Andrew Simpson floated into wakefulness in a nest of warm bodies. Simpson was wedged in tight next to the muscular body of Motumbo, who lay on his belly, lightly snoring. Little Bongani lay on Simpson's other side, while Bheka and Khulekani were entwined on the other side of Motumbo. The storm evidently continued, raising a steady drumming on the roof of the lodge, but the violence of the wind seemed to have settled down.
Simpson smiled remembering the half night of pleasure given and taken with the boys, unexpected castaways from the storm. The thought of the tangle of brown limbs around him, the smooth chocolate chests and bellies, made him smile. But then, half turning toward Motumbo and putting an arm around his broad, muscular back, Simpson was seized by another and more powerful erotic urge. Playing with boys had its place. But in that moment, even after a night of coupling, he felt the strong urge to make love to his strong African lover, to possess the dark chocolate body that lay next to him. As Simpson softly slid his hand over Motumbo's strong shoulders, the contrast between his light and the African's dark skin was beautiful to him, and powerfully sexual. His penis, despite the demands made on it over the last hours, sprang into life, slapping softly against Motumbo's thigh.
The African must have sensed it. His head turned toward Simpson, an eye opened then closed, a smile spread across his face and a low, contented purr rumbled in his chest. A wave of love and longing swept over Simpson, a wave of relief that Motumbo was here in his bed, not in Chele's. Reaching back over the still sleeping Bongani, Simpson grabbed a tube of lubricant from the bedside table and squirted out a gob on his fingers. His breath beginning to come more quickly, Simpson applied the goo to the bottom of the valley between Motumbo's rounded butt, pushing a finger slightly into the puckered anus. Motumbo smiled and sighed, his eyes still closed.
Simpson wiped his fingers on his own cock which was now fully erect, swirling around the head, mixing lubricant with the precum that leaked from it. Then he swung himself over on top of Motumbo, whose legs parted slightly. Simpson placed the slick, blushing helmet head of his dick against the black man's anus and pushed. There was resistance, then a plop as it entered, then a long slide forward. Simpson settled himself flat on the African's broad back, his iron rod completely inside Motumbo's ass, and wrapped his arms around the chest and shoulders of his lover. His quick movement in mounting the black man woke the boys, who sat up in bed, rubbing their eyes sleepily, orienting themselves to the strange surroundings, and discovering to their surprise that the two men between them were fucking.
Two hundred yards away, Thatho and Mthobisi, the fourteen and thirteen year old African boys who were that day's "prize" for the two Swedish men, woke up first. Each sat halfway up in the large bed. In between them the two men slept still, lying on their bellies, pleasantly tired from their night of fucking the boys' butts. Thatho and Mthobisi looked at the sleeping white men between them, then at each other and grinned. Simultaneously, each also looked at the other's groin, each discovering a growing erection. Wordlessly, they seemed to agree on how the morning would start: with a reversal of roles. Thatho grabbed a tube of lubricant and squirted a liberal amount onto his fingers, then tossed it over to Mthobisi, who did the same. Both boys slathered up their young teen cocks, already fully erect, seeming outsized for their skinny bodies, tan cockheads pushing out from the midnight dark foreskin now. Then each boy reached over to rub lubricant onto the men's anuses. The men awoke with a start, instantly realized what was happening, and settled back down with a smile and a sense of resignation. Too tired to manage what was about to happen, they were pleased to let the boys take over.
Each of the boys, fully erect, now swung over on top of the man nearest him and placed the swollen tan cockheads of their dicks against the men's pink anuses. The Swedes grunted as the dicks entered, then gasped as the boys slid all the way in. The boys held themselves up off the men's backs, tan palms flattened against the sheets, so as to see what they were about to do. The boys' brown shoulders and knees rubbed against each other on one side as they began moving in and out, in and out, of the white men who lay beneath them.
Meanwhile, Simpson held Motumbo tightly, pulling his body down into the dark chocolate, meaty body below him. A surprisingly fierce wave of possession began to build in him. Days of frustration at Chele's possession of Motumbo in her bed were his target; Simpson was going to make the African his own. His own muscular body covered the African completely, his hips now pounding back and forth, his pelvis bouncing up and down on the muscular rounded hill of the African's buttocks, a steady and powerful rhythm that became a slamming as he fucked the black's butt as hard as he could. The boys who surrounded them now all sat up in bed, their own little cocklets stiff at the spectacle of the white man fucking the black man hard. The boys shifted position to see, some looking back behind Simpson to get a better view of his pink and purple rod plunging in and out of Motumbo's hard brown cheeks. But beyond softly stroking their own stiff little rods, they did not touch, sensing that something special was happening between the two men. Simpson continued to fuck with concentrated attention, pistoning powerfully in and out of the African's body who lay beneath him.
