Simpson awoke with the dawn light, still entwined with Little Mandla who continued to sleep soundly. The pleasure of their physical closeness warred with his sense of purpose, but duty won out. That, and a sense that Little Mandla needed to rest more than he needed another passionate coupling such as they experienced the night before! Simpson slipped out of bed as quietly as he good, leaving the youth still asleep. He washed and dressed quickly and quietly shut the door behind him as he left his lodge to step out into the African dawn.
Going to the main offices, he found Thabo preparing breakfast. One or two of the cleaning staff came and went, exchanging greetings with Simpson. The two sat down together, and over game steaks and eggs, and steaming coffee, Simpson began to lay his plans. Armed with paper and pencil, Simpson sketched out rough drawings, jotted down some specifications, and questioned Thabo about materials and resources. As the scope of Simpson's plans were explained, and the boldness of some of his concepts made clear, Thabo alternated between head-scratching wonder, laughter, and polite skepticism. Still, an agreement was made to press ahead with a scheme to transform De Groot's into a kind of sexual entertainment paradise unknown before. It was agreed that Simpson would handle marketing and booking while Thabo would oversee the physical changes and staffing additions that would be required.
As they parted to go their separate ways, Simpson paused and turned to Thabo. "Will....will you be calling for construction help from all the villages around here?" he asked. "For staff to be trained for the new games?" Thabo nodded, looking intently at Simpson; he seemed to know where this was headed.
"From Motumbo's village?" asked Simpson casually, looking away, seemingly occupied with a spot on a nearby window. Thabo grunted agreement. Simpson nodded. The two waited a moment. "Perhaps Motumbo will want to come back to train, or to bring some recruits with him," said Simpson, as nonchalantly as he could.
Thabo continued to look knowingly at him, then nodded and added in a kind, soft voice, "Perhaps, Boss Andrew. I ask `specially for him when I call."
Simpson simply nodded, but could hardly contain the big sigh he breathed within himself. "Call?" he asked Thabo. "Are there phones?"
"Cell phones, Boss Andrew, lots people in Africa got cell phones. No land lines, but lotsa towers, cell phones!" And at that, Thabo slipped away to go about his business. Now Simpson really did sigh out loud, and headed for the computers.
Using his own skills, and calling on some friends connected with some agencies back in Manhattan, Simpson soon put together an impressive marketing campaign online. He was targeting a very special demographic that was nevertheless globally distributed, and he took great care in presenting an appealing and professional image for De Groot's. It took all morning. Simpson could hear Thabo come and go, the sounds of the voices of the staff, even what he thought were Big Mandla's and Strello's voices. The whole camp was buzzing with activity, even with as small as staff as it had; and the staff was soon to grow larger.
Simpson and Thabo ate lunch. They each discussed their progress, and then Simpson announced his intention to return to his own lodge for a nap before returning to work. He helped Thabo to clean up the lunch things, added one or two more touches to a web site he was developing, and then walked down the dusty path toward his own lodge.
Shutting the door behind him, he peeked into the bedroom to see a patch of dark brown skin beneath the sheets. Little Mandla must have needed more recovery time than anyone thought if he were still sleeping. Quietly, Simpson slipped into the room and closed the door. Removing his clothing, he pulled back the sheets and pulled back the bed sheets. The man turned over; it was Strello.
Simpson gasped in surprise; Strello pulled a face, then burst into a chuckle. His boyish face, broad pug nose, and deep tobacco brown skin was as beautiful as Simpson remembered it.
"Little Mandla, he need sleep Boss Andrew! I send back to lodge, take place for him!" said Strello. The eighteen year old whipped the sheets completely off, exposing his naked body. Not overly tall, he was extremely muscular, dense lobes and ridges of hard flesh flowing like lava across his frame. Wide, flat, maroon brown nipples clung to the lower edges of his rounded lobes of chest muscle. A narrow valley descended through small hills of abdominal muscles to a slightly outie navel, then followed a thin line of short body hair to a patch of dense, kinky black hair around a very thick, heavy penis that was half erect and visibly moving toward full rigidity. Simpson looked in awe at the splendid sight and simply slid down onto the bed beside the boy. Strello lost no time. Leaning over, he put his wide, flared and moist lips over Simpson's, sucking the white man's mouth passionately, pushing his tongue down and playing across his teeth, sucking Simpson's tongue back into his own mouth. Strello's now iron hard cock slapped against Simpson's thigh, as the white man's own dick grew hard and red.
