(http://i279.photobucket.com/albums/kk137/HaibaneR/Monaco/Characters/Avatars/VeronicaAvatar.jpg)<br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 18pt;">Veronica Downing</span></span><br/><strong>Location:</strong>Arriving at Roquebrune-Cap-Martin harbour, then driving to Nice BAF office.<br/><strong>With:</strong>Linda Tuchamba and three other females.<br/><br/>All those years went smoothly and the day I run into other females it all goes to Sunderland. Which is shit. So it went to shit. Shows you that women really are incompetent and why they made that stupid law in the first place. Anyway let's start at the beginning. That is, after all, what those things are for. I had fled Newcastle, and eventually England all together, after my parents died and my stupid brother got hold of the money my parents saved to buy me free. My brother was a bit of an ape really and he decided that he wanted me as his sex slave, because he got horny for me. He would have loved me to suck his miniature cock and loan me out to friends and earn some money. Shame for him I had brains and looks. Hah! Got you there sucker!<br/><br/>Getting out of England was the hard part but once that was done, after some bribing and flashing boobs (Come on it's why God gave them to us, to use them for our benefits) I arrived in the Western Sahara which, to be brutally honest, is even worse than London or Sunderland. Or America. Hell it's worse than anything. Unless you like sand, than you'll love the place. I hated it. However it is great to lay low and stay invisible. African people are very relaxed and they knew a lot of refugees roamed their lands but I found that as long as you don't bother the locals, they didn't mind. You had to be careful for the army and policemen though but after a while I refined my tactics and figured out ways to stay alive. I even think I was enjoying my life the way it was. The years past and I knew that back in England, there would be so many wanted refugees now that I could probably go back without them even knowing I was back. It's a shame the country isn't corrupted. African people are easily corruptable with money and I had heard stories of European girls, getting registered as a free woman in African countries and thus being able to travel all over the world without the risk of getting captured and enslaved. God I'd kill to see the look on my brother's face. Basically I cost him about 50.000 Pounds by running away. So yeah, I really wanted revenge.<br/><br/>Unfortunately I ran into some women who weren't very good at lying low at all. They got captured and although I had put up a proper Geordie fight, I was put in a cell. All I did was pass by at the wrong time. Then some black woman came and I tried to attack her as well. I lost the battle again and I think I got knocked out cold. Or drugged. Or both. Anyway, when I woke up I was wrapped in clingfilm. I hated that stuff. Sometimes I used it to cook things or to keep them in the fridge but the damn stuff stuck to everything except the bowl you had to seal. Probably invented by idiots. What's wrong with the good old tinfoil? Or just a plastic bag with a rubber band around the bowl? Progression is the way forward, well not in the case of clingfilm. I can only imagine the number of censor bleebs there would be if Gordon Ramsay used that in his kitchen. Wouldn't mind being his slave though. Good looking man, lots of money. I do think he's rude though. James May would be a nicer person but he's a bit pedantic and weird. Stephen Fry would be lovely to have as a master. Or Michael McIntyre. Although I'd probably die laughing. And I didn't want to be a slave. Sex is fine, forced sex is okay, I can live with all that. But having to clean and lick ass or feet... no that's really not for me. Besides, a Briton never ever shall be slaved. What an irony. Such a lovely tune, raped to it's core by some idiot law.<br/><br/>Back to my clingfilm adventure though, before I drift off too far. I was being wrapped in it to a point where I couldn't move and transported to.. well fuck knows where too. All I know is that it was a boat cause it kept rocking and I could faintly hear the waves. The gag wasn't too bad but the blindfold meant I couldn't see anything. How the fuck am I supposed to know who to attack if I can't bloody see a thing? Being on that boat took forever really. Whatever kind of boat it was, it sure as hell wasn't fast. Or we were sailing the Atlantic, which I highly doubted. When we got to a harbour and the lid was taken off the confined area where me and at least one other person, who kept bumping into me on the waves, were held, I immediately started to fight. That is, as far as I could cause clingfilm sticks to anything. The stuff's so annoying. I hated it. I used to cook with it but... ah sod it. It's not really important.<br/><br/><strong><em>"Listen, bitch, if you keep this up, no-one is going to buy you and they'll put you down. Now I'm sure you don't want that, do you? The rest of you just behave the way you are and we'll get on just fine. It's been a long trip, but we only have a short way left to go."</em></strong><br/><br/>It was the chocolate tard. I recognized her voice. What was she doing? She should be a slave, not me. As she and somebody else carried me out of that stinking box, I kept wriggling, knowing it was pointless but at least I would show her I wasn't about to give up. What did I get in return? They dropped me twice. So rude.<br/><br/><strong><em>"Look sweetie, it's your own fault. You ran. You should've stayed and begged daddy to pay your licence fee."</em></strong><br/><br/>I was fuming. He wanted to pay for my fee but they were killed and my primate brother went off. I'd show her. The car was probably even less comfortable then the boat which had to mean it was French or Japanese. Or a Mercedes CLK Black Edition. Jeremy Clarkson claimed it was the most uncomfortable car he had ever driven. Wouldn't mind being his slave either, if only for the fact that he might take me for a right in whatever car he owns. Probably a Range Rover. Everybody in England with money has one. Or Hammond. The little one. He's cute. Soon the French or Japanese car stopped and after a while we were unloaded. I listened and counted four of us. So I was in that boat with three others? They kept surprisingly quiet. Too tame probably. Tame and scared. Well not me. I was going down fighting if I had to go down. I felt them remove the foil and I stood still. Surprise them V. They'll never knew what hit them. I let them unwrap it all the way, only to realize I was naked. Oh well, just a minor set back. The chocolate pie seemed to have the same size as me anyway. I'd take her clothes. I waited until my gag and blindfold was removed and then I struck.<br/><br/>Knowing I couldn't find two men at the same time, my best chance was to go for the black woman. I didn't know her name and I didn't care. She had taken my freedom, now she had to die. Preferably by me. I leaped forward towards her screaming in primal fury of which hell hath no fury of. To my surprise I didn't get any closer and in fact I was going down. Somehow, one, or two, of the men had managed to grab my legs and I landed face down on the floor. I immediately felt the blood rush in my mouth as at least one of my teeth had gone through my lip. Oh spiffy.<br/><br/>I kept fighting and wrestling until my legs were tied together and my arms were held behind my back by the two men. Damn and blast. I spat some blood at the black woman.<br/><br/><strong>"Go to hell bitch."</strong>