Paul carried on fucking Rushton. Now Rushton's cock was free, Paul took it in one hand and caressed and stroked it as he thrusted his own cock into the shemale's asshole.
As Laird lay on the couch to one side, the quivering spasms of her over-excited pussy slowly dissipating, she looked blankly at the scene in front of her. Rushton, her commanding officer, leaning back on the couch, her legs spread wide and high, being fucked in the ass while the guy fucking her toyed with her swollen cock. It was a surreal and wonderful sight. Laird had thought of herself as a lesbian for so long, but as she watched, as the stirrings of excitement started to return, she suddenly didn't know what to think. That was a penis there, sprouting from the body of that woman. How could that be? And what did it mean if she wanted to touch it? To take it in her mouth?
Fuck it, she thought again, and she raised herself, leaned forward and, with Paul's fingers still wrapped round the base of the shaft, she took the length into her mouth. She could taste her own vaginal juices still on the meaty tool, and she marveled at the way the cock filled up the space inside her mouth. She raised her mouth a little, giving her tongue room to lick and flick the head, then plunged her mouth down again. Within a few inches of her eyes, she saw Paul's cock appearing and disappearing into Rushton's asshole. She reached out and cupped the woman's balls, gently squeezing and massaging them as her head moved up and down on the woman's cock.
Suddenly without warning there was an explosion of cum inside her mouth and Rushton gave a grunt of release. Laird kept stroking Rushton's balls and running her lips up and down the throbbing shaft as the shemale pumped sperm into her mouth. The hot, salty cum overflowed at the corners of her lips and rolled down the shaft in white globules.
Rushton gasped as she climaxed, and suddenly Paul gave a groan too and pulled out his cock from her asshole. It had already spurted once inside her ass and Paul stroked the head to make it spurt again onto the side of Laird's face as Laird finished sucking the final spurts of cum from Rushton's cock.
Finally, when all the liquid that was going to emerge had done so, they gasped for breath for some moments then looked at each other, the three of them. Laird smiled broadly, shook her head and said simply, "Fuck!"
The Missionary and the Pygmies
Sylvia Barton-Rogers scrambled up onto the rocky outcrop and surveyed her surroundings. In every direction the jungle stretched off to the horizon.
To the west she made out a range of mountains, but had no idea what mountains they were. The plane had been traveling that way towards the city of Patana before it had developed engine trouble and crashed into the canopy. Her husband had helped her strap on a parachute, but by the time she jumped, the plane was too close to the ground for any of the other passengers to make it out alive. She had had the devil of a trouble herself when her chute had snagged on a branch, and it had taken her two hours to make it safely down to the ground. Now here she was twenty-four hours later, no food, no water, and utterly exhausted. She doubted if she would last much longer.
She patted her pocket. One thing she did have was her bible. She was in God's hands and she would submit to His will. If she could not do that much, what right did she have to come to this country to try to lead these poor primitive savages to Jesus in the first place?
Then she noticed it: a thin plume of smoke writhing up from the trees to the east, barely visible but perhaps her only chance of survival. She estimated it to be about five miles distant. An easy walk back in the Kent countryside of her homeland, but here, hacking through the trees with an almost blunt machete, she wasn't sure if she could make it. But she would try. What else could she do?
Seventeen hours later this twenty-eight-year-old English missionary woman, covered from head to toe in mosquito bites, stumbled into the village of Tai Tai Po and collapsed on the ground, gasping for water. The assembled villagers rushed forward in amazement, and seeing at once her sorry state, immediately set about helping her.
Two days later, emerging from a semi-comatose state, Mrs Barton-Rogers opened her eyes and was immediately handed a cup of water to drink. She looked about herself and saw that she was in a straw hut with three native women who were sitting half naked and looking at her curiously. The cloth covering the door was briefly moved aside and a shaft of sunlight seemed to slice into her swollen eyeballs. She closed her eyes and heard talking, then she drifted back into unconsciousness.
Over the next few weeks, Mrs Barton-Rogers recovered her health and ventured out to get to know her surroundings and the people who had saved her life. They were pygmies, none of them over five feet tall. Dark-skinned and easy-going in nature, their lives were good. Much time was spent lolling around the village, with occasional hunting parties sallying forth in search of monkey meat, but the forest here was so fruitful that most of their hours could be spent in leisure and sport without ever being in danger of going hungry.
The language of these people, while not that of the people to the north where she had spent the past year, had many features and words in common, and it didn't take her long to pick it up. Mostly it was about learning the different accent they used here.
Her physical health improved with great strides, but her spiritual health took a great battering the first time she witnessed one of their regular orgy-feasts. These took place every few days. The first ones she only heard, as she was at that time too weak to leave the hut. There was much singing and dancing through the night, and strange noises as of wild animals, and she could only guess what the source was.
