Marie's Submissive Year
Week 12.3.1 - Wednesday morning, Zimbabwe

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WARNING and DISCLAIMER: This story outlines the travels of a middle-aged wife who decided to spent a year exploring her long-repressed submissive side. Her husband and her best friend subject her to the worst kinds of depravities during a year-old international junket. If you don't like that kind of thing, please go read something else and don't leave feedback here about how horrible and disgusting the story is. It's fiction and it's supposed to be way out there. 
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	Marie looked down at the wooden platter that rested on the ground just a few inches from her face. It was still dark outside, the room was lit by two bright lanterns. She tried to make her eyes focus but lack of sleep and the after-effects of the qat made it difficult. She knew that some of the things were white, some were green, and some were brown. She also knew that some of them were moving. That made her feel queasy and she felt her stomach tighten, coughed as a little spurt of bile came up into the back of her throat.
	"You said you were hungry, tsete," Garal laughed, addressing her by a local word that essentially meant "little turd". He raised his foot and shook off his sandal. "Here, this will give you something to keep you busy while I tell you about your delicious breakfast." He pressed his big toe against Marie's lips. It was dirty, with thick calluses and cracked, yellow nails. She flinched and turned her head, her hair hiding her face.
	"Suck it," he said calmly. Marie kept her head down, eyes closed. She didn't want to look at the platter or his foot. She listened to the shuffling in the room, knew that at any second John or Lora might come and take hold of her, force open her mouth with their fingers, pin her down. She felt herself getting wet as she thought about the possible scenes that might be played out, all with her naked, writhing body in the middle.
	"...or shall I see how your nipples are recovering?"
	Terrified at the thought, Marie lunged forward and wrapped her mouth around his toes, tongue licking the cracked skin of the ball of his foot, head pushed down hard, the nail of the big toe scratching the back of her throat.
	"Yes, I thought that would convince you," Garal laughed. Marie wrapped one of her arms tighter around her chest, holding her tits steady, trying not to let them sway as she moved up and down, servicing the fat man's foot. Her nipples were still torn and shredded from last night's kalaba session. She couldn't imagine how she would survive another night, dreaded the thought of watching them come in, line up, roll the small painted stone that would tell the number of turns each man would take.
	With her other hand, she gripped his ankle firmly, forcing as much of her foot into her mouth as she could, slathering the sole and top of his foot with her saliva, sucking it, spitting it out again, feeling the bits of dried flesh floating against her tongue, swallowing it. She pulled her head back, "shall I suck your cock?" He pressed his foot back into her mouth, pushing all five toes between her wide-spread lips.
	"The yellow food is sadza, porrige. You know what that is. Why are you afraid? There are some loquats, and the kapenta is fish. Yes, it smells horrible. It tastes worse. But it is cheap and it is all that a thing like you deserves." He pulled his foot away and Marie slid her face quickly up between his legs, licking the inside of his thigh, her eyes locked on the hugh cock that hung limp between his legs, resting against his orange-sized balls. This was the kind of adventure she had imagined when she started this journey, not being tied motionless while they assaulted her nipples with switches. Cock. Hard, thick, cock. That was what she wanted. To be used as a whore, made to fuck and suck and service her cock masters. Her tongue was just touching the hair around his balls when he grabbed her hair and pulled her back.
	"White woman wants my cock? Is that it?" he spit in her face and grinned, watched it slowly slide down her forehead and into her right eye. "Nigel will find that very amusing." He pushed her backward and she tumbled backward, spilling the food off of the platter and onto the dirt floor.
	"The mopani worms will give you protein. I suggest you eat it all before the sun reaches noon. You will be put to use then, this is your meal for the day."
	Garal slid his sandal back on his foot and stood up. He pushed some of the food toward her with his toe then laughed and turned.
	"John." John stood up and shook Garal's hand. "Is this really your wife?" John nodded. "You are a very lucky man." He nodded to Lora and left.
	"Eat," John told her. He crouched down, wrapped his hand around the back of her head and pulled her close. He kissed her for a long time, then pulled back. He wiped Garal's spittle from her forehead, eyelid and cheek and looked at it for a few seconds.
	Then he said, "open your mouth" and let his wife suck the black man's spit off of his fingertips.
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	Marie was finishing the last of her breakfast as the sun came up behind the hills. She'd gagged and retched twice, both times she scooped it up with her fingers and forced the food back into her mouth. If this was her one meal for the day, she couldn't afford to waste any of it. She couldn't believe that she'd only been in Zimbabwe one day and was already reduced to this. Nothing in the last eleven weeks had prepared her for it. Even last week in Brazil, she could recognize most of what was on her plate. This "food" was completely foreign to her. Bugs and gruel. Chewing the qat and drinking the kachasu, all of it made her wonder if she'd signed up for more than she could handle.
	Garal heard a voice outside and turned to Marie. "Come. It is time."
	Marie stood up and reached for her panties. Garal called, "Chuma, come here, you must see this." Marie pushed her feet into the panties and started sliding them up her legs. Chuma came into the room and started laughing. "What the hell, girl?" Marie stopped, the panties midway up her thighs. "Did I tell you to get dressed?" Chuma turned to Garal. "Did either of us tell you to get dressed?" 
