Message-ID: <63788asstr$1473174602@assm.asstr.org>
From: Rich Humus <richhumus@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Sighs Matter, Chapters 6 and 7
Lines: 1119
Date: Tue, 06 Sep 2016 11:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Here are the next parts of my foolishness. Enjoy, and please comment if you
have any thoughts.

RichHumus@gmail.com
<1st attachment, "Sighs Matter - Chapters 6 & 7.txt" begin>

Here are chapters 6 & 7.  Is anyone reading this?  Have not gotten any
responses, good or bad, since I started posting.  Anything?  Anyone? 
Bueller?....

   richhumus@gmail.com

   Sighs Matter

   M+/F, cons, IR, humor, dancing.

   Chapter 6-Tess Dances the Congo Line

   (Roddy recounts the wild evening he and Tess and a friend spent at a
local club, where Tess sets a new personal record for sexual encounters.)

   We had slept in the morning following our arrival, jet lag and all that,
you know.  But by mid-morning, we were all pretty much awake, and
ravenously hungry, even Tess, whose seminal dinner from the previous
afternoon had only temporarily slaked her.  The local cafe's were not
highly placed on Fodor's list, but we managed to find one that had fewer
flies than the rest, and sat down to a satisfying brunch.  Most of the food
had even stopped moving when it arrived on the plates.

   After we ate, the girls went back to the hotel, and I wandered down to
the local Embassy to ensure that all of our permits and travel documents
were in order.  Imagine my surprise when I ran into none other than Freddie
Farthington-Farthington, old "Farts" himself, as we called him at school.
He and I had attended public school together, and many were the times we
both felt the lash of the master Algernon Aubrey on our tender backsides
for one infraction or another.  He went on to Harrow, I to Eton, but our
paths crossed often in early adulthood.  I hadn't seen him in several years
though, since his father, the twelfth Earl of Bowditch shipped him off to
the Dark Continent after that incident with the policeman's daughter. 
Being the younger issue of the old Earl, Freddie had little to look forward
to in terms of title or land, and so spent most of his time tossing about
the old pater's monthly allowance, which, if I remember, was not
inconsiderable.

   We "Hail, Hail, old chap"-ed a bit and talked of this and that.  After a
while Freddie asked what our plans were for the evening, if we had any and
I replied in the negative.

   "Well, old man, knowing Tess as I do -", he winked at me, "You simply
must visit this nightspot I know on the other side of town.  It's
absolutely the greatest thing since hot water out of a tap, and I'm sure
Tess will like it." He went on to describe some sort of club where the
locals hang out and visitors are treated to a real African experience, if
they so desire.  He waxed so rhapsodic about it, clutching my sleeve like
that odd chap who stoppeth one of three or however that gag goes, that I
promised him we'd give the place the old eyeball and see what comes of it.

   "What comes of it..ha ha, old blister, you don't know the half of it. 
I'll pick you up at 8, don't be late." With that, he answered a resounding
call that came from some anteroom where I gather his appointment lay, and
disappeared through the vast oaken door.

   When I got back to the hotel, I told the ladies of our plan. 
Unfortunately, poor Mariana scratched herself from the lineup, it seemed
that some portion of the local lunch had disagreed with her intestines, and
both sides of the conflict were laying siege to each other.  Her dashes to
the WC down the hall could perhaps have established a new record for women
in her age and weight class, but we never bothered to officially clock
them.

   Tess and I took a brief nap, and then, shortly before 8PM, a battering
on the door indicated that someone was without, and it turned out to be
Freddie.

   The three of us piled into his rather fancy Jaguar, and within minutes
were tootling along the city streets, swerving between pedestrians,
pedi-bikes and potholes.  It seemed we drove for miles to the other side of
town but I think it was just because poor befuddled Freddie lost his way
several times and we had to double back on our route.

   At length, we pulled up into the parking lot of a building that seemed
to be falling down.  A large neon sign out front advertised " old drinks"
and "ho food" but I believe some letters were missing from the light.  A
strong rhythmic music could be heard leaking from the place, and several
dozen natives were lounging in the parking area, smoking and taking the
occasional sips from bottles of local brew.  The sign over the door
announced the name as "The Zebra Club".

   As Freddy seemed to know the maitre'd/bouncer/valet parking man, we were
ushered in with hardly any preliminaries, especially once the fellow
noticed Tess.  His eyes traveled from her head all the way down to her
gaily painted toenails, then made the return journey once again.  He seemed
to spend an inordinate amount of time concentrating on her equatorial area,
but that may just have been the dim light in the place.

   Tess had, of course, outdone herself.  I don't know where she managed to
find some of these outfits but one good thing was she could pack about 20
of them in one small portmanteau.

   Her shiny platform stilettos boasted a heel of at least five inches,
open toed and strapped across the ankles.  Almost sheer white stockings on
her legs were of course held up by a suspender belt, the clasps of which
were just barely visible below the hem of her skirt, which was more of a
wide strip of cloth than anything else.  From behind, one could almost see
all the way between the juncture of her thighs, it was so short.  Had she
sat down in it, it would have ridden up above her waist.  A white blouse,
unbuttoned nearly to her navel, did little to contain the marvelous globes
riding high on her ribcage, and the rouge she'd applied to her nipples was,
I fear, a bit too much.  But who was I to complain.  She wore a three inch
velvet choker with a small charm on it that I remember buying for her one
evening in London.  The crytograms were a small "eye" symbol, a "heart"
symbol, and an outline of an erect phallus.  Its meaning was, of course,
unmistakable.  Her costume was completed by the ornate golden ankle
bracelet upon which we'd had "I swallow semen" engraved about 6 years
earlier.

   The fellow at the door ushered us in, and I for one was quite surprised
at the makeup of the club.  Not that it had makeup on, of course.  But
after looking the place over, I realized that Freddy and I were the only
white fellows in the entire place.  Apart from Tess, that is.  But then
again, there were about 10 or 15 white women there.  And probably close to
a hundred blacks.  I staggered back a bit, but Tess's hand clutching mine
seemed to be an anchor I could use.  Her eyes lit up.

   The club seemed to be little more than a meeting place for black men and
white women.  There was a small dance floor where a few couples were
engaged in pseudo-sexual relations (and perhaps not pseudo- in one or two
cases...) and about twenty or so large booths arrayed along the outer
perimeter.  The booths were uncharacteristically large, each one being
U-shaped, with an oddly small table in the center.  The booths were raised
off the floor about 6 or 8 inches, and seemed heavily padded in the
naugahyde style.  Most were occupied by four or five black men, and one,
sometimes two women.  I say sometimes, because I noticed that every now and
then, a woman's head would appear up above the line of the table after
being noticeably absent for several minutes, and she'd sit back up on the
cushions.  It took me a little while to realize that the missing women were
providing oral relief for the men at their booths.  That, plus the fact
that they usually dabbed daintily at their lips once they'd reappeared
above the surface.

