Well, we pick up our story as Roderick reminisces about the previous night's activities at a club catering to the devotees of Zebra Love, so to speak. Remember, an illustrated version is available for the price of an email stamp to the address in my profile, tell me what you think...
Chapter 6-Tess Dances the Congo Line
We had slept in the morning following our arrival, jet lag and all that, you know. But by mid-morning, we were all pretty much awake, and ravenously hungry, even Tess, whose seminal dinner from the previous afternoon had only temporarily slaked her. The local cafe’s were not highly placed on Fodor’s list, but we managed to find one that had fewer flies than the rest, and sat down to a satisfying brunch. Most of the food had even stopped moving when it arrived on the plates.
After we ate, the girls went back to the hotel, and I wandered down to the local Embassy to ensure that all of our permits and travel documents were in order. Imagine my surprise when I ran into none other than Freddie Farthington-Farthington, old “Farts” himself, as we called him at school. He and I had attended public school together, and many were the times we both felt the lash of the master Algernon Aubrey on our tender backsides for one infraction or another. He went on to Harrow, I to Eton, but our paths crossed often in early adulthood. I hadn’t seen him in several years though, since his father, the twelfth Earl of Bowditch shipped him off to the Dark Continent after that incident with the policeman’s daughter. Being the younger issue of the old Earl, Freddie had little to look forward to in terms of title or land, and so spent most of his time tossing about the old pater’s monthly allowance, which, if I remember, was not inconsiderable.
We “Hail, Hail, old chap”-ed a bit and talked of this and that. After a while Freddie asked what our plans were for the evening, if we had any and I replied in the negative.
“Well, old man, knowing Tess as I do –“, he winked at me, “You simply must visit this nightspot I know on the other side of town. It’s absolutely the greatest thing since hot water out of a tap, and I’m sure Tess will like it.” He went on to describe some sort of club where the locals hang out and visitors are treated to a real African experience, if they so desire. He waxed so rhapsodic about it, clutching my sleeve like that odd chap who stoppeth one of three or however that gag goes, that I promised him we’d give the place the old eyeball and see what comes of it.
“What comes of it..ha ha, old blister, you don’t know the half of it. I’ll pick you up at 8, don’t be late.” With that, he answered a resounding call that came from some anteroom where I gather his appointment lay, and disappeared through the vast oaken door.
When I got back to the hotel, I told the ladies of our plan. Unfortunately, poor Mariana scratched herself from the lineup, it seemed that some portion of the local lunch had disagreed with her intestines, and both sides of the conflict were laying siege to each other. Her dashes to the WC down the hall could perhaps have established a new record for women in her age and weight class, but we never bothered to officially clock them.
Tess and I took a brief nap, and then, shortly before 8PM, a battering on the door indicated that someone was without, and it turned out to be Freddie.
The three of us piled into his rather fancy Jaguar, and within minutes were tootling along the city streets, swerving between pedestrians, pedi-bikes and potholes. It seemed we drove for miles to the other side of town but I think it was just because poor befuddled Freddie lost his way several times and we had to double back on our route.
At length, we pulled up into the parking lot of a building that seemed to be falling down. A large neon sign out front advertised “ old drinks” and “ho food” but I believe some letters were missing from the light. A strong rhythmic music could be heard leaking from the place, and several dozen natives were lounging in the parking area, smoking and taking the occasional sips from bottles of local brew. The sign over the door announced the name as “The Zebra Club”.
As Freddy seemed to know the maitre’d/bouncer/valet parking man, we were ushered in with hardly any preliminaries, especially once the fellow noticed Tess. His eyes traveled from her head all the way down to her gaily painted toenails, then made the return journey once again. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time concentrating on her equatorial area, but that may just have been the dim light in the place.
Tess had, of course, outdone herself. I don’t know where she managed to find some of these outfits but one good thing was she could pack about 20 of them in one small portmanteau.
