Kristen had whined the entire week before they left. She had whined and sulked during the plane flight, and was now whining, sulking, pouting, and occasionally snarling. Going on an African safari, far from chili dogs, pizza, MTV, and her friends, was not her idea of a holiday.
For once, though, her parents had held firm. They intended that this would be a good old fashioned family holiday, and were determined to enjoy it if it killed them, and her. No amount of whining, cajoling and beg- ging had managed to sway them.
Thus she was now standing on the runway in a baking heat, watching her father wave forlornly at bag- gage handlers who zipped by as if he were invisible. It was little wonder, what with the enormous amount of lug- gage sitting beside him.
Kristen herself was very far from invisible to the baggage handlers, as well as all the other bemused, astonished and wondering Africans within sight. If she noticed the stares, she gave not sign. She was, after all, used to be stared at, though not in quite the same way.
She was, as she well knew, a lovely, even stunning young woman. Her development had started early. Even when she was eleven years old, her physical maturity was such that she was taken for a girl several years older. She'd learned quickly that the men who looked at her so closely could be manipulated in a variety of ways to her benefit.
At eleven, that merely meant cooing and blinking her eyes. By twelve she was wearing tight or revealing clothes and positioning her body in such a way that older boys and even grown men would groan and flash carnal visual images in their minds.
By the time she'd turned thirteen, she was an expert at manipulation, at controlling and maneuvering men, using their weakness for her nubile teenage body to make soft jelly of their hearts and minds, and hard steel of their prongs.
She'd lost her cherry before entering high school, to a handsome teacher who'd responded by changing her F to an A. Usually she didn't have to actually sleep with them of course. A little cooing and sultry whispers, combined with a kiss or two sometimes did it.
For more difficult cases, she'd casually rub her- self against them, or let them cop a feel of her boobs, or crotch, and sometimes even jerked them off.
She'd gotten great grades in High School without having a particularly nimble mind, or studying hard. Others wondered about that, but as a leader of her peer group in school, few openly questioned her methods for academic achievement.
It was the same in college. She'd started just this year, and had found the college professors even more willing to come under her sway. The high school teachers had the added worry, first of arrest, and even after she passed the age of consent, of firing, if caught with her.
College teachers didn't really have to worry about that. Affairs between students and teachers weren't unusual. They could freely make use of what she offered in exchange for good grades, and not worry about consequences.
Now, as she stood on the runway, clad in her tight short shorts and her purple tank top that was cut off just below the breasts, she was the near perfection of a sexual creature. She didn't even have to try and pose anymore. Any position she took could automatically bring males organs to erection.
Her body was that of a goddess, perfect in it's Ivory Whiteness, gleaming with health. There was not a pimple, mole, or freckle anywhere on it. She was tall and effortlessly graceful, her movements that of a ballet dancer.
Her breasts were large enough to cause double takes, but not large enough to detract from the perfect symmetry of her shape. They were high and perfectly round and of a firmness few young women ever achieved, even during arousal. Her nipples were tiny pink nubs in the exact center of each breast, which, when hard, lengthened to an almost unnatural length, standing out hard and ultra sensitive.
Her legs were the kind that made men run into poles, so transfixed were they by the long gleaming contours of her perfect thighs, shapely calves and sweet and lovely knees.
Her ass would have won awards if such were given, and if she had ever deigned to enter any contest. It was the perfection other women longed for, had opera- tions for. Not an ounce of fat, not a hint of imper- fection marred her sweet and sumptuous buttocks. They were more perfect in their shape when she slouched in her sneakers than most women achieved in six inch heels and tightly shaping pants and jeans.
Her face was the profile of delicate loveliness. Her eyes were wide and bright, bright blue. When she wanted, they were the eyes of an appealing child. Within an instant they could turn sultry and wanton.
Her nose was a mere button, a little snub thing that made the women sigh and smile. Her mouth was nar- row and luscious, her lips full and sensuous, her teeth, brilliant white perfection. Taken as a whole, her face was enough to make grown men and women weep, the men with regret, that they would never know her intimate acquaintance, the women with amazed jealousy.
Her hair was the perfect frame for such a won- drously sculpted visage. It was chest long and as feathery soft and fleecy as the finest silk. At the same time, it was luxuriously thick, cascading around her head and splashing over her shoulders and down her chest and back like a lustrous waterfall halted in mid- fall.
All of these taken together drew lustful and en- vious stares and gasps wherever she went, and contri- buted to what was, admittedly, more than a hint of arrogance, haughtiness and vanity. Being rich always tended to draw people into immodesty. Being rich as well as stunningly, dazzlingly, ravishingly, gorgeous, gave her an ego hard to reign in, even on those odd occasions when she tried.