   Freddy, Tess and I were ushered into one empty booth at one corner of
the large room, and ordered drinks.  We looked around in amazement at the
scene.  There was a snooker table across the way from us, currently
occupied by a rather busty, long-legged red headed women who was being
soundly rogered by a young buck.  Her legs were wrapped around his
buttocks, and her two hands were engaged in a vigorous masturbation of two
young men standing at the head of the table.

   We watched fascinated as the first man reached what had to be a very
pleasurable climax between his partner's loins, judging by the sounds he
emitted as the bodily fluids were transferred from the cylinder to the
cavity.  I noticed a sizeable white froth being churned up at the woman's
vulval area, so I surmised that this was not the first such transfer that
evening.

   Her hands must have been quite attractive to the two she was fisting,
because not 30 seconds later they both erupted at nearly the same time,
sending huge pearly arcs of semen across the woman's face and breasts.  Her
tongue snaked out to capture what she could, but most of it impacted like
white missiles on her exposed skin.

   Within a minute, three more suitors had replaced the exhausted trio, and
we watched this insatiable woman extract their love liquids in a like
manner.  Twice more, a trio of strong black natives made passionate love to
the unknown woman, until her loins were a liquidy mess of leaky semen, and
her face and torso were likewise covered with white streaks of semen.  At
one point, they flipped her over on her stomach and, judging from the
sudden groan she uttered, I believe that one man may have inadvertently
entered her bottom.

   I suppose her limit had been set at fifteen, for after the last three
men had satisfied themselves, she groggily got down off the table, put a
small jacket on around her totally soaked upper body, and walked towards
the door.  She spied us in the corner, I suppose, and walked over to us as
if she had just been shopping at Harrod's and wanted to apprise us of a
particular good deal on cheese slicers.

   She came to the booth, put both slimy hands on the table and leaned to
Tess.

   "Honey, you're in for the ride of your life if you want.  I have to run
to pick up the kids, or I'd probably stay another hour or two."

   Her breath smelled of sperm and the droplets in her hair added an odd
light to it but she seemed intent on giving Tess a blow-by-blow, if you
will pardon the pun.

   "Oh yes?" my sweetie replied.  "I might just do that.  These men seem
remarkably virile, if you ask me."

   "You don't know the half of it.  I've got probably near a pint of rich
African sperm sloshing around in my tummy from the first crowd.  And
there's enough spunk up my cootchie to repopulate the entire continent.  In
fact, I'm extremely fertile right at the moment, so I wouldn't be surprised
if I dropped hubby a nice dark present in nine months or so!" she laughed.
"It wouldn't be my first!"

   Tess gave me an amused look, and the woman staggered off.

   After a few drinks, I noticed Freddy looking very nervously at one
rather short and pudgy man who'd entered the club.  He wore a loud checked
suit jacket with sleeves about four inches too long, brown shoes and green
pants.  A shudder ran through me at his sartorial excess.

   "I say old man, I hate to do this to you, but I just remembered a prior
appointment that I must make or the name will be mud."

   "Come off it Freddy, what appointment?  It's the middle of the night?"
Tess asked.

   "Well, if you must know, that shortish, stout fellow over there in the
checked coat is one of my financial planners, and, owing to a foolish bet
or two I made over the South African Derby last week, he's probably looking
for his pound of my flesh, don't you know?  It's rather imperative that I
make an escape before he sees me."

   It made sense.  Poor Freddy had the worst possible luck in the wagering
business.  He once bet on a horse, I believe it was "Nearly There" at
Goodwood, that lost interest in the whole business at about the three
furlong mark and proceeded to finish the afternoon gnawing on daisies in
the infield.  Another sure thing of his was so slow that the jockey kept a
diary of the journey.  It didn't surprise me at all that he'd gone awash to
a turf accountant.

   "Take my car home.  I'll catch a taxi or something.  Just don't bend the
fenders, if you please.  I still owe Father for most of it." He tossed the
keys on the table, and vanished before our eyes.

   I looked at Tess and we both laughed.

   After a few more drinks, I could see that Tess was beginning to feel the
heat of the place.  It was hard not to, I suppose.  The atmosphere was
redolent with the aroma of testosterone and semen, and to a woman of Tess's
sensitivity, that was like laying raw filet mignon out in front of a
famished tiger.  Her nipples had hardened into half-inch buttons, she kept
crossing and re-crossing her legs, and her eyes began to sparkle with the
light of the woman whose pheromones were kicking into overdrive.

   "How many men do you think there are here tonight, honey?" she asked
with a lilt in her eyes.

   "Thinking of a new record?" I laughed back.

   "Might be, might be.  Who knows how long it may be before...." She
didn't have to complete the sentence.  Both of us were expecting a fairly
chaste journey ahead of us, at least for her.

   "What is it these days, the 24-hour number?" I honestly couldn't
remember.

   "72.  That time in Delhi, remember?"

   "Ah yes, the Hindu Feast of Hanuman..didn't go there realizing it was a
bally sex festival, did we?"

   "Good lord no!" she laughed.  "We certainly learned though, didn't we
sweetie?"

   I looked around the room.  There were only about half a dozen women
left, but if anything, it looked like even more black men had arrived.

   "Good lord, my little lovebird, there must be at least a hundred men
here.  Are you certain about this?" I asked her gently.  "It could get
rough."

   "Nonsense!" she laughed.  "You know as well as I that once a man has
reached a climax or two, his aggressive tendencies are completely sated. 
For the moment, at least!"

   "But honey, it's only one of you and...dozens of them?"

   "My vagina has been in nearly daily use since I was a teenager.  It's
perfectly capable of anything I might do with it.  I took three enemas
earlier today, and my bottom is fine, trust me.  I'll admit, my jaw is a
little sore after last night, but I'm sure I can get it back into working
order.  Plus, my hands are fine."

   She seemed set on this.

   "And honey, you know that giving pleasure is one of my all time favorite
things.  I just love the look on a man's face when he climaxes because of
MY efforts.  That feeling is just so...so wonderful!"

   I remembered back to the Japanese bukkake scene, and the gang rape in
Bosnia.

   "Ok.  Let me go find the manager or somebody and see what they can
offer. I don't want you staked out on that rough snooker table all night
long.  The least they can do is make you comfortable."

