This is a fictional story based on one of my fantasies of being dominated by an African Tribesman.
Chapter 1 – Pancakes for Dinner
Physically, I’m a petite 36 year old lady, brown hair down to the shoulders, though I fear the gray strands will soon come. Men are constantly raving about how great I look as if I’m in my 20’s. It’s flattering but I feel like it’s just so they can “get to know me better”.
Emotionally, I’m struggling. My love life is a failure, no kids, and I need a solid man in my life to sing sweet nothings to me and simply care for me. My closest friends have their own families, their continuously growing family trees, while my trees growth seems to have ended. I’ve been left so far behind, their great oak canopies have left me without a single glimpse of the beautiful sunlight.
My ultimate fear is that I will never experience the glory of birth. I have been a workaholic, focused on my job for so long. The city has been built, but sadly no one of my kind lives in it. I know if I do not act fast, I could die in my mansion which I worked so hard for, alone.
The company which I work for planned on sending me to Mozambique to seal the deal on some staplers for a small tribe in the central confines of the country. I would be lying if I wasn’t planning other activities though. It had been years since I had felt the touch of a mans love on my smooth body, and it had always been a hidden fantasy of mine to have an ebony zulu spear pierce my insides.
Chapter 2 – First Insertion
I traveled by bus to the Shakalu tribe in Eastern Botswana, now that my work was finished I felt like I finally had time to vacation and start to solve some of my lingering problems. The bus smelled of Nigerian Horse Raddish and Tumbleberry, it was actually quite delightful upon my nose.
As the bus neared the stop, my gut began to bubble. Something about the vast desert lands contrasted by forests and the remoteness of the area made me excited in ways I didn’t think I would be. A young, probably a mere 19 years old, African male greeted me as I departed the bus. He gave me a big hug as if he had known me all his life, and I felt as if he had. The rest of his tribe instinctively surrounded me, and I was given the impression they were able to detect how sopping wet my undergarments were.
It was only a matter of minutes before I was naked in spread eagle position in the nearest hut. Jafu, the handsome man who greeted me off the bus, and name I would learn after our “festivities” quickly removed his loin cloths and poured the prepared gazelle blood onto each of my erect bosoms. It is an Shakalu tradition to pour gazelle blood over your chosen mate, and I was eager to participate. My thin lipped, puckered, lap flounder secreted large doses of fluid, and was yet to even be touched. Jafu was quite the tease. For hours upon hours he would tenderly lick up and down each of my legs, to my breasts, slowly spreading the blood upon each sector of my aching body. It was nearly midnight now, I arrived at 6pm. His turgid member loomed over my female counterpart. “Beautiful things are about to take place in this hut.” Is the single thought that went through my racing brain before he penetrated deep into my tuna flap, and my soul. His raging jefferson plunged into me continuously. The feeling in which I had longed for, for so long was being fulfilled. Jafu, my sweet ebony prince was treating me like the princess I wished to be treated as. My body was in a state of infinite ecstasy. His sweat sprinkled upon me as if I was laying in one of the near by rain forests, our fluids combined and created a natural flowing river between us. He then slowly took my spread legs and placed my heels onto his broad shoulders. The night was just beginning. As he began chanting “tu raf klo que” with each thrust, I started to scream profanities in my own language. My juices were on overdrive, I closed my eyes, took the passenger seat, and let him take the initiative. Jafu’s continual pounding of his coconut sack against my buttocks region was so incredibly enjoyable I started to hysterically laugh. The feeling was so joyous laughing was the only way I could express how pleasurable it was, and let me tell you, Jafu’s coconut sack, is very much the size of a coconut sack. I had to of climaxed around 43 times by now, It was a night of continual heated gluttony. Though Jafu had incredible body control, he had to give in to the demons eventually. His pedro sped up in movement, as this happened he flipped me onto my stomach, and re-entered my muff with impeccable synchronism. My glistening body was at his mercy. He clobbered away at my pink velvet sausage wallet and with a great moan from both of us, he unloaded his liquid glory into my flourishing fortress of solitude. I laid there in exhaust and with a facial expression that could only be expressed with two words, “grand slam”. Unfortunately I had to put a halt to the wonderful night, or should I say morning, as my plane was departing soon, that’s where I would have to get my sleep.
Chapter 3 – Real Life
It was a month before I started showing any signs. As much as I hated it, it was part of me now. Jafu’s everlasting seed was planted in my womb. I could not hide it for long. Just the thought of raising a child without a father frightened me, as I think it would any other person. I always dreamt of having that complete family as my peers do. I was so eager to create branches off my own tree, I never thought of anyone else. Now Jafu Jr. will suffer, as he may never know his father.
I often think back to that lust filled night, that lust filled moment. I will always remember it as the mistake of an evening in which Jafu walloped my saturated fiddle cove. The night I gave a child an unfair chance at life, because he will only have one parent. The night I should have used protection. It will most definitely not be the night I was going to complete my every fantasy as I once thought.
As Henry David Thoreu once said, “Things do not change; we change.”, I couldn’t agree more.