Ok boys and girls, here we go with another installment of the epic tale. Comments are welcome. See previous postings for earlier chapters.
Chapter 8-The Royal StaffThe next morning, refreshed and with Tess somewhat less besotted with semen from several dozen randy porters, we dressed and performed our morning toilet.
"I want to talk to Chief !Kong as soon as possible, sweetums, and get started on our research. You remember, we're here to investigate the rumours of the outlandishly sized phalli of this tribe. We're here to see the members of the members!" Tess giggled at her joke.
"Exactly right, my dear sweet one. During our palaver yesterday, I briefly laid out the purposes of our visit here, explaining some of what we heard from old Percy at the Society's meeting, but the chief was oddly reticent, if I may say. He seemed to harbor some secret thoughts, if you ask me. Bally odd."
"Well, I don't know that, but I would very much like to see him and begin our studies. You know the weather won't hold forever here, and I should not like to be stranded here during the rainy season. You remember that fall we spent in the Belgian Congo fifteen years ago...?"
Her wistful eyes reminded me of the time, indeed. On assignment for some long-shuttered publication in England, we'd been unlucky enough to be caught behind the lines just as the Congo's great unwashed masses held another one of those beastly revolutions they were having about every six weeks during the previous decade. Captured by rebel soldiers, I was detained in a hovel of a jail cell for nearly two months, living on very little except some rancid butter and a small ration of bread and rice every now and then. Poor Tess, though, of course, became the object of the rebel soldiers more ribald attentions. Beautiful blonde, English white women with a weakness for attractive Negros of all shape and size were a rarity back then, and the opportunity to experience what for many, if not all, of the revolutionaries was a novel experience did not escape them. Nude but for her necklace and a small anklet, neither of which offered much protection from the burning sun, they laid her out across a rough horse-hair mattress, securing her wrists and ankles to sturdy stakes at all four corners (I think they were bamboo, but can't be completely certain. They may have been some form of native palm grass, for that matter...), and proceeded to ravish her womanhood on an almost constant basis. At one point, I watched more or less helplessly as 36 soldiers in a row forced themselves on her, copulating madly and ejecting what must have felt like gallons of hot rebel spermatic fluid at her womb. Her cervix must have had craters on it by the time they were finished.
After every four or five men, one of the new recruits to the force was handed a wet rag with which to sponge off her rather indelicately crusted privates, and then the interracial intercourse would begin anew. Every day for a fortnight, almost all day long, poor Tess endured the constant love-making efforts of the rebels. It seemed she was simply a warm opening in which to insert their penises, move about for a few moments, and deposit a few hot oz.'s of semen. Interestingly enough, there were several other women at the camp, all dusky native girls, and several quite attractive, but the rebels seemed interested only in copulating with Tess. Her ovaries were no doubt veritably swimming with semen. Of course, during the time, many of the rebels took advantage of the other openings in her body, so her colon also became bathed in several dozen outpourings of genetic material every day, and her thirst from being out in the hot African sun was at least partially slaked by the several cupsfull of semen she swallowed every few hours. Afterwards, we figured that pretty much every one of the over 250 rebel soldiers there had copulated with her at least once.
Sooner or later the rebels were defeated or bought off, more likely, and we were liberated by the government army. Tess, being the kind soul she is, demonstrated to the loyalists her appreciation for their concern by encouraging several dozen of them to enjoy the pleasures of her womanhood during the long ride back to civilization in the lorry. Once safely back in England, it wasn't more than a few weeks when the shock hit home - Tess' regular monthly cycle was missed. Then missed again.
We thought back to the huge amount of African DNA that had been injected into her uterus over the last month or so, and the fact her ovum must have just recently been released, so it was swimming in an ocean of semen much of the time. There had been at least one extra-lively sperm cell that burst through the barrier of her monthly egg, and Tess was now carrying a mulatto child fathered by any one of the literally hundreds of dusky Africans she'd been intimate during the period. Rebel or Government, we had no idea. We forged ahead as best we could, concealing it from no one, and 9 months after our ordeal, Tess gave birth to a healthy, quite vocal, half-caste girl. She was given over to a nursemaid and governess, and was now about to finish her eighth year of public school back in England.
