≈ BELGIAN CONGO ≈
~ Three explorers ~
The three Belgian men painstakingly proceeded along the arduous path cutting through the thick equatorial rainforest, slowly descending from the peak of the Kabobo mountain to Lake Tanganyika. The Democratic Republic of Congo, in the last decades, had become a modern country, but that area between the mountain range and the lake was still mostly unexplored, and the men could only rely on the GPS and rough maps drawn by the elders of the villages at the foot of the mountain.
It wasn’t raining anymore, but the air was hot and saturated with humidity, and all the men had long decided to strip off their shirts, keeping on only their short kaki shorts, their boots and a heavy backpack each.
Christophe Van De Mann, the chief of the small expedition, was in his mid-forties, but had a powerful and muscular body that allowed him to endure the demanding trek in stride; but his two helpers, Janssen and Lejeune, though twenty years younger, didn’t have Van De Mann’s strength, nor his experience, and had fallen behind once more.
“Professor Van De Mann, wait!” – Janssen shouted, in his harsh native Flemish language, making the forest around them react with loud flutter of wings and screeching animal verses. All Belgians are fluent in both French and Flemish, and Van De Mann, though coming from the French-speaking region in the South of Belgium, perfectly understood what Janssen said, and made a smirk of annoyance. He halted, sighed, and slowly turned around; when the two younger men were closer, Van De Mann pointed an angry finger at Janssen and hissed, in French: “I told you not to make loud noises, stupid! Respect the forest, don’t disturb her quiet, and she’ll let us pass. And call me just ‘chief’, or the next time we meet a Black Mamba I’ll be dead, by the time you finish calling me!”
“Yes chief…” – Janssen meekly replied in French, and Lejeune echoed him: “Sorry for slowing you down, chief. I wish I had your physique…” – he added, shooting at Van De Mann’s wide torso a furtive glance. “It’s all right” – the chief replied, with a fatherly smile – “Now, let’s search for a suitable place to camp.”
After a short while, they arrived at a small clearing where the ground was even and dry enough to place the tents; thanks to the elevated position, an opening in the thick foliage allowed them to have a beautiful glimpse of the long Lake Tanganyika, below.
They efficiently mounted the camp and built a fire pit, where they started to warm up their canned rations. While waiting for the food to be warm, they sat around the fire, in silence. Van De Mann kept staring at the distant lake, with a deep, pensive expression. The two younger explorers almost held their breath, unwilling to disturb him.
“How dared we to call this beautiful, majestic land ‘Belgian Congo’…” – he then said, almost to himself – “How dared we to rape and exploit this country as savagely as we did… I’m ashamed to be Belgian…”
Lejeune raised his gaze and murmured: “It was long ago, professor, under King Leopold II. Now the Congo is a free country…”
“And should this wipe away the grief of the millions of peaceful people who died during our domination? Should this make us feel clean from the sin our own people made against this land? It wasn’t centuries ago, the native elders still call their capital city ‘Leopoldville’, instead of Kinshasa; and their fathers and grandfathers, in most cases, died under the Belgian lash because they couldn’t gather the required amount of rubber. You’re young, Lejeune, but don’t forget the shame we have to bear: we all owe a great debt toward this country, toward the beautiful people living here.”
“Say…” – Lejeune asked, timidly – “are you really an anthropologist? A professor?”
Van De Mann chuckled: “An anthropologist, yes. This is my passion and my life. As for being a professor… well, I’m an obscure professor who occasionally teaches in an obscure university. I don’t really feel at ease, lecturing the students, I only feel alive when I’m here, in the forest, trying to uncover the many secrets that this land still holds.”
The food was ready, and Janssen took the cans from the firepit using an old cloth, poured the content into some small bowls and gave them to his fellow explorers. He still had a piqued expression, probably due to the reprimand he got earlier, and didn’t say a word.
While eating, Lejeune asked: “What are we looking for, profess… chief?”
“We’re chasing shadows, my young friend” – Van De Mann replied, with a faraway look – “We’re hunting for something that in all likelihood is just a myth, nothing more. The elders still pass down the tales about a secluded tribe, as ancient as the Congo itself, living somewhere in these mountains, in peaceful communion with the forest. The tales describe them as powerful men, tall, wise, with a penetrant gaze and… remarkable physical features.”
Lejeune’s eyes opened wide: “What kind of… physical features?”
“If you really want to know…” – Van De Mann chuckled – “…the ancient tales say their manhood is as long as their forearm.”
Janssen grunted, spat on the ground and growled: “All this effort to find some fuckin’ horse-dicked negers…!”
Hearing that horrible, insulting Flemish word, Van De Mann shot Janssen a deadly glance; he slowly put down the bowl, stood up and moved in front of him, looking down at him with an irate gaze. Janssen looked up at the chief with a defiant smirk... that didn’t last long. With a lightning move, Van De Mann slapped him so hard that Janssen fell to the ground, howling in pain and humiliation. “Say that word once more, think that word once more…” – Van De Mann threatened with barely restrained anger – “…and I swear your head will roll down to Lake Tanganyika, while your body will stay here, to feed the worms! Am I clear?”
Janssen, with a deadly gaze, lowered his hand to the gun he carried in case some wild animal attacked them, but Van De Mann froze him: “Touch that gun and you’re dead.”
The younger guy faltered and moved his hand away. Van De Mann nodded and added: “You and Lejeune shouldn’t even bear it, as there are no dangerous animals here, except snakes… and me”. Then, followed by the scared eyes of the guys, Van De Mann went back to the rock he was sitting on, next to Lejeune, took back his bowl and went on eating his soup, in silence, with a deep frown on his face.
Lejeune was scared to piss him off, but he felt sorry for the bad vibes that Janssen’s careless words had caused. After a few moments of silence, he dared to ask, tentatively: “Professor… uhm… Are their dicks really as long as their forearms…?”
Van De Mann, at first, tried to keep a serious, angry expression, but couldn’t restrain a soft chuckle, noticing Lejeune’s deep interest for the manly endowment of those mythical men: “That’s what the elders say, and they usually emphasize the concept showing their own forearm…”
Lejeune opened his eyes wide, and the sparkle of desire lighting up the guy’s gaze didn’t go unnoticed. After a short pause, he nervously laced his fingers, as if he wasn’t unsure about what to do, and then placed a trembling hand on Van De Mann’s thigh, whispering: “I wish we could meet them…”
The professor let the hesitant fingers linger for a short while on his leg, and then took Lejeune’s hand into his own: “Thank you, my young friend, I’m flattered, but… I’m not the right man for you. No, don’t feel embarrassed: it’s just that I’m… different from you, that’s all. Who knows, maybe one of the long-dicked men we’re looking for will fall for you, uh?”
Lejeune chuckled: “Yeah, who knows? A man as old as the Congo itself is any gay boy’s dream right? I was actually hoping for someone a bit less endowed and definitely younger than them, but it’s OK, I understand. Thank you for being so… unjudgmental. And for not making my head roll down to Lake Tanganyika…”
“Ha ha ha!” – Van De Mann laughed – “Well, we’d better hit the sack, now.”
~ Wrong move ~
The next morning, after thoroughly cleaning up any trace of their camp, the three explorers resumed their journey through the forest. They walked a couple hours, and at some point they stopped in a clearing to drink some water. While putting their canteens away, they suddenly realized that they were not alone anymore. Without making the faintest sound, four tall black men bearing long lances were looking menacingly at them from the edge of the clearing.
They had a very dark hairless skin, that shone under the sun for the sweat covering it, highlighting the mound and creases of their muscular, chiseled body; except for the lances, they were completely naked, and the explorers couldn’t help but notice that their dicks, though not as long as their forearms, were definitely the biggest ones they’d ever seen. One of them pointed his penetrant gaze at Van De Mann, who felt like the man’s eyes were rummaging inside his very soul and mind, evaluating, assessing… and judging.
