Chapter Two

 

Rhone and Pindpo were not too bad.

Not at first they weren’t.

They wanted to look around the Ambassador’s Residence, but Journee wasn’t familiar with it herself.  She could not give them the tour they asked for so the three of them went exploring together.

Journee noticed one always went in front of her and one went behind her.  Was that in order to be inclusive?  Or protective?

But it felt almost like Journee was their prisoner.  A silly feeling but hard to shake.  There were these two, and there were those two warrior women guards (with fucking spears!) at the front gate.

Jesus.  Shouldn’t America provide its own bodyguards?  Didn’t embassies get Marines?  She knew it was a new country, and there was no formal embassy yet, but still.

The two young black women were as slim as Journee but half a foot taller, and they had wiry muscles.  Every little move from them made muscles tighten and jump and declare themselves.

Journee could not help but notice something else about them, both of them.  They had quite large breasts, far larger than fit their bodies.  Also, their breasts were high on their chests and firm, sticking straight out despite the lack of bras.

They had some weird breasts here in Rambikku!

As Journee followed Rhone – she was pretty sure it was Rhone ahead of her and that the one named Pindpo was behind her – she noted how little they wore.  What she’d thought were skirts worn by them were not how she’d expected.  She guessed they maybe still qualified as skirts, but the material was not continuous.  Or even material!  It was some kind of tiny bead, light and brown, so maybe it was little round wood carvings strung together like beads.  Standing still looked like they wore skirts because the beads hung down nearly to their knees.

But when they moved…!

Their legs pushed through the beads showing off their thin muscular thighs, and the wood beads swished around like those weak-ass wood chimes you sometimes ran across.

Journee saw that they did not wear any underclothing.  She could not help seeing that.  Walking in front of her, Rhone, with each step, as she put one leg forward, the butt cheek of the other leg pushed aside the short screen of tiny wood beads.

Journee was pretty sure strippers in most places in America wore more.  Strippers!

She tried to understand by thinking about the climate.  Less clothing was obviously cooler.  The movement of the beads might cause more air currents.  The beads did not retain or absorb heat, so they stayed dry, unlike cloth.

The two guides, or liaisons, had a simple band of brightly colored material stretched across their bosoms.  Rhone wore a pink/red one, and Pindpo wore a turquoise color.  These left their shoulders bare.  Journee could not help but again take notice that they both had large sets of breasts.  Their breasts would look large on much bigger women but were huge on their narrow, tall frames.

The material was quite thin.  Not only could Journee make out the shape of their nipples, which seemed larger than expected even for breasts that size, but she thought she could even make out the subtle swell of the aureoles.  She stole looks as they toured in and out of rooms.

Journee knew it was hot around here and a different culture.  She didn’t think the way they dressed was at all slutty here, or so she assumed.  But it sure would get a lot of attention back home!

They had Journee show them her bedroom.  It was weird because their request sounded like a demand or an order.  It was just, “Show us the bedroom that you lay in!”  There was no please to it or question mark as to whether Journee would show them.

In Journee’s bedroom, they poked around aggressively.  Everywhere.  In every drawer and under the bed.  They lifted, looked under, and set back down anything that could be moved.

Journee commented, “Aren’t you supposed to have a search warrant?”

There was no reaction and no answer.  They kept searching.  Pindpo was in Journee’s underwear drawer, carefully lifting each panty one at a time and making a new stack of them.

Journee said, “Gee, ladies, are you with the Rambikkun equivalent to the FBI?”

No answer and no reaction.  They kept digging around.

Journee sighed.  She thought her “companions” might not be very companionable.  She’d need to lose them and make new friends in Rambikku.  She hoped not all Rambikkuns were like Zurica and these two.

Journee admitted that she’d secretly thought she’d be the cat’s pajamas around here.  You know, she was the exotic white young woman, daughter of an ambassador, and quite pretty, here in a land of African lesbians.  And with her red hair, too!

