419

*** A VERY STRONG ADULT story of Female Domination... Not for the squeamish!

 

*** Preface by Irene.

The following is a genuine E-Mail (the first E Mail of the story, anyway...) of the Nigerian 419 variety. They are ‘phishing’ for your money. Of course they could be fishing...

What if it was not money that they were after?

What if they wanted you?

Yes, you... all of you...

What if they wanted your body, your soul, your service and your cringing submission?

What if you were nothing more than meat to them?

A source of income, a slave for them?

A male fuck -bitch?

*** Chapters. (Go phish...)

1. The Hook.

2. The Line.

3. The Sinker.

4. The Catch Net.

5. Landed On The Bank.

6. Suffocation In Air.

7. Served.

8. Eaten.

9. Bones and Skin.

 

Chapter 1 : The Hook

It was a Monday, a rainy day, a day when I had already had bad news, a day when I was just a little more susceptible than most other days. Somehow, for some inexplicable reason, I did not delete the mail, I just did not read it immediately.

I did what I always do, I printed it and put the copy in my briefcase to read on the long commute home. The train came to an unscheduled stop at Finsbury Park, just before the station platform and I pulled out my mails to save me some time when I got home.

This was the letter:

Dear God Elected One,

I am glad to know you, but God knows you better and he knows why he has directed me to you at this point in time so do not be afraid. I saw your e-mail contact at Tunisian ministries of commerce and foreign trade departments. I am writing this mail to you with heavy sorrow in my heart, My Name is Mrs Ra'fah Jabori.

I want to tell you this because I don’t have any other option than to tell you as I was touched to open up to you; I am married to Mr. Abdalah Jabori Who worked with Tunisia embassy here in Burkina Faso for nine years before he died in the year 2005.We were married for eleven years without a child? He died after a brief illness that lasted for only five days.

Since his death I decided not to remarry again, Because when my late husband was alive he deposited the sum of US$ 8.2 m (Eight million two hundred thousand dollars) in a bank in Ouagadougou the capital city of Burkina Faso in west Africa Presently this money is still in bank.

He made this money available for exportation of Gold from Burkina Faso mining. Recently, My doctor told me that I would not last for the period of seven months due to cancer problem. Whoever that wants to serve me God must serve him in spirit and Truth because God is the Most High, Please always be prayerful all through your life.

The one that disturbs me most is my cancer sickness. Having known my condition I decided to hand you over this money to take care of the less-privileged people, you will utilize this money the way I am going to instruct herein. I want you to take 40 Percent of the total money for your personal use While 60% of the money will go to charity" people in the street and helping the orphanage.

I don't have any child that will inherit this money and my late husband relatives are not good not even good at all because they are the one that responsible for the death of my late husband Mr. Abdalah Jabori in other to have all my late husband properties and I don't want my husband's efforts to be used by those that conspired for his death.

I grew up as an Orphan and I don't have anybody as my family member, just to endeavour that the name of God is maintained... Am doing this so that God will forgive my sins and accept my soul because this sickness has suffered me so much.

As soon as I receive your reply I shall give you the contact of the bank in Burkina Faso and I will send authority letter that will prove you the present beneficiary of the money in the bank that is if you assure me that you will act accordingly as I Stated herein.

Hopping to receive your reply

Mrs Ra'fah Jabori. Written from Hospital

I suppose what convinced me that this was real was the fact that it mentioned the Tunisian ministry of Commerce and Foreign Trade. The fact that the English was not perfect and the grammar was stuttering was not unusual in my line of work. The Import and export of handmade luxury goods from North and Sub-Saharan Africa.

I suppose that I was already upset by the fact that the revolutions in those places, especially the Muslim states, was turning my business sour. This was because of my contacts with the previous governments, that had ruled with a rod of iron and a hand out for baksheesh were bound to be disrupted.

*** Chapter 2 : The Line

***

It was a week before I got around to answering the E Mail. I must admit that I really had no qualms answering because the mail had arrived at an E Mail address that I normally used as a ‘throwaway address’ for casual correspondence. I was curious, and what could a reply hurt?

After all, all I wanted to do was to satisfy my curiosity.

Dear Mrs Ra'fah Jabori,

I was impressed by your sincere E Mail to me about your plight in Burkina Faso. I realise that you are going through a difficult time, judging from your letter anyway.