   I sauntered over the bar, and enquired about talking to the manager, if
there was one.  Soon enough, I was ushered back into a room off the back,
and found myself in conversation with the man who identified himself as the
owner of the club.

   "My good man, I have a proposition for you.  You see my wife, Tess, back
there - " motioning with my hand, the fellow acknowledged that he'd indeed
seen Tess.  "She would like to offer herself up for mating with any man
here who'd like to have her.  But there's a catch."

   "Catch?"

   "I can't have her spread on that bally table you have.  She needs a
comfortable spot where she won't get bruised or battered too badly.  A
mattress or something similar should do the trick, don't you think?"

   "Mattress?"

   "Yes, a mattress or some padding or something."

   The man nodded his head.  "I can do that.  We get nice soft pads from
back.  They used for sleeping sometimes."

   "Very good.  We're ready when you are."

   I turned to go.

   "Hey Mister!"

   "Yes, what is it?"

   "Your wife is going to be sexed everywhere.  All places.  You know that?
SHE know that?"

   Puzzled for a moment, the brow furrowed.  Then I understood.

   "Yes.  She's capable.  Just no violence, you understand."

   "Very good.  You go sit, we get ready."

   I walked across the dance floor and rejoined Tess at the booth.  She'd
finished another G&T while I was gone, and I could see that the alcohol had
relaxed her just enough.

   "It's all set up, my dear.  The good man who owns this...place..  will
provide some pads so you don't get uncomfortable.  You are still going
through with this?"

   "Oh yes, dear, I must.  These men are all so virile and exciting, I just
am fairly gushing downstairs at the thought of it" she said, coyly.

   I squeezed her hand, turning the large diamond on her ring finger.  "I
love you, dear Tess, you know that."

   "I know that dear.  And I you.  There's no man in the world I'd spend my
life with except you.  And I love you all the more for allowing me to do
this."

   We sat back and waited.  It wasn't long.  The manager/owner strode out
to the center of the floor, dragging a couple of long rectangular pads that
looked like nothing more than some gymnastic padding you might see at any
school meet.  He tossed them to the floor and kicked them together with one
foot, making a square about three meters along each side.  Then he simply
looked at us, and crooked a finger at Tess, as if to say, "Come here."

   She slid out of the booth and strode up to him, whistles and catcalls
accompanying her purposeful stride.  It was amazing to watch.  She wasn't
going out there a victim, or as a helpless woman.  She was going out there
as an equal, as a proud, independent, sexual woman who knew she had control
of the situation, and knew full well what she was about to do.  As she
walked, she unbuttoned her blouse and tossed it aside, then unwrapped the
tiny skirt and let it drop as well.  Clad now only in the high heels,
garter belt and stockings, she walked slowly around the padded spot,
looking at the men gathered round it with fire in her eyes.  She stroked a
few of the penises being displayed for her approval, and many of them
seemed to take on a life of their own as they hardened at her touch.  As
one hand stroked a shaft, her other pulled and tweaked at a nipple, or
brushed gently across her shaven mound.

   Tess began orchestrating her experience.  She motioned for about 20
gentlemen to form a line, naked from the waist down.  It was surrealistic,
seeing the long line of black gentlemen, sporting erections of varying size
and thickness, standing like some ebony chess set.  It was obvious that
some of the gentlemen had already partaken of feminine charms during the
evening, as the sheen of sweat and semen shone on their shafts.  Walking
back and forth along the line, she looked each man in the eye as she
passed, letting them know just who was really in charge.

   Finally reaching the end of the line, Tess sqatted down, her buttocks
resting on her calves and knees spread widely, in front of the first man.
Reaching out, she grasped his thickening shaft near the base with one hand,
and slowly lifted it up until it was pointed directly at her face.  Then,
gazing up at her first subject, she extended her pink tongue and lapped
gently at the rounded glans.  Planting tiny kisses all around the slowly
engorging head, she laved it until it shone with her saliva.

   Then, opening her mouth widely, she pulled the penis and three or four
inches of the shaft into her mouth.  I knew her tongue would be fencing
with the head, sliding over the top and under the bottom of it, bathing it
with her warm wetness.  She then used one hand to slowly masturbate the
remaining exposed shaft, slowly at first, then gradually speeding up.  She
twisted her wrist as it went up and down, corkscrewing her motions to give
the maximum amount of pleasure to the man.  His eyes screwed shut, the
fellow seemed transported to another world as my lovely wife paid homage to
his manhood.  Tess was in her element.

   After a moment or two of this teasing, Tess placed both her hands on the
man's buttocks and pulled his torso relentlessly into her strongly
suctioning mouth.  Inch after inch of the dark obsidian shaft disappeared
into her oral cavern, until there was barely an inch not enveloped behind
her ovalled lips.  Then she pulled back, until just the crown of his glans
was still within her, and taking a breath, she again pushed her head into
his groin.  The room had gone nearly silent, all that could be heard was
some heavy breathing among the men, and the loud, liquidy slurping of my
wife performing an erotic act of fellatio on the young man.  Over and over,
her head withdrew and then descended again onto his darkly glistening
shaft, until at one moment, she pushed her self all the way down, and the
young man quickly gasped out in pleasure.  His shaft twitched in her mouth
and in my mind's eye I could sense the tiny opening at the end suddenly
burst as a thick stream of rich, salty semen poured out across Tess's
tongue.  She gulped once, then twice, then a third time as the man, gripped
in the throes of his pleasure, expelled the contents of his testicles
straight into her swallowing mouth.

   She whimpered herself in a sort of empathetic climax as she attained the
true level of pleasure-giving that she so earnestly sought for.  A tiny
bubble of semen appeared at the corner of her mouth, sparkling in the light
like a liquid diamond.

   As the man slowly recovered from his orgasmic high, she swept back one
last time, lips tightly suctioning around his shaft, to pull what little
liquid remained in his vein into her greedy mouth.  Finally with a "pop" of
suction, she let the shaft fall from her mouth, where it smacked wetly into
his thigh.  Licking her lips, Tess moved to the next man.  His shaft was
turgidly erect at watching the erotic performance so close to him, and I
knew it would not be long before he too made his seminal offering to Tess.
This man's penis was about seven or eight inches in length, darkly colored
like mahogany, with a sculpted glans and a rounded crown.  Tess leaned
forward and subjected it to the same loving licks and nips that the first
man had suffered through.  Satisfied that the end and shaft were
lubricated, she ovalled her mouth and once again made the journey about
halfway down the shaft to start with.  Her eyes gleamed at the man in front
of her as she repeatedly sucked the penis into her mouth, feasting on the
tube of hard flesh like a woman possessed.  Her hands gripping his hips,
she pulled him into her over and over, tongue rolling over the head of his
shaft like a polishing cloth, willing the man to explode his own offering
into her like the first.