Strello played the aggressor, rolling over to lie on top of Simpson, their hard red and purple black cocks aligned straight up between their torsos, each leaking precum mixed together to make their skins slick as they slid around, squirming. Strello tweaked Simpson's ears and ran his dark brown fingers through his silky hair, while Simpson grabbed tufts of the black youth's dense, inch-thick cap of hair and pulled his head down. Simpson, usually the more active one, was simply overwhelmed by Strello's insistent conquest of his body, and he made the split second decision to let happen what may.
The black eighteen year old broke off their long kiss with a pop, a string of mixed saliva trailing from his mouth to Simpson's, as he pushed himself off the white man with one shove of his muscular arms and rocked back on his haunches. He spread Simpson's thighs and then pushed them back up against the white man's chest. Simpson felt a moment of fear....it was all happening so quickly, and Strello's swollen dick, which he was now greasing with lubricant, really looked too big for the thing that was about to happen. But Strello was not to be denied. One hand on the white man's thigh, the other on his own massive, thick dick, Strello pushed Simpson back again and placed his swollen, flared cockhead at the entrance to Simpson's rectum. There was an initial push, then another, and the black boy's cockhead entered.
Simpson writhed and cried out, pushing the palms of his hands against Strello's hard, rounded chest. The African youth paused, looking intently into the face of the white man he had impaled beneath him. Simpson breathed steadily and, when the pain passed, nodded to the black boy above him. Strello quickly and deliberately pushed in another two or three inches, then halted again as Simpson cried out and pushed against his chest. Another wait, another push, and Strello was completely inside Simpson.
The white man had been entered before, but never by anything so large. Strello positioned himself above, his tan palms spread out on the bed on either side of Simpson, resting on the white man's thighs which were pushed straight up and back, his knees nearly to his chin. Then slowly, slowly, moving a bit at a time, Strello began sliding back and forth. Then faster, until a steady rhythm was achieved between the two of them, Simpson arching his pelvis up as much as he could to meet the thrusts of the mighty black rod that was sliding in and out of his ass. Simpson's pink palms pressed against the rounded, hard chest of the African who rode above him. Their eyes locked into each other, looking deep into one another, sharing this moment of the greatest intimacy possible, merging into one another. The black boy's bubble butt rounded and then clenched rhythmically with every piston cycle of his dick, a large dimple forming in the sides of each hip as he pushed his shaft down into the white man.
Simpson came first, the stimulation on his prostate combined with the friction of Strello's lower abdomen against his rod proving too much for him. The white man's red dick was arching up along Strello's abdomen, and when Simpson cried out and moaned, tearing at the kinky hair he had clutched in his fingers, his penis shot out a spray of white cum that dotted the tanned white and tobacco brown chests of both men. Stimulated by the tightening inside Simpson, now Strello cried out and bucked forward, holding still for a second as he pushed deep inside the white man with all his strength, then quickly fanned his hips and pushed again, then again, as a second and third wave of white spunk flowed down into the man beneath him. Through it all, they never broke their locked gaze, seeing deep into the other man, so different and yet so much the same, two strangers come from thousands of miles apart to fuck themselves into one being.
Then Strello collapsed, his still hard rod sliding out of Simpson, and rolled over onto his back. Simpson flopped over and put his arm around the heaving brown chest of the boy and held him tight. Semen was all over their torsos now, running down in rivulets, running from out of Simpson's winking asshole onto the sheets as well. Heaving and gasping, but now slower, the two caught their breath and, as peace descended on them, slipped off into sleep.
Simpson woke with a start an hour later, which brought Strello to consciousness as well. They looked at each other, a little in surprise, then both laughed. They kissed, but Simpson broke it off. There would be plenty of time for this and all good things later, but there was work to be done now. He sprang from the bed and showered. Strello pushed himself into the narrow stall just as Simpson was stepping out, the two sliding against each other on the water from Simpson's body, chuckling. As each one finished dressing they left the lodge to continue their work, exchanging one more quick kiss before opening the door.