The problem is that I do not really understand what it is that I can do for you to help! I have never been to Burkina Faso and only a few times to Tunisia on business. I realise that 40% of eight million dollars is a huge amount of money and cannot understand why you cannot just set up a trust fund or charitable foundation to dispense the money according to your wishes.

I am sorry that I cannot really be of more help to you at this difficult time,

All the best,

George Howden Ghent

The reply did not take long to arrive, that’s the joy of E Mail. I sat and read it with a sense of interest mixed with foreboding. Who has not heard of the scams that are rife on the Internet?

However, the reply seemed honest and to the point.

Dear George,

I am so glad that you write me your letter. It brings me hope that God brings hope to those that depend on his love. For the last week I have been doctoring a cure for my illness and now it seems that God brings hope and joy to me. Because the doctors tell me that all my cancer is just another problem and that I will be cure.

Best of all you write to me. It tells me that there is good persons in the world and that you may be one of them.

I still plan to share my fortune with the poor and suffers of the world because God has saved me medically and has show me the way that forgiveness is a matter of believe in him, may his name be a healing sign.

If you want to help me in this business of help the poor you can be useful. I know that you are trade in export to Africa and you are the man that I need to help my goodness.

Please write to me again to show your honesty and I will show you how you can help my charity to the poor.

May God be with all your life,

Mrs Ra'fah Jabori.

*****

The E Mail came with a picture of Mrs Ra'fah Jabori as an attachment. She was about forty and not unattractive. She had that wonderful, almost blue black skin colour and long straight hair that was covered by a bright shawl that looked to be silk.

Business was quiet. It always is this time of year. I decided after a day’s thought that there was no risk in continuing the exchange of letters.

Dear Mrs Ra'fah Jabori.

I suppose that it is only right that I tell you a little about myself. I am married and have no children. My mother came from Morocco and my father was a Dutchman who fled the Germans at the start of the war because he had a Jewish grandmother.

I mainly buy things in Tunisia and Algeria to sell in Amsterdam and London. Carpets, original wood carving and paintings.

I suppose that I have built up quite a little business for myself and things are going OK. I would like to help you with your project to help the poor.

Please tell me what I would have to do to help you because it is still unclear what help it is that you need!

All the best,

George.

****

Well she wrote to me, a reply that really gave me pause for thought because it seemed so honest and undemanding in its naive way.

Dear George,

I am need of help from you in many ways but it would be so wrong for me to let you suffer a wrong. I will not be ask you for details for money like bank and things. That is because I am honest to you and I do not want you to think that I want to cheat yourself.

I need a trustable person top help me with money and helping me with banks. But that is not easy in Burkina Faso because stealing money here is so common and there are many liar people who want to take my money that my husband left me.

I must be thinking how I can do this without you losing your trust in my honest of God.

I am so better now that I can at home and now all my family want money so it is difficult for me here in Burkina Faso. I am thinking that I must be leaving and maybe I go to Tunisia but it is difficult for the money. Banks are so difficult here.

Go with God,

Mrs Ra'fah Jabori.

****

I did not answer the mail straight away because I was wondering what I was getting in to. I felt guilt that the mails were genuine and from a real person, but I also had a doubt.

Was it all a scam?

A request for money would surely make its way to the forefront of the correspondence and I would then know that I had been tricked.

So I waited.

Three days later the next E Mail from Mrs Ra'fah Jabori arrived and I had to admit that it all seemed on the level. After all would she sponsor a visit for me to meet her if she was simply some hacker sitting in a shed trying to squeeze the rich westerners of their money?

The letter came.

Dear George,

I know that you are so busy with your own life and business in the Great Britain. So I am so sorry to disturb you and plea for your help because my own troubles are so big.

My uncle and protector has decided that I have to marry again and he has chosen for me a man that is a bad man. I am all alone and I know that my uncle has decided to take my money with the help of the man that he has chosen for me.

I ask for your help because I do not know who I can ask for help because my family wants to get all my money.

I know that it is a big thing to ask, but if I pay for you to come to help me then will you do this? All I need is a friend to protect me and help me move my husband’s money to a safe place like England.

Go with God,

Mrs Ra'fah Jabori.

***

I hesitated to answer and waited a day. I had not discussed this at all with my wife and I was worried that she would laugh at me, make a mockery of what to her would seem to be a puerile moral dilemma.

How could I know that Dominique, my wife, had been reading my mails?

How could I know that she was already deep in contact with Mrs Ra'fah Jabori?

