At breakfast the next morning, when Simpson walked into the main lodge, Chele smiled with extra brightness at him, it seemed. Passing behind him as she served the dishes, she gave his shoulder a surreptitious squeeze when Thabo wasn't looking. Simpson smiled back, but could not help but wonder what it meant. He had to check his own inclinations: no, still gay, but he had felt unexpected passion for Chele in their frantic bout of sex yesterday. Might he again? Or was his passion connected to the fact that Motumbo had possessed Chele many times, that Simpson's white dick was sliding in and out of the very place where Motumbo's meaty organ had been so many times? Was that a stirring that Simpson felt now in his groin as Chele brushed against him when she passed, as she always took a route that would bring her behind his chair and in contact with him?
After a few moments of this drama Motumbo entered, stretching and yawning, grinning widely. He also embraced Simpson, squeezing him tightly, and sat next to him. Now an erection really did spring up inside the white man's trousers. It did not go away when Chele, passing by again, reached down and meaningfully placed Motumbo's hand on top of Simpson's as it lay on the table. The rest of the meal went in that fashion, Simpson feeling as if he were part of a play, he hoped a comedy, but one that he did not fully understand.
Going out into the morning air, Simpson and Motumbo noted the gathering of heavy clouds on the horizon; it appeared as if a storm were brewing. Fortunately, the Swedes were the only guests for that day. At that moment the door to their lodge opened and Little Mandla stumbled out into the morning, blinking and, it appeared, walking gingerly. Simpson and Motumbo walked up to him and inquired of his health, with some concern. The teenager blushed even through his dark skin and grinned broadly.
"Oh, I OK, yeah. Those two, they make fuck a lot, you know? One at a time, two at a time, all three, all night!" The three men laughed, imagining the orgy that Little Mandla must have been put through; Simpson had seen the start of it the night before as the two Swedes had gotten both their hard dicks inside Little Mandla's aching bottom at the same time inside the Ball Room. But Little Mandla assured them again that he was doing well, and that he had been excused from further service as the Swedes wanted to rest and recuperate their strength for that evening's planned session with the young teenage boys, Thatho and Mthobisi.
Plans and preparations for future guests occupied the rest of the day. Simpson consulted with his staff over Antoine's offer to build a replica of a Southern U.S. plantation for the more realistic enacting of slave fantasies in the future. Simpson's ingrained squeamishness and distaste for the whole thing was gradually fading in the face of Antoine's promised financial support and the encouragement of both the Africans and African Americans.
The Swedes joined Simpson and the senior staff for dinner, and then prepared for the evening's entertainment. Twilight was deepening as they approached the Ball Room structure, where the young teenaged boys, Thatho and Mthobisi, awaited them with visible excitement and enthusiasm. The Swedes gently embraced the boys, running their hands over their crisp hair as they mounted the steps to the platform outside the door. The boys were out of their clothes in a flash of eagerness, semi-erect brown penises bouncing, and flashing smiles and waves at the Swedes, they were through the door and swimming off into the floating space of the Ball Room. The Swedes slowly disrobed and by the time they were naked it was time for them to go through the door in pursuit of their prey. Simpson and Motumbo, who had escorted the party to the structure, shut the door after them and then slipped around to the observation porthole to watch the fun.
The thirteen and fourteen year old black boys swam through the universe of lightweight plastic balls, brown smudges in the distorted light of the room. After them wallowed the larger cream colored shapes of the adult Swedes. To tell the truth, the boys did not look as if they were especially concerned to escape. They did not split up, but stayed within a couple of yards of each other, and headed toward an upper corner of the room, as if asking to be trapped. The men in pursuit came closer and closer, and when the boys, squealing with glee, wriggled off to one side of the room the men quickly changed course and closed in on them. In a few minutes strong white hands closed around thin brown ankles and the boys, giggling, were hauled in.
Then a scene of exploration, seduction, and passion was played out in duplicate, as Simpson and Motumbo watched from the observation port, their arms hanging around each other's waists. Inside the room, adult white bodies covered slender black teen bodies, softly floating and rolling in the balls. In each pair, a black boy explored again the still unfamiliar colors of the white man who covered him, pushing with their tan palms against hairy chests, tweaking pink nipples with their brown fingers, running those fingers through blonde and brown silky straight hair. Young brown fingers luxuriated in the soft, silky patches of pubic hair and grasped the reddening shafts of the men, so much larger than theirs but still not as large as the boys knew their own rigid black shafts would become in just a few years.
