race for fulfillment now, and the black primitive man fucked like a mad savage to end it for her.
'Oooohhhhhhh, Ballooooooo, yes! Yeeeessss,' she cried up into the empty hut as he slithered his strong, sinewy hands under her wildly pumping asscheeks and cupped them tightly, raising them up off the mat for greater access to her open and pleading loins.
From that position, he squirmed down into her with all the strength of his hips and thighs and could feel the smooth, raw flesh of her cunt clasping and unclasping like a heart beat all around his hot, bursting cock. He fucked into her from the tips of his toes and rammed the last inch of thick black cock thundering up he, aching hungry hole, bringing a new ecstatic moan from her lips that resounded through the room like the cry of a wounded and dying animal. Her nostrils flared again, and her eyes, open wide and green now, gazed glassy-eyed and unseeing up into the hut top, a wild and unsatiated desire burning lustfully in them.
Balloo pulled his black head back so that he could watch the white girl's sweet face. It was something he did not want to miss, the sudden and humiliating surrender of her whole being to her father's enemy, who had snatched her from her soft bed in the middle of the night and fucked the shit out of her, without ceremony, in the back seat of a car. And now, now she was twisting and writhing beneath him, unable to control at all her wild desire to be fucked and humiliated by that same black man! Her face was wildly contorted with passion, and her lips bared back tightly over her teeth with greater and more desperate sounds coming robot-like from deep in her savagely heaving chest. Her arms, which had been wrapped tightly around his black neck, her nails digging desperately in his back, slithered down now and dug demonically into his muscular, thrusting asscheeks as they pounded down into her open and unprotected loins.
Wet smacking noises resounded through the room with each cruel pile-driving fuck he made into her and blended in tempo to the call of a wild bird that must have been perched in the tree directly over the roof of the hut.
Balloo heard the cry of the bird and was suddenly reminded of the insulting superiority of the God of the feathered spirits, and the memory drove him to greater desire to heap all the obscene indignities he could on the white girl grunting slavishly beneath him. He ran his hands from the smooth, hollowing cheeks of her ass down to her thighs and between them to the soft, soaked, brown hair surrounding her voracious cunt to feel the clinging lips of flesh which held and throbbed around his sturdy cock like a tight rubbery mouth and were running with moisture which overflowed wetly down the wide-split crack of her ass.
Her body was slippery from the sweat of the wild untamed gyrations of her ravenous body, and her head flailed uncontrollably back and forth on the dank mat beneath them. Her mouth was wide open in ecstatic abandon. She had become something crazed and inhuman as she twisted and churned, spreading her legs wide apart and jerking them up to her shoulders, egging him on.
'Oh, oh, deeper, harder! Fuck me! Fuck me!' she begged, gasping as if she were close to death. She was nearing her orgasm and swung her soft, tender thighs up and wound them voluptuously around his back, waving her ass in uncontrolled abandon from side to side and spiraling her devouring cunt up and down crazily on his plunging and hotly growing black cock.
'I'm cumming, Balloo! I'm cumming!' she suddenly squealed with a high pitched gasp of intense passion and locked her ankles in a death grip high up behind his laboring back. At the same time, her arms snaked tightly around his neck and smashed her open abandoned mouth to his where he could still taste the pungent flavor of his sperm that he had spurted into her throat such a short time ago. Her body arched and she held tight to him, not moving but quivering and jerking around him in a pulsating rhythm that spewed her orgasmic fluid out around his still hard-fucking cock and down the widely split crevice of her ass, soaking his balls as they slapped hard into her tiny puckered asshole.
Though he had been sucked dry a few short minutes ago, the wildness of the white girl's orgasm had started a slow aching pressure deep within his balls again, and he gripped the cheeks of her still rotating ass and squeezed with a crushing strength, feeling her cringe as great gasps of passion began spewing from his own throat.
'Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!' he rasped and groaned and increased the viciousness of his strokes so that his pelvis smacked like a wooden paddle hard against the ragged pink flanges of her loins, and his lust-hardened black cock dipped deep down into the far, far hidden recesses of her pulsating belly. He felt himself coming and threw his hands down behind her knees, shoving her soft tender thighs up over her shoulders and ground as far down into her open and yielding cunt as he could go, bringing groans of left-over passion from her lips still locked tightly to his. Her arms still clasped him in their death grip, the ache in his balls was unbearable. He felt he had to cum now or he would die!
He felt the bursting at his loins and gasped into the moistness of her mouth, hearing her whimpering cry and feeling the tightening of her arms around his neck. Then with a deep soul-shattering grunt that went on and on into her mouth, he exploded into her, shooting his hot, liquid sperm deep down into the liquid depths of her open and receptive womb.
Then they lay still, locked in the lewd embrace of love for seeming forever though it was only minutes, their interlocked limbs presenting a vivid and strange picture of black fucking white. And then he rolled off her sweat soaked body, noticing her chest still heaving from the effort of their final orgasm. He reached behind him and dragged up a clean mat and lifting her legs pulled it under her over the wet one, lifting her body gently part by part as he worked. When it was in place, he lay down beside her thinking to sleep.
Julie Davenport's head was filled with the wonderful Balloo. She wondered why such a strong man was not a king like Daranje Kawat. She further wondered if he had ever tried. No, he couldn't have, because there was never a survivor from the trials except the king unless the stories she had heard were in error.
'Balloo?' she finally asked. Would his English be up to an explanation? 'A man goes through many trials to become king. Can he die in these trials?'
'Yes,' he said, she presumed to both ideas.
'Why do you have trials, to pick the strongest for king?' she asked in a whisper, hoping she wasn't breaking any tribal taboos with her questions, but Balloo seemed at ease.
'No. Sometimes the strongest perish. I have seen that.'
'Did you ever want to try?' she asked hesitantly.
'I am not king,' he said with finality. It confused her.
'Well, what are the trials for?'
'To pick true king.'
The answer left her right where she was in the beginning, without understanding. What was a true king? Balloo probably did not know what made a true king so he could never answer such a question. That was one she would have to ask Daranje Kawat himself, she decided, wondering if it was safe to ask him and if he would answer.
'Will… will I get to talk to Daranje Kawat again?' she asked Balloo then.
Balloo sighed heavily. The white ones were talkative about so many things. 'No. Daranje Kawat has said all.'
'Yes,' her temper flared. 'He has told me what he wanted to tell, but suppose I have questions of him?'
Balloo pondered a minute. 'To speak with the king, one must bring acceptable gifts,' he explained. 'He talked for tortoise. He geev Kinche for you.'
'Oh, Balloo, you're not serious. The tortoise was chance. Do you mean that without that I still would not have been able to know why you were holding me?' She felt absolutely incredulous.
'When is need, the Gods provide,' he said dully, wishing she would stop asking questions and snooze quietly with him.
Julie could see that Balloo was going to be no help. As far as a gift for the king in order to get to talk to him, well, she had nothing. Strange. She couldn't shake the mysterious quality of the idea that the king gave nothing without a gift first. He was like a mechanical doll with only one kind of key. Put a bowl of fruit on the altar and you shall receive. Give a gift and get grace. Do and be done to. Well, maybe it made more realistic sense than her father's teaching, 'Ask and it shall be given.' She remembered how many times growing up she had asked and it was not given. When she complained, her father would rationalize with such comforts as the idea that God knew better than we and it probably wasn't good for us, etc. Now that she thought about it, she decided to bring up the subject when she saw her father again and ask him what the point was of saying that it would be given upon request, if it would not… for whatever reason?