And what trouble that it would bring?

 

*** Chapter 3 : The Sinker

“Darling what a story, what a terrible story!”

My wife looked up from reading the printouts of all the mails that I had been trading with Mrs Ra'fah Jabori. She took off her reading glasses and folded them carefully away.

“You have to stay in contact and do what you can for her!” said my wife. “It is terrible how the cultures of these countries make slaves of wives, mothers and children. You really must help.”

I was almost astounded to hear her say this. I had really anticipated her mockery.

“Are you saying that I should go...”

“Of course, darling, of course you must. Maybe I should go with you?”

I took the printed E mails from her hands and looked into her eyes. For years now we had just plodded along with our marriage, just made the moves and steps that were expected of us and no more. Suddenly I could feel a little warmth, a little support, a little love perhaps?

“I am so glad that you support me like this,” I said. “Of course you must come with me, your help will be so good for me.”

I smiled and she touched my hand. The first real moment of affection that we had had together for years. I felt such a elation, such a deep wellspring of affection.

“We must write to her.”

So we went to the computer and wrote a reply to her call for help.

***

Dear Mrs Ra'fah Jabori.

I have thought long and hard about your last mail. I must admit that I had my doubts about you, but I have decided to come to Ouagadougou to help you with all these troubles.

I have further good news.

My wife, Dominique, has agreed to come as well! That means that we can sort out all those money problems and help you escape from your uncle and his friend.

Please book us onto a flight that suits you and send details of how we can get in touch when we arrive.

Soon we will be there to help you!

All the best,

George and Dominique.

******

As the plane came in over the brick and sand coloured city of Ouagadougou in Burkina Faso it allowed Dominique and I a glance at the place that would change so very much in our lives.

The Airport in Ouagadougou is almost in the centre of the city and is modern, but somehow lifeless. A huge building that echoes to the cries of the public that is dwarfed by the architecture.

Immigration was a little bit of a problem and we had to pay an official twice as much as the entrance visa to get past his desk! It took an hour for the suitcase to arrive on the cart that was pushed by two big men who simply tipped all the cases off the cart and left the passengers to sort out the mess.

It was clear that our case had been forced open and rooted through, but there had been nothing of value in it so we just picked it up and headed for the exit.

Dominique and I had already booked a hotel on the Internet and were just discussing how to get there when a woman approached us.

I had seen Mrs Ra'fah Jabori in the photos that had been attached to the E Mails so I recognised her at once. She was tall, not as dark skinned as I had thought and attractive in an exotic kind of way.

High heels, sunglasses and a dark, simple dress that hung from her large breasts to the ground offering no hint of her figure. She smiled and offered me her hand.

“I am Ra'fah and I am so glad that you decided to come to help me.”

She shook my wife’s hand and then gave her a little hug.

“It is so good of you both to come, thank you. Thank you.”

Dominique smiled and gave her a light kiss on the cheek.

“I have a very special taxi waiting so I will take you to your hotel,” she said as she took the suitcase from my hand.

She picked it up as though it was light as a feather and led us through the crowds of taxi drivers, beggars and porters to the taxi rank where a plain white van waited for us in the bright sunshine.

Ra’fah opened the back of the van to reveal a bus-like interior lacking only the windows. She slid the case into the van and ushered us inside.

“I will sit in the front,” she announced. “I have to guide my cousin to the hotel. There is room for one more up front.”

Ra’fah looked at Dominique who nodded and followed her to the front of the van and climbed in. I shut the doors and tapped on the window between the seating area and the driver’s position.

The driver turned and smiled and then looked to Ra’fah and Dominique. They spoke a few words and I tapped on the window again to get them to open it.

After all, if I had to sit alone at least I could be part of the conversation. Ra’fah turned and smiled. Then she shrugged and spoke to Dominique.

Suddenly I felt drowsy and sick.

The van lurched into motion and I was thrown to the floor, banging my head on the wooden seats. I struggled to get to the window where I could see that Dominique was watching me with a smile on her lips.

She spoke.

I saw her move her lips in slow motion.

Ra’fah laughed.

I heard the sound.

I heard her laugh in my last moment of freedom.

I slipped and was on all fours. I gasped for breath.

I looked up.

Just before I slid into unconsciousness I saw Dominique lift her hand into view. Her fingers were spread. Hooked over one finger, dangling from it and clicking on the glass partition was a pair of hand cuffs.

Ready to shackle their victim.