Striding to the plate is Chapter 5 of the Epic, in response to completely underwhelming acclaim. Previous installments have garnered hundreds of views but not one comment? I can only surmise that my loyal readers are struck dumb by the quality and richness of the prose....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 5-The Porter’s Loads
Thirty six hours later found us groggily awakening from a soporific slumber. I’ll relate the adventures of the previous evening at some later part of the narrative, suffice it to say that it was an evening about 130 Congolese gentlemen will not soon forget.
After hosing off the hide down the hall at the shared bath, we pulled on clothing most suitable for the trek we were about to begin. I donned the trusty khaki trews, a stout pair of safari boots, and a rather jaunty looking pith helmet, if I may say. Of course, I couldn’t forget my trusty .450 Nitro Express, just in case we encountered a raging beast intent on devouring us for a light snack.
Tess, on the other hand, believed in traveling light – her safari kit would perhaps have been more appropriate for the center pole at Scores, but she insisted that she preferred freedom of movement and hated being restricted by the usually cumbersome expedition garb. It was little more than a short safari jacket that ended just below the lower slope of her buttocks, very short walking shorts, and a pair of fishnet stockings held up by garter straps that she’d sown into the lining of her shorts. Knee-high suede boots completed the outfit.
As the sun rose over the grimy pollution of Brazzaville, we made our way downstairs, and while I settled up with the innkeeper Tess and Mariana went out to gather up Mbuto and the porters. As I feared, when I got outside, the air was stifling already, and the humidity seemed to hang in the air. It had a particularly fetid order as I stood beneath the balcony and I remarked on its loathsomeness to no one in particular.
“Silly ass, no wonder – there’s a great big man on the second floor peeing out his window on you!” Tess laughed. I started, and began to look up to where her finger pointed, but instantly regretted that move. Wiping the visage with the back of my sleeve, I coughed and sputtered, “Well, you could have at least warned me!” I sought out a dryer section of sidewalk, and within a few moments old Mbuto showed up.
“Hullo hullo great mornings to you sahib missy and missy. Bestest mornings in all of Africa to us as we get goings on to the journey of my lifetimes. We meet porters at edge of town, yes, I thought it bestest to get them going earliest possible.” He chattered on like a capuchin monkey on crack, but at least we were able to understand his lingo.
We took off after him. Winding our way through the hovels and slums of the town, I was not looking forward to having to navigate our way into the poor section once we left our familiar surroundings. However, we made our way successfully, and at length, found ourselves coming upon a large clearing whereupon were sitting our assembled masses. They stood up as we came in to view, and I must say I was more than a little surprised by Mbuto’s success. Not a one of the beggars was under two meters tall, and they all seemed to weigh twenty stone if they weighed a dram. Clad in native gear of loin cloth and sandals, they presented a picturesque, if not slightly unnerving sight. However I swallowed my trepidation (Tess isn’t the only swallower in this tale) and gathered them around me. With Mbuto’s help, we marked and distributed each man’s load, making sure that the strongest and tallest got the heavier ones. I appointed a laundry wallah and gun bearer, and called out for the start.
Single file, we trekked out of the clearing, I consulted my map, and within 15 minutes we were out of sight of the city. Mbuto led the way, I followed, then Tess, Mariana, and the bearers. Entranced by the savage beauty of the veldt, nothing much was said by any of us in front for the better part of an hour. I heard the porters singing in their footsteps behind us, the rhythmic chanting echoing off down the trail behind us.
After a while, I let Tess move up in front of me, and I delighted in watching her pert bottom sway back and forth as she strode along. The bottom hems of her shorts ended a few inches above the tops of her gartered stockings, and I found the white of her thighs entrancing. Mbuto of course, seemed to be glancing backwards nearly more than he looked ahead, and at least one time I had to shout at him to pay attention lest he trip over a fallen log or whatnot.
We’d gone perhaps five or six kilometers into the bush when suddenly there arose an excited hue and cry from back among the porters. We stopped in our tracks and quickly gathered back to the group of them.