The white men ran their fingers across and through the crisp, crackly caps of wiry hair, enjoying the different texture from their own. Hands ran over smooth deep chocolate skin, hairless except for small tufts of kinky pubic hair, hands running over shiny dark skin, cupping firm, round, protuberant bottoms and sliding along thin but strong thighs. White hands slid over chests with thin pads of muscle, pinching dark maroon brown copper disks of nipples. Thin pink lips closed over luscious full trumpet shaped lips, tongues invaded mouths and ran along teeth, slipped along other tongues, black boy and white man breathing into each other's nostrils as their mouths locked. Rigid pink and rose cocks leaked precum onto slim but slightly rounded black bellies, dribbled precum onto the thin but hard midnight black dicks that pointed straight up from the black boys' loins.
Then each man reached for the tube of lubricant strapped to his ankle, slathering the substance on fingers and over assholes. One, then two fingers pushed into the tight brown starfish as each boy gasped and instinctively pulled his legs apart and up, opening up for the invasion that was to come. Slick fingers slid in and out, the boys moaning now in expectation, and then the fingers were quickly withdrawn and replaced with the swollen head of a pink and rose white cock which was pushed just inside the rectum. The boys gasped and pushed again, up against the heaving white chests above them, tan palms splayed on the hairy chests that hovered over them, but to no avail. The men pushed again, the boys gasped, pushed again, and each boy was completely impaled, his white lover fully inside of him. A moment passed, then the boys looked deeply into the blue eyes above them, smiled, and nodded.
Slowly each man began swinging his hips, in and out, in and out, hands now caressing thin brown shoulders, now sliding around to the back and pulling thin brown bodies close. Teenage arms clasped around broad white backs now as the men pumped harder, harder, faster and faster. Breath now came in rhythm, men and boys breathing together, gasping, men biting shoulders, boys pulling their ravishers down into them, their legs crossed over white backs, brown ankles locked together behind white buttocks that flexed and unflexed as the white men fucked the teenage black boys like pistons. From deep inside their thighs came the tingling, from the base of their guts came the warning wave of sensation, and then each man bucked hard, his abdomen curling as he pushed his penis hard into the black boy's butt and filled it with shot after shot of semen. Groaning and seething, each white man shuddered and bucked, squirting again and again, while each boy held on tight to keep every drop of the precious white fluid within him. Then the crisis passed and each man slumped down onto the boy beneath him, laughing, kissing brown ears and necks and shoulders, catching breath.
The men stayed that way for a few moments and then withdrew, making way to the exit, each one pulling a black boy behind him. They would give the boys pleasure, there was no doubt, but that would come in their own lodge. The four emerged from the door to the Ball Room laughing, the men's penises trailing strings of spent cum, the boys fully erect and giggling. Simpson and Motumbo, sporting full erections beneath their trousers, draped arms around each other's shoulders as they watched the four gather clothes and run off toward their lodge to resume their fucking.
Just in time. For the gathering storm reached the breaking point just as the four reached the door of the lodge, and just as Simpson and Motumbo, who could see the crisis coming, were within a few steps of their own lodge where Motumbo was now to stay for a while, as arranged with Chele. The lightning flashed and the thunder broke, and then the rain came down with appalling force. The men were nearly soaked in just a few steps. Despite the arousal both felt from the scene in the Ball Room, they did not rush right in to bed. They stood on the verandah for a moment watching the heavy rain. Then a wind picked up to drive the rain sideways, and they were forced to duck inside. Still they watched through a window as waves of water splashed against the glass, and the sound of drumming on the roof intensified.
After some minutes of this they decided there was nothing to be done but to go to bed and enjoy their time together while the storm raged. They helped each other off with their soaking clothing which they draped over chairs to dry. They laid a fire in the fireplace and lit it, although the storm was forcing drops down the chimney even past the chimney cap up on the roof. Lighting candles against the likelihood of a power failure, hand in hand they went into the bedroom.
Motumbo and Simpson lay happily on top of the sheets, exploring, kissing, taking their time. Several minutes passed and their arousal had increased when, to their utter annoyance, they heard a heavy pounding on their door. It was a strong enough knocking to be heard over the force of the storm, which was not diminished one bit. Looking at each other in surprise and dismay, they shrugged and Simpson rose, wrapping a towel around his loins, which did nothing to cover his rampant erection which tented out in front of him. He opened the door a crack, admitting water even through so small an opening, to see who it was.
It was Zama, well protected against the weather with rain gear, his well oiled shotgun over his shoulder. In a flash of lightning Simpson caught a sight of Thabo, also wearing rain gear, running down the path behind Zama. Simpson opened the door a bit wider to see what was the mater.
