Opening his eyes in the early dawn light, Motumbo tensed. Everything was strange, the room unfamiliar. Looking around he saw the rustic furniture, heavily made from unfinished, varnished raw wood, the horns and heads of hunting trophies on the walls, the polished wood floors with animal skins for rugs. Then he noticed the white man next to him. For a moment his thoughts went back to the times he had been the trophy for white men who came to De Groot's, going back a year or so now. Was this one..... and then he remembered. This was Andrew, the strange white man who came back, who came back looking especially for him. What did it mean, who was this man, and what did he want?
Motumbo turned on his side toward the sleeping white man to look at him more closely. He had been little chance to do this sort of thing in the past. Most of the men who "won" him had seemed to prefer that he keep his eyes averted, that he act passively. It was not especially his nature, but it did not last long and the money was good, it was more than good. But this Andrew, he seemed different. Motumbo listened to the white man's soft breathing and gazed at his body intently, trying to unravel the mystery who was sleeping beside him. A mixture of off-white, light tan, and light rose colors played on his skin. The man's body was muscular but not as heavily developed as his own. A mop of light, soft hair spread out on the pillow from his head. Motumbo reached out tentatively to touch it again, as he had the night before. Gently, he entwined his fingers in it, marveling at the strange texture. He leaned into it and smelled it, pressing his lips to the cornsilk texture. And then Andrew awoke with a start, and turned toward the African whose fingers were still in his hair. He smiled, and Motumbo smiled in return.
"Motumbo," he said, and turned toward the African. Lying on their sides facing each other, the men lightly embraced, their morning semi-erections lying against each other's abdomens, now slowly growing harder. Each man traced the features of the other with his fingers, exploring the differences in facial features and hair, but recognizing the underlying similarities and the bond between them. Slowly, Andrew moved forward to kiss Motumbo. Lips caressed lips, tongues met and slid around and then past each other, ran along teeth in the other's mouth. Lips so full and lips more thin sucked and slid on each other.
Hands grasped both penises together and slowly pumped, while other hands reached around to caress muscular bottoms. The two slid even tighter together, sharing the faster tempo of their breath, feeling each other's chests rise and fall now. Eyes looked deeply into eyes.
Turning half away, Motumbo found the lubricant and began smearing it on Simpson's rigid red cock, while the white man closed his eyes and moaned. The African reached behind himself and lubricated his own asshole and then, nodding at Simpson, rolled over onto his belly, cocking his hips up, laying his cheek on the sheets. He was offering himself up in the way Simpson had done the night before. The white man had taken him like this on their first night, months ago, but now the black was giving himself as a gift, not as a prize that had been won.
Softly whispering the black man's name, Simpson slid up and over the African's strong thigh and positioned himself behind his upturned bottom. One palm supported his body on the sheets while his other hand guided his cock to the wrinkled dark purple brown asshole. Simpson pushed the flared cockhead and then pushed again. It popped inside. Slowly, as Motumbo quietly gasped and moaned, Simpson pushed himself all the way inside, then craned his torso up and over Motumbo's body, supported by both hands on either side of the waiting black man beneath him. His rigid red cock was now firmly buried in between the hard bubbles of Motumbo's butt. It was a wonderful sight. Simpson began to rock, moving in and out, the slick, glistening purple red dick sliding in and out of the African's anus. Motumbo moaned softly in time to the rhythm of the thrusts.
As he pushed in all the way, Simpson's muscular lower belly and upper thighs slapped against the meaty cushion of the rounded African butt, pushed hard against the man's sensuous flesh. As he pushed in, Motumbo cocked his pelvis back and up, rolling the meaty hams up to meet his white lover's thrusts. Faster and harder Simpson pumped, now slamming forward to push as hard as he could, pulling out almost all the way and slamming forward again. Like a train chugging at top speed toward a cliff the white man pistoned in and out, in and out, and then with a wild howl pushed forward and held it, grinding his groin into the African butt as he spurted his cum deep into the black man's gut. Gasping and cursing quietly, Simpson held his position, grinding into the ass, and then slumped in utter exhaustion, breathing heavily, lying on the muscular African's back, his face on the fleshy shoulders. Catching his breath, Simpson kissed and licked the deep, dark skin, tasting it, tonguing it.
