Date: Sat, 16 Dec 2006 08:08:26 -0500 (EST)
From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com>
Subject: Rip part 10 of 12

Installment 10 The Mentor

Copyright 2006 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without
the author's permission.

Please note: this story depicts oral and anal sex between a male adult
and male minors. If this offends you or is illegal to publish in your
jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further.

The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any
resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is
entirely coincidental.

As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments
about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank
you.

---

Marcus and Pieter sat in the front seat of the old Plymouth; Rip, Torang
and Pablo in the back. The fishing gear was in the trunk along with
minimal luggage. The Sambian males understood they didn't need to bring
many clothes.

"I found your brother-in-law's lake on the map, Marcus. It's quite a
distance."

"Yeah, that's why I suggested we get an early start. I often feel it's
too bad Rip doesn't live closer to his uncle." Shit. Did I just say that?
A year ago, I thought Malcolm couldn't live far enough away! What the
hell has come over me?

"Dad, how come Tony won't be there?"

"The Johnsons said their schools didn't close for Rosh Hashanah."

"I'm sure glad my school closed. Wow! Four whole days at the cabin. I
can't wait."

"Yep. And the college doesn't have classes either, so I thought this was
a perfect time for us all to go to the lake. Mr. Johnson said he might
bring Tony up for a few hours on Saturday, to see you. You can show him
your pictures from Greece. And of course, he'll want to meet Torang."

"Cool. You're going to love it there, Torang. Uncle's a lot of fun and he
really likes boys a lot."

"This area reminds me so much of the hill country back home," Pieter
remarked, "Don't you agree, Pablo? I'm afraid it's making me a little
homesick. Last year, Pablo and I climbed Mt. Wilhelm and looked out over
our beautiful forest. We saw wallabies and cassowaries, and orchids, oh,
what beautiful orchids. Remember, Pablo? It makes me sick thinking how
the lumbermen are cutting it all down."

The sun rose higher as Marcus made his way toward Malcolm's cabin. After
a while, Rip began to feel warm. He knew what he wanted to do, but
hesitated. With each mile, though, his clothes seemed to gain weight. The
more he envisioned his destination, the heavier his clothes felt. It was
like the time in Greece when he went diving with Dad and had to wear a
rubber vest with weights to hold him down. Finally, he couldn't wait any
longer. He unbuttoned his shirt, loosened his trousers and nonchalantly
slipped off his clothes. Sitting back down, he turned to Torang and
grinned. Torang didn't need any further encouragement. He quickly tore
off all his clothes, then both boys looked at Pablo. Pablo had been told
to be prepared for nudity at the lake, but didn't expect it would start
so soon. As a married man, he was not supposed to just let his klot hang
free. Back in his village, a young boy might "accidentally-on-purpose"
steal his semen, which he was saving to make more baby! boys in his wife.
So, like all married men, he wore a patch of cloth over his penis, nicely
decorated with feathers. But that handsome bit of garb was back in his
village. Anticipating this situation, Pablo had gone to Wal-Mart to find
something approximating his penis cover. He decided on a black jock
strap, and purchased a dozen for himself and Pieter. Now, with two naked
boys looking at him, he slipped off his own shirt and pants and sat there
wearing only his new jock. Marcus observed the whole strip show in his
rearview mirror.
As Pieter went on remarking on the lovely fall scenery they were passing,
Marcus watched with amusement the scenery coming into view in the back
seat.

"Look, Pablo, we have trees like these back home." Pieter turned around
and saw three young men, contentedly sitting bare-assed behind him. "Oh."
Everyone in the car began to laugh.

.oOo.

Malcolm was of course waiting to hear the Plymouth making its way through
his trees. He was glad the weather was cooperating. A beautiful, warm
autumn day. Marcus had described little Torang to him and he couldn't
wait to meet the cutey-pie. And the last time he saw Rip was when they
got home from Disney World, and he had to turn around and put him on a
plane to Greece. He wondered how much his nephew had grown. Not too much
he hoped. He diddled around with the chores throughout the morning, but
finally there was nothing to do but wait on the porch for the guests to
arrive.