Of course, her luscious silhouette and mouth watering face were not the only reason she was drawing stares at the moment. The main point of attraction for the Africans was her hair, which was a bright, but not unattractive shade of pink.
If she had been aware of the amusement, or con- fusion her hair color was causing, she would have simply sniffed about the crudeness and lack of sophistication of the watchers, utterly certain that wherever in the world she happened to be, whatever she happened to be wearing was THE height of fashion, and that included hair coloring and style.
She was not aware of the bewildering looks though, since all her attention was focused on herself, and the unhappiness and uncomfortableness she was presently feeling. These were not things Kristen was normally forced to contend with.
Seldom in her short life had she been refused any pleasure, comfort or want, however fleeting or tran- sitory. Everywhere she went she was granted boons favors and generosity. At home, her slightest wish was her parents most important demand. Nothing was denied her.
Of course this went a long way to explaining her self indulgent nature, her selfishness and vain outlook on life. Kristen was about as spoiled as any human being that walked the face of the earth, and as shallow as a dried river bed.
Though she was far from stupid, an original thought had never crossed her pretty little mind. She followed the dictates of her social group to the letter, her every move governed by whatever happened to be "IN."
Now here she was sweating, SWEATING! In a sauna that was permissible, but out in the open, in her clothes, it was utterly intolerable.
"Dadddeeeeeeeeee," she whined. "Can't we go in- doors where it's air-conditioned?"
"The building isn't air-conditioned sweetheart. It's hotter than out here," he replied.
"Not air-conditioned?" She was truly amazed. In her experience all buildings were air-conditioned. What kind of a place was this?
"Ahhh, here comes our driver I think," her father sighed with relief.
Kristen turned to see a boxy looking car racing towards them in a cloud of dust. She squinted her eyes against the sun, then put her hand over her mouth as the thing drew up in front of them, hurling small pebbles and dirt all around.
"You Charles Taylor?" a voice demanded.
A figure jumped out of the box and moved around to stand in front of them. Kristen looked up in disgust. The man was in his early thirties, tall, with coarse dark hair and weathery tanned skin, he wore a cheap brown short sleeved shirt and dark green pants tucked into boots, not even designer boots.
He was sort of handsome, in a rugged, cowboy type way, with a thick, barrel chest and enormous, biceps. His hands were big and rough from work, and his chest hair curled out through the half open shirt. Kristen wrinkled her nose in distaste.
"Pleased ta meet yah." The man said, holding out his big hand at Taylor. "I'm Joe Steel."
"How do you do?" Charles said, shaking hands. "This is my wife Lucy..."
"Charmed." Lucy said, waving her hand back and forth in front of her face to stir a little breeze.
"And my daughter Kristen."
"Hi there Kris." he grinned, his eyes sliding quickly and appreciatively up and down her body.
"Kristen." she said, stiffly, glaring in reproach.
It didn't do to let the help become to chummy to begin with, and nobody dared call her Kris.
With no further delay Joe had begun hefting their bags one and two at a time, and tossing them into the rear of the "Rover" as he called it. He showed not even a hint of effort at the heavy bags and was quickly done, whereupon he jumped into the drivers seat to await them.
Charles held open the rear door and Lucy and Kristen carefully stepped in.
"Don't you have air-conditioning?" she complained.
"You're joking?" He laughed. "Air-conditioning! What a laugh!" He then proceeded to laugh, long and hard, before stomping on the gas pedal. The three pas- sengers were thrown back against the weakly padded seats as the Rover bumped and bounced across the dirt field and out through the airport gate.
In a short length of time, they were driving through an incredibly dirty and tacky looking excuse for a city, with hordes of Black people wandering around aimlessly and shrieking in some ugly foreign language that Kristen knew wasn't French or Italian, the only two acceptable languages other than English.
"How far is the hotel?" She grumbled.
"Hotel? We ain't goin' to no hotel, gorgeous. We're heading right for the jungle. We'll pick up the rest of the gear in Bankoland, then head inland."
"You mean we'll be traveling in this?!" she de- manded in astonishment.
"That's it beautiful."
"But... but... but... we CAN'T travel in this!" she exclaimed.
He looked back at her in irritation. "And just what's wrong with this? This is a helluva fine machine, girl. It'll take you through damn near anything without stalling."
"How long do we have to be riding around in this thing?" She demanded.
"This is your ride for the duration, Princess." he grinned.
"Now look, precious, we could hardly travel in a Rolls in the middle of the jungle," he tried to placate her.
"Couldn't you get something that was at least air- conditioned!?"
"You'll never get acclimatized with air-condition- ing pinky." Joe grinned.
"He means you won't get used to the heat, darling."
"I don't want to get used to the heat!" she stamp- ed her foot on the floor.
"You ain't got no choice there, pinky."
