Congolese Shafts

I departed the boat much more gingerly, having provided the crew their sport and release in the earlier afternoon. Evening was coming on, the sun having dipped lower than the top of the tree canopy on the river. The boat crew helped me off the boat, treating me well, having enjoyed me already. They were jostling each other happily, obviously pleased with themselves and with me. They walked past me, though, headed for one of the tents, no doubt knowing where they could find drinks.

I stood there at the end of the gangplank for a few minutes, taking it all in. It was obvious that all effort to establish a permanent presence here had gone to the clinic building itself. Everything else seemed to have an air of impermanence about it. I then noticed that beyond the main structure was another, smaller concrete building. The doctor's residence, perhaps. Anything else that happened here was conducted in those dozen and more tents surrounding the central gathering terrace.

What struck me was that there didn't seem to be any patients here. I surmised that the deep porch on the front of the clinic building was where they would gather, be triaged, and moved someplace else from there. It was late in the afternoon, but I would have expected more people gathered here seeking medical help.

Felix came out of the building and down to where I was standing.

"I expected to see patients gathered," I said.

"He's not here," Felix said. "There is no one to see the patients. Most have left to come back later." As he said this, Zang, the replacement doctor came off the boat. We must have arrived in mid fuck for him. He seemed to be making the most out of the willingness of the Congolese women. Like I was to the boatman, a Chinese man must be exotic and something to try for the Congolese women.

"I'm afraid the clinic is all yours already," Felix said to Zang. "You might as well check it out and get started." As Zang moved up toward the clinic, Felix gave a whistle and people--mostly women with children, started moving out of a couple of the tents and toward the clinic building.

"What do you mean he's not here? Julian Strong isn't here?"

"No. With Zang coming to relieve him here, he's moved further upriver--to open another clinic higher up, at Bokuma."

"Bokuma? What's at Bokuma? Julian knew I was being sent to bring him back to Boston, didn't he?"

"Yes, he knew," Felix said. And the way he said it clued me that Felix knew Julian wouldn't be here as well. "Maybe he doesn't want to go back. Maybe he's found a reason to stay here."

"What reason would he have to stay in the African jungle?" I asked.

"Maybe the same reason you had for coming here." Felix was giving me a knowing little smile, and he reached out and touched my forearm. I shivered from the need and want of him.

"I don't understand," I said.

"I think you do," Felix said. "Before I was sent to Kinshasa to meet with you and bring you back, the tribal chief of the region of Bokuma, Jean-Michael Vubu, visited here."

"And so?"

"He wanted a clinic set up in his main village."

"And Julian decided just like that that he wouldn't return to the States? That he'd go somewhere even more primitive than this to set up a clinic? Just like that?"

"Julian is a man of Africa himself," Felix says. "He may be a Caribbean black rather than a Congolese black, but he has heard the call of his ancestral home."

"I don't think of Julian as a sentimentalist," I said. "I think there must be a deeper reason from him to want to stay here than that."

Felix laughed. "It was for the same reason you wanted me to take you to Jacob in Kinshasa. Strong has the same fetish that you do."

"I still don't understand."

"What was it I told you that made a tribal chief in the Congo, a land with the best-endowed men?" I didn't answer quick enough. "The man with the best endowment in a land of men with the best endowment becomes chief."

"This Jean-Michael Vubu--"

"Is a champion among champions, yes. He came down here to possess Julian Strong's skills for himself. He's made a slave of Strong. Chiefs in Bokuma are permitted as many spouses as they want--female or male. By now Julian Strong is married to Chief Vubu and is setting up a clinic for him."

"And you knew this was happening? Before you came to meet my plane in Kinshasa."

"Yes, I did. I was here when Vubu made Julian his slave. I saw him. He is a champion of champions and Julian has the same fetish you do."

"Then why didn't you leave me in Kinshasa and just bring Doctor Zang here to take up his post?"

"The chief was shown photos of you--and was told that you were a doctor and that you shared Strong's fetish. The chief wants more than one doctor in his clinic. And he wants you in his bed. There is no limit to the number of wives he can have--or to the gender of them."

"From seeing me in photos, he wants me in his bed?" I laughed.

"They are very explicit photos. He said he looked forward to the challenge of stretching you." That wiped the laugh off my face. Felix continued. "If you are willing, we will leave tomorrow. I will take you on up river to Bokuma. I will be going there to work too."

"You will be going there too?" I asked.