"There's Uncle. See, Torang, don't he look great?" Rip rolled down the
window. "Hi, Uncle! We're here!" stating the obvious. "This is my new
brother!" stating the not so obvious. The car finally stopped and the two
boys jumped out and ran to Malcolm. Pablo gathered up all the loose
clothes in the back seat, then stepped out and opened the trunk to begin
carrying in the gear. Marcus and Pieter walked over to meet Malcolm.

"How do you do. I've heard so much about you, young man. About your
generosity and superior teaching abilities. I am proud to have Torang
meet such a fine man."

"Oh, hold on there, you're going to give me a swell head. I'd say I could
burst my britches with pride, but as you may have noticed, I'm not
wearing britches. He he."

"Yes, and I can see how well equipped you are for your role with young
boys." He was lying, of course. Malcolm's equipment wasn't that
spectacular, but he knew from back home that even men with small klots
often produced copious susu kental pria. "I am also impressed with your
men's house here. If it's all right with you, Sir, I wouldn't mind
removing my britches as well."

"Sure thing, Mate. Get with the program." The word "Mate" brought back
pleasant memories of Pieter's time in Australia. He could see Malcolm was
just as friendly as the men he found there. He stripped down to his black
jock.

Marcus took off all his clothes but his boxers. He had learned enough
about the Sambia not to offend them by displaying his klot. He was after
all, a married man. "I'm afraid I'm still a little overdressed."

"Pablo bought plenty of these black penis covers at Wal-Mart. We'd be
happy to lend you one if you'd like, Marcus."

"Yes, I think I'd like that."

Marcus, Pieter, Malcolm and Pablo got the things out of the trunk and
inside, while Rip gave Torang a quick tour of the place.

"Well, you all must be hungry. How about some lunch? I made sandwiches."

"Uhh, Uncle, Torang says he wants to do something before lunch."

"Sure, kid, you're the Boss. What is it?" Torang went to his surrogate
uncle and whispered in his ear. "Really? Like right now? Well, OK,
Torang. If that's what you want, it's fine with me. Hope the rest of you
don't mind waiting lunch a few minutes, but the boy here needs to eat
something special first." Without a word, Torang started sucking on
Uncle's klot. The first klot he sucked since his real uncle left him.

For Malcolm, each new lover boy presented a new array of challenges and a
new buffet of delights. Torang was the youngest of all his boys, by a few
months, but he was the only one to suck him off within minutes of their
first meeting. Previously the first blow job followed months spent in
acclimation to nakedness, followed by mutual masturbation. Now here was
little Torang, whom he barely knew, working his cock like an expert. He
obviously remembered all Somare had taught him. He sucked with such
gusto, as if his very masculinity depended on it, which of course it did.
Marcus thought of leaving the room, giving the two some privacy, but
Pieter and Pablo stood watching and beaming, and Rip was grinning, no
doubt expecting to get his own turn some time soon.

After lunch, Rip did get a turn, but it seemed like every time you turned
around, his new brother was doing more ingesting. Torang had learned the
Sambian story well and wanted desperately to make up for lost time. He
needed his semen. Pieter eventually sat him down and reassured him that
he would have plenty of opportunity to get his required semen, and he
must not monopolize Malcolm's attention, and that in fact there were lots
of things he could do these four days besides suck.

The three older men got to work on a new jigsaw puzzle, standing around
the table, their ass cheeks framed in uniform black jocks. Pieter told
Marcus, "This is a very comfortable men's house. I expect you try to come
here as often as you can."

The three boys, for unmarried Malcolm was considered such, went hiking in
the woods in search of wildlife, deer, rabbits, chipmunks, beavers,
sorry, Torang, no monkeys. Rip was glad he had his camera along.

