Robert Nzegeme was the Second Secretary at the Ungelan Embassy in Hatton Garden. Lady Miranda Avila-Tyne was a volunteer board member for the British branch of International Donations. The reason for their meeting in Nzegeme's office had been the sudden closure of Ungela's Northern borders to trucks carrying emergency food supplies. Food supplies desperately needed by thousands and thousands of Ungela's own citizens.

"Everything will be fine, Lady Avila-Tyne," Mr Nzegeme had reassured her. "We sometimes have to take precautions because there are many bad people in that area. They are mostly Muslims and often they try to bring in weapons because they wish to make trouble for my government. When they stop doing bad things, we will let the food trucks in again."

Miranda was well aware that the inhabitants of the Northern quarter of Ungela were nominally Muslim, of a slightly different racial extraction than the nominally Christian inhabitants of the rest of the country, and that the Northern and Southern populations loathed each other. She also knew that, if left to their own devices, the Ungelan central government would happily allow the Northern tribes to die of starvation during the ongoing drought.

"Mr Nzegeme, things are very bad in the Northern areas just now. I don't think the people who live there would be silly enough to do anything very much in the way of anti-government activity when they desperately need those food trucks to be allowed to cross the border. Could you not speak to the Ambassador today as a matter of urgency and ask him to pass on our concerns about the situation to your government?"

Miranda had smiled brightly at the Second Secretary over the cup she was sipping his foul tasting coffee from. This was how she spent so much of her time, nagging at government officials and bureaucrats in their cozy little offices as the bodies piled up those parts of the world unfortunate enough not to be on the Western World's political agenda.

In fact Northern Ungela was a classic example of a piece of third world real estate which had nothing to make it interesting: it had no oil wells, no tourist attractions and no Hollywood A-Class celebrity had ever shown even a flicker of interest in the place. All that was happening is that miserable stretch of desert was that lots of families were dying from a lack of food and water, and nobody was going to start printing off car window stickers about something as trivial as that. Still, there was always a certain amount of sympathy space a charity peeress could wheedle out of media editors, if she socialized long and hard enough. Which was what this meeting was all about: Miranda had come here to show the Ungelans that she was prepared to generate as much publicity as she could about their nasty little sub-Saharan sub-human genocide. Unless, of course, they lifted the blockade on their border zone.

A not very subtle form of mild blackmail wrapped up in lots of polite words and bright smiles -- and even a willingness to drink Ungelan coffee. A beverage which was presumably intended as a diplomatic insult for those visitors the Ungelan Embassy would far rather throw out into the street. Oh well, carry on sipping and smiling, old girl, and hope you can achieve something. Soft words may not butter any parsnips, but perhaps they can grease them enough to let those trucks slip through.

"Well, Lady Avila-Tyne . . ."

"Oh, please, call me Miranda. I'm sure we can deal with this in a friendly way, Mr Nzegeme. Or can I call you Robert?"

"Certainly you may call me Robert, Miranda. And since you're so insistent, I too believe we can deal with this matter in a friendly way -- in fact, it will probably be a lot more friendly than you can possibly imagine."

She had no idea at all of what he was talking about. What was certain was that the expression on his face didn't appear to be at all friendly, not any more.

"Miranda, both you and your organization have managed to make nuisances of yourselves in the past with your continuing attempts to interfere in my country's internal affairs, and now you're doing it again. My instructions are to make sure that this time nothing at all is going to be heard from Lady Avila-Tyne, not one bloody peep. And here are the men who are going to make sure of that."

A side door in the office opened and four men wearing casual clothes came in, all of them grinning. Two were Europeans, two Africans. They ran their eyes over Miranda's body like a gathering of vultures and she suddenly had an inkling of what might be about to happen.

"Feeling the animal magnetism already, Miranda?" Robert asked with evident pleasure. "That's not surprising. I think the gentlemen here have already watched a couple of good porn movies this morning to put themselves in the right mood for doing you justice."