"Boss," rumbled Zama, "visitors, come. Bus. Trouble." Then the big man stepped away and to the edge of the verandah, but stopped looking back at Simpson, gesturing urgently. Utterly at a loss to understand, but sure he was needed, Simpson looked around quickly. He had no adequate rain gear in the lodge. Nevertheless he quickly put on his wet clothes and boots, as did Motumbo who had come up behind him to hear the news, and the two stepped out into the torrential rain in but a moment.
Zama led the way toward a bulky white shape that loomed out of the darkness and veil of rain. It was a small bus, perhaps seating twelve or thirteen, and it stood in the middle of the compound. Its door was opened and Thabo emerged; he had evidently been interviewing its occupants. Seeing Simpson he pushed against the wind and rain to bring the news.
"Boss Andrew, this bus, they be from the mission, the, uh, the orphanage. They kids no parents, eh? And two sisters, how you say, two nuns, one drive. Nine kids."
"Why are they here?" bellowed Simpson over the storm. He had never been so wet, he was so wet he could not have been any wetter.
"Storm wash bridge out, road gone maybe quarter of mile on down, Boss. We must call government, tell them to come fix, but they can't go on or back, Boss."
The situation was clear. A bus with children from the mission orphanage not far from Motumbo and Chele's, Thatho and Mthobisi's village, had been caught in the storm, and the tempest had evidently damaged roads enough so that they were forced to find the nearest shelter they could. Thabo led Simpson back to the bus. Stepping into it and up the few steps seemed like entering a cave of calm and peace compared to the storm outside. Simpson was brought up short by the sight of a stern looking nun sitting behind the wheel, and another stern nun standing in the aisle. Simpson was aware of bright eyes looking out of dark faces behind her.
"Welcome, sister," he said. "You are welcome here. If you and the children will come out, we will find places for you to stay for the night, or as long as you need."
The grim face of the nun cracked into a smile, and she thanked Simpson in her adequate, accented English. She began issuing instructions to the children behind her in her own language.
"Sister, do you, do they, have luggage, or rain gear?" She shook her head no and explained that they had been on a day trip and were expected to return that night. "Well, you must run for it, then," said Simpson. "How many girls and how many boys do you have, sister?" She replied six girls, three boys.
He turned to address Thabo and Motumbo. "Motumbo, will you please lead the sisters and the six girls to Chele's lodge? I suppose we can put the boys with us. Thabo, please go with Motumbo and help the sisters to call their orphanage afterwards to say they are safe." Thabo and Motumbo nodded, and at that moment Zama came up with some canvas tarpaulins, all they could find to ward off the storm for so many.
The children were quickly organized and in a rush everyone exited the bus. Tarps were spread, but with children confusion was inevitable. As the sisters and girls headed off toward Chele's beneath one flapping tarp, Simpson corralled the boys under another tarp and headed toward his lodge. Between boyish confusion and the sideways-driving rain, everyone was nearly as soaked when they reached the verandah as they would have been without the tarp. Casting the canvas aside onto the verandah, Simpson opened the door and pushed the boys through, shutting the door behind him against the storm.
Once inside, everyone stopped and caught their breaths. Simpson and the boys looked at one another with curiosity, wonder, or awe. The boys were about eight to ten years old, with the dark healthy skin of youth, two of them rail thin and one a little plump. The boys looked around and then at Simpson in awe, open-mouthed. Although they had surely seen a white man before, they had not seen such a creature this close nor been in his house. The three boys and Simpson stood but a moment and then Simpson noticed that the boys had begun to shiver on account of being soaking wet.
Quickly, Simpson moved toward the bathroom, which contained a tub. He began running a hot bath, testing the water to make sure it would warm without burning. As the tub filled, he returned to the main room where the boys still stood, now with their arms clasped around their chests, all three now shivering from the wet.
"Do you speak English? English?" he asked. The boys looked blankly at him, and then recognition stirred in one of the thin boys. He stepped forward and extended his hand, although it shook from the chill.
"Hello. My name....is Bongani," he said. Clearly, his best Introductory English first lesson. The other boys brightened despite their shivering and each now stepped forward to repeat the ritual. "Hello. My name is Khulekani" said the other thin boy. "Hello. My name is Bheka" said the chunky boy. Simpson was charmed and, bowing deeply, said, "Hello. My name is Andrew." The boys whispered his name in response, shy smiles breaking their handsome dark faces, their eyes shifting between this strange man and their fellows.