Toward the late afternoon, Pablo offered to cook supper and Malcolm was
more than happy to turn the project over to him. Without the Johnson
brothers, he had all the chores to take of himself. Except for the towels
and making the beds, which Rip considered his sole prerogative. The
turkey dinner was filling, with a delicious spicy gravy. Malcolm took the
two boys up to bed and left the men to discuss whatever in the living
room. Whatever consisted mostly of Marcus asking questions about Sambian
beliefs.

Up in bed, Rip showed his young brother another way to take Uncle's semen
into his body. Torang remembered watching some of the mentors fuck their
boys like that, in the pantlup, but they always screamed and cried, and
it frightened little Torang. However, Rip seemed to enjoy receiving semen
that way. After Uncle pulled his klot out, and Rip was still in the doggy
position, Torang noticed the precious fluid dripping from Rip's pantlup.
He quickly went over and began sucking Rip's anus. Rip tried very hard
not to giggle as his brother's little tongue darted in and out.

Uncle lay down on the bed, his arms behind his head and smiled thinking
of the events of the day. He wondered if he could count the orgasms he
had that day, all the wads he blew into little Torang's mouth, the ones
that Rip was able to swallow, and now this final one shot into his
nephew's ass. Apparently, Torang did not think this fecund klot was done
for the day; he laid his head on Uncle's pelvis and began sucking the
limp organ again. But within a minute, the boy had fallen asleep. Uncle
whispered, "Your little brother is tired, Rippy. He did a lot of work
today." Gently, Uncle picked up his exhausted body and settled it on a
pillow beside him.

Rip whispered, "Don't worry, Uncle. I'll be able to finish the job he
started."

"Thanks, Rippy. I knew I could count on you."

When Uncle got up in the morning, he discovered the three men had risen
early and taken the boat out to fish. He made pancakes for his two boys
and either the smell of the maple syrup or the clatter of the pans drew
their sleepy bodies down to breakfast. Malcolm wondered if Torang would
require any semen before breakfast, to wake him up. He was sort of glad
the boy wasn't hanging on his dick but he supposed he could have
accommodated him if he had to. Both boys ate huge stacks of pancakes, and
Malcolm was kept busy refilling their plates. After breakfast, Malcolm
asked Torang to help him with the dishes. Might as well start giving the
kid some chores. Rip went to make the beds, now plural. When he came back
to the kitchen, he found Torang had gone out on the porch to watch his
father and the others fish. Malcolm had given him a pair of binoculars
and showed him how to bring the boat closer with them. Rip quietly knelt
and gave his favorite uncle his first blow job of the! new day. Uncle
reset his mental counter to one.

The men arrived with some sockeyes. Pablo took them to the barbecue table
and began scaling them. Rip got a soccer ball out for him and Torang to
play with; futbal, the universal sport. Again, Pieter thanked Malcolm
profusely, telling him how happy his son is now. "He no longer is worried
about not becoming a man." Pablo made a delicious lunch, catch of the
day.

"Hey, Uncle, guess what?"

"What, Rippy."

"Torang wants to be your mo-mog. He wants you to be his mo-e." Pieter and
Pablo sat up at the news.

Marcus started to ask, "What's a . . ." but Malcolm simply answered,
"Sure kid, you're the boss," not knowing what the hell he was agreeing
to. The boys gave each other a high five and went running to the lake for
a swim.

"OK, now tell me, what did I just myself into."

Pieter explained, "In some of the tribes near the Sambia the mentors
regularly use the anal entrance to get semen into the boys. Our tribe
uses that method some times, but the oral entrance is the standard one.
Mo-mog is a Jacquai word that means anus-son and mo-e is anus-father. I
will have a talk with the boy and explain that you didn't know what the
words meant. Don't worry; I don't expect you to do that."

"Oh, I don't mind. I've actually had several mo-mogs. But I wouldn't do
it if I felt the boy's "mo" might get hurt."

