"Kidnapped in Africa"
By Aramis

     Do you remember the news about women in Nigeria holding hostages in an oil refinery as a way of getting their labor demands met? It got little press, but in the earlier siege, it said that the hostages included Americans. I was one, and when the siege ended with a labor agreement, I was missing. Because I had been spirited away, into slavery.

     The day began with tension; we'd heard there might be trouble. Then before long, the doors crashed open and a whole bunch of native women paraded in, armed and angry. We stopped what we were doing, and were lined up, as the leaders in control walked up and down before us with fury and pride. They quickly let us know they were in control of the facility and we'd better do as they commanded. At some level, I guess, negotiations began, but that was way beyond our involvement. We, we had to be involved with our black African female captors. Some of them were very lovely. But they hated us, especially the white ones like me.

     After a while, while we were still lined up, one of the leaders came before us and said, "Who here is American?" I and others raised our hands.

     "You are not fit to stand in our presence, you pigs," she said. "You kneel!" Right away I knelt. I saw Reggie down the line hesitate, and he was immediately slashed with a whip and he fell onto his face. "Take him away!" the leader ordered, and Reggie was tied up and carried out of our sight.

     We Americans were on our knees for some time. Eventually the other men were herded off to some place the women could control, leaving us behind. Then the women came up before us, about three women to each of us, standing dominantly in front of us as we knelt.

     "We have a treat for you American pig-dogs," the leader said. "You long ago took our people away to be your slaves. Now we will return the favor and you will become our slaves! Even when negotiations end and this place goes back to normal, you will be our slaves, deep in the jungle and villages. Your freedom days are over and you belong to us. Disobey an order and you will be severely punished. Now is the time for justice; now is the time for white boys to be slaves to black women. Whities!! On your bellies and kiss the feet of the women in front of you! NOW!"

     Before me stood three African women; all of them in their thirties by my guess, and all of them in sandals. Except now, at her words, they all shook their sandals off and their commanding feet were bare. I did not want to repeat Reggie's fate, whatever it was, and fell to my stomach at their feet.

     "Kiss our feet, imperialist dog, and if we are not pleased with your efforts we'll castrate you!" one said to me. I immediately began to kiss the 6 feet; three kisses on each foot, then moving on to the next one, and then on to the next, etcetera.

     "He seems to enjoy this," said one. "Do you like this, slave? Do you enjoy being our foot slave, whitey?"

     "Yes, I do," I said. "It is an honor and only right that I should do this. I deserve nothing less; my race deserves nothing less. We should be your slaves."

     "Look at this," said another. "Your white lips worshipping our black feet, your inferior white mouth adoring the very bottom of our superior black bodies. Tell us you want to be our footslave forever."

     I wanted to get in good with them, and hoped for freedom after negotiations regardless of what the leader had said. "I want to be your footslave forever. This is my true place in life. Please let me be your slave."

     They laughed. "Honky knows his place," said one. Another called to the leader as I continued to kiss, "We got a live one here, Marcella."

     One of the trio suddenly got behind me and stood on my back! A second one put her bare foot on top of my head and pressed down while I kissed the other woman's feet. "Kiss, white man, kiss! Remember, you have to please us!" The woman on my back began walking around on me; then she stopped and I felt the lash of a whip on my butt.

     "Don't stop,slave! Keep kissing. In fact, start licking my feet clean, white man!" ordered my owner before whom I groveled. So now I had one foot on my head pressing me down, one woman on my back whipping me, and one pair of black feet standing before me, expecting my white slave tongue to clean the dust and dirt off of them, and from in between the toes, and later, from the soles.

     Marcella the leader had come over now, and suddenly there were flashes. She was taking pictures of me! "Now he can never go home," she said with triumph.

     After some lashes, the pain got to me and I cried out. "Mercy, mercy," I asked. They laughed. "Mercy? When did your ancestors show mercy to our ancestors? You're a slave. Take it and like it. We like it!"

     The three women took turns having me clean their bare feet, pressing me in place, and beating me. Then my hands were tied behind my back, and my ankles tied together, so I was on my stomach, going nowhere unless I crawled prostrate. The three women sat down next to each other, and facing me, and then they all extended their legs towards me. So their dirty soles were right before my slave face. Huge grins were on their pretty, regal, black faces. "Lick our soles clean, foot boy," one demanded. I began to do so, struggling a bit to reach them.

     "You will be doing this for the rest of your life," Marcella said. She had come out of nowhere to watch the proceedings a few feet away, with an approving smile on her lips. "White slave to black women; the way it was intended to be! You will be coming back with us to our village when we leave here, and you will be our footlicking white boy and whipping boy and slave for ever. Say 'thank you.'"

     "Thank you."

     I continued my worship of their dusty black soles. I looked at their radiant faces, and I knew I was in heaven.

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