The tugboat lurched and rolled as it made its way towards Ngumba Harbour. I sat on a bench behind the wheelhouse, glancing back at the ship that had been my home for the past week as it receded into the distance. My focus shifted to the land and the town that would become my new home. Earlier, on the ship's deck, I had my first sight of Ngumba, a volcanic island that appeared as a distant, perfect cone.

From my seat on the tug, I could see the harbour front where solid neoclassical buildings faced out to sea. Above the harbour area, in a broad valley that vanished into the clouds that had bubbled up to hide the peak, colourful houses clung to steep slopes. Higher up, smallholdings dotted the hillsides with green patches of vegetation contrasting against the black volcanic rock.

It seemed a pretty little town, but my mind was churning.

I had been abducted and sold to King Adebowale, the ruler of this place, to be a consort, perhaps his favourite wife. It seemed my life was going round in circles. Five years ago, I married a man selected by my parents, someone I had only met socially for a few short hours. Omer was sweet and gave me a good life, but no passion or romance. I had cravings, urges that he did not, or could not, satisfy, and it was through our maid, Destiny, that I found what I was seeking. She opened the door to black cock, and my black master.

I looked down at my lap and watched my fingers twist around one another. I was a bundle of nerves, heading into the unknown.

As the tug neared the quay, I noticed a small gathering awaiting our arrival. Everyone was black, like the crew ferrying me, and I felt an unmistakable shift. My pale skin marked me out. In this world, I was the anomaly.

When the gangway was ready, people began to cross to and from the shore. I sat quietly, uncertain about what to do next.

I watched a crane lifting crates of cargo from the tugboat onto the quay and realised that among those were the cases of clothes I had packed in my cabin earlier.

My thoughts were interrupted by a soft woman's voice to one side, "Good morning, Mrs Edelman."

Twisting in my seat, I saw a young black woman standing on the deck, and I smiled at her as I replied, "Good morning. I'm sorry, I don't know who you are."

Perhaps I was rude in my reply, but she seemed unfazed and continued speaking, "I am Daisha. We will be living together in the palace. I have come to collect you. The servants will bring your belongings; do not worry about them."

I looked up at her—a rare and perfect beauty. She wore a white calf-length dress, its ruched sleeves and gathered skirt lending a delicate texture to the fabric. At her waist, a vibrant apron fell to her knees, woven in bold black and red threads. Her hair lay hidden beneath a headdress, its colour mirroring her apron and lending her an air of quiet formality. She took my hand and led me away, off the tug, out of the port area, and along an esplanade towards the handsome buildings I had seen on the way in.

As we passed one of the mature palm trees lining the pathway, she paused and pulled me across to a bench in the shade, where she motioned me to sit.

Still holding my hand, she half turned, gazing at me. I was mesmerised, returning her stare into the dark pools of her eyes.

She started to talk; her voice was melodious and accented. "Mrs Edelman, welcome to Ngumba. We have been very excited waiting for you. I am the wife of the King, and you will be too. There are four wives, and you will be the fifth. We all live together in an annexe to the palace. I will be your best friend. My English is not very good, but I want to learn more."

She was so serious, and I thought her little speech must have been hard work for her. I warmed to her immediately and tried to reply kindly, "Thank you, Daisha. My name is Moira, and I hope we will be good friends."

She smiled, pulled me to my feet and led me further along until we reached the palace and entered through a side gate guarded by soldiers with vicious-looking guns.

We ascended several flights of stairs before finally entering a shaded terrace on the top floor. Three African women sat lounging in cane chairs, and as we approached, they all stood, clapped their hands and chanted "Olá, Olá".

Daisha whispered, leaning close beside my ear, "They are greeting you, Moira, saying hello."

One by one, she introduced me to them. Mafalda, Fatima and Carla. All three were stunningly beautiful, but Carla was tiny. She was an adult but had the stature of a child. I thought I would find it difficult to tell the others apart because they all looked alike, and I wondered how a plain woman like me could ever be considered worthy of their lord.

The three of them were asking me questions in their language, and I turned to Daisha and spread my hands in the universal signal of not understanding.

