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 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. Dr. Aubrey's cane biteth like a snake and stingeth like an adder, not unlike the serpent that had recently taken a chunk out of one of our bearers. 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 absolutely love 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 digestion, 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 neon. 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 black 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 was 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 top 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. Plus the fact that they usually dabbed daintily at their lips once they'd reappeared above the surface also tipped me off.

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.

Freddy chirped, "I say old man, I hate to do this to you, but I just remembered a prior appointment that I must get to or the name will be mud across the entire country."

"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 flyer or two I took on 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.