Menonthenet.com Gay Erotic Stories. Last updated Apr 23, 2014 - Home of 20072 erotic stories

Your Cookies are not enabled. You will not be able to register or login to your profile.

Zambian Men

By blackcocklover

submitted July 9, 2002

Categories: Black and Beautiful

Text Size:

He said his name was George. I was expecting a more Zambian name, forgetting that one unfortunate legacy of British rule on the indigenous Zambians was the habit of using European first names for their offspring. And he was a corporal, on his way home from army camp for a long weekend to spend with his wife and child.

Good looking, especially in his uniform, late twenties. He sat in the passenger seat as we drove towards Lusaka. It was going to take just over two hours, I expected. Nice to have the company of a black Zambian male filling the car with a man smell. Possibly even horny enough for some African action.

I would have time to find out.

So what were his interests? It seemed he spent most of his time in the Zambian Army playing football, that's soccer in this context. There were drills and exercises and so on, but he was on the camp football team, and there were frequent team practices and the regular matches against other camps and other teams.

He was due to finish his service in about 8 months’ time, and was really not sure what he was going to do then apart, of course, from going back home and living with his wife. He asked if I could help him visit his mother and sisters in Lusaka on the way, then he would take off again hitching south from the capital for another hour or so. Sure, I said, not exactly with any clear idea of how I was going to get to him and where, but glad of the chance of prolonging the opportunity.

He told me a bit about his wife. Then he started talking about religion and his Christian faith. My heart sank. Was this going to be a wasted journey? He asked if I had faith in what I wanted to do in life. You must have that, to guide you in what you want to do. He had had a revelation about the way to live and heard voices. I said very little in response to all this and it was very non-committal. I was daring enough, however, to suggest that the voices one hears might be because one wanted to hear them.

At around half way, he suggested we stop and get something to drink. We bought some soft drinks and a bite to eat at a wayside cafe and sat on some logs at the edge of the car park.

We chatted about various things and I gradually turned the conversation about life in camp. Were there any women there, and how did the guys manage for sex? There was only a small town and it was already 15 kilometres from the camp so there wasn't much opportunity.

`So do some of the guys do it with each other? That happens everywhere else I know like that.'

He grinned. `Yes, there are some that do. Men always want sex even when there no women.'

`Is it true that black men have bigger cocks than white men? What about the guys in the camp? Do you have some men from the Congo there? I've heard that they have big dicks.'

`Yes, there are some, but they seem to be the same size as us Zambians.' He looked at me straight. `Are you interested in black men's cocks?'

`Well, I wish mine was as big as some of the black guys I've seen,' I said.

We finished our snacks and got back in the car. He told me that when he took me to visit his sisters, there was a girl he wanted to look up. He wanted to have sex with her, before he went south. He said that he could also find one for me.

Apparently this was quite common -- he didn't have any hang ups about fucking with the local girls that he'd grown up with. So maybe all the talk earlier about faith and voices didn't stop him from having a good old horny, randy, fucking time when he felt like it.

My spirits rose. As we drove he turned the conversation back to the size of black men's dicks. There were ways he said to make your dick bigger. I said that I'd heard that the Shangaan had really big dicks (they're from just south of the Zimbabwe border with South Africa). Yes, he said he'd heard that too. But if I wanted to see really big dicks, then the Mozambicans from around Maputo were the biggest.

They hung weights on the end of their dicks to make them longer. I said I didn't think that would really work, but he assured me that it did. `I just wish mine was bigger,' I said. `I bet yours is bigger than mine!'

`It's quite big,' he said, `when it's hard.' He leaned back in his seat. The effect of talking about dicks and big ones was by now very visible. `It's getting hard now.’ The uniform was fairly tight, and the outline of his stiffening cock showed down his left leg. I looked at it. I stared at it. He watched me.

‘Do you want to feel it?'

I nodded. I reached over and stroked the hard length of it. It was stuck inside somehow in his underpants. He lifted himself off the seat and adjusted it so that I could get a good feel of it. After a few minutes, as I tried to drive and enjoy feeling him, I reached for the zip.

