by HAL

Copyright© 2018 by HAL

Sex Story: Short story about a small town 'sorority' trip to see the gorillas in Africa and what they had to do to avoid being raped by those gorillas.

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Humor   Zoophilia   Masturbation   Water Sports   .

Ah, Mr Maherry, do you have a minute?” It wasn’t a question. It was never a question with Professor Jonas. He had a presence, a power, aside from being head of the department, that demanded acquiescence. He was always unfailingly polite, but then he could afford to be. He was a big man and dominated any room he was in with his unkempt appearance, wayward hair and weathered face. This was a man used to working in the field rather than in an office or lecture theatre.

Vusi, Kev to his friends for no obvious reason and Vusi Abayomrunkoje BlessingsOfGod Maherry to his mother when she was calling him to account, followed the professor to his room.

I have received a letter from Professor Mitchell – do you recognise the name? No? What about Louise Mitchell? Ah, yes, the penny drops! He was very impressed that Botswana has a folk medicine to cure the bite of a snake not found in Botswana, it shows a great level of anticipation to cure something that isn’t a problem. Particularly since the snake isn’t even venomous. No, Mr Maherry, I suggest you say nothing.

Probably better if you leave – the office, I mean – now, before you incriminate yourself.

Mr Maherry ... do not let it happen again.”

As Vusi Maherry left, breathing a sigh of relief, he did not notice the large shoulders of his supervisor start to shake, he was at the end of the corridor before Professor Jonas let out a loud guffaw. He just felt lucky to have survived. He wouldn’t do that again, no matter how annoying the people were.

The year of 2021 was a significant year for Vusi Maherry. An IQ of 144 and a scholarship in his back pocket to study for a PhD in Animal Conservation at the University of San Diego, seconded to the zoo there; Vusi was over the moon, and then under a cloud. The events of 20th May 2021 are well known of course, the callous, brutal and murderous attack was decried by the FBI, but brought a level of respect from the CIA for the orderly, careful and imaginative planning. The perpetrators were from five African countries, and the visas of all citizens of those countries were rescinded with immediate effect. Botswana was the home of the Yosi Ben Bahmed, as he styled himself, and Vusi found his dreams in tatters.

Professor Maltravers tried to do his best for his erstwhile, nearly, student; and so Vusi found himself flying south to Witwatersrand University instead of east to the USA. Studying for a masters with the great conservation scientist Piet Jonas was a good second. Piet had been the one to put tracking devices into rhino horn and elephant tusks. It enabled the army to track down 50% more poachers. He had been the man to bring the Quagga back to life from extinction in a brilliant series of genetic breeding experiments. He was also known to be an Afrikaaner of the first order, impatient with incompetence and not afraid to voice his opinion. Calling the Minister for Conservation a corrupt and devious fking ka** was nearly unforgiveable. Unfortunately for minister Sekamaleng, evidence emerged that he was, in fact, selling ivory privately. So he was indeed corrupt and devious, and Piet Jonas publicly apologised for the K word; he survived, partly because the prime minister’s daughter was studying with him and testified that the man was “not racist, just very rude.” which statement caused everyone to laugh and took the pressure off.

Vusi was in awe of the man. He was sent for experience training to Congo where the Centre of Mountain Gorilla Re-establishment was doing wondrous things. Vusi loved his work there, so when he was asked to take a group for one of the treks into the hills, he heard the harsh US accents but gritted his teeth, smiled and said “Of course”. The centre needed foreign donations, and US ones especially, so despite disliking the USA and all its citizens because he had been denied his PhD studies (and he recognised that the Masters with Piet Jonas was a good substitute), he took a deep breath, smiled and walked across to the group of young women.

