Mark didn't know what woke him. He was desperately tired: gradually it dawned on him that he was in Al's bed, their bodies twined around each other in the confined space. The light on his nightstand was on, but he could see that it was still dark outside. That's when he saw the two steaming cups, one lemon tea, the other coffee. 'Shit! I didn't hear him knock. Fuck it, now all the staff on the boat will hear all about it. I'll bet the news is back in Jo'burg before I am. God damn fucking shit!'
He needn't have worried, M'tosi, the cabin steward, had seen everything before: two men: two women: two and one: three and one: once all six tourists and the Captain sprawled naked in one cabin. He was extremely discreet. The only person he shared this sort of gossip with was his young cousin, N'craa, the bar steward. They had a good living on this boat, many repeat visitors, they weren't about to jeopardize it by gossiping. If they did the word would soon get out, then they would be out too. Yes, he counted himself fortunate that his mother's cousin's uncle, Mawemba, was the senior steward on the boat. He had fixed the jobs for N'craa and M'tosi, another cousin about the same age. Mawemba was very experienced, a fount of knowledge, he undertook the boys training. They had been very naive in those days. Of course they had had sex together, they had been doing that since they were old enough to herd their fathers' cows, all the boys did that. But it was Mawemba who had opened up their minds, shown them how they could make a lot of extra money. The man spoke English very well and had a way of divining exactly what little extras would make the tourists visit complete. He could pick up a nuance in conversation that indicated an interest in either of the boys. Just a little longer and he could detect the edge in the voice that indicated a special need. The boys could hardly believe that the tourists would pay so much for so little. Mostly it was to fuck, or be fucked, by a black boy that both men and women tourists wanted. At thirty dollars until midnight, forty for the whole night, there was no shortage of customers. The tourists got to do as much fucking as they were capable of, and a guarantee of two full loads of semen which they could take any way they chose. But there were some who had strange tastes. There had been two Koreans, not homosexuals, they had asked him to bring them three women. M'tosi had to explain that there were no women available in the Okavanga, but that he could arrange as many as they wanted when they got back to Shakawe. They were clearly disappointed, but what could he do? They then asked for two ducks. Naturally he had assumed that they wanted ducks to eat. He had arranged it with the cook, but next day he discovered that they still wanted ducks, live ones. Again he had to disappoint them; on the Okavanga it was no easier to capture live ducks than to find loose women. He had discussed this with Mawemba, but neither had ever been able work out why they wanted the birds.
Some guests had what Mawemba called 'special needs,' they paid more of course. These customers were turned on by torture. Mostly it was the boys who were tortured, but this was not invariably the case. Mawemba provided a selection of equipment, wrought-iron wrist and ankle shackles from a penal colony, the genuine articles, heavy chains which rattled in a most sinister way, as well as the more normal ball-presses, tit clamps, dildoes, gags and blindfolds etc. He had also screwed a large hook into an overhead beam in each cabin so that the boys could be hung up by the wrist shackles, a position that almost all the tourists seemed to enjoy because afforded such good access to the black bodies. In return for a free hand with the boys the rates were doubled: although Mawemba did stress that they should try not to pierce the skin. There were some who had rather extreme tastes, but then the pain didn't last very long, and the rewards were much greater. Most painful was the sambok. M'tosi had been very afraid of it. At first he had even refused to obey his benefactor. However, when Mawemba explained exactly how rewarding it was, he had reluctantly submitted. M'tosi or his cousin could be secured in any position that the customer chose, but again it was hanging from the hook that was by far the most popular with the clientele. Each stroke cost one American dollar, if any stroke drew blood there was a surcharge of one hundred. Not that the boys got all the money, the captain took one quarter as his cut, Mawemba took another quarter for his trouble, and the rest went to the boys. Still it was a very good deal, they'd each bought a motorcycle, and two cows, so they were up and coming young men in their village. It was the white Afrikaans men who most wanted to use the long, snaking sambok. The older ones had been doing it for years on their farms, although not many of them had had the chance to whip a young, black, naked man. But it was not only the Afrikaans, nor only the men. There was one time M'tosi remembered well; two women who slept together. They had put on black leather underwear to do the whipping. He had been surprised, it was nearly as painful as with the men. What he found even more surprising was what happened after the whipping. First they had beaten his testicles with the handle of the sambok until they were ready to explode, but neither of them had wanted to be fucked. They had stripped off their black leather Bikinis and had pleasured each other, right in front him. Their tongues were so long, so deft, but they had left him hanging all night, without relief for his aching balls. Once a Japanese man had asked for both of them, naturally they had been happy to oblige, but then they discovered something that the wise Mawemba had not foreseen, there was only one hook in the overhead beam. Their wrists had been shackled and then both of them were hung from the one hook, face to face, cock to cock. That had been very hot, feeling his cousin's genitals against his own as they were whipped. It was also very hard, five of the strokes on each of them had drawn blood. After the whipping he had made them turn back to back still hanging from the hook. M'tosi felt the heat of N'craa's ass against his own and the sting as the raw flesh rubbed against raw flesh. In this position the Japanese had tortured their balls, a long, agonizing session, the worst the boys had ever suffered. He had finished off by masturbating them both at the same time, one with each hand, judging it carefully so that they came off together. However, they ended the night very happy, he not only paid them five hundred each, but gave them another hundred as a tip. Imagine having that much money! A year's wages, nearly the price of two cows for each of them for just a few days of pain. Yes, the rewards for being whipped were very good.