He stopped me, and unzipped himself and took it out of his uniform pants. It was muscled and firm, like a sportsman's dick should be. And big and long and solid. And black and beautiful.

He lay back and enjoyed my hand caressing his soldier manhood, his army glory, his football trophy.

‘Can we do something when we get to Lusaka?' I asked, `I would like to suck that for you and anything else you'd like to do.’

`I want to go and meet this girl,’ he said, as I rolled his magnificent man-meat in my loving hand.

`And if you can't find her, will you come with me? We can go to my hotel, and have a good time.'

He thought for a moment about that. I waited in suspense. Was he weighing my `good time' against the good time for a girl fuck in the township?

`Will you take me there to meet my mother and sisters, and wait? Then if I can't find her, I will come with you.' So, second best to a township easy lay -- was there a choice?

`Sure,’ I said.

He let me keep his beautiful black tool in my hand for the ten minutes or so until we start meeting people on the road outside Lusaka. Then he put it away back in his uniform pants, with some difficulty, and started talking about how it was growing up where he lived, and gradually his dick went down so you couldn't see it was hard.

I didn't want to wait for him with all my stuff, so we went to the hotel first and I dumped it in the room -- I'd only been away for the day. He waited in the car, and was listening to music on the radio when I got back to it. He directed me down to the poorer quarter of town. We drove past streets with pavement stalls, and queues of combi taxis.

Finally we took a wide unlit dirt road towards the township. A sharp left turn then about a mile of dirt road, and we were in an unlit street with single story houses on one side. He got out of the car and said, 'Come -- you must meet my mother. I will say you are one of the football coaches at the camp.'

Mother and one of the sisters came out of the house and we shook hands and exchanged trivial pleasantries. Then we got back in the car. By now it was getting dark. The family had disappeared back into the house. `Drive over there,’ he said, `and wait. I will go and look for the girl. And I will find one for you as well -- they are very cheap, and they are good to make love to.'

I parked and settled down to wait as he disappeared into the growing darkness. It was scary waiting on my own in an unlit car in an unknown area on an unlit street in a city I didn't know well, with shadowy figures passing by every few minutes. He was a long time.

By the time he got back I was very nervous, and would have been quite relieved for him to say he'd found the girl and we would part.

He got back in the car. `I couldn't find her or her friend,' he said, `let us go to the hotel. Maybe I will find them later.'

I drove back o the hotel, my spirits recovering slowly. Before we arrived at the hotel, I said we should at least split up to get to my room. There was no need, he said. He was a soldier of the Zambian Army, and nobody was going to ask any questions.

So he accompanied me totally unconcerned into the lift, and along the corridor to my room, past several hotel security people, one of whom I thought gave us a very funny look, but at last we were inside.

Together. Him and his beautiful black cock and footballer's body, and nowhere to go but to get pleasured. And me.

`Let us shower,' he said, `I am sweaty from the journey.'

He took his uniform off without ceremony or embarrassment, stripping down to his black nakedness swiftly before I had a chance to make anything of it. I undressed hastily to match his nakedness. His body was slim, muscled and wiry. His black skin gleamed in the bedside light. His cock was already starting to rise. I went to him and took it in my hands and started to fondle it.

`Come,' he said, and led the way to the bathroom. We got the shower ready, rubbing our bodies together as we turned the taps, adjusted the flow, got the heat right. My dick was so stiff it hurt.

His black cock was erect and throbbing in the bright light of the bathroom. We got into the shower, and started soaping each other's bodies. The white foam cascaded over his trim, muscular body, and firm black muscles creating a wondrous sensual slippery symphony of sexy soaping.

He soaped first under the warm jets, and I ran my hands all over his back, his front, lingering gently on his engorged shaft and lovingly opening up the crack between his high rounded buttocks. He let me run my finger towards his arse crack, and touch his secret spot. Before I could try entering him with my probing finger, he turned and started soaping me. I turned towards the taps. He stood behind me. I felt backwards for his dick and positioned it so that it almost probed my eager fuck-hole. He slipped it up instead between my arse cheeks and held me closer with his strong brown hands around my hips. He rubbed his swollen tool up between my buttocks. I felt the length and strength of him.