Recovered, Simpson leaped off and grabbed the lubrication, smearing it on his own anus. Turning Motumbo over onto his back with the other hand, Simpson greased up the enormous purple black pole that now sprang up into the air. Simpson moved quickly over the African's lower abdomen and grasped the huge, rigid black cock, positioning it against his own bottom, and then sat back quickly. The pain was intense as his rectum took the whole organ in at once. Simpson, completely impaled, sat quietly for a moment, looking down at the magnificent shield shaped chest and hills of abdominal muscles below him, his softening cock dribbling the last of his semen onto the African's muscular belly. Motumbo crooned soothing words and ran his dark hands over the white man's thighs and chest. Then Simpson nodded, and first slowly, then quickly, began riding the African cock inside of him, rising and falling, rising and falling.
Motumbo's powerful hips and thighs pushed up to meet Simpson's downward motions. His knees on either side of the black man, Simpson bounced up and down for a while, then leaned forward to kiss the full maroon brown lips. But half of Motumbo's organ was still inside of him, and the black man was now freed to thrust upward with even more vigor. Simpson now held quite still, kissing and sucking Motumbo's lips, while the big African did all the work, thrusting up and down, up and down, until he also cried out, muffled by the white man's mouth that was over his, and pushed up, holding it, while a fountain of cum sprayed up inside of Simpson. The African pulled back and then thrust again, and then again, spurting again, and then collapsed back flat on his back. Simpson put his head to the side of the African's, cheeks pressed tightly together. The magnificent black cocks remained in his ass a few minutes longer, then with a plop fell out as it deflated from iron rigidity to mere meaty weight. Simpson pushed his legs back, entwining them with Motumbo's, and stretched out on top of the African. Moments passed in silence, and then Simpson half rose to look at Motumbo's face. Both men smiled, then chuckled, then laughed softly.....but neither one could have said what they were laughing at. No words were spoken, but in time, with one accord, they rose and showered together, tidied the room and dressed. Then, making small talk about the weather and the plans for the new De Groot's, they went out into the morning light and toward the main offices.
There they found Thabo and some of the staff nearly done with breakfast. Some good natured ribbing about the lateness of their arrival, some pointed comments about what could have delayed them.....Motumbo and Simpson took it in good humor, and exchanged many quick, meaningful looks between themselves.
There was more discussion about the new plans, Motumbo being made fully aware of the new activities and facilities that were planned. It was clear he was impressed, and also clear that he was aroused by the escapades promised in the new plans. And so began a week of steady activity and preparation. Each night, and during the day when they could, Motumbo and Andrew Simpson returned to their lodge and threw themselves into the bed, powered by a strong passion. Each new coupling offered a chance to experiment, to explore each other's bodies. When not riding the tidal wave of their sexual passions, they spoke of small matters, each resolutely staying within the moment: how the training and renovations were coming, which of the staff were working out and which were not, what changes needed to be made.
Little Mandla, up and about and healing, and Strello, both kept a managed distance from Simpson during this time. Oh, they risked occasional winks, or arranged to be standing in narrow hallways that Simpson would need to pass through, and neither could keep from the occasional suggestive joke, but neither one was possessive. Both knew they would get another chance at sharing Andrew's bed, and in the meantime there was no lack of other outlets in the busy camp.
All the while, business began pouring in by way of the Internet. Requests for reservations even sooner than the projected starting date were pressed upon Simpson, and mindful of the need to generate a cash flow, as well as proud of the progress that had been made, he began accepting some reservations that would be very soon. The activities desired for these early bookings then received top priority in the training and construction that was going on. The week marched forward as the time of the first bookings became sooner and sooner, and before long the end of Motumbo's promised seven days were approaching, the day his friend would stop on the way from Johannesburg to take him back, if that was what he wanted.