Simpson worked on a marketing and advertising plan the rest of the day, interrupted by the placing of orders for supplies at Thabo's requests. As evening approached, Simpson suggested to Thabo that all the staff on the premises be invited to dinner. Thabo agreed, and one by one everyone but the redoubtable Zama, faithfully prowling the perimeter like stalking Death, came into the main lodge for a meal. Simpson was introduced to all the remaining staff, every one of whom had been busy all day with the new plans. Questions about the future were asked and answered, suggestions offered and considered. Strello sat a few chairs away from Simpson, but the two exchanged grins from time to time. Big Mandla and Little Mandla sat on either side of Simpson, the iron hard, massive thigh of the big man pleasantly rubbing up against his own from time to time, while Little Mandla punctuated a laugh or a story with a gentle hand laid on Simpson's arm or shoulder. After an hour or so, Simpson realized with a start that he felt as if he belonged here. De Groot's was coming to seem like home, and these men like family.
There was more work in the evening hours as every man there had caught a sense of excitement. Returning tired but satisfied to his lodge, Simpson found Strello undressing. The black youth gave him a questioning glance.
"OK, Boss Andrew?"
"OK, Strello, but maybe we can just hold each other. I am very tired." Strello nodded a happy agreement, even though his dick was half erect. The two slid into bed and held each other loosely, companionably, gently exploring each other's facial features and hair with soft fingers, enjoying the moment of freedom and license. Some gentle kisses then, and, arms around each other, they fell asleep.
Strello stayed in Simpson's lodge for another two days, the men alternating between passionate and then gentle sex, sometimes Simpson taking the passive position and sometimes being on top, pounding the black boy's high bubble butt for all he was worth. By mutual agreement and with no rancor, they agreed after two days that Strello would return to the "Prey" lodge, with many a promise to continue enjoying their pleasures in the future. After all, neither man wished an exclusive or permanent relationship with the other....and often, as Simpson ploughed in and out between the firm, rounded buttocks of the black boy beneath him, or lay impaled by a thick, purple black cock, he imagined Motumbo in place of Strello.
On the second day, to Simpson's surprise, first inquiries and then reservations, with deposits, began arriving by email. The first arrivals were six weeks out, which was just time enough to complete the changes planned for the physical space. Teams of experienced "prey" could also be recruited for training in the new "games" to be offered.
On the third day, a convoy of trucks from Johannesburg pulled into the compound and offloaded supplies for the planned constructions and renovations. As if by magic, within an hour of their departure came workers, some on foot from nearby villages and some in rattletrap pickups and flatbed trucks from more distant settlements. In all, about twenty men would eventually arrive, making a sizable, willing, and effective workforce. Empty guest cabins were converted into dormitory space for the men. Half a dozen women also arrived to cook and clean and...to tell the truth....provide sexual alternatives and outlets for the men who were so inclined.
Thabo, a good general for the purpose, began organizing parties for the new construction, and soon the sounds of sawing, drilling, and the whines of power equipment, could be heard all over the camp. Meanwhile, in between managing the business side of the operation, Simpson felt ready to move toward training those who would be involved in the new entertainments at De Groot's. These were not necessarily the same men as those skilled in construction. After some consultation with both of the Mandlas, Strello, and Thabo, it was agreed that it was time for Thabo to put out a cell phone summons to some select invitees. One of the new buildings was already finished, and others were in the process of preparation, so a new phase of training was called for. The experience "prey" would of course assist, lending their expertise.
A group of three men arrived first, each one young and handsome. It was clear why they had been chosen in the past to serve as "prey." Simpson explained the new plans, and they were delighted, pleased with the prospect of new income, pleased with the variety of new roles they were to play, pleased with the power they would soon sometimes experience after their recent careers as "prey"....although they all quite agreed that they were willing to run in the bush again if the money was right!