At the sight of the warriors, Janssen gasped and immediately pointed his gun at them, soon copied by Lejeune; Van De Mann didn’t bear any arm, he hated them, and said in a low but commanding voice: “Don’t be stupid, drop those guns. Move slowly. Follow my lead…”
Van De Mann, with deliberate moves, took away his backpack and dropped it to the ground; then unbuttoned his shorts and pulled them down, and did the same with his underwear. He stepped out of his clothes and stood completely naked in front of the black warriors, keeping his arms down and showing his bare palms.
“Get naked, guys, slowly. Show them that no harm can come to them from you.”
Lejeune nodded yes, still holding his gun, but Janssen bellowed: “I’m not stripping in front of filthy negers with a fuckin’ foot-long dick!”
His yell startled the warriors, who moved toward them. Two shots echoed in the clearing and one of the black men brought his hand to his bicep, where a thin trail of blood was slowly forming the black skin. Van De Mann turned to the guys, and noticed that Lejeune had shot in the air, while Janssen was still pointing his gun at the men. Luckily, he inwardly sighed, the boy had a terrible aim, and he caused just a minor wound, no more than a scratch. But it was a bad move nevertheless. The worst ever.
The wounded man turned to the two young explorers, but there wasn’t anger in his eyes, they were rather full of reproach. Janssen and Lejeune began trembling and let their guns fall to the floor; the warriors, moving at blazing speed, were on them in seconds, immobilized them and forcefully stripped them naked, ripping their clothes with hasty moves. Then blocked the guys’ arms behind their back and tied their hands with thin cords taken from the handles of the lances. Van De Mann, too, was soon joined by two warriors, but they didn’t tie him, they just placed their hands on both his shoulders and escorted him to the center of the clearing, where the two tied guys and the other two warriors were waiting.
They were pushed toward a hidden trail in the forest, leaving behind the guns and the backpacks, along with the discarded clothes. Van De Mann was fuming, and when he got the chance he hissed to Janssen: “If they don’t kill you, I’ll do myself. It’s a promise…”
The group moved along the trail for about two hours, mostly in silence. Occasionally, the warriors exchanged brief comments in a language that Van De Mann couldn’t identify, it seemed an ancient version of the Kikongo language, but it was hard to say.
They arrived at a secluded village with huts made of wood and straw; a small river flowed nearby and there were several old trees in the middle of the village, and an old trunk of a fallen tree lay on the ground close to them. With military efficiency, Van De Mann was forced to crouch at the foot of a tree, and his hands were tied above his head; while Janssen and Lejeune were forcefully pushed onto the fallen trunk, face down, and immobilized in that humiliating position, with their private parts in full display.
All the villagers came out of the huts to see what was happening, and Van De Mann noticed that they were all male, with apparent ages ranging from twenty to fifty years, but even the eldest ones had chiseled and healthy bodies, defined muscles and a manhood that definitely matched the old myths.
Van De Mann’s heart raced, wondering if the old tales were true, and the ancient guardians of the Congo really existed. He wanted so bad to communicate with them, but how? The few words he’d heard sounded obscure to him. His eyes darted around, willing to see and memorize every little detail of the village and the villagers, trying to guess if they really were, as the tales suggested, the very heart, memory and spirit of the vast Congo.
A scared whine came from his side, and he turned his head to look at Janssen and Lejeune, tied to the trunk, and watched in horror two warriors smearing their humongous manly tools with a slick oil, massaging the long shafts until they rose to a frightening full erection. Their intentions were way too clear…
“No, wait!” – Van De Mann screamed – “Please! Don’t hurt them!”
One villager, a muscular man in his fifties with some grey streaks in his curly hair, moved in front of Van De Mann, pointed a finger at him and asked: “Hoka?”
Van De Mann shook his head: “I… I don’t understand!”
The man, who probably was the village chief, judging from the respectful glances everyone shot at him, nodded to the two warriors holding their hard cocks, and they moved close to the prisoners, pressing their dangerous weapons on the guys’ vulnerable holes. Janssen squirmed hard and pleaded, while Lejeune was silent and concentrated, trying his best to get ready for the oncoming impalement. Being gay, and having a passion for big men, for once, was a perk.
The warriors grabbed the guy’s hips, flexed their glutes… and entered the tight holes, going all the way and pushing harder when their meat rods felt a residual resistance.
“AAAARRGGHH!!” – the young explorers screamed in unison, feeling torn apart by the harsh and forceful penetration. Even Lejeune, who was more expert in taking big cocks, howled in pain, feeling the long intruder violate places inside him never touched before.
“No! NO!” – Van De Mann bellowed again – “Take me! Punish me! Leave the boys alone! Please!!”
The leader, once more, turned to the professor and asked: “Hoka?”
Van De Mann shook his head again: “I don’t understand your language!”
The two warriors started fucking hard the two young explorers, making them whine and cry out for the painful penetration and the scorching humiliation. Van De Mann had no choice but to witness the harsh punishment being administered to the guys and tried to get free, but his hands were tied too tightly.
Janssen was almost hysteric, and screamed like a slaughtered pig, swearing, calling the black men negers and insulting them in any possible way; Lejeune, on the contrary, whined only when the long black rod crashed inside his innermost cavities, but mostly kept his eyes closed, doing his best to take what his aggressor was giving him. No, not just ‘taking’, Van De Mann reckoned, almost in disbelief: he was doing his best to enjoy the fuck, harsh as it was, and despite having an off-the-chart cock ravaging his insides. From his point of view, Van De Mann could clearly see Lejeune’s dick getting stiffer at each thrust, and letting out a thin gossamer thread of pre-cum.
The professor felt a bit better, realizing that Lejeune was somehow coping with the wild fuck he was subjected to; as for Janssen… he badly needed a lesson, and was so meaningful that the punishment came from ‘a neger with a foot-long dick’, as he called them earlier. Van De Mann didn’t really feel sorry for Janssen, though his cries made him cringe.
The two warriors paced up their thrusts, slamming their hips against the guys’ buttocks with merciless determination. They were clearly getting close, their skin was covered with sweat, and their breath was labored. The warrior fucking Janssen was the first to cum, he stiffened and let out a guttural growl, while he gave a few final wrecking thrusts into the guy’s destroyed hole. The man fucking Lejeune sped up, pulling his foot-long cock almost out and then slamming it back in, all the way, until he let out a chocked grunt and flooded Lejeune’s insides with his manly juice.
They recoiled, and both the guys and Van De Mann took a deep breath. It was over.
Except, it wasn’t over at all. The two spent warriors recoiled, giving way to two other men, whose manly endowment wasn’t as long as the first ones, but way thicker: so thick that not even the eager cock-lover Lejeune could possibly endure the ordeal without having his hole ruined.
“NO! Stop it, I’m begging you!” – Van De Mann cried out, in deep pain for the younger explorers… well, for Lejeune, at least. But even Janssen, that moron, had been punished enough, and Van De Mann again pleaded for mercy on their behalf.
The tent closing a hut opened, and suddenly the entire village froze, while a muscular man with long braided hair stepped out in the open. Unlike the other men, this was wearing a short skirt made with embroidered thin leaves, as a sign of his higher rank. All the men bowed their heads with utmost respect toward the man, and Van De Mann realized that he must’ve been the real chief of the village, and the tall black man with salt-and-pepper hair was a sort of lieutenant.
The man slowly moved closer to Van De Mann. Despite being apparently not older than thirty years, he walked with difficulty and had a restrained smirk of pain on his otherwise handsome face, apparently suffering from some illness. Van De Mann locked eyes with him and felt again like his deepest thoughts and feelings were searched and scrutinized, without compassion or empathy.
“Hoka?” – the suffering man asked, pointing his finger at Van De Mann, and before he could reply he frowned, as if he was trying to recall something and then added, in broken French: “Chief?”