It was on the evening before the day of Motumbo's friend's return that, sitting at a late private dinner in their own lodge, each spent from a hard day of work and the athletic lovemaking they had just shared, Simpson took the plunge and raised the question that had been hovering over them all week.
"So....Motumbo. Your friend, he comes back tomorrow?"
"Yes, Andrew." Motumbo cocked his head and looked carefully at Simpson, his eyes half hooded by his long lashes.
Simpson nodded. He waited. He tried a different tack.
"Motumbo, does your wife...your woman, does she know what you do here?"
Motumbo nodded. "Yes, Andrew, she know. Is OK, long's I come back, you know? She like the money."
"But she wants you to come back."
"Yes, Andrew. From time to time. That my home." And here he looked aside. Simpson glanced sharply at him and sucked in his breath. Another moment passed.
"Are you going back tomorrow then, with your friend?"
"Maybe. Maybe yes. Yes, I think so, Andrew." Motumbo was looking at the floor now. Another moment passed, and Andrew pushed his chair back suddenly and rose to his feet.
"Motumbo....you already know this. I don't know how else to say it. I need you. This last week has been...it has been what I dreamed of back...." And he gestured vaguely in the direction of what might be New York. "Motumbo," he continued with rising energy, "if you need to go back to see your wife, alright, I understand. Maybe I need a break sometimes too, OK?" Motumbo looked up quickly and flashed a smile, while a wintry grin crept across Simpson's otherwise pained features. "But Motumbo.....I need you. Come back." He sat down heavily, took a deep breath, and said it: "I love you."
Motumbo stared hard at the white man, and then put his thick, large brown hand over Simpson's. The "L" word hung all by itself in the space between them as Simpson's heart thudded out a passing moment. "I like you also, Andrew." Well, there it was. The lesser "L" word. Simpson sighed softly. Motumbo continued: "I must go tomorrow. But I be back, yes, I promise. You know....I can't stay here always." Simpson gulped and nodded, turning his head and wiping his cheek on his shirt. Composing himself, he turned back to Motumbo, whose face showed a mixture of pain, resolution, compassion....and maybe the "like" he had just expressed? Could it become more, over time?
"I know, Motumbo," Simpson said. "Go, but come back. Or," and he sat up straight in his chair, "or can you bring your wife here? We can find a space for the two of you."
Motumbo gave a not very encouraging shrug. "I dunno, Andrew. That her home. Her own house, y'know? I ask, but I not think so. Andrew," he said, squeezing the hand again, "I be back soon, OK? Lotsa money to be made, guests come soon. And I got a idea I tell you about when I come back."
Simpson turned his hand over to entwine his fingers in Motumbo's. Looking down at the interlocked fingers, light and dark, he thought he had never seen such a beautiful sight. He nodded and smiled, and whispered "OK." They sat there in silence a few minutes more and then made for the bedroom where, long after their passion was spent, as the oil lamp burned the last of its fuel and guttered into a thin curl of white smoke, Simpson lay awake, caressing the crispy haired head of the sleeping man next to him as it lay on his chest, an occasional tear making its track down his cheek.
Simpson put on a brave face the next morning when, an hour before noon, Motumbo's friend pulled up in the compound. Simpson and Motumbo exchanged a brief embrace in the lodge, then Simpson waited and waved in the door of the dwelling while Motumbo entered the truck, which rumbled off into the distance leaving a cloud of dust in its wake. Simpson stared after it, sighed, and headed for the main lodge. The first reservations for guests were now a week away, and planning was proceeding apace to be ready for the unexpectedly early new business.
All that week Simpson threw himself into his work. Strello and Big Mandla were the team that would "entertain" the first guests, and Andrew avoided the temptation to have sex with either of them by keeping them and himself in a constant state of exhaustion from work. The night before the first guests were to arrive, everyone flopped into their own beds early and slept long into the next morning, while Thabo went alone to pick up the guests from the nearest town of any size, where their bus would deliver them. By the time Thabo pulled back into the compound in the afternoon, everyone was up and waiting.
