prepared for my ploughing. While I frigged her and played with her clitoris, I conscientiously buggered her so I might leave with her a good impression of the whites, who, though their cocks might be smaller than those of her people, made up for their lack in better developed amorous technique. I held back my spasm till the Queen began to utter raucous sounds, her body writhed and jerked as from galvanizing currents of electricity. I held her solidly merged against me, and, hastening my tempo, I went off in her bowels, thus leaving my servant's sperm in her noble chalice.
Her Majesty also spent, and a guttural onomatopoeia ceaselessly emerged from her fleshy panting lips. My fingers inside her quim felt the royal essence. At last she was appeased and, stretching out voluptuously on the mat, shivering with the waves of pleasure rippling through her, closed her eyes to revel over the sensations I had procured. I dressed, then took leave of her with a rather exaggerated bow, and for the second time I returned to the royal stand where cries and music rose in a cacophony of sheer sound.
But if I'd thought myself cunning in having by stealth fucked, then buggered the Queen, Martine standing now in the front row of the spectators hadn't lost any time either. Wedged in like sardines, hands behind her back, she had found a way to frig a solid Koukouanas warrior. It was done quite easily while listening to the chants and watching the dances. Martine clearly felt that the spectator was opening his loincloth behind her, pressing something hard against her thinly clad bottom, and soon felt the hardness of a cock which was prodding between her legs. With her fingertips, she first tickled, then expertly frigged, and when she felt her delighted warrior close to spending, she clutched his cockhead in her palm so as to capture all his sperm and not stain her white dress. This maneuver reminded her of others of the same nature which she had practiced at rush hours in the subway, relieving young and old alike, who asked no more than to be drained by “silent hands.”
Near Martine stood Marivol and Bouzian, with my master. The latter was regarding the dances with great interest, uttering “Ohs” and “Ahs' which I took for cries of admiration, but when I got closer I perceived they were not thus motivated at all. His body undulated in the rhythm of that dance, but these undulations were caused by a tall Negro behind him who was buggering him with a forefinger.
Suddenly the tall devil who had honored me with his favors in the Queen's tent moved towards the platform on which the King was enthroned, and whispered something which evidently put His Highness into a towering rage. Springing up, he gave an order which halted the dancers, and, lifting his sceptre, turned towards us and designated us with a flourish of that ivory baton.
We were seized by warriors who stripped all five of us naked. Motionless, back to back, we stared at this band of savages who brandished their javelins with feverish energy, and we were at a loss to explain their sudden change of attitude towards us. All except myself, for I told myself that the tall rogue who had satisfied himself by buggering me had decided to tell all to His Majesty and that the latter, instead of congratulating himself over being cuckolded by a white man, had seen red at the thought of his spouse's infidelity. What would they do to us, I wondered.
When the ritual dances ended, the King of the Koukouanas cast off his garments and strode towards us, his mighty penis and balls jiggling at every step. The spectators clapped their hands and began a bizarre chant, which sounded to me like a death sentence.
But when the King reached us, he drew Mar-tine to him, trembling with fear. He made a sign to two warriors, who, seizing the victim by her shoulders, made her bend over. Then he yawned her bottom cheeks apart, palpating it lingeringly, and finally buried his massive prick into that French rosette. Pamela could not suppress a groan, for he had an enormous prick, enough to make a mare whinny with anguish, believe me! But, wriggling and squirming her behind, she at last managed to swallow his royal cock, and his balls smacked against her gleaming white bottom. When he drew out his cock, the shaft was red from Martine's blood, but he only buried it the deeper. Hastening the tempo of his thrusts, the King finally spent. Appeased by this expiration, he withdrew while Pamela sank to her knees, groaning with attenuation.
Returning to his throne, he pointed us out to his subjects, and uttered a command. Joyously shrieking, the spectators fell on us. Two superb warriors grasped Marivol, one taking her from behind and buggering her while his colleague fucked her. Martine endured the same fate.
As for the three of us, we were assailed by a group of raging women who wanted to make love with white men. They stretched us out on the ground and then, to get us ready to assuage them, they demonstrated remarkable ingenuity. Some of them caressed our cocks and balls with their raspy tongues, while others tickled us with feathers. Under these repeated assaults, we were soon able to content them. They argued among themselves as to who should be first to impale herself on each man's upstanding spit. One of them even had the idea of squatting on my head and rubbing her furry cunny against my nose and mouth. Soon she was imitated by two others who did the same to Baron Prosper and Bouzian. They left us only when they had drained us of every drop of essence in our balls. As for Pamela and Marivol, they had endured violation by a good many warriors, and, being fucked while they also serviced a second man with mouths and tongues, as bidden, they were covered with sperm.
Then, to our horror, we saw a group of warriors carrying immense iron kettles. Five in all — one for each of us! After having enjoyed us, they meant to eat us!
All that for having fucked the Queen — if my companions only knew, they would curse my boldness! The kettles were attached to the stakes, filled, with water, and firewood piled under them. They bound us next, fixing our wrists and ankles so that we had to squat, and each of us was lifted by three husky warriors and taken to the kettles. When we were put into them, only our heads emerged. Then they began a ritual dance around us. Marivol and Bouzian had their faces smeared with ashes and their lips moved, doubtless offering incantations to the wizards they worshipped in hope of being saved. The wood had been lighted under the kettles, and I squirmed about as I felt the uncomfortable warmth of the iron receptacle in which I squatted. Then came the miracle — the roar of three airplanes overhead, followed by the rattle of machineguns.
Shrieking with fear, the Koukouanas took flight in the fields and the nearby forests. While two of the planes pursued the savages, the third landed to free us. We abandoned without regret the warm bath which had washed away our more intimate contacts with the Koukouanas. We embraced our saviors, who bade us flee such inhospitable regions without further delay. They promised to escort us till we were safe. We went back to the Cadillac, and three days later we arrived at Fort-Lamy.
We were delighted to see the plantation again, and it is from there that I write these half-comic, half-tragic adventures whose involuntary heros and heroines we were!