And because she thought they were lesbians here.  Wouldn’t Rambikkun lesbians want her?  She was exotic!

She knew it was a matriarchal society, and, of course, that did not normally mean it was lesbian any more than a patriarchal society meant the guys in it were gay.

But this was different.  The Rambikkun women had kicked out most of the men.  They’d kept the very submissive ones.  Enough for propagation.  Which was also a weird deal.  Each man must get to have multiple women for breeding.  Not just two or three or four, either.  Like, maybe, ten?  Or “only” five?

Journee bet many guys back home would willingly join a matriarchal society and bow frequently and speak only when spoken to in exchange for a string of nine or ten women to switch between for sex.  She wondered as Rhone and Pindpo ransacked her room if the Rambikkun embassy in America kept a waiting list of male applicants for immigration.  If not yet, then she bet they soon would once word got out.

Or would there be more female applicants?  Journee bet lesbians might like a place where the females were ten to one to the males.  Even heterosexual women might like it just because all the men were submissive.  If that was their thing or if they found assertive men threatening.  Journee knew some women did feel that way, basically because asshole men had treated them poorly.  Assholes made them that way.  And they might want to get away from other assholes.

Journee frowned at Rhone and Pindpo.  They weren’t men, but they were still assholes!

It was decided.  This was not the place for Journee! 

So, were either Rhone or Pindpo lesbians, or not?  Journee was still curious to know.

She looked down and saw Pindpo crawling under her bed, head and shoulders first, with her rear end up.  The wood beaded strings all fell to either side of her flanks.  She was basically mooning Journee!

Journee could see Pindpo’s pussy as well.  All of it!  She guessed she was getting mooned and sunned at the same time….

She felt naughty for even seeing that!  She looked around, and there was Rhone looking right at her.

Rhone said, “Does American like what she see?”

“What?  No!”

“Why not?  You think Rambikkun pussy is not good enough for American?  It is the other way round.  For it is true, you are the white savage, and we are the purest black.”

What the fuck?  These Rambikkuns were so fucked up!

“Whatever.  Look, don’t be offended or whatever.  Pussy is not my thing.  Or, just by the way, my mom’s thing either, so you’d best steer clear of her.”

Journee realized she’d instinctively brought up her mom as an authority figure to intimidate them.

It didn’t work.

Rhone spread her legs and moved her strings of wood beads to either side of her loins.  She leaned back, which pushed her pussy forward.

“Take a good look, American visitor.  Tell this Rambikkun, who has better pussy?  Americans or Rambikkuns?”

The sheer boldness of the display combined with the boldness of the demand took Journee’s breath away.

She couldn’t think of what to say for a few moments.

But Rhone sure wasn’t covering her pussy.  And Pindpo was back out from under the bed, looking back and forth between them curiously.

Journee had to say something.  Her fallback was humor.

“Hey, yeah, you’ve got yourself a real nice pussy there.  An absolute prizewinner.  Do you guys do that?  Have pussy competitions?  You should enter.  I’m sure you’d do well.  Tell me when the big pussy meet is, and I’ll cheer for you from the stands.”

Rhone was not phased by Journee’s humor, “So the American admits, Rambikkun pussy is superior to American pussy?”

This was so crazy.  Why wouldn’t Rhone just drop it?  Why did she even bring it up?

Journee said, “I really couldn’t tell you.  It’s not like I’ve seen all the American pussies or all the Rambikkun pussies.  Neither you nor I are qualified to answer that question.”

There!  That should do it!  Logic.  When in doubt, fuck ‘em over with logic!

Rhone nodded, like she took Journee’s point, “Yes, I see.  You are saying you need to see many more Rambikkun pussies and become much more familiar with them.  Very well, we will make that happen over time.”

What!?!  No!

She only thought about it at first but then decided it was a thought she needed to share.

Journee said, “What!?!  No!”