Two slim, blonde and fair-skinned twenty-something men stepped out of the car. Simpson consulted his notes again: James and John Leggett, 24, twins, Brits from London. Further down was the notation that they were advertising creatives. Simpson set the notes aside and strode forward to play the good host. Introductions were made all around, Simpson making sure that key members of the staff were also introduced. Then he asked Thabo to take the men to their lodge to settle in. He knew that a nurse would be waiting there to draw blood for the mandatory STD test that everyone at De Groot's, staff and guest alike, took on a regular basis.
Later that evening, Simpson greeted the Leggetts at a dinner of wild game in the main lodge. The twins' manner was a trifle twee for his tastes, a little too willowy and languid, a bit too much of the Aubrey Beardsley thing, but then they weren't there for him and they were paying good money. Simpson went over the terms of tomorrow's games, and both men seemed to understand the rules completely. At the end of the dinner, Simpson bade his guests a good evening and counseled a good night's rest, to which they agreed. He himself, after scouting the territory, slipped unobtrusively down to his own lodge and turned out the light quickly. Still saddened over Motumbo's departure, he was not in the mood tonight for a frolic with Little Mandla or with Strello. Plus, Strello at least needed to save his strength. Simpson quickly slipped into a dreamless sleep.
Before dawn the next morning, Simpson was up early, first to knock softly at the door of the "Prey" lodge, where he spoke softly with Big Mandla and Strello to make sure they were ready. Then turning onto the path to the Leggett's cabin, he saw they already had a light on. They opened the door to his gentle knock, and stepping in he saw that they had just finished their light breakfast. They were clothed and equipped as well, and had been just about to emerge. All three men stepped into the early morning coolness, where Simpson turned again to assess the twins' state of readiness.
Each was clothed in light tan, or "flesh" colored skin tight breathable spandex, with sturdy sneakers on their feet. Each had a light cotton hood to cover their heads. Each had a small rucksack with some food and a bottle of water. They were the first to take advantage of the new program of attractions at De Groot's. They were going to be prey. The Leggetts represented the flip side of Simpson's own adventure some months ago, with the exception that their clothing would protect their fair skin from the African sun, a necessity for them if not for the rich, dark skins of the Africans Simpson had pursued before. Simpson led them to a small gate at the perimeter of the compound and, offering some last words of advice, ushered them through it into the wild lands beyond. They were off and running.
Simpson waited half an hour and then, as expected, saw Strello and Mandla walking down the path, clothed in sturdy shorts and shirts with snakeproof boots and broad-brimmed hats....and armed, each one, with a serious-looking paintball gun. The three men laughed and joked, each one exhilarated in his own way at the new game. Simpson made sure their radios were working, then led each one to the fence and out into the wild.
The Leggetts did not last until noon. Unaccustomed to the rugged landscape, scratched (but in minor ways) by thorns and brambles, first one and then the other took his paintball, splat! in the middle of his chest. Tired and hot, and anticipating the consequences of their capture, neither seemed to mind. Thabo and Simpson drove out to pick up the Leggetts, who were made to sit in the back of the truck while Strello and Mandla, grinning from ear to ear and swinging their paintball guns like trophies, sat in the four passenger cab with Thabo and Simpson. Back they went to the compound, where the twins and the two Africans, temporarily going their separate ways, washed up, drank water, and ate lunch. Then Strello and Mandla took up residence in a new lodge especially built for the purpose, and waited.
