Chapter 9: Penises on Parade

Tess here. I'll continue the narrative for the moment.

Waking a few hours later, rested and refreshed, I performed a brief toilette to swab off the dried and flaky semen still spotted about my breasts, shoulders, neck, face and hair. I marveled at the sheer amount of ejaculatory fluid the Chief had produced, and once again resolved to evaluate the emissions of other tribal members with all due haste.

Roderick was seated at a camp chair a few feet beyond, working at his journal. The dear man keeps track of everything, I must add, noting every little detail of the events that happen to us on our journeys.

I quickly brought him up to speed on the events of the past few hours, leaving no detail out of course, and was gratified to see him agree with me as regards the need for much further study in the area.

I said to him, "I see the sun has nearly fallen, and the Chief has invited us to dine with him and some trusted advisors. How about you put aside the journal for an hour or two and sup with us?" I asked, as I slipped on a pair of brief shorts and ran my fingers through my hair.

"Ah, my dear, nothing would be of more interest to me than partaking of some of the native delicacies. I hear they prepare a burnt offering that delights the taste buds. But I've got a headache not unlike Sisera in the tent of Jael, wife of Heber, and I feel I would not be of good company. I'll finish a few notes in my journal here, and then turn in. I've taken a local remedy, recommended me by the chief's medicine man, a chap named Bangamanga something-or-other and I feel it shall soon render me oojah-cum-spiff."

He passed a hand over his brow. I billed and cooed over him for a few minutes, professing love and undying devotion. Soon, he requested my assistance to stagger to the cot and lay down. Within seconds, he was soundly ensconced in the land of Nod. I peeled his sweaty clothes off until he was clad only in modesty-preserving shorts. Impishly, I reached my cool hand into the opening in front and closed my fingers around his lovely manhood.

As I suspected, even in his comatose state, he still felt love and affection for me, as the tumescence of his charming penis increased visibly. I extracted the blood-engorged muscle from his Billabong briefs, and licking my lips to provide some lubrication, slowly fed it into my welcoming mouth. His penis, so familiar to me, so warm and pulsing, made my heart soar. My dear readers will permit me to gush over the amazing appliance, notwithstanding that it's not the largest, nor the most thick, nor even the most good looking one I've ever met. But it is the most familiar, having spent thousands of hours, and spent thousands of times, in my mouth, between my breasts, in my vagina, and of course, lodged firmly in my rectum. Familiarity made it easy for my talented tongue to concentrate on those spots that dear Roddy finds so pleasurable, such as the area behind his frenulum, the very tip of his glans, and so on. My free hand lightly massaged his scrotum, rolling the two marbles around gently but with enough ardor to ensure a good mix. As such, in no time at all, I found my tongue flooded with a very serviceable emission of six or seven healthy spurts cascading across my palate, tasting slightly of cinnamon, tropical fruit, goat's milk, and tinged with just a hint of Captain Black from his pipe.

I gratefully swallowed the testicular outpourings, and tucked his now shrinking instrument back into his shorts. Modestly running a finger across my lower lip to make sure that no tell-tale leakage had occurred, and covering his recumbent form with a light blanket, I quietly made my way out of the hut.

It was easy to find the dining hall, as it were. Two huge African gentlemen stood guard outside a long hut, decorated with the usual tribal carvings. Its roof made of a combination of thatch and palm leaves, the building was constructed of huge trunks of a native tree, each easily sixty centimeters in diameter, and perhaps three meters in height. Small lamps of oil were attached at various points down the length of the hall. I strode up to it, and the two functionaries parted to let me pass.

Once inside, I spied the chief sitting at the head of one large table. There were perhaps a dozen or so of his fellow tribesmen arrayed along one side of the long, low table, and one lone place setting across from them. About ten or fifteen nude young girls stood along the far wall, hands held coquettishly behind them. I was not sure what their function was, but assumed that serving the food and clearing the dishware would be not far from the truth. As I entered, the chief gestured to the single setting across from his brethren.

"Aha, Missy so very nice to be seeing you agains. Please be seated at my table, and we begins to eat, drink and be very merry, aha ha ha ha ha..." he guffawed in good humour. It wasn't until I maneuvered over to the far side of the table that I saw another sight that caused an eyebrow to rise - there were at least a dozen young boys, none out of their teens, I'd wager, standing firm against the wall, almost in shadows, with an equal number of young girls kneeling at their feet and applying what looked to be casually rhythmic fellatio to their paramours. The dozen heads moved forwards and back in perfect synchronicity, and I heard a low humming noise coming from the penis-enclosing throats, rising and falling in pitch. The boys looked straight out into the room, seemingly unaware of the oral ministrations being performed on them. I looked at the chief but his visage betrayed no concern. He clapped his hands two times and uttered a single word, "Ungatta".

