Safari Trail's End

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Predators circle as young man's lover dies on safari.
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At dinner I got the inkling that the tent setup at the Elephant Camp West hadn't given Harvey and me quite the privacy during the midday siesta that we thought it had. Those with us on the safari down from Lake Nyasa to Victoria Falls had known we were a couple, certainly. We slept together at each stop. But since the afternoon there appeared to be a heightened awareness in the group that the tall, thin man over thirty years my senior and eight inches taller than I was, and I, had an active, athletic sex life—with each other.

This revelation seemed to have energized a few other members of our ten-person safari group, if you included two of the three male Zimbabwean natives who traveled with us, Madzinga and Taguma, more than I would have realized. Once it was established that Harvey and I had sweaty sex, Madzinga and Taguma weren't shy about ogling me and making suggestive gestures. I had visions of one of them dragging me into the bush and having his way with me—which weren't, by any means, unpleasant thoughts. I fantasized about big, black cocks and muscular black men as much as the next bottom did.

Akashinga gave me good service but little interest; his eyes kept going to a young French woman newlywed traveling in our group. The robust, muscular South African tour guide, Dirk Vandergrif; the mid forties Indian industrialist I'd thought was married, Prabha Rao; and two of the three native servants suddenly were paying me court. The two Zimbabweans were being particularly solicitous and brushing against me and touching me with their fingers in passing, the Indian was giving me hooded looks, and the tour guide, sitting by me at the dinner table out on the deck of the Elephant Camp West tent complex on the southern, Zimbabwe, bank of the Zambezi River, within hearing of the distant roar of Victoria Falls, was playing with my calf with his bare toes.

Vandergrif had already directly propositioned me, and I had teased him rather than saying no. He obviously took that as merely a logistical opportunity issue.

It was at that point that I had decided I'd had enough dinner and enough of that attention that I excused myself and went over and sat in the circle of garden chairs with the Indian couple, Prabha and Padma Rao. They had come to dinner in traditional Indian wear, Padma in a cobalt blue silken sari and Prabha, bare-chested, in a silken wrap from the waist down that showed off a solid, if a bit pudgy muscular torso. He was in good shape for his forty-plus years, and he was smooth bodied, the bit of roundness of him still locked tight inside tanned skin. I had come to sit with them because I assumed them a married couple and safe, but Padma excused herself and floated toward their shared tent not long after I sat and Taguma handed me a snifter of brandy. Prabha had one as well and also was smoking a brown-papered cigarette.

Prabha's bare chest was nothing unusual. It was hot and muggy, the moisture almost visible in the air this close to the falls, and all of the other men were bare-chested and in shorts. None, including the Zimbabwean servants, had physiques they could not be proud to bare. Prabha managed to look cool despite the temperature and humidity from the mist coming off the nearby Victoria Falls.

The third couple of our safari group, the French newlyweds, Andre and Josette Colbert, both model-like thin and attractive, passed us by to go fuck in their tent. They spent every moment when not on a safari expedition or eating a meal in their tent fucking.

That said, so did Harvey Wingate and I, I suppose. Harvey and I had been together for a year—a year that had grown a little strained from lack of variety. This safari, which was something Harvey wanted to do way more than I did, was supposedly a one-year-anniversary celebration. As Harvey was the one with the money and the one who made the decisions, we were doing what Harvey wanted to do. I was along as something to sheath his cock in, and he pretty much treated me as such. He hadn't been all that well recently, and an African safari was on his bucket list.

Harvey was a producer and financial backer of Broadway plays. I had been a dancer in one of the plays he was backing and had been virtually given to him to bed and to make happy by the musical's director. I hadn't minded. Harvey's New York apartment and all of the parties he went to and gave were far above my capabilities at the time and I had expensive tastes. I also didn't mind having a power-driven dick inside me. It wasn't always Harvey's. He gave me to whoever he pleased to and wanted to impress just as I had been given to him. When he gave a party, I was one of the party favors.

It wasn't a relationship of affection, really. It was more one of mutual need and convenience. He needed someone young and good-looking for his bed and someone to fetch and carry for him, and I needed to be taken care of—to be provided for in terms of comforts and to have a man's dick inside me, calming me and transporting me to another world. He took care of me in bed, but we weren't demonstrably a couple in public. And when he was angry with me, he was quick to call me a whore or a prostitute, which, of course, in many ways I was. I hadn't gone looking for a john, though. The director of the musical I was in had explained it as a sacrifice to be made for the good of the whole troupe.

