Date: Tue, 27 Sep 2005 21:12:02 -0700 (PDT)
From: Lance Kyle <lokiaga@prodigy.net>
Subject: Big Game 7

Simpson and Thabo couldn't help but laugh, just between themselves.  For
the rest of that day and into the evening, and then beginning bright and
early the next morning, the sound of bedsprings squeaking, howls and roars
of ecstasy or anguish, and guttural sounds of animal rutting came from the
new lodge in which Strello and Big Mandla had their way with the blonde
British twins, James and John Leggett.  It just never let up.  Although it
would not have been Andrew Simpson's style, he quite understood the
attraction the experience held for the willowy young white men, for he had
met plenty of white men who wanted nothing more than to be dominated by a
muscular black man.  Strello, built like a fireplug, and the massive
Mandla, certainly fit that description of muscular.  Having "won" the two
Brits by hunting them down with paintball, they now ploughed their sore
pink asses without mercy, and filled their mouths with their massive dicks
on an hourly basis.  Only food passed in, and scraps passed out, of the
lodge.

The second evening things were a little quieter, although the sound of an
occasional grunting, or a yelp of pain every now and then, could still be
heard.  And the next morning, which was to be the last day of the twins'
stay at De Groot's, dawned with even more peace and quiet, with only an
occasional thump to be heard.

That afternoon, Thabo and Simpson were sitting in the main lodge discussing
plans when Little Mandla entered, grinning ear to ear, a handful of folded
slips of paper in his hand.  He sorted through the wad and pulled out two,
then presented them to Thabo and Simpson, saying "It gonna be a party!"

Thabo and Simpson looked at each other and shrugged, then at the paper.  In
block pencil printing was an "announcement" from Big Mandla and Strello
inviting them to a "party" at their lodge in the evening.  The two men
looked at Little Mandla and then the three broke out chuckling.

"Are you going also, Little Mandla?" asked Simpson.  The youth nodded
happily.  "Well, what's it about?"  Little Mandla winked broadly, put his
finger to his lips and winked again, then continued on his appointed rounds
to hand out invitations.  Thabo and Simpson shrugged at one another once
again, but agreed to go see what the party could be, and what connection it
might have to the blonde British twins.

After a light dinner, Simpson walked down to the guest lodge at the
appointed hour.  He met up with Little Mandla and Thabo on the way, along
with a couple of the staff, Gift and Justice, to whom Simpson nodded
cordially.  The compound was not quite as populated now as it had been
earlier during construction; now all was in readiness, and the number of
men around was lower.

At the lodge, Thabo, a little in front, knocked.  The door opened, flooding
a soft light into the night.  Big Mandla filled the doorway, completely
naked, his dark skin shining in the artificial light.  With a great
ceremonial wave, he motioned for his guests to enter.  Inside the lodge was
a sight to behold.

The door to the guest lodge opened into a great room, and just beyond that
was a single bedroom, with the door opened wide.  Stepping to that inner
door, the guests caught their breaths: the two twins were on their bellies,
naked, with pillows stuffed under their pelvises so as to present their
round, pink bottoms to the world.  The two blonde men were spread-eagled,
hands tied to the headboard and feet tied to the footboard lightly with
soft cords.  They could probably have escaped....if they had wanted to.  In
the center of each round, upturned bottom was a glistening gob of lubricant
over their exposed anuses, which were winking slightly open; it was clear
that the activities of the previous two days had stretched them
significantly.

"Come, you get drink!" said Big Mandla, motioning to a table back in the
great room, where an equally naked Strello was pouring out whisky over ice
cubes in glasses.  Each guest helped himself, his imagination racing to
comprehend what was in store for the evening.  Toasts to De Groot's, to
Simpson, to every person there were offered up, and the party gradually
became looser and merrier.  Big Mandla topped up all drinks and then said,
"Come!"  He led the way into the bedroom.  Apparently these five guests
were all that were coming, and they crowded in a companionable way around
the bed.

