her hot oasis. It is true that in the pygmy tribes, girls reach puberty at nine or ten and are then initiated into the practise of the cult of Venus. Moreover, this girl proved that to me, for as soon as she felt me well planted inside of her, she wriggled to and fro, observing a rhythmic tempo that testified to her erotic prowess and which I followed as best I could. I held myself back, knowing that these Negresses take longer to arouse than white women. But the unusual thing was that while I was thus fucking the little girl, I was seized from behind, the cock of a man banged against my bottom, and my assailant forced me to lie on my side.
Comprehending his intentions, I permitted his organ's entry into my anus. When I had spent my first three months of military service in the A.E.F., my adjutant had initiated me into such practices. I tried to recognize my aggressive partner, and found it was the chief Moki, a great honor indeed. I said to him, “You are buggering the servant, not the master!”
But he did not reply as he continued his task. I will admit he didn't do too badly, and I derived considerable pleasure. He adapted himself to my own fucking tempo with the girl, so that when I buried my cock into the girl's pussy, he withdrew; and this in-and-out adjustment made me a human sandwich. Voluptuous ecstasy rose in me, and my partner's groans proved that her own climax was not far off. With a last thrust, I shot my bubbling sperm into her intimate depths as the girl quaked and writhed and moaned her rapture.
Moki also discharged, shooting into my entrails Bamboutis sperm. I could then watch the other partners. Baron Prosper, naked, was licking the clitoris of a pygmy girl, while Bouzian was buggering him. Under the Baron knelt a pygmy male, busy at sucking my master's cock. Seeking Martine with my gaze, I found her at last in a tangle of black bodies from which the gleaming whiteness of her skin sometimes emerged. Marivol and two little black girls were frigging and licking Martine, who returned the courtesy. So everyone was well occupied; I am sure this royal hut had never before witnessed such orgiastic cries and amorous sighs.
During the few days we spent with this tribe, we repeated our seances with different partners each time, and when at last we departed to continue our amorous journeying, these little beings had eloquently demonstrated that despite their strange ways and diminutive size, they practiced love much as did all others.
After lunch one day of rest, when we had believed my master would return to Fort-Lamy, he suggested we visit the Koukouanas, who lived in the Transvaal. We would cross the Zambesi River. All of us agreed, and so the Cadillac rolled onward. After long days of traveling, we finally crossed the mighty river, disappointed because in all that time there had been no chance to indulge in fucking — save for Pamela, who had herself buggered by a complaisant native. And at last after many detours, we came within sight of Loo, the important Koukouanas village thirty miles from Pietermaritzburg, capital of Zululand. The village rose in the middle of a beautiful, fertile plain. We saw many farms, and the entire village was protected by a solid palisade of sharpened sticks.
We arrived in the midst of a tribal ceremony, seeing the Koukouanas warriors armed with javelins, brandishing leather shields, their heads and necks adorned with white ostrich plumes. They moved their heads from left to right, in cadence, suddenly stopping, then resuming. It was quite spellbinding, for they were magnificent, sturdy men. Finally, they turned to face one another, and crashed their shields together in symbol of war. The king of the village was a kind of black Hercules about thirty-five years old, presiding over the ceremony from his throne.
Despite their warlike appearance, these natives were very hospitable, and followed polygamy, except for the king who could have only a single official spouse, his queen. She was always made to remain in the royal hut at such ceremonies. He greeted us and bade us sit behind him. Then the dances changed, and musical instruments and floral garlands took the place of weapons and drums. Several women who were to be married came into the middle of the assemblage, and a tumult of voices arose. Everyone was distracted by it, so I stealthily crawled towards the royal hut, intending to solace the lonely queen. I lifted the fold of the tent and entered. Near a curiously carved couch, a young woman was seated on a kind of tabouret; it was the queen, who, in keeping with the custom of the tribe, emerges only at prescribed hours and days.
Today, evidently, she had to stay inside. My face and my European clothes made her gasp with surprise. I approached and bowed low. All the queen wore was a kind of white tunic embroidered with feathers. She smiled at me, and I took out a little mirror and handed it to her. Overjoyed at this present, she left her seat and stood in front of me to rub noses, the tribal way of greeting.
