Don't Say Anything of This

by ChrisCross

Copyright© 2018 by ChrisCross

Erotica Sex Story: Willing fourteen-year-old David is caught up in the flexing of native Zimbabwean muscles, power, and sexual lusts for male-male predatory sex in the 1980s decade following the African country's independence.

Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/mt   Consensual   Rape   Slavery   Gay   Fiction   Farming   Historical   Military   DomSub   MaleDom   Rough   Gang Bang   Interracial   Black Male   White Male   Anal Sex   Oral Sex   Size   Politics   Revenge   .

“We shall not say anything of this.”

“No, I shan’t,” I murmured as I panted. I didn’t think I could count on the tall black man with the slender body, big hands, big feet, and the long cock to stay silent among his peers about what he could get from an English boy, someone from the white farm owner’s family. But that was not my problem.

Vengai, the gardener, who was nearly forty and experienced in this well before he had fucked me the first time, and I were in the potting shed, both naked. I was perched on a bench, leaning back, my shoulder blades pressing into the rough wood of the shed’s siding, grabbing the edge of the shelf overhead with the hands of my spread arms. Vengai was standing between my spread thighs, at the front edge of the bench, his big brown hands clutching my slender waist, and his long cock lengthening and shortening as he moved it in and out of my bung hole.

I looked down the sleek torso of my fourteen-year-old body to my just-developing yellow-blond bush and my dick, erect and waving back and forth. Life in the Zimbabwe savannah was rough and demanding, even for the privileged, and a boy quickly developed the needs and lusts of a man. I certainly had ripened early. Native boys of my age were already beginning families or seeding the girls without a thought of family responsibility.

He was fucking me shallowly, but he was fucking me good. This was exactly what I wanted from him. I fisted my dick and bent it to the side, while slow stroking it, so that I could watch his brown cock lengthening and shortening inside my hole.

He had a lot of length to work with, but he was moving not more than four inches inside me at his greatest depth--we’d just begun--and a chill of pleasure went up my spine to be able to see his black bush and several inches of the root of his cock as he moved it in and out of me. That was even better than having him all inside me and me knowing I could sheath a dick that long--it made me shiver to be able to see where it was spreading me open and lengthening and shortening as it moved in and out of my hole.

“Give it all to me,” I whined, craving the sensation of being invaded to at least nine inches by a black man’s cock.

“In time,” he muttered, “All in good time.”

I heard a sound and looked beyond him, to the door of the potting shed. Papa, Thomas Burton, was out there. He’d seen us, but he was hesitating, and then he pointed his face at the ground as if he hadn’t seen us and slid off to the side and was gone.

“I will put it all in you, but don’t say anything of this,” the gardener muttered again, not knowing Papa had seen us.

“No, I won’t,” I repeated. “Fuck me. Fuck me deep.”

Vengai was a Shona tribesman, from a dominant tribe in the Midlands Province of Zimbabwe. He was tall for a Shona and muscular from his work in the fields, wiry from his advance in years. He was slim; there was no fat on him. It was all ebony muscle and sinew. He had big hands and feet and a long cock. When he fucked me, I felt he could reach up into my stomach. He fucked me on my fourteenth birthday--I had begged him to do so, saying it was my decision that he do so--and he had been fucking me like this ever since. Small-bodied European blonds with pretty faces are favorites here in Zimbabwe of men who liked them young, whether female or male.

My being fourteen didn’t mean much to him, though. There was a time that he would be shot dead for screwing a white person, no matter their age or willingness. Thoughts of that died hard even though the actual practice in Zimbabwe had changed dramatically with independence.

But it wouldn’t have mattered if I had told Papa--or Mama--for that matter. Ever since Zimbabwe had taken its independence six years earlier, the whites whose families had lived here for generations and had no place else to call home were being systematically expelled from the country and sent away. All power was drifting out of their hands, and the native Zimbabweans--the Shona and other Bantu and Zulu tribes--were taking over, sometimes brutally. They wanted us to leave when they were able to take over performing skills we’d kept to ourselves for generations. They wanted us to decide it was too risky and violent for them to stay and for us just to walk out of our businesses and homes, to abandon them for the Shona to take--like Vengai was taking me now.

Papa and Mama would look the other way when Vengai was fucking me not just because I wasn’t really of their blood but mostly because they were afraid of Vengai, afraid that he held the power to have them expelled from Zimbabwe.