For Mthobisi and Thatho, it was a fuck of joy. Having been pounded in different positions and combinations all night, their turn had come, and the grinning, moaning white men beneath them seemed willing to give them that chance. The boys could not look enough, could not take enough in with their eyes, of the sight they were creating. Their thin but muscular little bodies were tense and tight, stiff as boards as they held themselves up off of the expanse of pink and white shoulders, backs, and buttocks beneath them. The boys saw their hard teenage dicks, oversized for their young bodies, sliding in and out of the white bottoms beneath them, saw the thick midnight black shafts appear and disappear as they bounced up and down, in and out. The boys giggled in between ragged breaths in their joy of the possession and control of the white men they fucked.
And then Andrew Simpson cried out, a wave of ecstasy overtaking him, pounding pushing, bucking forward, squeezing Motumbo as if he would break his chest, shooting jets of cum and love into his ass, roaring and gasping for breath. The three brown boys on the bed with them jumped back in astonishment at the power of the orgasm they were experiencing. And at the same time, Thatho and Mthobisi, laughing and crying "O!" "O!" as the realization came upon them, gurgled and shouted with glee as they pushed forward, squeezing their buttocks together hard to push out their boy cum into the men beneath them, laughing and shouting with joy as their finished their fuck of the two Swedes. In both lodges, two boys and a man collapsed on top of the men they had fucked, sighing, breathing hard, draining the last of their sperm downward. Around Simpson, the boys smiled grandly at one another at the triumph they had just observed, and craned around again to see how Simpson's purple rod was lodged tight in Motumbo's leaking anus.
Motumbo chuckled deep in his chest and, disentangling his arms from Simpson's, shouted "shoo!" in their language to the boys, who gleefully scattered. Simpson pulled off of him and the two lay together on the bed, kissing affectionately, but there was to be no further sex with a gang of rowdy boys frolicking around the room. The two men rose and showered, observed and commented upon all the time by the boys who scampered around, penises either flopping or springing up into momentary states of erection.
The men dressed quickly in dry clothes. Their clothes from the day before had not yet quite dried, nor had the boys', so the young ones would have to remain naked a few hours more. The men stoked the fire and hung the boys' garments more carefully to dry. There was a knock at the door, which Motumbo answered. It was Thabo, well covered with rain gear. A truck idled behind him in the roadway. He shoved two large covered plastic tubs in through the door, smiled and winked, and closed the door again to keep out the rain. The tubs were full of food; it was clear that Thabo was delivering provisions to each of the occupied lodges so that the inhabitants could ride out the storm in comfort. The men and boys fell on the provisions with glee, all gathered around the breakfast table. The boys seemed completely unconcerned for their own nakedness, and Simpson gave himself over to enjoyment of the moment, squeezing arms, rubbing buttocks and bellies, giving hugs from behind, sliding his hands affectionately over the boys' healthy brown skin whenever he could.
Toward afternoon the storm began to subside. Simpson found that he could reach Thabo by cell phone as the bad weather broke. Authorities had been alerted as to the damage to the road, and there was some expectation that at least temporary repairs could be made the next day, a surprisingly fast response by the government. However, the economic contribution that DeGroot's made, and the spiritual standing of the mission bus, probably gave some officials a sense of urgency. In the meantime, it was determined that the road in the direction of the airport was relatively sound. Discussion with the Swedes resulted in a plan for Thabo to take them to the airport, as their schedules required their departure, however reluctant they might have been. The two men bade affectionate goodbyes to Little Mandla and to Thatho and Mthobisi, then loaded Thabo's vehicle in the continuing light rain. Waving wistfully, they drove off into the afternoon to return home.
Simpson worked on the plans for a "slave plantation" as much as he could by telephone and in consultation with Motumbo. He continued to marvel to himself at the enthusiasm shown by the Africans and African Americans for the project, and he fully realized that it would hardly be everyone's cup of tea, but he had also come to terms with the idea that his history and reservations might not be shared by everyone.