	Marie shook her head and slowly slid the panties down her legs and dropped them on the ground. Chuma held out his hand and she got up, took it. He walked her to the door, opened it and they walked out into the street.
	"We must clean you up so you fetch a good price today," Chuma said, taking a few steps down the road. Marie stood frozen in the doorway. She looked up and down the road. People were beginning to come out of their houses and tents, the makeshift shacks and alleyways that passed for dwellings in this small town, just outside the Big City Harare. Two groups of young women walked with bundles of clothes on their heads, several men carrying saws and hammers stood around a small cart drinking coffee and eating pastries. There was a small group of children playing with a ball a few houses down in the other direction. Except for the children, who wore only some kind of cloth that wrapped around their waist, came up between their legs, and tied behind their backs, everyone was fully dressed, slacks and shirts, shoes and belts, the men mostly wearing baseball caps, the women with scarves turbaned around their heads.
	"I can't go out there like this," she turned and stared at her husband, her eyes pleading. He met her gaze calmly, picked up his coffee cup and took a sip, set it back down without a word. "Lora?" she begged, turning her head toward her best friend. Lora stood up and Marie's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, thank you, thank you." Lora picked up a men's extra large t-shirt and a pair of sandals and carried them to Marie. Marie was weeping, held out her hands and smiled.
	Lora set the sandals on the floor and helped Marie step into them. Marie kept repeating, "thank you, Lora, thank you, I knew you would come through, thank you." Lora pulled Marie close and pressed their lips together. Marie kissed her hungrily, eagerly, wanting to thank her from the bottom of her heart. She let her hands roam Lora's body, feeling her flat belly and firm tits, caressing her neck and kissing deeply.
	"That was nice, thank you," Lora said icily as she stepped back. She held the shirt up in front of herself and smiled. "So, I wanted to ask you, do you think this will look good on me?" Marie's face froze, she felt herself shrink to nothing. Lora smiled and stepped forward. "I liked it when I saw it in your bag." She draped the fabric over Marie's chest then walked around behind her, pulling the shirt upward slowly over her right shoulder, letting her feel the cool cotton against her naked skin. "I'll try it on later." She came back around Marie and gave her a light kiss on the lips. "Maybe after I give your husband a blow job."
	Marie lowered her head. "Yes, Lora. Yes, Mistress."
	She slowly became conscious that Chuma and Garal were standing outside in the street, laughing at her and slapping each other's shoulders. "The American bitch is amazing." Chuma turned to her. "Come on, girl," he called her, like he would call a dog. "Come on. We have to get down to the river and clean you up."
	Utterly defeated, Marie shuffled toward the men. They began their walk through the village, strutting proudly and waving to the men who stared hungrily at the fat, naked white woman who walked slowly down the middle of the street. Her head was down and her face and chest were soaked with tears but she kept walking. Her arms hung limp at her sides, fingers swinging gently, thighs making a soft, swishing sound as they rubbed against each other.
	Several woman stopped and spit on her, one of them threw a sheet over her. "Cover yourself, whore!" Marie didn't even try to pull it off, she just shuffled along a few feet before Garal pushed the woman away and threw the sheet after her. "Our bitch is PROUD of what she is, isn't that right?" Garal stepped in front of Marie and she stopped walking. "Aren't you?" She nodded weakly. She would say or do whatever he wanted, she just wanted to get this over with.
	"Play with yourself."
	Marie jerked her head upward, looked around. She felt like a cornered animal. The street they were on wasn't large, maybe eighteen feet across, lined with two story structures of wood, tin, and burlap. Three or four women leaned against what had to be windows on one side. About twenty feet back, a small makeshift sidewalk cafe had four customers, all men, all in their sixties or older. They were all staring at her, their faces stern and judgmental.
	She shook her head, let her hands hang at her sides, afraid to try to cover herself, afraid to move at all.
	"Go on. You did fine last night!" Chuma laughed. Marie tried to think back, did she do anything like that? She didn't remember it. They were lying. But none of the people watching knew that.
	"I didn't. I can't," she said weakly.
	"You can and you will." Chuma said, leaning closer and balling his fists. "You will do everything we tell you to. If not today, then tomorrow after another night of kalaba." The old men leaned forward now, turned to each other and repeated the word. One of them picked his cane up from the ground beside him and laid it across the table. They all knew the word. They all anticipated the act. Marie looked up at the women. All four of them were holding switches, one of them swatting her own palm lightly, smiling at Marie.
	Marie started trembling, started timidly sliding her hands over her body. One hand went to her right leg and the other made circles on her belly. She felt herself warming up, her cunt starting to feel wet. Watching them watch her, living under the threat of those canes, she felt alive again, her body was responding the way Lora promised her it would. She pushed her lips open and started tweaking her clit with her finger and thumb. She closed her eyes and rubbed it in circles, moaning now.
	"That's enough," Chuma barked. "We just needed to have you show them what you are. Nothing special, just another another American whore."
	He started walking again and Marie followed him. She kept her hand between her legs, she was so close this time. They let her play with herself all the way to the river, where she came on the bank twice before they had her wash herself up for the day.

END of 12.3