Ignoring the howling storm and noisy commotion outside his plush cabin, Attila relaxed in the softly vibrating leather chair, allowing the mechanical massage to augment the one he was receiving in the flesh. He was naked save for an untied silk dressing gown, which dangled loosely off his wiry frame. Attila was sipping champagne from a crystal goblet and smoking a fine Havana cigar, the picture of contentment. Kneeling between his open thighs was a young Angola girl, bound with the chains of her slave auction. Her long black hair visually, but not audibly, hid the fact that she too was engaged in an act very similar to smoking.