The boys' clothes dried, but there seemed little point in dressing. Night was drawing on once again, there was plenty of food, the rain was coming to an end, and the lodge was snug and dry. Simpson wrapped up his work and joined Motumbo on a couch, surrounded by naked boys who squirmed and snuggled around them, and listened to the radio which crackled and sputtered in the interference from the subsiding storm. Eventually, it was time for bed. Motumbo and Simpson insisted that the boys spend the night on the couches, where they had started out the previous evening. The two men retired to their own room and enjoyed a mellow night of cuddling, soft stroking, and slow, slow sex. But out on the sofa, the boys took turns enacting the scenes they had observed between the two men, the two slimmer boys fucking the chubby Bheka and Bheka being sucked in turn throughout the night until they fell asleep by the dwindling firelight.
The next morning the boys dressed, anticipating a visit by the nuns. Sure enough, the rain having ceased, the sisters came by to inspect their charges. Men and boys were fully dressed and received the nuns graciously. In another couple of hours word was received that temporary repairs had rendered the road passable, so they began to take their leave. The men hugged the boys, and were hugged in turn affectionately. Motumbo told the sisters that they would visit the orphanage, and that the orphans could return to visit any time, a proposition that was greeted with enthusiasm by the sisters as well as the children. In the humid air, the bus trundled off in the direction of the road, sending splatters of mud up behind it, thin brown arms sticking out of windows and waving madly.
A process of cleanup after the storm began, debris having accumulated here and there, some soil having been washed away. There were also the lodges to clean up, Simpson and Motumbo's, and Chele's, from the unexpected visitors, the Swedes' from their sex-soaked stay. Piles of laundry were hauled up to the main lodge, bags of trash were taken to the incinerator. Simpson had taken a sack of trash to be burned behind the main lodge, when a movement near Chele's lodge caught his eye. Turning quickly, he caught sight of Motumbo slipping into the back door. Curious, but also thinking he might lend a hand to cleanup efforts there, Simpson walked quietly over to the lodge. Passing a window, he glanced in and saw Motumbo and Chele embracing, the big African man kissing her passionately.
It shouldn't have come as a shock to him. He knew the two had been a couple for some time, and Motumbo had only recently returned to his bed from Chele's. But a wave of sorrow, resentment, even anger washed over him. Simpson made sure to create some noise as he approached the door, which he rapped loudly. There was a quick scuffle inside and Motumbo opened the door, a big forced smile on his face. Simpson offered a forced smile back at him.
"Can I help? Is there anything more to do here?" he asked with a false tone of bravado.
"Oh, Andrew, just cleaning, just picking up. I, uh, I just picking up this sack," he said, wheeling around and reaching for the closest sack he could find, full of laundry. Behind him Chele stepped into view, smiling broadly at Simpson and waving a small wave with her hand. Simpson smiled back. How did he feel about her? He did not even know. Resentment, yes, but in some deep part of himself he felt he blamed Motumbo more than he blamed the woman for the continuing attraction between them. And yet, how could he object to it; it was an attraction that was there before he and Motumbo had ever met. One twisted emotion after another warred within Simpson as Motumbo, with an embarrassed look on his face, scuttled out of the lodge and up the path to the main lodge.
There was a moment of empty silence between Chele and Simpson. He simply didn't know what to do. Talking to her was out of the question, as they shared no verbal language. He looked at her, unable to see or to show any humor in the situation because of the turmoil in his heart, and he simply shrugged. Sensing what his feelings might be, Chele walked up to him and spoke softly to him in her language, laying her hand softly on his arm.
It happened again as it had a few days before. Chele was beautiful, but Simpson was not attracted to her per se. Had they met in New York, at a bar, he would have been cordial but uninterested. But she had a claim on his man, she had taken Motumbo inside of her again and again, and sheer jealousy somehow combined with lust and opportunity. Simpson took the woman in his arms, and she went willingly. Then she tugged him a few steps to a nearby sofa, and falling on it she pulled him down on top of her. Simpson simply unzipped his pants and entered her, not violently but with a passion of complete possession, and fucked her rapidly, coming hard and quickly as she slid her hands up his shirt which he still wore. It was over in but a moment. Simpson hung over her, holding himself up off of her, breathing hard, draining his cum down into her, while she continued to stroke his chest and belly, murmuring softly to him. He couldn't meet her eyes. Pulling out as he felt his rod begin to soften, he adjusted his clothing quickly. Then, more from a sense of duty than anything else, he placed his palm on her cheek, smiled, and slipped quickly from the lodge.