"Strip!" said Strello, and he and Big Mandla walked from guest to guest,
encouraging them to discard their clothing, tugging at a shirt or belt
where necessary.  Had Simpson been sober he might have objected; only
Strello and Little Mandla in this group had seen him naked, and Gift and
Justice were practically strangers.  But with a little encouragement from
their hosts, the guests gradually shed one and then another piece of
clothing, joking and laughing with one another, until soon everyone in the
place stood naked.

Simpson had nothing to be ashamed of in the physical endowment department,
but he had to be impressed by the muscular beauty of the naked Africans who
surrounded him, most of them sporting half erections in the sexually
charged atmosphere.  Gift and Justice were of average musculature and
height, each with a long, weighty penis, Gift's curving to the left
markedly as his erection grew.  Little Mandla he had seen (and more than
seen) of course, and exchanged knowing smiles with the youth, whose shaft
was now rising straight out in front of him.  Simpson also looked with
interest at Thabo, still trim and taut in middle age, his pubic bush salt
and pepper like the crisp hair upon his head.  And Thabo was also half
erect.  Simpson had wondered more than once about the older man's sexual
proclivities.  How many times had Thabo led a naked man to a lodge to be
enjoyed by other naked men, and yet what were Thabo's own fantasies?  Did
he enjoy the "Prey" crew, and they him, when guests were not around?
Thabo's growing erection seemed an indication of some strong interest, at
least, in men.

Strello and Big Mandla proposed one more toast, which everyone threw back
in short order, and then with a nod at each other and no further ado, they
led the way back into the bedroom, where each of the two hosts scrambled up
onto the bed between the outspread legs of the two blonde twins.  Squatting
on their haunches, they lubricated their own fully rigid, midnight black
shafts and pressed them to the well oiled anuses of their white conquests.
Two days of being ravaged by the Africans had prepared the white men for
this.  Strello and Mandla slid quickly in, and while the white men cried
out, and John exclaimed "Master!" they seemed not to experience the agony
that might be expected from being impaled by such huge organs.  As Strello
and Big Mandla pushed all the way in and then began slowly pumping, the
rest of the men gathered round.  Some of them rubbed the legs, arms, or
hair of the blondes on the bed even as they were being fucked; Simpson
reflected that it was possible that Thabo, Gift, and Justice at least had
not seen a naked white man before.  Strello squatted on his haunches still,
his long shaft clearly visible as it slid in and out of the red asshole in
front of him, and the men looked closely to savor the sight, some bending
over to eye the sliding shaft closely.  Big Mandla stretched himself out
fully on top of the blonde he was fucking, covering his pale body entirely
with his weight, the Brit crying out "Master!" but not otherwise
protesting.  Mandla's strong legs entwined with the slim legs of the white
man as his butt pistoned up and down, up and down, and he slipped his arms
underneath the blonde beneath him to hug him tightly, nearly squeezing the
breath out of his conquest.  Strello shifted to extend his legs straight
back, but held himself up off of the blonde man beneath him so he could
still look down and see his thick black shaft moving rhythmically in and
out, in and out.  Strello came first: quivering, then picking up speed
tremendously, then crying out and pushing forward, grinding his pelvis into
the pink upturned bottom below him as he shot his cum into the blonde's
asshole.  He held that position, shuddering, and then pulled out, his dick
still erect and dribbling cum.

Gift was standing right beside Strello as he slid from the bed, and Strello
slapped him on his naked butt and grinning, motioned him to take his place.
Needing no further encouragement, Gift took Strello's place and, without
any more lubrication, slid his own heavy penis completely inside the
waiting white man's anus.  A look of wonder spread over Gift's features as
he flew into a very rapid rhythm of fucking, his dark chocolate bubble butt
rolling upward as he pushed in, rolling downward as he pulled back, a sheen
of sweat and oil spreading across his beautiful fudge dark skin.  Holding
himself on one hand, Gift entwined his fingers in the blonde's silky hair,
then ran his hand across the man's heaving pink and cream back, as he
fucked even faster.

