Strello awoke with a start. Always one to be aware of time, and the turning of the earth under the sun, he was suddenly aware of the morning's impending duties. In the dim light of the Ball Room, Andrew Simpson had rolled a foot or two away and was still sound asleep, suspended in the sea of lightweight globes. Strello rolled toward him and put his strong brown arms around him.
"Boss! Andrew! Wake up, we gotta start the games! Boss!" His own morning erection batted against the white man's thigh, and he couldn't resist....his hand slid down to investigate and found Simpson's pole was rigid as well. Strello gave a gentle pump or two up and down and Simpson awoke with a smile, rolling toward the African, pulling him close in to himself. Wordlessly he looked deep intro Strello's dark eyes and smiled, kissing him. "Boss! We gotta go!" repeated Strello, but now giggling as his increasingly rigid midnight black cock slid against Simpson's pink and purple rod. Strello put one and then two fists around both organs, holding the black and white penises together, and began pumping in earnest. Both men began pushing against each other, kissing, sharing breath. They knew they would soon have to be at work, and so relieving the sexual tension of the moment would take focused attention.
Each man pushed and squirmed against the other, Simpson sliding his hands around Strello's strong, dark brown shoulders, Strello pumping both stiff cocks together. Precum began lubricating both dicks, and a quick slurping sound covered the low hum of the air system. Faster and faster Strello pumped, harder and harder each man breathed. And then Simpson bucked and shuddered, pulling Strello into him tightly with his hands while Strello continued pumping for a moment, and then the African came as well, both men shooting ropes of semen that mixed in the space between them, slicking up their bellies and chests. Strello's fists slowed as each penis was milked for all its spunk, and then he also put his hands, slippery with semen, around Simpson and the two snuggled, rolling slowly in the balls for a moment.
Simpson broke away. "Yes, we must go!" he whispered, kissing Strello. For that night and in that place, he forgot Motumbo, who was sleeping with his woman not far away in another lodge. But memory came flooding back as the two men grabbed their clothing, damp with dew, left on the platform outside the door to the Ball Room. Pausing at the bottom of the steps to switch off the controls to the room, they each ran naked down the path to Simpson's lodge. If anyone saw them they were unaware of it, but they heard the unmistakable sounds of stirring from the cabins of the Japanese and of the white Americans who would hunt each other that day.
Simpson and Strello showered together in the lodge, their penises rising again from the soap, the warm water, and the gentle ministrations of the other, but duty called. Half erect, laughing, they bounded from the shower and dressed quickly, Strello borrowing some fresh clothes for the day from Simpson. By the time they emerged, Thabo had the two parties fairly well organized. The judges for the combat would be Big and Little Mandla and Strello. Thabo and Motumbo would wait with vehicles to go out and collect both the victors and their....spoils. Motumbo was still nowhere to be seen, still in the arms of his woman.
The Japanese and Americans were fully clothed for the adventure, protecting their skins against the sun and harsh terrain of southern Africa. Each team of three was armed with the usual paintball guns. By the toss of a coin, the Japanese were designated to leave first. Thabo opened a gate and out they ran into the early dawn dim light. The Americans waited, tense, shuffling their feet and checking their gear, for half an hour. Then they, too, were released and stalked warily out into the growing light. They did not know whether they were walking into a quick ambush or toward a strategic, and sexual, conquest. Close on their heels were both the Mandlas and Strello, armed with radios and, in the case of four legged predators, rifles. They would monitor the contest and call for vehicles when necessary.
Talking softly, Simpson and Thabo walked back up to the main lodge. The unexpected sounds of people stirring, and the smell of cooking, greeted them as they neared the front door. Going in, they found Motumbo sitting at the table.
"Andrew!" he said, smiling shyly, and half rose. He glanced swiftly toward the kitchen, back again at Andrew, stepped quickly to the white man and hugged him. Glancing at the kitchen again, Motumbo slipped back down into his seat. Thabo and Simpson approached the table, puzzled, and were just seating themselves when Chele came bustling out of the kitchen, a large serving dish in hand.