   It didn't take long - two or three minutes at best, before the second
man was sending his own testicular contents down Tess's graceful neck and
into her tummy to join it's brethren.  We all heard her swallow contentedly
as the man shivered and shook with release.  Finally his shaft too was
pulled from her oral captivity and shone in the overhead lights.  He
staggered back and almost fell.  Tess looked up at him, and he beamed, and
leaned down to kiss her on the forehead lightly, stroking her hair.  I knew
she loved that little touch.

   Moving to the third man, she simply repeated the process.  This offering
was being delivered from an impressive piece of penile protuberance,
lightly colored in opposition to the dark man who sported it.  It was
longer than the previous man's equipment, but seemed thinner.  The
uncircumsized head became visible when Tess gripped it with her right hand
and skinned down the foreskin away from it.  Popping it into her mouth with
practiced skill, she bobbed up and down on it, twisting her head from side
to side, providing what I knew to be a sublimely pleasurable experience to
the benefactor of her magnificence.  Once again the man reached a climax
while buried deeply in her throat and sent his own emissions into my lovely
bride's mouth and throat.

   As Tess moved to the fourth man, she looked at me and made a motion as
if to drink from a glass, so I picked a glass of water from the table and
walked it over to her.

   As I handed it to her she looked at me.  "Thanks ever so much, sweety. I
need to keep my mouth wet and slippery for these gentlemen, a sip of cool
water will help greatly.  How am I doing?"

   "Tess, you are superb!  I'm so proud of you."

   (Now, a lot of you reading this might think I'm some sort of freak
`allowing' my dear wife to perform like this, but you have to understand
that she and I don't have the usual outlook on these activities.  To us,
and especially to Tess, this activity has no overlap with the romantic and
sensual love we have for each other.  Much like any other couples might
play bridge or go canoeing for recreation, Tess simply enjoyed providing
sexual pleasure to people wherever she went.  To her, it was a natural
outgrowth of her own caring and giving persona.  Sex and love were two
similar, somewhat overlapping behaviors that, while they shared some
commonalities, were also completely separable.  Much as I'd have applauded
Tess's foray in to any other form of personal expression, such as
bee-keeping or knitting, her demonstrable skill in the arts of love-making
were seemingly pre-destined to be her niche in life.  I would no more
constrain her from these activities that I would disallow her to breathe or
dine.)

   She took a sip of the cool water and swished it around in her mouth,
then leaned forward to envelope the proffered penis of the fourth man.  Her
actions didn't vary much, as she knew exactly what do to and how to do it.
This man lasted longer than the others, perhaps he'd already had his testes
emptied once or twice during the evening, but nevertheless, after about 10
minutes of vigourous oral action, combined with skilled manual
manipulations, he too surrendered to the exquisite feeling Tess's mouth
provided and released what seminal fluid remained in his gonads to join the
pool in her stomach.

   Gradually, Tess worked her way down the line.  Numbers five, six and
seven were not extraordinarily memorable that I remember, but each time the
dark shafts released their burdens in to her throat and mouth.  Between
each emission, Tess took a small sip of water to sooth her throat, with by
this time was being rubbed fairly raw.  Even with her experience, there is
no way to adequately prepare for the lengths of penile shaft that were
being buried over and over within her mouth.  By this time of course, Tess
was rubbing her own clitoral area while performing her `magic', and if I
know her, she was enjoying the climaxes as much as, or perhaps even more
than, her partners.

   Within perhaps an hour, she finally neared the end of the line.  Poor
dear, her cheeks and chin were somewhat bespotted with saliva and
pre-seminal fluids that had leaked or been accidentally brushed off the
shafts of the various men as she performed her fellatic duties.  She didn't
normally `drool' once an ejaculation had been received in her mouth, but
with so many men, it was inevitable that some amount of the pearly fluid
would escape her lips.  The upper slopes of her breasts were dotted with
small beads, and a slim line of wetness traced a Nile-like path between
them down to her slim waist.

   Finally, the twentieth man in her line gave up his essence to her with a
groan, and she bowed her head, resting her hands on her thighs.  For
several moments, nothing happened as she both rested, and recovered from
her tasks.  She took a few deep breaths, and finished the second glass of
water I'd brought to her.

   "Are you OK, my dear?" I asked gently.  She looked up at me with those
doe-eyes I'd fallen in love with so many years ago.

   "I...have...never...felt...more...alive..." she slowly breathed.  "I
feel like...I don't know...like somehow I've
connected...to...people...everywhere...like I have a life force inside of
me that...that...is almost universal."

   In the back of my mind I thought, `It's probably the half-litre of
African semen swimming around in your bloodstream," but I didn't say
anything.

   I reached a hand to wipe her face with a cool rag but she stopped me.

   "No.  Leave it on.  I want it on me.  I want to be marked, to be a
vessel, to be a receptacle for their lovely sperm.  I feel like a goddess.
It's a sin to waste any of it.  I want to feel it all over me."

   She lay back down on the pads and spread her legs straight out from her
hips, splaying them apart like a gymnast, running her hands down her inner
thighs until they met at the mound of her womanhood.  She gently spread her
inner lips open, revealing the moist treasure hidden in her depths.

   Meanwhile, the men had gathered around her.  It was a very odd sight,
seeing these dozens of barely-civilized African men, rough and tumble
though they may have been, reduced to almost child-like rapture.  There was
no pushing, no boisterousness.  They simply gathered around, as if they
knew that what they were participating in was as much a ritual celebrating
life and the universe as it was a sexual feast that sooner or later, they
would all feed from.  Tess insisted they remove all their clothing, to
remove any vestige of the outside world.  They all stood naked, earthy,
almost pre-historic in their assemblage.

   The first man came up to her and placing the head of his penis at her
opening, pushed himself in with one long lunge.  The air pushed out of her
lungs, Tess let out a long wail of desire, and the mating began.

   And so it was.  Every five minutes or so, the man between her thighs
would achieve orgasm and spill his seed into her cup of love.  Tess was in
her element, pulling them into her, almost savagely trying to get them to
ejaculate into her womb.  Black shaft after black shaft penetrated the pure
white vagina of my wife, only to force out their seed and be replaced by
the next man.  I watched as nearly 30 men made passionate love to my wife.
Within a few short moments, of course, her loins began leaking semen
profusely, which Tess would often scoop up with a hand and apply to her
sweaty body as if it were some lotion.

