Chapter 9
My head still throbbed as I closed the door and headed next door.
Just before lunch, it was a warm day, edging up into the low eighties.
Despite the pain in my head, I paused on the way round, collected myself and told myself there was a fair chance that—refreshed by sleep—I’d find that last night’s activities would have started up again.
Telling myself there was a fair chance I’d find Sasha once again doing her bit for American-African relations.
Showing these young guests the American way.
If only this had been the only thing that greeted me!
My first clue was the voices. The shouts from out back. From the outdoor pool that Todd and Jill had installed just before they’d left.
I couldn’t recall what Sipho and Rambo sounded like—mostly they’d just grunted—but even in my hungover state I could tell the difference between three voices and a damned sight more than three voices!
This sudden shock—knowing something was wrong, but not knowing what it was—made me break into a canter, bypassing the front door as I headed for the yard.
Fuck!
Damn and fuck. Sasha was out the back, squealing and laughing, her high-pitched voice a total contrast, but it wasn’t just two new friends she had. She was cavorting in the pool with Sipho, Rambo and four other over-sized black youngsters.
Where the fuck had they come from?
Had Thomas had them bussed in as a giant ‘Fuck You’ to the man who’d be reclaiming Sasha in just a few weeks time?
Quite literally, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Sasha was in the pool in a bikini—she must have snuck back to grab it—and she was squealing and laughing as she and the six young black guys played keep-it-up with an inflatable beach ball.
Thomas was off to the side—lounging, playing Mr. Cool—while his six young wards played, lusted after Sasha and shrieked at her to remove her bikini top.
She was loving the attention. Loving feeling young again—this scene could have been right out of her college days. And she was also loving the tease.
“Why should I get the girls out, when you guys are all still fully clothed?”
She shouldn’t have said that.
She really shouldn’t have said that.
Five seconds later she was blushing, shrieking and staring at six very hard, very erect young South African cocks…
Challenge offered. Bluff called…
Sasha was too busy laughing and trying not to be too obvious as she eyed up the six young cocks arrayed in front of her.
She knew two of them already—the thick-cock twins—but from the look on her face, the other four cocks were new to her. Even if she’d not returned as she’d promised last night, she’d only played with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum. The other four cocks were virgin territory for her.
None of them were small.
That was the first shaming thought that occurred to me. The shortest was as long as Victor’s eight-incher had been. But a couple of them looked longer. And the two that looked as long as Victor both had thick cocks.
I only got to know the names of the four other guys when Thomas intervened to start up a game.
“Top off, Sash… you challenged the guys, they kept their side of the bargain…”
With that, Sasha’s boyfriend forced himself to get off his lounger, saunter over to my wife, and give her a platonic kiss her on the cheek as he reached behind her back and unhooked her top.
Those six wolf whistles of approval could probably have been heard in Joburg or Cape Town.
Sasha feigned embarrassment—she blushed and covered up with her hands—but no-one was taken in. Least of all, Thomas.
“No, sweetie… no, you made a promise… you gotta show the boys what you got…”
He pulled Sasha’s hands down to her sides, his head movement beckoning all six youngsters to crowd around her.
Twelve dark hands were soon grabbing and squeezing. And as twelve doesn’t go into two, it wasn’t long before some of the hands that couldn’t get through headed south and started pushing under her bikini bottoms.
Sasha’s reaction as six teenage Africans started exploring her body?
Indignation? Outrage? Protest?
Fuck no… just peels of laughter… giggling I could have heard even if I’d still been at home…
Sasha was loving it, her high pitched squeals of “boys, boys, boys…” not fooling anyone. That wasn’t protest. It was a big fat check in the box… an appeal for more…
“Okay, okay, okay… as your real coach ain’t here… I guess it’s on me to instill some kind of discipline on you rabble…
“Right! Out of the pool… out now! Then form a line… this lovely lady can’t do you all at once…
“Sipho, Rambo… you guys at the back… you already had plenty of tastes of Sasha’s pussy and boobs last night…
“Masho, front of the line… you can go first… best if you go first, otherwise Sash might not feel that pencil dick of yours if you go after the others!”