She smiled a broad smile at the men and put the dishes on the table. Then she deliberately came around to where Simpson was sitting and, nodding to him, spoke a few soft words in her language, smiling broadly. She put a soft hand on his shoulder, nodded again, then returned to the kitchen. Motumbo's eyes watched her go but his head was slightly lowered, and a smile played about his lips.
"Motumbo....what did she say?" asked Simpson.
"Uh...she say she give us breakfast, Andrew," said Motumbo, his head still lowered, looking steadily at the table. A puzzled look came into Thabo's eyes but he said nothing. Simpson thought for a moment. He didn't believe a word of it.
"Motumbo," said Simpson, "does Chele know what kind of place this is....what kind of business we do here?"
Motumbo perked up. "Yah, sure Boss, she know. It OK, Andrew, she not mind, she know we OK `bout health.....she OK, true." Simpson nodded and thought for a moment. Chele came back out and put two more dishes on the table, then bade the men eat with waves of her hands. The men tucked into the food in silence. After some steady munching, Simpson spoke again.
"Motumbo.....does Chele know about us? You and me?"
There was a moment of silence. "Yes, Andrew, she know."
"And....is she OK with that?"
"Yes, Andrew, she OK." Motumbo looked up shyly at Simpson. "Before, Boss....she not say about breakfast. Chele say....she say thank you, to you. For me....for being good to me...." Motumbo broke off in confusion and concentrated on his breakfast. Simpson stared at him, then in the direction of the kitchen. He rose, and Thabo and Motumbo both stopped eating and watched him walk into the kitchen.
There Andrew found Chele preparing one more dish. She stopped in surprise. Simpson walked up to her and took her hands in his. "Thank you, Chele, for being good to Motumbo," he said. They looked deeply into each other's eyes, and for a miracle, Simpson was sure that Chele, who spoke not a word of English, understood. She nodded gravely, then smiled brilliantly again and withdrew her hands to shoo Simpson before her back to the dining room, where she carried the last dish. Sitting at the table with the men, she smiled all around, and the men, boyish in their unaccustomed shyness, looked to the left and right and to the far wall, and then smiled as well.
Small talk occupied the rest of the meal, with Motumbo or Thabo translating back and forth for the benefit of Chele and Simpson. When they finished, Simpson went into the office to work while Thabo and Motumbo went to prepare the vehicles for picking up the guests. Chele cleaned up the breakfast things and then slipped out to return to the lodge she was sharing with Motumbo.
Stopping by the main lodge later in the morning, Thabo found Simpson frowning, holding a hard copy of an email that he had printed. Simpson looked up and wordlessly handed the paper to Thabo. The African man read it, his eyebrows rising as he went along. Finished, he looked into the middle distance, then again at the paper, and handed it back to Simpson.
"I can't do it, Thabo," said Simpson, "I draw the line." Thabo shrugged.
"Boss Andrew, see what they offer to pay," he said, pointing at a figure near the bottom of the page. "That good money."
"Oh I know, but really Thabo, I can't do this!"
Thabo shrugged again. "It what they want, Boss, nothing real. Nobody think it real. Who knows why people want what they do, but it just play, like. Good money, Boss, nobody hurt" he concluded, returning to the main point. Simpson shook his head again and muttered something about thinking it over. At that point, Thabo's radio crackled. The contest was over, it was time for him and Motumbo to drive out and bring in the two teams.
Thabo drove back with the American team, whooping and shouting. One of their number had a paintball splat on his chest. Motumbo drove the Japanese team back, the black haired men grinning broadly but not as boisterously. All three had paintball marks on them. It was clear who had won. The Japanese men would be "owned" for the next two nights by the victorious Americans. Simpson congratulated the winners and joked with the losers, who seemed happily resigned to their fates. Both teams went off to their respective lodges to rest. The evening's activities would begin later on.
Lunch was a repeat of breakfast, with Chele cooking and serving, her skills in the kitchen being evident and appreciated by the men. As they finished, Simpson asked Motumbo to walk into the office with him. Chele cleaned up again, and Thabo went to make sure preparations were complete for the evening's activities.
