scotts taliors
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Scott's SituationChapter 6 free porn video
Scott felt a slight nudge and a licking sensation on his face. He awoke to see Heinz staring down at him, panting and wagging his tail. Kosey eyed the wedded trio before him. The bedsheet barely covered them, four breasts greeting the rising sun. He nudged Jenny and Sula awake.
“Scott, Scott, my Son, we must go. We have much work to do! I brought you your shoes and socks. You’re lucky Heinz didn’t chew your shoes to pieces,” he joked.
Scott put his hand inside his shoe, confirming the flash drive was still there.
“We must go!” Kosey repeated, unfolding the newspaper in his hands. He held it out for him to see the front page.
“National Police Continue Hunt for Killer Couple,” the headline read in bold letters, their photos displayed below the print.
“They used my passport photo!” Scott said.
“And my school identification picture,” Jenny confirmed.
He showed the paper to Sula, and they quickly got dressed. “You are husband and wives now?” Kosey asked of his daughter.
“Yes, we are Papa, we have consummated our wedding vows,” she smiled shyly.
“Excellent, my son!” He smiled.
“I must know for certain, tell me the truth, my new son. Is all of this true?” Kosey asked, handing the paper to Scott. He quickly read the article, with Jenny and Sula looking over his shoulder. “I’m positive of my convictions, but I must ask you point blank, are you the ones who killed the policeman, Uatu Iabie?”
“Yes, we are,” Scott finally confessed. “It says here we shot and killed him. I haven’t even fired my gun yet.”
“Is there any article about a car and truck accident?” Jenny wondered.
“Yes on another page. A man was burnt beyond recognition when his car ran a red light and was struck broadside by a truck tractor-trailer. The police say he died instantly.”
“We didn’t shoot him. This Policeman, Iabie, was the driver of that car. He was shooting his gun at us and didn’t stop in time for the intersection. It was his car that was hit by the truck. That’s how he died. We didn’t shoot him,” Scott explained.
“And we didn’t shoot and kill the other man, Oscar Gautier, either. He may be from Belgium, but he certainly was no tourist,” Jenny supported.
“We must get to my home city of Accra, in Ghana. It is vital that we do so. We cannot tell you who, except that a man’s life is in very grave danger. We will tell you all the reasons very soon,” Jenny said.
Kosey held out his right hand. Scott accepted the handshake. “That is another one of the thousand handshakes I owe you for honouring my brother’s death. I’m sure many more people will offer you their hand also, once that have been told the truth.”
“What do we do now?” Jenny wondered, her short jacket barely covering her breasts.
“I have your car ready. Hopefully, it will fool the police and the Ivory Coast guards at the border as well. Come, you must eat and be on your way quickly. I will explain what to do at the border.”
Kosey drove the trio to his home and parked from the view of the street. “Behold your car!” He showed off.
Scott looked wide-eyed at the altered condition of the Mercedes, “How did you paint it black so fast?”
“Spray paint and a roller brush,” he boasted. “I have friends who do me honest favours and don’t ask why. I even got you a Ghanaian licence plate,” he said, pointing to the rear bumper.
Scott had to silently laugh at the feeble yet honest attempt to disguise the Mercedes. The executives at Mercedes would cry if they saw the amateurish paint job done to it. However, it was better than no disguise at all. Will this be enough to fool the police and border guards?
Scott touched the two dents in the driver’s door sill caused by the bullets Iabie fired from his gun. The black paint was still sticky to the touch.
“I’m sure this will trick the police and border guards. Kosey, my new father, I owe you and your friend’s many thanks,” he said, offering his hand.
Kosey took Scott’s right hand in his. “I feel so moved. That is the first time you have called, Father. It brings a tear to my eye. And you are already adopting our style of the English.”
“I apologize for not saying it sooner. You have a strong hand,” Scott noted of his firm grip.
“Many years a fisherman keeps me in good health,” Kosey flashed a brilliant white smile. “I look forward to our next meeting, my new son. I have a strong feeling you and I will get along famously,” Kosey offered, tightly gripping his shoulder.
“I will address you as you like. In the western world, a wife’s father is usually called Dad, by the son-in-law. I can call you Father, or Dad or Papa. I will honour your family as if you are my own flesh and blood!” Scott stated.
“Thanks to Heinz, Sula has chosen her husband wisely.”
“Thank you, Scott my husband. You have made me so proud of you!” Sula smiled, kissing his cheek.
“It is supposed to rain soon today and that will help to make the new paint look dirty. But be careful of the roads. Too much rain and you’ll become mired in mud,” Kosey cautioned.
Jenny and Sula took a shower together and helped to pack Sula’s belongings.
