Simpson and Thabo couldn't help but laugh, just between themselves. For the rest of that day and into the evening, and then beginning bright and early the next morning, the sound of bedsprings squeaking, howls and roars of ecstasy or anguish, and guttural sounds of animal rutting came from the new lodge in which Strello and Big Mandla had their way with the blonde British twins, James and John Leggett. It just never let up. Although it would not have been Andrew Simpson's style, he quite understood the attraction the experience held for the willowy young white men, for he had met plenty of white men who wanted nothing more than to be dominated by a muscular black man. Strello, built like a fireplug, and the massive Mandla, certainly fit that description of muscular. Having "won" the two Brits by hunting them down with paintball, they now ploughed their sore pink asses without mercy, and filled their mouths with their massive dicks on an hourly basis. Only food passed in, and scraps passed out, of the lodge.
The second evening things were a little quieter, although the sound of an occasional grunting, or a yelp of pain every now and then, could still be heard. And the next morning, which was to be the last day of the twins' stay at De Groot's, dawned with even more peace and quiet, with only an occasional thump to be heard.
That afternoon, Thabo and Simpson were sitting in the main lodge discussing plans when Little Mandla entered, grinning ear to ear, a handful of folded slips of paper in his hand. He sorted through the wad and pulled out two, then presented them to Thabo and Simpson, saying "It gonna be a party!"
Thabo and Simpson looked at each other and shrugged, then at the paper. In block pencil printing was an "announcement" from Big Mandla and Strello inviting them to a "party" at their lodge in the evening. The two men looked at Little Mandla and then the three broke out chuckling.
"Are you going also, Little Mandla?" asked Simpson. The youth nodded happily. "Well, what's it about?" Little Mandla winked broadly, put his finger to his lips and winked again, then continued on his appointed rounds to hand out invitations. Thabo and Simpson shrugged at one another once again, but agreed to go see what the party could be, and what connection it might have to the blonde British twins.
After a light dinner, Simpson walked down to the guest lodge at the appointed hour. He met up with Little Mandla and Thabo on the way, along with a couple of the staff, Gift and Justice, to whom Simpson nodded cordially. The compound was not quite as populated now as it had been earlier during construction; now all was in readiness, and the number of men around was lower.
At the lodge, Thabo, a little in front, knocked. The door opened, flooding a soft light into the night. Big Mandla filled the doorway, completely naked, his dark skin shining in the artificial light. With a great ceremonial wave, he motioned for his guests to enter. Inside the lodge was a sight to behold.
The door to the guest lodge opened into a great room, and just beyond that was a single bedroom, with the door opened wide. Stepping to that inner door, the guests caught their breaths: the two twins were on their bellies, naked, with pillows stuffed under their pelvises so as to present their round, pink bottoms to the world. The two blonde men were spread-eagled, hands tied to the headboard and feet tied to the footboard lightly with soft cords. They could probably have escaped....if they had wanted to. In the center of each round, upturned bottom was a glistening gob of lubricant over their exposed anuses, which were winking slightly open; it was clear that the activities of the previous two days had stretched them significantly.
"Come, you get drink!" said Big Mandla, motioning to a table back in the great room, where an equally naked Strello was pouring out whisky over ice cubes in glasses. Each guest helped himself, his imagination racing to comprehend what was in store for the evening. Toasts to De Groot's, to Simpson, to every person there were offered up, and the party gradually became looser and merrier. Big Mandla topped up all drinks and then said, "Come!" He led the way into the bedroom. Apparently these five guests were all that were coming, and they crowded in a companionable way around the bed.
"Strip!" said Strello, and he and Big Mandla walked from guest to guest, encouraging them to discard their clothing, tugging at a shirt or belt where necessary. Had Simpson been sober he might have objected; only Strello and Little Mandla in this group had seen him naked, and Gift and Justice were practically strangers. But with a little encouragement from their hosts, the guests gradually shed one and then another piece of clothing, joking and laughing with one another, until soon everyone in the place stood naked.
Simpson had nothing to be ashamed of in the physical endowment department, but he had to be impressed by the muscular beauty of the naked Africans who surrounded him, most of them sporting half erections in the sexually charged atmosphere. Gift and Justice were of average musculature and height, each with a long, weighty penis, Gift's curving to the left markedly as his erection grew. Little Mandla he had seen (and more than seen) of course, and exchanged knowing smiles with the youth, whose shaft was now rising straight out in front of him. Simpson also looked with interest at Thabo, still trim and taut in middle age, his pubic bush salt and pepper like the crisp hair upon his head. And Thabo was also half erect. Simpson had wondered more than once about the older man's sexual proclivities. How many times had Thabo led a naked man to a lodge to be enjoyed by other naked men, and yet what were Thabo's own fantasies? Did he enjoy the "Prey" crew, and they him, when guests were not around? Thabo's growing erection seemed an indication of some strong interest, at least, in men.