At that point Simpson shook himself and gestured toward the bathroom. "Come, take a bath, warm up, get out of those wet clothes." He had no hope that he was precisely understood, the boys obviously having learned only the most rudimentary English phrases, but he managed to convey his meaning. The first boy peeked inside the bathroom and saw what was planned. He spoke quickly to the other boys in their language and then began taking off his clothes. The others followed his lead, looking embarrassed in Simpson's presence for but a moment, and in a flash all three boys were in the steaming tub together. Simpson let the water run a bit more as he gathered the boys' soaking wet clothing and spread it out on furniture to dry. He stepped into the bathroom and turned the water off, then paused for a moment to survey the scene. The three boys were of about average height and size for eight to ten years of age, their skin dark and flawless and completely hairless except for the thin tight caps of kinky hair on their heads. Thin, undeveloped penises with tassels of foreskin bobbed above small ballsacks holding immature testicles that now relaxed somewhat in the warm water. The boys sank down gratefully into the warmth, for once curbing their youthful rambunctiousness in favor of warming up, slithering naked together in the water. Simpson nodded and stepped out, in time to greet Motumbo who was coming through the door ahead of a wave or rain, as wet as he could possibly be.
Motumbo brought news that the female visitors were settled in Chele's cabin, that the orphanage had been notified, and that there was nothing to do until the storm abated and the roads could be assessed and repaired. Simpson nodded and took Motumbo to the bathroom, where he chuckled at the sight of a tub full of naked brown boys. But youthful energy could not long be contained, and wiggling had begun. Motumbo spoke softly to them in their own language and the boys began boiling out of the tub. Motumbo tossed a towel quickly to Simpson and grabbed one himself. The chubby boy, Bheka, came into the room and presented himself to be wrapped in a towel held by Simpson. The man quickly patted the boy dry but kept the towel around him like a cape. Bongani came into the main room with a towel similarly draped around him, as Motumbo was finishing up with Khulekani. The whole process had taken but a moment.
For a few seconds everyone stood around in the main room, and then Simpson noticed Bongani eyeing the bowl of fruit that stood on a table. Realizing that they may not have eaten for some hours, Simpson offered the bowl to the boys, who fell on it like locusts on the wheat, greedily consuming every piece there was to the satisfaction of the men.
As the boys were eating, Motumbo and Simpson suddenly realized that they were soaked through, and were beginning to feel chilled. Wordlessly, with a nod, they each began disrobing and hanging up their clothing on remaining pieces of furniture to dry. The boys stopped in mid-bite, each holding a piece of fruit, their eyes wide as they observed the spectacle. Every eye turned to Simpson as he removed his last piece of clothing and stood naked before them. If they had seen few white men so close up before, the boys had surely never seen a naked white man in person before. Wide eyes traveled up and down his body, stopping in fascination as they viewed his genitals. Motumbo, now fully naked as well, chuckled in amusement at the spectacle. Simpson could not repress a blush at being the object of inspection, but decided that the only thing to do was to press ahead naturally. At Motumbo's chuckle the boys' attention was diverted and they now stared at him as well, an image of the powerful African men they would become, and his heavy genitalia now received its share of attention. Now openly laughing, Motumbo spoke to them in their own language, translating for Simpson: "I say, time for sleep."
Two of the boys returned quickly to the bathroom to urinate. Motumbo and Simpson consulted quickly and decided that putting the boys on the two sofas in the living room was the only option. Extra blankets were spread. Each boy handed his towel to one of the men and, little penises bobbing, squirmed in naked together on the sofa, chunky Bheka taking one, Bongani and Khulekani taking the other. The boys looked extra hard at the naked adults as the men came close to tuck them in, Motumbo wishing them good night and instructing them to fall right asleep. Lights were lowered, towels hung to dry, and the men slipped into the bedroom.
Snuggling together beneath the sheets to keep warm, the men simply held each other for a few minutes, relaxing from the evening's drama. Snuggles gave way to caresses, and then kisses, each enjoying this reunion and anticipating the sexual passion that was in store for the evening. Slowly the momentum built and the sexual tension grew. Warm enough now, Motumbo threw off the sheets and blanket and rolled over on top of Simpson, grinding his massive cock down into the white man's groin, enveloping Simpson's mouth with his full, rounded lips. Then he switched directions and lying head to toe on top of Simpson he took the white man's rigid purple rod into his mouth while dangling his heavy, meaty, midnight black cock down into Simpson's willing mouth. Slowly, carefully, passionately, the two men licked and sucked each other's organs in that way for several minutes.
Simpson was so preoccupied that he heard no sounds coming from the bedroom door, which had been left partially open. But he did hear Motumbo's muffled murmur of surprise, and he was definitely aware as Motumbo let his throbbing cock slip from his mouth to utter an exclamation. Turning away from the black man's massive dick, Simpson looked around to see what was the matter. Then he heard the giggling from the doorway. All three boys stood there. They had been watching. Their little penises were stiff with excitement.
