Date: Sun, 18 Dec 2005 16:48:15 -0800 (PST)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: big game 10

Strello awoke with a start.  Always one to be aware of time, and the
turning of the earth under the sun, he was suddenly aware of the morning's
impending duties.  In the dim light of the Ball Room, Andrew Simpson had
rolled a foot or two away and was still sound asleep, suspended in the sea
of lightweight globes.  Strello rolled toward him and put his strong brown
arms around him.

"Boss!  Andrew!  Wake up, we gotta start the games!  Boss!"  His own
morning erection batted against the white man's thigh, and he couldn't
resist....his hand slid down to investigate and found Simpson's pole was
rigid as well.  Strello gave a gentle pump or two up and down and Simpson
awoke with a smile, rolling toward the African, pulling him close in to
himself.  Wordlessly he looked deep intro Strello's dark eyes and smiled,
kissing him.  "Boss!  We gotta go!" repeated Strello, but now giggling as
his increasingly rigid midnight black cock slid against Simpson's pink and
purple rod.  Strello put one and then two fists around both organs, holding
the black and white penises together, and began pumping in earnest.  Both
men began pushing against each other, kissing, sharing breath.  They knew
they would soon have to be at work, and so relieving the sexual tension of
the moment would take focused attention.

Each man pushed and squirmed against the other, Simpson sliding his hands
around Strello's strong, dark brown shoulders, Strello pumping both stiff
cocks together.  Precum began lubricating both dicks, and a quick slurping
sound covered the low hum of the air system.  Faster and faster Strello
pumped, harder and harder each man breathed.  And then Simpson bucked and
shuddered, pulling Strello into him tightly with his hands while Strello
continued pumping for a moment, and then the African came as well, both men
shooting ropes of semen that mixed in the space between them, slicking up
their bellies and chests.  Strello's fists slowed as each penis was milked
for all its spunk, and then he also put his hands, slippery with semen,
around Simpson and the two snuggled, rolling slowly in the balls for a
moment.

Simpson broke away.  "Yes, we must go!" he whispered, kissing Strello.  For
that night and in that place, he forgot Motumbo, who was sleeping with his
woman not far away in another lodge.  But memory came flooding back as the
two men grabbed their clothing, damp with dew, left on the platform outside
the door to the Ball Room.  Pausing at the bottom of the steps to switch
off the controls to the room, they each ran naked down the path to
Simpson's lodge.  If anyone saw them they were unaware of it, but they
heard the unmistakable sounds of stirring from the cabins of the Japanese
and of the white Americans who would hunt each other that day.

Simpson and Strello showered together in the lodge, their penises rising
again from the soap, the warm water, and the gentle ministrations of the
other, but duty called.  Half erect, laughing, they bounded from the shower
and dressed quickly, Strello borrowing some fresh clothes for the day from
Simpson.  By the time they emerged, Thabo had the two parties fairly well
organized.  The judges for the combat would be Big and Little Mandla and
Strello.  Thabo and Motumbo would wait with vehicles to go out and collect
both the victors and their....spoils.  Motumbo was still nowhere to be
seen, still in the arms of his woman.

The Japanese and Americans were fully clothed for the adventure, protecting
their skins against the sun and harsh terrain of southern Africa.  Each
team of three was armed with the usual paintball guns.  By the toss of a
coin, the Japanese were designated to leave first.  Thabo opened a gate and
out they ran into the early dawn dim light.  The Americans waited, tense,
shuffling their feet and checking their gear, for half an hour.  Then they,
too, were released and stalked warily out into the growing light.  They did
not know whether they were walking into a quick ambush or toward a
strategic, and sexual, conquest.  Close on their heels were both the
Mandlas and Strello, armed with radios and, in the case of four legged
predators, rifles.  They would monitor the contest and call for vehicles
when necessary.

Talking softly, Simpson and Thabo walked back up to the main lodge.  The
unexpected sounds of people stirring, and the smell of cooking, greeted
them as they neared the front door.  Going in, they found Motumbo sitting
at the table.

"Andrew!" he said, smiling shyly, and half rose.  He glanced swiftly toward
the kitchen, back again at Andrew, stepped quickly to the white man and
hugged him.  Glancing at the kitchen again, Motumbo slipped back down into
his seat.  Thabo and Simpson approached the table, puzzled, and were just
seating themselves when Chele came bustling out of the kitchen, a large
serving dish in hand.

