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Restrained (Tor Melati)

Restrained by Tor Melati

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Carly, a young white secretary, is only 6 months into her job, when Professor Joseph Samuel takes her, as part of his team, on a trip to Nigeria. During the flight, the plane is intercepted by a jet and directed to land by the rebel government of the Central African Republic. The professor and his team, including Carly, are taken into custody and interrogated by the ruthless rebel commander.

Under severe pressure, Carly admits that the Professor does indeed have something of value (a memory stick), which he asked her to hide in an intimate part of her person. So begins Carly’s spiral into captivity and degrading circumstances, as one rebel leader after another wants a piece of the young secretary.

If you’re looking for a book packed full of explicit interracial sexual situations, then look no further than ‘In Restraints’. This novel is very much a story for adults only (18+). Definitely not for those with delicate sensibilities.

This is an updated version of ‘In Restraints’ (Amelia Stark) Published in 2015.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Amelia Stark's Erotica     Published: 2 / 2018

No. words: 31445

Style: Sex Slavery / Training, Male Dom - M/F

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Chapter One

Looking around, as we joined the long scraggily line at the airport, I was sure that I had never seen so many scary men in all my life. The bus from the aircraft had just dropped us off in front of the dowdy terminal building. High on the façade, the legend, Bangui M’Poko International Airport shone in bright red capital lettering. I wondered if the three letters that were flickering was a warning of tawdry conditions inside.
A group of armed soldiers were gathered around, seemingly waiting to escort us into the glass fronted structure. I was one of about 100 or so other passengers and together we were filing through the entrance door, while the soldiers intermingled with us. The aggressive officers jostled and pushed as we tried to form a queue to wait our turn to check in at the security desk.
An hour earlier, on the plane, I’d been woken by the sound of the aircraft’s ping-pong alert system, followed by the announcement, “Due to unforeseen circumstances we are having to make an unscheduled stop in Bangui, which is in the Central African Republic. The crew, and Egyptian Airways, would like to apologise for any inconvenience this delay may cause to any of our passengers.”
A Cacophony of chatter immediately broke out in the first-class cabin, alerting me to the concern of my fellow passengers. I looked out of the oval window beside me and immediately sat up in my seat. I had spotted a jet fighter some distance away, seemingly escorting our plane across the clear blue sky.
“What’s going on Mary?” I asked my companion anxiously.
Mary Blackburn, Professor Samuel’s Personal assistant, leant across the aisle to talk to the Professor. On hearing my question, he lifted his head to look over toward me.
“Don’t worry Carly,” he said, trying to reassure me. “I need to talk to you in a minute, so I’ll swap places with Mary.”
The handsome black businessman looked worried about something, but I sat back in my seat to wait for him to finish his discussion. I had only joined Professor Joseph Samuel’s employ six months earlier, during which time, Mary had been steadily training me to be her assistant.
With hind sight, I realized that I was naive at the interviews and missed many signs that might have warned me about the real reasons for the Professor hiring me. I accepted the research assistant’s job thinking that my role would be solely clerical and number crunching.
Mary had led me to believe that I would spend most of my time in her company at the Professor’s London laboratories. But as the weeks went by, I was given more tasks to spend with Joseph. It was a clear attempt to start a relationship between the two of us.
Mary had done her homework on me and must have found out that I had a black boyfriend after leaving school; and that I had only just broken up with him, weeks before I applied for the job.
I fantasized that the Professor was a sexual predator with a proclivity for young white girls. So, when he started to groom me into accepting his advances, I hardly put up a fight and before long, let him take advantage of my submissive nature.
Mary straightened up in her seat and turned to me.
“Carly,” she begun sternly. “Professor Samuel has a serious favour to ask you. A favour that will shock you at first, but because of the unscheduled stop we desperately need your help. Just do as he asks and he’ll reward you handsomely when we return to London.”
I stared at the black PA’s serious face and thought I saw signs of fear in her eyes. She was normally such a confident, bossy woman, who liked to dominate the situation and dominate me.
The 35 year old African American, virtually ran the London Laboratory for Professor Samuel, whose main business, Downing Institution Inc, was based in New York, USA.
