Safari Trail's End

"I don't think—"

"Your choice is to let each of us fuck you or we can leave you here and let you find your own way back to camp."

Well, if he put it that way—and, besides, I would have been willing to lie under any of them anyway. They were all hunks. The blacks were what I liked best; they promised to be black bulls. In fact I could see now that it was more than a promise. They both had fat, juicy cocks out and were stroking them to fullness. It had just been the demand—the sneakiness of getting it. And it had been the insensitivity of getting it with Harvey off in a hospital in another country. Of course, what was the difference between that and Rao coming to my tent last night after Harvey had been taken away? And I had accepted Rao without objection of the propriety of us fucking under those circumstances. I had gone to Rao myself with Harvey in my bed, sick.

Vandergrif had his cock out too, and it wasn't anything extra special, but it was nice enough. He cupped the back of my neck and I didn't resist the drawing of my face down to his lap or the opening of my mouth over his cock and giving him head. I gave Madzinga and Taguma head too before the three fucked me in succession.

The tour guide took me first, and at length, starting off with me, naked—the three of them kept their shorts on—sitting on his cock, facing him, in the backseat and leveraging off my feet as I rose and fell on the cock. The session with him ended with me laying on the seat, legs out of the open door of the Land Rover, ankles resting on Vandergrif's shoulders, as he crouched on the ground at the side of the vehicle and fucked me missionary style. Taguma came into me immediately after Vandergrif pulled out and fucked me in the same position. Madzinga made me stand on the ground beside the open door, with my chest on the backseat and him fucking me doggie style from behind as he buried his fist in the hair on my head and arched my head back at him. Both of the blacks were hung and gave me quite a ride, which was short but rough and vigorous.

Vandergrif fucked me again in various positions on the drive back to Elephant Camp West.

No one said anything on the ride back about the need to see a lion. They'd seen and done what they came out into the bush for. Although I showed irritation, beyond the nagging concern for Harvey, I didn't feel irritation; I felt satiation. I indeed was just a male prostitute, and was becoming increasingly content in that role. Any of the three of these men were more satisfying than sex with Harvey. We had gotten into a rut despite the challenging positions. There was something exciting and taboo about sex with these men—and with Rao—out here in the wilds of Africa.

"I wouldn't suggest you get ugly about this," Vandergrif said, as we drove back into the camp. The other Land Rover wasn't back yet. "I have friends in high places in Livingstone and this park. It would be your word against mine."

He did a double take from my response. "I won't say anything if you come to my tent tonight—if Harvey isn't back—and fuck me in more comfortable circumstances," I said.

He paused for a moment, and then grinned. "And Madzinga and Taguma?"

"Yes, them too. No use pretending the three of you don't know me totally now. But, speaking of Harvey, shouldn't we call the hospital to see how he's doing?"

"No need."

"Why isn't there a need? Is he back already? Did you see him as we drove in? I didn't."

"No, there's no need, because I already knew before we drove out this morning. Mr. Wingate died in hospital last night. They haven't determined what caused the fever, but it was too much for him. He had a heart attack."

"Harvey's dead? And you knew this morning? You didn't tell me because you wanted to get me out in the bush and fuck me?"

"Yes to all. There wasn't anything any of us could do for him, and it didn't hurt you to know about it later than sooner."

I stood and stared him down for a long moment. I had to admit I wasn't surprised about Harvey. We knew he had heart problems. He knew he was taking a chance by pursuing his bucket list and, especially, going on something as challenging as this safari. We'd even discussed it, and he had said it was the way he wanted to go. What had primarily irritated me with all of that was that we hadn't discussed what that meant for me—that he'd just leave me—and leave me high and dry. I couldn't have been left any higher and dryer than here in the middle of Africa. I knew I would inherit nothing from him. He had family with rights and they hadn't accepted his arrangement with me. I had no intention of challenging that. But I'd lost him now. And I was standing in the middle of Africa without even a ticket home as far as I knew. Harvey made all of the travel arrangements. I had no idea how firm they were and whether passage home had been booked and paid for.

But my mind was racing ahead. This bastard standing in front of me had known Harvey was dead before he took me out in the bush and fucked me—and he still took me out in the bush and fucked me. "Knowing Harvey was dead you still took me out in the bush and fucked me," I said, accusingly.

"You're just a prostitute. Wingate told me you were—that you were just with him for the free ride. You liked it; you wanted it. You've said as much."

"That was before I knew what a bastard you are," I said. "Knowing that now, just forget any visit in the night. I have weapons. You come close to me again, and I'll use them. I may not kill you, but I'll sure as hell cut your balls off." With that, I turned and walked back to my tent.