At 14, young Emma had all the lovely features of her mother, coupled with a very light coffee mocha complexion that stood out amongst her pure English school chums. We never hid from her the fact that she had a black father, and when at 12, she came to us for permission to begin taking birth control pills, we of course gave her our blessing. She's had several black lovers that we know of so far. Tess spent the better part of two weeks whilst on holiday in Ibiza giving her instructions in the art of fellatio, and enlisting the aid of several of the local boys as test subjects. The dear girl had some trouble learning to train her gag reflex, and of course, being a bit smaller still than her full-grown mother, her throat and neck took some time to become accommodated to the rather large penises that Tess insisted she learn from.
"The poor dear will never be able to fully satisfy her lovers if she doesn't go through this and learn, as I did. And don't forget, I began my training at an even younger age than she!" Tess said to me one evening.
I tore myself from the musings of memory as we sauntered over to chief's hut. Given the events of the next few hours, I think it best that I turn over the narrative duties to the person most intimately involved, our Dear Tess.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is Teresa here. As we walked to the Chief's hut, I tried to compose myself and begin to formulate in my mind the questions I needed to ask him, and the manner in which I would broach the rather delicate subject. I remembered that Percy had mentioned that no white man (or woman, for that matter) had been encountered by the tribe for several generations, yet I knew that the Chief had himself been brought up and tutored, at least for a part of his life, with a white family.
Presently, as we arrived at the Chief's hut, dear Roderick excused himself to scurry off and attend to some camp necessities. I hallo'ed at the Chief and heard his booming bass voice invite me in.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I peered about the hut. Decorated in the usual tribal fashion, with ceremonial masks, shields and what appeared to be several phallic objects supporting oval dishes of varying size, !Kung sat in one corner on a large, but not oversized throne-like chair, festooned with leopard skins and the horns of several types of wild beasts. It looked exactly like a chair out of some movie producer's idea of how the typical African lived. He was wearing a leopard skin chemise of some sort that draped across one shoulder, leaving one brawny arm bare. His dark chocolate skin gleamed in the flickering light of the torches. The chemise stopped around the middle of his thighs, each sturdy leg looking more like a tree trunk than any normal man's leg. Animal skin boots protected his feet from the dusty environment. The floor of the large hut was covered with pelts from various local fauna.
"Haw Haw Missus Tessera, how you being todayish?" he guffawed at me. The Chief always seemed to be in a jovial mood. "Hear me I did that you pleased many of your porters yesterday by suckling on their manhoods very much, correct am I?" he grinned at me. I blushed. I suppose word of my behaviour did circulate rather quickly through the camp, but I had no false modesty about it.
"Yes, indeed you are correct, Chief !Kung, I did perform as you noted. I believe my skills at fellatio are quite effective. I have been noted for them since my early teens. But that's not completely what I wanted to speak with you today about. As you know, I'm a trained researcher and scientist in Anthropology, Biology, Sociology and Psychology. I'm also quite well versed in the sexual practices of many dozens of cultures around the world. Several weeks ago, we got word that your tribe had been isolated from 21st, well actually, 20th Century civilization for many decades. An acquaintance of ours showed us some photographs of members of your tribe that, frankly, astonished me."
"How so it that Missy Teresee?"
"It appeared, from the photographs, that some members of your tribe have, shall I say, quite unnaturally-sized penises, and correspondingly large testicles. My professional curiosity was naturally aroused. I told Roderick that we must come here to investigate and evaluate for ourselves whether the photographs portrayed an accurate representation of your tribe, or whether it may have been cunningly doctored to simply feed on many persons predisposed predilections of the prodigious penile protuberances of your...people." I was nearly out of breath after that sentence.
