Chapter 8: The Royal Staff

The next morning, refreshed and with Tess somewhat less besotted with semen from several dozen randy porters, we dressed and performed our morning toilet.

"I want to talk to Chief!Kong as soon as possible, sweetums, and get started on our research. You remember, we're here to investigate the rumours of the outlandishly sized phalli of this tribe. We're here to see the members of the members!" Tess giggled at her joke.

"Exactly right, my dear sweet one. During our palaver yesterday, I briefly laid out the purposes of our visit here, explaining some of what we heard from Percy Eddington-Eddington at the meeting, but the chief was oddly reticent, if I may say. He seemed to harbor some secret thoughts, if you ask me. Bally odd."

"Well, I don't know that, but I would very much like to see him and begin our studies. You know the weather won't hold forever here, and I should not like to be stranded here during the rainy season. You remember that fall we spent in the Belgian Congo over a decade ago... ?"

Her wistful eyes reminded me of the time, indeed. On assignment for some long-shuttered publication in England, we'd been unlucky enough to be caught behind the lines just as the Congo's great unwashed masses held another one of those beastly revolutions they were having about every six weeks during the previous decade. Captured by rebel soldiers, I was detained in a hovel of a jail cell for nearly two months, living on very little except some rancid butter and a small ration of bread and rice every now and then. Poor Tess, though, of course, became the object of the rebel soldiers more ribald attentions. Beautiful blonde white ladies with a weakness for attractive Negros of all shape and size were a rarity back then, and the opportunity to experience what for many, if not all, of the revolutionaries was a novel experience did not escape them. Nude but for her necklace and a small anklet, neither of which offered much protection from the burning sun, they laid her out across a rough horse-hair mattress, securing her wrists and ankles to sturdy stakes at all four corners (I think they were bamboo, but can't be completely certain. They may have been some form of native palm grass, for that matter... ), and proceeded to ravish her womanhood on an almost constant basis. At one point, I watched more or less helplessly as 36 soldiers in a row forced themselves on her, copulating madly and ejecting what must have felt like gallons of hot rebel spermatic fluid at her womb. I believe her cervix must have had craters on it by the time they were finished.

After every four or five men, one of the new recruits to the force was handed a wet rag with which to sponge off her rather indelicately crusted privates, and then the interracial intercourse would begin anew. Every day for a fortnight, all day long, poor Tess endured the constant love-making efforts of the rebels. It seemed she was simply a warm opening in which to insert their penises, move about for a few moments, and deposit a few hot oz.'s of semen. Interestingly enough, there were several other women at the camp, all dusky native girls, and several quite attractive, but the rebels seemed interested only in copulating with Tess. Her ovaries were no doubt veritably swimming with semen. Of course, during the time, many of the rebels took advantage of the other openings in her body, so her lower intestines also became bathed in several dozen outpourings of genetic material every day, and her thirst from being out in the hot African sun was at least partially slaked by the several cupsfull of semen she swallowed every few hours.

Sooner or later, as usual, the rebels were defeated, and we were liberated by the government army. Tess, being the kind soul she is, demonstrated to the loyalists her appreciation for their concern by encouraging several dozen of them to enjoy the pleasures of her womanhood during the long ride back to civilization in the lorry. Once safely back in England, it wasn't more than a few weeks when the shock hit home - Tess' regular monthly cycle was missed. Then missed again.

We realized that given the huge amount of African DNA that had been injected into her uterus over the last month or so, there had been at least one extra-lively sperm cell that burst through the barrier of her monthly egg, and Tess was now carrying a mulatto child fathered by any one of the several hundred Africans she'd been intimate with. Rebel or Government, we had no idea. We forged ahead as best we could, concealing it from no one, and 9 months after our ordeal, Tess gave birth to a healthy, quite vocal, half-caste girl. She was given over to a nursemaid and governess, and was now about to begin her first year of secondary school back in England.

At 18, she had all the lovely features of her mother, coupled with a coffee mocha complexion that stood out amongst her pure English school chums. We never hid from her the fact that she had a black father, and when at 14, she came to us for permission to begin taking birth control pills, we of course gave her our blessing. She's had several black lovers that we know of so far. Tess spent the better part of two weeks whilst on holiday in Ibiza giving her instructions in the art of fellatio, and enlisting the aid of several of the local boys as test subjects. The dear girl had some trouble learning to train her gag reflex, and of course, being a bit smaller still than her full-grown mother, her throat and neck took some time to become accommodated to the rather large penises that Tess insisted she learn from.

"The poor dear will never be able to fully satisfy her lovers if she doesn't go through this and learn, as I did. And don't forget, I began my training at an even younger age than she!" Tess said to me one evening.

