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The steamer cruised on down the muddy river, a chaotic green canopy dominating the banks on either side. The day was bright and humid, distinctly tropical. But on the top deck, a woman was seeking a light breeze to dull a different kind of heat that had seized her.
Having failed to catch George’s eye for any longer than a few minutes — he always had some ship’s matter to attend to, or another damsel-in-distress calling out hopefully for his assistance, their heads filled with images of his thick chest and handsome visage above them — Paula was feeling a mite frustrated. Her meagre garments had not done the trick, and if he had noticed her lack of a bra or underwear, the fact had not given him pause. It was as though he was impervious to any attempt at seduction, however brazen.
She and Emmanuelle had already seen how Natalia had dealt with her own intimate longing after she, too, had been left gasping by another typically oblivious exit from George. The crewman had been there, and she was already half naked; why not? But, rippling forearms or no, the smell of crude oil was no aphrodisiac to Paula’s constitution. She decided she would have to wait until they put in at Pointe Noire to gain her own satisfaction.
There was, of course, the possibility of Emmanuelle herself, who she knew to have lain down with other women. Her petite figure was soft and appealing in all the right places, and of the three of them, she was surely the most beautiful. But she was a friend, a travelling companion; a person with whom to share tales of sexual abandon, not to charm into bed. If an opportunity presented itself, though, might she act?
Paula sighed, her brow furrowed. She fiddled idly with her leopard print tube top, wishing it were on the floor of George’s cabin alongside her khaki shorts… The breeze wasn’t working. Using her binoculars, she scanned the portside shore for something to take her mind off its galloping track. A cluster of huts loomed a few hundred feet away, looking quaint and romantic to her European eyes.
Peering closer, she saw that most of the villagers appeared to be outside in a clearing between the huts. There was a lot of movement, and she thought she could hear music. A sense of curious daring entered her mind. She knew the tribes along this section of the river to be peaceful and tolerant of outsiders, so she didn’t see the harm in venturing across for a look. It would at least distract her for a time. She may even gain some energy from it, something to put back into claiming George for herself once she returned to the boat.
With her usual poise unbroken by this run of carnal thoughts, Paula descended from the upper deck and made her way to a steel dinghy rigged to port. She released it from its moorings and fired up the outboard motor, then guided it slowly in the direction of the activity ahead on the shore. She assumed it would be a brief visit, no more than an hour, so she carried only a small bag containing simple refreshments.
As the dinghy narrowed the distance to the village, the cadence of the music came into focus. It was a drumbeat, driving and strong, with an occasional vocal call over the top. She found it difficult to divide her focus from the steady, thumping rhythm and tuneful yells. Her heart, it seemed, began to beat in time with the deepest percussive vibrations. She became aware of the coursing of blood throughout her body, from the ceiling of her skull to the tips of her toes, all marked by that irresistible rise and fall of the music.
Having tied the dinghy to a wooden stake a few metres from the bank directly in front of the village, Paula waded ashore with the bag over her shoulder. She soon came upon a large circle of women dancing around a group of men. These men were the source of the music. Her eye was drawn to one in particular, whose bare bicep rippled with each thud of his stick against the drum between his legs.
It was at this point that she realised some of the women were topless, and some were completely naked. The men, meanwhile, sat or stood attentively around the dancers. All wore brief grass skirts and nothing else: a traditional tribal costume. A rivulet of sweat ran down the side of her face. She wondered if she had stumbled upon some intimate ceremony; indeed, she wondered if she had been unwise to come alone.
However, her arrival seemed to leave little mark upon proceedings; many çankaya escort of the men had noticed her arrive, but returned their gaze to the circle. At the very least, her presence would be tolerated, if not actively welcomed. She felt she should wait in the distance and observe the ceremony, just in case she was having some effect of which she was unaware. But the pulse of the beat was strong in her now, drawing her in. She could not help approaching to the very edge of the circle of dancers.
If she had felt aroused on the boat, by George’s casual smile and thick forearms, she felt positively tormented now. A throb spread across her skin and into her flesh. The folds of her vagina began to moisten. The beat drove on and on, through her capillaries and nerve endings, into her innermost self. She wished to dance, like the women in various states of undress before her. But their movements were practised, repetitive. Synchronised. Apart from fearing she might make too much of a spectacle of herself if she were to join them, she wanted to dance with more abandon; to gyrate and contort in tune with the intensity of her internal agitation. So she held herself together for as long as it took to walk on, past the circle, past the men watching, and into an uninhabited hut.
Paula swiftly surveyed the space. It was entirely empty; only a central wooden pole supporting the beams of the roof structure interrupted the plainness of the earthen floor. She glanced back towards the ceremony to confirm it was carrying on as before. She thought she saw one particularly appealing fellow turn his head back in the direction of the action, suggesting he had followed her with his gaze. But no man or woman had broken off to follow her. Satisfied she would be alone, she commenced her dance.