Big Mandla at that pointed roared and, still hugging the blonde man tight,
pulled even tighter, a squeal coming from his sexual victim as Big Mandla
tensed and shot his semen down into his "property" for that week.  He lay
there quivering for a moment, then quickly rolled off the bed to sit on the
floor, his still-erect penis bobbing about and leaking semen.  On the
floor, he slapped the thigh of the man standing closest to him: Little
Mandla, and jerked with his thumb toward the bed.

Little Mandla took Big Mandla's place as Gift, too excited to hold it for
long, came with a roar.  Little Mandla's slim, boyish butt now fanned back
and forth in a furious rhythm, a dimple in the side of each rounded buttock
appearing and disappearing as his bottom clenched and unclenched with the
rhythmic pumping.  Gift was barely recovered before Justice, seething with
impatience, nearly pulled his friend off the bed and jumped into place
himself.  Justice remained on his haunches, his long, thick midnight black
dick sliding in and out of the gaping pink bottom in front of him.  There
was no longer any question of lubrication, each white man's rectum was
fully lubricated by now with semen.  Justice's hands slid up and down the
flanks of the white man he fucked, then they slapped the rounded pink
buttocks, at first tentatively, and then in time to the rhythmic pumping of
his shaft.  Smack! Smack! Smack! The pink flesh became redder and redder
the longer he fucked.

Those who had not yet had their turn were nearly beside themselves with
expectation.  Those who had already cum sat on the floor, recovering breath
and joking, or they continued standing by the side of the bed, penises
slowly deflating, offering advice to their friends and taunting the white
men.  The sound of the outside door closing distracted a couple of them.
They realized that Strello had opened the door and had now admitted Zama.
The tall guard laid his shotgun on the table, abandoning his post for a
moment, and quickly stripped off.  His tall, lean frame sported a hard
ebony rod that was extremely long but not so thick.  As Zama entered the
room, Little Mandla cried out frantically and, bucking two and then three
times, slammed forward into the white butt beneath him.  Zama was instantly
aroused, and did not even wait for Little Mandla to recover.  The youth was
still quivering, lying atop the blonde, when Zama pulled him off, cum still
flowing, and set Little Mandla on his feet by the side of the bed where the
African youth slumped to the floor, chest still heaving from his labors.
Zama plunged into the butt beneath him and began fucking him in a curious
circular motion, his high, rounded bottom cycling like a wheel, his
gyrations enabled by the great length of his penis: he could stay landed
inside the white butt no matter how he moved!

Zama and Justice labored mightily side by side, Justice showing more
staying power than his friend Gift, and the two came at the same time after
about ten minutes of serious fucking, each one pitching and bucking
forward, grinding their groins down into the white asses.  Each lay there
another few minutes panting and heaving.  But mindful of others' needs,
each also pulled out before their erections had subsided, and slumped to
the floor to add the dribbles from their own penises to the streaks and
puddles of slime that had collected everywhere.  And that left Simpson and
Thabo.

The two men looked at each other, nodded, and climbed onto the bed.  Two
red anuses positively yawned open before them, rivulets of white cum
running out of each one and onto the bed.  Simpson and Thabo, acting in
tandem, positioned themselves and, placing one reddish pink and one purple
black rod at each anus, pushed in.  Of course, they slid all the way in
with no more than a grunt or a sigh from the well-fucked white men beneath
them.  Each now rode inside his respective white rectum on a thick coating
of African cum.

How many hours had Simpson and Thabo spent together working on the business
of De Groot's?  Those hours of physical proximity and mental connection; it
may have prepared them for what was happening now.  For Simpson and Thabo,
inches apart, shoulders and knees rubbing from time to time as they pumped
in and out of the upturned assholes, looked not at the blondes beneath them
but at each other.  Their eyes met the other one's, or ran up and down the
body next close at hand, Simpson admiring the muscular tautness of the
middle aged man, Thabo enjoying the differences presented by the white man
fucking another white man next to him.  Their hips fell into the same
rhythm, in and out, in and out, as both men held themselves up off of the
blondes with their hands on the bed.  Both men smiled at each other as
their rhythms increased, and both saw the secret unfolding in the other
one's eyes, saw the coming crisis, saw the moment in which the eyes lose
focus, and then refocused hard again into each other as the explosion
occurred, both at the same time.  Roaring at one another with heads turned
in each other's direction, Thabo and Simpson poured their cum down into the
blondes beneath them, but in the spirit they were fucking each other.