Suddenly, she unfastened her tunic and stood naked. She was a beautiful young woman, firm fleshed and handsomely curved. Her breasts sagged just a little, however. In this country, a woman of twenty-five is already considered old. As was the custom, her abdomen was shaved and there were tattoos around her navel. I approached her and my hands squeezed her gleaming round hard bottomcheeks. She showed all her white teeth in a smile, and in an incomprehensible jargon, asked: “Push-push? Cock?”
I understood and nodded, “Yes, yes, good, good.” Taking off my shorts, I exhibited my prong, already at attention before Her Majesty. Evidently, in comparison with the mighty cocks of the Koukouanas, mine was that of a child; yet it was white, and that made it desirable for her. Squatting between my legs, she seized my cocktip in her thick lips and greedily sucked me. Her king must have loved this ritual, for she practiced it with a mastery unexpected here in this dark region of Africa. Her tongue rubbed over the urethra and the meatus with exquisite languor, or again, to diversify my sensations, she swallowed almost all my cock till I felt it virtually in her windpipe. But I had come there with the intention of fucking the Queen, and so I pushed her away and stretched her out on a nearby lion-skin rug. She smiled, opened her thighs, and her cunny appeared, rosy-lipped in contrast to the ebony of her black gleaming skin.
I stretched out over her and thrust in my cock. I found her juicy, moist sheath a bit too wide for full enjoyment. Yet she sensed this and so, to augment our communal pleasure, she wound her muscled legs over my bottom, tightening her thighs against my flanks, and then contracted her matrix deliciously. I buried my prick to the hilt inside her, drawing out slowly; she squeezed me superbly, letting my cock go with what seemed reluctance. I could not long hold out against such talent, and, stiffening, I violently shot my offering into the Queen's avid womb. Deliciously, as she felt my jet, she shook and arched and clawed at me to absorb all of my spasm.
After having thus satisfied my longings, I left her there on the rug and putting my clothes in order, went quietly back to my place; no one had noticed my absence.
I laughed to myself when I looked at the King, still presiding in his lordly manner over the ceremony, and I thought: “You've been cuckolded, my old King, right under your royal nose!”
I turned my attention to the wild dances, admiring the leaps and gambols of the warriors and the maidens, when suddenly I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. When I turned, I espied a tall devil who looked like a baboon; he made a discreet sign to me to follow him.
When we had gone a few yards away from the King and my master and the others, he said to me in pidgin English: “You love, have fuck-fuck with Queen?”
I turned pale and shuddered; had someone witnessed my cuckolding?
He took my arm and said dryly, “You come with me.”
Without releasing my arm, he dragged me towards the royal hut. I felt my legs totter under me in my terror. He pushed me inside, and I saw the Queen in tears. Seeing me, she stretched out her arm and, pointing her forefinger, said, with a smile and a look still blurred by tears, “Again once more? You like?”
You can imagine my joyous relief, for I had thought my last hour had come. But obviously this warrior was her secret friend, for he remained watching. That, of course, chilled my ardors, so I contented myself with frigging her. Then, on a sign from the Queen who was swooning with pleasure, the tall warrior took off my shorts and, drawing out his cock, buggered me. The head of his enormous organ could scarcely enter my anus, but with a single thrust he dug himself into me. I uttered such a plaintive cry that the Queen crushed her lips to mine to console me. With her sharp nails, she caressed my balls, weighing them to test their hardness, then fondled my shaft, then caressed the tiny hole. This ritual was done with exquisite artistry which would have bested even that of a girl from Pigalle.
But that wretched friend of hers gripped me now and shot his furious essence deep into my bowels. Fortunately, the Queen's frigging appeased my suffering. And at last he withdrew, bowed towards the Queen and murmured something I could not understand, then went out backwards, bowing low to his beautiful ruler.
Doubtless excited by what he had done to me, the Queen, putting a hand on my cock, drew me towards a sleeping mat and, kneeling down, bowed her head to the floor. Her upreared bottom yawned to disclose a distended bottomhole which evidently was familiar with Sodom's joys. Moreover, her hand, without the slightest hesitation, directed my spectre towards those portals, in which with a single thrust I buried myself to the hilt. She had evidently been already well initiated by her king — or perhaps her friend — but in any case I found the pathway well
