Chapter 7
Sasha never did leave ‘our’ club to enjoy the last gulp of her youthful Kool-Aid. Which meant it was only half an hour between that heart emoji and me seeing lights sweep into the driveway.
It was an Uber XL. A Chevy Suburban, to precise. I guess when you came from money, what did a little wastefulness matter? Just because we’d soon be having to watch the pennies didn’t mean Thomas had to behave the same way.
I went into the kitchen to splash some cold water onto my face. Maybe only a little, but it would help take the edge off the booze I’d continued to consume.
Even though our ground level was virtually one large open plan with just a couple of dividing walls for the home office, the position of the kitchen area meant I couldn’t see the front door or hallway.
But I could hear.
The first sounds being the key in the lock and then the high-pitched, excited chatter of a drunk-sounding off-duty flight attendant.
“Come in, come in… make yourself comfortable… drink?”
The words were a little off—but not so much as to prick my antenna.
No, it was the tone. The words might just be the kind of thing she’d say to Thomas—even after all their months together as lovers.
But the tone definitely wasn’t a tone she’d use with someone she’d been so intimate with for so long.
Her tone was elevated and edgy, even after I’d made allowances for the booze.
The next few seconds were a whirlwind of confusion.
Sasha’s arms thrown tight around my neck.
A sloppy, very alcoholic kiss as she forced her tongue into my mouth with surprising force for a woman so buzzed.
And the sense of shadows moving in the background.
Moving behind Sasha’s body which almost seemed to form an intentional barrier to me seeing what was happening.
“Hey, Jase! Great to see you, man!”
Now it was Thomas standing at Sasha’s side. Doubling the size of the barrier between my line of sight and the living room.
I was buzzed, they were buzzed—or at least, having me believe they were—but even my addled, pickled in booze senses knew something was off. It was in their smiles. In their body positions.
“Babe, I hope you don’t mind… but we invited a couple of new friends home…”
Thomas and Sasha moved to the side… big grins etched onto their faces… faces that were lasered in on my own, taking in my abject look of shock.
Because sat there nervous as fuck on our living room sofa were a couple of young black guys kitted out in chinos and South African rugby jerseys.
Fuck!
It was like looking at a pair of smiling, perspiring, nervous young tree trunks—if tree trunks can feel nerves.
One of them was about six-foot, the other maybe a couple of inches shorter. But it wasn’t their height that struck me, it was how wide they were.
They were obviously young—I don’t think either of them was legal to drink—but despite their youth, they were both mountains of men, with barrel-chests and shoulders as wide as barns. And neither of them seemed to have necks—their heads just seemed to sprout directly from their torsos.
“Jase,” Thomas chuckled, enjoying my shock, “let me introduce you to Sipho—he’s the handsome, smiley fellow on the left—and his good but not so handsome buddy, Kwenzo… but you can call him Rambo… everyone else does…
Thomas was being a total bastard. He was studying my face, waiting for the moment when I’d just about gained a small measure of sanity… then he struck again…
“And, you know what, Jase… these boys might have bodies bigger and stronger than any man you or I ever met… but neither of these poor boys has ever been with a white woman…
Fuck, Thomas, fuck… what are you say…
“Specially not a woman as beautiful and sexy as your Sasha…”
Another pause, another wait for me to right myself even a little…
“Sasha who you told to enjoy her Kool-Aid of youth…”
My chest was stricken, barely able to breath. He just grinned and finished me off.
“And they don’t come much more youthful than Sipho and Rambo…”
While Thomas had been distracting me, Sasha had eased away from shielding the sofa and had walked over to the boys.
I’d been too stunned to follow her movements. But what I could see was where she’d ended up. Gently pushing the oak thick bodies of the two young men apart so she could burrow her way to sit between them.
“Jason, baby… you’re awfully quiet… you wouldn’t mind, would you?” she purred, looking straight at me with a teasing smile, her two hands already stroking the tented front of the young men’s pants.
“Baybee, you did say I could enjoy some last Kool-Aid of youth… and if it gives these two lovely young men a first, precious experience of the joys of being with a woman different to what they’ve got back home…”
The way she was smiling, the way she was manipulating… was this really the Presbyterian-raised daughter of Prof. and Mrs. MacAlister… and she wasn’t even done yet, as she turned the face of the youngster on her right to look directly at me.