“We are Alpha Beta Gamma Sorority from Tuckersville. Alpha Beta Gamma is Latin.” the self-appointed leader needlessly, and erroneously told him “We’ve been helping some of the poor people in this country. It is so nice to make a difference.” They had spent five weeks helping in a school, teaching English to the french-speaking pupils. Since the visitors spoke not a word of French, the whole exercise was more an opportunity for the teachers to have a well-earned break than a useful educational experience for the pupils; but these twelve leggy, lithe, white girls were convinced they had been doing work worthy of the Nobel Prize. Now Sadie was taking to opportunity to patronise the poor unfortunate designated to be their guide. After five weeks of saving the world, they had opted to spend a week visiting the reserve before flying home to revel in the saintly glow of do-goodery.

In their favour, despite being dressed in perfectly fitting, and enormously expensive safari clothing (which included very tight and short shorts), they were ready and willing to rough it in the trek. Not one had thought to properly wear in their walking boots, but years of torture in high heeled shoes that gave them blisters and bunions meant that not one complained as they set off with each carrying rucksacks that Vusi was sure weighed at least half as much as them.

He had to admit that when he followed any of them on the trail, their ultra tight shorts and long, slim legs, were a welcome distraction from the usual middle-class, middle-aged broad beamed men and women who visited the reserve. Then he would remind himself that these well-fed, but slim, girls were the result of the USA excluding the opportunity to better themselves to people like himself. He wasn’t resentful enough to join a terrorist group, but he was angry with the country, and, by extension, with the people.

“What if every country that the USA bombed, invaded or insulted had broken off relations with the USA? There wouldn’t be anywhere American citizens could go.” He’d once said to friend. His friend, with less knowledge of history and a foolish desire to waste an afternoon, had questioned that. Vusi began “Canada – war of 1812, Pig War 1859, Wales Island 1902; Mexico, remember the Alamo? Also: 1846, calling all Mexicans rapists; Britain – war of 1812 (of course);” and continued for the next ten minutes until “Vietnam – obvious really. So Bhutan is probably the only place to visit; but they haven’t got an airport” He was wrong on that, of course. He was also sensible of the fact that Britain had a similar record of relations with others, and several other countries had to maintain a forgive and forget policy to continue trading beyond their borders.

Vusi was strong, well-built, and attractive to women. He knew this, he accepted he was quite handsome. As with many black Africans, he kept his head almost bald; whereas it made some look threatening, somehow his ready smile made it suit him. He had started reading at three, and had consumed most of the books in the mission school before he had even started there! It was natural for him to get a scholarship to the secondary school at the tender age of nine, and he had spent three years working in hospitals and then the Canadian Embassy in Gabarone, saving his money to go to university. He needn’t have worried. The Canadian officials he worked with recognised his skills and intelligence and managed to provide a bursary for him. So he excelled at university too. He was lucky, he knew that. But he also made the most of what he had, his cheerful demeanour and lack of arrogance at being so bright made people willing and keen to help where they could – from the local priest who bought books for him to read to the Canadian Embassy officials who pulled strings, to the remote professor in San Diego who helped get him the masters in Witwatersrand. He even wore his resentment at the USA lightly; he knew that, really, it was one man, or maybe a few men, at the top keen to be seen to do something rather than a whole country seeking to take revenge on him.

The Alpha Beta Gamma sorority was more of a club than a real sorority, though they claimed otherwise. It was true that they looked out for each other both at college and in later life. But the members weren’t the types to be looking for careers where a leg up might be helpful. They were mostly going to need help with their pavlovas or which Jimmy Choos went with their Ralph Lauren. Tuckersville was not the place to go for academic high flyers, it was more of a finishing school with degrees at the end. Degrees in ‘fine arts’ or ‘The American Novel’ rather than Physics or something practical. Most did not opt for the Nursing degree – that was populated by more blue collar girls who actually did want to work, several took the Nursery Support course as a minor. After all, Princess Diana worked in a pre-school nursery and married a prince, why not them? They didn’t follow it through to the sad life and sad end that she had. The sorority had decided that they should help the poor people of Africa by flying over and teaching English. Professor Mitchell actually supported the idea, thinking his spoilt little girl might come up against real life (he could hardly take her to ‘The Projects’ and drop her off to find out about real life in the USA – tempting as it might be, his wife, her mother, was a bone fide member of the Sisters of the Daughters of the Revolution and would never allow such an education for her child). He had helped identify a charity (and made a subtle donation to help move things along). They had flown out, standard class to show they were ‘of the people’, and taught English in classes of fifty, in the overflowing schools. The one thing they did unwittingly do was show the girls in the classes that they could stay and learn rather than be mothers at fifteen. And the one thing several wittingly did was to help girls who couldn’t afford sanitary protection during their periods. It did genuinely bring some of the visitors up short to discover that these girls couldn’t afford tampons or towels. So, they did some good. And they played with the young children; and to their credit, they ate what they were given, didn’t turn their well-manicured noses and hands up in horror at the sleeping conditions. Perhaps knowing that you would return to a comfortable bed in a room bigger than the dormitory for six that held all twelve helped them cope; but they did cope.