"Don't call me that!" she demanded, furiously.
He laughed, which did nothing to cool her temper. She folded her arms tightly, despite the heat, and sank back in her corner of the seat, determined to sulk un- til she was back home again. The Rover continued to bounce along until they reached a small village outside town.
There they stopped. There was six other four wheel drive vehicles there waiting. Joe looked at them in disbelief. "What in hell?" He jumped out and went to the waiting native drivers, chatting furiously.
"You told me to find everything on the list and bring it here with drivers." The man in charge said, shrugging.
"What in hell was on the friggin list?!" Joe de- manded. He poked his nose inside the rovers and jeeps, his face growing more and more incredulous.
Finally he came over to stand in front of Charles.
"Are you nuts?" he demanded.
"What in hell is all this junk? You got furniture here, fer chrissake!"
"Yes, a few tables and chairs, and cots."
"Tables and chairs!"
"I suppose you've never sat in a chair or at a table." Kristen sniffed, disdainfully. Joe glared at her, then turned back to Taylor. "You have any idea what this is costing you?"
"Of course I know." Charles said with dignity.
"How about how long it's gonna take us to pack up and set down?"
"I'm sure they'll manage."
Joe closed his eyes and counted to ten.
"It's your funeral," he said before finally, stomping over to the other drivers.
"Really." Lucy said. "Couldn't you have found a better guide, Charles?"
"He is supposed to be the best, my dear."
"He smells badly." Kristen sulked.
"I dare say we'll all smell badly soon." Her father said, altogether too happily. Both women looked at him in disgust.
They bounced down dirt roads for several more hours, with the other cars riding along behind. They left the road then, going through the jungle on even more bouncy trails. Just when she was certain she couldn't take another minute, they stopped in a small clearing by a river.
"All right. We're here." Joe said in obvious re- lief. He almost dove out of the rover, moving as far away from Kristen as he could get. Never had he had to bear such a constant unending barrage of whining com- plaints, and snotty comments.
If she had known the fantasies he'd used to try and block her out for most of the afternoon, Kristen would have been outraged. In truth, they weren't all that different from most men's fantasies about her, except for being considerably more violent.
The dozen natives proceeded to set up the camp, which included two large tents, each ten feet by twelve feet and tall enough for a tall man to stand. Inside each they carried a large round plastic bathtub, which they set up in a curtained corner, along with the portable toilets.
They attached round curtain rods to the tubs, then put on the curtains. A pipe with a shower nozzle on the top was put into place, and a generator to power the pumps, along with other gear, was started up. One large vehicle was entirely filled with big drums of water, which were rolled over and attached to the pumps.
Joe sat on the front bumper of his Rover and watched in stunned amazement as the tubs, along with tables, chairs, benches and cots were all unloaded and brought into the tents. Each time Kristen saw him, she turned up her nose and sniffed in disdain. Joe imagined what a good sturdy leather belt would do to her round little behind.
The Taylors wandered around, enjoying the scenery, what there was of it no further than a dozen yards from the camp at least. Kristen accompanied her parents, shrugging and sniffing at everything they pointed out.
He's got a big campfire going, for the atmosphere, Charles had said, since of course they'd brought por- table propane stoves and lanterns for heat and light. The fire drew the only appreciative statement from Kristen Joe had heard all day. She'd allowed that it was "OK."
Soon after things were installed, the Taylors all retired to their tents and the pumps started up. Joe's mind filled with the image of the pink haired girl having a shower and despite his irritation at her, found his loins stirring.
Normally he wouldn't have dreamed of it, but the little bitch had been such a snotty little thing that he almost felt she owed him one, a look that is.
With nobody in sight, he unzipped the tent and poked his head inside, then walked in, poking his head out to be sure nobody had seen him. He moved across the room to the little curtained alcove, then looked inside.
The curtain that ran around the tub was in place and water pattered off it weakly. The pumps were only as good as the power source which had to be small enough to cart around. Still, a good spray of water enveloped the girl as she stood under it.
The plastic curtain was solid, and only her shadow showed through. Not a man to hesitate, Joe wandered across the few feet that separated it from him and pulled it aside slightly.
Her back was to him, and what a back! Despite his many experiences with women he had to swallow a sigh of appreciation. He shook his head as his eyes beheld her beautifully proportioned body, the lovely round swells of her buttocks and magnificent legs.
She turned and he let the curtains fall. Then opened them a crack. Her head was tilted back and her hands were rubbing shampoo through her long hair. He closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again. No, he hadn't been imagining.
"Good Christ!" he murmured, his voice easily covered by the sound of splashing water. What a body! His eyes lingered over her upturned breasts, looking even more golden and perfect as she unconsciously thrust her chest up and out.