In the early afternoon, Thabo knocked on the door of the hut where Strello and Big Mandla were waiting. Strello opened it. Both he and Mandla were clothed in simple athletic shorts and T-shirts. Thabo led into the house the two blonde twins, James and John Leggett. Each was naked, freshly scrubbed, with their hands loosely bound behind with a soft cord. Their bodies were slim and willowy, no fat but only a boyish wash of thin muscle over their long frames. Straight blonde hair hung over their ears. The twenty-four year olds' complexion was cream and light rose. Beneath a patch of dirty blonde pubic hair, each had a half erection that swayed and bounced as they stepped into the lodge, eyes cast down. Thabo, barely able to suppress a smile at the reversal of the usual turn of events, announced to Strello and Mandla that their two trophies from the morning's hunt were here, and were theirs to do with as they pleased. Then he withdrew.
Strello and Mandla exchanged a quick glance of victory and anticipation, then slowly walked around the captive white men, whose erections were slowly growing. Walking behind them, Mandla swatted first the one and then the other, hard, on their rosy round bottoms, leaving a red mark where his hand struck. The twins each gasped, but kept their heads downcast and did not object. Strello, also standing behind the twins, slipped off the cords that bound their hands. Returning to stand in front of them, Mandla prodded James in the chest and said, "Remove my clothing." James sank to his knees in front of the large African and slipped off his sandals. Then he rose and tugged up and off the huge black man's T-shirt, to the best of his ability. Mandla's massive frame was more apparent with his shirt off, the great lobes of his chest and dense abdominal padding making him a formidable sight. Thick shoulder and neck muscles rose to the close-cropped head of hair. The big man, standing over six feet tall, regarded from beneath hooded eyes and curled lashes the naked white man, several inches shorter than he. "This, too," he said, snapping at his athletic shorts. James sank again to his knees, his now rigid red cock bouncing, and tugged down the shorts, which fell to the floor. A massive, thick, purple black penis popped out, curving out from beneath a dense patch of kinky pubic hair, above a heavy scrotum containing two nuts the size of golf balls. Mandla reached down and grasped his organ, then taking a step forward began to gently slap James's face with it. As the huge cock stiffened it also began to leak precum, and Mandla painted the white man's face with it, leaving a pattern of glistening clear liquid on and around his button nose and rosebud lips, streaking the blonde hair hanging down over his forehead.
In the meantime Strello, still standing behind the naked John Leggett, had stripped off his own T-shirt and thrown it aside. He stepped up close behind John and pulled the blonde man back into him, clasping him in front, running his dark brown hands over the thin cream and rose chest and belly, burying his face in the silky blonde hair. "Pull my shorts off" he growled into the ear of the white man, who stood about his own height. Reaching back, John tugged down the athletic shorts, which fell to the ground. Strello kicked them and his sandals away. His thick, heavy cock, black as midnight and smooth as satin, was fully erect and pushed downward between the two men. Strello ground the thick, meaty shaft in between John's rounded, rose and cream colored buttocks while at the same time he ran his hands down the slim abdomen of the white man to pause at the bush of silky pubic hair, then to grasp the long, slim, iron hard rod that now stuck straight out from John's body.
For his part, Mandla now sank his fingers into the thick blonde hair of the white man who was kneeling in front of him and moved James's rosebud lips to his thick, flared cockhead that was dribbling precum. James opened his mouth and Mandla pushed forward, gagging the white man, but still the African shoved his enormous dick into the waiting mouth. "Take it!" Mandla commanded fiercely. James squirmed, his palms pressing against the muscular tree trunks of Mandla's thighs, as he gagged and swallowed in an attempt to accommodate the thick sausage that now slid against the back of his throat.
Strello pushed and ground his swollen dick into the ass crack of the squirming white in front of him, smearing John's reddish asshole with the precum that oozed out of his black cock. With one hand Strello pawed the white man's thin chest and belly, pulling John's body back into his own, while with the other he pumped the rigid red cock, spraying drops of precum from the end of it. John's breathing became harder and harder, his legs began trembling, his hips bucking in the rhythm of the black hand that slid up and down his pole, and then with a shout he spouted out a long rope of cum, then another, that dotted and splattered the floor in front of him. No sooner had the last drop landed than Strello roughly pushed the white man to the ground in front of him. John fell onto his hands and knees, his still erect rod slapping the wood floor, and Strello dropped immediately behind him. He placed his thick black cock at the entrance to John's rectum, already slick with precum, and with no other lubricant gave a push. John cried out and lowered his head, sinking down onto his elbows, but Strello had his hips and upper thighs in his strong hands and would not let the white ass escape. Strello pushed his thick dick all the way forward in one mighty lunge as John cried out, writhing in pain. Fully landed, Strello waited, balanced on his knees, pulling the round pink butt toward him by the hips.