We cleaned off and got out of the bath. We tried drying each other, which was okay for a while. I loved the feeling of his young dark body under the towel. But obviously I wasn't reaching the remaining wet spots. He took over, and as he was drying himself, I dropped to my knees and took his hard cock into my mouth. He finished drying while I enjoyed the man taste of his throbbing tool.

Then he lifted me up off my knees. `Let's go to the bed,’ he said.

He lay on the bed on his side, so I joined him face to face. He felt for my dick and soon we were gently stroking each other's raging hard-ons. I wasn't sure how much to expect from him -- but it seemed he had no hang ups about pleasuring me. At least up to this point.

I tried to get my head down to his dick again, but he stopped me, and asked if I had the condom. I showed where I had set it ready at the side of the bed. I lay on my back, while he knelt in front, straddling over me. As I watched, he skillfully unwrapped the condom, and slipped it over the long length of his fuck pole. He applied some grease to it. Then he used his greased finger to rub around and into my arse hole. I don't know with whom he had done it before, but I guessed that I wasn't the first.

He lifted my legs and put them over his shoulders. I arched my back to raise my hole level with his waiting cock. I was open and ready and waiting. My arse hole twitched with the thought of his hard dick about to slip into me.

Long hard dick. Stiff black cock. Slippery solid man tool. Thick throbbing shaft.

`Shall I do it?’ he asked.

`Fuck me please.’ He lifted my legs with his hands. He moved his cock towards my hole and felt for the centre, keeping his hands on my legs. All by itself it found the entry spot. `Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me...'

The soldier's muscles on his stomach tightened as he slipped the head into my hole. In that position my muscles were tight so he had to force it into me, but so gently and with such skill.

Slowly he leaned forward, the weight of his beautiful naked black body thrusting his raging erection deeper and deeper into my fuck channel. I tried to relax and let him into me, and as I did he slid the remaining shaft up to the balls into my arse hole.

`Hold still a minute.’ My hole got used to the length of him inside me. He waited, watching my face. I nodded.

`Now I will fuck you very well,’ he said. I couldn't argue with that.

He moved unrelentingly into and out of my hot, abused hole. His muscles coordinated like the sportsman he was, thrusting his long thick dark brown man pole deep into me time and time again, using my butt for his pleasure. Then holding off and teasing the entrance with the swollen head of it, till I ached for him to shove it hard up me once more. He played my senses like an instrument -- of his lust and of mine.

`Now I fuck you like a woman. Do you like that?'

`I like it very much.’

He sustained the experience for us for nearly ten minutes: ten minutes of fuck-sliding, dick-thrusting, cock-squeezing arse hole filling ecstasy.

As he neared his climax he said, `Now I'm cumming very soon,’ but with a question in it. `Yes, please,' I gasped, the breath forced out of me by his regular athletic pounding of my defenseless fuck chute, `Cum inside me! Shoot your hot man spunk in me.'

His strong black torso glowed muscular in the shaded light, his face alight with the physical joy of imminent ejaculation, his control over my spread-eagled submissive naked body complete. I squeezed my arse hole muscles to stop him entering, knowing how it would feel to him. Excitedly he forced through them. The new tightness sent him finally into spasms of orgasm as his man spunk spurted, black sweating body over me, man muscle buried to the hilt inside me as his man seed shot strongly from his soldier's weapon, his real weapon, not the one the army gave him.

We lay for a while, him still inside resting his spent body on my chest. `That was good,’ he said, `I like to fuck you very much.'

He still lay. I wondered how much sexual appetite he would have left for later, if he went back to his home.

We cleaned up, and he said he was going back. I gave him some money -- enough to buy the girl that it seemed he still lusted after. At least he said he did.

`If you come to Lusaka again, here is my address,' he said, `and if you can bring me some football boots, size 9, I will be very grateful.' I took it and said I would write to him if I was coming again.

How could I refuse an offer to get militarily fucked by the Zambian Army one more time?


Table of contents


Legend

  • = Category Updated
  • Flash Video Play Button = Flash Play Button