Her shiny platform stilettos boasted a heel of at least five inches, open toed and strapped across the ankles. Almost sheer white stockings on her legs were of course held up by a suspender belt, the clasps of which were just barely visible below the hem of her skirt, which was more of a wide strip of cloth than anything else. From behind, one could almost see all the way between the juncture of her thighs, it was so short. Had she sat down in it, it would have ridden up above her waist. A white blouse, unbuttoned nearly to her navel, did little to contain the marvelous globes riding high on her ribcage, and the rouge she’d applied to her nipples was, I fear, a bit too much. But who was I to complain. She wore a three inch velvet choker with a small charm on it that I remember buying for her one evening in London. The crytograms were a small “eye” symbol, a “heart” symbol, and an outline of an erect phallus. Its meaning was, of course, unmistakable. Her costume was completed by the ornate golden ankle bracelet upon which we’d had “I swallow semen” engraved about 6 years earlier.
The fellow at the door ushered us in, and I for one was quite surprised at the makeup of the club. Not that it had makeup on, of course. But after looking the place over, I realized that Freddy and I were the only white fellows in the entire place. Apart from Tess, that is. But then again, there were about 10 or 15 white women there. And probably close to a hundred blacks. I staggered back a bit, but Tess’s hand clutching mine seemed to be an anchor I could use. Her eyes lit up.
The club seemed to be little more than a meeting place for black men and white women. There was a small dance floor where a few couples were engaged in pseudo-sexual relations (and perhaps not pseudo- in one or two cases…) and about twenty or so large booths arrayed along the outer perimeter. The booths were uncharacteristically large, each one being U-shaped, with an oddly small table in the center. The booths were raised off the floor about 6 or 8 inches, and seemed heavily padded in the naugahyde style. Most were occupied by four or five black men, and one, sometimes two women. I say sometimes, because I noticed that every now and then, a woman’s head would appear up above the line of the table after being noticeably absent for several minutes, and she’d sit back up on the cushions. It took me a little while to realize that the missing women were providing oral relief for the men at their booths. That, plus the fact that they usually dabbed daintily at their lips once they’d reappeared above the surface.
Freddy, Tess and I were ushered into one empty booth at one corner of the large room, and ordered drinks. We looked around in amazement at the scene. There was a snooker table across the way from us, currently occupied by a rather busty, long-legged red headed women who was being soundly rogered by a young buck. Her legs were wrapped around his buttocks, and her two hands were engaged in a vigorous masturbation of two young men standing at the head of the table.
We watched fascinated as the first man reached what had to be a very pleasurable climax between his partner’s loins, judging by the sounds he emitted as the bodily fluids were transferred from the cylinder to the cavity. I noticed a sizeable white froth being churned up at the woman’s vulval area, so I surmised that this was not the first such transfer that evening.
Her hands must have been quite attractive to the two she was fisting, because not 30 seconds later they both erupted at nearly the same time, sending huge pearly arcs of semen across the woman’s face and breasts. Her tongue snaked out to capture what she could, but most of it impacted like white missiles on her exposed skin.
Within a minute, three more suitors had replaced the exhausted trio, and we watched this insatiable woman extract their love liquids in a like manner. Twice more, a trio of strong black natives made passionate love to the unknown woman, until her loins were a liquidy mess of leaky semen, and her face and torso were likewise covered with white streaks of semen. At one point, they flipped her over on her stomach and, judging from the sudden groan she uttered, I believe that one man may have inadvertently entered her bottom.
I suppose her limit had been set at fifteen, for after the last three men had satisfied themselves, she groggily got down off the table, put a small jacket on around her totally soaked upper body, and walked towards the door. She spied us in the corner, I suppose, and walked over to us as if she had just been shopping at Harrod’s and wanted to apprise us of a particular good deal on cheese slicers.
She came to the booth, put both slimy hands on the table and leaned to Tess.
“Honey, you’re in for the ride of your life if you want. I have to run to pick up the kids, or I’d probably stay another hour or two.”
Her breath smelled of sperm and the droplets in her hair added an odd light to it but she seemed intent on giving Tess a blow-by-blow, if you will pardon the pun.