One porter was laying on his back by the side of the trail, and half a dozen of the others were gathered around him clucking like somebody’s great aunt. The rest of the porters were just sitting or standing around in a bored stupor. Since my Swahili was a bit rusty, I motioned for Mbuto to find out what the problem was.
Mbuto and two or three of them chatted away for a few moments, and I noticed that one of them, at a point in the conversation, grabbed at his crotch in a decidedly Michael Jackson-like way.
Finally, Mbuto broke away and came over to me.
“Very badness, bwana, very badness. He has been bitten by a snake, the Okalaki bushmaster. It is a very bad snake, very bad. He will soon be expiring…” he shook his head in resignation.
“What the devil are you talking about, the Okalaki bushmaster? I’ve never heard of such a thing. And what on earth do you mean by expiring?” I was incredulous. I thought I was fairly familiar with most of the various flora and fauna of this part of the Dark Continent but I’d never heard of this particular reptile.
“Oh very bad snake…very bad. Very rare here too there are not very many because villagers kill them when ever they find them. They kill very many people hereabouts and roundabouts..” he excitedly kept on chattering for a few minutes before I dismissed his discourse with a jaunty wave of the hand.
“Quite enough, my good man, quite enough. Less of the natural history lesson is required. What I want to know is just what is wrong with that poor bugger, and what do we need to do to get him back on his feet?”
The little man leaned in close to me and began whispering in my ear. After a few moments, I managed to contain my incredulity a bit, and digested what he said. It was not good. Things didn’t look too rosy for the fellow.
I straightened up, and turned to Tess.
“Love of my life and partner o’ mine, I have a feeling your services are needed.”
One eyebrow arched.
I took her arm and walked her a bit out of the circle of still-goggling natives.
“It seems the unfortunate fellow has been bitten by some sort of viper or something. It’s a very rare reptile but I’m told the bite is painful and, unfortunately, often fatal. It produces a huge swelling in the area that is bitten, and there is only one remedy to reduce the swelling….”
“..Go on… “ she smiled
“Well, it seems the lad was bitten square in the middle of his scrotum, and already his testes are swollen to the size of….” I cast about for a suitable simile… “to the size of those guava melons over there”, pointing to a nearby bush with several large fruits laden on its low branches.
“And you need me to reduce the swelling somehow, am I correct, my lovebird and protector?”
“In words of one syllable, yes.”
“What do you recommend, oh dear one?”
“Well, it would seem that the quickest way to extract the venom would be to have the poor bugger reach an orgasm as quickly as possible. Mbuto tells me the natives around here find that procedure to be the only operation with a modicum of success, as it were. When the venom is mixed in with the seminal fluid, it apparently negates it’s rather unhealthy qualities, except that if it touches the exposed skin of someone, it can still cause a rather nasty burn of some sort. So it must be extracted and nullified by….”
“By?...”
“By saliva and stomach acids, so it seems.”
“Ah..” she smiled. “So I’m to make sure the glans penis of this rather large gentleman – “ she nodded to the sore native. “- is fully engulfed in my esophagus when his orgasm occurs, and ensure that the ejaculate is drained fully into my tummy? Is that what you’re asking me?” she grinned with a twinkling eye. Her nipples had become engorged and swollen, not unlike what they might have done had she herself been stung by the serpent in question. It was a sure sign that she found the prospect enticing.
“Well, you’ve hit the nail on the head, my lovely rose petal. What say you?”
She just winked at me and strolled back to the assemblage. The afflicted fellow was seated on a large rock, or boulder of some type, leaning back on his elbows. We could all see the swelling beneath his loin cloth, and the agony on his face was almost unbearable. Tess motioned to one of the men for a blanket, which she folded neatly and placed on the ground before him. Kneeling, she put one hand on each of the fellow’s knees and moved them apart to give her room to operate. He groaned almost soundlessly with the effort but his Nubian thighs parted enough for her to move in closer. Reaching out with a delicate hand, she lifted the hem of his loin cloth and moved it up and out of the way. His appendage, now visible to the naked eye, was indeed in advanced stages of turgidity as had been predicted. Tess placed one delicate hand around the shaft about half-way up its length (I noted that there was room between her fingertips) and lifted the stalk until it pointed like an asp at her own open mouth. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her face, opening her lips to allow the distended glans to enter. I watched entranced as she continued the descent, until at least several inches of the inflamed organ had disappeared.