No one else needed a turn...indeed, Zama had already dressed again and
returned to his duties...so Simpson and Thabo were allowed to recover while
resting on top of the blondes, still looking at each other.  Thabo
tentatively brought a hand up and touched Simpson's cornsilk hair, and when
that was not refused, he entwined his brown fingers in it.  Simpson reached
over to run his hand over his friend and colleague's close-cropped hair, so
crisp and delightful it was like biting into an apple, and the two men
chuckled together at the moment of discovery.  Then, as the moment passed,
they also rose up and got off the bed.  There was a round of applause all
around as they, and then the other men, stood up and bowed.  Comments and
critiques of each man's performance were offered in fun, and friendly
insults traded back and forth.  The men took turns showering in the nearby
bathroom, then gathered around the table for another drink.  At some point,
Strello untied the blondes who limped into the bathroom, a positive river
of semen running down the backs of their legs, but with smiles on their
weary faces.  Cleaned, the blondes were likewise invited to the table to
drink, and their own good health was proposed and their special kind of
stamina celebrated.  It was the most unusual party Simpson had ever
attended, and the most enjoyable.  It was late into the night before all
the men staggered back to their lodges, including the blonde Brits, who
were "released" by the grateful (and almost affectionate) Strello and Big
Mandla to rest and prepare for their journey home the next day.

Midway through the next morning the British twins, positively glowing from
their time at De Groot's and seemingly none the worse for wear, were loaded
into the truck for Thabo to return them to their bus stop.  Simpson and
Thabo greeted each other cordially as they met at the truck, but it was a
greeting with an extra layer of shared experience and, perhaps, a little
sexual tension.  Simpson loaded the twins down with brochures to distribute
back in the UK, while they each expressed their thanks effusively and
promised to send more business to De Groot's than they could handle.
Simpson waved after the departing truck until the cloud of dust hid it,
then walked up to the main lodge.

He met Strello and Big Mandla on the way, vacating the guest lodge on the
way back to the "Prey" house.  In the distance, Simpson could see a
cleaning crew heading for the guest lodge; it would need sandblasting after
last night!  The three men stopped to laugh and recount the exploits of the
previous night.  With "professional" interest, Simpson also discussed the
whole process of the hunt and the days that had followed, to make sure that
it was an experience that might appeal to others....and to determine the
kind of appeal it would be.  Their discussion took some time, and it was
approaching lunch when Simpson finally made it to the main lodge.

Simpson, Thabo, and Guest were sharing a bite to eat when the official De
Groot telephone...a cell phone, of course....rang.  Thabo answered, spoke a
few words, and handed it with a smile to Simpson.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Boss Andrew, it Motumbo here."

Simpson caught his breath and a smile involuntarily broke out.  Seeing it,
Thabo smiled and nodded gently.

"Motumbo....good to hear your voice.  So....what's happening?"

"Andrew, you know the `Ball Room' fun we plan?  When it happen first?"

Simpson rose to consult a calendar on a nearby desk.  "In a week,
actually."  He summoned his courage.  "Want to come back for it?  I had
thought Little Mandla would take that one, but...."

Motumbo broke in.  "I come back, sure, but I got different idea for `Ball
Room,' you gonna like, Andrew.  See you in day or two.  Bye."  And he rang
off.