FFS! A pencil dick! The arrogant looking kid who’d just gone to the front of the line—Masho—had a cock that was a little thicker than mine, and what it lacked in girth it certainly made up for in length… slapping against his stomach as he moved, it had to be at least nine inches long…
“Then you, Shorty… sorry, Sal,” he teased, his reference being to Sal’s height—similar to me—not his cock length, as he sported a painfully hard and fat eight inches. Sal not just being by far the shortest, but also the only one whose skin tone suggested he might be mixed race.
“Then you, Zain… you cocky fucker… I know you, Sal and Masho are electric quick on the playing field, but try not to cum too quick with Sash…
Zain and the two in front of him just laughed and high-fived, not offended by ‘Coach’ Thomas’s comment.
“Then you, captain Khuts… you can stick that big ol’ dick of yours into my woman before Sipho and Rambo stretch her out again with those fat tree trunks of theirs…”
The dark-skinned young African he was referring to was the tallest of the group, and also had the biggest cock—as thick as Thomas’s cock and around an inch or so shorter… a fat ten-incher I was sure Sasha would love…
Thank goodness Todd and Jill had skimped on quality when it came to their poolside furniture—the chaise lounge chair that Sasha was arranging herself on was solid wood and well cushioned.
Both absolute necessities given the size of these youngsters and the eager pounding I was sure they were intent on administering to my poor, reluctant wife…
“Come on, boys! Come and get it… don’t be shy,” she beamed, throwing her bottoms to Masho—Mr. Pencil Dick—as she lay back, opened her legs and beckoned with a waggle of her index finger.
Shy was the last word you’d use to describe Masho—he was six foot of toned young muscle, busy fisting his nine inches as he stepped forward with an arrogant smile slapped across his face.
“Gonna fuck you good, Sash… fuck you real good… make you cum so much you won’t be able to even walk back next door to that sad sack husband of yours…”
Fuck! They didn’t know I was there, but my face still went baboon red at the thought all of these young guys knew how much I loved being the Beta who lived to watch his wife with well-endowed black guys.
Sasha didn’t think to defend my honor—a humiliation I found both upsetting and exciting. Her not knowing I was there meaning I knew I was witnessing her natural reaction as she laughed at Masho’s mocking words.
“Don’t be mean about my hubby… he does his best… it’s not his fault he’s got a tiny white dick and doesn’t know how to fuck and be bulls like you guys do…
“He loves me… he does his best,” she smiled, pulling the brash cocky young athlete down for a long kiss to shut him up. Sasha was done talking, she wanted to be fucked.
I won’t give you a blow-by-blow of what happened. If ‘beer-can’ was the perfect description for the grotesque fatness of Sipho and Rambo’s fat cocks—then ‘train’ is the perfect word to describe what the six teenage African athletes pulled on Sasha for the next few hours.
Hours?
I only stayed to watch the first four fuckings, as four big cocks took her to multiple screaming climaxes before they spat their hot jizz deep into her pussy.
Because as no. four—Khuts, the one with the cock nearly as big as Thomas—shot his seed deep into my sobbing, writhing wife, I shot my own load into my boxers.
Post-nut clarity and shame set in immediately.
What the fuck was I doing? Why hadn’t I intervened?
I knew the truth. Just didn’t want to face up to it.
But know that I’d cum, unlike Sasha who was just waiting for another climax, regret and self-loathing set in.
Playing this game just occasionally and with just one guy was one thing—but standing there cumming in my pants as I watched six young African athletes pull a train and take turns with my wife…
How the fuck were we gonna go from this to the respectable normality of the family we planned on raising?
Filled with remorse and self-contempt, I trudged back next door.
If it had been later in the day, I might have hit the bottle again. But even I—even in this state of mind—wasn’t going to do that at lunch time.
I’d thought being back home would have been better. That it couldn’t be worse than standing there in the shadows watching with empty balls and a limp cock as Sasha cavorted with her six-pack of young Black admirers.
But I was wrong. At least there, even just in the shadows, at least I’d felt involved and connected—even if only in the most tenuous and weakest of ways.
But sat totally by myself, listening to the sounds of the on-going orgy… the cocktail of groans, squeals and laughter, all I know felt was alone and like the odd one out. They were all having fun… me, I was just sat there stewing…
I tried to distract myself. I had plenty of reports to read and preparation to make for my next week’s round of visits… but my emotions were all over the place.