We rejoin our tale as the group treks through deepest, darkest Africa. Be sure to catch up by reading the previous 6 chapters. And remember that kind words are worth more than coronets, especially when directed to the penniless author at the email in his profile. An illustrated version is available to all who inquire.
Chapter 7-Swallowed up into the interior
The rest of the day was spent without major incident, our party meandering its way farther into the bush. I marveled at the many hundreds of tropical birds we disturbed along our way, their fire-like plumage contrasting deeply with the dark tropical surroundings. Parrots, macaws and cockatiels flapped and squawked in the jungle canopy above us, and I thought I might have even seen a rare Norwegian Blue at one point, but Tess swore he was just sleeping. We crossed a wide but shallow stream bed about 25 kilometers into our journey, and headed north from its opposite bank, towards the famed Ngoro Highlands. This long chain of not-quite-mountains-but-larger-than-hills occupied much of the northeastern part of the country and actually had the borders of three different states run through it. It had traditionally been seen as a sort of no-man’s land, since each country claimed it yet could not legally force the issue or prove its claim. As a result, it was one of those areas that everybody wanted but nobody cared about. There appeared to be little or no mineral wealth, it had few natural resources other than trees and grasslands, and there were not even many game animals or anything worth tourist-ing over. In short, it was a forgotten, little-known and completely ignored part of the Dark Continent.
We climbed higher and higher over the next few days, leaving the sweltering lowland jungle behind and graduating to dry grasslands with rocky outcrops and stony ridges at every side. I don’t know how Mbuto followed the trail but he did. Finally, about noon on the fourth day out, we crested a ridge and I stared, with eagle eye and a wild surmise, somewhat like the man Cortez in that poem, at the scene before me.
It was a large valley, flat in the center, about ten or twelve miles in length, and perhaps four across, hemmed in by hills on either side that rose to perhaps a few thousand feet above the valley floor. I could see the sparkle of a river bisecting the valley, but it was not a wide or freighter-navigable watercourse by any means. I thought I saw a few mtumbui or native canoes being rowed along the river.
Mbuto spoke. “There – there is land of the !Kung -” (he made a particular clicking noise with his tongue at the start of the word). Tess walked up to stand beside me.
“Oh, darling, isn’t it wonderful!” she said, eyes aglow at the unknown possibilities spread out before us. A huge forest canopy spread out on either side of the river, gradually giving way to lower growth and rocky outcrops, finally devolving to an almost Alpine meadow of short grass and vegetation on the higher slopes of the valley. Waves of heat rose from the valley floor.
“Yes, I suppose so, my dear, I suppose so. Shall we proceed to meet them and make ourselves known?” I took her hand and we trudged forwards, down a sloping trail towards the cluster of huts, or kraal, that I espied breaking from a clearing about three miles ahead of us. Our little party made good time on the downhill trek and within an hour we were on the narrow dusty path that bisected the valley floor and led into the main part of village, or kijiji, as they’re called.
I was mystified by the complete and utter silence, however. Something about this didn’t sit well with me. No dogs barked. No birds chattered. No hippos gurgled, even. I held up a hand to stop our party. Tess came up to stand between Mbuto and me. Suddenly, a cacophony of noise erupted from one side of the trail – shouts, screams, drum beats, hand claps, even, dare I say it, a cowbell rang out. I heard a commotion behind us, and turned to see many of our bearers throw down their loads and run shrieking back up the trail. The bloody bastards had deserted us!
Before Mbuto or I could do anything to halt their exodus, the four of us were surrounded by the tallest, darkest tribesmen I’d ever seen. These fellows made the Masai look like pygmies. Not a one was less than seven feet tall. Their capes and tribal costumes were a riot of color, ostrich feathers, lion and cheetah skins, elephant tusk, it seemed all the natural components of the local fauna was made part of their adornments. They whooped and hollered with a frightful din and a feverish look on their faces, reminding me not a little of that band of tribesman encountered by Stewart Granger in “King Solomon’s Mines”.
We cowered in fear for our lives, I’m not ashamed to say - surrounded as we were by dozens of towering Africans, shaking lethal looking spears at us. It was looking more and more like we were about to become the latest trophies on their wall. I especially noted the alarmingly lecherous looks most of the giant ebony specimens directed towards Tess, who clutched my arm in surprise.