Within seconds, several older women emerged from the back of the hut with bowls of what appeared to be a very pleasant looking salad - greens, olives, cucumbers, tomatoes, chick peas, shredded carrots, even what appeared to be grated cheese. Each diner had a bowl placed at his, or in my case, her, place. No one made an attempt however, to begin eating, so I waited to see how!Kung would proceed.

Another growled word. "Kyatta! Moko Kyatta!"

I was most flustered to see what happened next. Each of the young girls standing against the wall behind the male diners stepped forward, and took a place to the right of each man. At a prearranged signal, each girl-woman leaned forward and, astonishingly, began milking a teat full of warm breast milk onto the salad bowl of each man. Squirt after squirt pulsed into the bowls from a dozen round African breasts, until each salad was liberally covered in nature's bounty. As each girl finished, she offered the wet nipple to her guest to be dried.

I looked to!Kung and smiled. He smiled at me. "Pogonga. Moko Pogonga!" I heard a rustle behind me, and watched bemusedly as one of the boys stepped forward, pointed his very attractive young African penis at my salad, and promptly proceeded to ejaculate at least 10 full, strong streams of semen on my croquettes.

"Moko Pogonga Moko!". Another boy, another gorgeous penis at my plate, and another barrage of baby batter decorated my salad. This boy was cute as a button himself, and I just couldn't help but lean over and give the shining head of his penis a light kiss as he finished draining himself over my dinner.

"Moko Pogonga Moko Moko!!" By now I'd gotten the rhythm of the thing. A third boy stepped from the shadows and emptied himself across the top of my salad, now threatening to disappear under the amazingly fecund outpourings of my young African benefactors. By now, the streams of semen danced wildly across every direction of my bowl, draping themselves over the lettuce, seeping into the cracks of the tomato halves, soaking into the croquettes, and filling the empty olives like a white filling in one of those Twinkies the Americans are so fond of.

However, this third boy was not even the last. A fourth, and finally a fifth young man walked up and proceeded to liberally soak my entire salad with the spendings of their loins, until my bowl resembled not so much a salad as a soup. I looked at the Chief with a question, but he simply clapped his hands and the guests began eating.

I passed a wooden spoon into the salad and touched it to my lips. The semen was absolutely breathtaking - warm, fruity, yet spiced with that mysterious African tang. Not nearly so salty as much of the Caucasian and Oriental male juices I've had, instead its flavor had a sweetness that was by no means overpowering, yet was piquant and robust. I smiled at!Kung and began attacking the sperm-bearing salad with gusto. Never had I consumed semen in such a setting but if this was the standard way they treated dinner guests, I confess I'd be hard pressed to decline any meal.

I finished the entire bowl, even tipping it up to my lips when the greens were gone to make sure that every drop of semen made its way across my taste buds. I noticed the men across the table were equally voracious with their food.

The serving women came and replaced the empty salad bowls with large plates containing a cut of meat I didn't recognize, but could have been anything from aardvark to zebra, I suppose. I was of course not surprised to see the young girls across the room move forwards and offer their other breasts up to sprinkle a warm sauce across each of the man's meal. I turned slightly to the young men behind me and smiled at them.

Two came forward and stood, one on either side of me. I wondered what the masturbatory effect of a pretty white woman like myself might be on these young boys, who had never, to my knowledge, even seen a white person, much less had their charming penises handled by one. I grasped each one with a practiced grip, and began moving my hands back and forth on the ebony stalks so proudly on display. Each time my hand reached the top of a penis, I flicked my thumb across the head, a move that I'd found in the past to be quite entertaining for my male friends.

The penises were warm and stiff, stiffer than I would have expected, even from a young man. They felt like ebony but the coal dark skin on them slid back and forth easily. Base to tip, base to tip, I moved my hands in unison, enjoying hearing the young men begin to breathe heavily. They moved their hips to meet my hands. Suddenly, the one in my left hand cried out and I quickly moved the head of his penis to my plate, where he promptly rewarded my manual ministrations with a magnanimous measure of male emission, slapping eight to ten thick ropes of semen across my entree. This seemed to set off my right hand man, who promptly criss-crossed the lacing with his own batch of teste tea. I pulled each penis to my mouth in turn, to lightly kiss the warm tip and make sure no drips were wasted.