Her belly was smooth and flat and looked like the softest thing on earth. Her damp pubic hair, she was a blonde, he saw, barely covered her dark little slit as she stood with legs slightly apart.
The water trickled off her gleaming wet skin, giving her a slick, oily look that set his heart pound- ing and his cock pulsing. It was all he could do to keep from jumping in and screwing her right then and there.
Luckily, he was a strong man mentally as well as physically. He backed away and stumbled out of the tent his eyes wide and dazed. No matter her personality flaws, he was going to have the little bitch if it was the last thing he did!
He set out to please her as soon as she returned from her shower. His attempts to curry favor and amuse her failed dismally however. She was used to men trying to charm and please her and was in no mood for it. Be- sides, he was as far from her type as it was possible to get without actually being ugly.
His smile became strained over the course of the evening, as his most gallant, courteous and congenial attempts to strike up friendship, or even a conversa- tion, failed dismally, shot down by snotty remarks, arrogant condescension and rude and brusque dismissals.
He was in a foul mood when he went to sleep that night. It didn't get any better the next day, as she repeated her whining and complaining to such an extent he was reduced to angry growls and snarls himself. When she haughtily summoned him to her tent that evening, he was in no mood to be pleasant.
Her constant sniveling had driven him to tear into his stash of brandy far sooner than normal, and he was ready to bite somebody's head off. None would be better than hers.
Kristen was wearing a light white designer shirt, that, because of the heat, she'd completely unbuttoned and then tied together below her braless breasts.
That her magnificent orbs were thus encased in two tight sacks that became translucent as she sweated, did not apparently occur to her, and if it had, she wouldn't have cared. Tormenting men, even ones she dis- liked was commonplace to her.
Her shorts were the kind of baggy, multi colored things currently in vogue in California, and looked preposterous here, but again, that didn't occur to her.
"What is it?" He almost snarled after pushing through her tent flap.
"This thing doesn't work." she complained, point- ing at the shower.
"So what do you want me to do about it?" She look- ed at him like he was exceedingly stupid.
"Fix it." She said, pronouncing each word careful- ly as she stared at him.
"It ain't my shower." He glared.
"You were hired by my father..."
"To guide you through the jungle. You want a plumber go and find one."
"How dare you!?" she glared in outrage.
"Oh stuff a sock in it." he snapped.
"When I tell my Daddy..."
"You can tell Daddy whatever the bleeding hell you want you silly little cunt. I'm tired of listening to your whining and bitching and complaining!" He moved right in front of her, staring down angrily from inches away. She backed up in consternation, but he kept mov- ing forward until she was backed against a table.
He jammed his face right up against hers. "Your shit don't stink! Do it?"
Kristen's eyes and mouth opened in amazement. No- body, but nobody had ever talked to her like this before.
"I... I... I..."
"Oh can it! I'm sick of listening to your whining voice!" He shoved his face even closer, forcing her to bend backwards across the table.
"You are the snottiest little ice maiden I've ever seen in my life! You and your Goddam bathtubs and God- dam CD player and your Goddam pink hair! What kind of a crazy wears pink hair anyway!?
"It... it's the latest s... style." she stuttered.
"Style! Ha! " He backed up slightly, his eyes glaring as he looked her up and down. "And your clothes. You wave your little ass around and show off your fat titties and then look down your nose at anyone that takes notice!"
He poked his nose in her face again, forcing her back. "What you really need is a hard belt across your dainty little rear end! Or better yet a good hard cock up your tight, cold little hole!"
Kristen gasped in shock, her skin flushing red in embarrassment and outrage.
"I bet for all your showin' off your still a stinking virgin!" he snarled.
"I... I am not!" she whined.
"Bullshit! I can't imagine you letting any man between those legs of yours!" He reached his hand down and cupped her left breast through the sweaty blouse. "The only one that's ever touched these are you!" He sneered, again putting his face right up against hers.
Kristen was now terrified. She was in a situation she'd never faced in her life. Someone didn't like her! Someone was being mean to her, yelling at her and call- ing her names. She didn't know how to deal with it and gaped at him in shock, not even trying to slap his hand away from her hot, sweaty breast.
"What about it, little Miss Ice Queen?" he smirked.
"Or are you a lesbo? That wouldn't surprise me. A man hating little homo!"
"A... am not!" she whimpered.
"Yeah?" He curled his lip into a sneer, then abruptly, jammed his big hand down the front of her shorts. The button tore off, popping across the tent as his hand forced into the thin garment. Kristen gasped again, her eyes staring down in shock.
Joe's hand slid right under her panties and cupped her bare flesh, squeezing up against her pussy mound. His eyes continued to stare into hers and as she looked up, she felt held there, her own eyes unable to pull away as his fingers began to rub up and down over her cunt.