Strello and Big Mandla proposed one more toast, which everyone threw back in short order, and then with a nod at each other and no further ado, they led the way back into the bedroom, where each of the two hosts scrambled up onto the bed between the outspread legs of the two blonde twins. Squatting on their haunches, they lubricated their own fully rigid, midnight black shafts and pressed them to the well oiled anuses of their white conquests. Two days of being ravaged by the Africans had prepared the white men for this. Strello and Mandla slid quickly in, and while the white men cried out, and John exclaimed "Master!" they seemed not to experience the agony that might be expected from being impaled by such huge organs. As Strello and Big Mandla pushed all the way in and then began slowly pumping, the rest of the men gathered round. Some of them rubbed the legs, arms, or hair of the blondes on the bed even as they were being fucked; Simpson reflected that it was possible that Thabo, Gift, and Justice at least had not seen a naked white man before. Strello squatted on his haunches still, his long shaft clearly visible as it slid in and out of the red asshole in front of him, and the men looked closely to savor the sight, some bending over to eye the sliding shaft closely. Big Mandla stretched himself out fully on top of the blonde he was fucking, covering his pale body entirely with his weight, the Brit crying out "Master!" but not otherwise protesting. Mandla's strong legs entwined with the slim legs of the white man as his butt pistoned up and down, up and down, and he slipped his arms underneath the blonde beneath him to hug him tightly, nearly squeezing the breath out of his conquest. Strello shifted to extend his legs straight back, but held himself up off of the blonde man beneath him so he could still look down and see his thick black shaft moving rhythmically in and out, in and out. Strello came first: quivering, then picking up speed tremendously, then crying out and pushing forward, grinding his pelvis into the pink upturned bottom below him as he shot his cum into the blonde's asshole. He held that position, shuddering, and then pulled out, his dick still erect and dribbling cum.
Gift was standing right beside Strello as he slid from the bed, and Strello slapped him on his naked butt and grinning, motioned him to take his place. Needing no further encouragement, Gift took Strello's place and, without any more lubrication, slid his own heavy penis completely inside the waiting white man's anus. A look of wonder spread over Gift's features as he flew into a very rapid rhythm of fucking, his dark chocolate bubble butt rolling upward as he pushed in, rolling downward as he pulled back, a sheen of sweat and oil spreading across his beautiful fudge dark skin. Holding himself on one hand, Gift entwined his fingers in the blonde's silky hair, then ran his hand across the man's heaving pink and cream back, as he fucked even faster.
Big Mandla at that pointed roared and, still hugging the blonde man tight, pulled even tighter, a squeal coming from his sexual victim as Big Mandla tensed and shot his semen down into his "property" for that week. He lay there quivering for a moment, then quickly rolled off the bed to sit on the floor, his still-erect penis bobbing about and leaking semen. On the floor, he slapped the thigh of the man standing closest to him: Little Mandla, and jerked with his thumb toward the bed.
Little Mandla took Big Mandla's place as Gift, too excited to hold it for long, came with a roar. Little Mandla's slim, boyish butt now fanned back and forth in a furious rhythm, a dimple in the side of each rounded buttock appearing and disappearing as his bottom clenched and unclenched with the rhythmic pumping. Gift was barely recovered before Justice, seething with impatience, nearly pulled his friend off the bed and jumped into place himself. Justice remained on his haunches, his long, thick midnight black dick sliding in and out of the gaping pink bottom in front of him. There was no longer any question of lubrication, each white man's rectum was fully lubricated by now with semen. Justice's hands slid up and down the flanks of the white man he fucked, then they slapped the rounded pink buttocks, at first tentatively, and then in time to the rhythmic pumping of his shaft. Smack! Smack! Smack! The pink flesh became redder and redder the longer he fucked.
