In the following week, activity picked up considerably on Antoine's offer to sponsor the construction of an old Southern plantation house so that more realistic enactments of slavery fantasies could be done at De Groot's. Andrew Simpson was beyond objecting, although he still harbored reservations. But the staff seemed fully into the planning process and anticipating the added income that the new attraction would bring. Andrew could only shrug in wonder and go along with the plans. Within a week, prefabricated building parts were being shipped in and laborers were gathering in a small village of tents to construct the new attraction. Work proceeded into the evening, when the workers would stop and sounds of partying could be heard from their end of the enclosure.
Andrew's thoughts remained conflicted and entangled with Motumbo and Chele through that week. He still wondered what it had meant that Chele had accepted the two quick bouts of intercourse without a condom with him. He wondered what it meant that he, confirmed gay guy that he was, had agreed to that sex^×no doubt it was the connection to Motumbo, to being in a vagina that the big African man had been in, that was the attraction for Simpson. And although he told himself to stop it, he still had a twinge of jealous regret every time Motumbo and Chele smiled at each other, every time one ran a hand up and down the other's arm. As it came Simpson's turn to fuck his muscular African lover each night, an edge of frustration and jealousy gave extra power to each pounding of his dick inside Motumbo's butt.
Toward the end of that short week it became clear that the plantation structure, being prefabricated as it was, would be completed soon. Simpson was busy online ordering decorations for the interior that might create the illusion of a nineteenth century Southern American slave plantation manor. He was also busy advertising the new attraction, and he wondered what kind of clientele it would attract. Simpson realized that if it attracted Black men who wanted to enact the roles of slaves, then he, as the only White man in residence, would end up taking on the "duty" of slavemaster. He began to realize that the idea excited him, although if very many clients chose that option at once he would have to "delegate" some of his duties to his African assistants or suffer exhaustion.
Somewhat to his surprise, reservations began coming in immediately for the new plantation fantasy, even while there was no slacking of interest in the other adventures offered such as the hunts or the Ball Room. The first reservation was for a White man from America who wanted to bring his young teenage son, also gay, with him. They wanted to come in only two weeks' time. Simpson, seeing requests for later plantation fantasies stack up, accepted the reservation. He announced the start of the new attraction to the staff over lunch one day, to general excitement. Everyone was eager to begin planning how such a fantasy might be played out. Envious of the parties that the laborers had for themselves at the other end of the camp after each day of hard work on the plantation building, Simpson declared that the permanent staff would have a party that very evening to celebrate the new attraction and to talk about how to conduct it.
That evening all the permanent staff gathered at the main lodge for a cookout, with plenty to drink. Big and Little Mandla were there, Thabo, Motumbo and Chele, the young teen boys Thatho and Mthobisi, Strello--and a few others sucha s Justice and Gift, who came and went for short periods of time. Even Zama appeared, a brief grin breaking across his serious, dark face, to eat a quick sandwich and have one drink before hoisting his shotgun and disappearing back into the night.
The party wore on as such affairs do, with more and more to drink. And given the nature of De Groot's, there was plenty of light stroking, playful kisses, loose embraces among all. Yet it seemed to Andrew that the more everyone drank, the more Motumbo and Chele flirted, despite the fact that Motumbo was, at least for the time being, with Andrew in their cabin. Andrew was dimly aware of being annoyed at their flirtation, but he found himself equally occupied with the increasing attentions of the two young teenage brothers, Thatho and Mthobisi. The boys were unused to even the small amounts of alcohol they were drinking, and were slipping into a quiet, joyful sloppiness, snuggling next to Andrew, leaning and cuddling with him, letting their slim brown arms entwine around him. He had to admit he was enjoying it, and wondered how he could justify that pleasure yet remain irritated at Motumbo for his dalliance with Chele. Simpson watched Motumbo and Chele become more and more intimate the more they drank, until eventually they both rose and, hand in had and with no glance or word to Simpson, the couple staggered out into the night. Well, Simpson said to himself, they have gone back to Chele's cabin to fuck themselves silly. He shook himself, trying to dispel the dull pain of jealous irritation that had settled in him, and turned his attention now fully to the two brown boys who lolled next to and on top of him, giggling softly in their alcoholic buzzes. Another ten minutes passed and Simpson's passion began to arise more and more. Finally he rose and gently took each boy by the hand. Nodding back at Thabo, who winked and nodded back, Simpson led the two boys out of the main lodge and down the path to his own lodge.
Simpson had his hand on the knob of the front door to open it when he heard sounds coming from within. He stopped abruptly, and signaled to the two giggling boys for silence. Simpson opened the door slowly, and could now hear the sounds more distinctly, coming from his own bedroom. He stepped very quietly in that direction and slipped in past the open door. The two boys, suppressing their giggles for the moment, were right behind him, walking softly.