“Yes! I am the chief of the expedition, Chief Van De Mann!” – the professor eagerly replied – “You speak my language!”
“Understand, some. Speak, little” – the man replied – “Me, Chief Kasinda. You walk through sacred land. White men must not lay foot.”
“I didn’t know, Chief Kasinda! I’m truly sorry. Believe me, we didn’t mean to break your laws…”
“I know. I see in your eyes” – Kasinda replied, and Van De Mann pleaded: “If you know I’m sincere, stop punishing my friends! I’m begging you on their behalf!”
Kasinda turned to look at the two guys tied to the trunk and said: “You honorable, no punishment. They coward, they hurt men from afar with thunderous weapon. If you wise Chief, you know they deserve punishment.”
Van De Mann looked at his helpers and, deep inside, he knew that what Kasinda had stated was true. For Janssen, at least: Lejeune fired his gun, too, but in the air, he didn’t mean to harm the black warriors.
“Chief Kasinda, you are right. But the blond man is only guilty of being young and weak, he has suffered enough. If you want to punish them more, I offer myself to take the blond man’s place.”
Kasinda was hit by the professor’s noble and selfless offer, and inquired: “And black-haired young man? He too no deserve punishment?”
Van De Mann knew he couldn’t lie, neither to Kasinda nor to himself, and with a heavy heart he admitted: “He deserves to be punished.”
Chief Kasinda stifled a groan of pain, clearly suffering for having been standing up in the open for so long, and headed to his hut, murmuring something to the ‘lieutenant’, who immediately relayed the orders to the warriors with the thick cocks. One warrior set Lejeune free, while the other spread some more oil on his cock and placed his hands on Janssen’s hips.
“You fuckin’ bastard!” – Janssen screamed at Van De Mann – “This fuckin’ neger will tear my hole apart! Tell him to stop and set me free! Why Lejeune and not me??”
“If you need to ask, you deserve whatever they’ll do to you, and more”. Van De Mann turned his face away, trying to harden his heart; but despite his efforts, he cringed when Janssen screamed on top of his lungs, pierced by the warrior’s massive weapon.
~ Forced pleasure ~
While the warrior went on fucking wildly Janssen, and another man got himself ready for a third round, the other villagers exchanged excited whispers in their obscure language. The only word that Van De Mann could catch was ‘Hoka’, and felt a shiver down his spine, noticing how the men frequently glanced at him with a growing interest. Apparently, Van De Mann reckoned, they were going to punish him anyway, despite Chief Kasinda’s decision.
The first to move were the youngest villagers, three lean guys in their early twenties with chiseled bodies and wide dark eyes. While approaching, their expressions weren’t angry or tough: there was actually a hint of excited smiles on their faces. They crouched at the sides and in front of Van De Mann and cautiously started touching him, giggling at the feeling of the thick chest hair under their fingers.
Sure enough, it was the first time for them to meet a white man, and a very hairy one, and the sharp contrast with their own dark smooth skin was somewhat thrilling for them.
Their hands started brushing all across the professor’s wide chest, their fingers dug into the thick felt of his body hair, their fingers sensually scratched the man’s meaty nipples, and then moved to the groin, the thighs, the hairy balls and the muscular buttocks. The young villagers exchanged comments under their breath, while their hands became more insistent, more eager, but they never touched the tied man’s cock.
Van De Mann was open-minded, being the object of desire of other men didn’t disturb him, but still he was straight, and didn’t like being so openly and immodestly caressed by the young villagers. And yet, he didn’t protest, nor tried to stop them in any way, offering his body as a means of non-verbal communication with those mysterious men living in the heart of the Congo.
What Van De Mann didn’t expect was seeing his own body react to the guys’ caresses; soon he couldn’t deny anymore that those hesitant, eager manly hands were giving him an unexpected pleasure, and his cock started stiffening and thickening, to then slowly rise to a throbbing erection. The three young guys exchanged furtive and excited glances, and then one curled his hands around the foreskin covering the engorged glans, and started stroking the stiff cock, slowly, sensually. Van De Mann groaned for the sudden rush of pleasure and reclined his head, closing his eyes. He didn’t remember when he last felt that pleasure, as the last months he’d been completely focused on preparing the expedition.
When he opened his eyes, he saw that a few older men had come closer, and the young guy immediately let go of Van De Mann’s cock and gave way to the men. But he didn’t go away: he joined his young friends and they started caressing and worshipping the professor’s upper body with their hands, lips, tongues and fingers, while an adult man took possession of his throbbing cock.
The man recited a sort of mantra under his breath, and the word ‘Hoka’ was spoken over and over, while the man’s strong hand stroked with a firm grip Van De Mann’s cock. “Oooohhh…!!!” – he moaned, reclining his head, feeling his body on fire. The young villagers were making him feel delirious with desire, sneaking their fingers into his belly button, licking and pinching his stiff nipples and taking handfuls of his bulging hairy pecs.
The many hands played his body like a piano, expertly pressing all the right buttons on his skin, each one adding to his sexual tension. By now, Van De Mann didn’t care anymore if the overwhelming pleasure he was feeling was provided by a woman or by several men, he didn’t care, all he wanted was those men to go on, pushing him up toward the peak of his pleasure.
He opened his eyes and his entire field of vision was filled with Lejeune’s handsome face, wearing a guilty expression, but with eyes glistening with unrestrained desire: “I know you’re tied, and I really shouldn’t do this but… you’re just irresistible, professor…”
With those words, Lejeune took Van De Mann’s face into his hands, leaned to him and gave him a tentative kiss, enjoying the man’s thick beard prickling his skin. At first, he just locked lips with the man, then gave quick cautious licks to his mouth, and felt his heart skip a beat when Van De Mann surrendered himself to the tender ministrations and parted his lips, letting Lejeune’s tongue explore his mouth.
“Mmmhh…” – Van De Mann moaned into Lejeune’s mouth, feeling more hands reaching his skin; not a single part of his sensitive body was spared, including his plump balls, the stiff mound of his perineum and even the wrinkled areola of his anus. Eager young mouths munched on his nipples, small caring hands contoured the creases of his abs, sensual fingertips caressed his inner thighs and an imperious, commanding hand stroked his cock in earnest, viciously insisting on his sensitive glans.
Van De Mann couldn’t possibly resist the onslaught… and besides, resisting was the last thing he wanted to do. He felt his head dizzy, inhaled sharply and all his muscles flexed at once, bringing him over the edge. “MMMMHHHH!!!” – he moaned loudly into Lejeune’s mouth, still kissing him, and his cock started shooting thick jets of man cream with a power that almost surpassed Janssen’s gun. His prostate pumped frantically, after long months of forced inactivity, and the powerful ejaculation went on and on, to then slow down and trail off.
Lejeune recoiled and glanced at Van De Mann, still ashamed for having taken advantage of the situation, with the hunky professor tied up and unable to prevent his kiss. Heartened by the man’s smile, Lejeune timidly asked: “Forgiven?”
“Forgiven” – Van De Mann replied with a mischievous tone – “But know that I may retaliate, next time I find you tied up somewhere…”
“Oh, please, do, sir!” – the young explorer eagerly replied, and they both chuckled. But suddenly Van De Mann hissed and grunted for the discomfort, as the strong hand milking his cock was still moving, slowly but with firm determination, up and down the sensitive member. The professor looked between his legs and noticed that his sperm had been collected into a small bowl, and all the men were looking at him with eager eyes.
“AWWW… Fuck!” – Van De Mann hissed, squirming to avoid the now unpleasant massage, but the tall lieutenant, standing behind them, gave a quick command, and all the men were again on Van De Mann, titillating his entire body and stroking again in earnest his sensitive cock.
