet geography of his veins, her face close to his pubic hair and his seed-full balls, Caterina was still unsure whether she was going to swallow the sludge or take it on her face. The idea of letting a Negro cum in her face felt so erotic and delightfully humiliating! She made her choice!

Her mouth wide open, she licked Archie's full brown length; it was a wonderful cut head, bulging out of that brown with purple power, where she tenderly licked off his precum as he grunted while caressing her head with fingers that got more and more agitated. He felt warm and soft under her tongue. She was soaking wet from being down on her knees and pleasuring Archie! She found herself wishing for another Negro to be standing there and waiting his turn! She was loving this! And looked forward for more! Archie Moore! A fitting name for her first black lover!

It ended with Archie openly expressing his delight as he throbbed and twitched inside Caterina's mouth...

She was quick in getting it out of her mouth and now she basked in his groaning as she vigorously pressured his base with her hand and harvested his long, thick ropes of semen as he shouted and groaned his bliss...

"AAAAA--AA YEAHHH GOOD GOD, THE WHITE GIRL! WHITE GIRHHHHHHLL NNNnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnhhhggdddjjnnmm nhyygghh!!!"

She felt his joy and his African cream, thick and sticky as it landed on her pretty face, making her the slave to that hot sludge, while he got into some sort of a trance where he shivered from head to toe, his eyes wide open with stupor as he failed to fully understand how amazing it was to ejaculate on the face of a beautiful white girl! He was obliterating the color line!

His glistening offering left a pungent coat over nearly half of Caterina's face. His fingers happened to brush her left ear as he kept carressing her, and this contact made her shudder as it stirred very unpleasant memories, but she somehow got over it since he couldn't possibly know this about her. She told him immediately after. Her ears were a no-go zone. Bad memories from the war, she said.

Archie Moore was a gentleman off the boxing ring and in the bedroom. From that moment on, he took great care in leaving her ears alone.

She liked him even more for it and proceeded to avidly strip him out of his street clothes as she led him to her bed. He loved it when she undid his thin black necktie!

He felt guilty since he had a wife waiting for him back home, but this was too good an opportunity to miss. So he let Caterina undo and take off his shirt. She began to kiss and lick his smooth, athletic chest where she found manly stubs of hair.

Caterina Valente licked and kissed Archie Moore's torso, her eyes like those of a little girl in a candystore as the Parisian-born girl made love with the Negro from USA. He was so warm and nice and brawny. She couldn't get enough of his arms, such thick arms that were loaded with brute strength! She kept squeezing them while licking his torso as if her very life depended on how good a girl she was.

Ooh, my! Did she love his hands on her! He was now cupping her buttocks through her Sienna brown pants as she straddled him, stooping down, kissing him, worshipping his chest, running her fingers through his short woolly hair. At last, she was making tropical love!

"Archie, I beg you! Undress me! Strip me naked! Please! Oooh, I'm melting! Melting! My love!"

Her cream-yellow sweater had fallen back down and it was now hiding her pectoral charms, and her bra had been left hanging loose under it.

Caterina didn't have to wait long before the powerful prizefighter nudged her, very tenderly, into lying down on her bed. He gave her one long, passionate French kiss that she was never to forget, before rising her sweater and getting rid of it, she helping him by raising her hands above her smiling face, her eyes shining with joy as she felt it slide along her arms. Her bra followed suit.

She closed her eyes as he engulfed her right breast in his mouth and she felt those pouty lips and its tropical heat all around her areola along with his tongue all around her sensitive nipple!

"Oh Dio mio! Feels so nice! Mhhh! Oh, Mister! Ooh, please, make love to me! Stick it inside me! There's a box of rubbers in that drawer. Please use it! I'm hot in my month!"

For a fleeting moment, Caterina suddenly grew scared. He was so strong! He could easily overpower her and have his way with her and do it bareback if he wanted. But he rose and got to that drawer.

Caterina would never forget how he smiled at her while holding that box of rubber. He had an air that said, "I got you, my pretty and your ass is mine!"

She felt conquered in a way she had never felt before. Willingly conquered. And now she wanted to feel taken!

"Africanize me, lover! I'm dying for you to Africanize me!"

As he joined her on the bed, she helped him out of his shoes and his trousers, and then she felt the thrill of also helping him out of his boxers, filling her nostrils with his strong musk! She was in male land!

He then gently pushed her down on her back, making her lie down and then, with commanding force, he undid her thin belt, then undid her pants and pulled them down! Off slipped her shoes! Off with the pants and off with the socks too! She realized, with an explosion of juices inside her, that she was now Eve-naked, and she removed her small wristwatch to make it true.

Archie Moore proceeded to blaze a wet trail of sensual kisses starting with her feet. She could tell he felt genuinely thrilled to be giving love to her feet.

"You have very lovely feet, Milady! Will you be my Scarlett O'Hara?"

"Scarlett?"

"Yes, in Gone With The Wind... Autant en emporte le vent... Scarlett! The gorgeous brunette with blindingly white skin!"

"You mean? You had a fantasy about her when you first watched this movie?"

Archie nodded as he massaged Caterina's feet in his powerful hands. He was smiling like a kid in his wild anticipation!

"Yes, Milady! I identified with that big tall slave and pictured myself taking Scarlett and making her scream her high joy in my arms, and calling her Milady as I gave her my sperm!"

"Sounds like fun! Yes, Archie! You can use me any way you like. Just don't touch my ears and wear a rubber when you take your ride in my paradise! Archie, I'm so happy we met!"

To Archie, her wonderful voice and his close proximity to her feet made him feel as if they were talking to him! Like any man who had that fetish, holding a girl's feet felt like having her entire feminine essence in his hands.

The joy he felt from kissing her feet was unfathomable! Feeling the little life in her toes, enjoying the tenderness of her soles and tasting the rosiness of her heels, while studying the delicate anatomy of her ankles, now seemed to be his only purpose on this earth.

His cock was giving signs of a new life, already! The 46-year-old man was pleasantly surprised. This sure didn't happen every day!

He then pushed his kissing and petting higher, making the entire length of Caterina's legs his, as she purred under his repeated kisses. Oh by Jove! He sure knew how to treat a woman! She couldn't wait to have him inside her!

But then, he reached her upper thighs, and things got even better!

"Milady, may I tell you that you have a very beautiful cunt? Your loving slave loves to contemplate your triangle of black velvet, and now Archie's going to kiss it!"

"Oohh yes! Yes! Please yes, go ahead... Aaaaah yes! Yes! Your big fat lips on my pussy! Oooh! Ooh, ooohhh..."

Archie Moore pressed her cunt with his lips and soon enough, he was rimming her wet entrance with his tongue and began to give her vulva a Mississippi-style spit polish!

Caterina purred and moaned! She loved the sense of scandal from doing what so many white women wished in secret they could do! She couldn't wait to feel his tongue inside her, but he made her bake in waiting, tantalizing her by only rimming her pussy! She went nuts! She once again imagined she was at that road checkpoint, stripped naked by those black soldiers and gang-raped in the shadow of one thick baobab! Her bare feet soiled with African earth!

Then finally, he pushed his tongue inside her and soon found her big-money spot, where he insisted with a barrage of gentle tongue strokes!

Caterina was in sweat, her mouth wide open as she moaned like a crazy girl! Her little hands gripping each side of her pillow as she propped up her legs wrapped them around Archie while he kept at it, giving her her first interracial cunnilingus ever!

Afer a few more minutes, the room got filled by Caterina's high-pitched series of hot moans as she had her first ever interracial orgasm! She squirted in his brown face!

Now Archie was rock-hard! He rose, contemplating her overheated cunt. He went and fetched the all-important box. He put on the rubber and once back in bed, he got on top of her while she spread her legs for him, purring, and then... he plunged his African cock inside Caterina Valente!

They kissed as she moaned upon feeling him go deep inside her! All was profusely wet inside her. She began to whimper as he pounded her missionary style!

She wrapped him inside her legs again, and this time she crossed her ankles and visualized a group of Negroes looking at her legs and feet. Under the relentless pounding, she smiled and held her lover tightly, feeling his strong back under her small hands as she felt those imaginary gazes on her feet.

"Oohh yeah! Milady! I'm having my sweet Milady! Hrrr... hrrr! Scarlett... At last! At last! I fuck Milady! Hmmffhh!" Archie uttered, lost deeply in his primal act.

Caterina kept whimpering as the pounding went on and on.

He was quite a long laster!

She had enough time to feel the build-up to another climax, and then he exhaled and grunted louder and stronger as he accelerated his pace until he was frantically fucking her and sounding like a rutting gorilla, grunting in her face as she enjoyed this crazy smashing of the race line and social conventions.

"Oh yes!" she let out, "yes! Oohh! A good fuck! I'm raped!"

"YES YES YES! I'm raping Milady! The slaves have revolted! I'm the first inside her! Ten or fifteen more are waiting! Milady will get raped by all!"

"Yes! Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes yes! I'm raped by all the Negroes! Ooohhaa! Aaaooohh OOOO OOOH OOOHHHHHH aaaaaaaaa aaaaaaa aaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!"

Caterina clutched her ankles hard together on top of Archie as she flexed her feet and all the tiny dynamite sticks inside her, myriads of them, went off! All at once! Filling her with absolute bliss as she felt weightless under his relentless pounding! She absolutely surrendered to him!

The aftershock tsunami was upon her! She let out another detonating salvo of high moans just as he erupted inside her and filled up the rubber!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGHH Milady, raped! By her own Negroes!" Archie screamed as he spewed the epic load.

They laughed together as he showed her the well-filled rubber.

On her request, he spilled it on her tits and he rubbed them, spreading his warm sauce all over her knolls, which he kept actively frictioning as she closed her eyes in complete enjoyment of his hands on her! What a hot rush!

Later, after they talked about each other's life, they made love again, this time with her on top of him, his hands around her waist and her tits at his full disposal as she danced and gyrated on him until they both shared a massive climax, and then she let herself fall on him and they had a hot session of French kissing. Adult games.

***

She looked at her watch, which she had left on the drawer. It was time for her to shower and eat her dinner, already!

"I'm singing tonight! I'm going in the shower! You wanna come along?"

After frictioning each other and playing with soap, they were out of the shower and Caterina had a dinner for two brought up to her second-floor room, for an extra tip, but she was a very successful singer and could afford it without frills. The liveried footman thanked her, his eyes filled with wonder and surprise as she saw she was with a colored man. The short footman looked a bit like a long-nosed insect with his glasses; he politely thanked her as he took his leave, with a furtive glance on her décolleté. She was beaming!

She felt quite generous and loved how to black footman had discretely looked at her cleavage. She then sat in front of that steaming silverware, wearing a teal evening dress with a pleasant décolleté. Very pleasant indeed! Especially for Archie Moore, who sat opposite her.

Tonight she was eating fish. With bechamel sauce; how fitting! Archie had already experienced something that tasted a bit like fresh fish, but more yeasty overall, so he liked the continuation in the theme. He couldn't believe his luck. He couldn't get enough of her!

And she couldn't believe she had actually done it for real!

Archie Moore went to his own room and changed into his tuxedo, but they didn't take the cab together. Caterina said she needed time alone before she sang. She wanted to sit alone in her dressing room before going on stage.

After the singing was done, she went to a small cabaret in the black part of town. She was the only white girl there and caused a small commotion! But all the men were well-behaved, just as she had been told Congolese were before flying from Paris. And besides, most of them were with their girl.

Archie Moore was waiting for a friend.

The former heavyweight world champion wasn't just on vacation either. The night before, he had given an exhibition triple fight, an event where he took on three professional fighters in three successive matches lasting five rounds each. All three opponents were local champions in their own right. And half Archie's age.

Caterina asked him how it went.

Archie Moore had overwhelmed his first opponent before the end of round one. The referee stopped the fight and the crowd booed. The second match was just as easy for Archie, but he played cats-and-mouse for three rounds before letting out one bomb of a left hook and flooring his opponent for the ten-count early in round four. The public was happy with this one.

The third and last opponent was really scared, and Archie had to chase him all around the ring as the crowd booed again. The guy would just throw a jab before cowering back. During the third round, Archie finally caught him in a neutral corner and put him out of his misery with a flurry of hard punches, causing the ref to stop the fight and award him a technical knock-out. The man had to be helped back to his corner, but he later hugged and shook hands with Archie.

That friend presently showed up, a colored man around 50 years old, slightly overweight, wearing a tuxedo and smiling wide! With disbelief, Caterina recognized him. She had seen pictures of the famous jazz-man. Louis Armstrong! Archie had come to Congo to be staying along with him as Louis gave performances during the days of festivities around Congo's independence.

Then Caterina met a predatory gaze in the crowd. A group of mean-looking men had just come in. And slowly, they began surrounding the table where Caterina sat with her new friends.

She suddenly felt afraid. She didn't like the way they were looking at her. Those were men who weren't joking around. She was surprised. She had been told that Congolese people were peaceful and she would be absolutely safe in Léopoldville.

"I want to leave," Caterina told Archie as she grew really scared.

"All right, then let's leave!" Archie replied, all too eager to find himself alone with her again.

"Where do you think you're going, white tramp!" the leader of that newcomer pack snarled at Caterina.

"What did you just called her? Say you're sorry now and I'll forget you were born, punk!" Archie Moore yelled in English, which none of those men understood. Caterina was cowering behind him and Louis. She was trembling!

The place suddenly went silent. The leader and his cronies didn't understand what Archie said, but they were not used to be spoken to with such a dismissive tone. There were six or seven of them, but Archie Moore wasn't scared of them and something in him positively intimidated all of them, except their leader.

But then, two bouncers materialized. Two tall Congolese men, each wearing a XX-Large tuxedo, each one making even Archie Moore look small.

"Now, Jean-Baptiste, get gone! But what has got into you?" the senior bouncer told the leader.

"This got into me!" the leader replied, pointing at Caterina. "This white tramp, strutting around here as if she owned the place! A Belgian whore! We don't want her kind here! Congo is independent now!"

"Well, go celebrate elsewhere! Now get gone and come back tomorrow when you're sober!" the big man barked at the leader, who got a bit scared, but didn't want to lose face in front of his buddies.

"This ain't over, tramp! We'll get you! Sooner or later, but we'll get you!" the leader snarled. It was lucky for him that Archie Moore didn't fully understand his fast-spoken French.

The gang left and things went back to normal.

The cabaret's owner came and apologized.

"This is the first time this happened here! I'm really sorry, Miss!" the owner said, a Congolese man, well-dressed and looking at Caterina with the subservient attitude of a man used to be under whites. He was one of those so-called "civilized Negroes".

"I don't understand! This never happens here! Something's changing," he went on. "Miss, if I may, I respectfully advise you to stay in your hotel for the remainder of your stay. Things are going to turn sour in town, I'm afraid. Yes, I can feel it in my bones! I don't want to scare you, Miss, but I do advise you to stay in your hotel. You'll be safe there when it happens."

Caterina looked at the short, barrel-fat man. He was in sweat and wiping his forehead with a white towel that made his skin look almost black. He was looking at her in a way that both fascinated and scared her, and then her wandering gaze caught sight of the bulge in front of his tuxedo trousers. He was having a raging erection! Was he picturing what could happen to her if violence erupted in the city?

She went wet, but she was scared all the same. She pressed herself against Archie.

"Let's go back to the hotel! Now! I wanna be your Scarlett!" she said to his ear.

He smiled.

***

Once back at the Memling hotel, they wished good night to Louis Armstrong, who went up to his fourth-floor room where he was sleeping by himself, Caterina and Archie found themselves alone again. At last!

She was beyond wet! She kept thinking about what would have happened if she had fallen in the hands of those ruffians! Gang-raped! They would have ripped her evening dress off her and promptly got rid of her pumps and her forearm-covering gloves, and then they would have taken their turns, each and every one of them, starting with the leader!

Archie Moore did just that, acting like a one-man gang. She melt in his arms upon hearing his savage grunts as he urgently disrobed her!

She soon found herself naked, on all fours on her bed, with Archie putting on a rubber before thrusting his tropical stick inside her, deep! Making her feel Africanized and blissfully violated as he held her waist and went to town with smat-smat sounds as he fiercely bounced her juicy buttocks against him! He rocked her in heated repeat motions, in what became an all-out primal fuck!

The place was filled with grunts, musk and white-butt slap sounds as he gave her the thrusting love of his cock! Caterina took him on her elbows and knees, giving him her protruding derrière to hold and contemplate as she ran her gang-rape fantasy in leitmotiv until she climaxed under the long-lasting barrage.

Archie Moore soon joined her in cloud nine and once again, he tasted the unfathomable pleasure of bursting inside a white woman! He was one with her! In his mind as he ejaculated, Scarlett O'Hara was down in all fours in her lavish living room, at the feet of a long piano, surrounded by the revolted gang of her slaves with one of them, the biggest and strongest, was having her from behind and filling her up, unable to fathom the beauty of her naked charms!

He kept adding up strokes to his fuck ledger all through his final act. What an amazing fuck she was!

***

July 3rd -- Three days before the attack

They fucked again in the middle of the night. Fucked once more when they woke up next morning, after some kissing and cuddling. They made love all day after. All day! They had a lunch brought up, before making love again.

At that point, Archie preferred to take her mouth so he could at least feel her directly. He always took care not touching her ears. She was a wonderful cock sucker. At one point, she told him she learned this at a very young age.

He wanted to know more, asking questions just after he had spewed a massive load on her face, but she said she didn't want to talk about it, at least not in details. She ended up telling him where she was during the war.

Archie understood and never brought up the subject again. Poor Caterina!

"No, I don't want your pity! I don't want you to feel sorry for me!" Caterina said as he caressed her as if she were a hurt child.