M'tosi had worried at first that the marks on his ass would put off the others tourists, the ones who only wanted to fuck him, or be fucked by him, but it didn't. In fact it made it better. They always asked about the marks, black on the dark brown skin of his ass. Many of them were fascinated, some of them were turned on. Didn't take much to persuade them to try. As far as the boys were concerned these were the best customers, they had never laid a whip on bare flesh before so they were nervous, afraid of going too far, cutting into the flesh. As a result the boys got off with a light stinging, but were paid for a full whipping.
Mawemba would attend the sessions to take photographs or videos if the client wanted a record of his holiday to take back home, and of course there was an extra charge for the service. He had mastered the sophisticated equipment, provided by a Dutchman, and could produce almost professional results. There was another service which this enterprising man provided for his clients: free processing for films of an intimate nature, those which they might not care to have processed at their local lab back home. Within an hour of returning to Shakawe the films would be delivered either to the airport or local hotel and, strangely, this was his most profitable venture to date. The lab, run by his cousin, was equipped with the latest machines which not only processed and printed the films, but made copies of the negatives or digital files as well. One copy of all the photographs was personally delivered by another cousin to the Dutchman, who had connections in the magazine publishing trade in the Netherlands. For the prints he paid moderately well, for the negatives of any that he particularly liked he paid very well indeed. The same gentleman handled the videos. Yes, while the tourists were out in the boats shooting legitimate scenes, Mawemba made copies of the videos taken the previous evening. There was a roughness, a grittiness, that showed they were not staged, not actors, but the real thing. The sweat was real, the skin was real, and so was the blood, and highly prized they were too.
But what M'tosi saw was not Mark's only worry. He could remember what had happened, that he'd been fucked, and that he'd sucked all three guys, but how had it happened? How did he get into this situation? He eased himself out of the bed.
'God how my ass hurts. Oh shit! Fuck it! How will I shit? A hot shower, that'll ease it.' The water helped, but as he explored gently with his finger he realized just how swollen his asshole was. Getting his shorts on was not easy, he didn't bother with anything else, there was no need now to hide anything from Al or the twins. When he came out of the bathroom Al was still sound asleep so he left him and headed for the boat. The ambassador and his lady wife were there already, looking much better than he felt, he envied them their early night, well almost. The captain looked at his watch.
"Time to go, the others can take the next boat when they are ready."
'If they're ever ready,' thought Mark. Getting into the boat was not too bad, but the seats were like cut-down bar stools, small, round tops that could swivel to allow the tourists to take photos in any direction without the need to stand up and move around. The seats were only thinly padded, too thin for his stinging ass, that was bad. And that's when he remembered that he had nothing on under his shorts. 'Tricky, I'll have to be careful, can't afford to have anything spill out. Married man, I'll probably cause an diplomatic incident if I expose myself to his wife.'
It was towards the end of the excursion that the boatman cut the power to the little electric motor and allowed the boat to drift gently towards one bank.
"See... Snake," he said pointing to what looked like just another small branch in a small tree that leaned out over the water. It was absolutely motionless, its head just a couple of inches above the surface of the water waiting for a small fish or a frog to happen by. The skin was brown, a very pale brown, and perhaps it was the colour that set Mark's mind racing because what he saw in his mind's eye wasn't a snake.
'The head... Just about the size of...' His pulse quickened, stomach tightened, then his cock started to swell. He was on the point of taking a shot, but had to clamp his left hand down on his crotch. With just his right hand he managed to take three quick shots of the snake before it slipped back amongst the branches and disappeared from view.