She smiled a broad smile at the men and put the dishes on the table.  Then
she deliberately came around to where Simpson was sitting and, nodding to
him, spoke a few soft words in her language, smiling broadly.  She put a
soft hand on his shoulder, nodded again, then returned to the kitchen.
Motumbo's eyes watched her go but his head was slightly lowered, and a
smile played about his lips.

"Motumbo....what did she say?" asked Simpson.

"Uh...she say she give us breakfast, Andrew," said Motumbo, his head still
lowered, looking steadily at the table.  A puzzled look came into Thabo's
eyes but he said nothing.  Simpson thought for a moment.  He didn't believe
a word of it.

"Motumbo," said Simpson, "does Chele know what kind of place this
is....what kind of business we do here?"

Motumbo perked up.  "Yah, sure Boss, she know.  It OK, Andrew, she not
mind, she know we OK `bout health.....she OK, true."  Simpson nodded and
thought for a moment.  Chele came back out and put two more dishes on the
table, then bade the men eat with waves of her hands.  The men tucked into
the food in silence.  After some steady munching, Simpson spoke again.

"Motumbo.....does Chele know about us?  You and me?"

There was a moment of silence.  "Yes, Andrew, she know."

"And....is she OK with that?"

"Yes, Andrew, she OK."  Motumbo looked up shyly at Simpson.  "Before,
Boss....she not say about breakfast.  Chele say....she say thank you, to
you.  For me....for being good to me...."  Motumbo broke off in confusion
and concentrated on his breakfast.  Simpson stared at him, then in the
direction of the kitchen.  He rose, and Thabo and Motumbo both stopped
eating and watched him walk into the kitchen.

There Andrew found Chele preparing one more dish.  She stopped in surprise.
Simpson walked up to her and took her hands in his.  "Thank you, Chele, for
being good to Motumbo," he said.  They looked deeply into each other's
eyes, and for a miracle, Simpson was sure that Chele, who spoke not a word
of English, understood.  She nodded gravely, then smiled brilliantly again
and withdrew her hands to shoo Simpson before her back to the dining room,
where she carried the last dish.  Sitting at the table with the men, she
smiled all around, and the men, boyish in their unaccustomed shyness,
looked to the left and right and to the far wall, and then smiled as well.

Small talk occupied the rest of the meal, with Motumbo or Thabo translating
back and forth for the benefit of Chele and Simpson.  When they finished,
Simpson went into the office to work while Thabo and Motumbo went to
prepare the vehicles for picking up the guests.  Chele cleaned up the
breakfast things and then slipped out to return to the lodge she was
sharing with Motumbo.

Stopping by the main lodge later in the morning, Thabo found Simpson
frowning, holding a hard copy of an email that he had printed.  Simpson
looked up and wordlessly handed the paper to Thabo.  The African man read
it, his eyebrows rising as he went along.  Finished, he looked into the
middle distance, then again at the paper, and handed it back to Simpson.

"I can't do it, Thabo," said Simpson, "I draw the line."  Thabo shrugged.

"Boss Andrew, see what they offer to pay," he said, pointing at a figure
near the bottom of the page.  "That good money."

"Oh I know, but really Thabo, I can't do this!"

Thabo shrugged again.  "It what they want, Boss, nothing real.  Nobody
think it real.  Who knows why people want what they do, but it just play,
like.  Good money, Boss, nobody hurt" he concluded, returning to the main
point.  Simpson shook his head again and muttered something about thinking
it over.  At that point, Thabo's radio crackled.  The contest was over, it
was time for him and Motumbo to drive out and bring in the two teams.

Thabo drove back with the American team, whooping and shouting.  One of
their number had a paintball splat on his chest.  Motumbo drove the
Japanese team back, the black haired men grinning broadly but not as
boisterously.  All three had paintball marks on them.  It was clear who had
won.  The Japanese men would be "owned" for the next two nights by the
victorious Americans.  Simpson congratulated the winners and joked with the
losers, who seemed happily resigned to their fates.  Both teams went off to
their respective lodges to rest.  The evening's activities would begin
later on.

Lunch was a repeat of breakfast, with Chele cooking and serving, her skills
in the kitchen being evident and appreciated by the men.  As they finished,
Simpson asked Motumbo to walk into the office with him.  Chele cleaned up
again, and Thabo went to make sure preparations were complete for the
evening's activities.