Vandergrif caught up with me at the entrance of the tent and wrapped his arms around me. He hustled me over to the bed, threw me down, landed on top of me. I struggled with him, but he was too heavy, big, and powerful for me. He backhanded me twice across the face, which subdued me. I didn't fight him when he slapped my thighs apart or when he forced himself inside me. Once he had his dick inside me, I calmed down and concentrated on the shaft that possessed and filled me and soon would be moving inside me, transporting me to another, higher world if only for twenty minutes of time. I couldn't deny it; I lived to having a man's dick inside me.

And when he set a rhythm of the fuck, I moved my pelvis with him and moaned for him and we worked together in the dance of the fuck. I was no longer struggling with him; I was writhing under him in lust and passion. He knew the difference, and he laughed at my quick and total surrender to him. He took me hard, pounding me deep and fast, and I clutched at his buttocks with my hands, wrapped my legs around his thighs, and met his thrusts with counterthrusts. We were a grunting and groaning fucking machine.

When he'd come and pulled out of me, he stood beside the bed, looking down at me, the conqueror. "I'll leave you alone now, but don't try to pretend that you aren't randy for it. And don't forget who has the power out here in the African wilderness."

When he left the tent, I rolled over and beat the mattress in frustration. I couldn't help it. I wanted him inside me again—I wanted them all inside me again. I couldn't help it.

* * * *

I remained in seclusion for the rest of the afternoon and evening, not making an appearance when the rest of the safari group returned, voicing exclamations of the lions they'd seen on their drive into the park. It got very quiet, though, when Vandergrif told them Harvey had died, and they all went to their tents. No one disturbed me. Akashinga, the Zimbabwean servant who hadn't fucked me, brought my dinner to the tent.

I went to bed early, events of my life with Harvey going through my mind in a loop, with two burning points continually coming up—that Vandergrif was right that I was heavily sexed—randy for the fuck—and the question of what I did now. Could I just go back on the chorus line in New York, auditioning extensively for parts and scoring a show infrequently and one with a decent running time almost never? Had I become dependent on having a sugar daddy to sustain me in the comfort I'd learned to expect? How did I reconcile these two issues?

As I lay there, staring out of the open flap of the tent entrance, I realized that I was following a moving point of light with my eyes. I eventually identified it as the tip of Prabha Rao's cigarette. He wasn't in the hot tub. He was somewhere closer to the decking.

I rose, naked, from the bed and padded slowly out onto the deck. He was sitting in a lotus position, legs bent and crossed in front of him on a mat on the deck. He too was naked. He'd worn a loin cloth of some sort out onto the deck—a long length of material—but that lay next to him, coiled like a cobra.

"Rao," I said, coming closer.

"Brent," he said, in answer. "I have been waiting for you. We both know the comfort you seek."

We spoke no further for some time. We didn't need to speak. I came close beside him, and, swiveling his torso without changing his sitting position, he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me to him, turned his face to my crotch, took my cock in his mouth, and sucked me to a hard erection.

Then, smoothly and easily, he turned my body into a challenging position of flexibility, upending me in front of him and facing away from him. My back was arched and my head turned down so that I could take his cock in my mouth. My legs were slung over his shoulders, and he buried his face between my buttocks cheeks and ate my ass out, preparing me for his cock.

As smoothly as he put me in that position, he reversed me so that my thighs rested on his and my legs were wrapped around his waist. My channel was skewered on his cock. I leaned back, supported at the small of my back by the length of his loin cloth material, fisted at either end in his hands, and he tightened and released his grip on the cloth rhythmically, pulling my channel up and down on his cock.

Eventually, also seemingly effortlessly, he stood up, supporting me in front of him in the same position and by the same means and finished the fuck. We went back into the facing sitting lotus position and kissed and nuzzled, knowing that we'd fuck again and that, as we did so, the positions would become more athletic and would progressively challenge my flexibility and his invention more. It was as if he was looking for some sort of edge of my capability. He was moving me from grief through lust to wantonness, and I went with him willingly.

I knew it would be both a challenge and a means for me to hold his interest to be able to accommodate him—if there was any hope of getting what I wanted from him.

"You are good, very good, always fresh and surprising," Rao murmured.

"So are you. I could be happy being taken to new, greater pleasures by you forever," I answered, carefully choosing my words.

"Have you ever been to India—to Mumbai?" he asked after a pause that told me that his mind was churning—that I had him on the edge of what I wanted.

"No, never. But I'd love to see India."

"Can you see yourself living in India—as a companion to me?"

Bingo!

"Yes, I think I could," I answered.

"You would not be the only one, I must admit," he whispered. "I have somewhat of a harem of young men at my disposal and in my house. But you intrigue me more than any other I have."

"It's a start," I answered. It was a beggars can't be choosers situation and I was a realist.

With a sigh he moved into a new position, standing, with my smaller body draped on the front of his, my knees gripping his hips, my fists clasped behind his neck, and his hand locked across my lower belly, as, while starting to move his reengorged cock inside my passage, my new provider took me—and himself—to new, greater heights of pleasure.