In the office, Simpson handed the email hard copy to Motumbo, who labored for a minute over the printed English. At the end his handsome dark face split into a brilliant smile. "Boss, we be rich, look what they pay!"
Simpson groaned. "Look what they want to DO, Motumbo," he said. "I can't."
Motumbo shrugged. "Andrew, it not about you or me, they want it, they pay good, why not? Maybe we have fun also, eh?" He winked broadly. Simpson shrugged in turn and thought for a moment.
"You really think so?"
"Sure."
"They want to come next week. Let me see....we have a Ball Room party, that's all. We could....we could do it." He sighed deeply. "Alright."
Motumbo smiled again and reached out to squeeze Simpson's arm, letting his hand rest there. Simpson smiled back at him.
"So, Motumbo....is Chele happy here? She cooks well, she....." he broke off and cleared his throat. "Motumbo, what is going to happen?"
Motumbo looked at him for a long moment, then took a step forward and took Simpson into his strong brown arms. "It be OK, Andrew. Chele and me, we good. You and me, we good. Nobody have to choose. You got Strello, the boys, eh, for a while? You know, Andrew, we here in Africa....maybe we do things not like you do back there, eh? Can we all share?"
Simpson felt a wash of relief over his riverbed of anxiety. He knew his jealousy and insecurity was probably coming from another place foreign to his new land, but it had been a struggle for him. He nodded and returned Motumbo's tight embrace, resigned to the situation but still, in his heart of hearts, fearful and unsettled. The truth was that he wanted Motumbo and wasn't sure how sharing him would work in the long term. A soft female voice in the hallway broke their embrace; had Chele passed by the door and seen them? If so, she had the grace to withdraw down the hallway. Motumbo kissed Simpson quickly and stepped out to talk softly, quickly with her. He stuck his head back in the office. "We go to work now, Andrew. You tell `em yes, OK?" he said, nodding at the paper. Simpson nodded and smiled, and the couple departed.
The two parties had light, early dinners in their respective lodges while the staff ate in the main lodge, Chele cooking once again to applause all around. Then Thabo and Big Mandla went to lead the two parties to a specially prepared building consisting of one large room, empty except for the wall to wall mattress that covered the floor, and an ample bathroom. Towels and tubes of lubricant, drinks, and piles of pillows, were distributed here and there on the floor mattress. Best of all, from the point of view of the staff, were two one-way mirror/windows along one side of the room. From a small room on the other side of what seemed from the big room to be mirrors, the staff could secretly watch the proceedings. Here Simpson, the two young teenage boys, Thatho and Mthobisi, and eventually Thabo gathered to watch the festivities. The rest of the staff was occupied with other work or leisure that evening.
Thabo led the Americans to the room first. One was large but fit, looking the very stereotype of the blonde surfer beachbum. The other two were lean but muscular, with brown hair, and one sported a scruffy goatee. The three men left their shoes outside the door, but remained dressed in slacks and shirts. They poured themselves drinks and toasted their success, plus the imminent sexual blowout. Thabo slipped into the viewing room. Soon there was a knock on the door and Big Mandla entered, leading the three Japanese men into the room. They were naked, their apricot skin flawless and smooth in the soft light, with soft cords binding their hands from behind. Two were slim and muscular, but not exceptionally tall. The third was the slightest bit stocky, but not fat by any means. Their penises, in anticipation of the moment, were semi-erect and swinging like pendulums. The two slim men sported thin, relatively long organs, although nothing by African standards. The chunky man's penis was not so long but was unusually thick. Sprays of black pubic hair curved out from the base of each shaft, and hairless ballsacks dangled beneath each bobbing cock. Big Mandla nodded at the white men and left the room with the Japanese men still lightly bound. In the viewing room, the boys, Thatho and Mthobisi, giggled with excitement and anticipation, while Simpson and Thabo winked at each other and smiled.
