Elizabeth's Roman Awakening Ch. 09

DeRugger was absolutely devastated by the news. The fact that he might have a black heir with claim to his wealth was totally unthinkable and unacceptable. Shortly thereafter, he found himself unable to achieve or maintain and erection. That was especially frustrating as his wife had apparently been caught up with the romance of their exotic locale in Africa and was in exceptional heat every night, practically tearing his clothes off at bedtime. Unfortunately, her usually oversexed husband was in the parlance, "pushing a wet noodle". Her frustration had become clearly visible at the evening supper table and in every interaction with her husband. Every night she would take long baths and masturbate herself to multiple climaxes. At the same time, their daughter who had never been particularly interested in sex discovered masturbation and her first time solo had rubbed her clit and her pussy too sore to touch. They all were completely clueless that they were being manipulated, caught up in natural urges run amok by the infusion of special medicines from Mama Leone's almost magical herb factory.

Mrs. deRugger held out until the urges became too overwhelming and she had lately begun slipping out to their manservant's quarters. She had never felt such thrills and such ecstasy with a man and try as she might, she could no longer restrain herself from tiptoeing from her sleeping husband every night. One especially restless night, she decided not to bother returning to the main house and in one of the many couplings, she felt her lover's cum flooding her womb particularly deeply. Her orgasm was so gripping that she could barely maintain her sanity.

She had not yet discovered it but she had already been bred, and in two months it would be obvious to her and more importantly to her husband. Mylea reported all this to Mama Leone, who nodded sagely. They conversed softly in Bantu dialect and Mama Leone explained to her that she must now increase the level of the special hormones for the couple's virginal daughter. Mylea resisted saying, "Revered mother, these whites will become competitors for our men's seed. Our men will find them more appealing than those of us born to the tribe. I do not want to have to compete with them. In fact, I will not!" Mama Leone grabbed the girl's wrist and shook her vigorously. "Get a grip on yourself, girl!" the old crone growled, "Their fate is not to become competition for a high born one such as you! Besides, there is plenty of our men's seed to go around and we need both high and low born children. Do not forget that though their skin might be white, their wombs will bear only black babies once we bring them to our home to serve us." As an afterthought, she cackled and raising an eyebrow added, "Many black babies. Many!"

In the library, the talk moved from oil business to personal matters. DeRugger leaned over conspiratorially, and poured out the family situation to Michael. He hinted that he suspected that his wife had been unfaithful to him with the manservant, and he even thought that his precious daughter was beginning to look at the strong black man with smoldering desire.

He tiptoed around the delicate subject of his own impotence then, trying to act nonchalant, asked Michael whether the witch woman might have something to fan the flames of his flagging desire. Michael cringed at this, but knew or at least suspected the agency at work in this situation. He said he would explain the situation to Mama Leone and enlist her aid. Michael then asked what deRugger thought at first was a curious question, but based on his almost physical reaction to it, became even more curious.

Michael sat back in his chair, steepled his fingers and asked quietly, "Tell me, is there nothing that excites you? For example, how does the thought of your wife being with your manservant affect you?"

DeRugger growled and started to rise from his chair, his hands balled into tight fists. He shouted angrily, "Damn you man! Damn you! How dare you even bring up such a thing? Damn you, I say!" He visibly shook and only the sudden appearance of Mylea and Mama Leone at the door stayed his hand. Michael quaked visibly, and raised his hands to protect himself, but grew calmer when the burly man dropped heavily into his leather chair.

Now deRugger grew positively apoplectic, his face becoming beet red. He ran his hands through his salt and pepper gray hair trying to compose himself. He cleared his throat and said softly, "I'm sorry old man. Forget I said anything."

Seizing the moment, Mama Leone strode across the polished wooden floor and looked pointedly at Michael. He immediately rose and offered his chair to the witch woman. She told him in clipped English, "Pull the chair closer."

Michael scooted the chair so that is was within a foot of deRugger's. She nodded and bade him, "Leave us now." Then beckoning to Mylea, she handed her a small leaf-wrapped bundle and instructed her in Bantu, "Make us a tea. Make certain you do not drink from it! Do you understand?"