He leaned his pelvis closer into me, digging deeper. And he picked up the rhythm of the fuck. I moaned and started stroking my dick harder. It would be only a matter of moments now before the pleasure washed over us both, each of us for our own goal in the coupling.

Some whites had been thrown out immediately, but the whites had been clever for generations. They hadn’t shown the Shona everything they had to know about running the economy, so some whites had managed to hold on, at least for a while. The Burtons were among those. The family ran a modern dairy farm not far out of the provincial administrative town of Gweru, in the country’s central region, some distance south of the capital of Harare. Papa’s expertise was still needed, but for how long? I was the only one at the farm that he was passing some skills in the technical processes to.

Vengai and other black Zimbabweans on the farm were slowly learning most of Papa’s dairy business skills. It was only a matter of time when Papa wouldn’t be needed here any longer, but both he and Mama lived in the hope that that day would never come. They assumed that I felt the same. But they hadn’t given me any reason to. I was just a foster child. I was given no access to a higher education. I only was trained in how to run the dairy. But there had been no hint that I ever would gain an ownership share of the dairy. I was just as much a hired hand as Vengai was. I just got to live in the main house and eat at the Burtons’ table.

I felt safe with Vengai fucking me--I loved having a man’s cock inside me--because I’d overheard Papa and Mama talking one night. They thought that Vengai was a spy at the dairy for the police in Gweru. The police in Gweru ruled the province behind the scenes. They did what that wanted when they wanted. Mama and Papa well knew that. Early after independence, two black sedans had pulled up to the house. The chief of the police in Gweru, General Sabelo Mkondo, was in the backseat. I saw him point to Mama on the porch, and they took her away. She didn’t return for three days. They would not tell me what she had done or what they had done with her. She had said only, with pursed lips, “We will not say anything of this,” and had disappeared in the house for nearly a week. When I saw her again, and ever since, she’s been quiet, skittish of sudden noises and moves, and distant. She wasn’t the smiling, joking woman she once had been.

It’s clear that Papa and Mama are afraid of Vengai and of what he might say to the police in Gweru. That’s why, when I reached fourteen and could take the loneliness and lack of sexual connection with someone else anymore, I had come to him to penetrate me for the first time and let me ride the long cock I already knew he had. I felt safe letting him take his pleasure inside me. He could make my papa just turn away. Papa was afraid of him.

Not that Thomas Burton is my real papa or Victoria Burton my real mama. My parents died in a plane crash when I was four and the Burtons took me in and made me part of their family. I knew I wasn’t wholly part of their family, though. They have real children of their own, Nathaniel and Florence. As soon as the real trouble for the whites started in Zimbabwe, the Burtons’ real children were sent to boarding school in England. I wasn’t. At no time was a higher form of schooling or professional training beyond learning the dairy business offered to me. I was here, learning to grow up, with a black Shona man’s dick inside me.

My parents are terrified of General Mkondo. I’m not. He is a giant of a man, big, a bull, but not really fat. He’s muscular and glowering and bigger than life. And he has a big cock, a very, very big cock. Once, when he’d come to the farm to talk with Papa, I had been standing outside the house when he emerged from it. He looked at me and smiled. I smiled back. Then he unzipped and exposed himself to me before getting back into his black car--and I just stood there and watched. That’s how I know he was hung like a bull. He laughed when he saw that I was not going to look away from him.

He called out to me before getting back into his sedan, asking if I wanted what he had shown to me. I didn’t answer because he didn’t stay to get an answer. Maybe the expression on my face answered for me, though.

Two weeks ago we took dairy cattle to the regional agricultural fair in Gweru. General Mkondo was there, strutting around. Mama and Papa scurried about, doing their best to avoid him and being seen by him. I didn’t, though. I even saw--and touched--his cock. There might have been more; it would have been fine with me if there had been more.

I was in the toilet tent, pissing into a trough. I was the only one in there. I knew General Mkondo was in the area, though. We had spied each other across the beaten earth square bordered by the game booths. We looked at each other for a moment and then I turned and walked to the toilet tent. I didn’t know that he would follow me, but he did.

General Mkondo entered the tent. I saw two of his bodyguards--he also traveled with big, black bodyguards nearly as big as he was--posting at the tent door when he came in. When he saw me, he smiled and stood right next to me. The piss trough was a long metal one, but he stood right next to me. I was pissing in the trough and he took that big, big cock of his out of his pants and he pissed in the trough too. He was looking at me. Of course I was looking at his big dick. I’d never seen anything that long and thick before. I had been thinking about it since that day he’d exposed himself to me on the dairy farm. Vengai was long, but he wasn’t thick like the general was.