The three white men in the room lined up opposite the three Japanese and ordered them to their knees. Each Japanese man had his hands tied behind his back with a soft cord, held in place over their firm, rounded buttocks. The white men lost no time in pulling off their own clothes and stepping forward with bobbing cocks to stand close to the three Japanese. Their increasingly hard pink and red dicks began batting the Japanese men's faces, leaving streaks of precum on their cheeks, rosebud lips, and button noses, although the three men on their knees kept their heads held down submissively. As they kneeled there, their own deep red and purple cocks began to rise until they were straight up, perfectly aligned with the two slim and hard abdomens and the one slightly rounded apricot colored belly. The whites then lifted the chin of each Japanese man with one hand while the other hand sank into their thick, glossy black hair. Three cockheads were pressed against three mouths, and as the Japanese men opened the white men thrust forward, gagging one of the kneeling men, sinking their rigid dicks into the waiting mouths. Slowly, they began swinging their hips back and forth, face fucking the men in front of them.
In the viewing room, Thatho and Mthobisi, the fourteen and thirteen year old African boys from Motumbo's village, were breathing heavily, their beautiful trumpet lipped mouths slightly open. First Thabo and then Simpson slid up right behind the boys, and then each pulled the boys' shirts up and off of their slim, tubelike torsos. The boys giggled but would not be distracted from the spectacle on the other side of the glass. The adults reached down and unfastened the boys' trousers and underwear, sliding both to the floor. Quickly, Simpson and Thabo likewise shed their clothing and again took their positions behind each boy, pressing their growing erections in the middle of each boy's back while their hands slid down over the thin pads of muscle on the chests and bellies of the young teens. The boys stared intently at the proceedings in the room, their young cocks now rising straight out in front of them. From time to time they looked sideways to their brother and to the two men who were fondling them, giggled, and returned to the window.
In the room, the whites nodded at each other and withdrew their dicks from the wet Asian mouths with plopping sounds; it was clear they had planned their every move. The soft cords were removed from the Japanese men's hands, and then they were made to lie flat on the mattress. Each white man covered an Asian and humped him slowly and thoroughly, sliding their slick, leaking dicks up and down between ass cracks, or alongside a deep purple Asian cock that lay on a belly, mixing white and Asian precum in sheets on the golden brown skin of the conquered men. Lips sought lips, tongues ran along tongues and along teeth. Then one white man would trade with another to taste the pleasures of another captive, and so for a while as passion mounted slowly but inexorably.
With a soft word spoken by the big blonde, the white men reached for tubes of lubricant and greased each pink Asian asshole thoroughly, inserting one, then two, then three fingers as the Japanese men lay on their bellies, their rounded butts thrust up, grunting but wordless at each invasion of their innermost parts. When thoroughly greased and relaxed, the Asians assumed they would be ravaged by the bigger white men, but that pleasure was yet to be. The whites positioned the Asians so that they would fuck each other in a line, all on their hands and knees. Willingly, the chubby Asian took his place in front, while his thinner companions positioned themselves in line behind him and first one, then another, slid a steel hard cock into the gaping asshole in front of him. A few gasps and sighs, and they fell to pumping rhythmically, the pace set by the Japanese beauty in the middle. Soon their muscular, firm butts were fanning back and forth quickly, as Asians often prefer, to both give and receive dick. The whites gathered round on their knees, slapping butts, rubbing heaving chests and rippling bellies, or grasping the cock of the chubby man in front, touching and fondling their "property" as the vanquished Asians fucked each other ferociously.
In the control room, Simpson slipped a little to the left behind Thatho, then ran his right hand down over the boy's chest and abdomen to clutch his dripping, rampant fourteen year old midnight black cock. Thatho gasped and, glancing down, saw Simpson's pink and red cock bobbing along his left side. Thatho grasped the organ with one hand, steadying himself against the wall beneath the window with his other. He pumped the white man while Simpson began fondling and pumping his own teenage organ.
Thabo, seeing this, decided to try something different. Remaining directly behind thirteen year old Mthobisi, he picked the boy up and held him tight against his chest and belly. Thabo's organ, middle-aged but large and full, now rose up between Mthobisi's dark brown legs, lifting his young ballsack, and aligning itself with the boy's rigid cock. Thabo's dick was so long that his flared light brown cockhead was now directly under Mthobisi's own knob. Mthobisi, seeing what was wanted, hooked his legs back around behind the older man's thighs, grasped both the adult's ponderous dick and his own rampant cocky with both hands, and began pumping.