His eyes adjusted to the dim light quickly and Simpson gasped at what he saw. On his own bed, the one he woke up in that morning with Motumbo, he saw the big African man lying on top of Chele, fucking her with long, slow swings of his thick rod. In the dim light of a single candle he could see the dark brown skin of the African gleam softly, a thin sheen of sweat highlighting the movement of muscles beneath. Motumbo's muscular bottom, a shade darker than the rest of his dark skin, rolled rhythmically, the tops of the buttocks rising into rolls and the sides dimpling as he pushed his stiff, purple black penis into the woman beneath him, the muscular bottom relaxing as he pulled partially back out. Chele's brown arms clutched at Motumbo's broad back and muscular shoulders, while the African man's head was down, nuzzling at her neck and ears as he fucked her slowly.
Simpson quickly got over the shock of this spectacle, and he made an impulsive decision. As quietly as he could he tore off his clothes. Behind him, Thatho and Mthobisi watched open-mouthed at the drama that was unfolding among these adults. Simpson took but three steps to scoop up the tube of lubricant from the bedside table, which he used to quickly oil up his rising pink and purple rod. Chele saw the movement and heard the noise first, and gasped, then giggled. Motumbo, deep into drunkenness, brought his head up in confusion and looked around, trying to focus, even as he continued to swing his pelvis back and forth. It was only as Simpson climbed up onto the bed that Motumbo grunted, shaking his head, and seemed to make an effort to rise. It registered with Simpson that Chele at that point held Motumbo tightly to her, and giggled again. It was clear the woman had a sense of what was about to happen, and planned to enjoy it.
Swinging up over Motumbo, Simpson sank his thighs down in between the African man's thighs, which were in their turn between Chele's thighs held wide apart. In a flash Simpson positioned his now iron hard cock at the African's wrinkled dark brown anus and pushed. Unprepared and still a bit confused, Motumbo cried out, but with Chele pulling him down onto her torso and the weight of Simpson above him plus his own incapacity, there was little he could do. The big African man cried out again as the white man's dick slid quickly inside his tight, unprepared rectum, slid all the way in with one mighty push. Simpson landed hard on top of Motumbo, his dick fully inside the black man's ass, his chest now riding the back and shoulders of the muscular stud beneath him, his face positioned to nuzzle the crispy hairs and the velvet skinned neck of his lover. His arms joined in the tangle of the African man and woman beneath him, stroking and fondling, rubbing over warm skin.
Simpson pulled partially out and then back again with a tremendous lunge, and Motumbo gasped again. Then the white man did it again, and Chele whispered something to the African. Now dimly grasping, in his intoxication, what was required, and surrending himself to it, Motumbo began to pump in and out of Chele again, and Simpson adjusted his own fucking of the black man's butt to that rhythm. Motumbo picked up the pace, plunging down into the woman below him, while Simpson matched him stroke for stroke, pulling back as Motumbo pushed forward, slamming down to meet the hard, rising buttocks on their upstroke. Motumbo, pulled close into Chele, softly chewed her shoulder while Simpson looked over Motumbo's other, sweating shoulder directly into her eyes a few inches below, penetrated her eyes as he was penetrating her man's ass, looked into her eyes as he gasped and drooled over Motumbo's heaving shoulder. Up and down, in and out, both men fucked harder and harder until Motumbo, who had a head start, came, crying out, his body twisting into a curl as he pushed down deeply into Chele, shooting his semen into her. He lay there tense and quivering, jetting more of his white spunk into her as Simpson's iron rod pounded his prostate gland from inside, and then it was Simpson's turn to cry out as a wave of sex broke within him and he pushed down hard into the African man's bottom, shooting his semen into Motumbo, gasping and panting as his man juices drained out.
For long moments they lay like that, quivering, panting, breath returning to normal, and then Simpson pulled out of Motumbo's bottom with a plop and sat on his haunches as the end of the bed. Motumbo did not move. Chele pushed him up and off, turning a bit as she did so, and he flopped, snoring heavily to one side. He had simply fallen asleep or passed out in his drunkenness. Simpson noticed in one swift glance that he was not wearing a condom.