Kosey gave his instructions to his new family. “Your car is now a rental car from the Accra airport,” Kosey began.
He showed Scott the car documents. He gave them their new passports, Scott’s yellow fever, and cholera vaccinations cards. “Notice your passport has been stamped to show you arrived in Ghana from the USA. You have been travelling through the Ivory Coast to Liberia on the northern highway. Now you are returning to Ghana by the southern highway.”
“Very thoughtful, Father,” Scott smiled.
“I think I’d prefer Dad, Papa, or Kosey. Father sounds too formal for us.”
“Scott, you are now a businessman from Detroit Michigan who is in the Transport industry. You are doing the ground work for trade mission agreed upon by the heads of state for the USA and Western Africa. Jenny is your guide from the Ghanaian government while in Africa, and also happens to be Sula’s Aunt. Sula will be Jenny’s niece who is being treated to a rock concert holiday in Abidjan and Accra to see the European band, ‘The Numbskulls,’ for graduating high school.”
“You will also need Sula, as she will be your interpreter in French while driving through the Ivory Coast.”
“I can’t put her life in danger for Jenny and me,” Scott reasoned.
“You will need me to translate for you and to help keep you both safe. We are now husband and wife, and my place is with you regardless of the danger,” Sula contributed, hugging him.
“She’s right, the borders haven’t been very safe recently and any slip up will raise the border guards’ suspicions very easily,” Jenny reasoned.
“And I do have to agree, as much as Sula is my eldest daughter, she is now your wife and her place is with you,” Ariana consented.
Ariana and Miata had loaded the Mercedes trunk and showed them it held three suitcases with all of Sula’s clothes, a golf bag and clubs for Scott’s pleasure time.
They packed extra food and drink for the trip. Scott checked that both nine millimetre guns were still alright and placed them in the armrest. He touched his sock just to make sure Oscar’s flash drive was still there.
“I trust the wine was helpful last night?” Kosey asked, showing Scott the wine.
“Yes, very helpful,” he smiled. “Maybe I should be taking a Viagra. But I can’t keep taking those every time I need to satisfy my wives.”
“Ahh, that is what the wine is for. I hid ten bottles in the trunk for future enjoyment,” he smiled, patting Scott’s shoulder.
“Here is the recipe to make your own wine to help you keep your wives and you very happy. I hope you are able to find all the ingredients where ever you may live. If not, I will mail them to you,” he smiled, patting his back. “And you are right about your guns not recently being fired. I didn’t want our little children to find your guns and play with them.”
Ariana and Miata were concerned about the girl’s clothing. “If you girls are going to wear your clothes brief like that, you should cover up at the border. Many men do not accept the western style of dress for African women,” Ariana said. She gave Sula and Jenny a multicoloured robe to hide their mini shirts and brief tops. “Scott, your journey may be a dangerous one despite the National Police searching for you and Jenny.”
“Unfortunately, corruption runs deep in West Africa. Be expected to pay a bribe to enter the Ivory Coast and into Ghana. The police can stop you for any reason and say you were speeding and demand money,” Kosey told him.
“And what happens if I don’t pay?”
“You will not go any further. The border guards can make you wait five, ten, fifteen hours, it makes no difference to them.”
“How much should I pay?”
“If you are stopped on the road, pay ten American dollars, at the borders, twenty dollars.”
Scott took Kosey aside. “I don’t know how to go about this custom of a dowry for Sula’s hand in marriage. I pledge to you that I will love her and treat her with respect.”
“And you will honour me with many grandchildren?” He kidded.
“Under different circumstances, I’d honour you for Sula’s hand with a gift other than money. I didn’t know how much to offer and I hope I haven’t disrespected you, Ariana, or Sula,” he explained, handing him a small folded stack of money.
Kosey fanned out the money, counting its total. “Your gratitude is far greater than I ever expected. You have honoured Sula very much. It would take me close to a year to earn this much money. My fishing boat is very old, and badly needs repairs. This will help, thank you.”
Kosey appreciated the 1,000 dollars, shaking his hand and hugging him. Scott, Jenny, and Sula said their goodbyes and began their 250-mile journey to Abidjan. Sula mentioned the Ivory Coast measures distance in metric, and it will equal 420 kilometres.
In Canada or the USA, that far a distance would only be about a five-hour drive. Here, Scott expected it to take at least eight to twelve hours. That’s if they even make it that far. He checked the two guns and extra mags for each.
The group discussed the use of Sula’s cell phone. “I doubt that the police could connect us to your family, but I don’t want to take any chances. These people are very determined to find us and we’ve already put your family in more danger than should be,” Scott said.
“There must be another way to keep in contact so we know you’re safe?” Ariana asked.