“Oh yes?” my sweetie replied. “I might just do that. These men seem remarkably virile, if you ask me.”
“You don’t know the half of it. I’ve got probably near a pint of rich African sperm sloshing around in my tummy from the first crowd. And there’s enough spunk up my cootchie to repopulate the entire continent. In fact, I’m extremely fertile right at the moment, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I dropped hubby a nice dark present in nine months or so!” she laughed. “It wouldn’t be my first!”
Tess gave me an amused look, and the woman staggered off.
After a few drinks, I noticed Freddy looking very nervously at one rather short and pudgy man who’d entered the club. He wore a loud checked suit jacket with sleeves about four inches too long, brown shoes and green pants. A shudder ran through me at his sartorial excess.
“I say old man, I hate to do this to you, but I just remembered a prior appointment that I must make or the name will be mud.”
“Come off it Freddy, what appointment? It’s the middle of the night?” Tess asked.
“Well, if you must know, that shortish, stout fellow over there in the checked coat is one of my financial planners, and, owing to a foolish bet or two I made over the South African Derby last week, he’s probably looking for his pound of my flesh, don’t you know? It’s rather imperative that I make an escape before he sees me.”
It made sense. Poor Freddy had the worst possible luck in the wagering business. He once bet on a horse, I believe it was “Nearly There” at Goodwood, that lost interest in the whole business at about the three furlong mark and proceeded to finish the afternoon gnawing on daisies in the infield. Another sure thing of his was so slow that the jockey kept a diary of the journey. It didn’t surprise me at all that he’d gone awash to a turf accountant.
“Take my car home. I’ll catch a taxi or something. Just don’t bend the fenders, if you please. I still owe Father for most of it.” He tossed the keys on the table, and vanished before our eyes.
I looked at Tess and we both laughed.
After a few more drinks, I could see that Tess was beginning to feel the heat of the place. It was hard not to, I suppose. The atmosphere was redolent with the aroma of testosterone and semen, and to a woman of Tess’s sensitivity, that was like laying raw filet mignon out in front of a famished tiger. Her nipples had hardened into half-inch buttons, she kept crossing and re-crossing her legs, and her eyes began to sparkle with the light of the woman whose pheromones were kicking into overdrive.
“How many men do you think there are here tonight, honey?” she asked with a lilt in her eyes.
“Thinking of a new record?” I laughed back.
“Might be, might be. Who knows how long it may be before….” She didn’t have to complete the sentence. Both of us were expecting a fairly chaste journey ahead of us, at least for her.
“What is it these days, the 24-hour number?” I honestly couldn’t remember.
“72. That time in Delhi, remember?”
“Ah yes, the Hindu Feast of Hanuman..didn’t go there realizing it was a bally sex festival, did we?”
“Good lord no!” she laughed. “We certainly learned though, didn’t we sweetie?”
I looked around the room. There were only about half a dozen women left, but if anything, it looked like even more black men had arrived.
“Good lord, my little lovebird, there must be at least a hundred men here. Are you certain about this?” I asked her gently. “It could get rough.”
“Nonsense!” she laughed. “You know as well as I that once a man has reached a climax or two, his aggressive tendencies are completely sated. For the moment, at least!”
“But honey, it’s only one of you and…dozens of them?”
“My vagina has been in nearly daily use since I was a teenager. It’s perfectly capable of anything I might do with it. I took three enemas earlier today, and my bottom is fine, trust me. I’ll admit, my jaw is a little sore after last night, but I’m sure I can get it back into working order. Plus, my hands are fine.”
She seemed set on this.
“And honey, you know that giving pleasure is one of my all time favorite things. I just love the look on a man’s face when he climaxes because of MY efforts. That feeling is just so…so wonderful!”
I remembered back to the Japanese bukkake scene, and the gang rape in Bosnia.
“Ok. Let me go find the manager or somebody and see what they can offer. I don’t want you staked out on that rough snooker table all night long. The least they can do is make you comfortable.”
I sauntered over the bar, and enquired about talking to the manager, if there was one. Soon enough, I was ushered back into a room off the back, and found myself in conversation with the man who identified himself as the owner of the club.