Now they were being led up the track from the main building. The first day would be spent walking up into the hills. It was possible to use a Jeep, Landrover, or Land cruiser to get to the main area, but this trek would take them into a more remote valley where the re-introductions were taking place. A group of fifteen had been established from orphans and rescued zoo animals. They were less frightened of humans than the truly wild animals, and that was why a remote area had been chosen. The poachers were less able to reach in a slaughter these animals.

Each carried their own clothes and equipment and something of the camp – tent, cooking equipment, or food. Vusi gave them the normal health and safety talk. “Nothing is cute and furry, anything will bite, boil any water before drinking, be careful which leaves to wipe yourself with.” They would, he explained, reach a pool, after a couple of days, which was safe to bathe in. Meantime, probably best not to wander off looking for somewhere to wash.

Day one found them at Hakeri Point, where the girls all unpacked, put up their tents and made themselves food. They did not think of inviting ‘the guide’ to join them. Vusi was used to this, groups who saw the guide as somehow part of the forest rather than part of the visiting group; he brought his own food. He set to skinning the small animal he had bought from a stall. It was a rabbit, from one of the charities that was seeking to encourage such local enterprise. Vusi had marvelled that, after the destruction wrought in Australia by rabbits, charities still sought to spread rabbits around Africa; but the meat was good and would last a couple of days. The girls looked across with something like horror (or was it disgust?), he was eating Thumper! They ate their bean stew and sang a campfire song and went to bed. The noises of the nearby forest kept some of them awake. Vusi slept.

On Day two, the track became a single width pathway, winding up the Arokoka valley and then branching right diagonally up the side. It took all day to reach the ridge; and there a cleared area was presented on a small promontory overlooking the valley they had walked up. The view was stunning. All the girls were bathed in healthy sweat and wishing they could shower. For the first time, Vusi noticed them properly. Their sweat drenched tee-shirts now clearly showed who had opted to drop off the bra and now show clear nipples against the fabric and who was keeping their bosom under control. Why, he wondered did the sight of a hidden nipple raise more excitement than the naked breasts of the women in the villages? It wasn’t that they were black and these were white. He wasn’t racist – was he? He wondered. Then dismissed that thought, no, the young woman in the local village, Mota, her name was, she was black as coal, far blacker than he was, and her shapely body was definitely alluring. No, there was something about body being hidden that made it more interesting. Perhaps Adam and Eve should have stayed naked and then they wouldn’t have lost their innocence, or would have regained it?

Vusi was similarly glistening from the climb. He took off his shirt to wipe himself down, wholly unaware of twenty four eyes watching him, either overtly or covertly. One or two pairs were mentally undressing him and wondering if it was true what they said about black men. Some of the girls lifted their tee-shirts and tied them under their busts; one, it’s true, did it purely to cool down, the other three did it both to cool down and to show off a little bit more body to the only man around. “Are we safe?” asked Louise Mitchell, “I mean, it’s too late to ask I suppose, but ... are we safe?”