Simpson sat there on his haunches for a moment, looking at Chele's sweat slicked body in the dim light, looked at the thin sheen of fluid dribbling from her vagina. Then a noise to the side reminded him of the boys who had come with him, the young teen boys he had planned to have in this very bed tonight. Thatho and Mthobisi stood but a few feet away, naked now, and each slowly pumping and fondling his own fully erect boycock, each organ seeming too big for the skinny brown body. Simpson wondered whether the boys had ever had sex with a female. He decided instantly that they would do so that very night. Simpson quickly motioned them over and seizing the nearest one, Thatho, he pulled the boy, now panting with excitement, up onto the bed and positioned him between Chele's legs. The woman giggled and did no more than to gently pull the boy down toward her. Fumbling with one hand, the boy guided his straining penis into the woman's vagina and entered easily, slicked and stretched as it was by Motumbo's attentions.
The boy's eyes grew big and his breath became instantly ragged. He began pumping in and out very quickly, his small, hard, rounded black bottom rolling up and down as he fanned his rigid midnight black cock into the woman. His tight, very dark and wrinkled black ballsack with a few wisps of curly black hair on it could be seen jiggling from Simpson's angle as the boy pumped in and out, in and out. Simpson could not resist, and smacked the bouncing butt with the palm of his hand several times. Inexperienced, Thatho came very quickly, crying out and shuddering, bucking his hips wildly but staying anchored inside Chele's flesh. No soon had his quivering stopped than Simpson pushed the boy over to the side, nearly on top of the comatose Motumbo, and pulled Mthobisi into the same position. A little younger than his brother but with a penis no less rigid, the boy was quickly in place and commenced the same quick pumping of his dick inside Chele, who by now was giggling with glee and abandon. This time Simpson did not smack the boy's bottom but grasped it and held on, kneading it even as it bounced up and down, squeezing the slab sided buttocks together, cupping the perfect, high roundness of each cheek, his light tan hand making a beautiful contrast against the deeply dark, sweat sheened skin of the boy's bouncing bottom. As with his brother, his inexperience brought Mthobisi to a quick, loud climax, and as soon as his shuddering stopped, Simpson likewise pushed him off to the other side of Chele where he collapsed, breathing heavily.
Simpson sat there squatting on his haunches at the end of the bed, looking at Chele who grinned back, clearly drunk, her legs still spread and the semen of three African males oozing out from it. Simpson felt no physical attraction, but this was about more than that, it was about power and revenge. His organ sprang to life, despite having recently emptied itself into Motumbo's gut, and he slid forward quickly, plunging easily into Chele's gaping and slick vagina, and quickly, with a concentrated sense of purpose, fucked her rapidly until, sooner than he expected, a quick bang of an orgasm took him and he pumped a dollop of his own seed into her. A quick shudder and it was over, the last of his semen oozing down into the gathered pool of African spunk already in her. Exhausted, Simpson toppled over half onto Mthobisi, half onto Chele, and fell asleep in a tangle of dark brown flesh.
The tangle of bodies woke up one at a time the next morning. Mthobisi began squirming and wriggled out from under Simpson, who then woke up, one arm around Chele. He followed Mthobisi to the shower where they washed away the slime and sweat of the previous evening's couplings, grinning at each other in the hot, streaming water. Thatho joined them a few minutes later. Creeping quietly back into the bedroom to find their clothing, they were in time to see Motumbo wake up, shaking his head in a confused way, looking around as if trying to put things together. He was alone in bed with Chele, who was just now stirring, yet what were Andrew and the two boys doing getting dressed nearby? Still shaking the grogginess from his head, he muttered a sheepish good morning to Simpson and the boys as he slipped past them to the bathroom. Chele rose a few minutes later as Simpson and the boys were leaving to get breakfast in the main lodge; evidently she and Motumbo would have some sort of discussion about what had happened the night before...or perhaps they would not.
The day proceeded with plans for the plantation fantasy. Thabo had a long spell of concentrated work on the telephone, receiving and making calls. About mid-afternoon he approached Simpson with some news.
"Boss Andrews," he said, "you know...those orphans, they here not long ago, Bongani, Khulekani, Bheka?"
Andrew smiled in remembering the three cute orphans who had been stranded there overnight during a torrential downpour when the bus from the orphanage had to seek shelter at De Groot's. "Yes, I remember them well. Have you any news of them?" he asked.
"Well...you know, Boss Andrew, the orphanage, they try to put they orphans someplace, try to, uh, find work or home for them, you know?" Andrew nodded; he had a suspicion he knew what kind of thing was coming. "Well, they sisters, the nuns you know, they call today...those boys they talk about being here all the time, they say. So they wonder, they ask me, do we have work here for them? Can they come here and stay for work?"
Simpson stared at Thabo. "Do the nuns know what kind of `work' we do here?" he asked.
Thabo's dark face split into a huge grin. "No, Boss Andrew, I don't think so, they think it a tourist place, maybe for safari you know. Well, that part right, eh?" He chuckled deeply.