The group of sexual staffers, as they were now being called, had grown to five. The doctor from the nearby clinic came and tested every conceivable candidate for sexual contacts for disease. The sexual staffers and Simpson were returning one evening from a day of training and practice on the land, hot and thirsty but excited at the new prospects. Simpson noticed an unfamiliar pickup truck that had just pulled up, a thin curtain of dust still hanging in the air in its path. Coming closer he saw two men step out of it. One of them was Motumbo.
Unable to believe his eyes, his heart pounding, Simpson walked quietly up to the truck. Motumbo was pulling a bag out of the back....actually pulling luggage out! Simpson stopped a few feet away and Motumbo, not yet noticing him, continued speaking in a low voice to the other man. Then they shook hands and the other man got back into the truck and began pulling away. Motumbo waved him off, then turned around...and saw Simpson. The two froze for a moment, regarding each other.
"Evening, Boss."
"Andrew."
"Evening, Andrew. Thabo call, say there is work. For the games, for the `hunt,' you know." Simpson nodded, then extended his hand. Motumbo took it, carefully watching the white man all the while, looking deeply into his eyes, trying to read his face.
"So, I here, Boss...uh, I here, Andrew."
"Just to work?" The big man shrugged, and a slight smile crept onto his face.
"Who knows, Andrew?" There was another pause...the two kept their handshake grip...and then Simpson spoke.
"I am glad you are here, Motumbo. I have missed you. I think about you all....well, it is as I told you before." The tall man nodded, cocked his head slightly to one side, still inspecting Simpson. Then he released the handshake and picked up his bag. For effect, he looked around him, as if he had never been there, and asked nonchalantly, "Where I stay?"
Simpson looked down and said, his voice throaty with tension, "You could stay with me, if you want to." Motumbo looked piercingly at him. He set the bag back down.
"You pay me, Andrew? Boss? This for pay?" Simpson's head jerked up and he looked directly at Motumbo, a wave of passion and impatience washing over him.
"No, Motumbo, it is not for pay. Not this part. If you want work with the hunts, the games we will put on, yes, I will hire you. I will not pay you for sleeping with me. I want you, Motumbo, as a person, not just your body. But I want your body also."
Motumbo's eyes widened a bit and the smile slowly, slowly floated back onto his features. "OK, Andrew," he said. "OK....maybe we try it, yes? My friend," and he jerked his thumb in the direction of the departing truck, "he go to Joburg, back in a week to pick me up, so we see then, OK?"
Simpson nodded. He felt as if he had passed an important test. Then before Motumbo could react, he stepped forward and picked up the luggage. Looking into the startled face of the African, Simpson said, "I would be honored if you would follow me to my lodge, Motumbo....to our lodge." Astonishment warred with pleasure on Motumbo's face, but he nodded and followed a step behind Simpson, who carried the bag to the waiting lodge.
The two entered the cabin, the door closing behind them. Simpson set the bag down and then simply stood there, looking hard at Motumbo. The longing in his eyes was as plain as if he had spoken it aloud. Motumbo paused a moment, looking searchingly at the white man, who still made no move. Then Motumbo took one step nearer and reached out his arm, to lay one strong, large hand on Simpson's shoulder, which he squeezed. With a shudder, Simpson moved into the African's strong body, laying his head against the strong shoulders, encircling the chest with his arms and hugging tightly. Motumbo pulled Simpson into him, nuzzling his silky hair with his face, returning the embrace. For a long moment they stood like that while two thin tracks of tears ran down Simpson's face.
Motumbo reached down to tilt Simpson's face up a little to his own, and seeing tears grunted softly, then wiped them away with his thumb. Then bending his beautiful, strong face down, Motumbo kissed Simpson's mouth. For a long time they stood there, embracing each other, dancing with their heads and their mouths, lips and tongues exploring lips and tongues, their breathing becoming heavier, their organs straining within their pants. Then Simpson unclasped his arms from around the strong upper torso of Motumbo and began unbuttoning his shirt, which was soon open and fell away. Motumbo in answer tugged up Simpson's shirt from out of his pants and, breaking their embrace, over his head. The two returned to another embrace, tighter now as naked skin met naked sin, Simpson's body of average musculature meeting the hard, meaty contours of Motumbo's shield-shaped chest, feeling the hard hills of muscles down his back on either side of the valley of his spine.