"Don't worry, Moira," she explained, smiling. "I will translate; they know this already. Let us sit in the shade, and then you can answer their questions."

Daisha lifted her arms and clapped three times. Immediately, a young woman appeared and bowed to me. "This is Ana; she is our servant," Daisha spoke to her, and I recognised the manner; it was like I used to talk to Destiny.

So, I sat, answering their questions while Daisha repeated the same in their local language. Ana brought drinks and snacks, laying them on a low table. At one stage, I saw my baggage arrive, lugged up the stairs by two strong men.

Daisha told me the people of Ngumba spoke Creole, a mixture of African languages, Portuguese and English, but the official language was Portuguese.

She giggled and told me she would teach me both while I helped improve her English. Mafalda knew a little English but was shy and nervous about making mistakes. The other two only spoke Creole.

Eventually, Daisha ended our session and invited me to look around the wives' quarters. There were bedrooms around the terrace's perimeter, each neatly but sparsely furnished with a single bed. There were no windows or doors; each room had a floral curtain across the entrance to provide privacy.

Finally, she led me to a solid-looking mahogany door, pushed it open, and led me in, remarking, "This is your room, Moira."

At least twice the size of the others, it was well furnished with a double bed and a large window overlooking a pleasant garden.

"Sire wants you to feel at home and valued. That's what we call him. In his presence, we have to say that, or "Your Majesty".

We unpacked my baggage, and Daisha drooled over the quality clothes as she hung and stowed each item.

Later, I sat with the four girls on the terrace while they chattered in Creole. Daisha sat beside me, her fingers gently resting over mine, as she tried to teach me a few words in Portuguese and Creole. The intimacy was pleasant and reassuring, and I relaxed into my chair, smiling at her as I struggled with the unfamiliar sounds.

By mid-afternoon, Fatima and Carla departed, while Mafalda remained, her halting English lending her a gentle charm.

Time drifted easily, dusk approached, and I barely noticed the shift until Ana appeared, balancing food trays. It seemed the women spent their days in leisure—chatting and relaxing.

I was still savouring the meal when Fatima and Carla returned, their casual outfits replaced by sumptuous evening wear. Jewellery shimmered; makeup traced across their faces. They looked utterly radiant, and I clapped, smiling in admiration.

I turned and asked, "They look so beautiful, Daisha. Where are they going?"

"To a night with Sire. He selects the wife or wives he wants for his pleasure; tonight is their turn."

I looked quizzically at her. "Two at the same time?"

"Sometimes we all go, especially if he has a favoured guest. I will tell you about it later; you will need to understand the protocols before you can go with him."

Then, it was as if time paused. Fatima reached out, fingertips grazing Carla's cheek with a slow, affectionate stroke. They held still, suspended in the moment—then she bent over and leaned in, lips meeting with quiet intensity. Their tongues danced, tips tracing, teasing and finally connecting. Carla responded in kind, one hand lifting to cradle Fatima's face, the other drifting downward, gently cupping her breast with soft pressure.

Daisha whispered, "They are getting ready, preparing their bodies for him. His penis is huge; Carla is so small below, they need to be wet."

I watched spellbound. I had heard about women who loved other women, but seeing it was shocking. Between my thighs, there was an intense tingling, and I realised their display was arousing me.

"Daisha, will I have to do this?"

She touched a finger to my lips, "Shhh."

Their lovemaking became more passionate, and hands wandered everywhere, touching breasts, waists, and thighs. At one stage, Fatima pushed her hand deep in Carla's skirt, hard down into the space between her thighs.

My breath was coming in short bursts, and I knew there was wetness in my cunny. I had never known such intense desire in my life.

Daisha clapped her hands thrice, and they departed to their royal assignation, holding hands as I watched them disappear down the stairs.

Then I felt soft fingers brushing my cheek and turned to Daisha. She was inches away—close enough that her breath fanned across my skin, warm and intimate. Our lips met in a slow, deliberate kiss, and her tongue slipped into my mouth, tentatively seeking mine. Something cracked open inside me, a rush I couldn't contain. I met her kiss with urgency, my tongue pressing into hers, driving back into the warmth of her mouth. I leaned into her, my body no longer mine to command.