"I'm a woman, a strong woman and I want you to treat me as such!"

"All... All right, Milady!"

"Now please, slave, suck my tits, then kiss me everywhere! Worship my feet! I love it when you do this! And then, later, stage a revolt and rape me! Yes, rape me with all you have! I'm your white tramp!"

And she put on quite an act. She toyed with the idea of having a footman up there in room 22 as a third partner, but she just wouldn't take the risk of upsetting Archie with this crazy idea. But it would be so, so outré! Nobody would believe it even if she spoke! But still, she put on quite an act. She found an old shirt and the trousers of her pajamas. She put it on and ordered Archie to rip her clothes off!

Archie had the time of his life! He ripped her shirt apart, pushing one loud grunting scream of delight as her white breasts materialized like two jugs ready to take his pleasure! He then tossed her on the bed, propped her legs up and pulled those pajamas trousers off her legs, uncovering their light-filled lines of alluring grace and ultimately worshipping her feet once he had her naked in his arms!

He then flipped her around and put on a rubber. Then he proceeded to rail her from behind, punishing her with the hardest strokes he could give! Head bobbing, she ran a rape fantasy where she had been cornered and caught alone by that gang of seven ruffians! The leader was having her with the others looking on and masturbating after they had got rid of all her clothes.

Caterina whimpered in loud sounds, filling the room with those sounds of female delight as she took the punishment on her elbows and knees, punished like a bad girl! Being a good girl and obeying the commanding motions of her slave! She was her Scarlett! The bed kept creaking under Archie's efforts that shook her white butt with waves of scandal!

It was duly concluded with Archie groaning his joy and suddenly pulling out of her, urgently getting rid of the rubber and giving himself the happiness of spewing all his jizz in long ropes all over Caterina's naked buttocks! This was so much fun! He could do almost anything he wanted with her! He was falling in love!

After dinner, he fucked her tits and was shocked at the wicked force of his ejaculation and the prodigious amount he spewed! She took all his sauce on her chin with two ropes landing higher on her face.

She laughed, drowning in male heat! Paradise! It was a paradise of shared fun and debauchery! It was crazy! She toyed with the idea of calling Louis Armstrong and having him as the second man in a threesome, but again, she refrain from doing something so demented. She was fortunate to be with a man who never forgot to wear his rubber. No way she was going to take risks with a second man. She went crazy and wild, but there were limits!

She then got alive and licked Archie's cock until it was spic-and-span and shimmering with her Italian spit polish!

"Oh boy! I'm having a wonderful time!" Caterina cried as she got up, in the nude, and walked to the bathroom, where they both shared a shower.

For the second night in a row, Caterina Valente fell asleep in the arms of the former world champion.

TO BE CONTINUED.

[HistBuff]

July 5th -- The day before the attack

Katya sat in the hotel's restaurant with Tatiana, her glamorously uniformed cousin-in-law, after sharing a Polish-style lunch consisting of garlic sausages and a very hearty soup called zurek, a traditional Polish soup made with sour rye flour, potatoes and sausage. The Soviet delegation had their own cook, who was half-Russian, half-Polish and Katya's uncle loved Polish cuisine.

Tatiana looked glamorous indeed in her uniform. Her dark golden hair highly styled in a way that freed her forehead and gave an open-field charm to her statuesque face; her fair complexion flattered by the sharp contrast against the spruce green of her jacket, where she wore the five decorations she earned during the Korean War and World War Two. She was a Hero of the Soviet Union, and quite young to wear those two vertical blue stripes with two stars on her golden shoulder pads. She was thirty-six and already an air-force Lieutenant-Colonel.

She had been part of the 588th Night Bomber Regiment, joining in 1943 at only 19. She flew bombing missions by night, her all-female unit being nicknamed the Night Witches, same as the two other all-female flying regiments. At the end of the war, she was a Captain. After spending a few years as an instructor in a pilot school, Tatiana Svereva was sent to Manchuria where she began training Chinese pilots on the new Mig 15. This was in 1950, and soon after, the Korean War broke out as the North Korean Army invaded South Korea. The Chinese Army joined the war in October.

Still a Captain at that point, she was soon promoted to Major and put in command of a better squadron, and after she shot down her fifth Sabre, in January 1953, the female ace was made a Lieutenant-Colonel and personally invited by Stalin, who decorated her as a Hero of the Soviet Union.

That's where she met a dashing young Captain who was also in Moscow to get promoted and decorated by Stalin himself. Major Kutuzov and Lt. Colonel Svereva quickly fell for each other. Two weeks later, by the time they flew back to Pyongyang to resume their commands, he a squadron and she a flying regiment, they were M. and Mrs. Kutuzov.

Thus, Tatiana had seen Katya grow from age 11 into a brave young girl who felt torn between wanting to become a hero like her cousin-in-law or marrying and settling down.

Tatiana presently produced a flask of vodka and poured some in Katya's empty water glass.

"I know your uncle forbids it, but let's make this our little secret!" she said, smiling at her beloved in-law cousin. "And besides, I've just poured you a little glass, not enough to make you tipsy if you drink it slowly. Still thinking about Grigory?"

The teen girl nodded, hugging herself in her dark wool sweater, which she wore over her white blouse, for she felt cold, and this was indeed a cool day in Léopoldville. She liked that place, and it was fun to be there chatting with Tatiana. They could talk freely without anyone overhearing them; Russian was very rarely heard in Congo. It was fun!

"He seems to be a very good boy from what I've seen of him," Tatiana said. "Trust me on this, Katyusha, if he's a very good one, keep him! If he loves you and you still want to enlist in officer candidate school, he'll be behind you and understand this is something important for you. Anyway, he'll probably be very busy training. Has a been accepted in the weightlifting national team?"

"No, not yet. He's waiting, anxiously waiting for that important phone-call from head coach Kutsenko, who saw him win the lightweight division, the 60 kilos, at the nationals last April. So now that Grigory's a national champion, it's only a matter of time," Katya said.

Then she frowned. "For whatever bullshit reason, it is the silver medalist who will be sent to Rome and compete in the 60-kilo division at the Olympics. It should be Grigory! He won!"

"Calm down, Katyusha! Grigory's only 19 while this lifter has a lot more experience! And he beat him by only 2 kilos in the three-lift total. That's a thin margin. But don't worry, this older lifter will soon retire and then it will be Grigory's prime! Grigory is going to win the Olympic Gold four years from now! He'll be the pride of the Soviet Union, just like Yuri Vlasov in the heavyweight division!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Oh, my dear cousin! You always know how to cheer me up! Yes, I'm proud of my boyfriend! I'll make a very good wife for him! The best in USSR! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! But do you realize what it means, to have Grigory on the national team? All groceries expenses paid for by the State! A larger apartment for us! If he gets on the national team this year, we can be married in October!"

"But Katya... You're only 18! Can't you wait a bit?"

"So what I'm 18! My uncle Oleg was only 17 when he married his first wife!"

"But this was back in 1921, Katya!"

"Yes, but he loved her so much! I sometimes hear him cry when he sits alone at his desk. He still has a picture of her, in a drawer of his desk you know! Next to a flask of cognac he keeps. I sometimes pilfer a sip! It's really fine liquor! French! But yeah, he loved her very dearly! He told me a bit about her. He had met her during the Civil War, in Ukraine."

"He told you about her? When?"

"Oh, one night when we were listening records together in my bedroom, before I went to bed. We're really close, you know and ooh, he's so nice to me! I couldn't wish for a better father! Anyway, that evening, we spent two or even three hours talking, and he told me a lot about his first wife. She was a noble maiden, did you know this? And he was in the Red Army! A Private! And she was the daughter of a Countess! He hid her and protected her. He kept her hidden in the attic of a house where he and his squad were staying. Can you imagine this? His war buddies never suspected she was there!"

"Good Lord! I don't want to think of those things they would have done to her if they had found her!" Tatiana replied, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at the thought of getting grabbed and used by a bunch of unwashed soldiers. For she had had her own close-calls situations during both wars, with men from her own side.

Katya kept on with her uncle's story...

"He kept her hiding, and as soon as they could manage it, he moved her to a safer place. He felt the best way to protect her was to take her to his family as his wife, so they quickly got married when he was on leave. And there they were! Man and wife, both 17!

"But two years later, she died giving birth to a stillborn son. And that was the end of their love story! Poor Oleg! Poor uncle! It's so sad! Really..."

Tatiana was intently listening while sipping directly from her flask of vodka. She felt a bit shocked to know how close Katyusha really was to her father-in-law. A bit too close actually, but she kept this thought for herself. She began wondering... Could there be something going on between Oleg and his niece? Katya was so beautiful! She could become a movie actress if she put her mind to it!

Katya went on...

"He says I remind him of her. Her name was Anastasia, but he always called her Nastya. Nastya and Oleg! She had long black hair, just like mine. Do you know Oleg often strokes my hair? And she had, he says, the same porcelain-white face with the features of a swan-girl! Really! Oh, it's so great to have such a loving man as a father! He's the ideal father for a girl like me! I love him."

Now Tatiana was concerned. This was wrong! Katya was in adoration of her uncle! He was stroking her hair?! This would have been a normal display of affection if she had been, say, 10 or 12, but now she was a young woman! What else did he do with her? This had to stop! She was going to speak to her husband about this! And he would speak of this delicate matter with his own father.

"Would you like a game of colorito?" Tatiana asked, changing the subject by proposing the strategy game that was passed down to Katya from her uncle, who himself was a four-year-old boy when his long-dead father bought it in a store in what was then Imperial Moscow under the last Czar.

"Hmmm... No, I'd rather go for a little bit of shopping. Well, just looking!" Katya said as she sipped some vodka. She then saw someone walking through the door, from the hotel's main hall. She knew that woman by sight and liked her, but then something brutally changed her mind about her. For the worst. It was so distasteful she could hardly believe her eyes!

Caterina Valente -- she recognized the star singer -- walked in the restaurant, with a man at her arm. A colored man?!

Caterina Valente and Archie Moore came and sat at a nearby table; he in his New York street clothes of a peculiar light maroon bordering on brick red; she wearing a simple long skirt with a polo shirt that let her graceful arms speak their pale-skin charms, all the paler next to Archie. She nodded and smiled at Katya while removing her day gloves and resting her purse on the red-and-white checkered tablecloth, but the Russian damsel ignored her and so did the blonde officer in uniform who sat with her.

Tatiana leaned close to her cousin-in-law and whispered... "She's dating a nigger! That's disgusting!"

"I agree," Katya replied. "I would never have believed this from her! Let's leave at once!"

Katya finished her glass of vodka and both she and Tatiana stood up and left, without a single look back at the scandalous couple.

***

"Well," Caterina said with a sigh. "I think I just lost a fan! See what I told you, Arch?"

"Well, uh, yeah. I'm... I'm sorry about this, Caterina... I... I didn't expect the reactions to be so strong... I thought that since this is Africa, well..."

"This is exactly why I prefer us to stay in my room! It is already bad enough that the hotel staff is gossiping about us. And did you see how your friend Louis Armstrong is getting more distant to you? He doesn't approve of us either!"

"Don't tell me! Louis actually lectured me about being a lawful husband! The hypocrite! I know he's having an affair right here and now with the wife of a Swiss tourist! So I told him, 'Look who's talking!' and he dropped the matter."

"Yes, but, darling, I agreed to go down with you for lunch, but it will only be for this one time. We need to be more careful because I can't afford to... Well, uh, aren't you hungry my darling? They make a most excellent dish of..."

"You can't afford to what exactly? Can't afford to be seen in public with a Negro? Is that it? Oh, I see... The great Caterina Valente is dating a nigger! What headlines would this make on the evening newspaper back home, am I right?"

"Oh, Arch! Don't talk like that! You know I love you? But what about you? Think of your wife! Don't break your marriage for me! You don't have to! I don't want you to!"

"Well... All right..." Archie Moore conceded, then he leaned close to her and whispered in her ear, "Do you know what I'd love to do now? I would absolutely be delighted to bend you over that table, push your skirt and panties down and take you from behind with everybody watching!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Now this would make salacious headlines! Now let's have lunch, honey! As I said, they make an excellent dish of Italian spezzato di pollo here! This is a chicken stew, but if you feel more like having spaghetti, they're really nice here too! They have a cook from Milan! I signed an autograph for him with a note for his daughter. He'll take special care of us!"

"Well, yeah, I'll take the stew, but I don't want to eat too much, and neither should you, because after our espresso, we're going right back upstairs and I'm gonna to rock'n'nigger you really rough and set your record straight!" Archie whispered, and she laughed.

Some people in the restaurant were positively staring at her and her black lover. This was something never seen before! You would sometimes see a European man dating a Congolese girl, but the opposite? It was never heard of! Let alone seen! Unthinkable!

Even though Caterina was avoiding any open display of affection such as holding Archie's hand, it was clear to all onlookers that they were a couple; anyone 14 and above could tell they were intimate. Just from the way he kept devouring her with his eyes, and just from the way she looked at him. If anyone was in doubt, those doubts became a certainty upon seeing that Negro whisper something in her ear and then seeing her laugh with her head up and not minding him looking at the pushed-out display of her breast shapes as she laughed.

The atmosphere around the disturbing lovebirds was growing really tense! Fortunately, this wasn't a busy time of day, but the few other customers shunned the tables around them and kept whispering between themselves as they looked at them as if they were from Mars.

Caterina was shocked and now really worried. Word could get around so fast! She had made a mistake! She had completely underestimated the degree of taboo. But she still had time left to correct her course of action; she had not ordered anything yet.

As the Congolese steward approached, with astonishment written all over his face upon seeing them, she made up her mind and rose from her seat.

"Arch, I changed my mind. I'll have lunch in my room. Now, please, let's leave!"

Archie wasn't having this. If people stared, then let them stare! Anyway, nobody seemed to know who he was around here; his lost fight against Floyd Patterson was almost four years old and gone and buried in the past, especially here in Africa. But he failed to realize how much more Caterina had to lose.

"Why leave? Come on, honey. Be sensible!"

"I am being sensible! Let's leave I say!"

"Come on, please, you know how much I want to be out with you! Please, let's not make a fuss out of this! Please, Caterina, come back and let's have that meal together! Never mind them daddy-o yellow jackets!"

"No, I'm sorry, but no. I'm going back up to my room!"

Upon hearing this, Archie Moore struck the table with his fist, and Caterina promptly took her shawl from her chair and she walked out on him.

She had tears welling in her eyes, for she knew Archie would be deeply hurt in his pride, but she had to do it. She had do. Her career and making it big in America was far more important to her. It was really all that mattered to her, in spite of her profound attraction for Archie.

Caterina Valente hurried her steps to the elevator, where a tall Congolese footman noticed the sheen of tears on her cheeks, but remained professional and took her up to the second floor.

Once back in her room, Caterina let herself fall on the sofa and cried all her tears, sobbing, face down. It hurt so much to lose Archie! But she had to do it! Thank God that her next singing engagement was still three days away, nothing until next Friday night.

There was a knock on her door.

"Go away! Please..."

"Caterina, it's me!" Archie Moore said.

"Please, go away! It's better this w-way..."

But Archie kept on knocking...

"Look, honey, I'm sorry I got sore! Please, open the door, I wanna have a word with you," he said in English.

"No... Please, go away. It was fun while it lasted and I'll keep the... the good memories... Please go... Just go!" Caterina said, her voice broken.

As she spoke through her tears, Caterina realized how much she was going to miss him, but she had no choice. And it wasn't only her prospects of becoming a star in USA. If headlines ran in France and Germany about her dating a Negro, she could kiss good-bye to her European career as well. She had been really foolish to give in when Archie insisted he wanted to have a lunch out in public.

"Honey, we'll have lunch in your room, you win! May I come in?"

Caterina took a deep breath. It was so tempting! Why not letting him in and enjoying his big fat cock one last time, why not? but if she did that, she wouldn't be able to break up later, and sooner or later this tropical adventure had to finish, or else she'd lose her reputation!

"Come on, honey! You win!"

"Think of your wife, Arch!"

"Come on..."

"No dice! Think of your wife! I have a son in Paris... I know it's going to hurt for a while, for both of us, I love you, Arch, but it's... it's better this way. We... We can talk about it tomorrow. Not today; I'm feeling really blue, please understand, darling..."

"All right all right," the American boxer said. "I'll be here at noon and we'll talk. See you tomorrow, beautiful!"

Caterina remained on her sofa, crying all the tears she had left and then some more. Her room was one large space with a double bed, a table and chairs with a couple of drawers, a sofa, two cushion chairs and a coffee table. All this furniture had Archie's presence stamped on them! They had tried sex everywhere in the room. One time that stuck to her mind was when they did it with her sitting on the corner of that dinner table while he impaled her and she held him tight, her face and nose brushing his woolly hair as he cupped her bum in his hands and kept cashing her register until they both came together!

All gone. So real yesterday. Now just castles in the air. Oh, she felt so doggone lonely! Maybe she'll make up with him tomorrow. Maybe. But no. She was better not.

***

It was already mid-afternoon when she quietly got up and went on her balcony. From there, she could see the swimming pool where several guests were enjoying their afternoon in spite of the water being a bit too cool for a comfortable swim; she had tried it herself a few days prior and didn't like it.

There were three girls she recognized for having seen them somewhere. Was it at the music-hall the day before Independence? They looked nice in their bikinis, and they were brave to be wearing only this when the temperature outside was barely 20 Celsius (70 F). They spoke Yankee English. She could hear them all right from where she leaned on the railing.