Later, when she was well enough to witness the first such gathering, she realised how far out her guess had been.
It started off as a normal feast. She was treated with great kindness and as an honored guest. Later when the eating and drinking had seemed to reach a state of completion, the dancing started, and Mrs Barton-Rogers was invited to join in. She gracefully declined, but watched in horror as men and women started gyrating in the most provocative manner. At first they wore the scanty clothes which was their normal attire, but soon all their garments were cast aside and the men started showing signs of sexual arousal as they thrust their pelvises at the women, who ground their buttocks into the men's crotches. Mrs Barton-Rogers watched in horror as she realised that one couple had actually begun copulating in the midst of the now frenzied crowd. She thought that perhaps they would be seen and chastised by the others, but on the contrary, soon most of the dancers were physically joined in the same way, each man gyrating his erect penis into the vagina of his partner who pressed her buttocks back in rhythmic time to the beating drums.
She looked around her and saw that even the more elderly natives who did not take part in the dance were nevertheless in various states of copulation sitting or lying around the dancing area. The chief, who sat on her side, smiled at her as two native women attended to his manhood with busy tongues.
Mrs Barton-Rogers rose and walked off into the forest, disgusted with what she had seen.
Over the coming weeks she tried to teach these people about God, to hammer into them a sense of sin and guilt, but to no avail. They simply laughed at her notions and finally, much to her chagrin, she found that in their opinion it was she who was the depraved one. Why did she avert her gaze when the people took pleasure with each other? Did she have some evil spirit infecting her eyes to make them behave in such an unhealthy manner?
Finally the witchdoctor was called upon to examine the strange white woman, and he prescribed a special herb, which was duly obtained with no little trouble from a tree five hours' walk from the village.
When, at the next orgy-feast Mrs Barton-Rogers refused to drink the prepared medicine, the people made her feel so guilty that three men had risked their lives on a perilous journey to obtain the ingredients of the brew, that she decided to humour them and drink the stuff. It did not taste unpleasant.
As the feast progressed, she noticed a tingling sensation between her legs. She thought the brew might have poisoned her, and she stood up to t
est her strength. She felt quite well, but the tingling sensation intensified. The natives started their dance, and this time Mrs Barton-Rogers walked out among them, marveling at the beauty of their movement and, when they disrobed, of their naked bodies. The men might be rather short in height judged against English men, but they were perfectly formed and the brown colour of their skin, which her culture had led her to think of as evidence of inferiority, now seemed gloriously rich and smooth. The women too had wonderfully firm breasts with long dark nipples, and firm, round buttocks.
Instead of being disgusted, she now was enchanted and delighted. She wondered how she had failed to notice all this beauty before.
A native man approached her and pulled open her blouse, exposing her naked torso.
Whereas before she would have been absolutely aghast as exposing herself in this manner, it now seemed thoroughly delightful, the most natural thing in the world, and she rubbed her breasts with her hands, feeling the smoothness of the skin and the softness of the flesh with her fingers.
The tingling sensation was now increasing. She had never in her life so much as laid a finger on her own vagina. She now let her skirt and underwear drop to the dust and placed a hand firmly on her wet slit. The tingling sensation increased a hundredfold, an electric shock of pleasure. One part of herself could hardly believe what she was doing; the other half felt it was the most natural thing in the world.
She wandered around the dance area as if in a dream, rubbing herself openly in front of these savages. When the couples started their gyrating and grinding of crotches, she marveled at the men's penises as they grew erect. She could not stop herself from reaching out and stroking them as she walked by, but merely touching seemed inadequate. She knelt down between a mounted couple. They were standing-dancing-fucking as was their habit at these orgy-feasts. She pushed her hand between them and grasped the man's penis and pulled it out from the woman. She looked lovingly at the caramel coloured shaft, lubricated with the woman's juices, and she could do nothing else than lean forward and wrap her lips around the stiff member and feel the organ fill the cavity of her mouth. She then took it out and guided it back into the female native's expectant cunt. At the end of each thrust, she guided it back into her mouth so that the man was in effect alternately fucking his native partner and Mrs Barton-Rogers' mouth.
All the while she did these things, a part of her consciousness remained alert to the fact that she was Mrs Barton-Rogers of Birstall Hall, Sevenoaks, Kent, an English lady of good family, and the acts she was now engaged in were, by the standards of her own culture and family, beyond the pale.
But it had no effect.
She felt a hand reach round from behind and knead a white English breast. Another hand came from the other side and took hold of the other breast, rubbing the pink, hard nipple. She looked down and noticed both hands were right hands, one masculine and one feminine looking. She looked around and saw they belonged to two natives, another copulating couple. They smiled at her as they fucked. The man in front of her, whose penis she had been sucking, now pulled her up and pushed her hand away from her vagina, replacing it with his own. His fingers reached up into her moist hole, advancing to their full length. The feeling, heightened by the medicinal brew she had taken, was incredible.
