The White Hunter

Ashley and I stood at the bar sipping our drinks and finishing our conversation with the club manager. I looked back at our wives at the table whispering to each other and giggling. Trish and Lois were talking about sex. That's the way two women act when they're talking about sex. I wondered which guy in the club was doing which gal -- it had to be something like that.

It was Wednesday night and the four of us always had dinner together at the club on Wednesday. Ashley Morgan and I ran a successful brokerage firm, Morgan and Samuels, in Atlanta. We were in our mid-forties and we were lucky enough to have very lovely wives who took good care of us and we had good kids out of college. And best of all in this economy, those kids had jobs!

Ashley and I were were hunters -- duck and pheasant and often to Canada for deer and moose. Ashley had just returned from his first big-game hunt in Africa and the stories he told made me envious. Both of us had trophy rooms -- mine was over my three car garage and I was proud of my mounted displays.

"Bruce, you are gonna be envious of those horns," he said. He had described his successful hunt for Cape buffalo in Africa and I was planning mine. "They'll look great hanging on your wall."

"Yeah Ashley," I said. "I hope I can pull this thing off. I expect you to watch the shop while I'm gone."

"I'll watch it," he said as we picked up our glasses, said goodbye to the manager, and headed back to our table.

The girls looked embarrassed as they immediately stopped their whispering and welcomed us back to the table. Yeah I said to myself, they were talking about sex, that's for sure - I wonder who got fucked. I didn't find out till much later that the gal who got fucked wasn't just someone in the club; it was Ashley's wife Lois. And she got fucked big time by one handsome dude.

A whirlwind of activity surrounded us as the agent who had booked Ashley's trip made the arrangements for us and we purchased or borrowed all the necessary gear for the trip. Of course I had the proper large bore rife with telescopic sight, which was already hanging on the wall in my trophy room.

Delta had a direct flight to Johannesburg from Atlanta -- a long one, thirteen hours, but no plane changes. Our white hunter Frank Allen met us at the airport and deposited us in a good hotel to rest before we began our safari. It was only later that I learned his very interesting history.

Frank was in his mid-forties and was the illegitimate son of Frank M. "Bunny" Allen who was the white hunter that took Ernest Hemmingway on safari. Several of Hemmingway's short stories were based on those experiences, including "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber," which was the story of a Cape buffalo hunt.

In Hemmingway's story, as I remember it, the white hunter fucked his client's wife who then "accidently" shot her husband in the back of the head as he stood facing a charging Cape buffalo. Not an encouraging thing to think about starting out on safari even when Trish would not be carrying a rifle.

Frank's father, "Bunny" Allen, got his nickname from his skill at snaring rabbits. He was a technical advisor on the movie "The African Queen" and it was here that Bunny met a movie executive that he later took on safari. When the producer discovered that the white hunter had impregnated his wife he divorced her. Her son later chose to take his father's last name because his mother had given him his father's first name, Frank.

It was not until later that I learned that Frank Allen had inherited more from his father than his skill as a hunter. Like his father he considered it his responsibility to provide each client's wife with a bit of amusement in the evening while her husband slept soundly, exhausted from the exertions of the day's hunt.

After we rested a couple of days Frank flew us in a light plane to his first camp where we met his "number one boy" -- a Zulu named Shaka. The young man had chosen to call himself that because of his respect for the chief who had made the name famous.

We spent the night getting acquainted with our accommodations, all of which could be moved from one campsite to the next. We had a cook tent where we ate under an extended roof and a large sleeping tent divided by a canvas partition. Trish and I slept on one side and Frank on the other. Shaka and his "boys" slept in yet another tent. These were luxurious accommodations for a safari into the wilderness.

All of Shaka's boys were Zulu. Frank did not hire any members of the rival Xhsoa tribe. Shaka was only nineteen but he knew English and had a very responsible job and was well respected and well paid. He ran everything so Frank could be a good host and hunter.

We had a relaxing evening and early the next morning Frank took us for an exploration of our surroundings -- the "bush" as it was called. We were carrying rifles but this was not a hunt. Frank wanted to show Trish and me the beauty of the land he loved. His father had worked further north in Kenya but Frank had fallen in love with the south.