"What?"

"It's a change of tactics, Miranda. Instead of having to put up with your boring little lectures about those Northern scum, we're going to take you into a bedroom here and fuck you every which way, with a camera to record every golden moment. Incidentally, these men are all employed as bodyguards here at the Embassy, so I'm sure they'll take very good care of your body, as long as you're not stupid enough to try to stop them using it for their own pleasure. And afterwards, we do a deal. You keep your nose out of Ungela's business, and we won't pass all those naughty pictures around London for all your high society friends to snigger over."

Miranda's cup rattled as she set it back into the saucer. Was there still a faint hope that this was only a frightener, a warning, but not really going to happen this time? Another sideways glance at the men and she knew better. They were as charged up as kids on Christmas morning, eager to begin tearing the wrappings off their major present.

"You must be mad, Mr Second Secretary," Miranda responded, trying to sound as if it was all a joke. "You could never get away with anything like this."

Nzegeme leaned back in his chair and laughed: "This is Ungelan territory, Miranda. If you have any complaints about your treatment here, you must refer them to the Ungelan police force. But I think that after you've had your full measure of our hospitality your jawbone may be too sore to talk about anything much for some time. Take her away, gentlemen, take your time and do a good job."

They moved towards Miranda like hounds finally let off the leash, strong hands grabbing at her wrists and arms, pulling her up and onto her feet. "Come on your Ladyship," one of them sneered, a young white man with a long braid of blonde hair hanging down the back of his neck. "Come and see what sort of a surprise the servants below stairs have got waiting for you."

"Robert! -- Mr Secretary!" It was a last desperate appeal for mercy as she was dragged out of the office.

"Don't worry, Lady Avila-Tyne, I'll stop by later and see how you're getting on," he laughed. "Perhaps you'll have had some sense fucked into you by then."

The men around her also laughed, a hand stroking her bottom, another one running up and down the small of her back before it helped push her out into the corridor. Miranda felt as if she was being run over by a machine made of hard muscle and fingers like claws. She squealed and jumped up on her toes as the bottom stroker pinched her viciously hard on the left buttock.

"Get moving, Duchess," a sarcastic voice commanded

"I'm moving as fast as I can," she called back over her shoulder.

The men holding her laughed and she welcomed the sound. There had been times before when she'd been in dangerous situations, on overseas visits to war torn areas, and she'd always found that any kind of humor was helpful in lowering the tension, no matter how infantile it might be. And that this was a dangerous situation, she had no doubt at all.

The truth was that here and now, the game was completely in their hands. Nzegeme was right, inside the Embassy she was in another country, and helpless to walk back out on the streets of London until these thugs released her. Something which they clearly had no plans to do yet. Was it any use offering them money to let her dash out of a side door somewhere? Miranda knew the answer before she'd barely formulated the question. It was no use at all offering any promises because these thugs would never believe that once she was free she would keep them. She couldn't escape from them and she had no way of stopping whatever they wanted to do with her.

So, she'd be sensible. She wouldn't fight because to do that would be to get hurt. What she would do would be to play up her title, her aristocratic manners and tone of voice. All men seemed to enjoy the idea of having a real life Lady performing like a whore for them, and the lower the class of men, the more they usually enjoyed the idea of knobbing the nobility. Be sensible she thought to herself, give them the best time you can and keep them all happy. And as for being at the center of a group sex experience -- well, it was probably not much worse than playing sardines in a laundry cupboard with two brawny members of the Eton cricket team. A maiden over and last man in on a sticky wicket . . .

A door was open at the end of the corridor and she was taken through it, into what might be Robert Nzegeme's bedroom. The only redeeming feature about the tatty little room was that at least the Second Secretary wasn't inside it.

The men pushed her towards the bed. "Sit down."

Miranda obeyed. One of the white boys pulled a small camera from his pocket: "Cross her legs over," he said. "She's got good pins, so let's show them off."