In the office, Simpson handed the email hard copy to Motumbo, who labored
for a minute over the printed English.  At the end his handsome dark face
split into a brilliant smile.  "Boss, we be rich, look what they pay!"

Simpson groaned.  "Look what they want to DO, Motumbo," he said.  "I
can't."

Motumbo shrugged.  "Andrew, it not about you or me, they want it, they pay
good, why not?  Maybe we have fun also, eh?"  He winked broadly.  Simpson
shrugged in turn and thought for a moment.

"You really think so?"

"Sure."

"They want to come next week.  Let me see....we have a Ball Room party,
that's all.  We could....we could do it."  He sighed deeply.  "Alright."

Motumbo smiled again and reached out to squeeze Simpson's arm, letting his
hand rest there.  Simpson smiled back at him.

"So, Motumbo....is Chele happy here?  She cooks well, she....."  he broke
off and cleared his throat.  "Motumbo, what is going to happen?"

Motumbo looked at him for a long moment, then took a step forward and took
Simpson into his strong brown arms.  "It be OK, Andrew.  Chele and me, we
good.  You and me, we good.  Nobody have to choose.  You got Strello, the
boys, eh, for a while?  You know, Andrew, we here in Africa....maybe we do
things not like you do back there, eh?  Can we all share?"

Simpson felt a wash of relief over his riverbed of anxiety.  He knew his
jealousy and insecurity was probably coming from another place foreign to
his new land, but it had been a struggle for him.  He nodded and returned
Motumbo's tight embrace, resigned to the situation but still, in his heart
of hearts, fearful and unsettled.  The truth was that he wanted Motumbo and
wasn't sure how sharing him would work in the long term.  A soft female
voice in the hallway broke their embrace; had Chele passed by the door and
seen them?  If so, she had the grace to withdraw down the hallway.  Motumbo
kissed Simpson quickly and stepped out to talk softly, quickly with her.
He stuck his head back in the office.  "We go to work now, Andrew.  You
tell `em yes, OK?" he said, nodding at the paper.  Simpson nodded and
smiled, and the couple departed.

The two parties had light, early dinners in their respective lodges while
the staff ate in the main lodge, Chele cooking once again to applause all
around.  Then Thabo and Big Mandla went to lead the two parties to a
specially prepared building consisting of one large room, empty except for
the wall to wall mattress that covered the floor, and an ample bathroom.
Towels and tubes of lubricant, drinks, and piles of pillows, were
distributed here and there on the floor mattress.  Best of all, from the
point of view of the staff, were two one-way mirror/windows along one side
of the room.  From a small room on the other side of what seemed from the
big room to be mirrors, the staff could secretly watch the proceedings.
Here Simpson, the two young teenage boys, Thatho and Mthobisi, and
eventually Thabo gathered to watch the festivities.  The rest of the staff
was occupied with other work or leisure that evening.

Thabo led the Americans to the room first.  One was large but fit, looking
the very stereotype of the blonde surfer beachbum.  The other two were lean
but muscular, with brown hair, and one sported a scruffy goatee.  The three
men left their shoes outside the door, but remained dressed in slacks and
shirts.  They poured themselves drinks and toasted their success, plus the
imminent sexual blowout.  Thabo slipped into the viewing room.  Soon there
was a knock on the door and Big Mandla entered, leading the three Japanese
men into the room.  They were naked, their apricot skin flawless and smooth
in the soft light, with soft cords binding their hands from behind.  Two
were slim and muscular, but not exceptionally tall.  The third was the
slightest bit stocky, but not fat by any means.  Their penises, in
anticipation of the moment, were semi-erect and swinging like pendulums.
The two slim men sported thin, relatively long organs, although nothing by
African standards.  The chunky man's penis was not so long but was
unusually thick.  Sprays of black pubic hair curved out from the base of
each shaft, and hairless ballsacks dangled beneath each bobbing cock.  Big
Mandla nodded at the white men and left the room with the Japanese men
still lightly bound.  In the viewing room, the boys, Thatho and Mthobisi,
giggled with excitement and anticipation, while Simpson and Thabo winked at
each other and smiled.

