Dance Of The Ravishers Ch 03

Dr. Emory had called it a day at the tomb dig outside Sudan's upper Nile Sulb Temple. It had been so hot that I had stripped down to a pair of cotton bush shorts for the afternoon. I was standing by the water buckets, ladling cool water over my head and letting it sluice down my body when I noticed Clint Winston, another of the archaeologists on the dig, and Dr. Emory's personal assistant, eyeing me up and down. I registered that I'd have to be very careful with that one. If he had any inkling that I was having it on with the young Egyptian archaeologist, Mustafa, or with a strapping, very well endowed warrior of a local African tribe, he'd turn me in to Dr. Emory in an instant. And then I'd be flying home, my name erased from the archaeology team, just when we were close to opening the ancient Egyptian tomb.

I looked down my body and saw that my cock and balls were clearly discernible in the now-clingy and wet cotton shorts. I turned my back on Winston and the others and made post haste back to my tent.

We were all spent from the day's work—so much so that we returned to our tents for a predinner siesta in the desert twilight. I was so exhausted when I entered my tent that I just stripped off the wet shorts, dried myself with a towel, and flopped down on my back on my cot and began to snore. Soon, other than various pitches of snoring, there wasn't a sound to be heard across the camp.

As it turned out, however, Mustafa wasn't as sleepy as everyone else. He slipped into my tent, opened his caftan, and spread his naked body on mine, belly to belly. His presence awakened me, but only just. As he deep-kissed me on the lips and then on the nipples, I instinctively reached down and positioned his hardened cock for him, and he slid into me. Neither of us was in much of a condition to do any vigorous lovemaking, and we'd been together for weeks now, so we just lay there, every part of us motionless except for our hips, as we languidly fucked.

I heard what sounded like a sharp intake of breath, and my eyes picked up on a slight movement beyond the gauze curtain covering my doorway. My eyes adjusted and I saw just half a face, but enough to know that Clint Winston was watching us from the shadows.

We were fucked in more than one way now, I thought. Well, Clinty, Baby, if you are going to have a tale to tell, let's make a good one. I proceeded to turn the tail on Mustafa. With a new-found energy, I rolled him off of me and rolled with him so that now he was on his back and I was on top of him. His dick had slipped out of me, and I lifted him to his knees and skewered him now with my own cock, in one swift movement that caused him to cry out in passion and pain. Then I pushed his legs up into his belly and fucked him hard. When I was finished, I looked around at the doorway, and Clint was gone.

I didn't tell Mustafa that Clint had been watching us that afternoon. I figured there was no reason for him to hear the tragic news that would end our careers any sooner than he had to. And I held my breath all the way through the silent communal dinner of the archaeologists, waiting for the clinking of silver on china and glasses on teeth to be replaced by an explosion from the stern Dr. Emory from the other end of the table.

But the explosion never came, and when my eyes went to Clint, I could see that his eyes were on me and that they clearly told me that he wanted me.

Clint rose from the dinner table early and said that he was going to take a walk over to the Sulb Temple that was a good half mile up the Nile. Dr. Emory just grunted and plowed into a big piece of cake.

I rose and went to my tent for some supplies and then left the camp from a different route Clint had taken and walked quietly to the temple.

I found him sitting on the lowest step leading up to the temple, in the shadow of the stone banister at one side. He was crying silently and fingering his crotch.

"Here, maybe you'd like me to do that for you. Or, better yet, maybe you'd like to do mine," I said in a low voice as I stepped out of the shadows very near him.

"What?" he exclaimed in surprise and fear as he lifted his eyes, trying to focus on me in the gloom. His hand had quickly pulled away from his crotch. "Les?"

"Yes, it's me. Don't raise your voice." And then I moved in much closer to him, my own crotch at the level of his face.

"I saw you watching us this afternoon. Did you like what you saw?"

"Yes," Clint answered in a small voice.

"Is that what you'd like too?"

"Yes," the same small voice.