“NO! Nnnngghh!!! I’m done! I’m done!!”, he yelled, to no avail: the heavy stimulation of his entire body went on, wilder than before. It was more than clear that those men wanted another load from him, but he hated them for the way they were wringing it out of his loins. All his sensitive erogenous zones were assaulted with forceful determination, strong fingers squeezed and massaged his balls, dominant hands roamed his thighs and his torso and expert mouths munched on his meaty nipples. Van De Mann tried to cope with the sensory overload and squirmed hard, under the worried eyes of Lejeune, who tried to stop them, but Van De Mann froze him: “No Lejeune… NNNGGHH… Let them do it… ooohhh!!... Don’t be stupid, you can’t… FUCK!... can’t possibly stop them…”
The refractory period, gracefully, didn’t last long, and soon the professor felt again a fire spreading through his body. After all, he had much more juice stashed away in his heavy gonads, after months spent neglecting his own manly needs. Soon the studly professor was again in full swing, writhing for the excruciating pleasure and tilting his hips to invite the man stroking him to go faster. His breath was labored and he moaned uncontrollably, and though he knew well that the men couldn’t understand him, he incited them to work his body and his cock harder.
“Ahhh… yes… YES… FUCK YES!!” – Van De Mann soon yelled, falling again into the delightful abyss of the climax. His cock throbbed hard and started spurting more thick volleys of man juice that were quickly collected into the small bowl, adding to the load already there.
“Holy shit… Holy shit…” – the professor huffed, panting hard, when the climax ended, feeling his entire body numb from the overwhelming pleasure and the physical effort.
But the veil of numbness was suddenly torn apart, when the hand milking his cock didn’t stop, and went on stroking the now oversensitive manhood relentlessly, almost cruelly.
“FUUUUCKKK!! Stop, STOP!!” – he screamed, but the man just ignored his heartfelt plea, and went on massaging with a firm grip the stiff shaft, making Van De Mann shiver and buckle for the waves of post-orgasmic discomfort running through his body. The younger villagers were startled by the professor’s wild squirming and his loud pleas, but apparently had their orders, because they moved again at the sides of the bound man with an uncertain expression; they had thin cords in their hands, and used them to tie the base of Van De Mann’s erect nipples, tight enough to trap the blood inside the meaty cones and let them swell. The reason for that weird act was soon too clear to the professor: the moment the guy’s tongues started flicking the squeezed titties, a surge of unbearable pleasure spread across his body, making him gasp for air.
“God nooo…!!” – Van De Mann screamed, barely able to endure the tremendous overstimulation of his nipples and his cock – “I can’t…! I can’t give you another load! I swear!!”
His pleas fell on deaf ears, and that was not due to the language barrier, because the meaning of Van De Mann’s screams and pleas couldn’t possibly be mistaken; but the ordeal didn’t stop, they wanted another load, and Van De Mann was bound to give them, whether he wanted or not. And they knew how to force a load out of a man, even when his balls are spent…
The lieutenant took out a smooth wooden stick, looking like a sort of teaspoon with a long handle, and crouched between Van De Mann’s splayed legs; instinctively, the professor tried to close his thighs, but strong hands held him in position, while the lieutenant covered the ‘spoon’ with a liberal amount of slick oil.
“No… I’m begging you, not this…” – Van De Mann pleaded, as his nether portal had never been touched by anyone; but the man pressed the thick end of the stick onto the tight anal ring and pushed until the stick broke into the virgin hole.
The penetration wasn’t painful, as the stick, even on its thicker end, wasn’t that large, after all; nevertheless, Van De Mann thrashed hard, responding to the instinctive rejection that an anal penetration unleashes in a heterosexual male mind. At first, Van De Mann didn’t understand the reason for that weird and humiliating act, but he instantly got it when the stick hit his prostate and started tapping on it with relentless precision.
“Fuuuckk!! Stop it!! You’re driving me insane!!”
It was too much for Van De Mann. His oversensitive cock head was viciously polished, his tied nipples were masterfully titillated, his prostate was mercilessly battered and many hands roamed his body, exploring without any modesty every recess, every mound and every crease.
Despite the strong discomfort, Van De Mann felt his body react against its will, forced to feel a sexual pleasure that his tired mind despised. Every hit on his prostate added to the pressure in his groin, every lick of his trapped titties sent a surge of unwanted pleasure to his balls, every finger twirling his thick body hair made his mind go weak.
Lejeune was almost driven to tears, looking at the hunky professor played like a sex doll that way, and crouched next to him, to give him, at least, some moral support. Van De Mann, despite the excruciating physical sensations, wore a faint smile and looked straight at Lejeune: “Kiss me… NNNGGHH!!!... Kiss me again like before…”
The young explorer was shaken, but didn’t waste a single moment, and immediately leaned over the man’s mouth, making their lips touch. This time it was Van De Mann who pushed a hungry, dominant tongue into the guy’s mouth, sharing his breath with him and making their tongue roll in an intertwined dance.
It didn’t take long until the professor’s body surrendered to the wild stimulation, and another weak load was forcefully taken out of his manhood and collected in the small bowl, along with the previous two.
Van De Mann was trembling for the effort and the tension and uttered with a broken voice: “No more… I’m begging you from the bottom of my heart… No more…”
Lejeune, taking up his courage, placed his hand on the wrist of the man holding Van De Mann’s spent cock and made him stop. Much to the guy’s disbelief, all the villagers stood up in silence and went away, while the lieutenant took the bowl with the three loads so forcefully taken from Van De Mann and headed to the chief’s hut.
“They… They didn’t really go away for me, right?” – Lejeune asked in a doubtful tone, when they were alone, and Van De Mann replied, almost under his breath: “I admire your courage anyway. Thank you. Now, since there’s no one guarding us, please untie me. And then set Janssen free, too.”
Lejeune did as the professor asked, but when he untied Janssen and helped him on his feet, the guy immediately fled, running at breakneck speed toward the forest, and disappeared behind the trees.
~ White Chief, Black Chief ~
The tent closing the chief’s hut opened; the tall grey-haired lieutenant peeked out, noticed that Van De Mann was not restrained anymore and that Janssen was nowhere to be found and an angry frown hardened his features. With an imperious gesture, he ordered the professor and his helper to come inside the hut.
When they stepped in, they saw Chief Kasinda on his bed, naked, his dark skin covered with sweat and his handsome face clouded by a smirk of pain; next to his bed there was the small bowl, empty, and there was a drop of semen on his upper lip, and on his chest. Van De Mann stifled a smirk of disgust, realizing that, in all likelihood , Kasinda had drunk the content of the bowl, three fresh loads of a man’s sperm…
Whatever the reason he did it, it was clear as day that the chief had a serious illness of some sort, but Van De Mann was not a doctor, and he couldn’t do more than feeling for him and hoping that it wasn’t anything too serious.
Kasinda said a few words in his language to the lieutenant, who moved in front of Van De Mann and cautiously placed a hand on his chest.
“W… What does it mean?” – the professor asked, giving a puzzled glance at Kasinda, who replied: “Gesture for asking forgiveness. Bompaka, head of warriors, sorry for robbing your seed. He good-hearted, but ignorant. He very sorry. And I very sorry, too.”
“Oh, uhm, it’s all right” – Van De Mann replied, uncertain, with a polite nod of his head; but he still had too a vivid memory of the ‘good-hearted man’ ravaging his virgin hole with a wooden stick and cruelly forcing a load out his exhausted loins…
Bompaka went away, and Kasinda, from the bed, explained: “They did for me, they hope to cure me, but they have forgotten the ancient tales. ‘White Chief cure Black Chief’, the tale says. Three loads of White Chief’s essence to cure mind, heart and body. But they forgot that loads must be offered, not robbed. Fruit of your loins helped, I pushed death away, but no cure. Loads given as gift can cure, but… I no ask you. Cannot ask you.”