   Other times, she would encourage the gentlemen to withdraw at the
climactic moment, if they were able, and anoint her body with their seed.
Her ribs and bosoms were targeted, and of course, several strong streams
made their way to her shining face as well, as time went on.  She seemed to
revel in the spendings of the gentlemen, urging them on with animalistic
cries as she orgasmed herself.

   Soon though, Tess seemed to become frenzied in her need for coupling. 
She turned to her knees, and motioning one man to lay beneath her, she
fitted his turgid rod into her vagina, and instructed the next man to
occupy her rectum.  In this manner, she could satisfy two men at a time,
and double not just their, but her pleasure as well, it seemed.

   Probably 20 pairs of men then took their turns enjoying the charms of my
wife's lovely body.  On occasion, she would grunt, or even whimper, as an
especially large organ was introduced to her anus, but soon enough, the
sounds turned to a sexual keening that indicated her own sexual high was
taking over.  Man after man was accepted into her lower openings, to piston
back and forth in a high energy sexual dance that culminated in the
discharge of stream after stream of semen.  Her loins dripped the liquid
like a waterfall.

   At one point, though, a third man joined the erotic coupling taking
place, standing in front of Tess and offering his erect stalk for oral
caress.  She was quick to accept the penis, and soon established a rhythm
that allowed the three men utilizing her body to achieve a maximum amount
of ecstasy.  As each man reached orgasm, the semen spilled into her body,
accepted gratefully.  She swallowed as often as she needed to, making sure
that the rich African semen dropped in to her stomach to join the rest
there.  Her milky loins dripped sperm.

   The trios of men seemed endless, but there were actually only about
twenty or thirty of them.  At one point in the festivities, two more men
stepped up to her flanks, and placed her delicate hands on their rampant
shafts, eager for masturbatory relief if they could find no other.

   Tess was now entertaining five dusky African men at a time.  I could
scarce believe my eyes.  For the next two hours, my lovely Tess was
skewered, shafted and spermed until it seemed nearly every square inch of
her was coated with a sheen of sweat and semen.  Her arms from shoulder
blade to wrist had creamy trails of semen cascading down them from her
masturbatory efforts.  Dark man after dark man placed himself between her
alabaster thighs and pushed inch after dark inch of black African penis
into her welcoming vagina.

   The men beneath her pushed their own hard phalluses into the lower
extremities of her digestive canal, and the ones busy with her oral
attentions slowly fed inch after inch of penis into her lovely mouth and
throat.  It seemed that an orgasm happened for one of the male participants
about every couple of minutes, and the exhausted member would withdraw and
be replaced with the next in line.  Tess as well suffered the "little
death" numerous times as I could see her eyes shining with lust and
satiation.

   Finally, the line of men dwindled down to the last few - and I'm not
sure that these fellows were not back in line after a recuperation period
themselves.  They stepped up, spent themselves as best they could, and fell
away.  At last there was only one last African buck, firmly ensconced in
her colon, whipsawing his sizable weapon in and out of her.  The whole
place could hear her grunts as the pole of ebony flesh penetrated several
inches up into her intestines, packing the large volume of semen that had
previously been deposited there even farther into the confines of her body.


   At last, though, her African lover pushed one final time into the hot
tunnel of her rectum and pulsed several times, adding his final
contribution of dark DNA to the warm and hospitable colon of my wife, his
semen on a tragically unfulfilled journey to an ovum that they would never
find.  He disengaged from Tess, and she collapsed flat on the mats,
breathing heavily and sweating after her marathon.

   I walked up and knelt next to her.  "Oh Lord...oh good lord..." she
could only whisper.  I wiped her damp forehead, and helped her turn and sit
up.

   "How...how many?" she croaked.  I consulted the tick sheet I'd been
keeping all along.  I looked at her in quiet admiration.  "Dear, you have
established a new personal record, so far as I can tell.  There may have
been a few repeat customers, but my count rests at....one hundred and
thirty two." She looked at me, smiled, and passed out.

   Chapter 7-Swallowed up into the interior

   The rest of the day was spent without major incident, our party
meandering its way farther into the bush.  I marveled at the many hundreds
of tropical birds we disturbed along our way, their fire-like plumage
contrasting deeply with the dark tropical surroundings.  Parrots, macaws
and cockatiels flapped and squawked in the jungle canopy above us, and I
thought I might have even seen a rare Norwegian Blue at one point, but Tess
swore he was just sleeping.  We crossed a wide but shallow stream bed about
25 kilometers into our journey, and headed north from its opposite bank,
towards the famed Ngoro Highlands.  This long chain of
not-quite-mountains-but-larger-than-hills occupied much of the northeastern
part of the country and actually had the borders of three different states
run through it.  It had traditionally been seen as a sort of no-man's land,
since each country claimed it yet could not legally force the issue or
prove its claim.  As a result, it was one of those areas that everybody
wanted but nobody cared about.  There appeared to be little or no mineral
wealth, it had few natural resources other than trees and grasslands, and
there were not even many game animals or anything worth tourist-ing over.
In short, it was a forgotten, little-known and completely ignored part of
the Dark Continent.

   We climbed higher and higher over the next few days, leaving the
sweltering lowland jungle behind and graduating to dry grasslands with
rocky outcrops and stony ridges at every side.  I don't know how Mbuto
followed the trail but he did.  Finally, about noon on the fourth day out,
we crested a ridge and I stared, with eagle eye and a wild surmise,
somewhat like the man Cortez in that poem, at the scene before me.

   It was a large valley, flat in the center, about ten or twelve miles in
length, and perhaps four across, hemmed in by hills on either side that
rose to perhaps a few thousand feet above the valley floor.  I could see
the sparkle of a river bisecting the valley, but it was not a wide or
freighter-navigable watercourse by any means.  I thought I saw a few
mtumbui or native canoes being rowed along the river.

   Mbuto spoke.  "There - there is land of the !Kung -" (he made a
particular clicking noise with his tongue at the start of the word).  Tess
walked up to stand beside me.

   "Oh, darling, isn't it wonderful!" she said, eyes aglow at the unknown
possibilities spread out before us.  A huge forest canopy spread out on
either side of the river, gradually giving way to lower growth and rocky
outcrops, finally devolving to an almost Alpine meadow of short grass and
vegetation on the higher slopes of the valley.  Waves of heat rose from the
valley floor.

   "Yes, I suppose so, my dear, I suppose so.  Shall we proceed to meet
them and make ourselves known?" I took her hand and we trudged forwards,
down a sloping trail towards the cluster of huts, or kraal, that I espied
breaking from a clearing about three miles ahead of us.  Our little party
made good time on the downhill trek and within an hour we were on the
narrow dusty path that bisected the valley floor and led into the main part
of village, or kijiji, as they're called.