“Oh yes, since the Addis Ababa Treaty was agreed and guaranteed by the Nigerian Army, the armed groups have made their way home. I think everyone was tired. Tired of living in fetid jungle clearings and tired of hunting people living in fetid jungle clearings. It’s as safe as Detroit on a rowdy Saturday after the bars have closed.” - comparing it to the most violent place in the USA on a bad night might seem a poor show, but then before hand it had been dangerous to go beyond any village boundary anywhere. Now the Democratic and Eternally Peaceful Republican Kingdom of Muslims, Christians and Tolerance (or Congo as everybody still called it) was at peace, and the gorillas were finding themselves able to concentrate on what they did best – eating, farting and grooming, with occasional bouts of sex.

After dinner, which again didn’t include Vusi, Louise picked up her personal, medicated, perfumed and impregnated roll of toilet paper and made her way a little further in to the jungle. Yesterday several girls were heard ‘at their business’, which also included farts (not a something an Alpha Beta Gamma girl did normally). Louise decided to be out of ear shot. Behind a tree, she found some deep leaf litter and pulled down her shorts and panties. Crouching, she started the process, slightly off balance, she stepped one foot back to regain it, and screamed as a snake head shot up from the leaf litter and bit her hard and very high up the thigh. In fact so high up that it might as well have been her lips that were bitten. The snake had been somewhat affronted by a large animal choosing to shit on the leaves he was hiding in, but he was digesting a meal of a large family of baby mice. The young Calabar python did get annoyed when this animal then chose to tread on his tail, and, believing it might be under attack, it responded in an appropriate manner and then shot away.

Louise was lucky, it was only a young python, the bite was not too bad. People ran to help, Vusi ran to help. Louise was conscious that she was naked from the waist down, but Vusi was the only one who might be able to help. He listened to her description of the dark brown snake with white or cream flecks and concluded it was Calabaria reinhardtii. Louise was still in shock, convinced that she would be dead within the hour.

So the initial action was genuinely to try and calm her. “We wouldn’t get you to the medical centre, but there is a native medicine I know of. With your permission?” He walked rapidly into the trees, looking about him, found a bush and hoped it wasn’t poisonous (he didn’t know), he picked several leaves and chewed them into a pulp in his mouth as he returned. Then he spat the mixture out onto his hands, squeezed the excess liquid. He was tempted to suggest he suck the poison out, given where the bit was, but he didn’t. She had already pulled her panties back on, she wasn’t going to die naked. Vusi applied the mixture to the girl’s leg, the two puncture wounds (caused by the non-venomous fangs which the snake used to prevent its prey escaping once it had been subdued) were visible just inside the leg of the panty. He pushed the green goo under her panty leg and smoothed it around the wound. “We’ll let it draw the poison for a while and then I’ll need to squeeze the wound a little and apply some more.”

“You’re wonderfully calm, I’m glad you’re here.” Simpered Carmela, “Should we walk back down?”

“No, no, that would be disastrous. The young lady, Louise? Yes, she needs to lie still. Any exercise will help spread the poison.”

So Louise lay in her tent, was fed soup made with small pieces of rabbit, some cabbage like vegetable and garlic, and was visited regularly by the young guide to remove the poultice, squeeze the top of her leg erotically close to her now unshaved pubis (the girls had all stopped shaving when they found there was no privacy for such attentions) and reapplied the cool, saliva-soaked leaf mulch. By morning, she felt much better, but Vusi insisted that the poultices had to be applied for four more days to be sure. They should rest another day and then it would be safe to continue.

During that time, Vusi was dedicated to treating his patient, visiting her regularly and applying the wet leafy material to the bit half an inch from her delicate and aroused groin. By the end of the day, she was looking forward to his visits, to his fingers intruding under her panties and gently applying the material to her upper thigh. She found it harder and harder to restrain herself from continuing the massage after he had gone. It was inevitable that in the late afternoon, as his strong fingers inserted more green slime beneath her thin cotton briefs, her fingers came down outside the panties and pushed his hand harder onto her flesh. He looked at her with a concoctedly confused smile and allowed his fingers to be directed that extra half inch in. She grabbed a shirt from nearby and bit into it to stop from shouting out as the rolling orgasm finally began. She had been lying there for two hours, struggling with herself to stop from simply pushing her own hand under her waistband to complete the job. The result was a wet and willing pussy only waiting to be pushed over the edge. If anybody noticed that he was in her tent a little longer than usual, nobody said anything.

