The Story of Joanne D'arc

I was sitting in the church at Terry's funeral, staring at the coffin and the photo of him resting on top of it. Lisa was sitting next to me. We had been friends for a long time. Her Mum, Nellie, was our maid and occasionally she stayed over in Nellie's flat at our house. We had gone to different schools –she to a Zulu rural school near Nellie's home and me to boarding school, but now we were at College together. We were both studying courses in the hospitality industry. (She is now a successful Wedding Co-ordinator having done many celebrity weddings for Kwaito stars; I, as I have said previously, have my own franchised Coffee Shop in a large Mall.) Around us were other students from the College.

I stared at the photograph of Terry, remembering the brief encounters we had shared, and suddenly I had no regrets. We had shared something very intimate and personal in just two short weeks. He had died in a motorcycle accident just after our last meeting when I had showed him the videos on my brothers' computer. I had showed him the one of Lisa in her mother's room masturbating, and of my folks fucking in their bedroom and me masturbating on the toilet. He had come over my face and then I had masturbated for him and him for me. It had been the most erotic moment of my life so far. (See "The Story of Joanne D'Arc – My first 'boyfriend'.)

As the minister brought the service to a close Lisa leaned over and asked if we were going to the burial. I didn't think so, so I suggested that we go for coffee instead. After the service we gave our condolences to his parents and went across the road to a Coffee Shop. They were not licensed to sell liquor but they did sell Irish Coffees so we ordered one each, feeling the need for some inner warmth.

After they arrived I said to Lisa, "Terry and I almost made love before he died."

"Almost?" She asked.

I explained that I was not ready to fuck and so we had just indulged in some mutual masturbation.

"But that is just like our Zulu culture," she said, "I thought you white people just fucked when you felt like it."

We discussed the different approaches in our two cultures. I said that we had two schools of thought –those who saved themselves for marriage and those who just did it. She told me about ukuHlobonga.

"In Zulu culture," she said, "a maiden must always be ready for a man. We have a custom that when a man stops you on the road to talk, you must be ready to lie down with him."

"Any man," I asked incredulously.

"Well, not every man will stop you," she responded, "but when a man does he is admiring you and you must be ready to repay the compliment."

I couldn't believe it.

"Have you been stopped and fucked like that?"

"Yes, many times," she said, "but its not really fucking. The man doesn't penetrate, he just puts his cock between your thighs and rubs himself in a fucking motion until he comes. Sometimes he wants you on your back and sometimes you kneel in front of him." I sipped at the Irish Coffee, amazed that this pretty black girl had been fucked in that way many times by what were effective just passers-by. She explained that there was nothing in it for the girl but that she had personally often been excited by it –especially the prospect of getting caught by another passer-by and also the admiration of the man. It had started, she said, in the time of Shaka when he wanted to satisfy the sexual needs of his soldiers but not create a nation of unmarried pregnant women. The practice had been absorbed into Zulu culture but in modern times the men were not satisfied with just fucking between the thighs –they wanted to really fuck the girl, or for her to suck him off or to masturbate him.

Then she blushed under her dark skin and said, "I have been properly fucked though. Just twice by single men, but also by many one time by a group of boys at college who were 'streamlining'". She explained that this was a new craze amongst modern youth where the young men used the principle of ukuHlobonga to accost a girl and then they would each fuck her straight after each other. It sounded very much like a gangbang to me but she said that it was not really. It was a chance but willing encounter that conformed to her culture –it was just more than one man at a time. It wasn't all that different, for example, to ukuHlobonga with two men on a path on the same day when she went down to the river to fetch water. She explained that they didn't use condoms because then there would be no stream lining of the girl's pussy. She had been afraid of HIV/Aids after the incident but had recently had a test and fortunately was negative.

I pondered the thought as we sipped our second Irish Coffee. My pussy was quite damp under my black dress. Both the talk and the Irish Coffee were having their effect. I had never yet been fucked but I savoured thought of a number of men coming into me one after the other. I wiggled my fat bum on the seat.

"What did it feel like –this streamlining?" I asked.

"Well, it's actually better than just one," she said. "Often the man is ready to fuck before your juices flow, and then it's sore. But when there are many your pussy is full of the juices of the men before. It's not sore then and the later men take longer and you have your own pleasure."

"How many streamlined you?" I asked.

"It was seven boys. Sipho started. (He was a boy of nineteen in our class). He is not so big so it was easier. The last was David. He has a really big cock and he fucked me for a long time –maybe twenty minutes, front and back. I felt my pleasure twice with him and once with Edward who was before him."

"Did the other boys watch?"