Glancing up at the fellow, she swallowed and then pulled her head down even further, until all but a few scant centimeters of shaft was visible, rising from his prickly pubic region. Her neck and throat, visibly enlarged by the recent addition of the penis, seemed to vibrate and ripple with the effort she was expending. The fellow receiving the rather unorthodox medical treatment rolled his eyes until only the whites were visible. I couldn’t tell if he was in pain or not. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the ground next to his seat.
Suddenly Tess rose up, until nearly all of the Swahili stalk was visible, and then, taking another deep breath, she plunged down on it again. Small amounts of her saliva glistened on the shaft as she repeated this maneuver a dozen times in the next minute or two. The native’s belly tightened and he groaned again.
Tess rose up one more time, and then, seemingly gathering her courage and skill from all her past training, she rose up somewhat from her position and tried to align her throat more adeptly to the angle of the penis. Saliva running down the shaft in small streams, she forced her head lower and lower in to his lap, until all evidence of his manhood was invisible, buried deeply in the clasping throat of the remarkable lady. I watched her neck pulsate with effort.
Without warning, the porter gasped and began making small thrusts forwards, even though there was no where to go. Tess had her lips fully in contact with his pubic region. We heard her gulp in a rather unladylike manner, and I could suddenly picture the rich, salty emission that no doubt was being pumped directly down her slim throat. Half a dozen times I watched her neck convulse. Finally, the man stopped grunting and seemed to collapse back on his buttocks. Tess followed him down, as if bowing to an idol. Sweat poured off his chest, and we all seemed to begin breathing again as Tess slowly rose up, extricating the now slightly-less tumescent penis from its recent home. About half way up, she tightened her lips around the cylinder of flesh and seemed to be pulling the last remnants of any semen from the vein underneath up through the shaft and into her mouth.
Finally, she pulled fully off the man, and gasped for breath. “My goodness, that was an amazingly copious emission, “ she turned to look at me. “I honestly felt him pour five or six–“ Her words were interrupted by an embarrassed burp emanating from her recently invaded tummy as the air she swallowed bubbled up from her stomach. “Oh my! Excuse me!” she laughed.
We looked at her recent patient. His eyes were closed, but his breathing had returned to normal, as had the swellings in his nether regions. The shaft hung almost lifelessly from his groin, but we could see that the extraction seemed to have done the trick. Gradually, it returned to a more normal appearance (if you can call the truncheon he was equipped with ‘normal’). I extended a hand to my bride and helped her rise to her feet. Once again, my dear marriage-partner had risen (well, actually, knelt) to the occasion when her services and legendary talents were required. My bosom swelled with pride, nearly as much as hers apparently had.
I patted her tenderly on the head, and kissed her cheek. “Well done, old girl, well done indeed. It seems your patient is on the road to recovery.” I grinned. Tess winked at me and cleared her throat once again.
“I’m so glad I was able to help.” she said.
The clearing had grown ominously quiet during Tess’s ministrations to the afflicted porter, and I looked around. Nearly all the porters had disappeared. Ashen-faced, I turned to Mbuto.
“Mbuto! Where have all the men gone! If they’ve run off I’ll have your hide!”
“Oh no siree-bob not a chance for that. They are not run off. They are just looking for more snakes!”
I groaned. Tess and Mariana giggled.
Soon enough, the absent porters came crashing through the bushes back into the trail. It appeared that their efforts had gone unrewarded however, as they had a grey and gloomy look about them. Some appeared even miffed.
Several of the blokes came to speak menacingly at Mbuto. I could overhear only snatches of their conversation.
“Aikee mgoro nonwadano. Meeso kwame ngoroog. Pali safi, tenogmang-a. Kali mama suck-suck, no go. No go.”
