Planning turns to bickering

"Kaylee, can you hear me?" Erika whispered through the canvas bag, and the southern belle responded with a groan. "Listen girl," the blonde continued, "This sort of thing happens all the time in South Africa, it happened to my cousin. Keep our wits about us and look for a chance to escape or signal for help, but above all, until the opportunity presents itself, do what you are told. Do it and more, understand?"

Things were quiet for a moment. "Oh my god, Erika, with black guys?" Kaylee whispered with disgust. "We're rich! We can bargain..."

"You don't seem to realize right now we are fucktoys, if we're lucky," Erika interrupted sternly. "We have value as hot white girls, but not as much as you think. We can survive, but only by gladly worshipping every negro cock and draining every negro ballsack presented to us."

"Ew, Erika, I could not. Ever. You cannot expect a girl like me..."

"You are going to get us both killed, you redneck bitch!" Erika snapped.

"You'd like this country to end up just like home, wouldn't you?" Kaylee replied spitefully. "You think American girls deserve what happens to you dumb cunts in Africa?"

"Hey bitches, stop fighting or we drop you in river," came a deep baritone voice, as the girls realized the volumes of their voices had risen high enough for their captors to hear them. Kaylee slumped in defeat while Erika's masked head raised slightly, recognizing an African accent when she heard one. Were they prisoners of Africans? Were they someone she'd know?