Those who had not yet had their turn were nearly beside themselves with expectation. Those who had already cum sat on the floor, recovering breath and joking, or they continued standing by the side of the bed, penises slowly deflating, offering advice to their friends and taunting the white men. The sound of the outside door closing distracted a couple of them. They realized that Strello had opened the door and had now admitted Zama. The tall guard laid his shotgun on the table, abandoning his post for a moment, and quickly stripped off. His tall, lean frame sported a hard ebony rod that was extremely long but not so thick. As Zama entered the room, Little Mandla cried out frantically and, bucking two and then three times, slammed forward into the white butt beneath him. Zama was instantly aroused, and did not even wait for Little Mandla to recover. The youth was still quivering, lying atop the blonde, when Zama pulled him off, cum still flowing, and set Little Mandla on his feet by the side of the bed where the African youth slumped to the floor, chest still heaving from his labors. Zama plunged into the butt beneath him and began fucking him in a curious circular motion, his high, rounded bottom cycling like a wheel, his gyrations enabled by the great length of his penis: he could stay landed inside the white butt no matter how he moved!
Zama and Justice labored mightily side by side, Justice showing more staying power than his friend Gift, and the two came at the same time after about ten minutes of serious fucking, each one pitching and bucking forward, grinding their groins down into the white asses. Each lay there another few minutes panting and heaving. But mindful of others' needs, each also pulled out before their erections had subsided, and slumped to the floor to add the dribbles from their own penises to the streaks and puddles of slime that had collected everywhere. And that left Simpson and Thabo.
The two men looked at each other, nodded, and climbed onto the bed. Two red anuses positively yawned open before them, rivulets of white cum running out of each one and onto the bed. Simpson and Thabo, acting in tandem, positioned themselves and, placing one reddish pink and one purple black rod at each anus, pushed in. Of course, they slid all the way in with no more than a grunt or a sigh from the well-fucked white men beneath them. Each now rode inside his respective white rectum on a thick coating of African cum.
How many hours had Simpson and Thabo spent together working on the business of De Groot's? Those hours of physical proximity and mental connection; it may have prepared them for what was happening now. For Simpson and Thabo, inches apart, shoulders and knees rubbing from time to time as they pumped in and out of the upturned assholes, looked not at the blondes beneath them but at each other. Their eyes met the other one's, or ran up and down the body next close at hand, Simpson admiring the muscular tautness of the middle aged man, Thabo enjoying the differences presented by the white man fucking another white man next to him. Their hips fell into the same rhythm, in and out, in and out, as both men held themselves up off of the blondes with their hands on the bed. Both men smiled at each other as their rhythms increased, and both saw the secret unfolding in the other one's eyes, saw the coming crisis, saw the moment in which the eyes lose focus, and then refocused hard again into each other as the explosion occurred, both at the same time. Roaring at one another with heads turned in each other's direction, Thabo and Simpson poured their cum down into the blondes beneath them, but in the spirit they were fucking each other.
No one else needed a turn...indeed, Zama had already dressed again and returned to his duties...so Simpson and Thabo were allowed to recover while resting on top of the blondes, still looking at each other. Thabo tentatively brought a hand up and touched Simpson's cornsilk hair, and when that was not refused, he entwined his brown fingers in it. Simpson reached over to run his hand over his friend and colleague's close-cropped hair, so crisp and delightful it was like biting into an apple, and the two men chuckled together at the moment of discovery. Then, as the moment passed, they also rose up and got off the bed. There was a round of applause all around as they, and then the other men, stood up and bowed. Comments and critiques of each man's performance were offered in fun, and friendly insults traded back and forth. The men took turns showering in the nearby bathroom, then gathered around the table for another drink. At some point, Strello untied the blondes who limped into the bathroom, a positive river of semen running down the backs of their legs, but with smiles on their weary faces. Cleaned, the blondes were likewise invited to the table to drink, and their own good health was proposed and their special kind of stamina celebrated. It was the most unusual party Simpson had ever attended, and the most enjoyable. It was late into the night before all the men staggered back to their lodges, including the blonde Brits, who were "released" by the grateful (and almost affectionate) Strello and Big Mandla to rest and prepare for their journey home the next day.
Midway through the next morning the British twins, positively glowing from their time at De Groot's and seemingly none the worse for wear, were loaded into the truck for Thabo to return them to their bus stop. Simpson and Thabo greeted each other cordially as they met at the truck, but it was a greeting with an extra layer of shared experience and, perhaps, a little sexual tension. Simpson loaded the twins down with brochures to distribute back in the UK, while they each expressed their thanks effusively and promised to send more business to De Groot's than they could handle. Simpson waved after the departing truck until the cloud of dust hid it, then walked up to the main lodge.