I tore myself from the musings of memory as we sauntered over to chief's hut. Given the events of the next few hours, I think it best that I turn over the narrative duties to the person most intimately involved, our Dear Tess.

This is Teresa here.

As we walked to the Chief's hut, I tried to compose myself and begin to formulate in my mind the questions I needed to ask him, and the manner in which I would broach the rather delicate subject. I remembered that Percy had mentioned that no white man (or woman, for that matter) had been encountered by the tribe for several generations, yet I knew that the Chief had himself been brought up and tutored, at least for a part of his life, with a white family.

Presently, as we arrived at the Chief's hut, dear Roderick excused himself to scurry off and attend to some camp necessities. I hallo'ed at the Chief and heard his booming bass voice invite me in.

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I peered about the hut. Decorated in the usual tribal fashion, with ceremonial masks, shields and what appeared to be several phallic objects supporting oval dishes of varying size, !Kung sat in one corner on a large, but not oversized throne-like chair, festooned with leopard skins and the horns of several types of wild beasts. It looked exactly like a chair out of some movie producer's idea of how the typical African lived. He was wearing a leopard skin chemise of some sort that draped across one shoulder, leaving one brawny arm bare. His dark chocolate skin gleamed in the flickering light of the torches. The chemise stopped around the middle of his thighs, each sturdy leg looking more like a tree trunk than any normal man's leg. Animal skin boots protected his feet from the dusty environment. The floor of the large hut was covered with pelts from various local fauna.

"Haw Haw Missus Tessera, how you being todayish?" he guffawed at me. The Chief always seemed to be in a jovial mood. "Hear me I did that you pleased many of your porters yesterday by suckling on their manhoods very much, correct am I?" he grinned at me. I blushed. I suppose word of my behaviour did circulate rather quickly through the camp, but I had no false modesty about it.

"Yes, indeed you are correct, Chief!Kung, I did perform as you noted. I believe my skills at fellatio are quite effective. I have been noted for them since my early teens. But that's not completely what I wanted to speak with you today about. As you know, I'm a trained researcher and scientist in Anthropology, Biology, Sociology and Psychology. I'm also quite well versed in the sexual practices of many dozens of cultures around the world. Several weeks ago, we got word that your tribe had been isolated from 21st, well actually, 20th Century civilization for many decades. An acquaintance of ours showed us some photographs of members of your tribe that, frankly, astonished me."

"How so it that Missy Teresee?"

"It appeared, from the photographs, that some members of your tribe have, shall I say, quite unnaturally-sized penises, and correspondingly large testicles. My professional curiosity was naturally aroused. I told Roderick that we must come here to investigate and evaluate for ourselves whether the photographs portrayed an accurate representation of your tribe, or whether it may have been cunningly doctored to simply feed on many persons predisposed predilections of the prodigious penile protuberances of your ... people." I was nearly out of breath after that sentence.

The Chief was silent for several seconds. Then finally...

"What you say is truthful. My tribe has been known for many ages for the size of our manhood poles. Haw Haw! Many mens in my village have such long dongs they need to fold back up and put in pocket so they don't step on. Haw Haw!!!" the Chief guffawed, slapping his thigh with a large meaty hand.

"I'm gratified, if not a little flustered, to hear this. I would so love to analyze and prepare a scientific study of your people, if you would be so kind as to allow me. I'm sure the professors back home would love to hear more about your culture and your history."

We spoke at length about his people - how they'd migrated to this river valley perhaps a thousand years ago, following the herds of the wild animals such as wildebeest. I told him that was gnus to me. We discussed their diet (high in both animal protein and fruit and vegetables, nothing extraordinary insofar as a standard pre-industrial diet), and their religious customs. One thing the chief said astonished me, when I asked him about the religion he and his tribe practiced.

"Are you animists? Do you worship the animals?"

"Haw Haw, oh no, missy we not worship beasts. That not right."

"How about Islam, are you people of the Koran?"

"Oh no, no Mohammedans for us. Not enough fun. No drink, no bare naked womens allowed. No, not Mussleman for us being.

"Hmm ... Then how about Christianity?

"Oh yes, missy yes, we understand Christianity - we have eaten the missionaries!"

I recovered from my shock, and went on to discuss other things at length. Finally, speaking of length, I noticed the area of the front of his loincloth rising up as though concealing a sizable anaconda or boa, or perhaps a python of some sort.

"My goodness Chief!Kung, is that your penis becoming erect, or do you carry your assegai that way?" I joked, referring to the long African spear with an iron tip, and pointing at the rapidly rising mound in his tunic.

"This my manhood, Missy. It growing like this, as it does many times per day. Usually call one or two wives in to take care of. Too much pressure building up is not good. I must have pressure released or ballsac becomes hurtful.