The Chief was silent for several seconds. Then finally....
"What you say is truthful. My tribe has been known for many ages for the size of our manhood poles. Haw Haw! Many mens in my village have such long dongs they need to fold back up and put in pocket so they don't step on. Haw Haw!!!" the Chief guffawed, slapping his thigh with a large meaty hand.
"I'm gratified, if not a little flustered, to hear this. I would so love to analyze and prepare a scientific study of your people, if you would be so kind as to allow me. I'm sure the professors back home would love to hear more about your culture and your history."
We spoke at length about his people - how they'd migrated to this river valley perhaps a thousand years ago, following the herds of the wild animals such as wildebeest. I told him that was gnus to me. We discussed their diet (high in both animal protein and fruit and vegetables, nothing extraordinary insofar as a standard pre-industrial diet), and their religious customs. One thing the chief said astonished me, when I asked him about the religion he and his tribe practiced.
"Are you animists? Do you worship the animals?"
"Haw Haw, oh no, missy we not worship beasts. That not right."
"How about Islam, are you people of the Koran?"
"Oh no, no Mohammedans for us. Not enough fun. No drink, no bare naked womens allowed. No, not Mussleman for us being.
"Hmm...Then how about Christianity?
"Oh yes, missy yes, we understand Christianity - we have eaten the missionaries!"
(Insert rim-shot sound effect here...)
I recovered from my shock, and went on to discuss other things at length. Finally, speaking of length, I noticed the area of the front of his loincloth rising up as though concealing a sizable anaconda or boa, or perhaps a python of some sort.
"My goodness Chief !Kung, is that your penis becoming erect, or do you carry your assegai that way?" I joked, referring to the long African spear with an iron tip, and pointing at the rapidly rising mound in his tunic.
"This my manhood, Missy. It growing like this, as it does many times per day. Usually call one or two wives in to take care of. Too much pressure building up is not good. I must have pressure released or ballsac becomes hurtful.
I leaned forwards expectantly. Finally, I was going to see one of the fabled phalli in person and close up. I watched in breathless anticipation as the Chief pulled one side of his loincloth aside, reached down between his legs, and . . . moved the seat back.
Only momentarily disappointed, my sight was rewarded just moments later when the Chief brought forth what first I surmised to be an axle from one of their wagons used to transport grain and slaves to market. However, the large drop of clear liquid gleaming at the tip quickly dashed that idea, and I realized that I was staring at a mostly erect black phallus that had to be every bit of 14 inches long. My astonished gasp made !Kung chuckle.
"Very much you like, missy? This larger weapon than you are used to seeing?"
"My goodness Chief, that is an amazing feat of hydraulic engineering, to say the least." I marveled at the rod standing up before me like some dark African tree trunk. Like most women, I enjoyed knowing that I had caused a man to become erect with sexual desire. What better confirmation of your desirability, your attractiveness, your own sexuality, than to see the fleshy tube of skin and muscle tissue engorge with blood and rise up in salute to you? And once that tube was full and throbbing with heat and life and purpose, what better way to acknowledge the tribute than to cause that penis to ejaculate as much semen as possible due to your efforts? I am proud of the many thousands of eruptions that have been directed my way ever since my graduation into womanhood at an early age.
I confess that I've always had a fascination with semen as well. Nothing makes my own heart swell with pride more than seeing a fat, wet rope of creamy, salty male essence come shooting out of that small opening in the head of a penis, to land somewhere on my body, or feeling it shiver and pulsate while embedded deep into either my vagina or my colon, and knowing that its emitting ounces full of warm, wet semen for my body to absorb, or, best of all, feeling the head expand at the back of my throat and then feeling the shaft vibrate and pulsate as a teste-full of semen rockets out and blasts my tonsils with supreme force and maleness. Swallowing the offerings of a love-struck male penis is one of my all time favorite pastimes, and I do so love my Roderick for giving me the freedom to do it whenever the mood strikes me.