Preoccupied, Simpson trudged up the path to the main lodge. He prayed that Motumbo would not smell the scent of his own woman on him. There he found that Thabo had returned from taking the Swedes to the airport, having made a side trip to pick up supplies as well. Simpson helped Thabo and Motumbo carry supplies in from the vehicle and store them, forcing light banter with the two men, trying to resolve his confusion. Grain here, meat there, water on these shelves, it was a work that helped to smooth out his tangled feelings.
As the stores were carried into the pantry room of the main lodge, Thabo tossed a package to Motumbo. Simpson clearly saw what they were: condoms. He arched his brows in surprise and stared at the package in Motumbo's hands. Condoms were hardly ever used at DeGroot's, for anyone who came there to stay for any length of time underwent extensive and repeated medical testing to ensure that they had no communicable diseases, and so had Motumbo and Chele. Motumbo, with some embarrassment, chuckled and hefted the package in his hands.
"No babies, eh Andrew? We not ready yet," then winked at Simpson and tucked the condoms away in a pocket. Simpson could not help but continue to stare. Realization hit him like a brick. The condoms were not prophylactic, they were contraceptive. Motumbo and Chele did not yet want a child, and yet....and yet, twice Simpson had had unprotected sex with Chele. He didn't want to think about the implications, but he couldn't help it. Had he known he might impregnate Motumbo's woman all along, in some deep and secret room of his mind? Of course, he had no idea whether such a thing had happened at all. It probably had not....only twice, after all. He shook his head, trying to clear the confusion, and continued the business of emptying the vehicle.
Over dinner, Motumbo seemed to show extra attention to Simpson, perhaps sensing some tension related to being discovered in an embrace with Chele. Chele, who cooked and served the dinner, was friendly to both men, betraying no special favoritism. Maybe it was the friendly atmosphere, or a couple of cocktails, or the physical work of the day, but Simpson slowly settled back into balance, slowly reconciled himself again to the impossible triangle he seemed to have become entangled in. After dinner and conversation, Chele gave Motumbo a peck on the cheek and Simpson an affectionate squeeze and sent them off into the night as she finished tidying up.
Walking through the moonlight back to their lodge, Motumbo squeezed Simpson's hand and held it, arms swinging lightly as they walked like a couple of schoolchildren. Inside the lodge, peaceful for once after the boys' visit, the men embraced, holding each other tightly. They showered together, washing off the soil of the day as they slid hands over soap-slicked bodies in the warm water, kissing in the rain from the shower head. When they slipped into the bedroom, Simpson decided that it was Motumbo's turn to be pleasured, having cum not long ago inside of Chele.
Simpson slid from a tight embrace with Motumbo down to his knees, kissing and licking as he went, sliding his tongue over the smooth, hairless, hard surfaces of the African's brown skin that shown like polished old wood in the lamplight. Simpson nibbled nipples and tongued the African's navel as he went, nuzzling the tuft of crisp pubic hair and, finally settling on the floor, gently cupped the heavy, wrinkled, purple black ballsack. Holding the heavy penis to one side, Simpson took the scrotum into his mouth one testicle at a time, gently rolling it in his mouth and sucking ever so lightly as Motumbo moaned and sighed, running his dark fingers through Simpson's light hair. Then Simpson pushed back a little and stroked the now erect shaft, lined with thick veins, and then took the lighter tan cockhead into his mouth, the cockhead that had emerged from the purple black foreskin. Simpson took as much of the African dick into his mouth as he could; taking it all would be impossible. And then he set up a steady rhythm of sucking and licking while with his hand he slowly pumped the thick, throbbing shaft that would not fit into his mouth. Simpson's free hand ran over the thick thighs, like tree trunks, of the African, then slid around to knead the firm, round, high rolling buttocks.
Motumbo's moaning increased as Simpson's sucking grew harder and faster, his tongue caressing the tender underside of the flared cockhead, his lips sliding up and down the rigid black dick. Then Simpson felt a trembling in the man's thighs, heard a whine and an "O, O, Boss!" from the African, and then Motumbo groaned loudly, pushing his groin forward, and Simpson took the first wave of the thick white cum. Sucking and swallowing, he got all of it down as Motumbo, tacked to the white man's mouth, groaned, bucked, and shivered in his orgasm.
As the two curled into bed together, exhaustion overcame them. For Simpson, all thoughts of Chele had gone, at least for the moment. He held his African lover tightly to him, sliding his hands slowly, very slowly over the warm smooth skin, feeling the texture of the crisp hair, and floated off to sleep on a cloud of contentment.
To be continued.... Comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net