When I finished pissing, I just stood there, waiting for him to leave first. He didn’t leave. He reached over and touched my dick. I heard him say, “Nice,” and then he said, “You can touch mine. I want you to touch mine.” I couldn’t really move. He was more than touching mine. He had three fingers on it and was pushing the skin off the head of it. “Touch mine,” he said in a gruffer voice, and so I did.

“Do with mine what I’m doing with yours,” he said.

I pushed the skin back from the head of his dick and heard him groan. It was a thrill to know I could make a big black man, the chief policeman of this district, groan. His dick was fascinating. The huge mushroom head on it was purple. Vengai’s was a pinkish color. And the dick itself was a jet black, not the chocolate brown of the rest of his skin. Vengai’s dick was the same color as his skin. The shaft was the embodiment of power and strength. I rolled it around in my hand, testing the bulb for firmness.

Perhaps shocked that I wasn’t shocked, the general groaned again and ran a hand down underneath the back of my shorts and into my crack. He was looking around at the toilet stalls, and I know he was thinking of carrying me into one and fucking me right there. I would have gone with him without struggling. I had been going with Vengai for months. I was scared of the general’s dick, but because it was so thick, not because I didn’t want it inside me. I wanted to be dominated and have a taste of cruelty. I wanted to feel while I was being fucked. I knew the general would do that.

He even put his hands on me and said, “Come into the stall with me.”

I answered with a simple, “Yes,” thus giving myself to him.

But then we heard voices of men arguing with the bodyguards posted outside, wanting to enter the tent, and we both quickly pushed our cocks back in our pants and buttoned up.

As he turned to go, he growled, “Don’t say anything of this.” Of course I didn’t. My parents already were afraid of the man. And who would I tell anyway? How would I tell it without revealing that I had wanted more from it?

That was two weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to forget about that gigantic dick of his.

But now, here, was Vengai. Just thinking about the general and his big cock had me so that I tensed and jerked and spouted my seed up Vengai’s belly. That turned him on more too. He placed a hand on the small of my back and pulled me onto his cock to the root. I yelled a word I’m not supposed to use and clutched at his shoulder blades with the nails of my hands as he started fucking me in long, hard, fast slides, giving me all of his cock. I gasped as he bottomed and then again when he pulled back to where he must only have had the bulb buried, and then I cried out as he gave me all of it again--and then again and again.

I writhed in his embrace, until, with an exclamation of his own, he pushed me back against the back wall of the shed, banging my head on the wall and leaving me momentarily dazed. I was alert enough, though, to see him pull his cock out of me and jack off in a long, high arc that splashed down on my belly. I watched him shake cum off the head of his cock, and then he stepped back from the bench, pulled me down to a kneeling position in front of him, and I opened my mouth to his cock and gave him suck.

He left the shed first. I cleaned off my belly with water and a rag that were in a bucket in the shed, pulled on my shirt and shorts, and walked out of the shed.

Mama was on the front porch of the house. She waved to me. Her voice was shaky. “There you are, David. I’ve been looking for you. Run out into the field. Hide somewhere.”

“Why?” I asked.

She was so hysterical she couldn’t speak. She was coming off the front porch herself and going around the side of the house. She was going to run into the field herself. She was just staring down the road and waving.

We lived on flat land. You could see a vehicle approaching from far away. I looked out on the road. There were two black sedans, each raising a cloud of dust. Seeing that I wasn’t going to run into the field, Mama continued doing so, yelling, “Run, David. Save yourself.” That I didn’t start running as well didn’t stop her from continuing to do so until she was no longer to be seen in the field.

Vengai came around to the side of the shed to watch what was going on. “Walk out to the side of the road, David,” he said.

So I did. The sedans stopped in front of the house. General Sabelo Mkondo was sitting in the backseat of one of them.

“Get in the car, boy,” he said. The car door opened.

I climbed in over his knees and sat down in the commodious backseat of the big sedan beside him. He told me that the man on the other side of me was his deputy, Colonel Hatendi.

The colonel was unbuttoning my shirt and the general was unbuttoning my fly as the cars were turning in the road to return in the direction they’d come from. I did nothing to stop them. I just sat there submissively, knowing what they intended to do--wanting them to do it.

“Do you think he will give it, just like that?” Colonel Hatendi asked, looking across me at the general.

“He will lay right down for it, yes,” the general answered him. “Vengai tells me the boy begs him for it. The boy has already said yes to me. I could see it in his eyes. He wanted it.”