That night, Louise came out and shared the meal with the others, and the guide was invited to join the group and was feted for his prompt action in saving Louise’s life. They were so grateful that he felt guilty and nearly confessed; he was sure he would get caught eventually, but then the soft feel of her legs and crotch came back to him, and he opted to stay silent.

The next day, after an early inspection of her leg to make sure she was fit to walk; with a careful and considerate manipulation of the leg with a strong focus on the top of her leg. That this resulted in another silent orgasm was simply a by-product of him ensuring she was recovering. She was embarrassed at the ease with which his strong fingers were able to wrench little squeaks (because she could not be entirely silent) of pleasure from her. Aside from the fingering, he did not take advantage of her; and she was still half-convinced that the climaxes were an unfortunate result of the bite being so close to her ‘lala’ as she called it. Louise Mitchell was not one of the worlds giants, intellectually or physically. Five foot three, with a slight figure which made her bust look bigger than it was; she had blond hair, blue eyes and red lips. In other words, she was a doll made flesh. Unfortunately, with her father being Professor of Psychology, and her mother the author of ‘Female Virgins and Their Power’, the go to book for feminists and Christians saving themselves, Louise felt rather intimidated by the IQ power in the household. She wasn’t stupid, she had an IQ above average, but she had grown used to having everything done or thought for her. She had grown lazy. This trip to darkest Africa had been a chance to rediscover the real self, it turned out the real self was as vapid as the cultivated one.

They continued, dropping down into what was virtually a hidden valley. This was where the experiment, or reintroduction, or resocialisation, was taking place, Vusi explained. He was passionate about the subject, and the young women listened to what he had to say with interest. After fifteen minutes, he noticed, their attention wandered. He broke his talks up into short bursts in an effort to make the Facebook/Twitter/Snapchat/MeMeMe generation absorb something more than what they had had for breakfast. As the walked, he pointed out the trees (“That’s a rare tree now, it was stripped from many jungles because it makes good chopsticks”), the birds (“That one is ugly and tastes really nice, that one looks great and tastes awful – that might be why it can afford to look so bright. Well, if it tastes awful it doesn’t need to hide. Like you? You look great but hardly an ounce of good flesh on you for a feast is there?” He was laughing at them, they had asked about cannibals), and the animals (“Look, there, look harder, keep looking, see it? Well hidden isn’t it? Like the snake that bit Louise. You have to keep your eyes open.”). It was he explained, a balance. If you walked softly, you might see more, and might accidentally tread on something. Louise unconsciously rubbed the sore bite in her groin. If you walked loudly you would warn the snakes, scorpions, millipedes and others, but you would scare away the animals you wanted to see.

That day, they reached their destination. It had been an enjoyable walk; not just for Vusi, who had certainly had some enjoyment in stroking the soft thighs of Louise; and not just for Louise either, who now found herself dreaming of the ‘Slave Porn’ her grandmother used to read (‘Simba had broken the overseers whip and his head, with the master away fighting in Virginia, Melanie could do nothing to stop the rampant insistent forced incursions into her most private place. He was so much bigger than dear Nigel, so much more to accommodate and yet she found herself strangely enjoying his brutal attentions... ‘). They had all genuinely enjoyed this walk through remote jumgle, and if they emphasised the dangers when they got home and minimised the skill of their guide (who had walked this way several times before), well, so what?

Unfortunately they still treated him like he had only a sub-normal IQ and had trouble speaking English. They would speak slowly and clearly to him, never taking on board the fact that he came from Botswana which was English speaking, nor that the book he read a few pages of each night before night dropped like a curtain was one of Trollope’s Barchester Towers series. Since they had not heard of Anthony Trollope (nor Joanna Trollope actually), they simply giggled at the name, assuming it was some low-life porn. He tried to hide his annoyance at them, they took his irritation, when it showed, as jealousy for the well-born lifestyle they had (and perhaps there was some of that too).

The camp was near where Team Benny, as the group, had been named liked to hang out.