"Ah, Mr. Bradley," the Indian industrialist said when I sat down, "we've come half away across Africa already and haven't had much of a chance to talk."

He'd had his face behind a camera most of the time and only today seemed to notice I existed were the reasons, but he had been making up for lost time in interest since we'd met for drinks after the afternoon nap. We had followed safari customs of sightseeing in the morning hours, napping after lunch, and going out again at twilight to catch glimpses of the wildlife. Harvey and I—and the French couple—usually spent the nap time fucking, though.

"Brent. Please call me Brent, Mr. Rao."

"And you should call me Prabha," he countered with a smile. "I would hope we can be informal with each other—more than informal even."

I wasn't sure if he was signaling or not. I was watching Padma Rao disappearing into their tent with a graceful glide.

"You and your wife seemed so intent on capturing everything on film as we traveled, that I assumed you were putting together a photo journal and I didn't want to interrupt that," I said.

"My wife? Oh, you mean Padma. She's my sister, not my wife. I have no wife. I'm not interested in having a wife, actually." He was giving me a meaningful stare. This I was pretty sure was signaling. I had failed to think of him as anything but married to this point, so I couldn't be sure he hadn't been showing interest in me in earlier days and I just hadn't noticed. But then he referenced this afternoon.

"You are a very attractive young man, and so athletic and graceful," Rao said, leaning into toward me. "Your Mr. Wingate tells me you are a dancer on stage—in New York."

"Yes, I am," I said. "But I didn't realize—"

"The walls of the tents here are transparent in certain angles of the sun," he said. "And there are openings in unexpected places. You put on quite a show with Mr. Wingate this afternoon."

"Ah," I said, blushing. "I'm sorry we were being exhibitionists."

"No need to be sorry. I enjoyed what I saw quite a bit. You are a very flexible young man. You bring to mind the positions of the Kama Sutra."

Indeed I had been that afternoon. Harvey had wanted to take advantage of not only his height on me but also my dancer's flexibility. How many trying positions had we managed, I wondered. There was the splits on the credenza, my legs in the splits, my rump turned up, my knuckles pressed into the top of the credenza, while Harvey, with his long, thin cock, fucked me from behind. And the position we called the Danseur, with me standing on one leg, the other one rising up his chest and being held by one of his arms, and his cupping my chin with the other, my right arm extended for balance, while he fucked me in a side split. And the third one I remembered from the afternoon was Harvey sitting on the bed and me in his lap arched back and my knuckles pressed into the wood planking of the floor, my legs wrapped around his waist, my view being an upside down look at one of the flaps of the tent—where I do remember having caught the glimpse of a watcher—and Harvey pulling me on and off his cock.

"Ah, you're embarrassing me, talking about it," I murmured.

"I don't mean to be. Sex should not be a taboo subject in such primeval surroundings such as these, don't you agree?" He asked. He looked serious and amused at the same time.

"I suppose not."

"Not even talk of men having sex," he continued. "I am interested in young men, just as Mr. Wingate appears to be with you. He tells me you are a prostitute. Do you do it for pay? I much enjoy an athletic coupling with a young, flexible man, and I am somewhat of an aficionado of the Kama Sutra. If you are for sale, I would very much like—"

"Speaking of Harvey," I said, rising from the chair. "It looks like he's ready to retire for the night." Luckily, Harvey had risen, not too steadily, from the table, and did look like he wanted to go to our tent. He looked a little flushed too.

"Oh, now I've been too forward," Rao said apologetically.

"No, of course you haven't," I answered politely, although of course he had been. Damn Harvey for telling him I was a prostitute, I thought, in irritation. Of course that's essentially what I was. Harvey obviously was still smarting from my letting that big black bull, a completely stranger, but with such a great, muscular body and huge cock, fuck me on the banks of Lake Nyasa. I should let Rao fuck me to get him back for saying that. And perhaps I would, I thought.