The general’s big cock was standing up from the open fly of his police uniform. I was pushing the foreskin of it down from his cock head with my fingers again--because he told me to. But I also did it because I wanted to. The colonel was rubbing his fingers over one of my nipples. The general was unzipping my shorts. The colonel was unbuttoning his. The colonel was lowering my head into his lap. The general was already penetrating me with his beefy finger.

Here we go.

My heart is racing. I’m moaning, shimmering with anticipation, as milk chocolate, beefy-fingered hands glide over creamy white, youthful skin. I tremble as they search for and explore curves and crevices, zeroing in on my heaving, fourteen-year-old chest. I groan as rough-padded fingers rub, and twitch, and pinch my tender nipples. Vengai hasn’t worshipped and violated my body like this, in the cell at the Gweru police headquarters building the sedan had brought me to, before fucking me. No one ever has. I have been held in here more than most of a day, the general has entered the cell several times and fucked me, and I’ve already come more than once, making the general laugh. I am completely at his mercy. He has taken his time taking his pleasure with me.

I arch my chest up from bed before the hovering milk chocolate monolith, rising to the inevitable, begging for his touch. I cry out as his full lips find my nipples and his mouth opens around aureoles, closes tight, and he gives them suck. I groan and melt as his teeth slide across my engorged nipples.

I have never been taken like this before. I never knew before the sex could be this demanding, consuming, pleasurable. The man is gross and overpowering and magnificent and malignant all at the same time. He told me in the car what he was going to do to me--how he was going to use my body--and then he and the colonel did it, one after the other, as the car glided across the landscape toward the town. I didn’t complain; I was completely submissive to both of them, and they marveled at my willingness to be taken totally. Now he’s doing it again--and again. The man goes hard constantly.

“Skin so milky white, so young and fresh,” the general murmurs. “But I will consume you. You will never be the same again when you leave this room.”

I open my mouth to gasp at the hint of a bite on a nipple, only to have heavy lips crush mine and a thick tongue push in. I open my eyes to his, very close now. His are filled with desire, determination, insistence. What does he see in mine? Want? Fear? Need? Submission? Surrender? Most, if not all, of that, I believe.

But he doesn’t care. He said in the car that he would have me fully--use me to the edge of my endurance--or perhaps further--whether I submitted or not. He has made clear that he owns me completely, and I do not doubt it. I have fully submitted to him, but I believe he would have enjoyed me even more if I had resisted. I think he is accustomed to, and drawn to, rape. He is having me fully, penetrating me repeatedly at both orifices with beefy fingers, tongue, and cock, and pumping his cum into me.

I suppose it’s supposed to mean something to me that he is a black African and I am a white European--I suppose I should be feeling some heightened violation of my body, of my whole nation, that he is a man and I am a boy and that there are black hands on my white body and a black cock in my ass and my mouth and that he is dominating me, making me endure sexually whatever he and his minions want to do with my body--but all I feel is heightened arousal and pleasure at being so desired and used by raw power and strength.

I ease my back down on bed, as he rises up below me. He tells me that he is going to take me again as if it is my first time--and his first time violating me--that I am to set my mind to that scenario--that a big-cocked black man is going to fuck a white boy and that there’s nothing the boy can do to prevent it. And I do, so when he fucks me this time, it is so much more of a taking for me than ever before. I am breathless as I watch giant black hands gliding across my body, slowly working their way to my center. Milk chocolate hands on soft, creamy white belly and thighs, nudging my thighs open, taking his time opening me to him again, as he’d done several times already. I whimper for him as he teases my legs open, knowing what he intends. All he has to do is touch me on my inner thighs and, mesmerized, I open my legs to him as I have done for him before. Purring as hands glide around silky inner thighs.

“Smooth. Milky white. Young, unspoiled, vulnerable. Desirable,” he mumbles, voice thick with the sexual despoiling he’s looking forward to. Then he smiles cruelly and says, “Ultimately fucked by a black cock.”

The hulking, bullet-headed, muscular soldier sinks between my opened legs. His grinning face dips out of sight. I arch my back and gasp again, as his thick tongue rims, flicks in, and then invades.

“Yes, yes, yes,” I cry out.

Grasping his close-cropped kinky black hair, my immediate, defensive impulse is to push him away. I know he can ruin me, rip me apart, shred me. The defensive instinct is quickly replaced by the overwhelming desire to sheath and throb on that monster cock and to hold him in closer, inside me, stretching me, bruising my walls.

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