Simpson took the phone from his ear and stared at it.  The news that
Motumbo was returning was good, but the new idea he had promised was
mystifying.  The "Ball Room" was one of the new attractions that had been
planned, requiring its own new, small building.  Simpson resolved to be
open to whatever was presented.  Thabo looked at him quizzically.  As
nonchalantly as he could, Simpson shrugged and said, "Motumbo is coming
back, in a day or two.  He has some new ideas."  Thabo nodded, smiling, as
the silence between them lengthened, and then burst out into a cackle,
rose, patted Simpson hard on the shoulder, and went about his business,
still chuckling to himself.

Motumbo did not come that day, nor the next.  Simpson found good reasons to
work by himself and to turn in early and alone, despite clear signs from
the other men who had been at the party that a threshold had been crossed
and a new openness reached in terms of sexual possibilities.  But Simpson
wanted to save himself for Motumbo, at least this once.

It was in the early afternoon of the next day that Motumbo pulled up in a
pickup truck, driving himself this time, and rumbled to a halt at the end
of a trail of dust in the compound.  Emerging, he smiled broadly at Simpson
and enfolded him in a bear hug.  Was this still "like" or had it become
something else?  Had Motumbo missed him?  Simpson simply could not tell.
But as they talked for a moment exchanging pleasantries and news, Simpson
kept an arm halfway around the big African's waist, and Motumbo did not
object.  Eventually, Simpson asked about the news.

"So, Motumbo, your new idea for the Ball Room....?"  Motumbo nodded and
grinned, then whistled loudly.  Simpson had paid no further attention to
the truck after Motumbo had emerged from it, but now he turned around and
beheld, exiting from the passenger door, the two young brothers, Thatho and
Mthobisi, who had first guided him to Motumbo's house in their home
village.  The boys presented themselves grinning ear to ear, standing erect
with chests thrust out, and with great ceremony shook Simpson's hand.  He
was glad to see the boys, but....and then it dawned on him.  He wheeled
back around to Motumbo.

"Motumbo, you don't mean them, do you?  They are just boys, they are kids,
they are underage."

Motumbo threw back his head and laughed.  "Andrew, what is underage?
Underage in your home, maybe not be underage here, eh?  Thatho, he
fourteen, Mthobisi, he thirteen.  And Andrew, they know what
up....they....they done it, eh?  OK?"  Motumbo grabbed his crotch lightly,
by way of clarification.  Simpson made as if to protest again, and Motumbo
continued.  "They not been here, not De Groot's, but Andrew, everybody,
they do it by they age, OK?  And," and here he played his trump card, "they
need the money, they family need the money, real bad, OK?"

Simpson turned again to look helplessly at the boys who continued standing
there, smiling.  So young, so small....he could certainly imagine their
being fourteen and thirteen, they seemed about the right age, possibly, in
comparison with American boys, but....so young!  Motumbo touched Simpson on
the arm.

"Come, I sleep in your lodge?"  His dark face split into a huge grin.  As
he suspected, that distracted Simpson sufficiently.  Simpson nodded
vigorously and turning, led the way to his own lodge, Motumbo close by him,
both of them chattering all the way about the first new adventure a few
days before, Motumbo laughing out loud at Simpson's description of the
sexual exploits involved.  Simpson opened the door to his lodge and led the
way in.  He turned after a couple of steps and there stood the two boys
inside the doorway...evidently they have followed the two men from the
truck.  Each had a small sack of possessions.  Simpson's jaw dropped in
surprise.

"Motumbo, really, they can't stay, they are too young!"

"Andrew, they perfect for Ball Room....so small, so light, so slippery!"
Gracefully, Motumbo took a step toward the door and swung it shut.  Simpson
looked with consternation at Motumbo and the two boys.  Then matters took a
truly unexpected turn.  Motumbo muttered a word in their language to the
boys, who instantly began removing their own clothing, despite Simpson's
strangled yelp of "Wait!"  In a flash, the boys stood completely naked,
grinning from ear to ear, before the two men.  Motumbo himself had a
knowing grin, and was eyeing Simpson closely to see what he would do.