“And Rambo here, he especially needs an injection of white-woman confidence… he’s great at rugby, and he’s a lovely guy,,, but because of his looks, when they don’t call him Rambo, they call him Shrek…”
The moment she said it, I saw it. Apart from the skin tone, his features were like a human facsimile of Mike Myer’s comedy invention. The similarity so uncanny, I could almost hear the exasperated shout of ‘Donkey’…
Just for a moment I wondered if I’d drunk too much and was in the middle of some weird ant-wish-fulfilment dream.
But then Sasha spoke again and I knew this was real. Was real and was serious.
“Hun… remember how disappointed you were when I agreed to go with Victor and his friend Dante… finally to make your MMF fantasy come true… only to let you down when I backed out…
“And then, how excited you were when I let that snake Andre persuade me to have a weekend-long threesome with him and his fake-cousin, Jordan…
My face was burning bright red, shamed at having such humiliating secrets revealed in front of two black teenagers I didn’t know from Adam.
“Well…”
She didn’t need to finish off the sentence. All she needed to do was smile at me as I heard the unmistakable sound of two zippers being pulled down as she looked up as her hands rummaged deep into their underpants… like a fisherwoman wondering what she’d find in her two lucky dips.
Seconds later, she and I both had the answers.
Why was I not surprised!
It was all there in their physiques. Neither of them were short—neither were giants, but both were a few inches taller than me—but Sipho must have been a good 250 lbs of barn door width, and his comically-named buddy Rambo-Shrek must have been a good 30lbs heavier.
Both of the cocks Sasha’s hands were stroking were about as long as Victor, her first black lover, who’d been blessed with eight inches. But that was where the similarity ended. Because the defining feature of Sipho’s and Rambo’s cocks was their insanely wide girth.
The term beer can is overused, but for these two barrel-chested young South African athletes, it was the most accurate description.
Because as my wife’s pale hands stroked up and down, their cocks were so thick there was a couple inches between Sasha’s thumb and fingers as she tried and failed to encircle their painfully erect cocks.
“What do you think, honey? Even better than Andre and Jordan?” she chuckled, trying to reel me in, make me sign-up for the game she’d already decided she wanted us to play.
Thomas coughed and with a smirk explained how this surreal scene had come about.
“Their coach is a friend of my brother… they’ve just finished a tour, he was meant to look after them for a few days before they fly home, but he’d rather fuck his new American girlfriend than act as a well-paid babysitter…
so we did a deal… I’ll babysit them instead, then get them on the plane back to Joburg… ”
‘I’ll babysit them…’
Rough translation. I’ll meet them at the club, bribe security to get them in. Then offer them your wife, Jase, to give them their first-ever taste of non-African pussy…
But even as the self-respect part of my brain said the words, I could feel myself shaking with excitement.
Sasha had already baited the trap. Baited it with truth.
Taking me right back to that abortive night with Victor and his buddy…
and the non-abortive whole weekend when I’d been manipulated into watching Sasha as the meat in a Andre-Jordan-black cock sandwich.
“Babe…”
Her single word broke through my thoughts, as I looked across at her loving smile and knew exactly what she was going to say.
“I’m gonna fuck them… or let them fuck me,” she giggled. “I want it… you want it… and there are two very hard young cocks that want nothing more than to sink deep into my soft, welcoming, moist folds…”
After that, things moved quickly.
Counteracting their nervousness, Sasha ordered Sipho and Rambo to strip naked. Seeing them naked making me really understand all the different shapes and sizes there are for human bodies.
Rambo was wider and heavier, had the far darker skin tone and carried a little body fat.
Sipho—the one with a permanent smile—was all muscle.
If these youngsters had been born stateside, I’m sure they’d both have had fine careers in college football as defensive linesmen with potential to go all the way into the big leagues.
But seeing them standing there naked with their insanely thick cocks bobbing around in front of them, it wasn’t their sporting prowess that was on my mind.
It was bad enough that those two cocks were as long as Victor’s eight inches, but the fact that they were a couple of inches fatter than Thomas horse cock made me seriously worry about Sasha’s ability to take those African tusks into her body without suffering permanent damage.
I might be worried, but Sasha seemed to have no such fears, as she stood between these two butt-naked teenagers and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.