“Why are they called Team Benny” asked Victoria (never, ever Vicky!)

“Benny was one of the rescues for a zoo – Towcester I think it was, somewhere in England – he had been friends with a lone chimpanzee. The zoo was shit, I mean shut! No, I think it was shit too! Anyway, they were shipped to us. You’ll see Terry the Chimp probably. They were inseparable. That’s probably what kept them both sane. He is quite a beast.”

“So ... why Team Benny?” She was slow on the uptake.

“Well, he took over the group. He -”

“Like a coup?”

“No ... well, kind of. Remember I told you gorilla bands were led by a Silverback? Well, he’s that here. There’s no democracy in a gorilla band. When he gets too old, he’ll get pushed out. But Terry is clever and keeps an eye on things I think. Benny will be in charge for a while yet.” A naughty thought jumped, unbidden, into his head. “On that, look, I should warn you; these apes are mostly used to humans. They don’t see us as particularly different. They, well, some of the younger males who are kept away from the females by Benny, they may want to get amorous.”

“You mean they might want to touch us?” asked the pretty red head, she shouldn’t have asked, she had put him down a few times with her slow, clear diction because he was probably slow in understanding words with two syllables.

“Oh, well, it can be more than that. Don’t worry, we’ve learnt to follow their own techniques for ‘ownership’” Vusi made quote marks round the word. “I’ll tell you what to do if it comes to it.”

He wondered then what he would tell them to do. It was a wind up really, but he felt they deserved it. They were all still convinced that white skin produced an instant IQ boost (or black skin did the opposite), it wasn’t that they were noticeably rude, just patronising and he knew, he KNEW, he could beat them in a quiz if he was one man against them all. ‘Are you sexist?’ he suddenly thought, ‘is it because they are white or because they are girls?’ he pondered that for a while and concluded that no, he wasn’t sexist, he would probably have reacted differently if they were boys or mixed, but it was definitely their attitude rather than their sex that had elicited a response from him. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

It wasn’t long before they heard the noises. Gorillas don’t need to be quiet. Their only predator is man, other animals keep clear. Benny wandered into the clearing, whoofed a greeting and waited. It was against the rules, but Vusi reached in and found some ginger nut biscuits and walked over to Benny with three. Benny loved ginger nuts. He nibbled them whilst Vusi did the obligatory grooming for a while. That was the greeting over. The young ones started towards his bag and Vusi let out an animal, literally, shout “oooo, oooo, ooo, eeee, eeeee!!!! Ahhh!” as he ran. The baby gorillas scattered, they looked cuddly and friendly, but their lack of fear of humans meant they could be very destructive in their curiousity.

Benny calmly continued nibbling his ginger nuts with a facial expression that almost looked like a roll of the eyes. He wasn’t getting involved.

The girls watched all this with fascination and amusement. Then they started laughing out loud. It wasn’t so much that they were laughing with him (and it was funny), it was more that they were laughing at him, and their previous put-downs provided a good bedrock to build on. He knew they probably didn’t know they were being superior, racist, patronising and worse; but they were. So if they were ignorant of that, they could be ignorant of his retaliation. That, at least, was his thinking; he had no idea what he was going to do.

The answer arrived in the form of Terry. Terry had an interesting habit, he had unfortunately taught several of the young gorillas the same thing. Terry walk in, sat on a tree stump, greeted Vusi, and started masturbating. The girls looked at him, realised what he was doing and looked away, and then looked back. In human terms, Terry was addicted to self-masturbation. He did it in the morning, afternoon, evening, before eating, after eating, even during eating. It probably wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t mate with a gorilla, he had no other outlet than to satisfy his urges himself. He just sat playing with his erect member, unashamed or embarrassed. Observations had concluded that chimpanzees were self-aware enough to become embarrassed, but not about sex. Since sex was as natural as shitting, eating and pissing, it was something that did not require too much privacy. The reason for privacy was to stop others getting involved, and Terry didn’t have that problem. He didn’t always come, he often just sat for hours with an erect penis; and the chimpanzee equivalent of a smile.