   I was mystified by the complete and utter silence, however.  Something
about this didn't sit well with me.  No dogs barked.  No birds chattered.
No hippos gurgled, even.  I held up a hand to stop our party.  Tess came up
to stand between Mbuto and me.  Suddenly, a cacophony of noise erupted from
one side of the trail - shouts, screams, drum beats, hand claps, even, dare
I say it, a cowbell rang out.  I heard a commotion behind us, and turned to
see many of our bearers throw down their loads and run shrieking back up
the trail.  The bloody bastards had deserted us!

   Before Mbuto or I could do anything to halt their exodus, the four of us
were surrounded by the tallest, darkest tribesmen I'd ever seen.  These
fellows made the Masai look like pygmies.  Not a one was less than seven
feet tall.  Their capes and tribal costumes were a riot of color, ostrich
feathers, lion and cheetah skins, elephant tusk, it seemed all the natural
components of the local fauna was made part of their adornments.  They
whooped and hollered with a frightful din and a feverish look on their
faces, reminding me not a little of that band of tribesman encountered by
Stewart Granger in "King Solomon's Mines".

   We cowered in fear for our lives, I'm not ashamed to say - surrounded as
we were by dozens of towering Africans, shaking lethal looking spears at
us. It was looking more and more like we were about to become the latest
trophies on their wall.  I especially noted the alarmingly lecherous looks
most of the giant ebony specimens directed towards Tess, who clutched my
arm with a tenacity unmatched since the Ancient Mariner accosted those
fellows on their way to a wedding.

   Mbuto saved the day.  He strode forward and raised his left arm and
spoke loudly, "M'kaa.  Ooogoo logo pakka unguluko.  K'ya makka ginga massa
bulu.  Oku mga'ya, kepu makka olongo".  The assembled mass broke out in
cheers whose meaning, even considering the cultural differences, were
unmistakable in intent.  I later found out that Mbuto had said "This white
guy wants you all to fuck his wife while he takes pictures", the scoundrel.

   The largest of the !Kung tribesmen strode forward, and made a sort of
salute to Mbuto, involving making a fist and cracking knuckles with our
guide, then bumping elbows and chests.  It was an odd ritual, I should
venture, but one never knows what these bally natives will come up with
next.

   He and Mbuto palavered for a few minutes, excitedly chattering back and
forth in their lingo, which I profess I knew nothing of, until the large
black fellow stood back and looked at me for a long moment.  Suddenly he
reared his head back and a loud guffaw burst from his lungs.  "Haw haw haw
haw haw!  Never have I seen such a thing as this!" I was shaken to the
core, and staggered back like the Old Testament prophet Eli on receiving
the bad news about the 10 C.'s

   "You....you speak English?" I stammered, querulously.

   "Perfectly well, my good man, perfectly well.  I don't get a chance to
practice it all too often out here in this beastly jungle, since my people
expect me to converse with them in their own bloody language."

   "How did you learn English?"

   "My father sent me to Zangaro when I was young and enrolled me in the
English schools there.  He thought it would be beneficial for me to be,
shall I say, exposed to the white peoples culture."

   "You obviously benefited from the education.  I'm Roderick
Basingate-Chumley at your service, your Highness, very glad to make your
acquaintance.  And this is my wife, Teresa." I said, bowing slightly and
gesturing to my lovely bride, blushing before me.

   The chief's booming voice replied, "Your wife is indeed charming and
lovely, I must admit."

   We made small talk for a few moments, the chief asking about our
journey, and enquiring about news of the outside world.  Meanwhile, the
entire entourage, tribesmen and our party together, strode down the main
avenue of the encampment.  The porters were directed to distribute our
trunks to several large huts, or `kibanda', as they are called, the last
man taking Tess & my steamers to a fine, nicely laid out ensemble close by
to one that, from its designs, appeared to be the home of the chief
himself.

   It turned out that the chief, who introduced himself as !Konga XIV, had
been immersed in the white culture of Zangara for his first fifteen or so
years, but had been called back to his tribe here nearly forty years ago
when his father, the previous chief, sickened on some bad wildebeest or
something, and handed in his dinner pail.  I asked him what he remembered
about living with the white people.

   "It was much interesting, once used to it I got, and understanding of
your funny languages", he said hesitantly.  "I was boarded with a district
administrator man person and his wifes and young child while I attended
their schoolings.  I learned English at a very early age, and have become
much good at it yes, but I can not practice heres in the jungle.  Tell me,
is that Nixon man still in charge of the states of united america?  We
thought he was much lying always and crookish."

   I assured him that no, Richard Nixon was long gone from the political
scene, and brought him quickly up to date on the recent world events,
including the fall of communism in the Soviet Union, the economic rise of
China, and a few other recent events.

   "That is the one thing I am missing most oftly.  We get no news
information from the rest of the world, and I miss very much watching
American sportings and even your English footballers.  I love very much
Dallas Cowmens cheers-leaders," he said with a leer.  "Tell me, have the
Buccaneers of Tampa of the American footballs ever won a game?  And those
silly Saints from News Oreens?"

   I admitted that yes, the Buccaneers finally found a few winning seasons,
as had the Saints.  He seemed amazed at how much things have changed.

   By now, the porters had distributed all the trunks and expedition
paraphanalia, and I expected them to line up for their agreed-upon pay
rate. I collected our strongbox with the local currency in it, and excusing
myself from the King's company, ducked out of the hut and met up with
Mbuto, who was himself scurrying in our direction.

   "Oh bossy bossy, porter mens all done with putting away of the gear, yes
yes.  Finished very much fine with no problems, no problems at all thanking
you sincerely.  However, many porters come to me with offers for final
payment, wanting something difference from paper monies which they can not
use having no banks here.  What you say?"

   He was chattering on so I had to raise the hand and slow him down.

   "Cease the ungodly high-speed vocalizations, my good man.  Apoplexy does
not suit you.  Now what on earth are you talking about?"

   He gestured for me to lean down, so he could whisper in my ear.  The
aroma of a native liquor of some type assaulted my senses, even my eyes
started to water in the tart atmosphere.  I didn't really care to have the
bloody fellow touching me too closely but nevertheless, I imitated my
elderly aunt from the English coastal area, and I leaned over.

   "Many mens of the porters would trade wages for chance to drop their
sperms in your lovely wife's tummy.  They not often get chance to have
pretty girl take dicky-dick in mouth and make it shudder to release white
life juice.  Most wives not do anymore after married, and porter say ones
who do usually fat and ugly anyway.  They really like pretty girl wife. 
You know what means we do?"