He met Strello and Big Mandla on the way, vacating the guest lodge on the way back to the "Prey" house. In the distance, Simpson could see a cleaning crew heading for the guest lodge; it would need sandblasting after last night! The three men stopped to laugh and recount the exploits of the previous night. With "professional" interest, Simpson also discussed the whole process of the hunt and the days that had followed, to make sure that it was an experience that might appeal to others....and to determine the kind of appeal it would be. Their discussion took some time, and it was approaching lunch when Simpson finally made it to the main lodge.
Simpson, Thabo, and Guest were sharing a bite to eat when the official De Groot telephone...a cell phone, of course....rang. Thabo answered, spoke a few words, and handed it with a smile to Simpson.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Boss Andrew, it Motumbo here."
Simpson caught his breath and a smile involuntarily broke out. Seeing it, Thabo smiled and nodded gently.
"Motumbo....good to hear your voice. So....what's happening?"
"Andrew, you know the `Ball Room' fun we plan? When it happen first?"
Simpson rose to consult a calendar on a nearby desk. "In a week, actually." He summoned his courage. "Want to come back for it? I had thought Little Mandla would take that one, but...."
Motumbo broke in. "I come back, sure, but I got different idea for `Ball Room,' you gonna like, Andrew. See you in day or two. Bye." And he rang off.
Simpson took the phone from his ear and stared at it. The news that Motumbo was returning was good, but the new idea he had promised was mystifying. The "Ball Room" was one of the new attractions that had been planned, requiring its own new, small building. Simpson resolved to be open to whatever was presented. Thabo looked at him quizzically. As nonchalantly as he could, Simpson shrugged and said, "Motumbo is coming back, in a day or two. He has some new ideas." Thabo nodded, smiling, as the silence between them lengthened, and then burst out into a cackle, rose, patted Simpson hard on the shoulder, and went about his business, still chuckling to himself.
Motumbo did not come that day, nor the next. Simpson found good reasons to work by himself and to turn in early and alone, despite clear signs from the other men who had been at the party that a threshold had been crossed and a new openness reached in terms of sexual possibilities. But Simpson wanted to save himself for Motumbo, at least this once.
It was in the early afternoon of the next day that Motumbo pulled up in a pickup truck, driving himself this time, and rumbled to a halt at the end of a trail of dust in the compound. Emerging, he smiled broadly at Simpson and enfolded him in a bear hug. Was this still "like" or had it become something else? Had Motumbo missed him? Simpson simply could not tell. But as they talked for a moment exchanging pleasantries and news, Simpson kept an arm halfway around the big African's waist, and Motumbo did not object. Eventually, Simpson asked about the news.
"So, Motumbo, your new idea for the Ball Room....?" Motumbo nodded and grinned, then whistled loudly. Simpson had paid no further attention to the truck after Motumbo had emerged from it, but now he turned around and beheld, exiting from the passenger door, the two young brothers, Thatho and Mthobisi, who had first guided him to Motumbo's house in their home village. The boys presented themselves grinning ear to ear, standing erect with chests thrust out, and with great ceremony shook Simpson's hand. He was glad to see the boys, but....and then it dawned on him. He wheeled back around to Motumbo.
"Motumbo, you don't mean them, do you? They are just boys, they are kids, they are underage."
Motumbo threw back his head and laughed. "Andrew, what is underage? Underage in your home, maybe not be underage here, eh? Thatho, he fourteen, Mthobisi, he thirteen. And Andrew, they know what up....they....they done it, eh? OK?" Motumbo grabbed his crotch lightly, by way of clarification. Simpson made as if to protest again, and Motumbo continued. "They not been here, not De Groot's, but Andrew, everybody, they do it by they age, OK? And," and here he played his trump card, "they need the money, they family need the money, real bad, OK?"
Simpson turned again to look helplessly at the boys who continued standing there, smiling. So young, so small....he could certainly imagine their being fourteen and thirteen, they seemed about the right age, possibly, in comparison with American boys, but....so young! Motumbo touched Simpson on the arm.
"Come, I sleep in your lodge?" His dark face split into a huge grin. As he suspected, that distracted Simpson sufficiently. Simpson nodded vigorously and turning, led the way to his own lodge, Motumbo close by him, both of them chattering all the way about the first new adventure a few days before, Motumbo laughing out loud at Simpson's description of the sexual exploits involved. Simpson opened the door to his lodge and led the way in. He turned after a couple of steps and there stood the two boys inside the doorway...evidently they have followed the two men from the truck. Each had a small sack of possessions. Simpson's jaw dropped in surprise.