Simpson smiled in reply. "What do you think, Thabo? Will we get in trouble if we take them? They are really very young."
"We not get in trouble, Boss Andrew, I think," he replied, "they nuns, they government, they happy just to have somebody take orphans. And we treat them good, you know, not get them into things before they want to and are old enough. I think," he continued, winking at Simpson, "I think they show they maybe like that kind of work, when they was here, eh Boss?"
Simpson nodded, smiling again, but asked Thabo to ask around to find out how the rest of the staff felt. As it turned out, they were all in favor, and Thatho and Mthobisi especially were in favor although the new boys, at around eight to ten years of age, were three or four years younger than they. Enthusiasm seemed especially high for involving the new boys in the plantation fantasy, where they could serve as a background cast even if they were not focally involved in the adventure. Simpson and Thabo agreed to make final arrangements. Thabo concluded matters over the telephone, and arrangements were made for him to get the boys to bring them to their new home at De Groot's within a matter of days.
The plantation house was nearly finished, and Simpson spent the next few days ordering period-appropriate furnishings and consulting with their partner, Antoine, over finances. Antoine's business would keep him from being there for the grand opening, but it was clear that he intended to return soon to participate in a fantasy. In the meantime, Simpson and Motumbo resumed their life together in their lodge. The night of stolen passion with Chele and the boys was never mentioned, indeed it was not clear to Simpson that Motumbo remembered any of it given his inebriation. Likewise, Simpson and Chele exchanged cordial smiles in passing, and the boys would grin at her in teenage embarrassment, but everyone acted as if the affair had simply never taken place.
In a couple of days Thabo left early one morning to go to the orphanage, and by late afternoon his truck bounced and rumbled back into the compound bearing chubby Bheka and slim Bongani and Khulekani. The boys were grinning broadly and evidently glad to be out of the orphanage. The first order of business was to find them lodging. A small lodge was devoted to housing them and the older boys, Thatho and Mthobisi, since the main "prey" lodge was fairly full, and plans were made for the future to add yet another lodge to accommodate the growing population at De Groot's. Around the dinner table at the main lodge that evening, the full nature of De Groot's business was explained to the boys, with special emphasis on the upcoming slavery reenactment. Of course slavery, not being part of their history, had to be explained in detail. They boys alternated between awe and puzzlement at the new vistas that were laid before them, but it was clear that their earlier sexual encounters with Simpson and Motumbo had given them a taste of what was to come which they were eager to accept. Little Mandla agreed to coach the newcomers in what might be expected of them, with Thatho and Mthobisi eagerly offering to help.
The five younger boys were marshaled by Little Mandla and trooped off to their new lodgings after dinner, while Simpson settled in to another round of paperwork. Motumbo stopped by to say that he was tired and was going back to the two men's lodge to turn in early. They exchanged a kiss and a good night, and Motumbo was on his way. Completing his work some time later, Simpson stood, stretched, turned off the light and stepped out into the night. On his way to his lodge he passed the turnoff to the new boys' lodge and hearing voices coming from there, decided to walk over to see what was the matter.
Knocking lightly on the door, he pushed it open. Little Mandla was strutting back and forth like an eighteen year old general, barking commands. Standing in front of him at attention but with heads bowed, and absolutely naked were the three new boys lined up in a row, with Thatho and Mthobisi likewise naked and standing as bookends on both ends of the line. Little Mandla wheeled in surprise and smiled broadly when he saw that it was Simpson.
"Oh! Boss Andrew, we practice being slave!" he said. "I tell them do this and do that, they must do it. I touch privates, they must let me touch, eh?" Simpson grinned and nodded, and noticed that the semi-erect state of the five young penises attested to Little Mandla's training. Then Little Mandla's eyes widened and he said, "Boss! You help us practice, eh? Be white man," and here he blushed even darker than he was and grinned, realizing that Simpson was already that, "I mean, be slavemaster, eh? You help us tonight, be slavemaster for these new ones, eh?"
Simpson's old aversion to enacting such a part had been crumbling for weeks, and now it gave way completely at the sight of the five naked brown bodies before him, awaiting his command. He nodded and told Little Mandla that he would do it, and suggested that they pretend they were in a slave market, the boys to be examined for any physical imperfections and for their reproductive capacity. Little Mandla explained the premise to the boys, using the youngest boys' native language when necessary. When all was understood, there was a moment of silence. Then Simpson dragged a chair up within a few feet of the line of boys and nodded at Khulekani, in the middle. "Let me see that one," he said.