I've grown especially fond of semen from African men, its rich, earthy taste and feel, its heavy, almost animalistic weight and odor a welcome diversion from the usually somewhat bland sperm I'd grown used to from my European, Asian, and North American male friends. The only other semen that had it's own racial overtones was the heavy, clumpy, seafood-laden sperm from my Japanese suitors. If forced to choose I'd always take the African testicular output, but if truth be told, I just love it all, it doesn't matter where it comes from or what color penis it flies out of. Roderick has often teased me that I could spend 24 hours a day sucking on penises and making them ejaculate in my mouth, and I'm not so sure he isn't right.
In any case, I was mesmerized by the erect penis just inches from my face. I leaned forwards just a little bit to lick the plum-shaped (and sized!) tip clean of the drop of pre-ejaculate lubrication that formed there, when the Chief's voice thundered out.
"HALT, WOMAN!"
I recoiled back in surprise.
"It is forbidden to touch the royal staff until you have been cleansed in the ancient rituals. You must not!"
I looked at him quizzically. Cocking an eyebrow, I eyed his cock. Mesmerized, like a mouse in front of a cobra, I watched the head rhythmically pulse up and down with his heart beat and the blood pumping into it. The large drop of pre-ejaculate got larger, and finally slid smoothly off the glans in a one-drop waterfall of heroic proportions, to land wetly on my left calf.
"However, because you are an honored guest and a beautiful woman, I will perform the extraction for you, this one time. Normally, I would have one or two of my wives do this for me, but they are all out planting mangoes or some dam' thing..", the chief winked at me.
"Just you stay right there, Missy, maybe open your blouse a bit, or better yet, take it off so we don't get messy, haw haw...!"
I debated the judiciousness of this request. The blouse I'd worn yesterday was not yet laundered, and I had no clean chemise left in my boudoir. I knew exactly what he was planning to do, and so shrugged the blouse off my shoulders and unbuttoned it the rest of the way. Slipping it down my arms, I asked, "Will my skirt be safe, or do you think I should remove it as well?", with a twinkle in my eye, winking at the chief.
"Leave skirt on. Won't be a problem. I plan to place most of my squirty higher up, pretty lady."
I'm sure we made a bizarre spectacle. Me, a refined, highly educated British scientist, with half a dozen advanced degrees to my name, sitting back on my haunches in a poorly lit native hut, nude from the waist up, while the Chief, robed and bedecked with royal raiment and sparkling baubles, masturbated a hugely erect black phallus with one strong hand while he cradled what appeared to be a rather large and bloated set of testicles with the other, pointing the deadly weapon directly at the tip of my nose, not a foot away. His labored breathing was the only sound in the hut, save the soft, 'snick......snick.........snick' his hand made sliding up and down the ebony shaft. The scientist in me subconsciously started timing the journey his fist made from the base of the penis in his wiry black pubic hair, to the shining crowned head, interestingly, and oddly, considering the remote location, circumsized. Mentally, I counted. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi... I realized each complete journey out and back took about two seconds. Obviously, the Chief's masturbation speed was slower than most men, but then again he had to travel over twice the distance the average male did.
I noticed another, larger drop of lubrication leak out from the opening of his urethra and plop almost noiselessly onto my kneecap. Then another. A third fell, creating what was almost a mini-lake of moisture on my leg. Just then, I heard the Chief suppress a groan, or maybe a grunt. I glanced up to see a grimace contorting his face, his eyes tightly closed, his barrel chest rigid with anticipation. My eyes flickered down to the head of his penis once again when suddenly, with an audible 'skiiiiit' of eruption, the advance guard of his testicular contents made their escape propelled by a no-doubt highly potent prostate, and a rope of semen eight inches long did a swan dive onto my nose and right cheekbone.