"Motumbo, really, they can't stay, they are too young!"
"Andrew, they perfect for Ball Room....so small, so light, so slippery!" Gracefully, Motumbo took a step toward the door and swung it shut. Simpson looked with consternation at Motumbo and the two boys. Then matters took a truly unexpected turn. Motumbo muttered a word in their language to the boys, who instantly began removing their own clothing, despite Simpson's strangled yelp of "Wait!" In a flash, the boys stood completely naked, grinning from ear to ear, before the two men. Motumbo himself had a knowing grin, and was eyeing Simpson closely to see what he would do.
Simpson had never especially had a thing for adolescent boys, although he could not deny the appeal of a few he had seen. But then, he had never really been in a situation like this: two slim young teen boys, fourteen and thirteen, with the lightest padding of muscle on them, chocolate brown skin of flawless complexion and no body hair except for a little patch of pubic hair on Thatho and just a few peppercorn dots on Mthobisi above their penises. And what penises, for their ages! Not as big as the adult Africans, nevertheless they gave promise of the magnificent organs they would become. Both curved out and downward and would have seemed average on many an adult white male of Simpson's acquaintance. On the boys' thin frames, they seemed oversized, as if the long, meaty organs had rushed into puberty ahead of the boys. Simpson's gaze wandered from these magnificent organs, curving out and a little down as they now rose into erection, and lingered over the rest of the boys' bodies. Standing erect with shoulders back, their bodies described the perfect S curve of so many Africans who stand proudly tall, shoulders back and chest thrust forward, belly curving gently in front, then rounded, high-rolled buttocks in back that were so prominent it seemed as if they were being pushed backward, offered up for fucking. The boys were simply physical perfection, beautiful faces with full, bee-stung lips and button noses, long curling lashes, and that deep chocolate color you could sink into with your eyes. Simpson was smitten and he knew it; the bulge in the front of his trousers was evident to everyone.
It was surely evident to Thatho, the fourteen year old, who stepped forward and in a flash unbuttoned Simpson's trousers, then before those had reached the floor, tugged his underwear down to follow. Smiling hugely, Thatho looked intently at Simpson's organ which was rapidly growing larger, more erect, and redder. The boy ran his fingers through his patch of dirty blonde pubic hair, and it occurred to Simpson that neither boy might have seen a naked white man before, much less touched one in this way. Mthobisi stepped forward and gently cupped Simpson's ballsack, hefting it, as his brother wrapped a slim brown hand around the reddening shaft and slowly, deliberately pumped it. Simpson had no breath to object, he was totally caught up in the moment.
Mthobisi, with a glance back at Simpson that might have been one of yearning, stepped over to Motumbo and quickly unfastened his pants and underwear as well, soon exposing the African man's own stiffening purple black rod. Motumbo whipped off his own shirt and tugged at Simpson's sleeve to indicate that he should do the same. Simpson complied, and both men stood naked with the naked brown boys in front of them. Each boy was now sliding one and sometimes two slim brown hands up and down the midnight black and the purple red penises, both men now grasped the boys' thin, naked shoulders to steady themselves as their breathing increased and they began moving their hips back and forth.
But more was to come. First Thatho, and then his brother following his lead, leaned over and took each man's penis into his mouth. At first, they closed their full, maroon brown lips over the flared heads, greedily sucking off the gathering precum. Then they slid as much of each penis as they could into their mouths. Neither boy took either organ whole, but they took enough to give the men the most intense pleasure. Without applying their teeth, each boy now sucked the penis of the man in front of him, while he bobbed his head up and down. Each boy grasped a man by the waist, now by the hips, as each man kneaded a thin brown shoulder, cupped a slightly curving bicep, or clasped a crisp-haired head in his hands. Faster and harder the boys sucked, Simpson and Motumbo's hips were now swinging back and forth, and then at the same time each man came, crying out, pushing forward, while each boy sucked and swallowed noisily and pulled their heads back some to avoid being gagged. One spasm and then another wracked each man as he shot his semen into the warm, waiting mouths of the brown boy in front of him. When each one was finished, the boy carefully sucked each dick dry, then stepped back, licking their lips and smiling hugely again.
Simpson, amazed, was still breathing heavily, his penis still turgid even as his erection flagged. He look at the boys, then at Motumbo, who was looking at Simpson closely despite his own ragged breath.
"I'll be damned," said the white man. "I think they really would be good in the Ball Room." To which statement Motumbo nodded and grinned in agreement, and the boys whooped with glee.
To be continued Comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net