All three wore their hair in a ponytail. One was almost blonde while another one had dark hair. The third one was dark chestnut and she had the face of an angel. She looked chestnut-haired only when the sun was out, and then went brown when a cloud passed. Caterina liked her figure too, even though she wasn't the kind of girl to have sex with other girls.

A Congolese steward in a white tuxedo was carrying glasses of lemonade and margarita. He was also checking her butt as the chestnut-haired one leaned and put down her towel on the tiled patio floor before lying down near the pool, where her two friends were testing the water with the tip of their feet. The steward served the drinks while losing nothing of their charming motions.

The dark-haired girl spotted Caterina and tipped her friend's shoulder while pointing at the balcony. Caterina waved at them and both girls waved back, beaming. They clearly knew who she was.

"Is the water good?" Caterina said.

"That's her! That's her! Do you hear her voice?" the nearly blonde girl said to her friend while a large cloud sailed above their heads and cast an all-encompassing shadow over the entire city, a rare event during Congo's dry season.

"Not too bad!" the brunette replied. "Would you like to come down and try it for yourself?"

Caterina nodded and smiled, raising her hand and showing two fingers as a way to say "I'll be down here in two!"

She was really curious about those ponytail girls. They were American for sure and from the sound of their voices, they were singers; no doubt about that. But who were they? They looked around 20 years old. Would it be a good idea for an older girl like her to show up in a bikini next to them? Aha! Female pride!

Smiling, Caterina quickly undressed after turning on the radio out of sheer habit. She was feeling a bit better now, and yes, this would be a welcome distraction.

Rummaging in her luggage, she cursed a bit, then finally found her forest-green bikini, which she put on in motions that were just as graceful as her figure.

As she did so, the radio host was talking about a singing trio from the State of Ohio, the Poni-Tails. They had quite a hit with the teenagers here in Léopoldville last night when they sang in front of no less than 10,000 fans! Quite a stir! And they were slated to sing at Camp Léopold II in front of the city's garrison in only two days! This show would only be open for soldiers and there were rumors about the rank-and-file protesting against their white officers and wanting to make it a colored-only event! This was never heard of!

And then the host introduced their biggest hit, Born Too Late, which he played...



***

After putting on a bathing robe and slipping sandals, Caterina took her towel along with her just-in-case bag, and out she went to the swimming pool.

All three girls greeted her and asked for her autograph.

"Oh, Miss Valente! We're so thrilled to meet you! You won't believe this, but Toni has been worshiping your first record for three years! She found and bought "Ganz Paris" when we were singing in Montreal at the Forum. Oh, by the way I'm Patti!" said the brunette who had first waved at Caterina.

"Nice meeting you!" Caterina replied as she kissed Patti on the cheek, noticing the freshness of her skin and the swimming-pool scent of chlorine. Patti was really petite, even a bit shorter than herself.

"And this is Toni. Toni, Caterina," Patti said of the almost-blonde girl. Toni was the taller one. Caterina had to reach up a bit for her when they smooched, smiling. Caterina felt immediately close and welcomed. Wow! Americans were so easygoing! How thrilling!

"And the prettiest of us! LaVerne! Well, she's the young one! Only 19!" Patti grinned as she showed a girl who looked heavenly from head to toe, with dark chestnut hair, really just one shade lighter than Patti's. The one Caterina had noticed the most.

The late-teen girl stood from her towel. She was about the same height as Caterina.

LaVerne blushed as Caterina smooched her cheek. She was indeed a cutie! The other two, when seen from up close, had a rather average face, but LaVerne had that grace that had most men dreaming when they saw her. The black steward in his white tuxedo was already back with drinks.

Between the four of them, Caterina and the Poni-Tails were the toast of the male attraction, from the five or six couples that were taking a bit of sun, some with their kids. The young singers could sense the jealousy from wives! Especially from the older couples. They had been singing since their teens so they were used to this.

"Miladies, would you like a margarita? It's on the house because it's you!" the steward said, the whiteness of his smile putting an extra-dark shade in his wide-nose face as he offered the tray where seven fancy-looking wine glass stood, each with a thin slice of lime adorning the lid, each filled with a colorless drink that sparkled with the promise of refreshment. His ever-moving eyes made split-second rounds of inspection on the bikini-wearing girls.

They each took one. Only Caterina thanked the steward. In fact, none of the Poni-Tails even looked at the smiling man.

"So, you're singing for the Congolese soldiers in two days? Aren't you a bit scared?"

"Yes, that's right," Toni replied while Patti and LaVerne drank their margaritas. "And no, we ain't scared. Congolese are really nice people; they wouldn't hurt a fly! Really, it's like going to the zoo. Very pleasant! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Caterina nodded and drank, feeling a bit uneasy. She would never bring herself to sing in a hall filled with hundreds of military-age men! This would bring back far too many bad memories from her time in Soviet captivity. Very painful memories that made her enjoy her success all the better!

"All right! Let's taste those waters!" Caterina said as she took off her bathrobe and her sandals, before climbing on the diving board. She gave herself a good jump and she gracefully touched her hands and toes together in mid-air before extending herself before she entered head-first in the water, a lot more like an athlete than like a tourist.

The water was almost cold!

When she climbed out, she was shivering a bit and felt goosebumps taking shape, but she loved the male gazes on her. They made her feel sensual and kept her warm. Female pride! Caterina loved to be the center of attention.

But then, LaVerne stole the show, really gorgeous in her teal bikini that gave a fascinating hue of heat to her rich complexion. The steward pretended he had forgotten something on a parasol table so he could stay and watch the Yankee girl as she ran the diving board and took a graceful plunge in her own right.

Patti and Toni followed suit, and soon after, all four girls were playing in the water. Caterina noticed that LaVerne kept finding reasons to touch her. At first, she took it in stride, but then, the girl became a bit more pressing and her touching under the water got more sexual.

Caterina felt shocked and a bit uncomfortable when she felt LaVerne's hand on her bum. But she looked so beautiful! Really an angel!

She got out of the water and began thinking this over. This LaVerne was making advances at her. Now she had a choice. Would she like to try a girl-on-girl night of fun? LaVerne... what a fascinating first name! She was that beautiful stranger that one gets immediately enthralled by.

Ordinarily, no, she wouldn't. But this girl... Caterina began picturing her kissing and making out with LaVerne, and much to her surprise, she felt that yes, she would! Just for one night. Why not? It could be interesting.

Sure enough, LaVerne got out of the water and put her towel right next to Caterina's.

"I'm very happy to meet you, Miss Valente!" the blushing girl said, beaming as she patted her hair, where she was sitting on her towel with her bum on her heels and showing her perky breasts in that magical three-quarter profile to Caterina.

Caterina looked at her towel. It wore letters. It read "Brush High School -- Class of 1959".

This gave her a not-too-pleasant reminder that she herself never finished school. All her childhood, she was with her parents following that traveling circus and doing whatever schoolwork she could between two performances. She had started to perform at six or seven. She had no formal schooling, and yet she could play the guitar, act, sing, dance, and she was fluent in French, Italian, German, English, Spanish and had a bit of Russian she'd rather forget.

She smiled at the Yankee girl.

"Please, LaVerne, call me Kathrin!"

"All right, Kathrin! Hmm, I like the name, so yes, Kathrin!"

LaVerne had such beautiful eyes! Green eyes that seemed to perfectly match her turquoise bikini.

"Do you like my bikini?" the smiling girl said. "I would have liked something a bit more revealing, but my mother wouldn't allow any other model than that thing that looks straight out of the 1940's! And it took me months to convince her to let me buy one. I still live with my parents, you know, uh, when I'm home I mean..."

"I love it, LaVerne! And I think it's just revealing enough. This brings glamour to your figure. You see, my dear, you don't want to reveal too much of yourself in public, and right now, that steward won't go! And why should he? He has your legs, your bare feet to look at, and trust me, he now knows a great deal about what your breasts would look like if you were topless, no matter how you think your bikini..."

"But he's a Negro! Don't say cracks like that, Kathrin!" Laverne said as she lowered her voice and whispered, "I don't want to know he's looking at me! This is disgusting, so I'd rather not know."

There was anger in LaVerne's eyes and voice. Caterina saw an exit door out of her predicament, a very good exit if she felt too uncomfortable at the prospect of girl-only sex. She could argue with her and defend the unthinkable idea that black men could actually be really hot lovers, but then, there was also the chance for her to get known in USA! Those three singers were American. They knew people over there! They could plug her and get her started!

"Did anyone told you how pretty you are when you're angry?" Caterina said.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

As she laughed, LaVerne touched Caterina's thigh, gently and discretely, but just enough to send a message to the older girl that she kept devouring with her green eyes.

Caterina put her own hand on LaVerne's hand, just for a fleeting moment, enough to see those eyes get giant irises of sensual shadow as the teenage girl beamed as if she just won a million dollars.

"I think I'm getting hungry! LaVerne, is this your night off today?"

The girl nodded.

"Then would you join me for dinner? I feel like having a good steak! You like steak, you Americans, don't you!"

"One of my favorite dishes. With french fries! All right, that's a deal! They cook decent steaks in the hotel's restaurant, if it's all right with you. I'm afraid I'm a bit short of dimes!"

"It's all right, pretty! I'm the one inviting! We'll go at the Bourbon! All expenses paid for you, my little Cinderella!"

"Le Bourbon? Wow! I can never afford that! All right! You choose the wine! I'm not really good at those things. I'm more like the girl wearing saddle shoes at the malt shop! Oh, I once worked in one. I was awesome at making shakes and ice cream floats -- soft drinks with a ball of vanilla ice cream in them! The one I like best is the root beer with vanilla! A sweet angel's kiss, absolutely American! And this was a decent place where only white customers were served."

Caterina felt suddenly sad, thinking about Archie Moore. She didn't like LaVerne's last sentence, but she decided to ignore it. LaVerne was her ticket to America. She could already see her name in lights at the Madison Square Garden! New York, New York!

TO BE CONTINUED.

[HistBuff]

Note: This story is really a slow burner. I know that the first chapters have no rape scenes in them, but that's the way I wanted to write this story. I want plenty of character development before all hell breaks loose. And trust me, when things are going to get rapey, they will!

*** *** ***

July 5th, evening

LaVerne showed up smiling in the same evening dress she wore on her graduation night the year before, with the same fading smear of red wine that put a funny touch of pink on top of her right-hand day glove.

"I can't afford evening gloves," she said to her older companion in the cab.

"That's all right, my dear. You're delicious to look at!" Caterina replied, holding her hand. "It makes you look your age and trust me, years go by fast, so enjoy your true youth while it lasts!"

"Only if I can enjoy it with you. Oh, you beautiful!" the teenager said, leaning tightly close to her new companion.

"Not here!" Caterina whispered. "The driver is checking us through his rear-view mirror!" she whispered.

"I don't wanna know this; he's a nigger!" Laverne whispered back.

"Oh calm down, honey. He's quite harmless."

"Going to Le Bourbon, Miladies? I wish I could afford taking my wife there! We're celebrating our 25 years together, Ma'am," the cab driver said in that peculiar French accented with Lingala.

"Congratulations to you, Mister!" Caterina replied in her Parisian French. "I'll sign you an autograph with a note to your wife. I'm Caterina Valente."

"Oh! Caterina Valente, staying at the Memling hotel! Thank you most kindly, I'll remember."

"See, Laverne? He's very civil!" Caterina told her young companion after translating her short conversation with the driver.

"I don't care! And I can't be bothered! Give him a nice tip and say hi for me," the Yankee girl said in the same tone one would use at the zoo about giving peanuts to a monkey.

"Oh, come on, Laverne! You're in Africa..."

"It was Patti and Toni who talked me into it! I didn't wanna go, but now, since I met you, then the trip was worthwhile! Oh, you're just so swell! I just wanna kiss you!"

"There you go, my sweet American apple pie, but not here! And like I said, you're really pretty when you get sore!" Caterina whispered, holding Laverne's hand tenderly in the shadow behind the car's front bench-seat, where the driver couldn't see. The teen girl clung to her hand as if her life were at stake!

The notion of getting intimate with a girl felt weird to Caterina, and a bit disturbing, but Laverne was so pretty and adorable! Caterina also loved to be able to play her like a violin. She didn't like at all her attitude to local men, but dating her would prove useful for her entry in American showbiz. But it wasn't the only reason she was doing this; Caterina felt a bit curious to explore her girly-girly side. At least, she could go out in public with her; they would just look like friends having a good time.

"Ah, there we are!" Caterina said as the black cab, a dark 1950 Peugeot, turned into Léopoldville's most stylish boulevard. Nightclubs, restaurants, cabarets, gambling houses, brothels behind a honest facade; all in bright lights.

Everything was in lights and shadows, from the front grid of cars to the headlights and the fancy light-posts and the people walking by in dresses and street-clothes, most men wearing a hat is if they were still living in the 1940s. It felt like being in a film noir set in Africa. Humphrey Bogart would be seen any minute walking into the frame!

"So you're staying in room number 22? And that's why there's two of us! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Two two tutti-frutti!" Laverne jested as the cab came to a halt and Caterina paid the fare plus a nice tip.

The Congolese driver smiled with his teeth in full display, getting the money tip plus another one in kind as he surreptitiously checked Caterina's mint-green décolleté through the wide opening in her warm Sienna brown shawl. "Thank you, Milady! And if I may..."

"Oh, yes, the autograph with a note for your wife..." the star singer said, producing a pen and signing a piece of paper the driver gave her while totally checking out her breasts. His hot African gaze reminded her of Archie Moore, and this driver was just about his age.

When he said "if I may", the driver didn't mean to remind her about that autograph. He meant to compliment her on how her brown shawl became her and married perfectly with her pale mint-green dress. Congolese men secretly dated white girls a lot more often than people thought fit to think. This wasn't America and more than one Belgian girl felt curious about tasting that warm black life essence. That humble-looking driver had already scored with two such Belgian lasses over the last 25 years and would have been all too happy to make it three with Caterina or even with that little snobbish tramp she was with.

"Come on, let's go! Come on! I'm freezing!"

"You should have brought a shawl, my dear! You still have much to learn, my young lady, but don't worry, I'll teach you how to be glamorous!" Caterina said in a jesting tone.

How whiny she could be! Caterina was quickly learning that dating a teen came with its downsides.

Caterina finished writing the note and handed it to the driver, whose hand briefly touched hers through her light golden evening glove. She remained formal and dignified, but she was wet down south. The middle-aged driver perhaps sensed it. He kept smiling and said, "Would you like to take a walk with me tomorrow? I can be in front of the Memling anytime tomorrow afternoon."

"Well, uh, I... I already have someone, I'm afraid."

"Is he as handsome as I?"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Yes, he is! He's also a professional prizefighter!" Caterina said in rapid-fire French that Laverne had zero chances of understanding a word of.

"Oh well, then maybe another time, Milady! This prizefighter sure has great taste in women!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Thanks, Mister! You're a darling! A dreamboat! You're wife is a lucky gal!"

Then Caterina said good-bye and the cab finally moved off, reluctantly.

"At last he's gone! I thought we were going to spend the whole evening here! What was it that was so important with this ape? Come on, let's have that steak now!" the teenage kid said.

"Young lady! Lesson number one in being glamorous and ladylike, never lose your temper! Always remain calm and dignified, just like I was with that annoying cab driver."

"He was bothering you?! But you looked rather pleased!"

"This is exactly what I'm talking about. Ah, really! You sound like you were born yesterday! I couldn't wait for him to be off! The pig was checking me out! But I acted nice. I just remained calm, and besides, he's perfectly harmless. Now, shall we?"

And the pair of singers walked in Le Bourbon, royally. The older girl was genuinely glamorous through all of her exposed skin and through the way she wore her dress with her shawl, her long hair in a ponytail, just like her companion; Caterina was effortlessly glamorous through being taught by her own mother since she was a toddler, while the US teenage girl was trying to be like her and failing, but her youthful looks more than made up for her lack in glamor.

When they walked in, Laverne in her burgundy evening dress, sans shawl, her perky cleavage open to be seen in a richness of complexion that glowed under the golden lights, became instantly the center of male attention. Including the Congolese staff. She hated this! Clearly, Africa wasn't for her.

For her, it was like being in a bad neighborhood in Baltimore, and it was that kind of a zoo all the time. Even the cars looked like some old junk, just like in so many bad streets in Baltimore. What a zoo! But thankfully she was flying back home next Sunday!



***

Tatiana was glad to be back from her shopping afternoon with Katya. It was fun to be with her, but in some ways, what an ordeal!

She had bought a new dress for her dear young cousin in-law. They had so much fun together when she was trying one dress after another! But those gazes from the Negroes! She sure could have skipped them.

Those looks had been there on the previous day and the week before when she arrived in Congo. Just the usual annoying stuff, really, nothing worse than Spain or Russia for that matter, except all those men were black , which she found deeply offensive. She felt dirty from being stared at by those men she saw as subhumans, but they all looked harmless and good-natured.

But on that day, something had changed. Now there was something more than met the eye.

In some cases, Tatiana perceived those same predatory stares she had seen from Chinese mechanics a decade ago, and even from some of the Chinese pilots she was training back in the day in North Korea. Tatiana would never allow herself to be alone with any of them!

In Pyongyang, she insisted on the presence of at least one armed Russian soldier she could trust; protected at all time! In some cases, she had felt scared under her cold, distant facade she always showed those Chinese men. She couldn't begin to imagine the humiliation she would have felt if any of them had taken liberties with her person! Two or more ganging up on her? She shuddered at the horrific thought even a decade later! She would die if something like that happened to her. And she would die before letting that happen to Katyusha.