“My good man, I have a proposition for you. You see my wife, Tess, back there – “ motioning with my hand, the fellow acknowledged that he’d indeed seen Tess. “She would like to offer herself up for mating with any man here who’d like to have her. But there’s a catch.”
“Catch?”
“I can’t have her spread on that bally table you have. She needs a comfortable spot where she won’t get bruised or battered too badly. A mattress or something similar should do the trick, don’t you think?”
“Mattress?”
“Yes, a mattress or some padding or something.”
The man nodded his head. “I can do that. We get nice soft pads from back. They used for sleeping sometimes.”
“Very good. We’re ready when you are.”
I turned to go.
“Hey Mister!”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Your wife is going to be sexed everywhere. All places. You know that? SHE know that?”
Puzzled for a moment, the brow furrowed. Then I understood.
“Yes. She’s capable. Just no violence, you understand.”
“Very good. You go sit, we get ready.”
I walked across the dance floor and rejoined Tess at the booth. She’d finished another G&T while I was gone, and I could see that the alcohol had relaxed her just enough.
“It’s all set up, my dear. The good man who owns this…place.. will provide some pads so you don’t get uncomfortable. You are still going through with this?”
“Oh yes, dear, I must. These men are all so virile and exciting, I just am fairly gushing downstairs at the thought of it” she said, coyly.
I squeezed her hand, turning the large diamond on her ring finger. “I love you, dear Tess, you know that.”
“I know that dear. And I you. There’s no man in the world I’d spend my life with except you. And I love you all the more for allowing me to do this.”
We sat back and waited. It wasn’t long. The manager/owner strode out to the center of the floor, dragging a couple of long rectangular pads that looked like nothing more than some gymnastic padding you might see at any school meet. He tossed them to the floor and kicked them together with one foot, making a square about three meters along each side. Then he simply looked at us, and crooked a finger at Tess, as if to say, “Come here.”
She slid out of the booth and strode up to him, whistles and catcalls accompanying her purposeful stride. It was amazing to watch. She wasn’t going out there a victim, or as a helpless woman. She was going out there as an equal, as a proud, independent, sexual woman who knew she had control of the situation, and knew full well what she was about to do. As she walked, she unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it aside, then unwrapped the tiny skirt and let it drop as well. Clad now only in the high heels, garter belt and stockings, she walked slowly around the padded spot, looking at the men gathered round it with fire in her eyes. She stroked a few of the penises being displayed for her approval, and many of them seemed to take on a life of their own as they hardened at her touch. As one hand stroked a shaft, her other pulled and tweaked at a nipple, or brushed gently across her shaven mound.
Tess began orchestrating her experience. She motioned for about 20 gentlemen to form a line, naked from the waist down. It was surrealistic, seeing the long line of black gentlemen, sporting erections of varying size and thickness, standing like some ebony chess set. It was obvious that some of the gentlemen had already partaken of feminine charms during the evening, as the sheen of sweat and semen shone on their shafts. Walking back and forth along the line, she looked each man in the eye as she passed, letting them know just who was really in charge.
Finally reaching the end of the line, Tess sqatted down, her buttocks resting on her calves and knees spread widely, in front of the first man. Reaching out, she grasped his thickening shaft near the base with one hand, and slowly lifted it up until it was pointed directly at her face. Then, gazing up at her first subject, she extended her pink tongue and lapped gently at the rounded glans. Planting tiny kisses all around the slowly engorging head, she laved it until it shone with her saliva.
Then, opening her mouth widely, she pulled the penis and three or four inches of the shaft into her mouth. I knew her tongue would be fencing with the head, sliding over the top and under the bottom of it, bathing it with her warm wetness. She then used one hand to slowly masturbate the remaining exposed shaft, slowly at first, then gradually speeding up. She twisted her wrist as it went up and down, corkscrewing her motions to give the maximum amount of pleasure to the man. His eyes screwed shut, the fellow seemed transported to another world as my lovely wife paid homage to his manhood. Tess was in her element.