The other European reached down and swung her right leg over her left while one of the Africans stood behind her keeping a firm hold on the back of her neck. Miranda felt a large hand creep over her body from the man who was sitting on her left. Despite the crushing power she knew was in it the hand gently caressed the underside of her breast. She instantly put her own hand on the inside of the African's leg as a response to his good cop approach.

"Hello, what's your name?" she asked him.

"I'm Josh," he rumbled. "And that little white prick pestering you on the other side is called Andy. But don't worry about him, he can't give you what I can."

"He means what we can give you, slut."

The black man behind her who'd spoken ran his fingers around her neck and held Miranda's head up as the camera was aimed at her again.

"We've both got something special for you that's coming your way straight out of Africa."

"I'm going to see all your dark secrets, am I?"

Not a very clever thing to say. Miranda instantly decided, but she was in a situation filled with distractions. Hands and mouths seemed to be coming from all directions, and each of them apparently determined on gaining the largest possible tactile control over her. Already she was shivering like a swimmer poised to jump into the Serpentine in September. But it was better to keep talking, no matter how inanely, than to be dumb. The thing to do was to find the leader in the group and work on building up a rapport with him.

OK, so which one to turn to? That was easy, Josh was the biggest guy and also he was still stroking her gently: he even had his arm across her waist. Miranda turned her head towards him as soon as the man behind released it.

"I suppose I should confess that I've never done it with any black men before," she said, lowering the pitch of her voice to make it sound as sexy as she could.

"Then this could be a real fun thing for both of us." Josh answered her

She kept her eyes on his face, even though the white guy on the other side was pawing down the top of her dress to expose her right breast.

"Are you people really as big as they say?"

"Hell, no, Lady Avila-Tyne, we're not that big." He laughed. "We're bigger."

"Oh dear. I feel like a goat staked out for a pack of lions to feed on," Miranda muttered coquettishly.

"The word is a pride of lions." Josh said, his eyes smiling. "A pride of lions, Lady Avila-Tyne."

A comforting thought came into Miranda's mind. Josh might have a black skin but she realized now that his accent was that of a pure bred Londoner. Which meant that as tough as he might be, at least he probably hadn't served a tribal apprenticeship of chopping people up with a machete. And how about him still calling her by her full title? Oh yes, Josh was a guy she might well be able to stay on good terms with.

She squeezed his arm and scratched Andy behind his ear as he nibbled on the nipple he had exposed. Behind her the other black guy was stroking her spine with his fingertips, a remarkably erotic sensation when combined with all the other heavy petting she was getting.

"Open her legs," the blonde man with the camera demanded. "Show off her snatch for me."

The men on either side each grabbed one of Miranda's legs and moved them wide apart.

She made no effort at resistance, not even as Andy pulled aside the crotch of her panties to allow Josh's hand to touch her. What she did do was to take several deep breaths and to rub the flat of her hand against the inside of Josh's jeans. Josh's fingertip brushed lightly against the tip of Miranda's clitoris, and she hooked her fingernails to scratch against his thigh.

"Hey, Josh, you think she'll be a good fuck," Eddie asked.

"Outstanding, my man, outstanding," Josh said. "Here, have a feel of an aristocratic pussy."

Eddie's fingers jabbed in between the lips of Miranda's cunt. Fortunately she'd cracked a big wet at the first sight of the bed she was going to be gang banged on, so there was lubrication enough to ease them in. Even so, with one white hand down there and a black one plucking out her other nipple, and with two mouths roaming over her, Miranda couldn't stop herself squealing like a goosed schoolgirl at the treatment she was getting.

"Nice one, your Ladyship," the camera guy jeered as he lined it up and let off another flash. "Just for the record, how do you think you'll go at sucking working class cocks?"

"I suppose they'll be the same as all the other cocks I've sucked," Miranda answered him calmly. "Only this time two of them are going to be black. I'm still waiting to see what the other differences are going to be with them."

END OF PART ONE

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