Midway through our hike, Shaka took me off to the side and led me through some trees where we could look out at a small herd of Cape buffalo, the first I had seen. If a grown man can giggle, this is what Shaka did as he grinned and pointed to a bull mounting a cow. The bull was humping and his huge testicles hung down low and swung back and forth as he shoved a monster cock deep into that cow.

I had seen bullfights in Spain where the bull was well endowed but these were the largest testicles I had ever seen. They seemed to amuse Shaka.

When we got back to camp one of the boys brought a large bowl of water for Trish to sponge off the sweat. Frank led me to a nearby lake where we stripped and soaked ourselves in the cool water. I was on the bank drying off when Frank walked out of the lake and picked up his towel. I was impressed with the size of his genitals and looking at his massive, low-hanging testicles I thought immediately of the balls on that bull buffalo.

Later when I heard the stories about him I remembered looking at his equipment that day and understood immediately what the ladies saw in him. He was in his forties but looked younger. He was tall and muscular with blond hair and copious chest hair. He was the kind of stud that some ladies fantasize looking up at as he satisfied their pelvic needs.

The first day of hunting was exhausting and we found no suitable game. I fell into bed after dinner and slept uninterrupted until after dawn. The second day's hunt was even more tiring but we were rewarded by me shooting a buffalo with impressive horns, although Frank assured me that we would get a bigger one before the hunt was over.

Like the previous evening I again fell into bed exhausted but something awoke me in the middle of the night. It was the familiar sound of my wife grunting as she worked for her orgasm. But she was not in bed with me. I got up and moved to the canvas separating the two sleeping rooms of the tent and carefully looked through a crack into the other room, lit by the light from an oil lamp.

Trish was on her back naked, eyes clinched tight, legs spread wide, feet bouncing high in the air. Frank was in the saddle pumping away furiously, his huge testicles slapping her in the ass. He was pounding her like a whore and she was grunting and humping eagerly for her orgasm that was just seconds away. Suddenly I watched her toes clinch, her ass lift up to him, and her whole body begin to tremble convulsively. Her animal grunts turned into high-pitched, rhythmic moans as sexual contractions racked her entire pelvis -- it was a violent long-lasting orgasm. When she finished her orgasm she collapsed helplessly and I saw Frank quicken his pace and powerfully pump a heavy load deep into the exhausted, sweating body of the woman I loved.

They lay embracing each other and breathing heavily. After a few minutes I saw the tent flap open and Shaka entered carrying a tray with two glasses of whisky. He had to have been watching them fuck to know when to bring them their drinks and on his lips was the same grin I had seen as he watched that bull fuck that cow.

Frank saw Shaka and rolled off of Trish. Trish moved her legs together, got up from bed, and casually walked, stark naked, across the room to where Shaka stood. I could tell his eyes were feasting on this lovely white body, 35C tits still firm after two kids, lovely legs, thick brunette beaver, and a big broad smile. It was the smile of a woman who had just been properly fucked.

"Thank you Shaka," she said softly. "Just what we needed."

She seemed undisturbed that she was standing buck naked in front of this black African who had quite obviously watched her fuck his boss. She took the two glasses and walked back to the bed where she handed one to Frank. Frank whispered in her ear and chuckled softly. Trish giggled. Then the two drank a toast. Their sex was obviously very pleasing to them both.

I went back to bed and waited for her to come back. After about ten minutes of whispered conversation punctuated by my wife's giggling, I heard them fucking again. They fucked and giggled playfully for the better part of an hour. Then I heard the sounds of serious fucking and I heard her orgasm and then his. I pretended to be asleep when Trish quietly entered the room and crawled softly into bed.

She snuggled her sweaty body up to me in one of our usual sleeping positions -- this time my back to her and her belly to me with her pussy on my thigh. Her beaver felt moist and sticky against my body. The hot leavings from that white hunter dripped slowly out of her onto my thigh. When we awoke the next morning my wife had a big smile on her face.

"Are you enjoying the safari?" I asked.

"Oh yes," she said. "This is the most fun I've ever had."

I hoped "ever" meant that this was the first time she'd spread her legs for a stud. I certainly had never had reason to suspect her of infidelity, although as I thought about my own record I suppose she had adequate grounds for it.