After a moment or two of this teasing, Tess placed both her hands on the man’s buttocks and pulled his torso relentlessly into her strongly suctioning mouth. Inch after inch of the dark obsidian shaft disappeared into her oral cavern, until there was barely an inch not enveloped behind her ovalled lips. Then she pulled back, until just the crown of his glans was still within her, and taking a breath, she again pushed her head into his groin.
The room had gone nearly silent, all that could be heard was some heavy breathing among the men, and the loud, liquidy slurping of my wife performing an erotic act of fellatio on the young man. Over and over, her head withdrew and then descended again onto his darkly glistening shaft, until at one moment, she pushed her self all the way down, and the young man quickly gasped out in pleasure. His shaft twitched in her mouth and in my mind’s eye I could sense the tiny opening at the end suddenly burst as a thick stream of rich, salty semen poured out across Tess’s tongue. She gulped once, then twice, then a third time as the man, gripped in the throes of his pleasure, expelled the contents of his testicles straight into her swallowing mouth.
She whimpered herself in a sort of empathetic climax as she attained the true level of pleasure-giving that she so earnestly sought for. A tiny bubble of semen appeared at the corner of her mouth, sparkling in the light like a liquid diamond.
As the man slowly recovered from his orgasmic high, she swept back one last time, lips tightly suctioning around his shaft, to pull what little liquid remained in his vein into her greedy mouth. Finally with a “pop” of suction, she let the shaft fall from her mouth, where it smacked wetly into his thigh.
Licking her lips, Tess moved to the next man. His shaft was turgidly erect at watching the erotic performance so close to him, and I knew it would not be long before he too made his seminal offering to Tess. This man’s penis was about seven or eight inches in length, darkly colored like mahogany, with a sculpted glans and a rounded crown. Tess leaned forward and subjected it to the same loving licks and nips that the first man had suffered through. Satisfied that the end and shaft were lubricated, she ovalled her mouth and once again made the journey about halfway down the shaft to start with. Her eyes gleamed at the man in front of her as she repeatedly sucked the penis into her mouth, feasting on the tube of hard flesh like a woman possessed. Her hands gripping his hips, she pulled him into her over and over, tongue rolling over the head of his shaft like a polishing cloth, willing the man to explode his own offering into her like the first.
It didn’t take long – two or three minutes at best, before the second man was sending his own testicular contents down Tess’s graceful neck and into her tummy to join it’s brethren. We all heard her swallow contentedly as the man shivered and shook with release. Finally his shaft too was pulled from her oral captivity and shone in the overhead lights. He staggered back and almost fell. Tess looked up at him, and he beamed, and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead lightly, stroking her hair. I knew she loved that little touch.
Moving to the third man, she simply repeated the process. This offering was being delivered from an impressive piece of penile protuberance, lightly colored in opposition to the dark man who sported it. It was longer than the previous man’s equipment, but seemed thinner. The uncircumsized head became visible when Tess gripped it with her right hand and skinned down the foreskin away from it. Popping it into her mouth with practiced skill, she bobbed up and down on it, twisting her head from side to side, providing what I knew to be a sublimely pleasurable experience to the benefactor of her magnificence. Once again the man reached a climax while buried deeply in her throat and sent his own emissions into my lovely bride’s mouth and throat.
As Tess moved to the fourth man, she looked at me and made a motion as if to drink from a glass, so I picked a glass of water from the table and walked it over to her.
As I handed it to her she looked at me. “Thanks ever so much, sweety. I need to keep my mouth wet and slippery for these gentlemen, a sip of cool water will help greatly. How am I doing?”
“Tess, you are superb! I’m so proud of you.”