Little Mandla pulled Khulekani forward. The young boy giggled but stopped short when Little Mandla quickly slapped his butt and ordered him to be quiet. The boy stopped, now a look of apprehension as well as curiosity creeping over his face. Simpson, sitting on the chair, pulled the boy even closer. He began examining every inch of him, running his hands over the crisp, short hair, rubbing the velvety skinned ears, tilting the head back to look up the clean, broad nostrils, sticking his fingers past the full, luscious lips and prying open the mouth to inspect the perfect teeth and the wet tongue. Running his hands over the boy's shoulders taut with a thin layer of hard muscle, over the lightly padded chest, Simpson dug in here and there with his thumbs, tweaked the nipples, as if probing for any muscular defect. Khulekani began breathing hard, his full, wet lips parted, his hairless little penis now rising straight up at attention. Simpson's hands slid down the slightly rounded belly, thumbs probed the navel, then pushed into the muscles of the groin, making the tense little cocklet slap against the boy's brown abdomen. Simpson turned the boy around and ran his hands along the S curve of his spine, noting the development of the hills of muscles along either side of the spine culminating in that beautiful African butt of small pillows rising high and firm. Pushing the boy on this shoulders he made Khulekani lean forward, and parted the boy's butt cheeks. Simpson spat on a finger and inserted it roughly into the boy, who winced but did not cry out, and probed the anal cavity as far as he could go. Pulling his finger out his hands slid down the legs, feeling the strength that was to come to those skinny little dark brown pillars. Then he turned the boy around and worked his way up from the feet, kneading and stroking, digging deeply into the boy's long, muscular thighs before coming to the tight little ballsack which he cupped and then gently massaged. Finally, Simpson grasped the stiff little cock, a midnight black against the boy's fudge skin, and began stroking it with thumb and two fingers. Up and down he went while Khulekani gasped and squirmed as much as he dared. The boy ever so slightly began moving his hips in rhythm, back and forth just a bit, milking as much pleasure as he could from the white man's ministrations. His eyes darted in nervous distraction from his own cock, held tightly and pumped by white fingers, to the white man's face before him. And then suddenly he shuddered, quivering as he stood, thrusting his thin pelvis forward. His rigid little cock throbbed in Simpson's fingers, but no cum came out. The boy gave one more great gasp and then seemed to sink, exhausted from the wave of pleasure that had washed over him.
Simpson then called for Bongani, noting that all the remaining boys were transfixed at the market examination that had just taken place, full lips parted and nearly drooling in each case, while Bongani's and Bheka's hairless cocks and Thatho and Mthobisi's more developed teenage tools stood at full attention. Simpson repeated the whole process with Bongani, who likewise ended in a shuddering dry orgasm. At that point Simpson, aroused himself to a fever pitch, could wait no longer. Pushing the chair back, he stood.
"I, I must see if these slaves can service me and my servants," he said. He motioned Thatho and Mthobisi to come forward and stand next to him, and then he quickly shed his own clothing, his trousers dropping down around his ankles where he stood. Simpson then motioned for the three young boys to come forward, and as they did Simpson put chubby Bheka in front of him, with Khulekani and Bongani taking Thatho and Mthobisi. Quickly he held his stiffening cock out and motioned for Bheka to take it into his mouth. The boy eagerly did so, and Khulekani and Bongani needed no encouragement to do the same with Thatho and Mthobisi respectively. Simpson put his arms around the naked, warm shoulders of Thatho and Mthobisi and pulled them close, while three young boys in front of them serviced them with their mouths. A quick glance to the side showed that Little Mandla had dropped his own pants and was pounding his big, eighteen year old meat with his hand.
Slurping and sucking, the boys did their work while Simpson and the two teenagers held their heads, rubbed their shoulders, leaned on their backs, and swung their own hips back and forth, back and forth. Little Mandla came first, his rigid iron cock shooting out ropes of semen on the back of Bongani, a drop or two making it onto Bheka. In short order Thatho and Mthobisi likewise cried out, and then Simpson, all three holding the boys by their heads and pulling them close, the boys sucking and swallowing as fast as they could as they took the older males' explosions, excess semen now falling in drops from their mouths and onto the floor. The older males shivered and gasped and then relaxed, releasing their "slaves" from their grasp. A few more moments passed and then there were smiles all around as Little Mandla congratulated the boys and teenagers on enacting their parts well, and everyone thanked everyone else for their services. The younger boys seemed especially proud at having done well, although chubby little Bheka was surreptitiously rubbing his cocklet, which nobody had yet done for him. Simpson put his clothes back on and slipped back out into the night; he was confident that Bheka, indeed all the boys, would have more than their share of orgasms that night and for some time to come.
...to be continued Comments welcome: lokiaga@prodigy.net