“If you can find a pay phone, we can use that. They can track the use of a cell phone and not a land line phone,” Scott mentioned.
“That is a very good suggestion, my son, and Sula when you call, we won’t answer. You can leave a short message in some sort of code that you are safe.”
“Yes I will, Papa.”
They began the next portion of their perilous journey. The road to the border was the same as the trip had been for Scott and Jenny. There was no scenery except for treed forests lining both sides of the road. It was as if the forest had been sliced open with a knife, and a long brown brush had painted a line of pavement and dirt road. The Mercedes air-conditioning worked well in the hot, humid air.
Scott would glance at the side profile of Jenny sitting beside him. She truly is a beauty to behold. She’d smile at him and grip his right hand in appreciation. He adjusted the interior rearview mirror enabling him to gaze at his gorgeous young bride, Sula. She’d see him in the mirror and flash a brilliant smile at him.
“Just because we’re travelling doesn’t mean we can’t have any fun,” Sula said, boldly stripping off her top.” She caressed her breasts seductively to Scott’s reflection in the mirror.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Jenny smiled, removing her vest top.
“How am I supposed to drive and not look at two beautiful pairs of breasts?” He joked.
“I’m sure you’ll find a way to keep our nipples hard,” Sula hinted. Scott did his best to fondle Jenny’s tits and maintain control of the Mercedes on the bumpy dirt road.
“I sure hope we can find a topless beach to swim at,” he envisioned.
“Or better yet, a nude beach so we can make the other women jealous of our husband’s wonderful sized cock,” Sula added.
Thirty minutes on, they drove through a brief, heavy downpour, which shaded the lower half of the Mercedes’s black paint to a reddish-brown.
“Look at the size of the logs those tractor-trailers are hauling!” Scott would exclaim several times. The truck drivers gave him no margin for error, barely missing their car going in the opposite direction.
The increase in truck traffic would also mean the road should be in decent condition to travel on, he hoped. A makeshift collection of hundreds of white tents was Scott’s first glimpse of a refugee camp. The stench from the smoke-filled air was unbearable.
“Don’t stop or put down your window, or else we will be swarmed. Women have been known to hand their babies through an open vehicle window and run away,” Sula warned. As they drove on, she gazed sadly through the rear window at the dozens of young refugee children and teenagers, some naked, trying to beg and sell them worthless trinkets. “I feel so fortunate to have the life I had before and have now with my husband and wife.” The dusty road, becoming a brown fog behind them, swallowing up the children.
“And speaking of babies, I should ask you both, are you on any kind of birth control or am I to become a father sooner than expected?”
“I am. I have an implant in my arm instead of having to take a pill every day,” Sula said.
“And I have the same also,” Jenny added.
“I’ve never heard of an arm implant for birth control before,” he said.
“It is expensive about 150 dollars, but the government helps to pay the cost. The ingredients will last three to four years. You cannot always rely on the pharmacy having a good supply of birth control pills on hand,” Jenny mentioned.
“And at the height of passion, it is difficult to make a boy place a condom over his cock,” Sula smiled.
Scott and Jenny looked at her. “I read about it in a Cosmo article,” she justified, and they laughed.
“My government pays a lot of the costs to cut down on unwanted pregnancies in young girls. Most of the girls I know are either married or have a young baby. Thankfully my parents took this subject seriously, and I had one implanted for my last birthday.”
“That is good to know. We will have a family some day, but we must get our lives settled out first,” he said.
“Jenny, I must commend you for not having any babies at your age,” Sula praised.
“Up until now, I haven’t found the right man to father my babies,” she smiled, gripping Dan’s right hand.
“Until the time arrives for us to start our families, we can have a lot of fun practising to make babies,” Sula kidded, flashing an equally bright smile as Jenny’s.
Twenty kilometres away from Harper. “We must be getting close to the border. There’s more vehicle traffic on the road,” he commented. “Oh shit!!” He exclaimed moments later, readjusting the rearview mirror. “Don’t look back, but there’s a National Police car behind us!”
Scott’s heart rate immediately increased as Sula and Jenny scrambled to put their tops on. He concentrated on the policeman in his mirror to see his actions. “How long had he been following us? Does he know who he has been following? Take the gun out of the armrest, please,” he asked Jenny.
Sula’s eyes widened with concern as Jenny handed the black and grey gun to him. While still moving, he cocked the action and left the safety off. He placed it in the door’s side pocket.
Suddenly the blue lights came on, the siren wailing, “Eee ... err ... eee ... err.”
“Scott, Scott, what do we do?!” Jenny screamed, looking back at the policeman.
Sula looked back also, now realizing this wasn’t a movie but real life. “There’s two of them!” She said.