“Chief Kasinda, at this very moment I can’t possibly help you, as… uhm… my manhood is completely dry. But if this is the cure you need, tomorrow I can give you my seed…”
Kasinda gazed deeply into Van De Mann’s eyes, who felt again like those eyes could read inside him like an open book. “You generous, but cannot ask you. You desire women, you no touch men. But loads must be delivered from manhood to mouth, to chest and to bottom, without ever stop. Three loads as they were one. Hard for any man, much harder for women-lover. Cannot ask you.”
Van De Mann faltered, realizing that providing the cure for Kasinda meant getting a blowjob from him, then masturbating on his chest and lastly fucking him in the ass. And all of this without a moment to rest, ignoring the refractory period, and above all ignoring that he was having sex with a man.
Kasinda easily read from the professor’s eyes his instinctive refusal, and wore a faint smile: “No talk about this ever more. You now rest. Sit down and ask. I see you have the fire of knowledge inside, you have many questions. You ask, I answer.”
Van De Mann sat down on the floor, next to the low bed and looked at Kasinda; he was right, there were a million questions he wanted to ask.
“How come you speak my language?”
“I listen to voices” – Kasinda replied, and noticing the professor’s puzzled glance, he added: “During day voices confused, but at night voices clear. Behind you. Voices.”
Van De Mann turned around and saw an ancient long-wave field radio, like the ones used in Germany during the first World War. It was operated by a rotating handle that provided enough energy to turn it on and receive long-wave transmissions. The professor remembered that the maximum range of such transmissions was about 100 Km, and only at night, when the radio waves could propagate better. Probably Chief Kasinda listened to the few long-wave transmissions still coming from Burundi and Tanzania, across Lake Tanganyika.
“Who told you how to operate it?” – Van De Mann asked, surprised, and his surprise grew even more when Kasinda replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world: “White-skin soldier who left it here.”
There was a tense silence in the hut, and then Van De Man breathed: “Kasinda… how old are you?”
Despite the illness, the chief’s eyes were as deep as the deepest abyss: “I’m Congo. We are Congo. We were born with Congo and will die with Congo.”
Van De Mann exchanged a shocked glance with Lejeune, sitting next to him, and asked with a strained voice: “You mean that you and your people are… as ancient as the Congo itself? Are the tales told by the elders really true??”
“Elders wise. They remember. We are Congo” – Kasinda repeated, with a solemn nod of his head.
When the professor found his voice again, he inquired: “And… why are there no children here? And no women?”
“We can have children, but they live and die fast. Like women. We don’t do it anymore, too great pain. Heart breaks. Rarely, villages on other side of mountain send young man willing to learn. But few survive. Few deserve to be Congo.”
“I… I need to rest” – Van De Mann said after a long pause, deeply shocked by the revelations. Kasinda scooted on his large bed and said: “You rest here, please. We talk again when you wake up. Blond boy sleep with Bompaka. No worry, he no touch the boy… unless the boy wants” – he added, with a knowing grin – “As for the black-haired boy… forest will show him the way or take him, she decides.”
~ What’s ‘Gay’? ~
For the next three days, Van De Mann felt like he was living in a bubble. He spent long hours under the very same tree where he’d endured his ordeal, or sitting on the bank of the small river nearby, watching the water quietly flow by.
His mind was running in a loop. He dearly wanted to help Chief Kasinda, a man he barely knew but somehow he felt a deep connection with. Whenever Kasinda looked at him with his deep gaze, reading his most private thoughts and secrets like an open book, Van De Mann didn’t feel violated, he actually felt natural to open his heart and mind to the Chief’s scrutiny. Kasinda was commanding, almost scaring sometimes, and yet Van De Mann felt he could entrust his own very life to the powerful Chief.
And there was more, Van De Mann pondered. He had no doubt that Kasinda was truly as ancient as the Congo, and his life was deeply intertwined with the vast, mysterious, majestic Congo. But then, why was he dying? What would that mean for the land he watched over? Was the Congo dying? Van De Mann couldn’t let it happen, and there was a sure way to prevent it: providing the cure Chief Kasinda needed.
But then, every time Van De Mann made up his mind, deciding to give to Kasinda what he needed, he faltered again, envisioning himself making love to him, a man! And not just a man, but an unparalleled specimen of manhood, the touchstone of masculinity!
“I can’t… I can’t…” – Van De Mann whined, one day, sitting on the bank of the river, holding his face into his hands. He felt miserable, unable as he was to resolve the intimate conflict he was living. While he was wasting his time, sitting by the river, Kasinda was dying…
Van De Mann gasped when he felt two arms hugging him from behind. Lean, white, caring arms. “Lejeune…” – he murmured – “Thanks. I badly needed it…”
“Why don’t you call me just Dorian, professor?” – Lejeune said, sitting next to the Van De Mann, who replied: “Dorian. Beautiful name. OK, but only if you call me Christophe. Chris. Come on, don’t make that face! I say we’re quite… intimate, by now. And besides, look at where we are: do you think that the word ‘professor’ really means anything here? We stripped from our clothes days ago, let’s strip from the formalities we’re imbued with, too. Chris, Dorian.”
Lejeune smiled, and dared to place a comforting hand on Van De Mann’s arm, who smiled back with affection.
“Say, Dorian…” – Van De Mann asked with a streak of tension in his voice – “Has Bompaka done… something with you while spending the last nights with him?”
“Do you really want to know, prof… Chris? As you once said, we’re… different, and you may not be comfortable with knowing the details…”
“Please. I… I need to know.”
“Well, uhm… he waited for me to take the initiative, he didn’t force me in any way. If ever, I forced him… or better, I didn’t give him any chance” – Lejeune joked – “He let me worship his body, his muscles, his cock, and… I sucked him. As deeply as I could. And then he made love to me, and it was nothing like what I got during my punishment, he was respectful, tender, even. I know, ‘tender’ is not a word that comes to your mind when you see Bompaka” – Lejeune chuckled – “but he… really took care of me. And I took care of him. His unrestrained moans of pleasure were the prize I looked for, they sent me through the roof even more than his black club.”
Van De Mann stood silent for a moment, pensive; and then commented: “Of course he enjoyed it, you’re… erm… a handsome young guy and he’s gay…”
Lejeune looked straight into Van De Mann’s eyes and faintly shook his head: “What is ‘gay’, Chris? A label, an excessive simplification of the complexity of human feelings. After making love, Bompaka and I talked, a lot, using gestures to communicate. He had five wives, in his life. He married five women, whom he loved deeply… and had to bury all of them. And buried nine sons. I didn’t understand well, but wives and children didn’t have Bompaka’s gift, they grew old and, ultimately, died. Bompaka is a powerful warrior, with nerves of steel, and yet his eyes were wet when he told me he had to say goodbye to the people he most loved in his life. In the end, like Chief Kasinda said, he gave up on women and on his dream of having a family, it was too painful, his heart just couldn’t endure being broken once more. But he was, and still is, a man, with his physical urges and his need to love and be loved; and he found in his all-male tribe what he needed. So, I’m asking you again: what does ‘gay’ really mean, Chris?”
Van De Mann was drinking from the guy’s lips, and shook his head, unable to answer his question.
“You see” – Lejeune went on – “whether it’s just a matter of sex or tying a deep bond with someone, it doesn’t really matter the gender of the other person. Of course, we all have our innate preferences; for instance, sitting next to you talking about sex, I can barely restrain myself from putting my hands on your gorgeous body…”
Van De Mann chuckled, rolling his eyes, but soon his features softened in an affectionate smile: “I’ve kissed many women, and I loved it… just as much as I loved the kisses you gave me. You’re right: in that moment, when you kissed me, it didn’t make any difference for me whether you were a woman or a man: I badly needed your support, your help, and you gave me, in the sweetest way possible. Thinking about it, I think I need some more moral support…”
With these words, the hunky professor reclined on the grass, on his back, and gently pulled Lejeune over him, their faces at an inch from each other. And then, he took the guy’s face into his hands and pulled him down, sharing a tender, sweet kiss that went on for long.