Mbuto saved the day. He strode forward and raised his left arm and spoke loudly, “M’kaa. Ooogoo logo pakka unguluko. K’ya makka ginga massa bulu. Oku mga’ya, kepu makka olongo”. The assembled mass broke out in cheers whose meaning, even considering the cultural differences, were unmistakable in intent. I later found out that Mbuto had said “This white guy wants you all to fuck his wife while he takes pictures”, the scoundrel.
The largest of the !Kung tribesmen strode forward, and made a sort of salute to Mbuto, involving making a fist and cracking knuckles with our guide, then bumping elbows and chests. It was an odd ritual, I should venture, but one never knows what these bally natives will come up with next.
He and Mbuto palavered for a few minutes, excitedly chattering back and forth in their lingo, which I profess I knew nothing of, until the large black fellow stood back and looked at me for a long moment.
Suddenly he reared his head back and a loud guffaw burst from his lungs. “Haw haw haw haw haw! Never have I seen such a thing as this!” I was shaken to the core, and staggered back like the Old Testament prophet Eli on receiving the bad news about the 10 C.’s
“You….you speak English?” I stammered, querulously.
“Perfectly well, my good man, perfectly well. I don’t get a chance to practice it all too often out here in this beastly jungle, since my people expect me to converse with them in their own bloody language.”
“How did you learn English?”
“My father sent me to Zangaro when I was young and enrolled me in the English schools there. He thought it would be beneficial for me to be, shall I say, exposed to the white peoples culture.”
“You obviously benefited from the education. I’m Roderick Basingate-Chumley at your service, your Highness, very glad to make your acquaintance. And this is my wife, Teresa.” I said, bowing slightly and gesturing to my lovely bride, blushing before me.
The chief’s booming voice replied, “Your wife is indeed charming and lovely, I must admit.”
We made small talk for a few moments, the chief asking about our journey, and enquiring about news of the outside world. Meanwhile, the entire entourage, tribesmen and our party together, strode down the main avenue of the encampment. The porters were directed to distribute our trunks to several large huts, or ‘kibanda’, as they are called, the last man taking Tess & my steamers to a fine, nicely laid out ensemble close by to one that, from its designs, appeared to be the home of the chief himself.
It turned out that the chief, who introduced himself as !Konga XIV, had been immersed in the white culture of Zangara for his first fifteen or so years, but had been called back to his tribe here nearly forty years ago when his father, the previous chief, sickened on some bad wildebeest or something, and handed in his dinner pail. I asked him what he remembered about living with the white people.
“It was much interesting, once used to it I got, and understanding of your funny languages”, he said hesitantly. “I was boarded with a district administrator man person and his wifes and young child while I attended their schoolings. I learned English at a very early age, and have become much good at it yes, but I can not practice heres in the jungle. Tell me, is that Nixon man still in charge of the states of united america? We thought he was much lying always and crookish.”
I assured him that no, Richard Nixon was long gone from the political scene, and brought him quickly up to date on the recent world events, including the fall of communism in the Soviet Union, the economic rise of China, and a few other recent events.
“That is the one thing I am missing most oftly. We get no news information from the rest of the world, and I miss very much watching American sportings and even your English footballers. I love very much Dallas Cowmens cheers-leaders,” he said with a leer. “Tell me, have the Buccaneers of Tampa of the American footballs ever won a game? And those silly Saints from News Oreens?”
I admitted that yes, the Buccaneers finally found a few winning seasons, as had the Saints. He seemed amazed at how much things have changed.
By now, the porters had distributed all the trunks and expedition paraphanalia, and I expected them to line up for their agreed-upon pay rate. I collected our strongbox with the local currency in it, and excusing myself from the King’s company, ducked out of the hut and met up with Mbuto, who was himself scurrying in our direction.
“Oh bossy bossy, porter mens all done with putting away of the gear, yes yes. Finished very much fine with no problems, no problems at all thanking you sincerely. However, many porters come to me with offers for final payment, wanting something difference from paper monies which they can not use having no banks here. What you say?”
He was chattering on so I had to raise the hand and slow him down.
“Cease the ungodly high-speed vocalizations, my good man. Apoplexy does not suit you. Now what on earth are you talking about?”
