Date: Fri, 24 Feb 2006 18:59:45 -0800 (PST)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Big Game, chapter thirteen

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