As her skin was so flushed with arousal, and with the heat in the hut almost as severe as that outside, she wrapped her hands around the wooden pole to steady herself and began to move against it. She flattened her breasts into it, sliding them up and down, then leaned back and ground her crotch along its length. Her legs bent and straightened, bent and straightened. Her shoulder-length hair bounced, greasy from exertion. The drumbeat continued to stimulate waves of lubrication from inside her and spread an insidious red flush across more of her body.
‘I am losing myself,’ thought Paula as she threw her head back and spun around the pole. But it was more a statement of fact than an expression of disquiet. She could feel the release she needed being inexorably wrung from her. And as her arousal rose and rose, it occurred to her that her body had never felt so inescapably good. A hand wandered from the pole to her breast, tweaking it through the fabric, then carried on to rub her ass. She remembered at this point her lack of bra or underwear, briefly regretted coming to this unfamiliar place without any, then cast that regret aside in favour of the increased stimulation of her chest and crotch as her clothes bunched helplessly against them.
Paula wanted to drop to the floor and stick half a hand into the depths of her now-flooded vagina. She wanted to pump frantically at her clitoris, assuage the fire, finish herself off. But the effect of the music was pervasive; it kept her on her feet, swaying and spinning. A thought took hold and quickly became all-consuming: she needed a man, and more specifically a penis, to give this music its proper due.
And just as this thought began to circle around and around in her head, reminiscent of the women orbiting the players outside, a man entered. It was the same man she thought she had seen look at her when she came into the hut. His body was tall and muscular, and she saw beads of sweat fly from his skin as he performed his own dance, hands high in the air, weight transferring from foot to foot. She gripped the pole tight, first in fear, then in lust. The air felt viscous with humidity. Sweat continued to pour down her.
Without thinking, she let go of the pole and, in one efficient movement, pulled the leopard-print top down and off her body, exposing her pert breasts. He watched as he continued to move, and she returned his gaze and held it as she recommenced her grinding and spinning about the pole. The man came closer, close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from his flesh, but though he moved all the way around her, escort çankaya he did not touch her. Frustrated now, she rubbed her bare chest up and down the pole, gaining only mild relief.
Paula turned so she could look at him better, leaning her back against the pole. His raised arms were thick from work, his torso toned and free of fat, his hopping legs well developed. And his face was calm, open, his large brown eyes fixed on her body. Quite a sight, especially in such circumstances.
The sensations at her centre could not wait for his touch, so Paula opened the buttons fastening her shorts and reached in. A split second of astonishment at the slick puffiness of her vulva gave way to satisfaction of an intensity she had barely known. With her shorts still snug against her hips, she rubbed up and down, smearing abundant juices over her proud clitoris. The beat thumped on, pounding through her body. She felt as if she were going to explode.
Throughout, she stared at her suitor. His forehead was damp, his lips slightly parted. His abdomen undulated in time with the music. Most eye-catching of all, the tip and first couple of inches of his erect penis had pushed the fibres of the grass skirt aside and were pointing out in front of him. It was dark and pointed, shiny from precum. Paula’s nipples did their best imitation, jutting out at him through the hot air. She wanted to gasp and fall upon it, take it into her mouth, see if it tasted as sweet as it looked. But the call to keep dancing was stronger.
The opening of her shorts wasn’t providing sufficient access, so she put her hands against them and slid them off her hips. A few wriggles of her legs sent them to her feet, leaving Paula naked at last. It wasn’t where she’d been expecting her clothes to wind up — the dirt floor of a tribal hut was about as different from George’s cabin as she could imagine — but it was a relief to know she would soon get the fucking she so badly needed.
The man still hadn’t touched her. To make it absolutely clear to him that she was ready, she kicked her clothes off to the side of the space. There was some satisfaction to be gained from ridding herself of them completely, getting them out from under her feet. When the man lowered his brief clothing to the floor, exposing the full length of his penis and sizeable testicles to her, she let out a loud giggle of excitement. That would soon be in her!
But not quite yet. As she continued rubbing the groove of her ass up and down the pole in time with the drumming, her hand busily maintaining a plateau of high arousal, the man danced still closer to her, not quite touching. His impressive penis came within inches of her skin. She longed to grasp it in her hand, pump it up and down, be sprayed all over by its ejaculation, but somehow she knew it was for him to make contact. He swayed near her, then away; near, then away. His teasing was maddeningly exquisite, filling her with yet more anticipation, if that were possible.
For some time, he had been looking down at her body, drinking in her proud breasts and open slit. Now, as he moved directly in front of her, he looked Paula in the eye and stopped dancing. She, too, was able to pause, though the music continued. Then he walked towards her.