He gestured for me to lean down, so he could whisper in my ear. The aroma of a native liquor of some type assaulted my senses, even my eyes started to water in the tart atmosphere. I didn’t really care to have the bloody fellow touching me too closely but nevertheless, I imitated my elderly aunt from the English coastal area. Eileen Dover.
“Many mens of the porters would trade wages for chance to drop their sperms in your lovely wife’s tummy. They not often get chance to have pretty girl take dicky-dick in mouth and make it shudder to release white life juice. Most wives not do anymore after married, and porter say ones who do usually fat and ugly anyway. They really like pretty girl wife. You know what means we do?”
I nodded in agreement with his whispered confidences. “I’ll have to ask Tess how she feels about that. I can’t make any promises, it will have to be up to her, of course. How many of the porters are wanting to make this kind of...trade?”
Mbuto started counting on his fingers. “one..two..four..three with thumb is five….um..” He looked down at his splayed hand with a sort of bizarre consternation, as though he’d never seen his palm before. “um…lets me see..fourteens..fifteens..sixteens with Jongo, he change mind last minutes when other fellows be joshing at him.”
“Sixteen porters, you say. Hmmm.” I did the quick math. We’d save about 350 Congolese dollars, or very nearly six pounds and three.
I strode off in search of Tess. I found her unpacking some of our trunks in the hut that we’d been assigned to.
“Tess, love of my life, sweet one, help-mate and so on, Mbuto has come to me with a request from some of the porters, don’t you know?”
“Oh? What’s that, dear husband of mine, sweet fellow, charming rogue that you are?”
“Well, it seems that they were captivated, not to say bloody entranced, by your amazingly competent performance of fellatio on that fellow stuck by that blasted python a few days back. They offered to exchange their pay for the opportunity to, as it were, make a deposit in your little tummy-tum-tum. I told Mbuto that I’d have to ask you…”
Tess, bless her little Anglo-Saxon heart, blushed furiously at the compliments being paid her, even if in an off-hand manner.
“Heavens, they were that impressed? And they’d be willing to trade their wages for a simple act of oral sex? Do not their own wives or girlfriends perform that most basic act for them?”
“Well, according to what Mbuto says, not at all, not at all. Evidently, the act of placing an erect penis between one’s lips and providing friction and movement enough to enable the ejaculation of semen is not practiced among the women-folk of our porters. One has to assume that for many, their initial exposure to the act was your performance the other day. And it appears to have made quite an impression on them. Not that I can blame them, of course.”
“But it’s such a simple thing. Takes almost no talent whatsoever. Heavens, I’ve been doing it since I was barely a teenager! The penis is an amazing instrument, and to be given the chance to hold it, and put it in one’s mouth and suck on it, why it’s positively Freudian! How can any woman not want to spend her entire day doing it?”
I had to cut off her exposition. “I agree, my little cherub, but you must remember – not all women share your sophisticated views. Many, I’m told, find the entire practice abhorrent. If you can believe that.”
“Well, they don’t know what they’re missing. Penises are such fun, the ejaculate is perfectly harmless, and you men get so cuddly when you’re about to spurt that lovely liquid in our mouths. Tell the porters I’ll be happy to oblige them all if they wish. Just let me change into something more comfortable and find a small stool or whatnot to sit or kneel on. Do you think they’d like me to be kneeling, or sitting down?”
“Frankly, my dear, I doubt very highly if they really care. So long as they have access to your lovely mouth, I think not that it matters how you are arrayed.”
She agreed. I went out to find Mbuto and have him bring the interested porters to our hut. Tess located a small stool apparently constructed out of an elephant’s foot, and sat it square in the middle of our little homestead. She laid a delicate blanket over her upper thighs and let it drape down, so as, she told me, to not stain her leggings. She had shrugged off her blouse, so her delectable mammaries were on display, their rose-colored areola and nipples becoming arousingly erect themselves, not unlike the two dozen or so black African penises that were quickly approaching. Evidently the word had spread and the original sixteen had grown somewhat.