In the main room, the Japanese man at the back end threw his head back, crying out, shuddering and pushing, gulping for air. Before he finished filling the rectum of the man in the middle, that one also came, bucking and twisting so hard he nearly disconnected the line. The chubby man in front pushed back hard, receiving his friend's copious cum. The two in the middle and the end had scarcely recovered breathing when the whites pulled the chubby man in front away, while keeping the other two locked together. The chubby Asian was put at the back and made to push his short, fat, hard dick into the ass of the man who had been at the back. The dark red cock slid in with no trouble, its target gasping, but still he held on to the hips of the man in front of him who kept the middle man's dick still inside his asshole. The chubby man now began fanning his hips back and forth very quickly, taking short, quick strokes, as the white men laughed, slapped his exposed buttocks, and fingered the cum drooling from his gaping asshole. His prostate was so stimulated by being fucked, it took but a moment and he curled forward, grunting like a pig.
In the viewing room, Thabo and Mthobisi came first, the black teenager's combined fists bringing both of them to climax at the same time. Heavy shots of cum came from the older man's thick dick and splattered the wall in front of them below the glass, while Mthobisi shot one load right at the wall and then leaked a heavy drool of white fluid down over Thabo's wide cockhead that was still held just below his. Both boy and man grunted and moaned, Thabo nuzzling and biting the boy's neck, and then they stood there shuddering and gasping.
Next to them, Thatho looked back and forth from his brother and Thabo to the white cock of Andrew Simpson he held tight in his left hand, pumping vigorously, then straight ahead to the Asian ass fucking going on in the main room. It was too much to resist and he cried out, arching his body, pushing his pelvis out, and Simpson slowed the sliding of his white hand up and down the coal black penis as it sprayed out white droplets onto the wall. Then as Simpson began to moan and shudder, Thatho, sensing the white man's moment of crisis, pivoted around onto his knees in front of him, his leaking dick bobbing about, and took the red cock into his mouth. Simpson quickly grasped the boy's kinky head with both hands, one dripping with the boy's own semen, and held on for dear life as he filled the black boy's mouth with spunk. Thatho gurgled and choked but swallowed every bit, his large dark eyes looking up as the white man shuddered and spasmed above him.
Back in the main room, the whites now pulled apart the well fucked Asians, each rosy brown asshole winking and oozing cum, and each American now took possession of one of the captives. The blonde laid the chubby Asian on his back, his legs spread apart, and rammed his long, rigid, pink dick right up to the base, mashing his dirty blonde pubic hair against the man's thighs. Arcing out over the Asian, the blonde began fucking him with powerful strokes. Each of the other two brown haired white man put their victim on the mattress floor with butts raised and, covering them, slid their hard cocks inside their gaping assholes with single pushes. Clutching the Asians' shoulders and glossy black hair, the two brown hair whites now rode them unmercifully, pounding their upturned asses hard, as the Asians pushed back willingly to receive their punishment.
The two men in the viewing room held their teenage boys in front of them, cuddling and fondling them in their afterglow, as four dicks, three black and one white, slowly subsided. The four of them looked on intently as first one of the brown haired Americans, then the blonde, then the last American came, each one groaning or squealing and pushing hard, digging into the thin but muscular shoulders, raising deep blushes in the apricot skin, pushing and trembling into each Asian asshole to fill it with their victors' semen. Then the Americans collapsed, heaving and gasping, on top of their conquests. The "victims" smiled and, where they could, winked at one another; it was not such a bad contest to lose.
Nor would that be the end of what the Japanese men owed to their white masters for the next twenty four hours. But they would do that in private. The two men and two boys in the viewing room quietly dressed, whispering jokes and speculations as to what would follow in the main room, and then slipped out into the night. They bade each other goodnight as they parted on the path, and as Simpson came to the door of his own lodge he could not resist a glance in the direction of the lodge where he knew Motumbo and Chele were staying. But one light was on, and it was low, and in a bedroom.
To be continued..... Comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net