Once, Tatiana had read the translated version of an East German novel that depicted two sisters being gang-raped by a great many Soviet soldiers in Berlin after they killed their great aunt and slaughtered the pet dog, Mozart, a German shepherd, who was trying to defend them. She could relate somewhat to the horror and humiliation those poor girls felt, and many of those soldiers were from the Far East, from Kamchatka, with those baked-earth faces and the cruel eyes of Mongols. So predatory! Barbaric! She had great difficulty finishing that novel.

She also had painful memories of senior officers nearly making a pass at her when she was a young pilot in the war against Germany. All had predatory stares when they talked about unpleasant topics such as what to do if she was forced to land behind enemy lines and what to do if she got captured. She already knew what to do; she would have shot herself dead with her Tokarev pistol.

Those "words of wisdom" always came from some middle-aged Major or Colonel who would give her that sort of stare from those sorts of men. The old pig wouldn't say the word, but he would smile and say something like "Well, you know, boys will be boys!" They all reeked of that cheap fantasy where a fifty-something man was fertilizing a 20-year-old girl who somehow loved taking it bent over on his desk. She hated being in a Colonel's office. But she hated being gazed at by subhumans even more.

This was why Tatiana always kept her loaded Tokarev 7.62 mm pistol with her. She'd rather face a firing squad than let herself be raped. At least she'd die with the satisfaction of having shot the pig through the head.

Well, those predatory stares were there that afternoon when she walked the streets of Léopoldville along with her young loved one, she in her Soviet uniform, Katyusha wearing her thick jersey along with her long skirt, looking so thin as she floated in her outfit! Thankfully, her assets were safe and hidden under that dark Russian wool, but those stares! How dare they!

Katyusha felt them too, and as the afternoon went by, she leaned closer and closer to Tatiana, who really liked the comforting weight of her holstered Tokarev. She had diplomatic immunity and was thus allowed to carry it. That gun at her belt sent a clear message to those apes. "Stay away! Be gone!"

But this was so strange! She now felt that her pistol was actually necessary! Only a few days earlier, she would walk through those same streets downtown and feel absolutely safe no matter how many men were walking by around her. Congolese men were usually so well-behaved! Something had changed. She could feel it. It was everywhere in the air.

And then came an incident. Nothing serious, but nothing that would have happened only two days before.

Katyusha was giggling as they exited a shop with a bag containing her new dress, when two Congolese soldiers walked by them, their face very dark and brown in their colonial desert-tan uniforms. Both had those predatory stares under their field caps; they were looking directly at them and smiling. Those weren't good smiles. Negroes! How dare they look at them in that way!

Katyusha saw them and pressed herself against Tatiana. The poor girl was terrified!

Then one of those apes said something in French, to her and Katyusha. He wore insignias that probably meant he was at least a Corporal in whatever army that shit-hole of a country had.

Tatiana had no idea what he said. Both soldiers went by and away, laughing and jeering. Katyusha was trembling! She hugged her.

"What is it, Katyusha? What did he say? But... you're crying?!"

"He... He said we were... I can't repeat that word... he said we... He said we didn't... we don't belong in this country... that we, we should go back to Europe..."

"Now, calm down, Katyusha. Be a brave girl! Let's go back home! I'll make chai for you and we'll play colorito after dinner."

Tatiana took her hand and hailed a cab.

"What was that word they said and you can't repeat, Katyusha?" Tatiana asked once inside the cab. Katya shook her head.

"I can't tell you! I'm so ashamed to have had this said to me by a nigger! This shit-hole of a city! It deserves to be leveled and destroyed by the Soviet Army! And every living soul in it. Those people are animals! Эти люди — животные!"

Katya poured her heart out, feeling very much relieved to be able to speak freely. The Congolese cab driver sure didn't know a word of Russian. He was nonetheless checking her through the rear-view mirror that stood on the sedan's dash. Such a lovely face she had! So very exotic to him! The man loved the unspoken language that her spotless, light-filled face spoke to him. From Russia with grace.

After paying the fare without a word of thanks, without looking at the driver at all, Tatiana walked into the Memling's main hall and took the key to her room, ignoring the clerk who was smiling and saying good evening to her.

She walked Katyusha to her uncle's suite on the seventh floor, kissed her and told her to be ready for dinner at seven. Then she knocked at her father-in-law's office in his seven-room suite.

"Who is it?" the ambassador asked.

"It's me, Tatiana. May I come in?"

"Can it wait later?"

"No. It's important. I need a word with you, Sir."

"All right, then by all means come in! Are you partial for a glass of cognac? Come in, I'll fix you a drink!"

"Vodka on the rocks, please! Especially now that I'd rather be in Siberia!" Tatiana said as she closed the door behind her.

***



As the evening went on at Le Bourbon, Ruth Brown was singing her hits, filling the cabaret with her legendary voice for her audience, tuxedo-wearing men with their wives in evening dresses and wearing those long gloves, half of them whites, the rest colored and often darker than the famous American jazz singer. Louis Armstrong was on his way and both legends were to sing together in a duet!

"So this is why the place is so crowded! Hmmm... That steak sure smells nice!" Laverne observed. "Oh, I don't mind colored singers! As long as they have a nice-sounding voice and keep a good distance from me."

"Yes, my dear, very crowded indeed! I was very lucky to get this table. Everything was booked when I called, but then I asked for this table I shared with a date a few days back. They checked and... a lucky break! The table was still booked in Baudouin's name! He had forgotten to cancel it, and now he's back in Brussels! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Talk about lucky!"

"Baudouin?! Brussels? Do you mean you dated the King?!"

"I'm afraid I do."

"Oh! And how is he? I mean in person. Is he kind and tender and affectionate? How is he?"

"So you like men as well?"

"Oh no, nothing like that. I'm just curious. A King! Oh, I only like girls, but oh gee, for a King I would make an exception!"

"Then you would be ill-advised to do so, my little silly swan!"

"Ill-advised? But he's a King! The perfect gentleman! The epitome of glamor!"

"No, young lady, the epitome of glamor was Humphrey Bogart and now he's gone and Gregory Peck is growing older. You have really no idea what you're talking about, my dear. But it's not your fault. Oh, I would have loved to grow up in America! Like you. To lead a carefree life and chew bubblegum instead of being in Germany during the war! It was so horrible! You have no idea how horrible it was."

"You were in Germany during the war?! But I thought you were Italian! How did it happen?" Laverne asked, taking a small bite of her steak while her steaming lobster was waiting for her loving attention on her platter's left side. She was a bit clumsy as she tried to eat her "Tuscan bistecca" holding her fork in her left hand like Caterina had just taught her. She was on a steep learning curve in the art of being more glamorous and less malt-shop bubblegum.

"It's a long story, honey! But we have time. This place closes at four in the morning!"

"I sure hope we'll be back before that! But yeah, I wanna know more about you, so shoot!" the American teen singer replied.

After removing her evening gloves and lying them on the fancy tablecloth where they seemed to irradiate with golden light on that deep burgundy tabletop, next to her spotless white napkin, Caterina began eating her medium-rare faux-filet steak and soon after started to assault her lobster as she began her tale.

She was only eight when Germany invaded Poland. Her parents were both circus musician performers, and she herself performed a singing and dancing act. Her older brother Silvio was a clarinetist and guitarist, and she did many performances with him, often with clowns or jugglers around.

The circus was touring in Switzerland until next year. But in 1940, France was at war with Germany. The Valentes were blocked at the French customs. They couldn't go back home in Paris! Because they were Italian citizens. But she was born in Paris! So was her brother.

The circus then got contracts and engagements in Germany, so that's how she found herself on the "wrong side". They had to make a living and her father did not want to go back to Mussolini's Italy, where he was wanted by the authorities, and there was no more work for them in Switzerland.

"Oh, that must have been horrible! To be in Germany, with all those bombing raids!" Laverne said, holding Caterina's hand while her own lobster was cooling.

"Maybe, but this wasn't the worst. I think the worst for me was to have my childhood and innocence taken away from me, brutally taken away and way too early. Way too early," Caterina added, tears welling in her eyes as she watched Laverne as she valiantly took her first steps in the art of eating a lobster without looking stupid.

"Not like this, Cinderella! Let me, I'll show you again!"

"I had a brother who was in the Air Force," Laverne said as she watched Caterina effortlessly shell the crushing claw of that red-boiled beast.

"He was in a bomber crew," Laverne went on. "He died in early 1944 when his plane went down during a daytime raid. That's what the officials told us when they came, when my mother collapsed on the floor and I thought they had struck her. I was only three at the time. I just couldn't understand the idea that my elder brother was never coming back. Well, he was my half-brother. My father is much older; he divorced and remarried in '39 and there I was two years later!"

"So, you grew up in that town in Ohio? What's the name already?" Caterina inquired, all too happy to change the subject. She didn't want to talk about her being captured by the Soviets along with her family in Breslau when the town fell to those animals in '45. Anything but this!

"Lyndhurst. Yep, I grew up there. We still live in the very same house. Becoming a pop singer gave me the opportunity to travel, at least in the USA and Canada too. Did you ever go to Canada? We were in Montreal once and I loved it! It was also when I had my first crush! It was at an Italian restaurant called the Da Giovanni, yes, in Montreal. She was a waitress. So beautiful! She swept me off my feet! An Italian brunette, just like you! This was in spring 1958 when I had just joined the group as a replacement for the girl who quit to settle down."

"Tell me more, honey. Did she tell you what beautiful eyes you have?"

"Yes. This and more. Much more. And this was when I understood why guys didn't interest me at all. But then, next year, some popular lad asked me out for the graduation ball and I felt flattered. I felt flattered and also wanted to fit in. I wanted to make my mother proud. She was growing concerned about me spending time only with girls, and me getting a bit too close to one of my cousins. Mary was her name; she was my second secret girlfriend. And do you know what happened?"

"You mean at the ball?"

"Yeah, where else? That popular guy was a prick! Nothing but a prick! That jackass! Instead of driving me back home as I had asked him to, he took me to lovers lane! And there, he parked!

"I had been ready to give him a kiss in front of my house and maybe an extra if he behaved; something like a run to second base, but nothing more. But he meant business. I could see it in his eyes! He told me I was 18 and it was time for me to learn to be a good girl. He forced-kissed me and began to grope me! I screamed! I begged him to stop! But he didn't stop! He didn't!" Laverne blurted out, tears streaming loose out of her wonderfully green eyes.

"Oh, honey! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to stir up bad memories! Come, let's go dance! This tune is swell!"

"Ha! Ha! Thanks, but no! This is your first girl-girl date, isn't it? Two girls dancing together in public... this won't do! So take your first lesson from me! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! But no, I want to get this story off my chest. This is the first time I'm telling anyone. But thank God, I'm still a virgin!"

"Oh, then be grateful and thank your fate, my lovely little swan! Because many girls aren't that lucky," Caterina said, tears rolling down her cheeks as she finished her lobster before pouring herself another glass of champagne. "But what saved you? Did the guy finally stop and say he was sorry?"

"No, he's too much of a no-good stupid jackass for this. Someone came along. It turned out to be some guy who lives on our street. I knew his 1957 Chevy Bel-Air when I saw it, just from the way he pulled in and parked. He was with his own girlfriend and clearly planned for some parking romance and backseat bingo.

"I managed to claw my jackass date in the face and I quickly escaped the car while he cursed and called me "a good-for-nothing cheap little broad". That Chevy-Bel-Air fellow then noticed I was in trouble, because he immediately stepped out of his car and went tapping at my date's driver window. And this was a handsome guy, tall and strong and ohh, looking good in his white tee-shirt with cannonballs for shoulders. He can press a pair of 100-lb dumbbells all the way over his head, just like that like a cinch! He's the one I should have gone to the ball with! Gee, what a guy!

"Go get bent, my date told him. Leave this girl alone, he replied. And then he opened the door, which he found unlocked since just before he assaulted me, my jackass date and I had spent some time outside sitting on the hood, smoking a cigarette and looking at the moon.

"So that guy from my street opened the Ford coupe's door and dragged my date out before beating him up square and proper. My date didn't have a chance. When the asshole lay on the ground half knocked out, my savior told him to never touch me again. I was so happy! But then I broke down in tears after realizing what I had just been saved from.

"Next day I felt so grateful! I swear to God I would have got down on my knees and, you know, make him a really happy guy using my mouth. Well, maybe not, and at any rate this was out of the question because his girlfriend was really suspicious of me and watching me closely with eyes that said 'Don't you dare try to steal my man!' So they drove me back home and that was the end of it. Not very cheerful a topic, but yes, it was a miracle, and yes, I'm still a virgin and I hope I'll die a virgin without knowing what it's like, because I like only girls."

Caterina drank her champagne, pondering her friend's story. Yes, this kid was lucky! She had been spared the worst. Great for her! She didn't want anyone else to have to go through this. She excused herself to the lady's room, but then, girls being girls, Laverne also "had to go".

They both refreshed their lipsticks and giggled together like the teen girl one of them still was. A black-clad elderly lady stared at them with a bit of a scandalized air upon noticing how close those youngsters stood to each other.

When they came back, it was time to order dessert. Caterina ordered a French mille-feuilles, a wonderfully sweet and crispy pastry done with layers of custard and flaky crust and topped with white-sugar icing jazzed up with dark chocolate lines arranged in a fancy pattern. She highly recommended it to her young companion, who was back to her usual cheerful self.

"Oh yes, mille-feuilles! I had them in Montreal two years ago! So wonderful! They're very popular in French-speaking Canada you know. So yes, milles-feuilles for the girl from Ohio who has dated an Italian brunette in Montreal! Oh, she was such an angel!"

As she spoke about her ex-girlfriend, Laverne was staring at some point far away as if she were trying to reach out over the ocean with her dreamy eyes. She looked so ungodly adorable! Caterina felt kind of charmed, with the champagne helping a lot. She looked at her cleavage and wondered what it would feel like when she would be kissing and caressing Laverne's youthful bosom. Really, she'd rather worship Archie's manhood. But perhaps there might be some fun in undressing that kid.

"You seem to still be in love with her. Any plans of going back to Montreal?" Caterina asked.

"Well, I don't know. I never thought about it, but now that you mention it, yes. I'm already getting tired of all those endless tours with all those fans buzzing around us like bees on honey. So yes, I'll soon quit and maybe start a new life... and learn French I guess!"

"... and Italian too!"

"Do you like only girls?" Laverne asked Caterina with some hope in her eyes.

"No, and I didn't plan to date a girl, but you're so attractive! So I'm willing to make an exception for you. Really, I don't know if this is a good idea, but then, I'm curious, and like I said, you're really pretty!"

"Well, you have your hotel room to yourself, so how about going there and finding this out between the two of us? And thanks for being on the level with me," Laverne said, sensually taking a first bite from her mille-feuilles before setting her dessert fork down and downing yet another glass of champagne in one swig, which was quite un-glamorous. She was getting tipsy all right.

She then resumed eating, using her fork with her right hand out of long habit as she forgot what Caterina had taught her earlier.

"Hmm! This tastes heavenly! Thanks for this magical evening, Kathrin!" Laverne said before pouring herself the last of their second champagne bottle, a bit selfishly, without offering it to her host, but yeah, she was really tipsy now.

"The best is yet to come," Caterina replied as she tried to convince herself this was going to be fun. But she was missing Archie Moore. What she really wanted was the big fat cock of a Negro.

In the background, a white singing quartet gave a performance after Ruth Brown and Louis Armstrong had left. Those four lads sounded really good. As Caterina would be told by the Bourbon's owner when she left with her young date, those lads were well known to sound remarkably like the Four Freshmen, whose version of Poinciana they were now singing with soft-sounding music...



TO BE CONTINUED.

[HistBuff]

July 6th

Caterina lay awake while Laverne was still asleep beside her and taking nearly all the sheets for herself and leaving her to be chilly, which was what woke her up. Laverne did not have Archie's body heat and she certainly lacked his strength as well. No strength in those small damsel's hands, but oceans of passion!

How weird it had felt to be naked with Laverne. Caterina had felt no real thrill when her young companion let herself get undressed out of her evening dress. No thrill, just curiosity. Things had got better when it was Laverne doing the undressing, and since the kid had been eagerly waiting for this moment all along, Caterina just lied down and let the girl do her thing.

She didn't tell Laverne what fantasy she was running when the Yankee girl did an expert mouth job in her pussy. Caterina flew in her mind and pretended she was the unwilling victim of a pack of middle-aged cab drivers, who took their turns in eating her pussy before slamming her face down on the hood of that maroon Peugeot, each Negro taking her hard, deep and good while holding her waist and going to town with her buttocks ever-tapping against their tropical heat. Caterina took her fun by imagining their grunts exploding in brutally caressing notes in that cab station.

Caterina eventually climaxed, and Laverne fell asleep like a stone soon after. And that was it. Caterina's first night of sex with a girl.

Feeling chilly, the nude singer got up from beside Laverne, who grabbed even more of the sheets.

Caterina found her long white bathrobe, a gift from her German husband when they married nine years before. She put it on in the grey light of dawn that seeped through the window. It was thus still very early, but strangely enough, she didn't feel sleepy at all. She couldn't explain why. She was a night owl. Over-excitement? Homesickness? Loneliness?

She did miss Archie. She sat on the bed and looked at Laverne. The kid was still sound asleep. There wasn't much light yet in the bedroom, so her hair looked absolutely dark and her skin looked ghastly in those gray shadows.

Laverne was stirring a bit in her sleep, lying on her side. Then she rolled over and resumed sleeping on her other side, now taking the entire sheets and the whole blanket. Yes, she could be quite selfish. She no doubt had enjoyed infinite love from her old dad, who must have turned all his love and attention to his little daughter after losing his son. Yes, Laverne must have grown up as the center of her parents' affections. All in all, she was a very fine young lady. She had her flaws like everyone else. But oh gee, did she look gorgeous!