Mbuto turned to me.
“They want the same. Or they won’t go on.”
Tess blushed. Mariana giggled. I turned to them.
“See what you’ve done now. We’re faced with a porter strike not two hours into the trek.”
“Oh, shush, dear pal of mine. The men only want one thing. I’m certain we girls can provide for them, right, dear?” Tess replied, looking at Mariana.
“Yes, madam”, the young girl nodded. “We must do something. We can not allow the men to leave us here. I will do whatever you ask.”
Tess and Mariana quickly cleared two spaces to sit along the trail side. I stood and watched bemusedly, only getting the camera out to capture this remarkable event. Here were two women, perhaps the only white woman within 50 miles, and a young East Indian barely out of university, preparing to perform fellatio on upwards of 40 natives, until they achieved orgasm and filled my two charge’s bellies with tangy African semen.
The two women sat side by side, and a line formed in front of each of them, perhaps 20 or so men in each line. The next hour was spent watching these men thrust long, dark phalli into the open mouths and throats of the two ladies, repeatedly, until orgasmic shudders ran through each man’s body and they released the fluids that had been building up in their gonads. Tess, bless her heart, seemed most adept at handling even the largest of the men. Mariana, due to her age and less experienced technique, had trouble containing the efflusive discharges sometimes, and the front of her bodice was soon spotted with trails of semen that had escaped her lips. Both their faces were soon strewn with slimy ropes of the seminal offerings, as many of the men were so overcome with excitement that they began spewing as soon as they stepped up to the batter’s box, and often the first two or three ejaculatory streams landed on the lips, cheeks and chins of the women before they could successfully capture the spitting heads and envelope them within their mouths. At several points, four or even five of the huge weapons stood poised over them, all threatening to drown the poor girls.
I watched in awe, and some pride, as Tess took one large African spear into her mouth after the other, slick with saliva and sweat, and performed her womanly duties. Few men lasted more than a few moments in her heavenly mouth. Most times, she buried the shafts as deeply within her throat as she could when she sensed the climax about to erupt, and her graceful neck could be seen massaging the penis of the man in front of her as he emptied the contents of his testicles into her stomach. She swallowed hungrily each time and, after a few moments, I caught sight of her slim right hand burrowed deeply into her loins, deftly massaging the bud of her own pleasure. She shook with a climax perhaps every five or seven minutes. Rarely, though, did she have to stop the relentless barrage of seminal fluid. Finally the lines of men reached an end. Tess and Mariana still sat along the side of the trail, whilst all about them large natives sprawled in the grass in depleted stupor. The two women had managed to contain the ejaculations of all. Of course, their features were festooned with the spendings of many of them. I handed Tess an towel to cleanse herself with.
After a few moments, Mbuto and I were able to rouse the men up, get them to re-shoulder their packs, and we were back on the trail. For the next several hours, we traversed the gently rolling savannah, between small clumps of baobab trees and other native flora. Occasionally we heard or saw evidence of the beasts around us, but we were a large group and most of the animals steered well clear of us. After a while the men in back began their sing-song walking cadence, their deep booming voices resonating up to us in front.
“Ooohla makea laba singh!...Ooohla makea laba singh!”
Tess turned to me. “Oh honey, isn’t it wonderful, their lovely voices. I could listen to that all day long..” She truly loved the black men. In fact, Tess truly loved nearly all men. Never before had I met a woman who so transparently enjoyed the male form in all it’s guises. At a young age, she’d discovered her own sexuality, and as soon as she realized that her mind and body gave other people pleasure, she eagerly offered herself to them. Their pleasure seemed to only intensify her own. Blessed with a trim body, slim but womanly hips, large but not unwieldy breasts, a seemingly endless vagina, a rectum that has yet to find an invader too large, her mind is unsullied by any puritanical mores or cultural bigotry, she viewed her sexual behavior as natural as breathing or eating. No sexual act between adults was taboo to her. While we walked, I thought back of the events of the previous day and night….
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~