The three white men in the room lined up opposite the three Japanese and
ordered them to their knees.  Each Japanese man had his hands tied behind
his back with a soft cord, held in place over their firm, rounded buttocks.
The white men lost no time in pulling off their own clothes and stepping
forward with bobbing cocks to stand close to the three Japanese.  Their
increasingly hard pink and red dicks began batting the Japanese men's
faces, leaving streaks of precum on their cheeks, rosebud lips, and button
noses, although the three men on their knees kept their heads held down
submissively.  As they kneeled there, their own deep red and purple cocks
began to rise until they were straight up, perfectly aligned with the two
slim and hard abdomens and the one slightly rounded apricot colored belly.
The whites then lifted the chin of each Japanese man with one hand while
the other hand sank into their thick, glossy black hair.  Three cockheads
were pressed against three mouths, and as the Japanese men opened the white
men thrust forward, gagging one of the kneeling men, sinking their rigid
dicks into the waiting mouths.  Slowly, they began swinging their hips back
and forth, face fucking the men in front of them.

In the viewing room, Thatho and Mthobisi, the fourteen and thirteen year
old African boys from Motumbo's village, were breathing heavily, their
beautiful trumpet lipped mouths slightly open.  First Thabo and then
Simpson slid up right behind the boys, and then each pulled the boys'
shirts up and off of their slim, tubelike torsos.  The boys giggled but
would not be distracted from the spectacle on the other side of the glass.
The adults reached down and unfastened the boys' trousers and underwear,
sliding both to the floor.  Quickly, Simpson and Thabo likewise shed their
clothing and again took their positions behind each boy, pressing their
growing erections in the middle of each boy's back while their hands slid
down over the thin pads of muscle on the chests and bellies of the young
teens.  The boys stared intently at the proceedings in the room, their
young cocks now rising straight out in front of them.  From time to time
they looked sideways to their brother and to the two men who were fondling
them, giggled, and returned to the window.

In the room, the whites nodded at each other and withdrew their dicks from
the wet Asian mouths with plopping sounds; it was clear they had planned
their every move.  The soft cords were removed from the Japanese men's
hands, and then they were made to lie flat on the mattress.  Each white man
covered an Asian and humped him slowly and thoroughly, sliding their slick,
leaking dicks up and down between ass cracks, or alongside a deep purple
Asian cock that lay on a belly, mixing white and Asian precum in sheets on
the golden brown skin of the conquered men.  Lips sought lips, tongues ran
along tongues and along teeth.  Then one white man would trade with another
to taste the pleasures of another captive, and so for a while as passion
mounted slowly but inexorably.

With a soft word spoken by the big blonde, the white men reached for tubes
of lubricant and greased each pink Asian asshole thoroughly, inserting one,
then two, then three fingers as the Japanese men lay on their bellies,
their rounded butts thrust up, grunting but wordless at each invasion of
their innermost parts.  When thoroughly greased and relaxed, the Asians
assumed they would be ravaged by the bigger white men, but that pleasure
was yet to be.  The whites positioned the Asians so that they would fuck
each other in a line, all on their hands and knees.  Willingly, the chubby
Asian took his place in front, while his thinner companions positioned
themselves in line behind him and first one, then another, slid a steel
hard cock into the gaping asshole in front of him.  A few gasps and sighs,
and they fell to pumping rhythmically, the pace set by the Japanese beauty
in the middle.  Soon their muscular, firm butts were fanning back and forth
quickly, as Asians often prefer, to both give and receive dick.  The whites
gathered round on their knees, slapping butts, rubbing heaving chests and
rippling bellies, or grasping the cock of the chubby man in front, touching
and fondling their "property" as the vanquished Asians fucked each other
ferociously.

In the control room, Simpson slipped a little to the left behind Thatho,
then ran his right hand down over the boy's chest and abdomen to clutch his
dripping, rampant fourteen year old midnight black cock.  Thatho gasped
and, glancing down, saw Simpson's pink and red cock bobbing along his left
side.  Thatho grasped the organ with one hand, steadying himself against
the wall beneath the window with his other.  He pumped the white man while
Simpson began fondling and pumping his own teenage organ.

Thabo, seeing this, decided to try something different.  Remaining directly
behind thirteen year old Mthobisi, he picked the boy up and held him tight
against his chest and belly.  Thabo's organ, middle-aged but large and
full, now rose up between Mthobisi's dark brown legs, lifting his young
ballsack, and aligning itself with the boy's rigid cock.  Thabo's dick was
so long that his flared light brown cockhead was now directly under
Mthobisi's own knob.  Mthobisi, seeing what was wanted, hooked his legs
back around behind the older man's thighs, grasped both the adult's
ponderous dick and his own rampant cocky with both hands, and began
pumping.