"I didn't think you swung that way, Clint."

"I didn't know it either," Clint answered. "At least I wasn't sure until that night of the Mitsagusi tribe fertility dance three weeks ago. The nine men from that dance came to my tent that night, and they all had me, just like they'd been simulating in the dance. And I found that I loved having that done to me."

"They visited me too," I answered. They'd visited Mustafa as well, but I didn't see any reason for Clint to know that.

"Their leader. That big bruiser named Bull," Clint stuttered. "He still visits you, doesn't he?"

"Yes," I said, and I smiled.

"Oh."

"But, do you want me to 'visit' you, Clint?" I asked in a low, hoarse voice.

"Yes."

"Is that why you haven't said anything to Dr. Emory about Mustafa and me?"

Silence. Clint was swallowing hard, evidently overcome at the edge he was walking here. I decided to force a decision. I unbuttoned my shorts and rolled out my big, half-hard cock.

"Look at this, Clint," I said. "This can be yours. In both ends. Here, now, if you want it."

Clint looked up and then he hungrily swallowed my cock. I was surprised that he seemed to know what to do with it, and it wasn't long before he had me all heated up. I pulled him up to his feet. He was shaking so hard that I was afraid he would faint on me.

"Are you OK, Clint?" I asked.

"I . . . I . . . don't know."

"We could postpone this or cancel it altogether," I said, now concerned if he really wanted to go through with it.

"No, no, please. I've thought about this for days. When I saw you and Mustafa this afternoon . . ."

He couldn't go on, and I wasn't sure he would be able to walk anywhere more convenient with me, so I just picked him up, one arm under his shoulders and the other one under his knees, and slowly walked up the stairs to the temple. The temple was essentially a double row of stone columns surrounded a square, stone-floored chamber, open to the sky. Lit torches arched out from columns at the four corners of the room, giving the chamber an eerie effect. The only object in the room was a large stone, heavily carved, three-foot-high altar in the center.

When I got to the altar, I laid Clint down on it and undressed him. He was a beautiful blond youth of no more than twenty. He had been considered somewhat of a child prodigy and had received his doctorate in archaeology at the tender age of eighteen. I had been left with the impression that he was all study and no play, but when I got his clothes off, I saw that he must have had good exercise, because his body, although lithe, was well-muscled. Not overly so, but enough to have posed for Michelangelo. His cock was small but was perfectly formed and was in proportion to his balls. Because we had been working under the African sun for nearly two months, his torso and legs halfway up his thigh were deeply tanned. His upper thighs and pelvis, and his nicely rounded butt cheeks, however, were a creamy white.

He lay on his back, breathing hard and trying to suppress his fearful whimpering, as I undressed. I fiddled around in a pocket to my shorts and came up with a small tube of lubricant and a condom packet and held these up for him to see.

"I came prepared, as you can see," I said.

He answered with a nervous and uncertain laugh.

I then stood up to the altar at his feet, and slowly pulled him down to me by his calves and then his thighs. I opened his legs and positioned them on my shoulders, and then I stroked his inner thighs with my fingers, while my mouth dropped to his small cock.

His cock didn't stay small for very long. His was one of those big expanders that went from shriveled to respectable with the proper attention. And I gave him the proper attention for a good ten minutes. I then sucked on his balls for a few minutes, which, regrettably, didn't balloon as his cock had done.

I didn't linger here for long but lowered my lips and tongue to his sweet puckered hole and moistened him up there. He was panting and moaning and giving little yips for me. These increased after I'd lubed up my fingers and began working at opening him up.

When I thought he was ready, I pushed his body back up to the middle of the flat altar top and came up below him, on my knees. His butt cheeks were resting on the tops of my thighs now, and our dicks were flopping against each other. He watched me, his eyes consumed with desire and trepidation, as I tore open the packet and rolled the condom on my cock. I positioned my cock head at his hole and just pulled him back into my belly, as slowly as need be for him to accommodate me. After I was in to the hilt, though, I pumped him with increasing vigor and ran my hands over his torso and twisted and pulled his nipples until they were rock hard and his head was arched back and he was yelling in ecstasy. After I had cum once and jacked him off with a hand job, I dispensed with the niceties and fucked him in several positions and from many different angles for the next half hour.