The next few movements happened in a flash, almost automatically, despite their complexity. As he commenced his steps, she spread her legs a little and reached for a ceiling beam above her. Once braced, she lifted her left leg around him and pulled him against her by his thighs. Once before her, he gripped her ass in both hands, lifted her into the air, and dropped her down on the fullness of his manhood. They both gave a loud grunt of satisfaction at finally being joined. For Paula, it was as if her vagina had been preparing for this moment for eons, lubricating and expanding to allow him full entry at the first. The sensation of his penis inside her was like the sudden wearing off of anesthetic; if before she thought she was stimulated, it had been like numbness compared to this injection of fire.
Holding the beam with both hands, Paula bounced on the man’s penis as he held her tightly to him and sucked at her left nipple. His pelvis pistoned back and forth in sharp thrusts; not for him the slow and steady path to orgasm. Clearly the music had seized him, too. She was grateful for that, in whatever conscious çankaya escort bayan mind she was able to cling to. The feel of his thick flesh ramming into her over and over drove her mad with pleasure, and the sloppy workings of his tongue at her breast only amplified her bodily sensations.
She threw her head back in involuntary ecstasy. As he thrusted busily at her crotch, all thoughts of the yacht, of George, of safe European harbor were flushed away. This moment — this wanton, perspiring, beautifully agonizing moment — was all.
The man’s movements became automatic, almost robotic. A brief dissatisfaction crossed his face. He stopped, and with a firm hold of her buttocks, eased her down off the beam. With his penis embedded inside her, completely filling her vaginal cavity, he gripped her body tightly to his and carried over to the side of the hut. She clasped her arms around his back, confused but trusting.
In short order, the man had her off his penis and bent over in front of him, her shiny legs spread wide. Sweat and juices dripped from her crotch. Just as his absence began to distract her from her steadily building climax, he placed both hands into her buttocks and guided his length back into her. To feel her vaginal folds stretch and yield once more, to feel the pressure of his fullness massaging the mass of nerve endings behind her clitoris.. it was like a sharp jolt. Her arousal quickly began to rise once more.
The man removed one hand from her buttocks and leaned forward to mess with one of her breasts. His pubis banged repeatedly into her ass and his swinging testicles tapped at the lower reaches of her engorged vulva. Desperate to finally get herself off, Paula bounced backwards in rhythm and squeezed the muscles in her pelvis, trying to gain more purchase on his penis. His mouth dropped open and his eyes began to narrow. She squeezed her eyes shut as the moment approached.
Paula’s eye was distracted by a flash of movement outside. The music had continued, driving on and on, but as her eyes focused on that brightly lit scene, she saw that the circle of dancing women had disbanded. The women, now entirely disrobed, were instead performing a variety of other, more intimate dances with the remaining men. One was bent double and being busily penetrated from behind. One thrashed and moaned under a man lying on top of her. One’s large, pendulous breasts bounced up and down as she impaled herself on a man seated on a discarded shirt. One kneeled and alternated sucking a man’s penis with her mouth and rubbing it between her breasts, a trail of precum from her lips to her chest. The scene of orgiastic abandon cranked her arousal up another notch. She felt ready to let go at last.
Behind her, the man leaned back and held her ass tighter, fucking her harder. The ferocity of his thrusts pushed her up, up, up, and over the edge. As he banged into her, filling her vagina with sensation, she began to scream in delight, her entire crotch buffeting and spasming through waves of pleasure. Her orgasm was like a visitation from another world, a place of overpowering lust and bodies bathed in sexual fluid. It wracked her hot flesh from neck to toe. She couldn’t help continuing to yell out her pleasure, a series of long, intense exclamations to match the overwhelming sensations spreading shockwaves through her body.
A series of loud grunts came from behind her, and the man was home. He issued forth a blast of thick semen into her depths, then a couple more. It was a lot, more than she could recall anyone coming inside her before. The feel of his sperm rushing up her vagina prolonged and intensified her own climax. She absentmindedly congratulated herself on experiencing a simultaneous orgasm with a stranger.
Once he had emptied his balls into her, the man fell to the floor, spent. Paula collapsed beside him, his semen running out of her vagina, over her ass, and onto the earth below. There, half entwined, they both fell asleep, the heat of the day a blanket to keep them warm.
A short while later, Paula awoke. The music had stopped. The man was still asleep. Panic seized her — the boat was gone, she was stuck here — so she gathered up her bag and clothes and dashed naked out of the hut.
The other villagers were all asleep and covered with each other’s fluids. She stepped around them, the man’s ejaculation still moistening her inner thighs, and ran to the dinghy still moored by the bank. To her immense relief, the ship was anchored a short way up the river. She partially rinsed herself, donned her clothes, and began to guide the dinghy back to her friends, excited to tell Emmanuelle all about her experience in the village.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32