Motumbo heaved a deep sigh and muttered what must have been a curse in his language. Swinging back around, he flopped back down onto the bed lying alongside Simpson, both men's rods stiff and slapping on their thighs. The boys took this move as some sort of invitation. Chattering suddenly in their language, they piled onto the bed, squirming brown bodies taking up all the available empty space. Motumbo, caught between exasperation and amusement, translated for Simpson the boys' story that the storm had kept them awake, that they were frightened, and they wanted comfort. Simpson looked at their tense little cocks and wondered if that were the whole story.
Chunky Bheka had settled in between the two men, sitting crosslegged between their groins, facing the men, a grinning little Buddha with a rampant brown cock. Simpson was clearly the attraction, his skin color and hair, the distribution of hair on his torso, even his eyes and lips, all being objects of wonder. Bongani sat between Simpson's legs just below his crotch for a close view of his balls and cock. Khulekani stretched out by Simpson's side, away from Motumbo, and snuggled in close, giggling as he ran his hands on the white man's skin and through his hair, his own thin brown tube poking the white man's side.
Bheka reached over and seized Motumbo's huge, meaty organ and swung it toward Simpson, stroking it slowly, grinning, while he watched intently as Bongani softly fingered the white man's testicles, covered with fine blonde hair, and weighed his heavy scrotum. Khulekani ran his small brown hand up and down Simpson's abdomen, pulling gently on the few hairs on his chest and belly, running his fingers through the thatch of dirty blonde pubic hair. Bongani bent over and, grasping Simpson's dick, took the head of it in his mouth, experimentally. Sucking, swallowing a little clear precum, he looked up and grinned, a line of clear fluid trailing from his full lower lip to the head of the white man's dick. Bheka leaned over and took the white man's dick in his mouth in his turn, while his stroking of Motumbo's thick black rod increased. Simpson, for his part, reached down to grasp Bheka's stiff little rod with thumb and the first two fingers and began manipulating it, sliding his fingers up and down the hard little brown shaft. With his other hand he kneaded the firm ass cheeks of little Khulekani, describing small circles around the boy's anus with his index finger. Khulekani sighed and pressed into the white man's side even closer, now licking and tasting his light colored salty skin, pressing his full lips onto the white man's chest and abdomen, biting gently with his pearly teeth.
Motumbo reached over across Simpson's thigh, able just barely to reach Bongani's stiff little cockie as he sat between Simpson's thighs, alternately pumping the white man's cock when Bheka sucked it, and sucking it himself. Then in a moment the boys shifted, Bheka throwing himself forward to lie atop Simpson, grinding his rigid little dick into the white man's abdomen, nibbling the white man's nipples with his full rounded lips. Bongani took over the duty of pumping Motumbo as he stretched out between the two men, now kissing and licking Motumbo's deep brown chest and now Simpson's heaving cream colored torso. Khulekani stayed where he was but was now pushed his pelvis back and forth, back and forth, as Simpson had grasped the boy's little tool with his fingers and was pumping it vigorously.
Bheka had pushed himself off of Simpson and slid down over the white man's dick, slid down far enough to take it into his mouth, when Motumbo cried out, arching his back and pushing his hips up. Bongani, who had been pumping the African man's heavy meat all this time, slapped the organ over to the side as it began spewing cum, so that it sprayed all over Simpson's belly and chest. Bheka sucked the white man's rod furiously, his plump cheeks sunken in as he created a tremendous vacuum. Then Khulekani shuddered and pushed, crying out, as the white man's fingers brought a dry orgasm to his thin brown cock. Simpson moaned deeply and pushed his pelvis up into Bheka's mouth; the chubby boy's eyes grew wide but he held on for dear life as an explosion of semen shot up and into his mouth. The boy swallowed as hard as he could, but choked and coughed, expelling a little white pellet of cum from his nose.
It was the start of a long night of pleasure, of wriggling brown boys in the arms of the strong adult black and white males. Bheka's chubby, rounded little brown bottom was invaded by fingers, Bongani's stiff little cocklet was taken into the white man's mouth until he shuddered in a dry orgasm, Mutombo rolled over onto Simpson, sandwiching a boy and a half between them, Khulekani slid up to put his stiff brown cock into Simpson's mouth and pump it until he shuddered once more....and on through the night. In the small dark hours the five males feel asleep, exhausted, in a tangle of brown and cream, snuggled together like worms for warmth, drifting off into peaceful sleep as the storm outside raged and roared.
To be continued. Comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net