Falling to his knees, Simpson quickly unclasped the trousers of the man before him, pulling them and his undergarment down to fall around the African's shoes. The heavy, massive, purple black organ sprang out to meet him, bigger than Strello's, a noble organ of midnight strength and power. Raising it up with one hand, Simpson took first one and then another of the massive testicles beneath into his mouth, gently sucking at the rough but hairless ballsack, running one hand up and down the thick shaft of the heavy organ. Motumbo grasped Simpson's shoulders and moaned with delight. Then Simpson took the heavy organ into his mouth, gnawing the large, flared dickhead with his soft lips. Now Motumbo threw his head back and cried out softly in ecstasy. For a few moments Simpson slid his head up and down on the massive shaft as Motumbo pushed forward, muttering to himself in an unknown language.
Then rising, Simpson quickly slid his own pants off, kicking them and his shoes away as Motumbo did the same. Reaching out to grasp a dark brown hand, Simpson led Motumbo to the bedroom, impatiently throwing back the covers and flinging himself onto the bed. So often in charge of every aspect of his life, Simpson now led but he led in giving himself to this African of whom he had dreamed so many nights. Seizing the tube of lubricant nearby, Simpson impatiently dabbed some onto and into his own anus while with his other hand he patted the bed between his legs, signaling where Motumbo should position himself. Grasping the rampant, thick purple black rod, Simpson slicked it liberally, mixing lubricant with the copious flow of precum now running from the piss slit. Then throwing himself back onto the bed, Simpson drew his legs up and gestured to Motumbo to come forward.
With great gentleness in one of such muscular strength, Motumbo placed his cockhead against Simpson's anus and pushed softly. The next few minutes were a great struggle, and had Simpson not been with Strello now and again over the last week or so, he could not have received something so large. With many starts and stops, each man impatient but each communicating physically with the other, Motumbo was finally landed deep inside Simpson, who lay gasping flat against the bed, sweating. Then the white man opened his eyes, which had been closed, and nodded and smiled at Motumbo who sat quite still, on his haunches, his massive shaft impaled inside Simpson.
Slowly, then more quickly, Motumbo began sliding in and out, in and out. Moving from off of his haunches, he stretched out over Simpson, pushing his own legs back straight. Simpson's legs locked by the ankles around the broad brown back and pulled the pumping buttocks in closer, while he wrapped his tanned white arms around the strong brown shoulders and held on as if he were drowning. Faster now, Motumbo pumped in and out, in and out, then bent his head forward to kiss the white man beneath him passionately. Then Motumbo lowered himself entirely onto Simpson, pressing his face into the white man's hair, gently biting his lips, kissing his face, grasping him by the shoulders. Both men were pulling each other closely together, locked in a tight embrace, brown skin sliding on white skin on a sheet of sweat and Simpson's precum, holding tight as Motumbo's orgasm came upon him suddenly. Clutching Simpson fiercely, Motumbo's whole body clenched, his pelvis tilting to push his penis its whole length into Simpson, the white man pulling the African's heaving, bucking body desperately down into him.
To Simpson it felt like receiving a gift or a sacrament; this strong African had given him the gift of his seed, deposited deep inside of him. The white man felt on the verge of tears, a moment he had thought about for so long having come true. But then Motumbo, his breath still ragged, pulled out with a plop and slid down the length of the white man's slickened torso, stopping to take his rock hard red cock into his mouth. Stimulated from his massive fucking, it did not take Simpson long. Placing his legs under the arms and then over the back of the black man who had swallowed his penis whole, Simpson thrashed on the bed, bucking his hips up and down, holding the nappy-haired head above his groin tightly in his hands, and when he came it was with a mighty eruption, shooting months worth of pent-up desire into the African's mouth, shouting and groaning uncontrollably.
Motumbo milked every drop from the rigid red shaft as Simpson trembled and gasped, and as he slid up to lie alongside Simpson, saw that the white man was sobbing soundlessly, tears of relief and fulfillment again running down his cheeks. Now chuckling outright, crooning a soothing sound, Motumbo again wiped the tears away with his fingers, kissing the white man softly. The peace that comes from release slowly settled on the room, and the two figures on the bed drifted away into sleep.
To be continued, comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net