"Tzu hants!" The ambassador barked with authority. "Tzu hants you need for good shotz! Like zis!" He demonstrated by whipping his bulky camera up to his face several times in quick succession like a soldier drilling with a weapon. "Ant brace zee neck! Zo!" Again he demonstrated as he thrust his head forward and holding this position rigidly as he fired away at the passing scenery. Mark nodded in agreement. "With one hant you can get picture postcard." He laughed derisively. "Me! I haf one metre enlargement. More even. Eh Liebchen?" His wife nodded enthusiastically. Mark felt suitably humbled, but wondered what the ambassador would have had to say about his penis if it had snuck into view.
The rest of the ride was uneventful and Mark's mind went back to wondering about how he'd got into this situation, and more importantly, how he was going to get out of it.
'How did it happen? I'm not a fucking queer... They must have done something...' He remembered reading about date-rape drugs, but then he remembered that it was the women who were drugged, and that they were always confused about what had happened, sometimes didn't remember anything at all. He could remember all too clearly what had happened, and he knew he hadn't resisted, that's why his mind was reeling.
Towards the end of the boat ride his ass was so sore he was close to tears, he twisted and turned always conscious of the fact that his cock was barely hidden, but he made it back without causing an international incident. They all went up to the dining deck, Mark bringing up the rear so that no one would see his awkward movements. Al and the Dutchmen were there already, Mawemba too. They all looked at Mark.
'They've been talking about me, I know it. They've been dreaming up something for tonight. Well fuck them, there's going to be no tonight, no sex anyway. Not for me. Fuck...even Mawemba's looking at me, they wouldn't have told him, not about last night. I'm over reacting, cool it.' He eased himself into a chair, wasn't close enough to the table, but couldn't make the effort to move again.
"Are you a bit stiff this morning?" asked Al cheerfully.
"A bit sore from sitting in the small boat?" suggested Hans.
"No. No I'm fine," Mark said biting back a cutting remark.
"Well if you need a bit of exercise I'm sure we could come up with something."
"No, I've taken all the exercise that I plan to take on this trip."
"Shame, we've got an idea we thought would appeal to you." The twins were clearly enjoying Mark's discomfort.
"Well thanks anyway, but you can include me out. So Soren, do you think you got some good shots this morning?" It was no riposte, but it did change the subject of the conversation.
After breakfast Mark went down for a rest. He had barely stripped off when Al came in. "Feeling a little fragile? A little tender in the asshole?"
"My asshole isn't tender, it feels like someone used an electric drill. Shredded I think would be no exaggeration."
"I have just what you need to ease the pain."
"And what's that?"
"Eight inches of cock... No seriously, I've got some anti-inflammatory pills, they'll bring down the swelling, make you more comfortable."
"That's the first sensible suggestion I've heard in quite a while."
"Here, take two. In an hour you'll want to be fucked again."
"No way! Just no way."
"Actually it wouldn't be as bad as you think. I've known quite a few guys who didn't have any option. They were virgins too, but they were fucked day after day until they got used to it. To tell you the truth that's the way it was for me, I didn't have any way of avoiding it, my father was doing the fucking." This last revelation left Mark totally aghast. He took the pills and settled down on his bed. Al left the room, and after he'd gone Mark realized that he hadn't made it clear that the tenderness in his butt wasn't the only reason that he wasn't going to be fucked again. He wasn't a queer, that's all there was to it and he wasn't going to be taking part in their perverted antics.
When he woke he felt very much better, he could move, and best of all, he could sit on his ass without wanting to scream. He made his way up to the top deck. Once again Al, Hans, and Soren were together, Mawemba close to them behind the small bar. Once again they all looked at him. He didn't know why, but again he was sure they had been discussing him. 'I must be getting paranoid, all the things they could be talking about and I think it's me. Must stop thinking this way.'
"So, how's the asshole?" asked Soren. They all smiled although Mawemba had the grace to try and hide it as though he hadn't heard the question.
'What kind of fucking nut is this guy? In front of the crew too.' "I'm feeling much better thanks."
"Good. We were just telling Al about a castle near Nijmegen in Holland, there's a dungeon, the real thing, mediaeval. You ever get to Amsterdam?"
"I've been a couple of times."
"Well next time give us a call, we'll take you, it's members only, but they allow guests."
"And what is this place, a restaurant?" That caused great amusement, even Mawemba couldn't suppress a grin. Mark knew perfectly well that it wasn't a restaurant, but he was hoping to steer the conversation away from sex, gay sex especially.