Caterina was still longing for Archie and his magnificent cock, but she suddenly felt curious to see Laverne in the nude; the night before had been blurry and rushed with both girls being sleepy and sluggish. Why not give this girl a chance? But what about Archie? She remembered what he told her. He was going to be there at her door by noon.

Well, Miss Valente could be a bit selfish too and wake up her new girlfriend. Why not? From what she had seen from Laverne, the lass was going to wake up and be all too happy to be in bed with her. Laverne was so fond of her!

Caterina spotted a ghastly spot at the end of the bed. One of Laverne's feet.

As the morning light grew a bit stronger, Caterina stooped down and examined that foot. Laverne was a bit like a ballerina. Everything about her seemed magically graceful. Laverne was that kind of person you would spend time with and be absolutely convinced it was but a wonderful dream. It felt more like being with an angel than being with a teen girl, especially now that Laverne was asleep with her mouth shut. No whining. No verbal slamming of Negroes. Just a girl who slept the way she walked. Like an angel.

Out of curiosity and fascination, Caterina further stooped down and kissed Laverne's foot. How tender and lovely she was! How weird and preposterous to be doing exactly what she loved being done to her by a man!

Laverne stirred a bit more as Caterina landed kisses upon kisses on her foot, now caressing her ankles and pretending to be a man, now uncovering both her feet and her lower legs. Her young companion began stirring quite a bit as Caterina made love to her feet, feeling more and more enthralled by Laverne's scent, by her heavenly presence.

Caterina suddenly realized that making love with Laverne would be the closest she would ever get to a spiritual experience where flesh met the divine. She didn't really feel aroused, but it felt so comforting to be touching Laverne, to be with her! The more she kissed her teenage legs, the higher she went as she uncovered her, little by little, and the more soothing it felt!

Tears started to flow out of her eyes. She began weeping as she kissed those angel's legs.

Those tears were coming out from her innermost part!

So soothing! Something really bad and evil had been locked deep within the darkest reaches of her soul, and now a key had been found that opened that thing and finally... Finally that world of stored-up pain was going away! Fifteen years! For fifteen years it had been lying there, living in her soul and gnawing her spirits... It was something she no longer really felt, out of getting used to that low-key, nagging pain, but always present. Always.

But now it was gone. It left her with nothing but a sense of all-encompassing serenity. Caterina realized what a heavy burden she had been carrying all those years. The demon was now exorcised.

"Oh, Laverne! Laverne..." Caterina whispered as she wept tears of joy, her kissing lips plunging between Laverne's baby-soft legs as she felt the unfathomable relief.

Laverne! Her closeness was healing Caterina after carrying that burden for so long!

Laverne was moving. She was awake. She realized what was going on as she cleared the cobwebs. She was being waken up by Kathrin's kisses and caressing hands.

Before long, Laverne got rid of those sheets and arose on her knees. She face Kathrin in that sensual kneeling position on the bed, Eve-nude, facing Kathrin whose nude splendor she could enjoy at will now that the bathrobe lay on the floor.

Both girls began kissing and making out. Caterina felt the ungodly relief as she kept crying tears of joy. Laverne felt horny and greatly moved.

"Oh, Kathrin! I had no idea you had such strong feelings for me! I wasn't hoping for this!" Laverne blurted out as she covered Caterina's face with kissing adoration.

"But... you're crying?! What is it?"

"Oh, it's nothing! I'll tell you about it later... Just... Just keep kissing me! It feels so good! Yes, so soothing! Laverne... You're an angel!"

"I thought I was your lovely little swan!" Laverne replied and giggled as she pecked Caterina on the nose, very playfully. Now the morning light was in full glowing swing and both girls could see each other clearly. Caterina was in some sort of spiritual contemplation while Laverne was consumed by lust.

After a passionate exchange where they sucked each other's breasts, and Laverne came out the clear winner on the skill and passion scale, Caterina decided to go for it and find out whether Laverne tasted as good as she looked.

That was when Laverne excused herself to the bathroom.

Once she was back, the Yankee girl offered Caterina a shower together.

"I need to get washed. I want to be spic-and-span for you, my love! Wanna join me?"

Thus it came to be that Caterina Valente showered with a girl.

Kissing under that gentle jet of water felt so sensual! Laverne would kiss her with such sweetness that was unmatched by anything she had known before. It was just like being with an angel. It was all she could say of her newfound girlfriend.

Laverne made her feel feminine and sensual in a way she never thought possible. No one was dominating the other; they naturally exchanged the initiative back and forth like two girls playing a friendly tennis game and enraptured in their shared pleasure. Spiritual elation for Caterina; pure lust for Laverne.

Caterina was still weeping and shaken all over by the sudden release of that pent-up box of evils. She loved being under the shower, as Laverne wouldn't know her tears from the running water.

"Now, my lovely little swan, come and lie down on my bed and I'll pleasure you with my tongue! Will you do the same for me after?"

"Yes, yes! Oh you beautiful!" Laverne replied before French-kissing Caterina with a passion only a teen could display to such an innocent degree.

Sexually, Caterina was missing the heat and strength of a man, but spiritually, she had never felt better in fifteen years!

Once the Yankee girl lay down on the double bed, Caterina gently nudged Laverne's willing legs open, and soon after, she was landing kisses on her angel-like vulva, feeling the incredible softness of her delicate bush of dark brown hair as she found her folds and darted her tongue between them!

This caused Laverne to shiver and moan and run her fingers through her girlfriend's hair as she was being given the cunnilingus.

Caterina was surprised to find that Laverne smelled fresher than fishy and that she tasted like fresh yeast with notes of anchovy. She was no fish girl. She was like a mermaid just morphed into a lass. Laverne had the salt of life in her.

Caterina thus had no difficulty in keeping up the barrage of her tongue strokes while guiding the location and intensity of her play according to her companion's moaning and how frantic her fingers ran through her long hair as she relentlessly kept at it, on and on. Laverne finally hit her jackpot and filled the room with high-pitched sounds of ecstasy while shivering like a pancake on the frying pan...

"Oh my God! Oh my God! M'God! Yes! Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes aaaahh yes! Maria! Maria!!! AAAAAAAaaaaaahh, AAAAH AAAAAAAAAAA YES!!! ..."

Laverne frantically shook under Caterina's pressure, as if she were being given an electroshock. She squirted and Caterina tasted her subtle sugars. The climax had altered her taste.

"Did you just call me Maria?" Caterina said, smiling with the sheen of Laverne's juices covering her lower face as she looked at her with an air of amusement.

"Did I?"

"Yes, you sure did! Was it that Italian girl you met in Montreal? Maria sounds very Italian indeed. Does she have a brother called Luigi? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Caterina felt very much amused by Laverne's air of embarrassment.

"I'm sorry... I didn't! I'm sure I didn't!"

"Oh, but you were so far gone, my little swan!"

"Aren't you upset?"

"No, no. Not at all! Laverne, you have no idea of the good you did to me! Absolutely no idea! I'm a new girl today! Now, let's turn on that radio! I want to know if the world is the same as it was yesterday. Maybe there will be some good news there too. Oh, I feel so happy! For the first time in fifteen years, I feel pure, innocent and yes, very happy indeed! I'll never thank you enough."

"Just that?" Laverne said, smiling as she failed to truly understand the meaning behind Caterina's words. All she guessed was that whatever experience Caterina had gone through fifteen years ago must have been a monstrously horrific one.

Then she understood and ran to Caterina, whom she hugged close to her heart.

"Oh, poor Kathrin! My poor poor Kathrin! I love you! Let me soothe you!"

"You already did! I don't know how you did it, but you did it. It must be your innocence! But how silly of me! All these years, all I had to do was just having sex with a pure virgin girl! Laverne, will you be my vestal?"

"Your vestal? What do you mean?"

"A vestal, remember your history classes? Vestals, you know, the priestesses who were kept virgin and worshiping the gods in Ancient Rome. So yes, be my vestal and I'll be your teacher in the art of acting glamorous! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Caterina was laughing as she freed herself from Laverne's embrace and turned on the radio.

"Then I'll start by worshiping your sex! Now's your turn to feel the power of my tongue! And be wary, I have a LOT more experience in this than you do! Come on now, lady, right on the bed!" Laverne said, taking her girlfriend by the hand and leading her to their shared bed.

Laverne had nothing but adoration in her sparkly green eyes as she spoke in her post-orgasmic rush of feel-goodness.

But what the radio was saying was nothing to feel good about. She didn't understand any of that rapidly spoken French, but she saw the growing concern in Caterina's brown eyes. And yes, growing fear as both naked girls came back from the bed and listened to the radio after Caterina turned the volume way up.

Caterina listened to the host's words, very intently, while Laverne lay in linguistic limbo, remaining silent and more than eager to know what it was about.

Caterina would translate those words for her American girlfriend. The radio host was devastated as he spoke...

"... Something really shocking has happened last night in Thysville. Ladies and gentlemen, I don't know how to break it to you, but it appears that the garrison in Camp Hardy has gone in mutiny yesterday evening! This is unbelievable! But it is true, alas!" He went on...

"The Congolese troops somehow gained access to the weapons and took control of the base. There are reports that they went to their officers' houses and attacked them! I can't believe it! They beat up their white officers! A group of lucky officers did manage to run to their mess along with their families and as I spoke, they are still besieged!

"During the night, some of those mutinous soldiers drove out in the country. I'm very saddened to say that several white-owned houses were raided by those animals!

"I've been told by General Janssens himself that those men will be punished according to the strict rules of discipline and he's going to see to it that an example will be made of those men who dared attack their officers! Who dared behave like savages! And I can assure you that everything is being done to bring law and order back in Camp Hardy, and most importantly, to preserve law and order everywhere else in Congo. So ladies and gentlemen, stay home and arm yourself! Protect your loved ones! If they know we all stand together, they won't dare attack us!

"General Janssens has confirmed that soldiers are being flown from Belgium in order to protect all nationals in Congo. Dear ladies and gentlemen, Brussels will not let you down! The King himself will speak to us all later this morning. Thank you, and stay tuned. Avoid any non-essential travel in the country. Stay home. Stay safe."

"I'm scared! I'm so scared!" Laverne said when her polyglot girlfriend translated for her. Both girls were in tears as they held each other tight.

The older girl was the first to speak and she tried to comfort her teenage belle.

"Don't worry, my lovely little swan! Don't worry! Nothing will happen to us if we stay here behind locked doors. We're in the capital city. Plenty of soldiers who will protect us. Plenty of white men who have guns, so don't you worry. All we have to do is stay safe here in the hotel."

"Well... All... All right. We'll cancel our remaining engagements, for obvious safety reasons, and we'll take our Sunday flight. I, I guess you're right, Kathrin. Nothing's going to happen to us if we stay put here. Yes yes, I'm... I'm being a silly scared girl. We'll be safe enough here, but I can't wait to be home again."

"And what about Maria?"

"Are you jealous?"

"No, little swan, not at all. I love you, and I mean I truly love you. How can I not love you after what you did for me by just being there with me?"

"But aren't you jealous since you love me?"

"Don't confuse love with selfishness, young lady! A selfish boyfriend will get jealous and abusive. But someone who truly loves you will want nothing but your happiness, and Laverne, I know for a fact that you really love this Maria. You, my girl, you need a plane ticket to Montreal!"

"All right! I'll do this! I think my singing days are numbered," Laverne said, beaming. "But... will you go see me? I'm going to miss you so much, oh so very much!"

"Well, that's life, but don't worry! I'll come and visit you as often as I'll be able to if you want. Maybe Maria will like me too!"

***

Things were really getting serious! Congo was no longer safe! Oleg Kutuzov gathered as much from the reports he got from his observers at the government. Prime Minister Lumumba was going to fire General Janssens from his position as commander-in-chief of all armed forces in Congo, and put some Congolese Sergeant-Major in his place! A Sergeant-Major was about to get directly promoted to Major-General without any officer training whatsoever! What could possibly go wrong! The Congolese government wasn't going to keep law and order in the country.

"The situation is getting completely out of hand, Tatiana!" the ambassador told his in-law daughter as she stood, her hair still a bit ruffled from her night of sex with her husband, but otherwise sharp in her spruce-green uniform.

"It's headed toward chaos and disaster!" he went on. "Congo is now unsafe for us. We need to get out of here as soon as we can. We need to bug out! Tell everyone to pack. I'm calling Moscow and I'll request a special flight for all of us, not just the delegation, but myself as well! I'm not staying here in this zoo with my family. This is urgent, Tatiana! We need to get out of here!"

"So, we're leaving tomorrow I understand, Sir. All right I'll..."

"Tomorrow might be too late! Listen at those sounds from the street! There are people yelling! Yelling against Belgians! Against Europeans! Against us! Soon, it's going to be open season on all whites! Don't you understand what's going on? Listen through the open window! We need to get out of the country today! At once!"

"Well Sir, I took the liberty to inquire late last night, and the airport is already packed-jammed with Belgians hurrying out of the country. That mutiny got really serious at Camp Hardy. White women were gang-raped; officer's wives mostly. Several Belgian citizens were attacked in their homes last night. The reports, stories and tall tales about this is spreading like wildfire. The capital is already flocking with scared refugees! So yes, call that plane from Moscow and insist on it. It's urgent! But it's a very long flight between here and Moscow. I said tomorrow because that's the earliest a plane from Moscow can be here."

"Thank you, Tatiana. But in the meantime, we need to arm ourselves. How many armed men do we have here with us at this minute?"

"Uh, wait... Anton is gone on an errand and should be back around eleven or noon, so this leaves myself, my husband and Stefan."

"That's it?! Four between us if I count myself in and someone has a spare gun to loan me. I got rid of my old pistol a few years ago. Five of us, once Anton will be back, and tell him to hurry! Now, not one of us will stir outside of these rooms until it's time to leave tomorrow. We won't call any assistance from the local police; I don't trust them. Nobody will be allowed on this floor unless I myself or you green-light them, and it will only be to bring us our meals and our laundry, and that's it."

"Chances are we'll make it, Sir!"

"I hope you're right. I think we also need to pray, for I don't like the sound of that crowd down there. I've never seen the like in Congo!"

Tatiana found the verb "to pray" extremely surprising from such a staunch atheist as Oleg, who had been a fervent Bolshevik since the very Revolution of 1917 when he was only 12-13.

***

Indeed, the mutiny was spreading to many different garrisons in Congo.

In the capital city, Camp Léopold II also went into mutiny after General Janssens met a group of senior non-commissioned officers the day before.

The Congolese soldiers had been hoping for a better pay and the opening of all officer ranks for them now that Congo was an independent country. But Janssens had told them that discipline was paramount, that independence "was only good for civilians" and that nothing was going to change in the immediate future --- the black soldiers were to remain under their white officers, "because discipline had to be properly enforced".

The Congolese soldiers in the Force publique were angered by the dismissive tone of their General-in-chief. There were no less than two thousands of them just counting the garrison in Léopoldville, and they went into open mutiny in the morning!

The streets of Léopoldville were now teeming with gangs of angry armed soldiers! Some Congolese civilians joined them. It was time to take the law in their own hands! Most of the police force remained loyal to the authorities, but what pistol-packing policemen could do against a brigade-size force of soldiers who had assault rifles, grenades, mortars, machine guns and even tanks?

Cars were arbitrarily stopped by jeering soldiers who said they were "looking for Belgian officers". Any white man at the wheel was pulled out and beaten up. Any wife riding with him was dragged out and subjected to the worst kinds of humiliation at the hands of the angry mob!

Some streets were soon echoing with the shrill screams of some Belgian or European girls being gang-raped in front of their husband or father. A few Congolese civilians joined the soldiers and partook to those exactions. The situation had gotten out of hand indeed.

***

At the Memling hotel, the day had begun like any other. The front doors were kept unlocked until the manager received further instructions from the police, whom he was unable to reach. He kept trying to reach the chief of police, who was reported to be at the presidential palace for an important meeting.

Caterina decided against making up with Archie Moore. She would tell him later, but not at noon, not today. No. She felt so happy! She decided to spend the day with Laverne along with Toni and Patti, in their room. All four girls wearing ponytails!

They went downstairs to eat. Everything looked pretty much as usual in the main lobby, except for a sense of anxiety that wasn't all too obvious, but nonetheless present.

As they were having breakfast together in the hotel's restaurant, Caterina and her friends felt the growing anxiety as bad news kept pouring in the capital city. They no longer needed to listen to the radio to keep up to date. It was the talk of the town. Congolese troops in Thysville had mutinied against their white officers and molested them and their loved ones! Thysville was only 100 kilometers south of the city. What if the mutiny spread to Léopoldville's garrison?

More and more people raised their voices. This country was no longer safe! They needed to fly back home right now. Others told folks to keep calm as panicking wasn't going to help anyone.

Caterina felt very much annoyed now. Why did this had to happen and spoil her first day of genuine happiness in fifteen years? This wasn't fair!

"Did anyone of you thought of calling your embassy? They can send a few men here to keep watch at the front doors. Armed men I mean," Caterina finally suggested.

"That's a very good idea!" Patti exclaimed. "There are Marines at the embassy! Yes, let's do this!"

"Be my guest, I have a phone in my room!" Caterina said. "But let's finish our waffles first and drink our coffee while it's still hot. No milk, thanks, I prefer it black."

Those last words were said to the boy. The Congolese boy was quietly checking her out.



Caterina looked radiantly beautiful in the same outfit she wore on her last day with Baudouin. Except she was wearing her cream-yellow sweater with a long skirt that offered a pattern of horizontal thin stripes in various shades of greens and blues on an off-white field, in such a way as to make the skirt look aquatic green when seen from a distance, with the lower part of that skirt left white below her knees. She also wore a mint-green scarf over her pale yellow sweater, stylishly with the knot leaning at her right along with matching earrings.