Pieter remembered the size of Uncle's klot at full erection. "Well, Sir,
I have a feeling it might not hurt him all that much. If he wants to
receive semen that way, I have no objection."

"Fine, why don't we do it this afternoon when the boys finish their swim.
You can watch if you want?"

"I would like that. Are you sure you don't mind being observed? You
Americans seem to get pretty uptight about sexual displays in public."

"Nope, I don't mind. In fact, just a few months ago, I had a mo-mog's
father watch me fuck his young son."

Marcus nodded. "Yes, that's quite true, Pieter."

.oOo.

The boys came running up from the lake, giggling, unaware of what the
adults had been discussing. Suddenly, Torang's wet feet slipped on the
grass and he went tumbling on to a rock. The men went racing down the
lawn, as Torang stood up, his nose bleeding profusely. The Sambian men
laughed which seemed rather cruel, but Torang was smiling. Dr. Sloan
started to take charge, "Here, lay the boy down and hold a towel over the
nose. It will stop bleeding soon. Malcolm, get some ice cubes. Rip, you
go . . ."

"No, no, no," laughed Pieter, "Do not bother. Let it bleed 'til it stops
itself. You see, in our country, it is good to bleed. Blood is from the
mother and it is good to get rid of it. Bleeding makes the boy's tingu
stronger. Just stay here, Torang. We don't want to get blood on the nice
furniture in the men's house. Marcus, when our boys are very little, we
poke sticks up into their noses to make them bleed. They hate it of
course. Most of them quickly learn to use their fingers to make it bleed
so they won't have to endure the sticks. So a nosebleed is nothing
unusual for Torang." Marcus wondered how many little Sambian children had
hemorrhaged to death from this casual attitude, but he kept his mouth
shut.

The men went back to the porch and relaxed as Rip stood with Torang and
told him jokes until his nose did indeed stop bleeding. When they got to
the house, they were both giggling so much they almost missed it when
Malcolm greeted them as Rippy and Mo-Mog instead of Rippy and Torang.
Both boys stopped and stared at Uncle. Torang's eyes were wide as
saucers. "Do you mean now, my uncle?"

"No rush, Boss. Any time you're ready to give it a try."

Torang grabbed his surrogate uncle's hand and pulled him into the
bedroom, followed by Pieter, Pablo, Marcus and Rip. Rip spread towels out
for the audience and Torang took the doggy position on the bed just as he
had seen his new brother do the night before. Malcolm opened the lube and
spread a generous amount on his cock, which was already rising, and
around the precious black rosebud. When he inserted a greasy finger into
the hole, Torang let out a "unh."

"Now, just relax, my little darling. I'm not going to hurt you, I
promise."

Pieter leaned over and whispered to Marcus, "In our village we don't use
any grease, just precum."

"That's why the little boys cry and scream, then."

"You're right." They watched the sweet, caring man continue.

Fully erect now, Malcolm took Torang's waist in his firm hands and leaned
forward until his helmet was pressed against the virgin sphincter. "Unh."

"OK, little buddy, just relax, that's it, Mo-Mog." Malcolm waited
patiently, and when he felt the love muscle loosen slightly, he pushed in
half an inch. Another unh, and more quiet calming words of encouragement.
Holding the tiny buttocks, Malcolm gradually made his entrance until his
klot was totally embedded in the happy Sambian boy. No crying, no
screaming. Only love. Malcolm began thrusting and shortly filled the
boy's love canal with the precious energizing fluid.

When he pulled out, the Sambian men applauded. They were very pleased.
Torang remained in position, and Rippy knew why. He got up and went over
to lick the pantlup before Uncle's semen was lost. "Hey, Uncle, there's
some blood dripping out."

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I tried to be so careful. I didn't want to tear the
precious little boy."

"Don't worry, Malcolm," Pieter assured him. "Bleeding is good."