"No, it's an S&M club, the ultimate S&M club."
"I'm afraid that's my not scene at all."
"Maybe not yet, but by the end of the week, who knows?"
'Is this what they've been talking about? Because if it is they're going to have to find another form of amusement.' "Well I really don't think so." Mark tried to make it sound definitive, that there was nothing more to add.
"Don't knock it until you've tried it. Al tells us you got really turned on by a little gentle ball work. And when I gave them a bit of a work-out last night it got you off pretty damned quick. I think you'll enjoy it."
'I think you'll enjoy it? Have they made plans that include me? Mawemba isn't pretending any more, he's just lapping this up.' "Well I'm planning an early night, I think you can imagine why. Certain parts of me need a rest." That he felt put it fairly clearly without being unpleasant.
"Don't worry about the part that was hurting this morning, that part can have an early night, but your balls... They don't need a rest." It was a statement, not a question.
'Fuck this man, just won't take no for an answer. Shit, I'm getting hard. Can't move, they'll see it. I must get control, think of something else, anything.' Mark said nothing.
"You liked it last night? The ball work I mean."
"It was ... Maybe I'd had a bit too much to drink. I'd really rather not talk about it."
"No, better not to talk, better to do eh?" More merriment. "But this castle I was telling you about, it's owned by a guy called Otto Kerns, queer as a three dollar bill. He runs it as a first class hotel, but the dungeons are original, built by the Spanish Inquisition to deal with heretics. As you can imagine they are pretty grim, the original chains are still set in the walls, been there since the middle ages. Apart from the toys he's added there's an Iron Maiden, two racks, one is the original the other an exact replica, and hooks all over the place."
"So how much does it cost to stay at this place?" asked Al.
"It's not expensive, but you have to be known, either to Otto or to one of the regular guests. It's by invitation only. And it's only for couples...tops and their bottoms. The tops get first class rooms, but the bottoms... Well let's just say they get no privacy at all. They have to check their clothes in on arrival, only slave collars, ball-stretchers and body jewelry allowed." The blood was pumping into Mark's cock, it was rigid and barely hidden, and he could feel his face getting flushed too.
"Sounds great," said Al.
"It is, and the thing I like best is that all the tops get to play with any of the bottoms, take them down to the dungeon any time. So of course whoever I take as my bottom can be used by all the other tops as well. You remember the last visit Hans?"
"I remember, I didn't get ten minutes rest all weekend."
"That's really hot, would you take me?" asked Al.
"Sure, next time you come to Holland give me a call, I'll fix it. You can come with us, I'll arrange for another bottom, we'll go as a foursome. Or maybe you would like to be the second bottom Mark?" By this time Mark's mind was in a turmoil. He had been so determined to stop this homosexual crap, and yet his cock was straining hard against his shorts, a wet patch clearly visible, clearly betraying him. He dare not look down, he just knew it must be obvious. He flashed a sideways look at Al's crotch. No pretense there, it was bulging. And Hans, sitting up on a bar stool, still wearing those ridiculously short shorts, three inches of his cock was clear out in the open. And he was facing Mawemba who clearly liked what he could see. Just then the captain joined them.
"This evening gentlemen we're not using the small boats. We'll moor at a place where animals come down to the water. We'll cover the boat with nets, we can get right in close, with the full moon you should see plenty even without lights."
"What's the best time?" asked Hans.
"Soon after dark, a lot of animals wait for darkness, less danger."
"And finishes?"
"Any time you have something you'd rather be doing." Mark noticed the looks that shot around the group. His guts tightened, he knew it was wrong, but he was excited.
'Who was it said, "God, make me pure, but not yet?" I've got to stop, got to get myself sorted out, but maybe once more. Just once.'
The evening lasted forever. Mark knew that something was planned, but he didn't know what. The twins left first, he didn't notice them go, they just slipped away. Around nine thirty he decided that maybe he had got it all wrong.
"I think I'll turn in now," he said.
"Yes, should be ready," said Al.
"What should be ready?"
"I mean I think I'm ready. I'll come on down too."
The cabin was lit by a dim red bulb. Mark stopped dead in the doorway, Al was right behind him. M'tosi and N'craa were standing naked, back to back. Their raised arms handcuffed and secured to a hook in the ceiling, eyes covered with black blindfolds. Hans and Soren, also naked, were spreading oil over the boys' glistening bodies which looked even blacker in this light. The two long, black penises arched out in opposite directions.