When they recoiled, there was a new light in Van De Mann’s eyes. He stood up, smiled wide and said: “You are just wonderful, Dorian. You really helped me put things in the right perspective. And… uhm…” – he added, chuckling at seeing his own manhood eagerly twitching – “…you also put me in a good mood, I can say. Now please excuse me, I have a… cure to administer.”
~ Mind, Heart and Body ~
Van De Mann entered Chief Kasinda’s hut and enjoyed the coolness of the shade. From his bed, Kasinda looked at him with feverish eyes, and instantly knew that the man in front of him wasn’t just a man, he was the White Chief come to cure him.
“Are you sure?” – Kasinda murmured, and Chris moved closer to the bed, massaging his own cock to a full erection: “More than sure. I owe you. I owe it to this beautiful land. ‘Three loads to cure mind, heart and body’, the ancient tales say.”
He slowly climbed on the bed, stood on his knees, straddling Kasinda’s face, and pointed his thick white cock to the Chief’s plump black lips. Kasinda engulfed the engorged glans with his mouth and lapped the sensitive skin with his tongue, bathing it with saliva. Chris was surprised to see that Kasinda wasn’t really expert at pleasuring a man with his mouth, despite the countless years spent in an all-male secluded village; but the passion he was putting in sucking Chris’s cock totally made up for the lack of technique.
Chris looked down at Kasinda’s handsome face, and didn’t see a man, a male, but rather a human being full of passion, doing his best to give him pleasure. And the pleasure Chris was feeling went way further than the mere physical sensation: it went deep, opening unknown doors into Chris’s soul and mind: both men needed each other, were taking care of each other, and the bond that tied them was undeniable, almost palpable.
“Oooohh…” – Chris moaned, enjoying what Kasinda was doing to him with every fiber of his being. Kasinda’s tongue flew over Chris’s stiff shaft, sensually circled the sensitive corona, went down to the plump balls and ran back up to the glans, which soon disappeared again into the Chief’s mouth. Chris dared to push his cock further into Kasinda’s mouth, reaching the tight throat; and the black Chief didn’t back up, he stoically and unreservedly accepted to have his throat violated by the demanding white cock, and pulled on Chris’s buttocks, to invite him to go deeper.
Chris felt his juices churn into his balls, and normally he would’ve slowed down, to make it last; but he knew that he had to provide three loads, without ever stopping, and let himself fall off the edge: “Drink the essence… OOOOHH!!... that cures… NNNGGHH!!... your mind…!”
Kasinda sucked hard, pursing his lips around the pulsing shaft, not to let a single drop go wasted. Again, he pulled Chris by his hips, to force his throbbing cock down his throat, and kept him there, until it stopped twitching. Then he gently pushed Chris away and urged him with feverish eyes: “No stop… No stop, White Chief!”
The orgasm had been intense, and Chris wanted with all his heart to rest and enjoy the residual pleasure, but he grabbed his own cock with his hand and started stroking it, from tip to base, tightening his grip around the sensitive member.
“Aww… Fuck!” – he groaned, shivering for the discomfort, but his hand didn’t stop. His cock was still hard, and he needed to keep it stiff. Fighting his own instinct, Chris rolled his fist around the sensitive knob, hissing and stiffening for the excruciating sensation, but he was merciless with himself. He was not Chris anymore, he was the White Chief, and had to cure Kasinda’s heart.
Slowly, the refractory period ended, and Chris felt the discomfort being replaced by a warm feeling that radiated from his groin to his entire body. He scrambled back on his knees and pressed his cock between Kasinda’s bulging abs; his smooth skin, wet with sweat, embraced the engorged mushroom head, sending a surge of pleasure to Chris’s trembling body.
Once more, Chris looked down at Kasinda, like he’d done so many times with his women, and found the powerful black Chief incredibly sexy, with his chiseled torso, his handsome features, his plump lips and his long braided hair scattered around his head. A part of him protested, reminding his straight mind that finding a man even remotely sexy was clearly, totally and undeniably gay; but Chris smiled and dismissed the thought, remembering Dorian’s enlightening words. Kasinda was indeed sexy: not like a woman, he was sexy in a completely different way, and the sudden twitch of his cock was the living proof he was right.
Chris pumped his own tool with more vigor, climbing to the peak of his pleasure for the second time; and when he felt he’d passed the point of no return, he groaned: “Take on you the essence that… aaahh… that cures your h… heart!”. He pressed his cock on Kasinda’s smooth chest and moved it from side to side, smearing his seed all over the vast expanse of his torso, on his dark pointy nipples and on his bulging pecs.
When the last drop of juice dribbled out of his cock, Chris took a deep breath, feeling exhausted, but a brief glance at Kasinda’s pleading eyes told him that the last, and most torturous part of his ordeal awaited him.
He scrambled back some more, without ever stopping stroking his oversensitive cock, hissing and grunting for the almost unbearable discomfort. After two orgasms, his refractory period was longer, and his instinct to stop any sexual activity and rest was irresistible, but he soldiered on and took place between Kasinda’s raised legs.
Chris scooped some sperm from Kasinda’s chest and used it as lube, looking with anxiety at the dark wrinkled male ass splayed in front of him. For a moment he faltered, shamefully aware that he was about to make love to a man; but suddenly he felt his own cock losing a bit of its stiffness, and realized that there was no time to waste.
With a hasty move, he placed the cock head on Kasinda’s tight hole and thrusted his hips, forcing his entire tool through the tight passage. Kasinda bucked hard and forcefully choked a scream of pain, but he soon said with urgency: “No stop! Push hard, White Chief! NNNGGHH!! Pump seed deep inside me!”
“Are you a virgin??” – Chris almost screamed, while forcing his hips to overcome his deepest instincts and keep on thrusting his oversensitive cock into Kasinda’s tight ass.
“Not important! AAAGGHH!! Push hard! Cure Black Chief!”
Chris paced up even more with his thrusts, painfully aware that he was hurting Kasinda, but knowing well that his own stamina couldn’t last long. The friction between his sensitive glans and the tight anal chute, made worse by the lack of lube, was almost unbearable; and for reasons that his mind couldn’t understand, he felt Kasinda’s pain as if it was his own. Every fiber of his being, his heart and his mind, screamed at him to stop, but he went on rocking his hips, forcefully shoving his cock into Kasinda’s depths, desperately trying to reach his third orgasm before his sore cock went soft.
But Chris was loosing his battle, his body just couldn’t endure the torture, he was failing. He was not the White Chief, he was just a man that was making love to another man…
“Fuck no!” – Chris growled to himself, still fighting and unwilling to give up. He remembered his ordeal under the tree, on his first day, and while slamming his hips on Kasinda’s ass, he moved his hands to his own chest and started pinching his sensitive nipples, relentlessly, viciously, mercilessly. Surges of forced pleasure shot from his tortured nipples, ran across his body and hit his balls like a lightning strike, making his cock stiffer and making the pressure into his groin raise.
“GGGHHAA!!!” – he screamed, feeling like he was raping himself, but confident again that he could endure the trial and go all the way. His hips were a piledriver that smashed against Kasinda’s firm buttocks at blazing speed, while his hands roamed his own torso, squeezing his nipples, now swollen and red for the harsh treatment. He looked down at Kasinda, and incredibly enough his smirk of pain slowly morphed into a weary smile; his eyes shone with ancient wisdom while he said in a broken voice: “You White Chief.”
“AAAARRGGHH!!!” – Chris screamed out of his lungs, while a devastating orgasm exploded into his groin. He started spurting what remained of his manly juice deep into Kasinda, and all the while he didn’t dare to stop or slow down his hips. “NNNGGHHAAA!!!” – he screamed again, overwhelmed by the painful pleasure and the physical exhaustion – “Take inside you the essence that cures your body!!”