I stood by the door to the hut as the line formed outside. The first porter, a tall, strapping fellow with blue dungarees and a thin white shirt on, stepped through the opening and smiling broadly, handed me his porter’s chit. Tess motioned him forwards, and he walked to stand proudly between her legs. She splayed her knees outwards to give him more access, and he unzipped his trousers to display a rapidly erecting ebony penis. Tess took it in her hands and slowly licked up one side of it and then down the other side, sliding the skin of the soon rock-hard penis back and forth. Licking her lips once or twice to lubricate them, with a shy look at the porter, and then me, she opened her mouth and pulled the shaft in. Placing her hands around on the porters buttocks, she gradually pulled his groin closer and closer to her, until there was but a scant inch or so of hard black shaft still exposed to the warm African humidity. The humidity in her mouth must have felt much nicer to the chap, because he began making a low, groaning sound as Tess moved him in and out of her welcoming oral caress.
Placing both of his large black hands on either side of her head, he moved her back and forth over his phallus, the look on his face displaying his enjoyment of the act. He began feeding Tess more and more of his erection each time. I watched the slick, glistening shaft pulsate erotically as it moved past Tess’s lubricated lips. Every now and then, he would pull back until only the uncircumsized crown lay within her, and I knew as he hesitated for a few seconds, that Tess was beating a tattoo on the glans with her tongue. Then his black piston re-entered her white cylinder, the age-old cycle this time not leading to internal combustion, but internal ejaculation.
Finally, not more than four to five minutes after they initiated the intimate act, the porter started to shudder in pleasure, and he pulled Tess’s head firmly into his groin. I knew the shaft of his penis was well into her throat, and then he began his ejaculation. I heard Tess gulp once, then twice, then a third and fourth time as the healthy African semen made its way out of the man’s testes, along his shaft, and finally out the tiny opening into her throat. I pictured the billions of sperm cells now being lovingly swallowed down into her stomach. Not the naturally intended destination for them, but one nonetheless that has been utilized many millions of times over the years, I suppose. (Not all with Tess as the receiver, mind you..)
As Tess pulled the man’s shaft from her throat, cleaning it of his and her juices, she tucked it back into his trousers, looked at me, and smiled. “That was very pleasant, I must say. I hope there are others like him.” She smiled up at the now very satisfied porter, and turned him towards the door with a mischievous grin.
The next man was a short, squat fellow who couldn’t have been more than 5 feet tall at the very best. He shucked his trousers down and rather comically duck-walked the last few feet to stand before Tess with his truncheon held tightly in his right hand. My blushing bride welcomed him toward her face and opening her gleaming lips, allowed the shaft of his penis to ride in on the highway of her pink and white-specked tongue.
Her red-tipped nails could not meet encircling his shaft, but she did her very best to absorb as much of the black pipe as possible. I noticed as she sucked on him that her mouth was simply not wide enough to accommodate his girth. It’s one thing to allow a long, thin penis to enter one’s throat and esophagus, another thing altogether when the penis in question is nearly four or five inches in diameter.
Tess did the next best thing, of course, which was to dance a dance of triplets with her tongue on the glans of his penis, whilst grasping him firmly with both hands and shucking the shaft into her mouth as best she could. Our porter simply stood with his legs apart, his hands clasped behind his back, and watched the pretty white woman pay homage to his blood-engorged African spear. It must have been an especially arousing sight, because it didn’t take more than one or two full minutes when all of a sudden, without even a word of warning or grunt, I watched the fellow’s buttocks clench and release, and Tess gave a gurgled gulp as what must have been a fairly large splash of semen rocketed into her mouth. The problem was, her mouth was nearly completely occupied with the glans of this man’s penis, and the involuntary closing of her throat caused two thick lines of semen to leak from the antipodal corners of her mouth and drip down her jawline to her chin, until she had what could have been described as a “Cum Fu Manchu”.
Another clench and release, and I heard her gulp, this time sending the seminal offering down into her tummy to join the earlier ounces from the first porter.
Another clench and release. Another gulp.
A fourth clench and release. Another gulp. Tess’s eyes widened at me in shocked surprise.
A fifth.
A sixth. Did this man have testes the size of watermelons? By now the white streams from her lips were lengthening, drooling down in long white icicles to reach tantalizingly near the upper slopes of her breasts.
Finally, a long exhale from her partner and a seventh and final pulse along the length of his penis signaled the long-awaited end of the ejaculatory extravaganza. Tess exhaled and pushed herself against his thighs, and his penis popped from her face with an audible...well, "pop" sound. Tess held one slim hand to her chest.