Fully 5’10” tall, the beautiful black woman dwarfed me by 4” and by several more when wearing her usual 4” stiletto heels. She was heavily set, but had a magnificent figure for someone who probably weighed 140 pounds. Her jet-black hair, which she wore long and swept to the side, nicely framed her good-looking oval face and large brown calculating eyes.
Although Mary usually avoided a lot of heavy makeup when working or travelling, I noticed she had added a little moisturizer to her rich mahogany complexion. Silicone implants had reduced the width of her nose and with high cheekbones and voluptuous strawberry red lips, she cut an attractive figure.
Her warm smile suggested a friendly personality, but the red welts on my posterior were living proof of her being just the opposite. I began to fret about what they were going to ask me to do. What could be so important to the organization at such a time.
Before I had a chance to respond to the woman, she rose from her seat and stood aside for the Professor to take her place. She then headed down the aisle toward the galley.
“Carly,” he begun, placing his heavy hand on my thigh. I had become used to his touch in the previous few weeks. “I want you to hide this for me on your person,” he said opening his other hand to show me what he was holding.
I had to lean forward to see that in the centre of his pinkish-brown palm, sat a micro SD card in a tiny plastic wallet. I reached out to pick it up, but he closed his hand before my fingers reached it.
“What’s so important about it Joseph?” I whispered, before biting my tongue.
I had used his first name, which he didn’t like outside of his private London office. He frowned at me and then continued in earnest.
“I have vital formula on this card, which I don’t want to fall into the wrong hands,” he explained, while slowly moving his hand up my thigh, under the loose cotton fabric of my summer frock.
His fingers reached the soft swell of my sex between my slightly parted thighs and slipped into the valley.
“Carly, I want you to hide this valuable memory stick in your quim…” His index finger forcibly rubbed the centre of the warm, narrow strip of cotton between my inner thighs, indicating where the tiny piece of plastic was to be hidden.
I stared at the handsome black man, alarmed by his unexpected suggestion, and tried to decide if what he was asking me to do was risky or in any way dangerous.
“Why do you want to hide it?” I asked, quickly getting to the point.
“The genetic information on this card is worth billions of dollars and in the wrong hands could pose a danger to huge swathes of the African population,” he explained.
The Professor was wearing a blue and white striped, short sleeve shirt, which was unbuttoned at the neck. His muscular body, arms and neck looked in good shape for a 42 year old man, as did his smooth, dark mahogany complexion. Like his PA, Mary, he had large brown eyes, but his face was rounder and his features were flatter and a little more stereotypical of his Zulu heritage.
“Wh… why don’t you give it to Miss Blackburn,” I asked anxiously, trying to think of a reasonable excuse. “She’s more experienced.”
He wasn’t a man who normally took no for an answer.
“I’m asking you, Carly, because you are English and white. You will be left alone by the authorities if there is a delay and we have to pass through immigration.” His index finger was still stroking the cleft formed in my panties, trying to force the cotton gusset deeper into my damp furrow.
I looked into his earnest dark eyes and knew that I was trapped on two fronts. Firstly, his physical presence was intimidating, and secondly, if I didn’t do as he asked, I would be sure to lose my job when I returned to London; which would be a financial disaster for me. On the other hand Mary had said that if I hid the card, I would get a reward when we got back, which appealed to my covetous nature.
“It’s only a precaution Carly. We might not even have to leave the plane.”
“All right,” I conceded. “Give it to me here and I’ll nip down to the loo.”
I held my hand out, but instead of handing it over, the Professor only withdrew his hand from under my skirt and stood up.
“We’ll go down to the galley. Mary has arranged a little privacy,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction to the toilets.
I stood up, smoothed my red pleated skirt and glanced around the rows of seats to see if I was the centre of attention. Most of the passengers seemed to be busy putting things back in their bags and certainly weren’t interested in what I was doing with the professor; so I slipped into the aisle and followed the broad-shouldered man to the centre of the plane.
When I arrived at the galley, which was part of the dividing section between first and economy class, I stood aside. The two Egyptian stewardesses slipped out, before I could enter the tiny kitchen to join the Professor in the small cubicle. The tall businessman drew the curtain closed, before leaning back to eyeball my body.
I was wearing a plain dark red pleated miniskirt and a white blouse, which had a pretty floral print design in various shades of red and purple. I had donned a soft white cotton bra, because of the heat, and a matching pair of full cotton panties, knowing the Professor’s preferences for college girl underwear.