Kasinda raised a hand and placed it on Chris’s chest: “Rest, now. White Chief cured Black Chief.”
Chris crashed on Kasinda, panting hard and shaken by light spasm, and looked at his face, at an inch from his own: the Black Chief was more handsome than ever, his smile was bright and loving, his eyes exuded joy, admiration and devotion: Kasinda was cured, Kasinda loved him.
Chris leaned down and kissed Kasinda with such a force that their teeth clashed; their tongues rolled around each other with greedy passion, animated by a superior call that neither Chiefs could control. Images of the vast Congo, with its lush forests and great lakes flashed in Chris’s mind, and he felt, he knew that the Congo loved him, he knew that Kasinda loved him. And he knew that he loved Kasinda, more than he’d ever loved anyone.
It was too much to take in for Chris, and he started sobbing, still kissing Kasinda, and wetted his beautiful dark skin with his tears.
~ The Heart of the Congo ~
Van De Mann slowly woke up, still in Kasinda’s bed, and wondered how long he’d been sleeping. He felt a dull soreness in all his muscles, like after an intense gym session, and when he mindlessly scratched his pec, his swollen nipple fiercely protested, sending a jolt of pain through his chest.
He opened his eyes and Kasinda was standing at the foot of the bed, wearing his beautiful embroidered skirt, and smiled down at him; he looked majestic, handsome as ever, and above all perfectly healthy: no smirks of pain on his face, no droplets of cold sweat on his skin. He was a sight to behold.
“It was real, it wasn’t a sort of dream or something… right?” – Van De Mann asked in a cautious tone, and Kasinda smiled again: “Real. Like dream, but real.”
“Uhm… So… you are Congo, we had sex and we love each other…?”
“I am Congo, we all are Congo” – he added, gesturing toward the village out of the hut – “and White Chief cured Black Chief.”
“And…?”
“And we love each other” – Kasinda confirmed, but while saying so he frowned – “That’s why you have to leave.”
Van De Mann’s mouth sagged open: “What?? I don’t want to leave! I don’t want to leave you!”
“You ever lost loved one, Hoka Van De Mann?” – Kasinda said with an unspeakable sadness in his eyes – “I see die seven wives, I lost seven piece of heart. And twelve more piece of heart went with children. I am Congo, but I am man. Too great pain see you die, I cannot stand…”
Van De Mann felt like a stab in his heart, but he didn’t want to give up; the last few days had changed everything in his mind and his heart: he now knew he belonged to the Congo, he belonged to Hoka Kasinda, and going away, going back to his old life was… unthinkable. It would’ve been like dying while still living.
“Wait…” – Van De Mann said, opening his eyes wide – “You said that nearby villages sometimes send young men who want to learn. Do you… don’t know… give them the gift of longevity? How can they become members of this tribe?”
“They usually don’t. Heart of Congo judges and claims their life. Very few deserve gift. Most die.”
“Then let this ‘Heart of Congo’ judge me!” – Van De Mann almost screamed, looking at Kasinda with a fire burning in his eyes, and Kasinda made an imperious gesture of denial: “You fool! No white man ever survive! You want die??”
“If I can’t be part of your life, if I can’t be part of Congo, then yes, I prefer to die…”
Kasinda lowered his gaze and put an obvious effort in finding his voice, deeply moved by Van De Mann’s sheer devotion toward him and the Congo, but his frown deepened: “I cannot refuse, not in my power. I show you Heart of Congo, as you wish. Tomorrow, at dawn. Long walk to Heart of Congo.”
The next day, at the crack of dawn, Kasinda and Van De Mann walked out of the village and into the thick forest; Kasinda led the way, and it was like the forest parted its thick foliage to show them the way. It was a grueling walk, with very few stops, and at sunset, while the sun slowly disappeared behind the Kabobo mountain, Kasinda suddenly halted. Van De Mann couldn’t see anything special around them, but then he realized that what seemed an area covered with low bushes was actually a deep depression in the ground, and the bushes were actually the top of the trees growing down there.
Kasinda easily found a hidden stone staircase leading down, and after a short while they stood in front of an ancient temple covered with vines that looked as ancient as time itself.
The exterior was completely covered in hieroglyphs carved in the ancient stone, depicting people, trees and animals. Kasinda pointed to a hieroglyph showing a black man and a white man making love: “White Chief cures Black Chief”. Van De Mann pointed to the next hieroglyph, showing the same two men, but in reversed position, and asked: “Black Chief cures White Chief?”
“Yes, that too” – Kasinda confirmed, with a glimpse of mischief in his eyes… that maybe was only a reflection of the moonlight. Van De Mann examined again the façade, and pointed to another hieroglyph, where the black man and the white man were standing in front of each other, holding hands; at their sides there were many trees and people, but smaller, as if they were subjected to the two main figures: “The Black Chief and the White Chief…?”
“…are one. They are Congo.” – Kasinda explained, and Van De Mann almost screamed: “So, it’s possible! I may survive and live here!”
Kasinda frowned and thought deeply before answering: “You love Congo. Your knowledge of ancient tales better than most black youngsters. But Heart of Congo want pure soul, it is merciless judge, it sees bad in you and sucks it away. Few survive. No white man survive. Hope you live, but great fear Heart of Congo takes you.”
“Then, before I undergo my trial” – Van De Mann said seriously, putting a hand on Kasinda’s chest – “I beg for your forgiveness. My people came here, like vultures landing on their prey to feast, we called this land ‘Belgian Congo’, as if it was our property, and exploited it, killed the peaceful people living here, destroyed the forest and did… unspeakable things to this beautiful land. I know what you are thinking, that it was not I who did those horrible things, but I’m guilty nevertheless. My great-grandfather and my grandfather became rich enslaving your people and forcing them to collect rubber. I am a fool, hoping for forgiveness, and yet, here I am, begging you to forgive me…”
Kasinda wore a tender, fatherly smile: “I forgive, because you sincere. But cannot say if Heart of Congo forgive. You deserve, but Heart of Congo judge. Great hope, but great fear. You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure” – Van De Mann replied, and they entered the temple.
~ The ultimate trial~
As they stepped inside, they found themselves in front of a small indoor lake surrounded by stones; a small waterfall poured down from a hole in the ceiling. Behind the waterfall there was a small stone pedestal rising over the water; on top of it there was an unevenly shaped reddish stone, faintly glowing and pulsing, like it was alive. It was beautiful and frightening at the same time.
“Heart of Congo” – Kasinda said seriously, pointing at the stone – “You enter water, Heart of Congo judge you. All bad in you is forcefully pulled out. May be pleasant, may be torture, may be deadly. Cannot say. But very important, no touch yourself! Never! Heart of Congo displeased, kill you!”
At the last moment, when Van De Mann was already turning around to get into the water, Kasinda held him: “Wait, Hoka Van De Mann. I… trust Heart of Congo, I trust your pure soul, but… kiss, please. Last beautiful memory if you… you…”
Van De Mann smiled tenderly, took Kasinda into his strong arms and gave him a long, passionate kiss, and he put in his kiss all the tenderness, love, respect and sense of wonder that Kasinda inspired him. His old self would’ve screamed that he was kissing a man, but Chris’s mind was at ease: he was kissing the only person in the world he’d ever truly loved.
When they parted, at long last, Chris smiled, looking straight into Kasinda’s eyes, and said: “This is not the last beautiful memory you’ll keep of us. This is the first.”
He turned around, under Kasinda’s hopeful gaze, and entered the cool water. The freshness of the water, the quietness of the temple and the constant sound of the falling water made him instantly feel good, in peace, alive. He moved closer to the glowing stone, looked at it through the veil of the cascading water, and opened his arms, baring himself to the judgment of the Heart of the Congo.