“Uh oh! We may have a problem.” said Vusi “I’ll be back in a second.” He went into the bushes, looked around, like he knew what he was looking for, and then selected some leaved. He scrunched them up and pissed on them, and scrunched them up some more. Then he came back. “If he comes towards you, put some of this down the back of your shorts.”

Not one asked what it was. Terry was curious and friendly, of course he was going to go over and greet the visitors. Victoria saw him coming and pushed some of the goo down her backside. “Yes, push it down the cleft, as far down as you can.” Now animals often smell each other’s bottoms in greeting, it gives off a personal smell, but also can show if the animal being smelt is healthy or not (or in oestrous). So Terry naturally sniffed Victoria’s bottom. The smell of Vusi’s urine probably had no effect one way or the other, but having sniffed, he fingered her hair politely (a bit of mutual grooming always goes down well) and squeezed her tits – human females develop prominent mammaries without the need to be pregnant, it was always a source of interest to his enquiring mind. Then he moved away and towards Ursula. Ursula had the largest breasts in the group, possibly the largest in the history of Alpha Beta Gamma. She had to have bras made specially to stop her from bursting the buttons on her shirts as the tits rose and fell. Her bras were not fashionable, they were practical and solidly made for the task required.

Ursula took the gunk she had been passed (Vusi had left some in various places) and pushed a hand down the back of her shorts, saying at the same time “What is this anyway? It smells foul.”

“Yes, its a mixture of a particular plant leaf and ... well ... and my urine I’m afraid. It signals to Terry that you belong to me.” She stopped, then saw a glint in Terry’s eye and carried on. Terry had just seen a bar of chocolate. He had been introduced to chocolate in Towcester zoo (another reason why it wasn’t a good zoo – they let the animals get unsuitable foods) and when he got the chance, he still liked to eat it. She interpreted his interest as lust, in fact it was gluttonous. Being polite, he sniffed her too, and then climbed over her, giving her a very close facial encounter with an erect chimpanzee penis – and the opportunity to contemplate if it would fit comfortably or not. She tried to stop thinking about being raped by a chimpanzee, and that made her think about it even more. He grabbed the chocolate and ran off, screeching. He was happy now, what greater pleasure can there be in life than to eat chocolate with one hand and masturbate with the other?

“This, goo is your piss? That’s gross.” said another girl.

“Not as gross as being assaulted by a chimpanzee, he accepted that Vicky [he saw her wince] and Ursula were mine. That’s what matters.”

“So you mentioned the younger gorillas might want to get frisky too? We just spread this on ourselves and its okay?”

“That might work, they sleep in trees quite a lot.”


“Well sometimes they pee out of the tree and another gets it by accident. It means that sometimes the ‘listen’ to what the smell tells them and sometimes they don’t.”

“But, I mean, come on, I mean, you wouldn’t, I mean you couldn’t allow, I mean ... you’d shoot it right?”

“No guns allowed, not even for the rangers. Ever since that Bonobo learnt how to fire a gun and shot the group leader. It was too risky to allow guns anywhere the great apes ever again. They learn quickly.” This, at least was true. The incident had been a source of horror and fascination amongst Ethologists, the first known occurrence of a palace coup and assassination in any ape group. A UN resolution had been agreed that no guns were to be allowed in any ape reserve (people had watched Planet of the Apes too often).

“Well, what then?”

“We can leave, or ... Well there are other, stronger indications of sexual ownership.” Vusi was trying to keep a straight face. “But we can leave that, perhaps, until the need arises.”

“No, no.” said Ursula, “I’ve had one close call, I want to be prepared. What other indications?”

“I hardly like to say, I mean, it is a little personal ... Perhaps we should leave. It might not even be a problem, of course, though, the human oestrous cycle has been shown to produce similar prime stimulants to gorillas; and there are a lot of you.”

“You mean,” said a worried blonde with particularly large and attractive eyes, the kind of look that seems to be inviting attention even when she is just looking vacant. “that so many of us might make them horny? Why did nobody say?”