Simpson had never especially had a thing for adolescent boys, although he
could not deny the appeal of a few he had seen.  But then, he had never
really been in a situation like this: two slim young teen boys, fourteen
and thirteen, with the lightest padding of muscle on them, chocolate brown
skin of flawless complexion and no body hair except for a little patch of
pubic hair on Thatho and just a few peppercorn dots on Mthobisi above their
penises.  And what penises, for their ages!  Not as big as the adult
Africans, nevertheless they gave promise of the magnificent organs they
would become.  Both curved out and downward and would have seemed average
on many an adult white male of Simpson's acquaintance.  On the boys' thin
frames, they seemed oversized, as if the long, meaty organs had rushed into
puberty ahead of the boys.  Simpson's gaze wandered from these magnificent
organs, curving out and a little down as they now rose into erection, and
lingered over the rest of the boys' bodies.  Standing erect with shoulders
back, their bodies described the perfect S curve of so many Africans who
stand proudly tall, shoulders back and chest thrust forward, belly curving
gently in front, then rounded, high-rolled buttocks in back that were so
prominent it seemed as if they were being pushed backward, offered up for
fucking.  The boys were simply physical perfection, beautiful faces with
full, bee-stung lips and button noses, long curling lashes, and that deep
chocolate color you could sink into with your eyes.  Simpson was smitten
and he knew it; the bulge in the front of his trousers was evident to
everyone.

It was surely evident to Thatho, the fourteen year old, who stepped forward
and in a flash unbuttoned Simpson's trousers, then before those had reached
the floor, tugged his underwear down to follow.  Smiling hugely, Thatho
looked intently at Simpson's organ which was rapidly growing larger, more
erect, and redder.  The boy ran his fingers through his patch of dirty
blonde pubic hair, and it occurred to Simpson that neither boy might have
seen a naked white man before, much less touched one in this way.  Mthobisi
stepped forward and gently cupped Simpson's ballsack, hefting it, as his
brother wrapped a slim brown hand around the reddening shaft and slowly,
deliberately pumped it.  Simpson had no breath to object, he was totally
caught up in the moment.

Mthobisi, with a glance back at Simpson that might have been one of
yearning, stepped over to Motumbo and quickly unfastened his pants and
underwear as well, soon exposing the African man's own stiffening purple
black rod.  Motumbo whipped off his own shirt and tugged at Simpson's
sleeve to indicate that he should do the same.  Simpson complied, and both
men stood naked with the naked brown boys in front of them.  Each boy was
now sliding one and sometimes two slim brown hands up and down the midnight
black and the purple red penises, both men now grasped the boys' thin,
naked shoulders to steady themselves as their breathing increased and they
began moving their hips back and forth.

But more was to come.  First Thatho, and then his brother following his
lead, leaned over and took each man's penis into his mouth.  At first, they
closed their full, maroon brown lips over the flared heads, greedily
sucking off the gathering precum.  Then they slid as much of each penis as
they could into their mouths.  Neither boy took either organ whole, but
they took enough to give the men the most intense pleasure.  Without
applying their teeth, each boy now sucked the penis of the man in front of
him, while he bobbed his head up and down.  Each boy grasped a man by the
waist, now by the hips, as each man kneaded a thin brown shoulder, cupped a
slightly curving bicep, or clasped a crisp-haired head in his hands.
Faster and harder the boys sucked, Simpson and Motumbo's hips were now
swinging back and forth, and then at the same time each man came, crying
out, pushing forward, while each boy sucked and swallowed noisily and
pulled their heads back some to avoid being gagged.  One spasm and then
another wracked each man as he shot his semen into the warm, waiting mouths
of the brown boy in front of him.  When each one was finished, the boy
carefully sucked each dick dry, then stepped back, licking their lips and
smiling hugely again.

Simpson, amazed, was still breathing heavily, his penis still turgid even
as his erection flagged.  He look at the boys, then at Motumbo, who was
looking at Simpson closely despite his own ragged breath.

"I'll be damned," said the white man.  "I think they really would be good
in the Ball Room."  To which statement Motumbo nodded and grinned in
agreement, and the boys whooped with glee.

To be continued
Comments welcome:  lokiaga@prodigy.net