Slavery has been practiced for as long as human memory last. The Romans were the most famous classical example, but they were by no means the first. However, modern slavery has its roots in the initial colonial expansion by the Portuguese, who established forts along the west coast of Africa in the fifteenth century..."
Nia's ballpoint rolled over the paper, studiously taking notes. Around her, over three hundred fellow students, most of them black, did the same. Afro-American Studies was never short on students, young men and women coming in droves for the chance to learn more about themselves, about where they came from and how they got to now.
Nia knew exactly where she came from - after a fashion. She took after her father, a dark-haired, green-eyed man with Polish and Scottish ancestry. Her features were Caucasian, and unlike many of the women sitting in the room she didn't need a perm or a weave to have straight hair. She had blue eyes, and her skin was light enough to be mistaken for an Arab. On her father's side she could - and had! - track her ancestry back across the Atlantic. No such luck for her African ancestors, though. That was why she was here. Ostensibly.
"As the fifteenth century progressed, other emerging colonial powers began to establish themselves. The Dutch in particular vied with the Portuguese for power in the region, and established a colony on the Cape of Good Hope."
She hadn't taken this subject as a major. God no; Nia had actual ambition. It was easy to pick out those who were taking it as a major, of course. At a glance you could pick out the hoodrats with several layers of makeup, and the so-called 'gangsta' guys who still refused to wear a belt. She didn't have a shitty education to justify, or a drug habit to validate.
"When the Europeans properly established themselves in the Americas, they found the natives to be poor workers. They knew the terrain, and thus had an easy time escaping-"
Her ears pricked up at this point, and her pen fell silent. Now came the interesting bit. She knew how it had gone, of course, and the lecturer was an older man who seemed to sag in every possible place. Still she fixated on his words, listening with rapt attention as he continued. Tribal warfare was a fact of life in western and central Africa, he said, and the chieftains were all too happy to trade their captives for manufactured goods.
At this point, Nia stopped paying listening. She'd always had a tendency to be distracted by her own thoughts, and as she turned her attention to the scene playing out in her head her eyes slowly glazed over.
The sweltering humidity of the jungle made beads of sweat roll down her body. She was naked, just like her fellow captives, the harsh laughs and chatter of their Tonga captors ringing in their ears as she was driven through the jungle. It was a struggle to keep time with the captive behind her, both prisoners yoked together to prevent their escape. She was too scared to feel shame for her nudity. Her life was no longer her own, and the leering and pinching of the warriors was just a sample of the things she might endure.
In the real world, Nia rubbed her thighs together. There was a heat building between her legs.
As their captors drove them along the jungle path, the smell of salt became heavy on the wind. At last the path suddenly descended, and for the shortest moment she could see the ocean stretch out beyond the horizon. They were heading for the shore. An uncomfortable murmur passed along the line; for all its beauty, it was known as the home of evil spirits. The warriors quickly silenced any protest.
The path became broader and more well-travelled the closer they came to the shore, and Nia knew they were nearing the end of their march. Before long the trees began to thin out, and the earth underfoot was replaced by a road of makeshift planks. Ahead of her, an immense structure of stone stood, jutting proudly into the sea. Suddenly, the column came to a halt. Soft sand crunched between her toes. There seemed to be some sort of commotion ahead.
Strange figures appeared from the fort, marching towards the prisoner train. With their backs to the sun, their features were impossible to make out from a distance. As they approached, one thing became clear to Nia: They were big. Pale-faced giants, their shining helmets casting a shadow over their faces. The clothes they wore were completely alien to the stunned prisoners, and the weapons they carried were like nothing she'd ever seen.
A hand drifted downwards, the young woman not even realising what she was doing as the lecturer continued to drone on. Her hand rested on her thigh, and a thumb trailed down her abdomen, sparks shooting from her groan as she grazed the front of her pants. As one of the giants approached her, she bit her lip. Huge and broad and strong, he dwarfed the men of her tribe, dwarfed her Tonga captors. With eyes as blue as the ocean and his hair as blonde as the sand beneath her feet, it was all she could do to not avert her eyes.
Her breathing became heavier. She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, and crossed them again, this time the other way. The lecture was nothing but background noise at this point, yet she was acutely aware of how wet she was. Shit. These pants were already ridiculously tight; it wouldn't take much for them to become practically seethrough.
Despite the problem this would cause Nia couldn't help but let herself draw back into her fantasy, back to the beach, back to the towering foreigner looking down at her with a condescending smirk. She whimpered, turned her head away as he reached forward to cup a breast in his hand. Squeezing it, kneading it in his grip, he turned to his friends and shouted something in a foreign tongue. Pulling at her full, ripe tit like she was a cow to be milked.
The pen was out of sight now. She'd been sucking on the back end for a little while, a gesture that would look cute to any casual onlooker and still fuelled her fantasies. The wet end slid between her belly and the waist of her pants, into her thong. The cool metal made her shudder as it slid along her lips, full and wet from arousal. Slowly at first, but gently picking up speed, she began to thrust.
At a shout the man groping her let her go, and with a leer, left her to return to his fellows. The leader of the giants met with the warrior's chief, the tribal looking almost pathetic standing in a loincloth next to a man clad in fine linens, decorated and coloured in ways the tribeswoman had never seen before in her life. They bartered, the European offering baubles for flesh. Twenty minutes later, the warriors left, handing over their captives in exchange for mirrors and glass beads.
Nia moaned. Softly, but still audible if people had been paying attention. Her blush deepened but she couldn't stop herself from sliding a hand up her shirt, grabbing her breast. It should be some conquistador's hand, kneading her brown flesh as he appraised her like a piece of meat.
Still yoked, she and her fellow tribesmen were herded into the fort, the gates slamming shut behind them. There truly was no escape now. A frigate was docked, ready to carry the slaves away, to a future as items to be sold, used and discarded. But not her. She was untied, pulled away by strong hands as everyone she ever knew disappeared in the hold. She would be permitted to remain on African soil for a little while longer, but at a cost.
They came at her from all sides, burly Dutch sailors surrounding her, laughing at her protests and struggles as they groped her and pinched her. Now she was on her knees, surrounded by pale giants, breathing in sweat and worse as the pants came down and the cocks came out, uncut white cock rubbing all over her, taking turns to use her tight little African body, white cock in her mouth and pussy and ass and-
She doubled over, almost slamming her head against her desk, letting out a high-pitched squeal as she came. A few people looked over, but she was isolated enough that they couldn't see anything, couldn't see the wet patch forming over her pussy, couldn't see her legs shaking, eyes clenched shut. As she came back down to earth she relaxed her grip on her breast, sitting up straight again with watery eyes and quivering knees. Shit. That was way too fucking close. What the hell was she thinking?
And yet, as she regained her composure and the lecture came to a close, she slipped the pen back into her mouth, and imagined servicing her European conqueror.
