Zambian Nights: Another sultry tropical tale
It had been a long, hard days travelling in the Kafue, Zambia's biggest national park. But satisfying. We had seen elephant, lion, puku, sable, an incredible array of birds. We reached the camp a few hours before sunset, and pitched our camp. It was the most extraordinary setting, right on the banks of the Kafue River.
At the back of the camp site was a crystal clear hot spring, in front was the river, where herds of elephant, large pods of hippo and scores of buffalo moved noisily back and forth, grunting, bellowing, trumpeting and groaning.
We built a big fire against the lions, cooked a sublime meal, drank some whisky. You snuggled against me, and I relaxed back against the big leadwood tree under which we had pitched our camp. You slid your hand down and began to fondle my cock through the soft cotton of my trousers, and as I began to stiffen, you turned and whispered in my ear "I want to fuck you, right here, under the stars as the sun goes down."
I kissed you back and slid my hands across your breasts, you weren't wearing a bra, your nipples stiffened in the cool evening breeze, and you moaned as I pinched your left nipple. I slid my hand down to your thighs, and began to softly rub between your legs as you leaned back and began to purr like the lioness that you are.
Just then the late afternoon that had been resonating to the sounds of fiery-necked nightjars and hippo was broken by the sound of a diesel engine. We broke away from each other, dismayed. Company. The last thing we wanted.
A battered old Land Cruiser waddled into camp. We groaned, our idyll had been broken,
The engine cut, and in the glow of the sunset, one of the most beautiful and sexiest women we have ever seen climbed out of the Cruiser.
She had long, dark blonde hair and the longest legs this side of a giraffe, unrestrained breasts that shifted gorgeously inside her completely see through top, dark, Italian looks and a mouth that screamed out to be kissed. She was wearing the shortest shorts I have ever seen, but this was no bimbo. "Shit," she said, "If I had known there were people here I would have put on some clothes, sorry people."
"Fucking hell," she said, "I'm supposed to be at Nanzilha tomorrow morning at sparrows fucking fart to guide some clients, but the Cruiser's got a petrol block and I need to flush the lines. Do you mind if I camp here tonight? My name's Francesca, by the way."
Turns out Francesca is a Zambian born and bred of Italian and British parents, a wild child who never really left the bush, despite a three year stint at UCT getting her zoology degree.
We invited her to the fire, where the remains of our steaks were sizzling, and she ate with gusto, juice from the meat dripping down her full lips. We popped a bottle of red wine, then she hauled a joint out of her bush shirt, and we all got very mellow. It was a magical African evening, the sounds were intense and we watched as an elephant ghosted past in the distance.
We were all getting a little bit silly. Then Francesca pulled a film canister out of her pocket and said, "Does anyone want to do a line of coke?" We said why not, and snorted the white powder, and immediately felt the erotic rush.
Francesca stood up, and said "have you seen the hot springs, there is the most amazing beach there?" We walked with her, and there, behind the camp, were these limpid pools, with a soft sandy beach all around. She stripped off her clothes and dived into the water, we hesitated briefly then followed.