“I sure as hell don’t want to shoot them, but I will if I have to! Maybe he’s just stopping us for a bribe.” He gripped the butt of the gun in his left hand and reluctantly slowed to the right edge of the road.
The police car pulled up alongside them, and the passenger looked at Scott. He could see the barrel and muzzle of an AK 47 sticking up above the window frame. There was a collective sigh of relief as the policemen continued to their emergency.
“That was way too close!” Scott exhaled. They all sighed in combined relief, watching the police car disappear ahead of them.
The music from Sula’s CD by the Numbskulls drowned out the commotion that was taking place ahead of them. The traffic had slowed to a crawl with many blue flashing lights and a cloud of dust. A tractor-trailer rig had jackknifed and wrecked into the ditch. The National Policemen that had passed them were with two Ivory Coast border guards. The vehicle traffic had slowed to look at the wreck and ushered to continue. Then Scott noticed the bullet-riddled driver’s door and windshield of the tractor-trailer.
The car in front of them stopped causing Scott to do also. They watched as one border guard cautiously opened the driver’s door. Jenny and Sula gasped wide-eyed and shrieked, covering their mouths. They saw the driver’s lifeless body fall like a rag doll, six feet to the ground. The guard kicked the man’s head hard and aimed his weapon at him. One of the National Police appeared with a passenger from the truck. The man had his hands in the air and ordered onto his knees.
The National Policeman put his right foot between the man’s shoulder blades pushing him face first to the dirt. The other border guard joined him, and they both trained their AK 47s on him. The guard who had opened the driver’s door hurried to Scott’s car.
“Continuez sur votre chemin, cette activité ne se préoccupe pas de la vôtre,” he growled, motioning with his AK 47.
“He said, keep going on your way, this business is no concern of yours,” Sula translated.
Scott moved on quickly, gazing at the scene in the rearview mirror. “Sula, turn around!” He said sternly, seeing her looking out the rear window.
He looked again, watching the gunmen move closer to the man on the ground. He knew what was likely going to happen.
“Sula, turn around, please! You don’t want to see that!” He stated again. She turned, facing forward, and a moment later, they heard a short burst of gunfire from two AK47s.
“They didn’t kill him, did they?” She worried, resisting the urge to look.
“I’m not sure. Maybe they just wanted to scare him and fired into the dirt besdie him,” Scott lied. Sula was far too precious to him for her to witness a murder.
“I’ve seen far too much sadness, pain, and misery in my young life,” she lamented.
“We’ll never know why they shot the driver. Maybe they were drug runners or enemy rebels. I’m sure they shot the driver dead while the truck was still moving, causing it to wreck. When countries are consumed with hatred and lawlessness, the value of a human life has little or no meaning to the cold-blooded. When you are staring down the barrel of a gun, is not the time to debate the person’s political stand or his morals,” he cautioned.
“Holy shit, if that border guard had only known the National Police are looking for us!” Jenny stated.
“Maybe the trailer was more valuable to them than just us in an ordinary car.”
Five miles on they approached the Ivory Coast border. “Vous êtes sur le point d’entrer dans le pays de la Côte d’Ivoire. Veuillez avoir votre passeport et visa prêt pour inspection, merci. Tous les véhicules sont soumis à inspection douanière,”
“You are about to enter the country of the Ivory Coast. Please have your passports and travel visas ready for inspection, thank you. All vehicles are subject to customs inspection.” The weather-beaten sign announced.
Scott made sure his moustache and eyeglasses were properly on and lowered the wide brim of his hat. Jenny adjusted her wig and robe. “I’ll do the talking if the Customs Guard doesn’t know English too well,” Sula reassured them. The guard directed Scott to a line for cars only.
“Watch for any National Police,” Scott warned.
“I don’t see any,” Jenny observed, looking around.
They nervously waited for their turn. Scott noted the Ivory Coast guards were all military dressed in khaki green fatigues, and their favourite weapon, the AK 47, was slung across this one’s chest. Scott fretted about where to hide the gun and placed the road map over it. His little gun would be no match for an AK 47. He was hand motioned to stop as another guard walked a dog around the Mercedes.
“Passeports veuillez, Passports please,” he asked. Scott, Jenny, and Sula passed theirs to him. He gazed over each passport then eyed the owner.
“Quelle est votre activité de la Côte d’Ivoire,”
“He wants to know what your business is in the Ivory Coast,” Sula translated.
“I’m David Clarke from Detroit Michigan, USA. I’m travelling the West African countries of Ghana, Ivory Coast, and Liberia to follow up on trade agreements with the United States for the purchase of road construction equipment.”
Marisol
- 06.04.2022
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