What to do, I asked myself? We had three more days in the African bush, which I suppose gave Frank Allen three more nights in my wife's bush. I love her and want to keep her, I thought. I don't want a fight. I don't want a crisis. Finally I decided: Let the bitch have her fun -- it was her first time and it was hardly a "cheap" affair. An eight thousand dollar a day safari simply could NEVER be considered cheap. Frank was working hard day AND night to earn what I paid him.

Frank was right about the horns. He saw that I got a fabulous set two days later. The irony of getting those big horns Frank had promised was lost on me till much later when the thought gave me a chuckle as I hung them on the wall of my trophy room. I had three more days in the African bush and I was careful to shoot just those animals that were right for me.

Of course Frank had three more nights in my wife's bush. I listened but only watched a couple of times. It was gratifying that I was neither angry nor sexually aroused by watching -- even when I watched her suck him off. I guess I'm normal, I thought. I wondered how it would feel to be turned on watching your wife get fucked. Instead of arousal I was happy that she was experiencing something that was new for her - at least I HOPED it was new.

We finished the hunt and spent a week in Jo-burg resting and making the necessary arrangements for those precious horns to be mounted and shipped. The trip back to Atlanta was routine and we rested in our own home for the first time in almost three weeks trying to adjust to the seven-hour time shift.

The second night home Trish fixed a good dinner -- one of my favorites -- and poured me a bit of extra whisky. Something was up I told myself. Was she about to confess?

She was. In a soft, apologetic voice she told me the whole story, which she called a "cheap sordid tale." Perhaps sordid I thought, but certainly not cheap. She began by saying that she had been "unfaithful" and could not explain why she had done it. Then she asked for my forgiveness.

"Have you been unfaithful before?" I asked.

"Not once in twenty-three years," she answered in a frank, unhesitating voice.

"Then I forgive you," I said. "Did Lois fuck that white hunter?"

She looked down at her lap, embarrassed. I remembered that night at the club when she and Lois whispered and giggled.

"Did she fuck him and tell you about it before we went? Is that why you wanted to hire the same white hunter?"

She closed her eyes, head still down, and nodded slowly. I think she was aghast at her own sexuality and embarrassed by what she had done.

I laughed. It was a genuine laugh and she looked up at me in surprise.

"Then you had yourself a real adventure," I said still laughing. "You planned an adventure worthy of a story by Ernest Hemmingway."

"You're really forgiving me?" Trish said. "You're not just putting me on?"

"I'm really forgiving you," I said, thinking maybe this would help if Trish ever discovered I was fucking her best friend Lois. That thought made me think about that familiar pussy which I had not enjoyed for almost a month.

Two afternoons later I was having my fun in that familiar saddle pounding that familiar pussy and listening to that familiar grunt. Lois's pussy was like an expensive safe. There was a combination needed to make it work. Ashley didn't have that combination so Lois needed me. She had needed me for twenty-two years! As I fucked her I carefully worked that combination while the horny bitch eagerly pumped her ass knowing she was gonna get her first big orgasm in a month.

Lois has a large clitoris, the size of my little finger. It gets as hard as a rock. But it is very sensitive when she first starts to fuck. Anything more than a gentle pressure causes discomfort. I have to put my pubic bone on her clit and hold it there gently giving her control as she humps softly. As she gets further along and her arousal increases she humps a little harder and then a little more until she starts working hard for her contractions and then she loses control, starts talking dirty, and screams to be pounded.

When she starts to beg is when I pound her like a whore and she loves it. It takes stamina. If you got nothing left when she needs it you're worthless to her. That's Ashley's problem. He pumps his load, wears himself out, and then just lies there helpless in the saddle with a soft dick when she screams to be pounded. It's frustrating as hell for her and for him too -- the poor bastard.

I did her like always and she had a fantastic orgasm -- her first in a month. We rested a few minutes, wordlessly, and then I fucked her again -- just an hour of pure animal sex. We lay there resting and then I asked her the question I had pondered since I got back.

"Did that white hunter figure out the combination to your pussy?"

"Trish told you I fucked him!"

"Yeah she told me. So he figured out how you liked to be fucked?"

"No. I had to teach him. But he was a fast learner," she said with a chuckle.