"Oh my goodness that was a huge emission, my dear. The poor fellow must not have had a release for days! I swear I can hear it sloshing around in my stomach. Good Lord!" she giggled lke a schoolgirl.
The next three porters to enjoy the benefits of my wife's views on racial equality and opportunity took their pleasure with hardly a word, except to beam at Tess as she knelt at their feet, and grunt in appreciation of her efforts as they reached climax. Smiling up at each one in turn, she made them all feel very good, as she promised she would.
I had to discuss some plans with the chief, so, seeing that Tess had everything under control and could carry on without my help, I kissed her on her damp forehead and bade my farewell.
"Toodles, my dear, I must be pow-wowing with the Chief about some of this and some of that, I shall return momentarily, if you need anything, I'm sure Mbuto can assist you."
"Mmmm-mmmm. Mmmm m mmmm mmmm." she spoke, more or less. It was difficult to understand with approximately half a foot of African truncheon lodged in her esophaegus, but I got the gist.
When I returned to the hut about 45 minutes later, Tess was sitting up against the low cot or bed we'd be sharing, her legs splayed out in front of her in a wide "V", and she appeared half asleep. As I got closer, it appeared that several of the porters had come upon her and cum up on her, her face was that covered with semen. Rarely have I seen so much testicular evidence arrayed so widely about her features. It was in her hair, across her forehead, pooled in both eyes, in her eyebrows, down over her cheekbones, draped across her nose, dribbling from her upper lip, drooling from her lower lip, and dangling from her chin. It draped across both breasts and collected in her collarbone. She had a dreamy, almost wistful smile burbling beneath the semen strewn across her lips, and as she exhaled, small bubbles popped from both nostrils.
"My goodness," I exclaimed, "you look as though someone has been flinging vanilla creme pies at you all afternoon, sweetie. How ever did you get so..." I was at a loss for words.
"Slimed?" she grinned up at me. "Slimed with semen, my dear? Glazed like a dough-nut? Basted with nut-butter? Bombarded with baby batter? Covered in cum? It was..." she hesitated, with a vacant look for just a second. "It was...massive. Simply massive."
She leaned forwards a bit to straighten up, and a wave of gelatinous, white froth slid down her front, avalanching over the upper slopes of her breasts and cascading down the gully between them, heading straight for the ski resort of her pubic area.
"After you left, some of the men must have decided to come back for a second helping or something, I suppose. I didn't have the heart to discourage them, you know how I can be such a pushover some times, so before I knew it there must have been upwards of twenty or so of them crowded around me. I've never seen so much erect Negro penis in all my life, it was so flattering. I ended up with one in each hand as I fellated one, and I tried to do my best but...but...I just couldn't do them quickly enough."
"One fellow on my right became so overwrought that he ejaculated right onto my cheek and chin, and then the one on the other side spurted his juice into my hair, and somehow that caused the one in my mouth to reach his climax. It so surprised me that I choked a bit, and the froth came out my nose. I was so embarrassed..."
"Before I knew what was happening, there were penises pointed at me and firing sperm rockets right at my face. Sweetheart, I never saw so much semen at one time before. I could do little but sit here and accept the onslaught. As one finished flinging six or eight streams at me, he'd step back and another large, dark phallus aimed at my mouth or nose or cheeks would suddenly explode with what seemed like pints and pints of semen. I swallowed what I could, but it didn't seem like they were concerned so much with having it enter my mouth, as they were with simply decorating my features with it."
"I lost count after fifteen or so, because my eyes were getting blurry and, to tell the truth, those large Negro penises all started looking alike. I know that sounds so prejudiced, but believe me, every one seemed to be at least ten or eleven inches long, and as big around as my fore-arm. One of the fellows, I'm not sure who it was, actually used both of his hands to masturbate his manhood until he climaxed right into my mouth. It was so...odd...sitting there with the crown of his glans resting on my lower lip, feeling the warm streams of his semen shooting across my tongue, whilst at the very same time my face was being pelted with drops of semen the size of a ha'penny coin. It was just so...surreal."
Tess stopped and looked up at me. Her sperm-splattered face was almost beatific. There was, once she cleaned them off with her fingertips, a light in her eyes that could only be described as euphoric, or perhaps eudemonic. I kissed my fingertip and laid it on her slimy lips. No words needed to be spoken.
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