"Why this happ'nin' to you, eh? Why?" Strello roared at John. The white man sobbed and gasped, and choked out, "Because you won me, sir."
"What I do to you now, eh white boy?" Strello shouted, jerking the pelvis toward him even tighter.
"You....you will fuck me, sir."
"Call me master, boy."
"Yes, master. You will fuck me, sir" gasped John. And at that Strello immediately lunged forward into a frantic pumping, fucking the pink, rounded ass in front of him while John gasped and slobbered, covering the floor in front of him with his tears, saliva, and leaking precum. Harder and faster, pumping like a piston, Strello ploughed the white man's butt.
All the while, Mandla had begun moving his swollen dick in and out of James's mouth as the white man continued to kneel in front of him. James gagged and struggled for breath as the huge rod slid in and out, in and out, never fully landed because its size was simply overwhelming. Mandla's eyes shifted back and forth between the sight of Strello power fucking the white man on the floor and the blonde head into which his own black dick was sliding. And then the tingling began in his thighs and belly, the gathering of the storm, and Mandla cried out, pushing forward and into James's mouth farther than ever before as the white man squirmed and pushed in desperation against the black man's massive thighs and belly. Mandla's head rolled back and his eyes rolled up in his head as he shot great gouts of semen directly down the throat of the struggling white man in front of him. The minute his ecstasy had passed he pulled his great organ out in one movement, leaving James gasping, semen dribbling from a corner of his mouth.
Mandla, still panting, reached down and pulled James to his feet, then with his great strength lifted the white man up into the air by his hips. The rigid red cock came up to Mandla's thick, maroon brown lips and the black man lunged at it with his mouth, taking the whole long, slim length of the white man's penis into his mouth with ease. James supported himself with his palms flat on Mandla's thick shoulders and held on for dear life as Mandla's head pistoned back and forth in a blur, sucking the white man's cock.
On the floor, Strello's hips were fanning back and forth, his hands still pulling John's round bottom to him, until a very sudden and violent orgasm slammed through Strello unexpectedly. He roared and pushed, lifting John's knees off the ground as he pulled the white ass back toward him to receive the heavy offering of white spunk. John cried out again, still unused to the very size of the black tool that now pumped semen into him. James, lifted up to Mandla's mouth, now threw his own head back and howled as he shot his load into the African's mouth, quivering and shaking as the black man drained every drop. Animal howls filled the lodge for a minute's time.
Strello pulled out of John, leaving a thin trail of semen running from the end of his dick to the white man's gaping asshole, and stood up as John collapsed to the floor, moaning, his tortured anus gaping wide. Mandla gave James one last suck and then dropped the white man on top of his brother on the floor. The two blonde twins curled into each other's arms, whimpering. The two Africans broke into laughter, exclaiming loudly in their native tongue and shaking each other's hands. Then the victors in the day's hunt went to a nearby table, their dicks still swollen and leaking fluid, to celebrate with the bottle of whisky that had been left there. On the floor the twins caught their breaths and huddled together....but as the physical pain subsided, slowly and then more broadly a pair of satisfied grins spread across their faces. James looked at John and winked. John nodded back. They had lost, but they had won; the consequence had been what they had hoped for even if it was what they had feared, and it surely topped anything the club and bathhouses of London had ever offered. At the table, Strello and Mandla planned the next bout....it was going to be a long night. A blessedly long one.
To be continued Comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net