Before I turned to move into the tent with Harvey, I turned and on impulse said, "No, you haven't been too forward at all, Prabha. I'm flattered. I'll think about what you have offered. I would like to hear more about the Kama Sutra."

And I did think of it. Rao was an attractive man. I liked older men. He was thickish of body, almost Buddha like, but solid. I, of course, wondered if the thickness went to his cock. His directness, in fact, was refreshing and arousing.

Harvey said he felt feverish and a little weak when we went to bed, so I let him lie on his back on the bed, surrounded by mosquito netting, and I rode his cock, in reverse, Cowboy style, until we'd both come. Lying there next to him afterward and looking out of the tent across the decking, I realized that the hot tub was in my line of sight. Prabha Rao was sitting in the hot tub, cigarette in one hand and brandy snifter in the other. Our bed obviously was in his line of sight too. He'd been watching me ride Harvey.

After a few moments of indecision, I rose from the bed, naked, pushed the mosquito netting aside, and padded out to the deck.

"Lovely to watch," Rao murmured to me as I approached the hot tub. "The mosquito netting gave the scene a dreamy, voyeuristic touch. You have a beautiful, small body. Exquisite. Perfectly proportioned and I could have told that you were a dancer. I'm am throbbing alive from watching you."

"Do you want to do more than watch me?" I asked, running my hand through the water of the tub, but not touching him. Not touching him yet.

"Yes, I ache to be inside you," he answered.

I sat on the side of the tub, leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, and let my hand run down his chest to his crotch. "Oh, shit, you're huge," I exclaimed as I pulled my hand back.

"Yes, I am. And my cock wants you," he said. He dropped both cigarette and snifter off the side of the hot tub, reached for me, and deftly, with a minimum of splash, brought me into the tub and onto his lap, facing him. Forcing both of my legs to rise up his chest and holding my waist between his hands, he settled my hole on his cock. I groaned as he split and stretched me, not needing much preparation for him to go deep as I'd just been with Harvey. But the Indian's cock was appreciably thicker. He spent the next several minutes pulling me all the way down into his lap as I groaned and grunted at the thickness and length of him, my eyes watering, my mouth muttering both encouragement and begging for a merciful handling that he relentlessly didn't grant me. Fully saddled, he pumped me at great length, depth, and trial.

When he at last ejaculated, I knew I had been fucked. Through it all, he had maintained a cool control, whispering how much he was enjoying me and what he would do to me next—and then doing it. He moved me deftly in several different positions on the cock—all athletic, all demanding, all permitting him to reach deep inside me.

In the middle of the night, I was awakened by Harvey's belabored breathing. He was soaked in perspiration and obviously running a high fever. I roused the camp, and a boat with a doctor on it docked on our side of the river and took Harvey away to a hospital in Livingston, in Zambia, on the other side of the river.

Madzinga changed the bedding and I returned to the bed and to fretful sleep, only to be awakened by a visitation from Prabha Rao. He took me in a position that Harvey and I knew as the Bumper Cars—me on my belly facing in one direction and Rao on top of me on his belly facing the other, his pelvis on top of my buttocks, and his cock deep inside me, pumping. To take us to a mutual ejaculation, though, he went onto his back, put me on top of him on my back, with my feet on his bent legs and his arms laced through my left armpit in a half Nelson hold, his cock pumping up into my channel, and stroked me off in a timed release with his with his right hand. When he was finished, and after murmuring a "Well and sensually done; such a beautiful little body," he was gone. I slept fitfully the rest of the night, not only worrying about Harvey but also worrying that Rao fucked me better than Harvey did.

Rao certainly was more inventive and challenging in the positions he put me in and, what was most melting to me was that, although he was dark complexioned, I found that his cock and balls were jet black. I had a special affinity for black bulls. I rarely was in a position to observe his cock except when I was sucking it, because most of the time it was inside my ass.

* * * *

"Is there news of Harvey?" I asked when I came out of my tent the next morning. The only ones about were the tour guide and two of the Zimbabwean servants. Dirk Vandergrif, dressed in his trail clothes, sat at the open-air dining table, drinking coffee. The Zimbabweans, Madzinga and Taguma, were moving around the table, clearing it of breakfast dishes. Taguma hastened to bring me a cup of coffee—fixed just as I liked it. As he did so, he gave me a knowing smile and brushed his hand against my forearm as he pulled away. He was able to make me shiver. He was a handsome buck. All three of the servants were, for that matter. And all three were sturdy enough to twist me into a pretzel shape if they wished too.