Yes, she was wearing earrings in order to please Laverne! And earlier that morning, much to her wonder and surprise, Laverne had happened to kiss her ears and there was no issue whatsoever. It was a miracle! Caterina wanted to climb on the highest steeple and tell the whole world that she was healed. Maybe some spiritual scar tissue was left somewhere, but no thicker than the thinnest and softest angel skin.

"All right," Toni said as she finished her coffee with cream. "Let's go upstairs and call the embassy. And after, we'll teach you how to play Crazy Eights!" she added for Caterina.

"Crazy Eights?! What's Crazy Eights?"

"It's an American game of cards. It's fun, you'll see, my darling!" Laverne told Caterina before smooching her as they walked to the elevator through the lobby.

Then Caterina saw Archie. He was staring at her.

"So that's what it is! You're dating a girl now!" Archie said, quite irked.

"Yes, I'm dating this wonderful kid! What's it to you? Didn't we agree to take a pause?"

"Oh, don't worry about me! Louis is right. I'm better off with my wife. So long, white tramp!"

Caterina was shocked as she heard those last two words. Archie! Such a gentleman! Not him?! Not him!

As Archie left for his room, Caterina became aware that all three Poni-Tails were staring at her. She saw nothing but absolute contempt in their faces. Laverne was sobbing.

"You were dating a nigger?!" Toni said, outraged.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" Patti added. "If we had known you were a Negro tramp, we would never had let Laverne date you! Come, Laverne. Come and stop crying, come now..."

"I made love with that!" Laverne finally said, enraged, pointing her angry-trembling finger at Caterina, who broke down in tears.

Then there was a gigantic commotion in the lobby! And suddenly the place was filled with angry soldiers with crazy eyes! Those soldiers were all black and wearing the same desert-tan uniform along with matching field caps. They were armed with assault rifles! And they began beating up all white men they got their hands on while blocking all exits! They seized all girls and women, who all began to scream and bawl and plea, most offering their purse and money as they panicked!

Archie Moore ran upstairs and locked his room on the 5th floor. He wasn't going to fight soldiers wielding rifles and put his life on the line to defend white women! He felt it was best for him to lay low. He knew what was about to happen to those women and as a colored man, it could be surmised that he partook, and this could kill his pro boxing career back home. He better lay low and have nothing to do with any of this.

Downstairs in the lobby, it was the grim, predictable outcome.

As the men were quickly beaten into submission and made defenseless with their hands tied up behind their back, the mutinied soldiers turned on the women! Nothing left of the nice, peaceable Congolese man in those men! They had stern faces, and their dark skin made their faces look positively terrifying to those screaming women who suddenly lost all their colonial privileges as they got grabbed, groped and forcibly kissed and jeered at and spat on. Those stern-faced Negroes meant to harm them!

***

Before she knew it, Caterina was grabbed by four jeering men, who lifted her off her feet and as she pedaled the air with feet that didn't understand what was going on and tried to run, she lost her slip-on loafer shoes. Soldiers saw her bare feet and grew a raging erection as they sort of carried her in triumph, as the prize for their hotel storming.

The grinning soldiers carried her back into the hotel restaurant, then spotted a table and cleared it of all remaining cups and plates, cutlery and what-not before stretching her on that red-and-white checkered tablecloth.

"Now, Milady, now!" the soldier holding her left arm said in her face, then he licked her face as she looked away and shuddered and screamed while the man at her right arm groped her breasts through her cream-yellow sweater, while the ones at her feet urgently bunched her skirt up her waist and learned that on that day, the famous Caterina Valente was wearing pink panties that looked way too young for an adult woman.

"Now, you're the main dish, white tramp! We came just for you!" one of them said as he grabbed those panties and ripped them off!

"Wow! A lovely triangle of white-girl shadow! Wow! I can't wait!"

"Gee! We hit the jackpot! Do you see her bush, Nelson? Do you see this? We're all going inside her!"

"So this is what a white girl looks like down there! Hold her for me, boys! We do her by order of ranks, she deserves it!"

"Yes, Sergeant!"

Caterina was screaming!

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! STOP THIS! This ain't fair! No! This ain't fair! This isn't supposed to happen! It has no right to happen! No right! Aaaahh aaahhhhhhhhh not again, noooo please stop I beg yaaa!"

Caterina didn't realize she was speaking in her native Italian and none of those apes understood her. Even if they had, they clearly wouldn't have stopped. She heard Laverne's shrill screams and knew they had her as well. This was her voice all right. But her shrieks sounded superhuman in their distressed notes!

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH NNHAHAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO Niggers! Niggggrrrzzzzzzzzz hhhnmm NOOOOOOOOOOO LET ME GOOOO!" Laverne shrieked and wailed, her eyes nearly out of their sockets as she nearly died out of sheer terror and disbelief.

She shook her head in a blur of dark chestnut hair as she violently refused to accept her fate. This couldn't be happening! It had to be a nightmare! It had to! It must be! She was going to wake up in her childhood bedroom, safe and sound in Ohio...

"Yep! Yep yep! Look at what we got here!" A Sergeant said, smiling with all-white teeth as they dumped Laverne on a cleared table, not far from Caterina's rape bed.

One of his men grabbed Laverne's teal-and-white checkered shirt with short sleeves, and he ripped it open, buttons flying, and opened the forbidden display of her all-American bra -- the typical average-sized bra worn by a typical teenage girl living in Ohio.

It felt as if her very bosom was shrieking amid those stern Congolese faces, amid that forest of arms holding her, their skin in various shades of brown from a warm mahogany to midnight black.

One man, who was from some tribal village in Eastern Congo, up there where mountain gorillas have their abode, grew an epic erection as he gleefully grabbed that bra and pulled hard! It was stretched thin and then snapped broken amid the men's loud cheers and catcalls!

Laverne clenched her fists with her nails biting her palms to the blood as she frantically jerked and writhed in their grasp... She shook her head in a frantic blur where her brown ponytail caressed the faces of the nearest soldiers who were at her arms and grinned, enjoying her distress and the scent of her hair, and now the jiggling splendor of those tits she was offering them against her will.

Laverne's shrieks were so loud in their glass-breaking intensity that they felt this was dangerous for their hearing, so the Corporal leading them slapped her hard while all learned that this ponytail girl had puffy nipples that seemed really proud and snobbish with areolas that looked like round smears of wine that faded where the rich whiteness of her skin began; both knolls jiggling like Jell-O as she vainly tried to escape their collective grasp.

Laverne's head-shaking panic doubled as they painfully pressed her breasts while brutally pulling her skirt off before ripping her panties off and whistling at the wriggling display of her delicate bush of hair as they struggled to keep her in their hold. So desperate and fierce were her jerking attempts at escaping the unspeakable!

The Yankee girl was so terrified she forgot her English while they commented on the beauty of her cunt and the freshness of her tits in French and Lingala.

***

The entire restaurant was now filled with the shrill screams of at least eight or nine women who begged the troops to please let them go! All this happening while more military trucks and jeeps came to a hurried halt in front of the hotel and more mutinied soldiers poured inside the overrun building. The disaster was happening!

On her table, Caterina Valente was crying as they forced her legs open while commenting on what they called "the vulgar thickness of her cunt hair". Her perfect understanding of their French was like a red-hot knife they were turning in some old reopened wound.

That vile Sergeant had his erection out and he put a nice glistening of slobber on it. She knew this was it. Those apes around her tightened their grip on her and kept her legs well spread out with her skirt all tucked up at her waist while groping her bare breasts and catcalling "their lovely white trollop".

She knew it was pointless to resist. She knew that nothing would save her! Nothing! Miracles only happened in books and movies. This was the real life. Now she was going to be gang-raped!

She then screamed and groaned as that overweight Sergeant, a man with a brutal air and a wide pudgy face, stood between her legs and pushed right into her entrance without warning, his crazy face tensed with his straining as he looked dead into her eyes.

"Niggers! Niggers! Don't touch me, noooo! Nooo! Not this please! DON'T DON'T! Finger me before, at least! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHRR NNNAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 't hurts!" Caterina wailed.

Her expression turned into a tense landscape of bitterness as she fought through the unspeakable pain while he strained more and hammered himself inside her unprepared pussy.

Such an agony she wished to no one.

The others held her in position for their boss while that large Congolese man kept straining.

And with one all-out push, he had Caterina filling her own universe with her shriek as she nearly passed out from the pain. She barely heard his scream of joy as he pushed inside her right to the hilt!

"White tramp! You had it coming!" said the man closest to her face.

"Now let's get rid of that shirt!" said another soldier.

"You won't be needing this, sweetheart!"

Caterina was held tightly, her back pinned on the table and now sliding on it as that big Sergeant began to pound her like there was no tomorrow! Her head was bobbing and her field of vision got blurred from her flowing tears as she sobbed bitterly, in fiery pain where that big oaf was pounding her.

She felt his hands on her waist. Disgusting! Why can't he stop! She's hurting!

"NO! No! Noo! Non toccatemi! Non toccatemi! (NO! No! Noo! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!) NNHAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAA HAAAAAAAAAAAA NNNNAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO AAAA AAAA aaaaaaaaaaaaaa this ain't fair!!!"

The horny soldiers sharply pulled and torn her pale cream-yellow in opposite directions, tearing it apart and giving the light of day to her pink bra that matched her now-gone panties. They had a very hot and pleasing erection as they watched her encased tits moving along with the brutal pounding she was getting down there where her pure-white thighs were forced to brush the Sergeant's tan uniform.

For one fleeting moment, her bra was there. Then it was gone, shredded to pieces by brown hands that gave her white skin a surreal rush of light. At this point, most of those animals surrounding her unzipped their uniform trousers and showed her their proud African cocks.

Someone slapped her ever-bobbing face with it! He gave her a strong whiff of concentrated musk. She hated this.

The Italian singer felt so ashamed! So humiliated! She was being raped publicly by those shameless bastards! She couldn't do anything! Couldn't move! All she was free to do was to clench her teeth, to scream and wail... to call her mother, Mama! Mama!!! ... and to clench her little hands in small fists where they were holding her wrists, jeering at her and calling her a white tramp from Brussels.

She felt the air on her jiggling breasts and she knew they now had her topless with remaining shreds of her gone jersey! They pressed her tits hard for added pleasure. Added pain for her.

"Aaahhh yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Here it comes, hhhaaahhrrrr yaahhrrr yes! aaaahh this is so fuck doggone good to be raping a white girl! At last! At last! They had been mocking us for too long! Those white tramps! Aauuhhrrr! Now they'll see! They'll see how we rape their women, UGGHH!" she heard the Sergeant yell between his grunts.

He suddenly twitched inside her and Caterina knew this was it. No! She could get pregnant! Noo noo nooo!"

The big-oaf Sergeant groaned his bliss...
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH RRG NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"

She shook her head amid the deafening jeers as she received his sludge. No rubber! His sperm truly Africanized her womb. What a shame!

Then she realized one thing she wouldn't admit to herself. She would never have allowed Archie to do it bareback. Because... because he was colored.

"Aahh! Tu aimes ça, hein, petite salope! Et ça, ce n'est qu'un début! Tu vas voir comment on va te violer, petite catin coloniale!" (Ahh! So you like this, do you? Little tramp! And that's just the beginning! You'll see how we gonna rape you, little colonial tramp!) the man closest to her face said before reaching out and cupping her left breast while another man had found the way to her right tit, which he was now sucking with his thick lips and following her panicked motions.

He took her nipple hostage in his mouth, still unable to believe he was doing this to a white girl for real.

As he pulled out, the big Sergeant loved the sight of his own semen spilling out of that snobbish tramp. It was mixed with blood. He looked down and found traces of blood on his deflating cock.

"Did I just rape a virgin? She looks a bit old for this, and she doesn't move like a virgin. I'd say she got deflowered a long time ago."

"Sergeant, I think she's having her period," a Corporal said as he took his spot between the brunette's pale legs, clearly unfazed by her blood.

Caterina suddenly remembered, confusedly, that this was indeed the beginning of that time in her month. She was then rocked and shaken anew as another jolt of sharp pain made its entry inside her. The second rapist was taking his turn.

There was no hope! No hope! They gave her another ride where she remained tense and screaming, clenching her little fists in the middle of that pack of Negroes who were using her like a piece of meat.

Laverne screamed perhaps even louder and shriller. Their touch felt like molten lava on her skin as they raped her in the very same position as Caterina. One man taking his turn as they held her tight on that table, each new rapist holding either her thighs or her slim waist and pounding her senseless until he soon came.

Those groans of ejaculating victory felt perhaps the worst! Laverne kept passing out, but they kept slapping her and waking her up, and they would pour glasses of water on her face. They wanted her alert to feel all their fibers inside her. To feel and enjoy their hate-filled love.

Laverne couldn't help but keep on reliving the humiliation she felt when those niggers urgently stripped her naked, when they made a point of showing her that Congolese men weren't entirely harmless and that story about the good, pristine jungle man was just absolute hogwash. It was mostly Belgian propaganda to make believe that the Congolese were happy under colonial rule.

Now Laverne could tell they weren't. They kept calling her a "salope blanche" and a "trainée américaine" as they took their turns in what looked like a contest to see who could rape the tramp the hardest and make her scream the loudest and shrillest.

One after the other, they deflowered Laverne, ignoring her pleas and unable to understand her English anyway. And she didn't understand their French or Lingala either as they kindly forced her to take each and everyone of them, her fists clenched and her features twisted in suffering to the point she was unrecognizable.

Toni also got her fair share of cocks. She had met them with her arms stretched in front of her as if her small hands would keep them at arm's length. They grabbed her and laid her down and proceeded to rip all her clothes off right there on the lobby's floor! That decorative palm tree in a pot stood there as a silent witness to her defilement as the grinning boys got rid of her shirt, her poodle-style skirt, etc., until she was naked with only her saddle shoes and her bobby socks remaining.

They kept touching her dark blonde hair, kept feeling her small tits and were in awe at the sight of her vanilla nipples. So pale everywhere! Even her intimate bush refused to be dark. Her triangle had a light brown charm that attracted their dark hands like honey and bees.

Then she was spread-eagled and kept yelling and cursing and threatening them with US Marines as they railed her.

As each of those six or seven enlisted men filled her up by descending order of rank and seniority, Toni kept yelling that she was an American citizen, that a company of Marines was on their way and they were all going to be slaughtered like the filthy pigs they were.

None of those big boys had the foggiest idea of what she was yapping, so they just laughed at her while raping her on the floor and commenting on the shapes of her tits and rejoicing at the paleness of her skin and the wonderful tightness of her pussy.

They all agreed she was worth a second ride.

Patti was left with the privilege of keeping her top as she was being kept bent over on a table with her pale ass in the open, where several men each took her virtue from behind and two of them, a Corporal and the last Private, introduced her to the world of anal pain as they proceeded to break her rectum's virginity.

She kept howling like a banshee and whimpering like a bitch as they kept slamming her buns. Each man concluded the round of deep jabs with a hot load of Africanizing spunk.

Patti was in such pain! But the worst for her was the fact that nobody seemed to recognize her. None of the rapists seemed to know who she was!

"I'm a Poni-Tail! I'm a Poni-Tail!" Patti finally uttered when the fourth or fifth man plowed her.

One of them understood "ponytail" and he undid her hair, thinking she wanted to have her hair loose while they made love to her.

"She loves this! She acts like she's in pain, but she loves it!" he told his Sergeant. Both men smiled as they watched the doggy-style destruction of Patti's virginity.

Caterina was in the darkest Africa.

The short man presently inside Caterina kept smiling at her while horrifying her with the midnight-blackness of his skin. At that point, her vagina was now flooded with juices as her body reacted to that never-ending pounding. She experienced that kind of weird and unwanted arousal that so many raped girls knew. And it was only the victims of a non-consensual intercourse who knew those sensations.

Nothing pleasing in them. It was just the body trying to survive and somehow diminish the pain. Her sense of defilement remained in her, in its full brutality as Caterina kept being used by one man and then another.

They kept her pinned on that table, always in the same position with those torn pieces of fabric now hurting her back from excessive rubbing as the men gave her a rolling fire of Congolese cocks, each round of carnal applause ending with the man dying inside her as he either trembled and shivered with his jaw loose and his eyes half-closed, or screaming his sense of triumph after losing much frothing slobber from his wide-open mouth.

Knowing they were raping the famous Caterina Valente elevated their elated pleasure to an unfathomable degree that couldn't be measured in words.

That same boy who had served her coffee only an hour before was now taking his pleasure inside her! Raping her with his livery's pants down, with her legs propped up and slamming her deep and hard as he kept her small feet hovering near his midnight face! He soon screamed his bliss and dumped a truckload of semen! He then frantically covered her feet with wet kisses, filling her with horror as his fat brown lips kept landing on the extra-sensitive skin on top of her feet. This was Caterina Valente!

The small man got tossed aside, and he fell down thanks to his bunched-down pants, and thanks to his legs being like water in his post-climax state. Soldiers helped him back on his feet, patted him on the back for a job well done and gave him a banana beer.

And now the same fat Sergeant was there again. He was now naked and masturbating... and about to take his second ride inside the famous singer and actress. And he knew who she was.

"Miss Valente, I normally would have asked you for an autograph and perhaps a small note for my wife, but now that the situation has changed, I'm going to rape you deep inside your ass, and you're going to love this. Well, one of us is going to have a lot more fun than the other. All right, boys, let's flip her over and see how white her butt really is!"