"No. In our culture, fucking is private. The boys who were waiting talked together and looked the other way. When they were finished with me they went on their way. I was walking through the trees from our lecture room, when Sipho stopped me. We talked as a Zulu boy and girl will. He stood close to me, holding my hands. He asked about ukuHlobonga. I like him so I agreed. We kissed and then he said that he and the others wanted to streamline. I knew about it but I was very hesitant. We kissed some more and then he took me off the path. We Zulu girls wear cycling shorts now so that it is not too easy to be fucked and I took them off. He lay on top of me and put his penis in. It wasn't long and then Moise came to take his place. One after one they fucked me. Some from on top and some from behind. Edward wanted it from behind. My cunt was dripping with the cum of five others and he slipped in easily. His cock was big and he fucked me hard. I came. Then it was David's turn. He fucked me first from behind, with me on my knees. I came that time and again when he turned me over onto my back. When they left I had to use all my tissues to clean their cum from my cunt."

I was now really wet in my pussy. I wondered how I could arrange the same thing for me. Difficult. I was a white girl, they probably wouldn't dream of ukuHlobonga with me. How to arrange it?

I ordered another Irish Coffee –that was my allowance gone.

"Do you masturbate?" I asked, longing to do it myself. (In fact I am doing it right now as I type this. I am sitting naked in front of my computer and the memories have made me really hot!)

She blushed again and looked down coyly. "We don't talk about it," she said, "but yes, I do. Zulu men pleasure themselves, we seldom reach it, so we have to pleasure ourselves."

I knew that she did. At least I had one video of her doing it in her mother's room with the German magazine. I had an idea.

"Come, lets go home."

We walked briskly to our house. I could feel the quishiness in my pussy as I walked. Everyone at home was out so we went into my brothers' room. I turned on the computer and clicked through to the video of me masturbating on the toilet that I had shown to Terry. We watched in silence. The Irish Coffees had eased all our inhibitions.

When the movie was over we turned to each other. I could see the redness of passion under her dark skin. I was so hot now too. I clicked to the one of her on her mother's bed. She let out a little cry but then she watched in fascination. I put my hand across her shoulders as we sat side by side. As the movie came to an end, I pulled her towards me and kissed her on her mouth. She didn't seem to know what to do and so I gently touched her lips with my tongue until her mouth opened. I penetrated her mouth and her arms came around me. We hugged and kissed, feeling each other's bodies. Hers was slim, mine was plump. Her breasts were compact and tight in her dress, mine were full and overflowing. I leaned over and switched the computer off. We stood up, both of us in our black funeral dresses.

I led her to my own room and locked the door behind us. I turned to her and began to undress her. The dress had buttons down the front to the waist. As I undid the buttons, I saw that she was wearing a black bra and she was wearing black cycling shorts. I stripped them off, marvelling at her smooth skin and deep black nipples. Around her cunt she had a bush, really a bush, of curly black hair. I led her to the settee and stripped off my own clothes. I was wearing a full black bra (needed to for the size of my boobs) and a black g-string which barely fitted. My carroty cunt hairs curled out from all sides and it pulled up my arse. I took them off and we sat together, a fat white girl and a slim black maiden. We kissed and fondled each other for a time.

I put my hand into her crotch, feeling the crinkly black hair. She was as wet as can be. I scooped up the juices from her pussy and began to massage her clitoris. The effect was amazing. She writhed under my fingers lowering her body into a supine position. She was interested in nothing else. I rubbed her clit fast with my right index finger, interested in nothing other than her climax. She bucked her hips and writhed under my ministrations, then she opened her eyes –they glazed over and she came. We hugged for a few minutes then she pushed me towards the end of the settee. I went onto my knees, leaning on the arm rest, and she began to rub my swollen pussy lips from underneath. My cunt was so wet now that she easily dipped her fingers inside –first her middle finger then the index finger also. She was fucking me with her hand! Just like her mother had done once before. She slowed and I could feel her getting her fingers in position to put them all into me. She tucked her thumb into her hand and pushed hard. My cunt resisted and then it was in! She put her other hand on my back and began to hand fuck me with a vengeance. It was sore but it was nice –she turned her hand inside of me and with her middle finger she touched the place where her mother had made exquisite sensations. I erupted! I couldn't help myself. The climax raced from my pussy to my gut, back to my pussy, to my head and then it started all over again.

She pulled her hand from my cunt and we both rolled to sit on the settee again. She took her wet hand and began to rub it over their hairs on my fat pudenda. It was too much. I leaned into her again and we kissed deeply –she much more relaxed this time.

"I saw the camera," she said, "I saw it that day after the magazine. I thought it was your father who had put it in. Mom told me that he often came into her room."

I had a double take, Dad fucking Nellie. I couldn't believe it. His sex life with Mom was so ordinary, so plain, as I had seen on the videos. I would have to do some more detective work.