I more than once during the tour had fantasized on one of them manhandling me and taking me hard—just as that black bull boatman on the Nyasa Lake had, following me up from the dock after ferrying us across the lake and into the bushes, where he pinned me to the ground, covered my mouth with his hand, trapped me under his powerful body, and fucked me to heaven. Imagine his surprise when I not only didn't report him for taking me unwillingly but also moved my pelvis in counterthrust with his, grunting my approval of the fuck. I had flirted mercilessly with him on the boat, which I accepted as giving him license to do what he did.

I struggled with him a bit when he had me on the ground, but he was too powerful for me, all black, shiny muscle. He was pleased that I struggled with him, but somewhat surprised that he entered me so easily with his big, black dick, as often as Harvey was using me and how aroused my body was by the black boatman from the time we were half way across the lake and I was imagining him inside me. Once saddled, huge, possessing, throbbing inside me, the boatman's surprise had turned to awe and lust, as I set my efforts to the task at hand, spread my legs, elevated my pelvis to give him maximum access, and moved with his ever-quickening stroking. The pleasure was cloud-walking for both of us, and we'd attained a mutual ejaculation. I always did better with a big, black cock.

"I was told there will be no word until late afternoon," Dirk said. "We might as well go ahead with our drive into the bush of Zambezi National Park to observe the wildlife. I know you've seen your fill of elephants, but there are lions, monkeys, and baboons in the park as well."

"Where are the others?" I asked, looking around the deck and making a sweep of the line of tents without seeing any evidence of human animals.

"They went ahead. An earlier start would have been better, but I figured you needed your rest. You had quite an active night." I turned to look at him, and he was giving me the same knowing smile that Taguma had when he gave me my coffee. There obviously were no secrets of the night in this tent camp. He could just as easily have referenced my scare in the night at finding Harvey so ill as a reason I needed my sleep. He obviously was making a point to have made an allusion to Rao's visit later in the night and fucking me in challenging positions.

Funny thing, though, that he somehow had hustled Rao out to take the earlier tour, and his night had been as active as mine was.

It might have been better if I had tuned in to what was on the tour guide's mind.

We set out in a Land Rover, the four of us—Madzinga and Taguma in front and Dirk Vandergrif in the back, with me. The road was rough even from the beginning and deteriorated steadily the deeper we drove into the scrub bush that was the Zambezi National Park. We were jostled about in the Land Rover, and Vandergrif made no effort not to be pressed into my side or to grip my knee or thigh to steady himself. If he expected it to arouse me sexually, it did. He was a powerfully built and ruggedly handsome man. I could tell that it aroused him. The crotch of his shorts filled out. I could see the line of his engorged cock through the material—even that he was cut. Madzinga was driving; Taguma regularly looked into the backseat with a grin that seemed to convey that he knew something that I didn't.

As it turned out he did.

We saw elephants—in groups of parades—and giraffes—in towers—out in the open areas, and where there were stands of scraggly umbrella trees, we saw monkeys. What we weren't seeing was lions, and although I didn't really care if we saw one or not, Vandergrif insisted that I needed to see one, and kept urging Taguma forward along worsening road tracks deeper into the scrub. Another thing we didn't see was the larger Land Rover the rest of the group had taken. That should have alerted me to what Vandergrif was doing.

Eventually, the track we were on just stopped. It stopped in a stand of trees.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"At the end of this trail, obviously," Vandergrif said, with a grin. The two Zimbabweans had their heads turned to the backseat and were grinning at me as well.

"Obviously," I said. "I think we can go back now. I don't need to see a lion that much. Maybe there will be news of Harvey by the time we get back."

"There's something I want from you first," Vandergrif said. "Something Madzinga and Taguma want too."

"What?" I asked. But from the way the three of them were ogling me, already imagining me with my clothes off and writhing under them, I didn't really have to ask.

"We want the same that you have been giving Wingate and Rao. We want you to give it us to us willingly and well. I heard Rao say that you are a prostitute. We want your ass. Payment will be a ride back to the river."

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