   I nodded in agreement with his whispered confidences.  "I'll have to ask
Tess how she feels about that.  I can't make any promises, it will have to
be up to her, of course.  How may of the porters are wanting to make this
kind of...trade?"

   Mbuto started counting on his fingers.  "one..two..four..three with
thumb is five....um.." He looked down at his splayed hand with a sort of
bizarre consternation, as though he'd never seen his palm before. 
"um...lets me see..fourteens..fifteens..sixteens with Jongo, he change mind
last minutes when other fellows be joshing at him."

   "Sixteen porters, you say.  Hmmm." I did the quick math.  We'd save
about 350 Congolese dollars, or very nearly six pounds sterling.

   I strode off in search of Tess.  I found her unpacking some of our
trunks in the hut that we'd been assigned to.

   "Tess, love of my life, sweet one, help-mate and so on, Mbuto has come
to me with a request from some of the porters, don't you know?"

   "Oh?  What's that, dear husband of mine, sweet fellow, charming rogue
that you are?"

   "Well, it seems that they were captivated, not to say bloody entranced,
by your amazingly competent performance of fellatio on that fellow stuck by
that blasted python a few days back.  They offered to exchange their pay
for the opportunity to, as it were, make a deposit in your little
tummy-tum-tum.  I told Mbuto that I'd have to ask you..."

   Tess, bless her little Anglo-Saxon heart, blushed furiously at the
compliments being paid her, even if in an off-hand manner.

   "Heavens, they were that impressed?  And they'd be willing to trade
their wages for a simple act of oral sex?  Do not their own wives or
girlfriends perform that most basic act for them?"

   "Well, according to what Mbuto says, not at all, not at all.  Evidently,
the act of placing an erect penis between one's lips and providing friction
and movement enough to enable the ejaculation of semen is not practiced
among the women-folk of our porters.  One has to assume that for many,
their initial exposure to the act was your performance the other day.  And
it appears to have made quite an impression on them.  Not that I can blame
them, of course."

   "But it's such a simple thing.  Takes almost no talent whatsoever. 
Heavens, I've been doing it since I was barely a teenager!  The penis is an
amazing instrument, and to be given the chance to hold it, and put it in
one's mouth and suck on it, why it's positively Freudian!  How can any
woman not want to spend her entire day doing it?"

   I had to cut off her exposition.  "I agree, my little cherub, but you
must remember - not all women share your sophisticated views.  Many, I'm
told, find the entire practice abhorrent.  If you can believe that."

   "Well, they don't know what they're missing.  Penises are such fun, the
ejaculate is perfectly harmless, and you men get so cuddly when you're
about to spurt that lovely liquid in our mouths.  Tell the porters I'll be
happy to oblige them all if they wish.  Just let me change into something
more comfortable and find a small stool or whatnot to sit or kneel on.  Do
you think they'd like me to be kneeling, or sitting down?"

   "Frankly, my dear, I doubt very highly if they really care.  So long as
they have access to your lovely mouth, I think not that it matters how you
are arrayed."

   She agreed.  I went out to find Mbuto and have him bring the interested
porters to our hut.  Tess located a small stool apparently constructed out
of an elephant's foot, and sat it square in the middle of our little
homestead.  She laid a delicate blanket over her upper thighs and let it
drape down, so as, she told me, to not stain her leggings.  She had
shrugged off her blouse, so her delectable mammaries were on display, their
rose-colored areola and nipples becoming arousingly erect themselves, not
unlike the two dozen or so black African penises that were quickly
approaching.  Evidently the word had spread and the original sixteen had
grown somewhat.

   I stood by the door to the hut as the line formed outside.  The first
porter, a tall, strapping fellow with blue dungarees and a thin white shirt
on, stepped through the opening and smiling broadly, handed me his porter's
chit.  Tess motioned him forwards, and he walked to stand proudly between
her legs.  She splayed her knees outwards to give him more access, and he
unzipped his trousers to display a rapidly erecting ebony penis.  Tess took
it in her hands and slowly licked up one side of it and then down the other
side, sliding the skin of the soon rock-hard penis back and forth.  Licking
her lips once or twice to lubricate them, with a shy look at the porter,
and then me, she opened her mouth and pulled the shaft in.  Placing her
hands around on the porters buttocks, she gradually pulled his groin closer
and closer to her, until there was but a scant inch or so of hard black
shaft still exposed to the warm African humidity.  The humidity in her
mouth must have felt much nicer to the chap, because he began making a low,
groaning sound as Tess moved him in and out of her welcoming oral caress.

   Placing both of his large black hands on either side of her head, he
moved her back and forth over his phallus, the look on his face displaying
his enjoyment of the act.  He began feeding Tess more and more of his
erection each time.  I watched the slick, glistening shaft pulsate
erotically as it moved past Tess's lubricated lips.  Every now and then, he
would pull back until only the uncircumsized crown lay within her, and I
knew as he hesitated for a few seconds, that Tess was beating a tattoo on
the glans with her tongue.  Then his black piston re-entered her white
cylinder, the age-old cycle this time not leading to internal combustion,
but internal ejaculation.

   Finally, not more than four to five minutes after they initiated the
intimate act, the porter started to shudder in pleasure, and he pulled
Tess's head firmly into his groin.  I knew the shaft of his penis was well
into her throat, and then he began his ejaculation.  I heard Tess gulp
once, then twice, then a third and fourth time as the healthy African semen
made its way out of the man's testes, along his shaft, and finally out the
tiny opening into her throat.  I pictured the billions of sperm cells now
being lovingly swallowed down into her stomach.  Not the naturally intended
destination for them, but one nonetheless that has been utilized many
millions of times over the years, I suppose.  (Not all with Tess as the
receiver, mind you..)

   As Tess pulled the man's shaft from her throat, cleaning it of his and
her juices, she tucked it back into his trousers, looked at me, and smiled.
"That was very pleasant, I must say.  I hope there are others like him."
She smiled up at the now very satisfied porter, and turned him towards the
door with a mischievous grin.

   The next man was a short, squat fellow who couldn't have been more than
5 feet tall at the very best.  He shucked his trousers down and rather
comically duck-walked the last few feet to stand before Tess with his
truncheon held tightly in his right hand.  My blushing bride welcomed him
toward her face and opening her gleaming lips, allowed the shaft of his
penis to ride in on the highway of her pink and white-specked tongue.