“Yes, it shall be.  For now, we can agree that you now see my pussy and that you must see your pussy often.  So, are you at least honest enough to admit my pussy is superior yours?”

Oh-oh.  Journee saw a few traps here in how she answered….

Gee, which trap should she choose for herself?

If she said Rhone could not possibly make that claim because she had not seen Journee’s pussy….

Or, if she said hers was the better pussy….

Either way, there would be a demand to see Journee’s pussy.  Journee did not want to be alone in a strange country with two young women taller and stronger than her demanding to see her pussy!

Which only left one choice.

Journee tried her best to keep her voice neutral and to keep all sarcasm out of it.

“Yes, you have a better pussy than mine.”

“That is not quite what I said, American.  I said my pussy is “superior” to yours.  Do you agree it is superior to your pussy?”

Journee felt hot with embarrassment and consternation.  Giving in wasn’t good enough for this African bitch?  She had to give in exactly her way?

Fine.

Whatever.

Do what you’ve got to do.

“Yes, your pussy is superior to my pussy.”

“Yes, you are finally correct, American.  So, what does that make your pussy in relation to mine?”

Journee wondered how these young women knew English so well.  And how they’d taken command of the conversation.  Just after ransacking her bedroom, which, in turn, was less than ten minutes after she’d met these two!

She knew she’d better answer, and she saw the answer Rhone was angling for.  Fine.  She’d give Rhone what she wanted.

“Then my pussy is inferior to your pussy.”

“Correct again.  You are doing so well now, American.  You are starting to get it.  It is so important in life to know what one is and where one belongs.  You still have much to learn, but we will help you learn it quickly.”

Rhone and Pindpo exchanged a look.  Journee did not like that look.  Journee did not like these young African women.

Rhone said, “Another way to say it, and to best understand, is that an inferior is submissive to a superior.  And a superior is dominant to an inferior.  Do you understand this?”

“Well… I think so.  Kind of.  A different way of saying the same thing?”

“Not quite.  You will learn more.  Soon.  For now, keep in mind, as with our pussies, so with each other.  My pussy is dominant to your submissive pussy.  I am dominant to you.  As is Pindpo.  Her pussy is as superior to yours as is mine.  Thus she is as superior to you, the inferior American.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”  Journee did not like these words.  They reminded her of some article she’d read on sexuality and different manifestations of arousal.  But that was first-world fucked up sexuality, right?  In a third-world African country they must just fuck without the weird fetishes and fucked up guilt and all that stuff that weighed down first-worlders. 

That’s what Journee thought before she came here.  But Rhone seemed more fucked up than any American Journee ever met.

Rhone actually looked patient, like she was explaining something simple to a child who should have learned it years ago.

“All persons should know who they are and who they are in relation to others.  No one is ever truly equal.  So, each person should, as quickly as possible, ascertain if the other person is their superior or inferior.  You and I have just done that.  Thanks to me.  Go ahead.  Thank me.”

“Ah, thank you?”

“Very good.  You are welcome.  A superior should guide an inferior.  As I do with you.  And now we know.  I should tell you what to do, and you should obey.  This understanding ensures happiness and harmony for us both.”

“Are you saying I have to obey you!?!”

“Yes.  Of course.  It was expected anyway.  This is my country, not yours.  I am a superior black, and you are but a white savage.  Physically, I could beat you in any competition, or I could beat you in a fight.  This outcome was how it had to be.  So, yes, now you will obey.”

It was bizarre.

It was highly disconcerting!

It was really worrisome.

And… it did make some kind of sense.  Some kind.  Journee could tell it was not a good kind of sense.  Maybe it was some third-world thing?

Journee reverted to a defiant sort of humor.  It was her way of whistling in the dark.

“Oh, sure.  So, whatcha gonna make me do first?”

“I will prove to you that this is for the best.  Yes, I have decided we will go swimming.”

“Swimming?”  Journee had not expected that order.