(Now, a lot of you reading this might think I’m some sort of freak ‘allowing’ my dear wife to perform like this, but you have to understand that she and I don’t have the usual outlook on these activities. To us, and especially to Tess, this activity has no overlap with the romantic and sensual love we have for each other. Much like any other couples might play bridge or go canoeing for recreation, Tess simply enjoyed providing sexual pleasure to people wherever she went. To her, it was a natural outgrowth of her own caring and giving persona. Sex and love were two similar, somewhat overlapping behaviors that, while they shared some commonalities, were also completely separable. Much as I’d have applauded Tess’s foray in to any other form of personal expression, such as bee-keeping or knitting, her demonstrable skill in the arts of love-making were seemingly pre-destined to be her niche in life. I would no more constrain her from these activities that I would disallow her to breathe or dine.)
She took a sip of the cool water and swished it around in her mouth, then leaned forward to envelope the proffered penis of the fourth man. Her actions didn’t vary much, as she knew exactly what do to and how to do it. This man lasted longer than the others, perhaps he’d already had his testes emptied once or twice during the evening, but nevertheless, after about 10 minutes of vigourous oral action, combined with skilled manual manipulations, he too surrendered to the exquisite feeling Tess’s mouth provided and released what seminal fluid remained in his gonads to join the pool in her stomach.
Gradually, Tess worked her way down the line. Numbers five, six and seven were not extraordinarily memorable that I remember, but each time the dark shafts released their burdens in to her throat and mouth. Between each emission, Tess took a small sip of water to sooth her throat, with by this time was being rubbed fairly raw. Even with her experience, there is no way to adequately prepare for the lengths of penile shaft that were being buried over and over within her mouth. By this time of course, Tess was rubbing her own clitoral area while performing her ‘magic’, and if I know her, she was enjoying the climaxes as much as, or perhaps even more than, her partners.
Within perhaps an hour, she finally neared the end of the line. Poor dear, her cheeks and chin were somewhat bespotted with saliva and pre-seminal fluids that had leaked or been accidentally brushed off the shafts of the various men as she performed her fellatic duties. She didn’t normally ‘drool’ once an ejaculation had been received in her mouth, but with so many men, it was inevitable that some amount of the pearly fluid would escape her lips. The upper slopes of her breasts were dotted with small beads, and a slim line of wetness traced a Nile-like path between them down to her slim waist.
Finally, the twentieth man in her line gave up his essence to her with a groan, and she bowed her head, resting her hands on her thighs. For several moments, nothing happened as she both rested, and recovered from her tasks. She took a few deep breaths, and finished the second glass of water I’d brought to her.
“Are you OK, my dear?” I asked gently. She looked up at me with those doe-eyes I’d fallen in love with so many years ago.
“I…have…never…felt…more…alive…” she slowly breathed. “I feel like...I don’t know…like somehow I’ve connected…to…people…everywhere…like I have a life force inside of me that…that...is almost universal.”
In the back of my mind I thought, ‘It’s probably the half-litre of African semen swimming around in your bloodstream,” but I didn’t say anything.
I reached a hand to wipe her face with a cool rag but she stopped me.
“No. Leave it on. I want it on me. I want to be marked, to be a vessel, to be a receptacle for their lovely sperm. I feel like a goddess. It’s a sin to waste any of it. I want to feel it all over me.”
She lay back down on the pads and spread her legs straight out from her hips, splaying them apart like a gymnast, running her hands down her inner thighs until they met at the mound of her womanhood. She gently spread her inner lips open, revealing the moist treasure hidden in her depths.
Meanwhile, the men had gathered around her. It was a very odd sight, seeing these dozens of barely-civilized African men, rough and tumble though they may have been, reduced to almost child-like rapture. There was no pushing, no boisterousness. They simply gathered around, as if they knew that what they were participating in was as much a ritual celebrating life and the universe as it was a sexual feast that sooner or later, they would all feed from. Tess insisted they remove all their clothing, to remove any vestige of the outside world. They all stood naked, earthy, almost pre-historic in their assemblage.
The first man came up to her and placing the head of his penis at her opening, pushed himself in with one long lunge. The air pushed out of her lungs, Tess let out a long wail of desire, and the mating began.