The next few minutes were perhaps the worst in Caterina's life. First came the humiliation of having her bunched skirt brutally slid down her legs as they removed all surviving shred of clothes and made sure she was Eve-naked amid their dark brown frames as they bent her over the table and their cocks grew stiff upon seeing the unthinkable nakedness of her buttocks. So ungodly white! Her sensual legs and feet brought added erotic charm to her predicament. They held her tight. She wasn't going anywhere!

Then came the anal penetration that nothing could have prepared her for.

After the eternity of open-eye suffering was over, the Sergeant finally exploded inside her tight little ass! She was never to forget the resonating sound of his relief as he uttered something about Italian brunettes being the finest to ass-fuck. He then pulled out of her, filling her with the surprise of the sudden void where her anus remained open and distended from the unthinkable abuse. All of it filled with his sperm.

"And thank you, Ma'am! And remember this. Most men who ask you for an autograph, this is exactly what they actually want from you. Never forget what you're in this world for!"

With those winged words of wisdom, the Congolese Sergeant slapped her butt and left the space for the Corporal.

Her face kissing that blood-and-snow checkered tablecloth, her cheek ever sliding on it, Caterina had to endure the ordeal as the rest of the squad railed her, each man choosing the hole he preferred, while the Sergeant watched after being given a banana beer.

He drank half of it, and the remaining half, he poured it on Caterina's soft buttocks as a soldier presently pulled out of her bruised pussy.

Then came an unthinkable scene where the Congolese Sergeant avidly licked Caterina's butt, his face shockingly mud-dark against the graceful curves of her bum as he lapped the banana beer, giving the scene something that summarized what was happening in the entire hotel.

Caterina was in a state of shock that paralyzed her thoughts. All she could do was use any energy left to just brace for the next round of forced sex and try to just survive.

***

But what did happen exactly? How all those soldiers suddenly decided to storm that particular hotel?

It all began with a tall tale that took traction among the garrison and became a rumor, and as it spread, the rumor began to take airs of certainty in the minds of many.

The rumor had it that Soviet troops were being flown to Léopoldville in order to stop and disarm the mutineers as per a request from the former colonial government in Brussels.

Greatly angered by this, an entire battalion of around 800 soldiers went and stormed the Memling hotel, where they went after the Soviet delegation. Mostly. The entire hotel got sacked actually, but the press would do its best to play it down as Moscow got really pissed over this. Only the victims and perpetrators knew how bad things really got.

Of course, when they arrived and saw all those pretty white girls in the lobby and the restaurant, around two hundred of them decided the opportunity was too good to pass by and proceeded to grab and gang-rape those white girls who seemed to have been waiting for them.

Caterina, Laverne, Patti and Toni just happened to be among those low-hanging fruits, and as a result, they were now being given the full African privilege.

The rest of the battalion went upstairs, led by a Sergeant-Major who had self-appointed himself as the new commanding officer. He was with the clerk from the reception, who had a master-key.

Indeed, many men among the hotel staff were now joining the soldiers in raping the female guests! Worse, some hotel staff actually guided soldiers to rooms where a young wife or some 18-year-old daughter was to be found. Soon enough, every floor in the hotel had its fair share of tropical gang-rapes.

***

As her initial squadron of rapists were done with her, Caterina was left naked and in shock, in fetal position with her holes filled with their sperm and her mouth reeking with their vile taste. Only to get picked up by a new bunch of men, who took her closer to the bay window so they could all take a look at the pale splendor of her tits under the sun.

Caterina Valente's breasts were all a man could wish for unless he preferred huge tits. They were perky with not a hint of sagging, making the 29-year-old girl look years younger in the nude, thanks to her many years of dancing. Thanks also to her genetics as she came from a long succession of women from Latium who were naturally slender with graceful features.

Those wine-brownish nipples and areolas really had something worth the hassle! Caterina Valente had full tabs that did their natural purpose when she breast-fed her son two years before. They looked good and tasted even better, filling each of those black men with a kind of elation that could only be conjectured as they took turns in sucking her wonderful milky jugs. The contrast with their mud-chocolate skin was positively shocking.

Laverne also had her breasts thoroughly sucked and kneaded and played with by those savages who made her live White America's worst fear. As she thought she was going to die, but still endured the abuse, the girl from Ohio threatened those Congolese men with lynchings and the Ku Klux Klan.

Doing this to Caterina was especially satisfying for the hotel employees who had seen her many times with those tantalizing shapes giving that charm to her jersey. At last they were tasting the goods! This was so much fun!

"Oh, Milady! I've been dreaming of this so much! Milady has lovely tits! And they taste so good!" exclaimed the tall footman from the elevator as he engulfed, yes, he gleefully engulfed one of her tits in his mouth and began twirling his tongue around her nipple with a passion and elation that was only surpassed by Caterina's sense of horror and disgust and shame, and her crushing humiliation as she felt some notes of that dull arousal coming from those chaotic reactions inside her.

Each time they said or did something to her, they reopened a great many bad memories which she thought were gone forever. This wasn't fair! Laverne! Poor Laverne. They were raping her as well! This must be even worse for her! She hates niggers so much! And she likes only girls!

Now that every man had enjoyed his full share of white-tit sucking, they organically ended up making Caterina stand amid them, exposed in full to their gazes, to their noisy and vulgar jeers and catcalls. Countless kisses were given to her bare ass. Many hands defiled the alluring lines of her legs and accessed a pair of sensual feet that they were never supposed to touch nor come anywhere near.

Some soldiers had been a bit hesitant about storming that place, but Caterina Valente being there proved a solid argument to bring them on board.

They bent her over and many hands got acquainted, finally, with what was always hidden under her skirt, which was now long gone.

Someone fingered her. His index came out red with blood. She was in that time of her month!

They laughed as a first man, a soldier, mounted her. Caterina's sense of debasement was beyond words.

They held her in position and looked at the intercourse, fascinated by that unfathomably sharp contrast between him and her buns, which the soldier kept urgently colliding until he was hit by God's delight and made a powerful statement against colonialism, by looking up at the high ceiling and screaming like an absolute banshee as he spewed a massive load inside the famous white singer!

"Oh! Ohh this! She's a very good fuck!" the soldier ejaculated as he pulled out, his legs like water under him. He was like in a trance, his jaw still trembling from the delightful explosion.

The next man took Caterina as well, and her buns got bumped in urgent repetitions, again, as that new pair of hands held her waist amid the never-ending jeers from the waiting pack of Negroes surrounding her and proudly showing her their cocks while she was feeling one deep inside her rectum.

A man grabbed her head and ordered her to open her mouth if she didn't want to have her breasts cut off and her face rearranged. Caterina obeyed, knowing better than making the man angry. Better cooperate.

And thus, the man began to rape her face, painfully pinching her jaw while the one behind her gave her the full benefit of his exertions. It was a beautiful abuse!

One man had a Kodak, stolen from a Belgian journalist whose wife was being gang-raped on a sofa, where newspapers littered the floor, and with that Kodak, he immortalized that priceless moment where Caterina Valente was being sandwiched between two Congolese, a soldier and a middle-aged civilian... face-raped while her pussy was also being Africanized.

"Better take a picture! The guys in Camp Hardy won't believe us if we don't!"

"You're so right, Fabrice! What a beautiful picture she makes! Wow! We're fucking the great Caterina Valente!"

The Kodak clicked, but Caterina was far too busy being used as a fuck-doll to realize that what would never be deemed as believable was now provable without doubt by this history-altering picture.

Needless to say, Corporal Fabrice Lutumba took other photos of Caterina in her lovely predicament, some showing a close-up of her cock-filled face, others showing more of her alluring legs and feet, others showing the softness of her European curves, where the man behind her shook as if taken by some shamanic revelation as he erupted inside her.

And at the same time, the man having her pretty face growled and shot his sludge and kept her jaw pinched, making sure she swallowed it all to the very last drop. Congolese sperm was a precious resource with medicinal virtues and it was too precious to spill! Such words the man spoke as he finally pulled out and released her sore jaw.

Caterina knew that voice.

With a world of astonishment, she looked up at the man and recognized him. It was that middle-aged cab driver from the night before; the same one who drove her to Le Bourbon. He was grinning at her with his deflating cock coated with semen mixed with her own slobber.

"I told you I would be here. And I'm mighty glad I came!"

"Get used to it, white tramp!"

As he yelled those words, a soldier shoved an incredibly large cock inside Caterina's mouth before proceeding to teach her the art of singing pitiful sounds of muffled suffering with her jaw distended while also enduring the centaur-like assaults from the well-hung man who enjoyed her doggy style!

That man behind her was a short, weasel like man who still wore his hotel livery as he realized his crazy fantasy of raping one of the beautiful customers who wouldn't even look at him as he poured wine in her glass. At last! At last!

That man didn't last long.

"AAAAAAAHHRRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNN!!! WE WON!!!"

Sergeant Albert Katungo, aka "the Baobab", kept on raping and torturing Caterina's face with his humongous big staff, making it look like she was having a baseball bat of dark wood shoved inside her mouth. Big and deep brown. He kept brutally pounding her, throat-deep. Her long hair now loose, those shimmering strands made submissive waves as her charming head was forced to follow his barbaric motions, as he kept her in a kneeling dance of sexual slavery.

At the end of this dramatic bout of fury, the man relieved himself and let out all of his pent-up anger against the establishment in one beast of a scream as he pulled out and watched his enormous load as it landed in beautiful ropes smack on her lovely face! Caterina was thus given a milky-looking coat, very much glistening at the daylight from that bay window. She hated the smell! She felt like throwing up.

Caterina was finally released and she went down on all fours, retching from the excessive throat pounding. As she did so, she offered a really erotic pose to those men tormenting her.

The next man couldn't resist the all-girl charm of her buttocks. He knelt behind her and proceeded to give her something more to remember from her stay in Congo. He gave her his all and ended up strong and proud as his semen delivered his message.

Such was the fate of any white girl who had the misfortune of finding herself at the wrong place at the wrong time. Beware, travelers to Congo!

TO BE CONTINUED.

[HistBuff]

Katya was listening to her favorite record from her favorite American singer. Johnnie Ray. She had seen his picture in some pop music magazine. He was handsome. He was also rumored to be homosexual. She loved his songs all the same and she was really glad to be gifted in languages. Her progress in English had been quite remarkable. She would soon be fluent, and now as she listened to Look Homeward Angel over and over again, the words caressed her and reached her innermost soul.

If anything happened to Grigory, she would die too and hopefully be kissed by an angel. The strained relationship with religion was the only thing about Communism she didn't like. For the rest, everything made sense. The most gifted and useful comrades were rewarded with a better home and perks. The poorer people were being taken care of; she had been told this a great many times at school. She was proud to be living in what to her was an almost perfect State where laws were fair for all people.

And now she was thinking about her uncle, and this in a way that greatly puzzled her. Could she be in love with two men at the same time? When she saw him at breakfast at seven, she had felt surprisingly enraptured by his presence, and now she couldn't wait until it was late at night so she could undress herself in front of him as usual.

There was a gentle knock on her door... She knew it was him.

"Katyusha dear, may I come in?"

"Of course, Dyadya (Uncle). Come right in. I'm just reading and listening to records."

As he walked in, Katyusha noticed his agitated state. The intensity in his ice-blue eyes and the way his balding crown of greying hair were unkempt.

"What's the matter, Dyadya? You look like you've seen a ghost! Your hair's a mess! Come here, I'll fix them for you! No, no, come right here and sit on my bed, Sir!" Katyusha said with an air of amused playfulness. She loved to attend to her uncle in such things. She would even go as far as saying she was "training to be a good wife later" when she combed his hair or fixed his necktie.

Oleg sat and smiled at his favorite niece who was also his adoptive daughter.

"Katyusha dear! I can never say no to you! You're the sun of my life!" he said, holding her hand before she went to her drawer for a comb.

He was wearing his usual Navy blue suit with his usual gold-brown tie with slanting dark blue stripes that were as thin as the smile he gave his niece as she got her small comb, a puerile-looking pink comb that looked quite comical when she got near him to use it on her fifty-something uncle.

"But that's your comb, Katyusha! You can't use it on me!"

"Of course I can, Dyadya! I love to share my things with you. We have our little secrets, don't we? Where's Mother?"

"Magda's in her room, resting. Yesterday night, she tried Congolese cuisine and I'm afraid the meal didn't agree with her Ukrainian stomach."

Magda was actually perfectly all right. She was in the masters' bedroom with the door locked; she had overheard her husband's conversation with Tatiana and she was now terrified. Oleg preferred not to alarm Katyusha. He had left his son's Tokarev pistol on a sideboard near his niece's bedroom. He would tell her they were leaving the country only next morning and only if the plane was to land later that day.

"Oh, poor Magda. I will never go anywhere a Congolese dish! Polish and Ukrainian foods are the best in the world!" Katyusha said as she began combing her uncle's hair with that comically pink comb.

"Don't you ever tell Anton or even Tatiana that you did my hair with that comb!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! If only Anton saw you like this! He would wait until he's alone, and then he would laugh his head out, but he's a very good man, the best assistant one could have, I'd say."

"Absolutely, Katyusha. To me, he's part of the family. I'm going to make a request and ask Moscow for a better apartment for him and his wife, when we get back home I mean, uh, you're really pretty today, Katyusha. I like this royal blue sweater you're wearing over your blouse."

"You like it? You like Ukrainian women, don't you? Here! Now your hair looks presentable! I wouldn't want your staff to have anything to say about your appearance, and you're so handsome!"

"Oh, come Katyusha. Don't embarrass me!"

"But you really have a thing for Ukrainian women, don't you Dyadya? I mean your first wife, then your second wife, and now Magda. All three Ukrainian. All three having really dark hair, just like my mother did."

"Yes, you're right about this, Katyusha. I do love Ukrainian women, especially when they have black hair."

As he spoke, Oleg had begun gently stroking Katyusha's dark hair. She looked very much like her long-dead mother, his own little sister, with whom he had a forbidden romance until she died during the siege of Leningrad at only 33 years of age in 1943. The apartment had been nearly entirely destroyed by a shell while she was sleeping. Katyusha was miraculously saved. Oleg was a full colonel in besieged Moscow at the time. He sent for her as soon as it could be arranged.

He had taken care of her since then, always fascinated by this little girl who quickly grew up to look so remarkably like his gone sister. He remarried two years later, shortly after the war, and gave Katyusha a stable home. He had always been in absolute contemplation of Katyusha, especially when she grew into a gorgeous teenager and now she was a young woman, and in love with a young man he felt jealous of. Deep down, Oleg felt jealous of Grigory.

"I love it when you stroke my hair, Dyadya. There's something in your touch that feels... I don't know... Please go on, touch my hair again! It feels... outré and forbidden, but not in a bad way..."

As she spoke, Katyusha sat on her bed, right next to him and smiled at him with her dark brown eyes sparkling as he kept stroking her hair.

"I... I think I better go..."

Katyusha put her hand on his forearm, silently telling him to stay. There was a sense of urgency bordering on despair in her touch. He remained sitting on Katyusha's bed, his heart pounding.

"Uncle, do I look Ukrainian?"

"Well, uh, please don't say this, Katyusha."

As he spoke, he kept stroking her long dark hair. He saw a change in Katyusha's eyes, in the way she looked at him, and he began to fear where this was starting to lead, but he kept stroking her hair...

Wonderfully shimmering were those straight strands of angel-like softness! It was better than silk. It was as if silk had turned to silk.

Katyusha's divinely long hair was exactly like his dead sister, and also just like his second wife Katrina. He had tears welling in his eyes when Katrina's ghost popped up at the surface of his tormented thoughts as he kept stroking those magic strands.

Katrina! How did he love her! Only he knew. He was so happy with her! After the crushing loss of his first wife and his stillborn child, he had met her in Kiev, lucky him! This was in early 1926, and by this time the Party had seen fit to make an officer out of the 21-year-old lad who seemed full of promising talents.

Katrina had fallen head over heels for this dashing young Sub-Lieutenant with blonde hair and a natural way to be dignified without being arrogant. He was a very good match and serious about her. They were married soon after. Her parents were so proud to have a Red-Army officer for a son-in-law! It didn't really matter to them that he didn't speak Ukrainian.

The young couple lived in Moscow, then in Tobolsk two years later when he got promoted to Lieutenant. Then they lived in Leningrad, which used to be called Saint Petersburg.

They were happy until the Holodomor happened in 1933. This would prove his hardest test as a loyal member of the Party. As per Stalin's orders, all Ukraine was starved on purpose by the authorities. Millions of Ukrainians died within a year. Including Katrina's parents and half of her relatives.

Oleg was promoted to Captain with a transfer into Siberia, where he was to take command of a political prisoner camp. The Party was actually sending him away in some sort of disgrace because of his Ukrainian wife. But he was willing to go through this as long as his wife remained with him, and as a commanding officer, he was allowed to live with his wife over there. But Katrina refused to go with him.

"What are you thinking of, Dyadya?" Katyusha asked, almost like a whisper as she leaned closer to him.

"Katrina..." he whispered back, tears flowing out of his eyes.

"Katrina? Your second wife? Why? But you're crying?!"

"It's all right, it's nothing... Katrina, yes. She died in '34, dead at only 25 when she took her own life."

"But... You never told me this! You said she fell ill and died. Oh, that's horrible! Oh, poor Dyadya!"

"Sshht! Keep your voice down. I never told Magda, not even her!"

"But, wh, what happened?"

"Holodomor! That's what happened. Katrina's parents died of hunger in Ukraine back in '33. She refused to follow me in Siberia and said she couldn't remain with a man who represented the very authorities that had ordered the famine that caused her parents' and her brother's death."