The young girl's eyes flashed as she nodded vigourously and left the room. When they were quite alone, Mama Leone gestured to the heavy Dutchman and spoke to him calmly. "Tell me my friend what troubles you. Leave nothing out! And do not feel embarrassed. Think of me as a healer, like one of your western doctors. Can you do this for me?"

DeRugger cleared his throat, and began at first hesitatingly, but then as she looked at him with what he perceived to be kind, understanding eyes he poured his soul forth to her. He spoke earnestly to her, "You see, even before coming to Africa, I've felt inadequate to umm . . . fulfill my wife's needs. Lately, it's become even more of a problem. When we first got here, I thought things were better. I was becoming umm, well . . . erect all the time, even without provocation. Then, well . . . nothing. And to make matters worse, I keep imagining that I see her looking longingly at that damned kaffir - our manservant."

Mama Leone's jaw tightening imperceptibly on hearing the old Afrikaans racial slur, but said nothing. The tea arrived and after Mylea poured, the witch told him to take a long draught to calm his nerves. The brew was in fact a mildly sedative hallucinogenic, and one that acted quickly and rendered the subject highly suggestible. She watched him relax before speaking again. Although English was not her native language, her command of it was actually very good, especially now with her assistant Hermione coaching both vocabulary and syntax.

"Would you like to regain your manhood? To have strong stirrings again? To have your manhood become as hard as teak?" she asked.

DeRugger's demeanor became totally placid, and with half closed eyes his nodded and his lips mouthed a soundless, "Oh yes."

She placed her hand on his knee and whispered, "Would you like your wife to be inflamed by passion for you again, willing to do anything you tell her; ready to serve you in any way?"

Now deRugger's face lit up and a broad smile crossed is face, "Oh yes. Yes," he cried out.

Mama told him sharply, "Shhh! Quiet!" then went on, licking her dry cracked lips. She switched her untouched cup for the one he had drained then lifted the cup to his mouth, "Drink some more tea, master," she suggested. He readily quaffed the entire cup, fed steadily to him by Mama.

"Excellent. Very good," she said grinning at him. "Here is what will happen. I am going to give you a powder that will make your root strong and hard again. But I will have something from you in return, do you understand?"

A frown crossed the Dutchman's face, "What is this thing? What would you have of me?"

Mama Leone almost cackled at her cunning and the ease with which she controlled this pliable fool. She composed herself, forcing a serious look onto her lined face. "The . . . 'kaffir' as you call him, is called Stephen Mwanga, and a precious member of our tribe, but he is very naïve in the ways of the world and of men and women."

At that, deRugger, his eyes now fully closed frowned slightly but continued to listen attentively. She smiled and raising one eyebrow, went for the kill. "The price of regaining your manhood is this: Your wife must teach Stephen the ways of men and women. When you take the powder I am about to give you, you will be so masterful that she will be unable to resist your mastery."

She let that sink in and began again, "You must bring both your wife and the 'kaffir' to your bed and in your sight she must seduce him, then take him as many times as possible. As the night grows long your manhood will grow harder and harder, but . . . and this is the difficult part . . . you must not touch yourself. You may observe and enjoy, but you cannot take part or the . . . " here she grasped for the right English words, " The . . . 'medicinal effect' will be lost and you will have to begin all over."

She released her grip on his leg. His lower lip was trembling. He stuttered, "I . . . I . . . I don't know if I can do such a thing. I . . . I . . . This is too much." Although his eyes were closed and his body relaxed, he shook his head from side to side trying to resist her hypnotic voice which droned on, "Yes. Yes Mr. Jans. You WILL do this. You will come to enjoy it and the control it gives you over your woman. You WILL do this or your manhood will be lost forever. Say it for me - you wife is the price for your manhood. Say it."

"My . . . my wife . . . is the price . . . she is the price for my manhood."

She patted his hand and said, "Good. Good. You will come to relish watching your wife submit to your will and teach young Stephen. It will excite you beyond your imaginings. You will believe that, yes?"