Vusi replied “I don’t think they thought about it. There has never been such a large group of fecund females before. There was a group of women from Paris, Texas, but they were all over fifty -”

“And past it, yeah, yeah. So...”

“Well, like, I said, maybe we should leave.”

“We’ve come to see the gorillas. I’m staying!” Madrigal nearly shouted. “What is the alternative approach.”



“I’m sorry, but that’s it. Semen. Applied in the same way. Doesn’t have to be a lot.”

The girls were silent, they looked at the black man standing looking at them all. Three were wondering if he actually meant he had to have sex with them, two of those were thinking that wouldn’t be so bad. Four others were wondering how he could produce enough for the whole group, and, given the alternative was a possible sex session with an ape, thinking of getting first in the queue. Several others were just appalled to speechlessness. Only one, in fairness to them, actually thought ‘euggh! Semen from a black man!’ They weren’t overly, consciously or extremely racist.

“Well, go in then.” said Sadie


“Jack off and give us your cum to rub on. I don’t want to be fending off some hairy ape – done that too often with the football team – whilst you do the business.”

“I can’t.”

“What? What do you mean? You can’t, or won’t.”

Vusi was convulsed with laughter as their gullibility, dare he take it further? “I can’t masturbate myself, it’s against my religion. I’m really sorry. We should leave.”

“NO! I AM NOT LEAVING!” Madrigal did shout now.

A committee meeting of twelve slightly panicked girls now ensured. All talked at once, all listened to only their own voices. Then they turned to Vusi. “Okay, we’ll do it. You mustn’t tell, ever! Tell us what to do.”

Vusi found a pot, put some soil in it and then said, “Now, if each of you pee into this a little, we’ll get a mixture of all your smells, then we can add the magic ingredient – me.”

They started towards the bushes, remembered Louise’s encounter and hesitated, why this time was not clear; suddenly the jungle held mysterious and unexpected dangers. This wasn’t San Diego (or any other) zoo, this was the real thing. Slowly, Madrigal dropped her shorts and panties and peed a squirt into the bowl. Vusi watched from a distance of twelve or so feet and felt his erection come on. Madrigal, it seemed, had volunteered to ‘do the dirty’ this time, she pulled up her panties but took off her shorts, “You’ll need them off I suppose to put the stuff on?” Vusi hit full hard-on, he hadn’t expected to have the job of applying the mud, it seemed this was now understood. He nodded.

One after the other, the young ladies removed their shorts and pulled down panties to pee into the bowl. Meanwhile, Vusi had sat down and Madrigal had sat beside him and pulled out his erect penis. It was quite impressive, perhaps black men really are bigger, thought Madrigal as she started to run her hand up and down the solid phallus, she encircled it and let her hand grip as she rose and fell along the rod. ‘Damn,’ she thought, ‘I’m enjoying this. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to rub a prick. Deek only wants to do it all doggy-style all the time these days. Victoria brought over the bowl and, for no good reason except that she was half-dressed beside an attractive man with a bared chest and a nine-and-a-half-inch cock about to explode, she knelt and kissed him long and enthusiastically. One girl rubbing him, one exploring his tonsils with her tongue, Vusi could not possible stop himself. He let out a cry of pleasure and the jets of white flew through the air and into the mess in the bowl. Madrigal wiped her hand on the edge of the bowl to get the maximum amount in. Then Vusi stirred it all in with his hand. They took his smile to be one of simple sexual satisfaction rather than the thought that he had just talked a pretty girl into rubbing his cock for nonensical reasons.

Twelve young ladies stood to attention whilst he pulled the waist band of their panties down and smeared some smelly mud on their bottoms, making sure to slide some between their thighs, as he said “to make sure any animal sniffing from the front gets a good whiff too”. He knew that Louise enjoyed his medical attentions, it was evident that several of the other girls weren’t too opposed either. Some bent forward, legs open, to give him better access. By the end, he was ready to go again; in other words he was erect and hard again, but he knew it would take a while before he was really ready to ‘fire on both balls’ as a fellow student once put it.

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