And so it was. Every five minutes or so, the man between her thighs would achieve orgasm and spill his seed into her cup of love. Tess was in her element, pulling them into her, almost savagely trying to get them to ejaculate into her womb. Black shaft after black shaft penetrated the pure white vagina of my wife, only to force out their seed and be replaced by the next man. I watched as nearly 30 men made passionate love to my wife. Within a few short moments, of course, her loins began leaking semen profusely, which Tess would often scoop up with a hand and apply to her sweaty body as if it were some lotion.
Other times, she would encourage the gentlemen to withdraw at the climactic moment, if they were able, and anoint her body with their seed. Her ribs and bosoms were targeted, and of course, several strong streams made their way to her shining face as well, as time went on. She seemed to revel in the spendings of the gentlemen, urging them on with animalistic cries as she orgasmed herself.
Soon though, Tess seemed to become frenzied in her need for coupling. She turned to her knees, and motioning one man to lay beneath her, she fitted his turgid rod into her vagina, and instructed the next man to occupy her rectum. In this manner, she could satisfy two men at a time, and double not just their, but her pleasure as well, it seemed.
Probably 20 pairs of men then took their turns enjoying the charms of my wife’s lovely body. On occasion, she would grunt, or even whimper, as an especially large organ was introduced to her anus, but soon enough, the sounds turned to a sexual keening that indicated her own sexual high was taking over. Man after man was accepted into her lower openings, to piston back and forth in a high energy sexual dance that culminated in the discharge of stream after stream of semen. Her loins dripped the liquid like a waterfall.
At one point, though, a third man joined the erotic coupling taking place, standing in front of Tess and offering his erect stalk for oral caress. She was quick to accept the penis, and soon established a rhythm that allowed the three men utilizing her body to achieve a maximum amount of ecstasy. As each man reached orgasm, the semen spilled into her body, accepted gratefully. She swallowed as often as she needed to, making sure that the rich African semen dropped in to her stomach to join the rest there. Her milky loins dripped sperm.
The trios of men seemed endless, but there were actually only about twenty or thirty of them. At one point in the festivities, two more men stepped up to her flanks, and placed her delicate hands on their rampant shafts, eager for masturbatory relief if they could find no other.
Tess was now entertaining five dusky African men at a time. I could scarce believe my eyes. For the next two hours, my lovely Tess was skewered, shafted and spermed until it seemed nearly every square inch of her was coated with a sheen of sweat and semen. Her arms from shoulder blade to wrist had creamy trails of semen cascading down them from her masturbatory efforts. Dark man after dark man placed himself between her alabaster thighs and pushed inch after dark inch of black African penis into her welcoming vagina.
The men beneath her pushed their own hard phalluses into the lower extremities of her digestive canal, and the ones busy with her oral attentions slowly fed inch after inch of penis into her lovely mouth and throat. It seemed that an orgasm happened for one of the male participants about every couple of minutes, and the exhausted member would withdraw and be replaced with the next in line. Tess as well suffered the “little death” numerous times as I could see her eyes shining with lust and satiation.
Finally, the line of men dwindled down to the last few – and I’m not sure that these fellows were not back in line after a recuperation period themselves. They stepped up, spent themselves as best they could, and fell away. At last there was only one last African buck, firmly ensconced in her colon, whipsawing his sizable weapon in and out of her. The whole place could hear her grunts as the pole of ebony flesh penetrated several inches up into her intestines, packing the large volume of semen that had previously been deposited there even farther into the confines of her body.
At last, though, her African lover pushed one final time into the hot tunnel of her rectum and pulsed several times, adding his final contribution of dark DNA to the warm and hospitable colon of my wife, his semen on a tragically unfulfilled journey to an ovum that they would never find. He disengaged from Tess, and she collapsed flat on the mats, breathing heavily and sweating after her marathon.
I walked up and knelt next to her. “Oh Lord…oh good lord...” she could only whisper. I wiped her damp forehead, and helped her turn and sit up.
“How…how many?” she croaked. I consulted the tick sheet I’d been keeping all along. I looked at her in quiet admiration. “Dear, you have established a new personal record, so far as I can tell. There may have been a few repeat customers, but my count rests at….one hundred and thirty two.” She looked at me, smiled, and passed out.
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