Chapter 3

The muscular son of Tarzan recently transplanted from the Dark Continent knocked on the glass window in the taxi and asked, “Can you take me to the main train station in the middle of London?”

The driver looked in the mirror at him and didn’t like what he saw.

The bloke in the back was horrendously huge with muscles that strained the seams of his finely cut three-piece suit custom tailored for him by the family haberdasher. The tailor there was noted for his fine workmanship and he only did suits for the finest families as a sideline for his employer’s trade.

The Pakistani driver didn’t like the overly long hair and the wild look in the strange fellow’s eyes that reminded him of the animals of prey that roamed the mountains of his mostly undeveloped country. He was glad the taxi company had installed the glass partitions in the cabs because he felt a little bit safer with the barrier between him and his customer.

“Yes, certainly, sir, it is not that difficult to manage and I will drop you right at the main entrance for you to decide which area is your final destination because the place is quite sprawled out and that will be your challenge after you disembark.”

Tarzan was pleased the driver spoke beautiful English with not the slightest trace of the slurred words of most of the people he had met in England thus far. He had been astonished that there were so many dialects of English and the residents in London seemed to have special words for their immediate areas that nobody else could possibly understand. It was worse than the outback territories of the inland countries to the north of South Africa where Dutch is still spoken in certain circles of society. This driver had one of those wrap-around head gear deals that supposedly was connected in some way with a religious sect, but he had no idea which one and in all honesty didn’t really care because he had his own problems to decipher that were infinitely more critical and important for him to attend to before the situation surrounding him got worse than it was at present. The very thought of that possibility made him impatient to be cracking on the trail of the person or persons responsible for his worry and he admonished the driver, “Do make haste, my dear driver, because speed is of the essence on this journey to the station.”

The train in from the north was right on time and Tarzan Jr. tried to look like he was just another friend or relative waiting on the benches for the travelers to arrive at the platform.

The travelers from the deepest reaches of the Dark Continent were assembled in a small group of four with their bags and valises around them like some sort of last line of defense against evil-doers with mean-spirited intentions. He recognized the dark-skinned Princess from the Escarpment and the lily white skin of the Doctor Lady that had her main office in the largest city in South Africa. The other two girls were obviously there to serve the others in ways that females do when they are disgusted with anything with an appendage that had no conscience in matter of the heart.

Tarzan Jr. arranged for the entourage and all their bags to be transported to his family’s home in town and they settled down for the night after long hot baths supplied by a host of servants with wide-eyed wonder and a bevy of questions on their tongues. Of course, they were as mute as rocks because in this day and age keeping one’s job is far more important than satisfying one’s curiosity in an affair that was surely none of their business.

Tarzan Jr. dried off the Nubian Princess and he took time to massage her aching muscles at the back of her neck and then down low where her itch for something else was growing by the moment after she perceived the size of the young Lord’s cock.

The white female Doctor saw her down on her haunches in the middle of the bed and the still clothed Tarzan studying her naked form. The Doctor wanted to stop them from doing anything foolish but before she could say a word or make a move, the instinct driven Tarzan mounted the Princess and gave her the full length of his shaft like a miner staking out a claim.

The sight of the naked female and the half clothed master of the estate joined in coupling bliss was a visual inspiration to the Doctor. She dropped her white fluffy bathrobe and straddled them both with her yearning skin hoping that she might share in the fruits of the taking. She wanted to taste both of their essences with her lips, her tongue and suck them down into her tummy. Then, she would wait her turn if one was in the offing. It was certain that she would be stretched to her limit considering the size of what she saw beneath her. The hardness of the young man’s equipment matched his muscled flesh that pummeled the Princess like she was a block of clay to be molded into his own liking. His was a fiery furnace of desire that drove them all into a frenzy of arms, legs and secret places that needed an ultimate climax exploding in creamy cum and happy faces.

It turned out that the other two girls were related sisters but had been brought up in different households because one was dark-skinned albeit a more chocolaty like a beach bunny with a nice tan all over. She made no objection to parading around in the bedroom stark naked with her boobs and bottom bouncing every which way but loose. Tarzan Jr. reached out and slapped her bare bum with his heavy hand and the girl giggled all the way into the bathroom making everyone think she was a bit flighty or nervous about all the bare skin around her on every side. The other girl was wearing a modest silk undie and had her breasts covered by a bikini top stolen from a bathing suit costume unused in one of the closets. She was pretty much a white girl except there might be a hint of African blood in her because her backside was shelfed out like the women in the interior tribes that had bottoms that looked like balloons.