"But that's not true! The Kremlin had nothing to do with this! I learned this at school!" Katyusha said.

"Never mind, Katyusha. The fact is, Katrina took her own life the next year. She hung herself in our apartment in Leningrad and was only found four days later. I was devastated. Crushed."

Katyusha began kissing Oleg's cheeks, getting her lips wet with his tears as he kept speaking...

"Anton helped me so much to go through this! What a wonderful friend he always was!"

"Anton?! He was with you in Siberia?"

"Yes, Katyusha. We go as far back as this! He was my second-in-command in that shit-hole of a place called a forced-labor camp. Lost deep in Siberia. I felt empty and lost, but Anton always found ways to cheer me up a bit. He's followed me ever since, but... Katyusha? Wh-what are you doing? Stop this!"

Katyusha had begun to tenderly kiss him, and gently licking his tears, while she caressed his thigh through his wool trousers and she was getting dangerously close to his groin area.

"Please, Katyusha, stop..." he whispered.

She kissed him on the lips and this time it was different. She pressed her lips on his, making him understand that she wanted him. Why was she doing this? She had no idea, really. Was it the agitated state he was in? Was it this new secret he was sharing with her about his second wife? All she knew was she felt incredibly aroused and attracted to him.

He knew he ought to stop her, but it felt so good! So good! He loved her close proximity. But she was his own adoptive daughter! This was wrong! As she kissed him ravenously and put her hand right on his nascent erection and began caressing it through his trousers, he realized she was a young woman indeed. No longer the child she used to be.

It was like being with Katrina again! She was about the same age as Katrina was when they married, an orthodox ceremony held in secret against the Party's laws, because it was so important for her! Katyusha looked so much like Katrina! No wonder! When Oleg first met Katrina, he was struck by the resemblance with his beloved sister, Katyusha's late mother.

He should have stopped Katyusha from pressing on her advances, but he proved too weak. He gave in. He opened his lips and her tongue came right in. They were now French-kissing on Katyusha's bed!

"Touch me, Dyadya! Make love to me! Please! Take me!" she whispered to him, skin close with her breath intoxicating him. She was that long lost dream he was finally holding in the flesh and blood.

"I... I don't have time for this, I have something important coming up and it can't wait, I'm already late... and keep your voice down. Magda's in the next room! Thank God those walls are thick!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Uncle, that's the first time I hear you referring to God! Ha! Ha! Ha! So funny, really! But then, do I look Ukrainian, like this? What do you think?"

As she said this last sentence, Katyusha swiftly stood on her knees and took her white blouse and pulled it out of her skirt, then she grabbed the hem of her blue sweater and raised it all the way along with her blouse, and her boobs came flashing into sight!

"But, you aren't wearing a bra?"

"I often don't. But what do you think? Am I pretty? Do I look Ukrainian?"

Oleg knew he shouldn't, but he just couldn't help himself! He rushed at Katyusha and avidly took one of those youthful tits in his mouth. She felt so wonderful! As he covered her soft knolls with a flurry of kisses, he felt a life-altering burst of arousal, especially strong when his tongue made contact with her nipple.

"Do I look Ukrainian? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!"

Katyusha's innocent laughter added to his pleasure as he got deep in the act of sucking his niece's breasts. He nudged her into lying down on the bed and proceeded to give those boobs a manly spit-polish. He was completely forgetting where he was and the grave predicament the Soviet delegation was in.

"Take me, Dyadya! I know you've always wanted this, so take it! Take my innocence! I love you!"

"I... I can't! K, keep it for Grigory, please. At least, do yourself this favor. There's only one time in life when a maiden should give her virginity and that's on her wedding night."

"Yes, maybe you're right, but ooohh! It would feel so good to do this and share this secret! Please..."

"We don't have time anyway. Would you... No, I have no right to ask you this..."

"Would I what? Come on, tell me, tell me! What would my handsome Dyadya want from his little Katyusha? Tell me..."

As an answer, Oleg stood up and faced Katyusha, whose tits were still out on display under her bunched-up blouse and sweater. They displayed the sheen of his love of them.

"Would you kneel down and pleasure your Dyadya?"

"Yes! Yes! Right away!"

***

"They're coming!" Tatiana told her husband.

"They're coming? For real?!" asked Boris, who looked spic-and-span in his Major's uniform. Tatiana was positively alarmed. He had never seen her like this!

"Yes they are! And there's a lot of them! I had no idea the were going to attack the hotel en masse! They're already inside! Is Anton back?"

"No. I haven't heard of him, darling."

"Fuck! Call Stefan! I'll get your dad! There's only four of us! Let's hope those niggers aren't coming for us! I never wanted so bad to be in Siberia!"

***

But those tan-uniformed soldiers were indeed coming for the Soviet delegation! They were already on their way upstairs!

Sergeant-Major Daniel Bokungu was leading the assault company A upstairs while his fellow Sergeant-Major, the battalion's self-appointed commanding officer, was leading company B in the elevators. Most of the men in the battalion were headed for that seventh floor with nothing but hate and anger for its occupants. Many fielded a strong erection, be it out of sheer excitement or at the prospect of a very elating aftermath; they had heard that Russian women were quite something.

"Those Russian pigs are going to pay for this! We're gonna beat them black and blue and they're gonna watch us fuck their women!" Daniel Bokungu had bellowed shortly before they left Camp Léopold II and drove directly, a great many trucks and jeeps, to the Memling hotel in order to carry out the attack they had planed the night before in the wee hours.

They had been so agitated that nearly none of them was able to sleep. They all knew there was no turning back from this. In the event that Belgium managed to forcibly retake control of Congo and decided their nationals would be safer under a restored colonial rule, then they would all be shot by a white fire squad. But in all cases, today they were going to beat up those white men and then fuck their women, and maybe this would be worth dying for. Very few Congolese men had tasted white pussy, let alone Soviet pussy.

So upstairs they went. As per Daniel Bokungu's reckoning, half of the battalion had halted downstairs and decided to sack the lobby and spread throughout the hotel floors, where a great many of them were already gang-raping the women. This couldn't be helped. He and his commander still had more than enough men to completely overwhelm whatever security team the ambassador had. They even had grenades!

Thus, unfortunately for the Soviet delegation, Daniel Bokungu and his fellow Sergeant-Major were natural leaders who had kept hundreds of men set on their main objective. The seventh and last floor.

***

When Tatiana used the key double and got inside the ambassador's suite, she looked for Oleg, but there was no sign of him.

She came to Katya's door, knowing her cousin-in-law would be there at this time of the day. In her extreme state of agitation, Tatiana forgot to knock first. She opened the door and walked in.

Then she stopped and found a ghost, but when she did realize what she was witnessing, she felt she would rather have stumbled into the Devil himself. She had become strongly religious during the Great Patriotic War against Germany when she was flying bombing missions by night.

Yes, seeing the Devil himself would be better than this!

Katyusha was on her knees while Oleg stood, tenderly stroking her hair, with his suit's trousers wide open as she had her eyes closed and gave him a heated fellatio, her little hand holding the base of his erection as her head bobbed back and forth, leading her superbly long hair into dark shimmering motions while her uncle also had his eyes closed and showed every sign of the deepest contentment as he received Katya's affections through her tongue and palate.

Those slurping sounds and his low-key grunting confirmed to Tatiana's ears that this was really happening.

Oleg opened his eyes and looked where he had heard someone coming, and panic set in on his face. His eyes were wide open and his eyebrows way up. He stood speechless while Katya carried on, her eyes closed and far gone.

Katya kept at it for a while before becoming aware of Oleg's trouble and only then she opened her eyes and wondered what was the matter.

She then looked to her right and saw Tatiana in her full uniform and wearing her air force service hat. And the disgust in her blue eyes! And the air of contempt written all over her face.

Katya was still massaging Oleg's base and her last tongue strokes had brought her uncle right over his edge. He growled and spewed one massive load of jism that sailed in angry bursts out of his pulsating cock.

All the sludge landed on the side of Katya's head as she was looking at Tatiana, and quite annoyed at the interruption while also trembling as to what was going to happen next.

"I would never have believed this of you!" Tatiana finally said after looking at the impromptu couple for half a minute without being able to speak.

"I... I... I..." was all Oleg could say in his attempt at saying he was sorry but he couldn't help it.

"Believe it or not, we have no time to discuss this. The Congolese soldiers are here in this hotel as I speak! So take your gun and come along. There's only four of us and all we have is our Tokarev handguns. So let's pray they don't come this way!"

"What?! Congolese troops?! Here?!" Katya said as she nearly peed her panties out of fright.

"Don't worry, my beloved!" Oleg told Katya as he put himself back together and Tatiana walked out of the bedroom, fuming.

"You stay right here until I tell you it's safe," Oleg added. "Nothing's going to happen, Katyusha. It's probably just a bunch of drunk soldiers who are stirring trouble downstairs and..."

BOOOM!!!

"What was that? Was it a grenade?" Oleg asked, and then his former military experience kicked right in.

"It was a grenade," Tatiana said, confirming what he already knew.

"What's going to happen to us? What's going to happen to us? They're attacking! They're here upon us! No! I don't wanna fall in their hands! No! Stop them! Stop them my darling!" Magda cried out as she ran out of the matrimonial bedroom and flung herself into Oleg's arms as she walked in Katya's bedroom.

"You both stay right here and don't open for anyone!" Oleg said as he took his wife aside and then many gunshots were heard...

POP! POP! PAW! PAW! PAW!!!

Those were the shots from a handgun and semi-automatic rifles speaking to each other. And yells! And screams! Men and women screaming in the hallway!

"Boris! Boris!" Tatiana screamed as she ran out of the ambassador's suite, leaving the door wide open.

"Tatiana! The door! God-dammit!" Oleg cursed as he went for the gun while Katya and Magda both hugged each other and bawled in absolute panic.

Oleg froze. This happened to some recruits in their very first engagement or to men who haven't been in battle for a long time. The former Brigade General felt deeply ashamed. His son's Tokarev was right there on the sideboard; he had to take it and rush outside to defend his loved one, but his knees trembled and he just couldn't move, like one whose feet were glued to the ground in a bad dream.

Magda was in such a fright that she didn't notice the large spot of semen in Katya's hair. She didn't even notice the smell as she held Katya tightly, even forgetting to close and lock the bedroom door as both women, the girl and her adoptive mother, cried and bawled in each other's arms, their legs shaking in fear.

Katya peed herself this time.

***

The assault company B's first two squads were met with Stefan's Tokarev pistol as soon as they came out of the elevators. The shots went BANG! BANG! astonishingly loud in the enclosed hallway.

Two soldiers fell including the Chief-Corporal, but the squad's Corporal and another crack shot were quick enough to shoot the bugger. With their Belgian Model 24 rifles.

POW POW!

Stefan fell, one bullet gone through his lungs, another smack through his belly as he was retreating and just about to fire his next shot. His chances of survival were much lower than those two men he hit, only once each, as the Tokarev and those old M24 rifles all fired the same caliber, 7.62 mm, but the rifles had a better muzzle velocity and were deadly at such a close range.

The Corporal saw the Soviet man out of commission, with his fedora hat rolling on the hallway's spotless floor of beige tiles.

The Sergeant leading the other squad ordered two men to go down and call for medical help. They would never be seen again; those men would join the fun and partake in the gang-rapes of those white women in the lobby.

"This one's out of commission! Let's go!" the Corporal told his squad, and the six remaining Congolese soldiers went one way, while the other squad sprung forward in the opposite direction as doors opened and civilians came out in the hallway to see what was the matter.

One woman began screaming as soon as she saw Stefan lying on the floor in a pool of blood and the soldiers coming right at her. She was immediately grabbed and pushed back inside her room by two stern-faced soldiers. Her husband tried to defend her, but he was clubbed down by those men's rifle butts while the middle-aged wife begged them to please stop. They did. Only to grab her again and assault her clothes.

The wind of panic spread like wildfire. Russian men and women began to scream and curse and either run back inside their rooms or run through the hallway from the soldiers while the elevators were on their way down to pick two more squads of bad news for the delegation.

The Soviet civilians went in terrified stampede upon hearing the loud explosion when the grenade went off.

This loud BOOM came from a stairwell where Boris had been holding off the first men from the other assault company. It wasn't so easy to dislodge a shooter holding the position behind an iron door on the highest floor, where only one attacker at a time could fire at him, or two if the second man took the risk of coming out in the open on the landing at the foot of this last flight of stairs. And in this particular configuration, a handgun was a much better option than a rifle.

Boris was shooting either crouching or standing, in order to keep his enemy guessing where he was to pop out of that door's edge. The Soviets didn't have time to barricade those stairwell doors.

Sergeant-Major Daniel Bokungu was the only one who had a pistol. He had taken the pistol belonging to his Colonel, who had narrowly escaped with his family. Bokungu decided he wasn't willing to put his life on the line in a pistol vs. pistol duel when the other man had the better position, and felt that losing one man was enough. He took a grenade and threw it carefully where it landed right at that door while his most trusted man was covering him with his M24 rifle.

The rifle shots were deafening in this enclosed space; even worse than in the hallway. When it went off, the grenade sounded like a nuclear bomb! Daniel Bokungu and the men in close proximity to him were all deafened for the next few minutes.

The explosion destroyed the door, but also made the landing quite dangerous to step on. Daniel cursed as he ordered his men to go back and go through the sixth floor. They would have to take another stairwell.

But the squad that came out of the second elevator had met no resistance. Neither did the other squads that followed the first ones, at which point the fallen Chief-Corporal received some assistance along with the other wounded man. But the overexcited soldiers pressed on and nobody went downstairs to call for medical help. They did not expect casualties and were just too hot and unruly anyway.

They just ran into scared and panicking people from the Soviet delegation. The Sergeant-Major leading them was on the mission to suppress any resistance, but he couldn't hold his men when they saw the Russian women and how beautiful they were.

His men began to beat up the men. Some men were shot as they tried to protect their wife.

"Hold your fire! Hold your fire! Shit! Hold your fire I say!" Sergeant-Major Albert Mpoku yelled as he tried to keep his men from killing.

He saw a dapper young man with a hole in his head and cursed.

"Pavel! Pavel! Monsters you killed my husband, aaaah aaaaa AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!" his wife shrieked as two men were dragging her back in her room. Too late for him.

A brief burst of shooting had been heard elsewhere in the hallway. The first squad led by that Corporal had run into a Soviet Major, who fired at them before retreating.

That Major then ran into another group of enemy soldiers who just came out of another flight of stairs. Sandwiched between both squads and alone, and now surrounded, the young-looking officer threw his gun away and raised his hands. He surrendered.

More mutineers came through the elevators and through the other flights of stairs. Before long, the hallways were jam-packed of Congolese soldiers with some scattered Soviet civilians who were soon caught and thoroughly searched for weapons.

The Soviet men yelled and cursed, telling the boys not to touch their wife or daughter, in Russian. They were beaten into a bloody pulp by grinning soldiers giving them the rifle-butt treatment while the girls and women shrieked as they got grabbed and soon groped.

"Nieet! Niet! Niet!"

"Aaahhh Nieet!"

Young and older, the wives were grabbed by stern-faced Negroes and promptly disrobed, while smiling and grinning mutineers did the same to those 18- or 22-year-old daughters.

Those white Soviet tits were soon floating in plain sight and soon buried under a forest of pressing hands as many of those black men enjoyed their very first touch on a pair of European tits. They loved it and wanted more.

While the men who were still conscious got kicked and restrained with their hands tied up in their back, the wives and daughters, and the nurses, panicked even more as their skirts or dresses or pants were savagely pulled down and their panties soon followed suit.

Many Congolese saw their first white-girl cunts on that day. They were especially fascinated when it was a blonde and the carpet matched the drapes. Many of those soldiers would keep a strand of blond hair as a keepsake. Indeed, keeping a pair of Soviet-girl panties would only be for a lucky few.

All doors were systematically beaten down and smashed open, often after a gun shot to break the lock. Once inside the rooms or suites, the soldiers did what one would expect of such gentlemen. Beating up the men and then raping the women.

Nadia, the ambassador's 22-year-old secretary, was thus met with a pack of such charming gentlemen after they kindly broke her door open and found her by herself in her room, where she had run back and begun to pray after seeing the delegation was attacked.

She had tried to use the phone, but found the line was dead. The line had been cut! It was a planned attack. Her testimony would later make Congo's government look very bad indeed as it would be established that they had let an entire battalion plan a full-scale attack on a group that had diplomatic immunity right under their nose.

But right now, Nadia's door had been smashed and she was facing no less than six men who were all looking at her with hate and lust in their eyes, their faces looking even darker against their tan uniform shirts and under their field cap.

She was alone. No protection.

"I... I have my diplomatic immunity!" Nadia said in passable French. "No... No... Please... No, not this..." she added as she recoiled and they pressed on, advancing on her as she recoiled more.

Corporal Ekoko was smiling at her, an evil smile. He loved this cats-and-mouse game. Wow! She spoke with such a lovely foreign accent! A beautiful whore for them! He would have preferred a blonde, but he was in awe upon noticing the snow whiteness of her skin and how petite and graceful she was. His cock grew into a monster under his uniform as he smiled at the prospect of stripping her out of that neat outfit she wore -- a dark cardigan with a dalmatians-patterned shirt under it, with a dignified-looking skirt that reached down almost to her ankles.

"Close and lock the door, Jean-Baptiste. We don't want to share this fine spoil of war, don't we?"

"But, Corporal, we just broke the door!"

"Well, never mind! Let's hope the others will be too busy elsewhere. I think they are. Listen to those screams! Et toi, Blanche Neige, montre-nous tes nichons!" (And you, Snow White, show us your tits!)



TO BE CONTINUED.