She drew back, then led me to my room, where she started to release buttons and remove my clothes while kissing me passionately. Before long, we were both naked, and I ran my fingers across her dark skin while her hands were on my breasts, squeezing and rubbing my stiff nipples.

I felt the heat of her breath on my face as she purred, "Let me take care of you, Moira."

She gently pushed me backwards until I fell on the bed, the sheets cool on my back.

My hands were drawn to her, exploring the curves of her body. Her skin felt velvety, soft, smooth, and responsive to my touch. Daisha moaned constantly as she shifted to straddle me. Her breasts hung down below her body, and I reached up to play with her dark nipples, twisting them between my thumb and forefinger, feeling them harden from my touch.

I felt her hand slip across my mound, then down and into the wet heat between my legs. She found my bud and started a gentle circular movement over the head. I was ready, and in seconds, I felt my hips jerking and flexing out of control, then her lips covered my mouth as I screamed, spending in absolute ecstasy.

When my body finally quietened, I looked up into the dark pools of her eyes. My hands were wandering over her back, enjoying her warm flesh.

Daisha touched her lips to mine, sat up and wriggled her legs up the sides of my body until her knees pressed into my armpits. I stared up, seeing the underside of her breasts, then sensed her legs drag over my shoulders and the width of her straddle increase until I could lift my forearms to stroke her back and buttocks.

Her mound pressed into my face, her rough, curly and very black hairs scratching my sensitive skin. Then, ever so gently, she lowered herself onto my face. I tasted a woman's cunny for the first time, and a tremor flashed through my body. Her arousal enveloped me, and I realised it was a new adventure, and one that I would relish.

My tongue slipped through the wet folds of her flesh, and I explored tentatively, seeking her bud—the centre of her need. Her movements, every shift of her hips, every groan and whimper, fed my desire to please her.

When I found the spot, I felt her back arch, and her whimpers were a few panted words, "Yes, like that, please, Moira."

The intoxicating aroma of her arousal filled my nostrils, and I felt her body quiver as my tongue did its work on her.

Then there was something else. Hands grasping my legs and pulling them apart, followed by a touch of softness on my thighs. Fingers played with my cunny, pulling my lips apart and rubbing my hardness, restoring my desire. My hips flexed automatically, rearing off the bed, trying to connect with the source of my pleasure.

Daisha's body began to quiver as my tongue played on her bud, flicking and circling with increasing speed and pressure. Her breath came in short gasps, her pleasure increasing beyond her ability to cope. I felt her legs tighten around my head. She was close, very close. My hands traced the lines of her back and waist, feeling the curves and valleys of her form.

With a soft wail, she pushed herself onto my tongue, her muscles squeezing my face as I redoubled my efforts.

Between my thighs, fingers became soft lips and a probing tongue. I could feel my body responding, little spasms of pleasure making my hips jump.

I didn't want to spend before Daisha; her need came first, and when I felt her body jerking around me, I knew she was in pleasure, and I relaxed, letting my body flex and roll as I lost control, grunting into Daisha's shuddering flesh.

She shifted and rolled to one side, leaving me gasping like a stranded fish. I lifted my head to look down at my body and met Mafalda's eyes, smiling back at me. I could not see her mouth, but I could feel her tongue gently rolling around my bud.

Daisha stroked my shoulder, and I turned my gaze on her. She lowered her lips onto mine, and I drank from her, our juices mingling as our tongues played. At the same time, Mafalda's tongue was constantly pressed into my sex, arousing me to spend again, my body heaving while Daisha's tongue lashed around my mouth.

Time after time, they took me over the top, from ecstasy to calm and back again. But the moment came when my body stopped responding, and they sensed I was exhausted—sitting one on each side, stroking me gently.

Daisha whispered to me, and each word floated softly like a lullaby drifting through the air, "You have done well, Moira. Sleep now; tomorrow is another day." She leaned down and kissed my brow, then they rose from my bed and left me to my dreams.