I was side-splitting him when I thought maybe I was overdoing it. I was hearing my heart beat. But then I realized it wasn't my heart that was beating. It was African drums. The chamber was flooded with the nine Mitsagusi youth dancers from the Dance of Ravishing several weeks before. The group that, separately and individually, had already had Clint and me the night of this ceremony. The drum beat got louder and the rhythm got more insistent. The dancers were swirling around the altar. As on the night of the dance, they were clad only in woven belts under their pecs, biceps and knees, with leather strips twirling off them as the dancer moved, and their dicks were erect and greased up with that marvelous pulp of the fruit of the agwallah bush that provided endurance and nearly painless lubrication.

While I was finishing off Clint, they danced around us, but when they saw Clint gasp and lurch and me spasm my hips in ejaculation, they pulled us apart. The Bull of the Mitsagusi was on the altar with me now. I was pushed down on my belly, my hands were tied to the horns at the corner of the altar, and the Bull was astride me with my hips between his knees. I was confused and was about to point out that I didn't need to be restrained for the Bull to fuck me. He had been regularly fucking me for weeks. But then I realized that the other eight Mitsagusi youths did not realize that the Bull had been drawn to me and was visiting me.

I felt the Bull rise up and rear his hips back and then he plunged into my ass with that giant dick of his and plowed me to the end in one stroke. My hips lifted up off the stone and I screamed in surprise and pain regardless of the protecting agwallah pulp lathering his tool. He was lifting his arms out above his shoulders now. He threw his face up and chanting something to the heavens, while he fucked me in long strokes that had him pull all the way out of me and then thrust all the way back in to the hilt. At first, I didn't know if I'd be able to take this, but after ten minutes of it, I was loving it, and after twenty minutes of it, I didn't want him ever to stop.

I looked over to the side at one point and saw that five of the dancers were manhandling Clint, who had his hands tied behind his back with a leather thong. They had him upright but off the ground. Two dancers were holding his legs straight out from his waist, and he was being double fucked, one dancer servicing him from behind and the other one from in front. The fifth dancer was somehow hanging from an adjacent column and was holding Clint's jaw in his hand, and facing fucking him with a thick, pulp-smeared cock.

The remaining three dancers were entwined and writhing in one pile on the floor by the altar, no doubt finding their own ways to amuse themselves. All dancers who didn't have their mouths full were chanting the Bull's chant.

As Bull was flooding me with his spasms of cum, he raised his voice in a shout of domination and virile victory that just suddenly stopped. The chanting stopped at that instant as well, as did the drum beats. All four torches were extinguished, and the Bull and his tribe melted away into the darkness.

I came off the altar and felt around in the dark. Clint was balled up in heap next to a column.

"Are you OK, Clint?" I asked, wondering if he had been damaged.

"They did things they hadn't done to me before," Clint said in a gurgly voice. "It was awesome. I feel totally fucked now."

"Well, OK, party boy," I said, as I helped him struggle to his feet. "Let's see if we can find our way back to camp.

We kissed in the shadows at the edge of the camp and Clint told me how much he'd enjoyed being fucked by me, and then we softly entered camp from two different directions.

The Bull was waiting for me in my tent, and he fucked me again that night in the light from a single candle on the floor of African earth beside my cot, this time in the more tender way we had become accustomed to in the last three weeks. This time he took me from the front, mimicking the opening position I had used on Clint that evening, and played with my nipples and balls. And, for the first time, lowering his lips to mine, he let me show him how dueling tongues can enhance the pleasure of churning master black cock and hips. Still, after all these weeks, we couldn't communicate with each other except in the language of the great fuck.