"Yes, I will enjoy watching her with him." The hypnotic potion had him fully in its grip now. A rush of excitement coursed through his penis. Mama continued, "Very good, very good Mr. Jans. Keep your eyes closed for me and imagine your wife with Stephen. Can you see them?" His eyelids flickered and he acknowledged her saying, "Yes. Yes, I can see them. She is opening her nightgown wide for him. The night breeze is blowing it away from her body. Oh god, I can see her pale skin in the moonlight. Her hair is being lifted by the wind."

He swallowed hard and with a flick of her eyes, Mama bid Mylea back into the room. Mama looked down at the white man's trousers and the clearly growing bulge. Softly and silently Mylea, unzipped him and fished for his small hard member. She knelt down and covered him with lush, full lips.

Mama Leone asked, "Do you see them? Tell me more."

"Oh god yes," he continued. "I can see his dark hands stripping her gown from her, forcing her to her knees. I can see . . . Oh god, I can see her mouth opening to take him. Oh god . . . I can see her leading him to our bed. She's . . . "

He licked his thin, dry lips and he was straining to see the vision through tightly clamped eyelids. "I . . . I can see her opening her legs and reaching up to him. "

With this, Mylea's head began to bob quickly as she took his small, white, uncut dick deeply into her throat. Like so many of the tribe's alpha women, she was skilled at the art of pleasure. DeRugger's groans and the rapid rise and fall of his chest bore witness to her skills. Mama Leone said, "Yes, continue. Go on. Keep your eyes closed"

His eyes clamped tighter as he struggled to focus both on the feeling between his legs and the vision Mama had planted in his unconscious. He fumbled for words, "They . . . they're fucking hard so hard and he's . . . Uhhh . . . "

Now the white man was in the verge of orgasm. Mylea slowed the pace after a small tap on her shoulder from Mama Leone. The witch knew it was critical for her subject to fully explore the vision to its finale. He continued, "I can see his blackness and Trina's legs wrapped around his back. Now he's . . . he's cumming inside my wife. And she is moaning loudly. And he keeps coming harder and harder. Oh no. No! What have I done!"

He shook his head from side to side and he clenched his jaw. Mama Leone pulled the girl backwards now and she stuffed deRugger's turgid member back into his pants. She backed out of the room softly. Mama continued, "Shhh! No, no, my friend. Everything is fine. Trust me. You must concentrate on this vision if you hope to become a real man again. Do you understand?"

He nodded his agreement, and she went on, "I want you to fall into a deep sleep and when you awake, you will remember nothing of our conversation. You will see a small pouch on this table next to you and when you do, you will know what must be done.

Tonight, you will ask Mylea to brew the leaves into a tea. You will drink it and then do as your vision and your desires direct you. You may not know why you want these things, but you will be unable to resist their pull. This is clear, yes?"

The white man shook his head then slumped into the folds of the chair. Within moments he was snoring loudly. Mama Leone showed Mylea the small canvas wrapped pouch and told her to make certain to see to it that deRugger picked up the pouch when he awoke.

The session between the herbalist and the master of the house lasted almost an hour and during this time, Michael had been sitting with both deRugger's wife and daughter. They talked of life in Africa and how it differed so dramatically to their life in Europe. Several times, Stephen the house's man servant walked by the broad veranda and each time, both wife and daughter appeared transfixed by the huge, muscular figure, his skin glistening in the African sun. Even Michael got a lump in his throat when he saw the young man.

Mylea interrupted their conversation saying, "Mama says time to go."

With that Michael bid a fond farewell to the mother and daughter and drained his cup. At least he had gotten to taste his much missed coffee. The visit had been fruitful in business terms, but the little armed band had two more stops to go before nightfall. Without even passing the library and the sleeping Mr. deRugger, he took his place in the covered truck beside the now smiling Mama Leone. The Humvees and trucks sped off on the rough unpaved road.

That night at that former plantation and two more like it, a series of bizarre events took place that not one of the white oil executives or their wives would be able to explain.

31.