I was approaching my 22nd birthday, so felt slightly miffed about being asked to wear a specific type of skirt and panties, but the man paid me a lot of money and I had a good job, so I went along with his and his PA’s various demands and kinks. If my friends knew what I had gotten myself into, they’d call me a whore. But, I reasoned, I was doing a good job and enjoying myself, while at the same time tucking away a nice little nest egg.
Most of the men who made moves on me always complemented me on my long wavy red hair and my sparkling green eyes. I knew I stood out in a crowd from an early age, but never let my natural good looks go to my head. Maybe it was because I was brought up in Brixton in London, which had a high proportion of black people living in the borough.
50% of the students at college were black and without realizing it, I began to make more black friends than white. It was only natural that I fell for one of the black boys, who buzzed around us white girls like bees round honey pots. Eventually though, the gang mentality of my boyfriend Wesley became too much for me and I moved away from Brixton to live with an old friend on the other side of London.
“Quick Carly,” Joseph urged. “We’ve only got a few minutes, slip your panties off and put your foot up here.”
“Joseph,” I gasped. “We can’t do it here!”
“Shush! We have room and we have to hurry.”
I shrugged when the Professor pointed to a small upholstered seat, which had been lowered for a stewardess to perch herself on. I reached up under my skirt, grabbed the waistband of the panties and eased them down off my pert orbs, before stepping out of them, one foot at a time.
“Here give them to me, Carly,” he demanded, almost snatching the flimsy garment from my hand in his eagerness to claim my warm underwear.
I wasn’t surprised when he untwisted them and buried his nose in the thin strip of cotton that had become sticky with my usual exudations. After taking a quick sniff of the garment, he bunged them in his pocket. I lifted my right foot onto the seat and held out my hand for the memory card.
“I’ll do it,” he said eagerly. “Lift your skirt up, Carly. Let me have a looksee of that cute cunt of yours.”
I raised my eyebrows and sighed at his pathetic weakness for talking dirty. It was very unbecoming of an eminent scientist, but then everything he demanded of me in private was very unbecoming of the distinguished businessman he purported to be. I pulled the pleats of my skirt along my raised thigh to reveal the twin roll of my pussy and the smooth skin of my protuberant mons.
“Carly, if only we had a little more time. Your cunt is perfect…”
“Professor…” I turned at the sound of Mary’s voice, to see the PA peeping round the drawn curtain. “We haven’t got much time sir…!” She insisted.
“Oh,” I exclaimed, when I felt his fingers slide along my sticky lips, searching for my soft, unresisting, portal.
I stood stock still, somewhat embarrassed, while Mary eyeballed the professor delving into my sex. They both enjoyed watching each other having sex with me, so I wasn’t surprised to see her interest.
The Professor located my wet spot and easily slid two digits into my quim, whereupon he stroked them in and out until they were coated with copious amounts of glistening cunt cream. The moment he placed the tiny plastic container between his fingers, I had a sudden anxiety about what he was doing.
“Sir, don’t push it in too far,” I warned. “Otherwise we won’t be able to get the damn thing out!”
“Okay,” he agreed, while sliding his fingers about 3” into my quim, before releasing the card and withdrawing his digits. “There, put your panties on,” he said handing them back. “And return to your seat. And relax, Carly, I’m sure the airline will sort things out on the ground and we’ll be on our way in a trice.”
His words were reassuring, but I couldn’t budge a nagging feeling of approaching doom!


Ug just too nasty to be erotic 1 out of 5 (JAS)

  Author reply: The clue is in the title - Interracial BDSM (Not Erotica) And the warning - Sexual Slavery - If you’re looking for a book packed full of explicit interracial sexual situations, then look no further. This novel is very much a story for adults only (18+). Definitely not for those with delicate sensibilities.

Cruel and explicit - just how I like my BDSM. With so much stuff being sanatized these days it makes a change to read a story like this. 5 out of 5 (Seth)

Author Information

I'm a happy go lucky sort of person and I love reading and watching episodic stories that keep me sitting on the edge of my seat. My favourite stories are Lost', 'Breaking Bad and 'Dexter' on TV, so I am somewhat influenced by the idea of keeping my reader wondering what will be happening next.


Publisher Information

Amelia Stark's Erotica is a Publisher of BDSM and Erotica stories. All the work is written by Amelia stark, although her work is split between 4 pseudonyms. Her own, Tor Melati, Laura Sinn and Tabatha Wild.

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