Mrs Barton-Rogers had never had an orgasm in her life, though she had somehow heard and learned the meaning of the word during her sheltered upbringing. Sex with her husband had been a duty rather than a pleasure, at least for her. Now as the man in front, still fucking his smiling partner, caressed her clitoris and the couple behind massaged her breasts, she felt something rising up inside her, a tsunami of pleasure that advanced with unstoppable force and finally flooded her entire being. Her knees buckled and she sank to the ground. Her pussy quivered and leaked onto the dusty earth.
When it subsided and she had regained her senses, she knew only one thing: she wanted more.
By this time she was the centre of attention. A circle of natives, all copulating, stood around her. The women faced towards her and between their legs she saw the cocks of the men behind plunging deep inside them. All the faces were smiling down at her. It seemed to her at that moment that she had been transported to paradise.
She reached out to the nearest couple and pulled them down to the ground. The man rolled onto his back with his tool sticking upright, and Mrs Barton-Rogers pushed the native woman to one side and squatted astride the man. The civilized British voice, the voice of empire and cream teas and cricket, screamed at her to think what she was doing, but it had no effect. She lowered herself onto the savage's cock and pushed herself down firmly so that it plunged deeply up into her moist love tunnel.
Meanwhile the woman she had pushed aside sat astride the man's mouth, and as Mrs Barton-Rogers rode the man's cock, she had the pleasure of delighting at the sight of his tongue delving into and licking the woman's vagina. As Mrs Barton-Rogers ground her clitoris against the man's crotch, the woman having her pussy licked smiled broadly at her. Mrs Barton-Rogers leaned forward and fastened her lips on the woman's left beast, taking the huge, hard nipple in her mouth and flicking it with her tongue. Her mouth salivated profusely and saliva dripped from the corners of her lips and ran down the woman's torso.
Another wave of pleasure rose up, and she felt that she would soon reach orgasm again. At that moment, she felt something, someone's finger apparently, push against her anus. It was obviously wet because after an initial slight resistance, it slipped smoothly inside her. Her civilized self objected at this disgusting invasion of her most intimate parts, but was drowned out by the sheer animal pleasure she felt and she abandoned herself to these base sensations. She pushed herself down onto the rigid penis, back against the finger, down and back, down and back, and a second orgasm exploded upon her. She gasped and screamed with ecstasy and the natives murmured their approval as she moved her vagina off the man's cock and a spray of clear, hot liquid erupted from her quivering, pulsating cunt, drenching the man's chest.
The finger, whoever it belonged to, was withdrawn from her anus and she lay back in the dirt, but before she had time to recover herself, the Chief himself appeared before her with his penis standing to attention in front of him. He knelt down and pushed the shaft into her still quivering pussy, and at first she wasn't sure if the feeling was pleasure or pain. It was too soon after her orgasm, her clitoris was still too sensitive and raw. At first she lay there nearly insensible to everything, but then she started to feel the return of pleasure in her over-worked vagina. As she raised her head to take in the delicious sight of her pussy being skewered by the chief's large cock, she saw a spray of semen land on her breasts and stomach. She looked up to see another smiling native standing over her, his throbbing cock grasped firmly in his hand, the last dribbles of sperm dropping from his clenched fingers onto the ground.
The natives gave a cheer, and one by one the men broke off from their copulating to guide sprays of hot spunk onto Mrs Barton-Rogers. It was quite disgusting to be covered like this, thought Mrs Barton-Rogers. It was also delicious.
As if in a dream the chief's cock brought her to one final orgasm which shook her almost senseless, and then he withdrew his penis and ejaculated copiously, spraying his own spunk to mix with the puddles of white goo that had formed on her stomach, breasts and throat.
The crowd of onlookers, men and women, smiled approvingly down at her, and she smiled weakly back at them.
The next morning however, she was stricken with guilt when she remembered the events of the previous night. When she saw the witchdoctor, she berated the man for having drugged her into a state where she had not been responsible for her actions.
The witchdoctor smiled kindly at her, and explained that the three men who had gone to collect the special herb from the distant tree had in fact spent the day fishing at a nearby stream. The brew that she had drunk had been nothing more than tea.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed these stories.
/> Charlotte Roberts is an English teacher and writer from Bristol in the UK.
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Other books by Charlotte Roberts:
Horny in the Storeroom
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Kathy Does a Caveman
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(Non-erotica)
Attack of the Nymphomaniac Zombies
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The Missionary and the Pygmies (and other erotic stories) Page 3