Barely had I caught my breath with a surprised intake of "oh!" when a second, even larger battalion of baby batter basted my left eye shut and trailed up in to my forehead. The chief adjusted his aim slightly down and to his left, and suddenly my tongue was overwhelmed with a huge puddle of semen that tingled my taste buds. I opened my mouth a bit to both enable a larger amount of sperm to swim in my saliva, and to make room for the second and third huge waterfall of white that suddenly threatened to spill over my lower lip. I tilted my head back, so as to keep my precious cargo safe and sound in my mouth, and when I did so, the Chief's next salvo hit right in the hollow of my neck and exploded, sperm shrapnel raining down on the upper slopes of my breasts. I dipped, he adjusted upwards, and damn if the next barrage didn't hit right on the bridge of my nose, blinding now my other eye and sliding down over my nose and upper lip.
I gasped in surprise, but the Chief didn't seem to notice. I could no longer see, but I felt at least six more squirts of seminal fluid coat my face like frosting. Each one struck with an audible splat, the sound forever implanted in my brain's neurons. Finally, the chief seemed to have relieved enough pressure, and for a long moment, both of us were silent. I raised my head, open-mouthed to the end, and then closed it and swallowed. The lake of sperm in my mouth, hot and musky, slid down surprisingly easily, as though I was swallowing a gigantic oyster. The taste was delightful, strong yet not alarming, masculine yet not overpowering. It left a pleasantly salty and piquant after-taste that made me smile.
"My gracious, Chief, what an alarming ejaculation! I feel as though someone has dripped several liters of warm milk on me!" I snickered up at him, as I ran my finger though the film of fluid on my face, and plowed it into my open mouth. After two mouthfuls, my skin was shiny, but smoother and much drier.
"I hope your swelling has gone down and the pressure you mentioned has been neutralized, at least for the time being?"
"Yes, missy, yes, milky juice has been emptied from my tanks for now. Feeling much better. How about you, did you enjoy baptism by Chief?" he grinned at me.
"Why yes, your eminence, yes I did enjoy it quite a bit. That is certainly not the first time I've had my face pummeled by semen, but yes, I found it very enjoyable. I am glad as well that we removed my blouse, as it would have been soaked, as you can see..." I said, pointing down at the numerous trails and blobs of semen staining the slopes of my bosom.
"Perhaps you scoop up and eat sauce from there as well." the chief suggested, an idea which found an agreeable home with me, as I started the task. The chief looked on in amused approval as I used both hands to transfer the bosomy outpourings to my waiting lips, and after a few moments of dexterous manipulation, my breasts were mostly clear of the seminal overflow. I think the chief noticed the aroused state of my nipples, which always seemed to erect themselves when covered in semen, like a rosy mountaintop peeking up through the snow.
"Missy's boobie very poking up right now, I see. Must be something good happening to you, eh?" he noted.
"Why, yes, they are, my nipples often become erect like that when I come in contact with semen," I explained. "Its one of my secret vices, I'm afraid, I just get all creamy when I'm creamy. Most times, I just rub it in but very often, there's enough for me to swallow, so that's what I do. I must confess to you, chief, that I find drinking your semen highly arousing, so much so that I must end our discussion for now, and retire to my hut for some privacy. I too now feel the need for release." I blushed at him.
He gratefully nodded his approval, and, gathering my blouse and slowly rising, I bade him a temporary farewell. I started to put my blouse back on but then I pondered that every other female in the kraal went about completely topless, and it would be not just bad manners, but completely foolish for me to pretend to any false modesty. At my age, I was perfectly proud of my breasts, and had no false modesty regarding them being on view to any and all who wished to gaze at them. The cooling semen dried on them as I gaily walked back to the hut, and went inside. Roderick was nowhere to be found, so I quickly disrobed, tossed about in my luggage for my trusty Hitachi wand, and within minutes was transported to orgasmic heaven as my clitoris exploded with passion under the hornet-like buzzing of the magic wand. I spent at least half an hour climaxing every few minutes until I was sweating like a marathon runner. I at last turned the machine off, and was asleep within seconds.
Stay tuned for Chapter 9, coming soon to a forum board near you....