Interlude 3: Elizabeth and Joseph arrive at Lake Manengouba

While Michael had been in the conditioning program to make him an obedient cuckold and attendant to the many women of the tribe, and Joseph had been onboard ship, Elizabeth had been back in Rome, getting her first pregnancy checkup and preparing to meet Joseph's brothers in Africa. After a long day at the doctor's, filling out papers and being tested and examined, she was back in their tiny flat pacing back and forth in the miniscule kitchen. She pulled out a chair from the oak table and slumped into the seat. She stared into space and looking at her nails started biting a stray one as she began to think.

Now that her pregnancy by Prince Jusef had been confirmed, Elizabeth was actually relieved in some ways. Her decisions had been made for her and there was no turning back. Her thoughts wandered back to the fateful moment when she discovered she was carrying the prince's child. That's when everything changed for her she thought. Before that moment in a drab disgusting pharmacy toilet when peeing on the nondescript white piece of plastic confirmed that she truly was now and for the rest of her life, a black man's woman, all possibilities had still been open for her.

She could have kept her marriage intact, with Michael supplying her the facade of normalcy and propriety that a white American husband represented, and Joseph providing the entire sexual gratification one woman could hope for. Eventually, she could have ended her addiction to Joseph's hard black cock, and the way he reaffirmed her femininity when he fucked her. Eventually, she could have forgotten the way his hard muscles felt as she gripped them in the middle of an orgasm. Eventually, she could have forgotten the randy masculine smell of his cock and the taste of his thick cum, and the way he dominated her as he guided her head on his cock as she struggled to take all of him into her throat. Eventually, she would be able to forget how he looked when she, on her knees, looked up at his black belly and sucked him devotedly. At least that's what she told herself as she sat impassively feeling the weight of everything. Eventually, she thought. Eventually.

Now all of that had been foreclosed. Her life would now be with a man who might not even be hers exclusively, who came from a culture so remote from hers as to be barely comprehensible. She was now at the moment of acceptance.

There had been moments over the last month when she secretly cursed her condition and had thoughts of flying to the U.K. to abort her pregnancy. Every time she considered that as an option though, she immediately banished the thought, fearing what Joseph might do should he ever find out. It was the irony of her life that she both craved him and felt at times repulsed by him, and the changes he forced on her life. On the one hand, she had never experienced anything like him before in her life-no woman, certainly no white woman who had never been with a dominant black man could truly understand what it felt like to be a real woman, she thought. The way he could bend her to his will sexually, and could give her earth-stopping climaxes over and over in bed was simply astounding. She simply could not stay away from him any more than an addict could resist their drug of choice.

On the other hand, there were consequences to her addiction to him, and her current condition was one of them. She was fertile, and no matter how cautious she might have been in trying to avoid sex at the time of month when she was at the peak of her fertility a black baby was going to emerge from her womb in a matter of months. In truth, and perhaps not known to Elizabeth, her husband Michael was complicit in making sure she was actively fucking Joseph at her most fertile moments in the month Joseph bred her.

Now, the world would know that not only she had been fucked by a black man, but also that she had submitted willingly to a man whose color marked him as an inferior, at least in America. Now the world would know that someone that could not possibly have been her husband had bred the prim upright white wife.

She shuddered involuntarily and pounded her small fists on the kitchen table as she considered the reaction of everyone she and Michael had ever known in their marriage.

This was something that could not be explained away to her charitable works society or her book club in Indiana. In addition, Michael would certainly be of no help in defending her, and judging by the state of his erections before he left to work and live more directly with Joseph's tribe, he was as sexually excited by her being bred as she had been to feel the strong jets of her lover's cum flooding her womb. She caught her reflection in the iPad she picked up from the table and frowned at her visage. No Elizabeth, she thought, you have no one to blame but yourself. You were as happy and willing as Michael to hand your wedding rings over to Joseph when he demanded them as a demonstration of their loyalty to him. You were always happy to spread your legs for him, guiding his black cock and spreading your pussy lips with your lily-white hands. You were always willing to squeeze the last drop of cum from his cock as he thrust hard into you. Again she pounded her fists on the table then tossed the iPad aside, slid the chair back and started to make her way to the bedroom - the bedroom where Joseph had taken her repeatedly on her matrimonial bed and forbidden Michael to ever fuck her again.