"Yes. Give it the night here and let me know in the morning whether you will go up to Bokuma with me or back to Kinshasa and then back to your doctor in Boston. I assume your doctor has a big cock. I know there is no way that he can compete with Jean-Michael Vubu, though. The chief is a mountain of a man. Heavy a bit, but standing near seven feet tall and with a majestic countenance--and the biggest cock you could ever imagine sheathing. Julian Strong was babbling with pleasure from it."

"Oh."

* * * *

The heat and humidity were so oppressive that they all went native, stripping down to colorful pagne cloths knotted around their waists. The few women who were there went the same as the men, topless. No one seemed self-conscious about how close to naked they were. It was all so primitive and yet so natural. After dinner in a dining tent, they moved to the central terrace area, around a bonfire. Torches and smug pot ringed the area to ward off night critters and to provide eerie illumination for the music and dancing around the bonfire by the young, lithe workers at the clinic. Most were male; a few were female.

Zang sat by himself off at the edge of the shadows, soon in his own world, as one of the female dancers came in close, dropped her pagne, unkotted and flared Zang's pagne, and then gave him a lap dance that ended in a lap fuck and Zang not caring who else was around.

Dancers, both female and male, moved to do the same with Felix and me. It had grown dark, and the illumination of lanterns in the tents surrounding us had added to that of the torches around the periphery of the area. A slim, young Congolese youth of eighteen, I was told, in a pagne with a wild red, orange, and yellow swirl pattern, was dancing nearly over my knees. I had my hands on his waist as he slowly gyrated before me. I don't know if it was by accident or not, but my hands brushed down and his pagne fell away. He as in magnificent erection, his body swaying with the sound of the beat of the African drums in the background. I was amazed that one so young and thin could still proudly display the signature Congolese length.

His hands, surprisingly strong, grasped my legs under my knees, and raised my legs, hooking my ankles on his shoulders. He slowly danced in close between my thighs, his hands going to palming, squeezing, and separating my buttocks. I panted hard and moaned as he entered, entered, entered me and slow thrust to the beat of the drums.

As the youth plowed me in the dance of the fuck, Felix appeared beside me and whispered into my ear, "I am going to bed. We are sharing a tent--the one over there," and he was gone, leaving me to return to the pain-pleasure of a young Congolese cock working me deep in my core.

When I entered the tent in the soft glow of a lantern turned down low, I could see that Felix, naked, was lying on his back on one bed. His eyes followed me as I prepared for bed and lay down on the cot on the opposite side of him. We lay there, our eyes locked, in the dim light. Felix took his cock in his hand and began a slow stroke. I mimicked him and we lay there, watching each other, both of us stroking our cocks. The drums were still beating in the central meeting ground, and the tent walls were translucent enough that we could see the swirl of dancing bodies, moving to the rhythm of the drums.

Felix's erection was magnificent, as I well knew it would be. He was, after all, a man of the Congo.

All he needed to do was murmur "Come" and reach out his free arm to me, for me to slither off my cot and move to him.

This was the time. The teasing was over. I had ached for this moment.

"On your knees," he said. "Be my slave." He sat up on the side of his cot and I moved to him on all fours, more than willing to be submissive to him, to be his slave. When I reached him, he spread his thighs, cupped the back of my head, and drew me into his crotch. I opened my mouth to take him in, gagging, but determined, took him deep in my throat, and gave him head.

He fucked me for hours, striving ever more forcefully to reach up deep into my core with his Congolese cock and slay me there. He put me on my belly, stretched out on top of me, his shaft deep up into me. He grasped by shoulders and bowed my torso back, and rocked me back and forth, his cock dancing inside me. Reversing on me, he grasped my ankles and fucked deep down inside me. And, in the end, just before I collapsed on him in exhaustion, he lay on his back and I rode his erection, both facing him, and leaning back, grasping his ankles, and rising and falling, rising and falling on the magnificent, black, Congolese cock, and then facing his feet, grasping his ankles, and riding him in long waves that brought his purple mushroom cap to the rim of my anus and then swallowed him up, deep, both of us groaning and grunting in our primitive jungle fuck.

Later, darkness having settled over the compound, the eerie light having been replaced by the night sounds of the jungle, Felix's mouth came close to my ear as we stretched out against each other's bodies, mine enfolded in his, his long shaft still buried up deep inside me, still powerful when flaccid. "It isn't just Julian and the tribal chief who want you to go upriver tomorrow to join the new clinic at Bokuma," he whispered. "I want you to also."

And that decided that.