In the main room, the Japanese man at the back end threw his head back,
crying out, shuddering and pushing, gulping for air.  Before he finished
filling the rectum of the man in the middle, that one also came, bucking
and twisting so hard he nearly disconnected the line.  The chubby man in
front pushed back hard, receiving his friend's copious cum.  The two in the
middle and the end had scarcely recovered breathing when the whites pulled
the chubby man in front away, while keeping the other two locked together.
The chubby Asian was put at the back and made to push his short, fat, hard
dick into the ass of the man who had been at the back.  The dark red cock
slid in with no trouble, its target gasping, but still he held on to the
hips of the man in front of him who kept the middle man's dick still inside
his asshole.  The chubby man now began fanning his hips back and forth very
quickly, taking short, quick strokes, as the white men laughed, slapped his
exposed buttocks, and fingered the cum drooling from his gaping asshole.
His prostate was so stimulated by being fucked, it took but a moment and he
curled forward, grunting like a pig.

In the viewing room, Thabo and Mthobisi came first, the black teenager's
combined fists bringing both of them to climax at the same time.  Heavy
shots of cum came from the older man's thick dick and splattered the wall
in front of them below the glass, while Mthobisi shot one load right at the
wall and then leaked a heavy drool of white fluid down over Thabo's wide
cockhead that was still held just below his.  Both boy and man grunted and
moaned, Thabo nuzzling and biting the boy's neck, and then they stood there
shuddering and gasping.

Next to them, Thatho looked back and forth from his brother and Thabo to
the white cock of Andrew Simpson he held tight in his left hand, pumping
vigorously, then straight ahead to the Asian ass fucking going on in the
main room.  It was too much to resist and he cried out, arching his body,
pushing his pelvis out, and Simpson slowed the sliding of his white hand up
and down the coal black penis as it sprayed out white droplets onto the
wall.  Then as Simpson began to moan and shudder, Thatho, sensing the white
man's moment of crisis, pivoted around onto his knees in front of him, his
leaking dick bobbing about, and took the red cock into his mouth.  Simpson
quickly grasped the boy's kinky head with both hands, one dripping with the
boy's own semen, and held on for dear life as he filled the black boy's
mouth with spunk.  Thatho gurgled and choked but swallowed every bit, his
large dark eyes looking up as the white man shuddered and spasmed above
him.

Back in the main room, the whites now pulled apart the well fucked Asians,
each rosy brown asshole winking and oozing cum, and each American now took
possession of one of the captives.  The blonde laid the chubby Asian on his
back, his legs spread apart, and rammed his long, rigid, pink dick right up
to the base, mashing his dirty blonde pubic hair against the man's thighs.
Arcing out over the Asian, the blonde began fucking him with powerful
strokes.  Each of the other two brown haired white man put their victim on
the mattress floor with butts raised and, covering them, slid their hard
cocks inside their gaping assholes with single pushes.  Clutching the
Asians' shoulders and glossy black hair, the two brown hair whites now rode
them unmercifully, pounding their upturned asses hard, as the Asians pushed
back willingly to receive their punishment.

The two men in the viewing room held their teenage boys in front of them,
cuddling and fondling them in their afterglow, as four dicks, three black
and one white, slowly subsided.  The four of them looked on intently as
first one of the brown haired Americans, then the blonde, then the last
American came, each one groaning or squealing and pushing hard, digging
into the thin but muscular shoulders, raising deep blushes in the apricot
skin, pushing and trembling into each Asian asshole to fill it with their
victors' semen.  Then the Americans collapsed, heaving and gasping, on top
of their conquests.  The "victims" smiled and, where they could, winked at
one another; it was not such a bad contest to lose.

Nor would that be the end of what the Japanese men owed to their white
masters for the next twenty four hours.  But they would do that in private.
The two men and two boys in the viewing room quietly dressed, whispering
jokes and speculations as to what would follow in the main room, and then
slipped out into the night.  They bade each other goodnight as they parted
on the path, and as Simpson came to the door of his own lodge he could not
resist a glance in the direction of the lodge where he knew Motumbo and
Chele were staying.  But one light was on, and it was low, and in a
bedroom.


To be continued.....
Comments welcome:  lokiaga@prodigy.net