He felt a pleasurable rush of warmth through his body, and his blood started pumping faster in his veins. He stood still, with his arms at his sides, while his manhood slowly came alive, thickened and twitched, quickly reaching a throbbing erection. Chris was tense, but the subtle sexual pleasure snaking through his body and gathering into his groin was relaxing and delightful.
His sexual tension grew stronger, the red stone started pulsing brighter, and Chris gasped and held his breath, feeling like the Heart of the Congo was looting the innermost and most secret places of his soul and mind, and was at the same time stimulating all his erogenous zones at once. One caring hand, one greedy hand. The contrast was breathtaking, and Chris moaned loud, making the inner walls of the temple resonate with his deep, masculine voice.
The grip on his soul, as well as the grip on his pleasure centers tightened, and not in a pleasant way. Apparently, Chris’s soul wasn’t pure enough, he needed to be cleansed, and Chris suddenly knew the way the stone would’ve ‘pulled out’ his sins from his soul. And he also realized, with a shiver of fear, that the bigger the sins, the harder the ‘extraction’…
He felt his sexual tension raise more and more, reaching almost unbearable peaks, and instinctively fought, trying to resist, trying not to abandon himself to the pleasure, because the sins of his people toward the Congo were big indeed, too big to be forgiven, and feared that the stone was about to make him orgasm to death.
“AAAAGGHH!!” – Chris screamed when he lost his battle, and the stone pushed him off the edge. His thick cock thickened even more, stiffened like it was made of steel, and then a first bullet of sperm rocketed out of the piss slit and was lost into the cascading water in front of him. His entire body was tense, every single muscle was flexing to its limit, and a second shot of man juice flew out of his body, flying across the air toward the waterfall.
And then a third shot ensued, and a fourth, and many more. The Heart of the Congo had judged and ruled, and was forcefully pulling out of Chris’s body every single stain on his soul, every single bad thought of his mind, every evil action, every burst of rage, everything, without ever quitting, without giving him any rest.
“NNNGGHHAAAAA!!!!” – Chris screamed on top of his lungs, losing count of how many ropes of sperm had been forcefully ripped out of his loins. His mind weakened, he silently begged the Heart of the Congo to have mercy, but his plea went unheeded, and he instinctively moved his hands toward his crotch.
A voice seemingly coming from another world came to him: “No touch! You White Chief! No touch!!”
Chris didn’t know if he really was the White Chief from the ancient tales, the merciless pleasure he was feeling was numbing his mind, but Kasinda’s voice gave him the strength to resist. At least a few seconds more. At least one more second…
He raised his hands over his head, to be sure to stay away from his own manhood, and screamed with broken voice: “MEEEERRCCYYY!!!!”, but his cock went on spurting all the seed his body could provide, and all his sins along with it, and his strength, his breath, his very life, to the last ounce.
The never-ending, torturous ejaculation slowly trailed off, and then stopped. Chris raised his gaze to the Heart of the Congo, and the last image he could see was the stone glowing bright red, casting sinister reddish shadows all around.
And then everything went black, and he fell into the shallow water, face down, lifeless.
~ Black Chief, White Chief ~
Chris’s world was a cacophony of sensations. Pain, exhaustion, soreness. And sadness, too, as he didn’t pass the trial, the Heart of the Congo ultimately claimed his life, and he’d lost Kasinda. Poor Kasinda… the last thing in the world Chris wanted was to make him live again the tragedy of losing the one he loved.
He couldn’t feel his own body, as he was dead, after all, but there was something slowly dripping down his upper lip, and he mindlessly licked it; whatever it was, it had a weird, amazing taste, salty and bitter at the same time. He wondered what it could be, but what the heck, he was dead, even the most lethal poison couldn’t harm him in any way.
He felt a pressure on his chest, and realized that was his own right arm, lying across his torso, with the hand cupping his left pec. There was something sticky under his fingers, something warm and slick, and he lazily smeared it over his thick chest hair. It was funny, like when he was a kid and played with the mud.
Being dead was weird, he felt like something was moving inside him, back and forth. Was it in his stomach? No, it was further down… Damn, it was in his ass!! Something was moving back and forth into his hurting ass, his virgin, pristine, straight ass never touched by anyone!
Chris’s eyes snapped open, and held his breath admiring the utmost erotic sight of Kasinda, between his splayed legs, stiffening in an excruciating, almost painful orgasm, while his hips kept rocking back and forth at a madly pace. Chris felt Kasinda’s long cock pulse inside him, felt the warmth of his seed bathing unexplored places into him and uttered with a raspy voice: “Even from the netherworld, I still love you, Kasinda…”
“Hoka Van De Mann!!” – Kasinda almost screamed – “You alive!! Thank you, Heart of Congo! You unconscious for so long, you almost dead, so I… cured you.”
Van De Mann’s mind slowly set in motion again, he was alive, Kasinda was real… and sure enough it was his sperm that was dripping from his lips, was drenching his chest and was filling his insides.
Though he had been barely conscious, his mind had collected some fragments of memory of the caring Kasinda administering him his cure. He remembered how warm and musky Kasinda's cock felt on his lips, how creamy his manly essence felt on his tongue, how erotic and heartwarming was feeling Kasinda's manhood pressing on his chest.
And he also had a flash of Kasinda’s groans of discomfort, while forcefully brushing his sensitive glans over his hairy chest, mercilessly tickled by the curly body hair, and how loud Kasinda cried out when, after two orgasms in a row, he ignored his own exhaustion and shoved his now oversensitive cock into Chris’s tight hairy hole.
Chris looked up at Kasinda, drenched with sweat and clearly exhausted from the excruciating sensations he had to endure, and felt for him. “Black Chief cured White Chief… But it was hard, wasn’t it? You suffered for me…”
“You alive. My pain… mean nothing.”
“But it means the world to me…” – Chris murmured lovingly, pulling Kasinda down and giving him the sweetest kiss he’d ever given in his life. Chris was still confused, but the warm lips pressing on his own, and the ravenous tongue embracing his own were real: they were the only thing that existed, in that moment. He was alive and they loved each other.
«But… for how long?» – Chris suddenly thought. Maybe the Heart of the Congo wanted him to die, and only Kasinda’s cure could save him. He recoiled, and looked around; they were outside, in front of the temple, and Chris’s eyes instinctively focused on the hieroglyph depicting the Black Chief and the White Chief holding hands.
Kasinda followed his gaze and smiled tenderly. His voice was a caress to Chris’s heart:
“You are Congo. We are Congo. White Chief and Black Chief are one.”
-~~~≈≈≈ooOoo≈≈≈~~~-
Quick interesting facts:
- It’s true that men from the D.R. of the Congo, along with men from Sudan, are the most endowed men in the world, as stated in a recent scientific study; while, in reality, the weapons those men bear between their legs are not “as long as their forearm”, they reach a remarkable average length of almost 18 cm. (7.09 in) 😜
- It’s also true that, despite the Congo being nowadays a modern country, the rainforest between the Kobobo mountain range and Lake Tanganyika is still largely unexplored, though there are no ‘ancient tales’ about seemingly immortal horse-endowed men living a secluded life in the thick of the forest.
- Lastly, it’s also (regrettably) true that from 1885 and 1908 the so-called ‘Congo Free State’ was subjected to a merciless exploitation by King Leopold II of Belgium, who treated the country as a personal possession; millions of Congolese man, women and children died during that terrible period. Then, in 1908, the Congo was forcefully annexed to Belgium under the name of ‘Belgian Congo’, and faced a milder (but no less unjust) “colonial period”. The Republic of Congo (today, Democratic Republic of the Congo) became a free, independent state only in June 1960, and its capital city was renamed from Léopoldille to Kinshasa in 1966. It wasn’t ‘long ago’, it was yesterday…
📸 If you enjoyed the AI-generated images illustrating this story and you want to see more photos of Kasinda, Van De Mann and the members of the tribe, you can find more HERE.