"Then why don't you teach Ashley?" I asked.

"Like I told you, I've tried but Ashley can't seem to learn," she said. "He starts the way I like but then he simply loses control and starts pounding me before I'm ready. He squirts and then he's got nothing left but a floppy dick when I need a hard one. He's a lousy fuck and we don't do it much any more."

"I guess that means you still need me," I said with a chuckle. "If a man can't ring his wife's bell he can't very well object if she fucks a guy who can."

"You're a crude bastard! Don't say it that way. My husband is a gentleman and he loves me, and yes he knows I need you."

Then Lois asked, "Did Trish tell you that she fucked the white hunter?"

"She confessed and asked for my forgiveness," I said.

"You are one lousy bastard! You been fuckin me for years! That was her first taste of strange stuff," Lois said accusingly. "And she feels guilty!"

We just lay there covered with sweat. I was casually playing with her very luscious tits and occasionally rubbing her belly and beaver.

"I like her to feel a little guilty," I said. "She's a better fuck when she feels guilty."

"You are reprehensible," Lois said. "Did Trish tell you about Shaka?"

"You mean him being there watching the white hunter fuck her and serving drinks afterward?"

"She told you about that?"

"I watched through a crack in the canvas partition," I said.

"Did the white hunter offer Trish dark meat?" Lois asked with a chuckle?

"Dark meat?" I asked.

"Shaka!" Lois said. "Frank asked me if I wanted some dark meat. Some gals like that I guess. They want to fuck a big black African. Hell! They're forty or forty-five -- maybe even older - and Shaka's nineteen and this is their last chance to do something they've dreamed about since they were teenagers."

"Jesus," I replied. "I didn't know about that and Trish didn't say anything."

"I gave it serious thought," she said. "New things can be exciting and I knew I'd never have another chance to try a big black one. He's got muscles and he's young. I watched him walk out of the lake naked one afternoon. I just stared. He smiled, stopped a few feet away, and let me look at him. Jesus his muscles! And that thing swinging between his legs has gotta be a foot long and it's uncircumcised!"

"That heavy hung kid could see it in my eyes," she continued. "I wanted to fuck! I was just another horny menopausal old bitch who'd tip him well if he serviced her. You saw that album."

"Album? You mean the one with pictures of Frank's previous hunts?" I said.

"Yeah that's the one. We both got a picture of us with the white hunter. In that album some of the pictures have Shaka in them as well. I think I know why he's is some pictures and not in others."

"You mean?" I was starting to understand what she meant.

"I mean Shaka earned extra money on SOME of those hunts makin a lifelong dream come true for a horny menopausal bitch -- and some young ones too."

"Shit!" I said, aghast. "There were European royals in some of those pictures."

"Yeah," Lois chuckled. "And that very lovely young princess everybody loves? Her picture was with her prince and the white hunter AND Shaka. And she had one of those happy grins on her face."

"You think maybe ...?" I asked.

"I think she fucked 'em both," Lois said with a laugh. "Maybe even let hubby watch. Jesus! I wanted to do that. I thought about it very seriously but finally I decided not to. I'm kinda sorry now that I didn't."

"Well I don' think my wife had a chance at that thing," I said.

"Did you enjoy watching your wife get fucked?" Lois asked after a pause.

"Not really," I replied. "I had to decide what to do and after I thought about it I decided to let her have her fun. It was her first infidelity."

"Self-confident bastard! How can you be so sure?"

"It WAS her first! She probably told you it was," I said.

Lois chuckled, "Yeah she did. You are one lucky bastard to have that lady for a wife. You're also lucky that you didn't get turned on watching."

"Turned on watching?"

"Yeah turned on watching. You know George Morton at the club? He likes to watch his wife Anne get fucked while he plays with his peter," Lois said with a giggle. "There's one in every crowd I guess."

Jesus, I thought. What if I was like that -- people in the club talking about me -- laughing at me - other guys fucking my wife. Shit! Well I guess I'm normal. Normal? I'm not even upset that a real stud of a white hunter fucked my wife? Shit! What IS normal anyway?

My mind was racing but all I said was, "Anne's a good looking lady."

"Well in case you find yourself in need you can think of Anne as available pussy. If you don't mind an audience that is."