   Her red-tipped nails could not meet encircling his shaft, but she did
her very best to absorb as much of the black pipe as possible.  I noticed
as she sucked on him that her mouth was simply not wide enough to
accommodate his girth.  It's one thing to allow a long, thin penis to enter
one's throat and esophagus, another thing altogether when the penis in
question is nearly four or five inches in diameter.

   Tess did the next best thing, of course, which was to dance a dance of
triplets with her tongue on the glans of his penis, whilst grasping him
firmly with both hands and shucking the shaft into her mouth as best she
could.  Our porter simply stood with his legs apart, his hands clasped
behind his back, and watched the pretty white woman pay homage to his
blood-engorged African spear.  It must have been an especially arousing
sight, because it didn't take more than one or two full minutes when all of
a sudden, without even a word of warning or grunt, I watched the fellow's
buttocks clench and release, and Tess gave a gurgled gulp as what must have
been a fairly large splash of semen rocketed into her mouth.  The problem
was, her mouth was nearly completely occupied with the glans of this man's
penis, and the involuntary closing of her throat caused two thick lines of
semen to leak from the antipodal corners of her mouth and drip down her
jawline to her chin, until she had what could have been described as a "Cum
Fu Manchu".

   Another clench and release, and I heard her gulp, this time sending the
seminal offering down into her tummy to join the earlier ounces from the
first porter.

   Another clench and release.  Another gulp.

   A fourth clench and release.  Another gulp.  Tess's eyes widened at me
in shocked surprise.

   A fifth.

   A sixth.  Did this man have testes the size of watermelons?  By now the
white streams from her lips were lengthening, drooling down in long white
icicles to reach tantalizingly near the upper slopes of her breasts.

   Finally, a long exhale from her partner and a seventh and final pulse
along the length of his penis signaled the long-awaited end of the
ejaculatory extravaganza.  Tess exhaled and pushed herself against his
thighs, and his penis popped from her face with an audible...well, "pop"
sound.  Tess held one slim hand to her chest.

   "Oh my goodness that was a huge emission, my dear.  The poor fellow must
not have had a release for days!  I swear I can hear it sloshing around in
my stomach.  Good Lord!" she giggled lke a schoolgirl.

   The next three porters to enjoy the benefits of my wife's views on
racial equality and opportunity took their pleasure with hardly a word,
except to beam at Tess as she knelt at their feet, and grunt in
appreciation of her efforts as they reached climax.  Smiling up at each one
in turn, she made them all feel very good, as she promised she would.

   I had to discuss some plans with the chief, so, seeing that Tess had
everything under control and could carry on without my help, I kissed her
on her damp forehead and bade my farewell.

   "Toodles, my dear, I must be pow-wowing with the Chief about some of
this and some of that, I shall return momentarily, if you need anything,
I'm sure Mbuto can assist you."

   "Mmmm-mmmm.  Mmmm m mmmm mmmm." she spoke, more or less.  It was
difficult to understand with approximately half a foot of African truncheon
lodged in her esophaegus, but I got the gist.

   When I returned to the hut about 45 minutes later, Tess was sitting up
against the low cot or bed we'd be sharing, her legs splayed out in front
of her in a wide "V", and she appeared half asleep.  As I got closer, it
appeared that several of the porters had come upon her and cum up on her,
her face was that covered with semen.  Rarely have I seen so much
testicular evidence arrayed so widely about her features.  It was in her
hair, across her forehead, pooled in both eyes, in her eyebrows, down over
her cheekbones, draped across her nose, dribbling from her upper lip,
drooling from her lower lip, and dangling from her chin.  It draped across
both breasts and collected in her collarbone.  She had a dreamy, almost
wistful smile burbling beneath the semen strewn across her lips, and as she
exhaled, small bubbles popped from both nostrils.

   "My goodness," I exclaimed, "you look as though someone has been
flinging vanilla creme pies at you all afternoon, sweetie.  How ever did
you get so..." I was at a loss for words.

   "Slimed?" she grinned up at me.  "Slimed with semen, my dear?  Glazed
like a dough-nut?  Basted with nut-butter?  Bombarded with baby batter? 
Covered in cum?  It was..." she hesitated, with a vacant look for just a
second.  "It was...massive.  Simply massive."

   She leaned forwards a bit to straighten up, and a wave of gelatinous,
white froth slid down her front, avalanching over the upper slopes of her
breasts and cascading down the gully between them, heading straight for the
ski resort of her pubic area.  "After you left, some of the men must have
decided to come back for a second helping or something, I suppose.  I
didn't have the heart to discourage them, you know how I can be such a
pushover some times, so before I knew it there must have been upwards of
twenty or so of them crowded around me.  I've never seen so much erect
Negro penis in all my life, it was so flattering.  I ended up with one in
each hand as I fellated one, and I tried to do my best but...but...I just
couldn't do them quickly enough."

   "One fellow on my right became so overwrought that he ejaculated right
onto my cheek and chin, and then the one on the other side spurted his
juice into my hair, and somehow that caused the one in my mouth to reach
his climax.  It so surprised me that I choked a bit, and the froth came out
my nose.  I was so embarrassed..."

   "Before I knew what was happening, there were penises pointed at me and
firing sperm rockets right at my face.  Sweetheart, I never saw so much
semen at one time before.  I could do little but sit here and accept the
onslaught.  As one finished flinging six or eight streams at me, he'd step
back and another large, dark phallus aimed at my mouth or nose or cheeks
would suddenly explode with what seemed like pints and pints of semen.  I
swallowed what I could, but it didn't seem like they were concerned so much
with having it enter my mouth, as they were with simply decorating my
features with it."

   "I lost count after fifteen or so, because my eyes were getting blurry
and, to tell the truth, those large Negro penises all started looking
alike. I know that sounds so prejudiced, but believe me, every one seemed
to be at least ten or eleven inches long, and as big around as my fore-arm.
One of the fellows, I'm not sure who it was, actually used both of his
hands to masturbate his manhood until he climaxed right into my mouth.  It
was so...odd...sitting there with the crown of his glans resting on my
lower lip, feeling the warm streams of his semen shooting across my tongue,
whilst at the very same time my face was being pelted with drops of semen
the size of a ha'penny coin.  It was just so...surreal."

   Tess stopped and looked up at me.  Her sperm-splattered face was almost
beatific.  There was, once she cleaned them off with her fingertips, a
light in her eyes that could only be described as euphoric, or perhaps
eudemonic.  I kissed my fingertip and laid it on her slimy lips.  No words
needed to be spoken.
   ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
	This post has been reformatted by ASSTR's
	Smart Text Enhancement Processor (STEP)
	system due to inadequate formatting.
	----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

	
<1st attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <story-submit@asstr.org>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-admin@asstr.org> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+