Inês was a bit of an exhibitionist. She would often walk with bare legs in front of the plantation workers. The men admired the way she took care of never venturing to a spot near burrows where she might get bit by a cobra. They felt how Angolan she truly was in spite of her fair skin.
At sixteen years old, Inês loved to be seen in cock-teasing outfits. She loved to get attention from the plantation workers; she loved to feel their gaze on her.
They would often see her walking around her father’s white villa wearing only panties and her usual long-sleeve shirt, flaunting the graceful lines of her petite legs, barefoot as she plucked some flowers, in a bent-over position that she knew would get them checking her butt and lusting after her.
She never remained under the sun more than a few minutes at a time, but she went out at the same daily hours when there were many workers on the field.
Inês got a huge kick out of this. Feeling their collective gaze and lust did make her wet. After being seen in this minimalist apparel, she’d run to her bedroom and masturbate hard while running a fantasy where these Angolan grown men, most of them born from Bantu tribesmen, would grab her and finally have their way with her.
She got really high and experienced really strong orgasms when she did that. She did that often.
Her father would yell at her, get mad, etc., but she had a way with him. She would tenderly kiss him on the cheek while gently stroking his hair; she would let him get a whiff of scent from her long, dark hair. She knew her daddy had grown secretly attracted to her charms and she used this to her own advantage.
Whenever her stepmother tried to discipline her about not titillating the field workers and acting like a decent girl, she always replied, “You’re not my mother!”
Carlos de Medeiros, forty-eight years old, was born to a rich family of White Angolan plantation owners, and he was now filthy rich, according to Angolan standards, after successfully expanding his business domestically and his distribution network overseas. People as far as Canada and Sweden or Iceland sometimes drank coffee from grains harvested in his fields.
He lived in a large villa with his new wife, a young and beautiful Scottish woman he met in a large fair in London. He divorced his first wife to indulge in his love of youth and beauty. A rich man had such privileges after all. That new wife added glamour and gusto to the household. A former actress and singer, the thirty-two-year-old lady now ruled over the villa and estate as a colonial queen. She liked the local men, especially when they were far.
As a result of that remarriage, Inês no longer saw her mother more than once or twice a year when she visited her and her grandparents in Lisbon. Her mother tried to get her daughter to live with her in Portugal, feeling this was a better, and perhaps safer place to raise a teen girl, but Inês was born in Angola and felt this was her home. She would say that she was White Angolan and not Portuguese.
She also loved too much being gazed at by well-built black men and such men were a rarity in Portugal while they were all too common in the colony. She of course would never remotely think of dating a black boy. Such a thing was unthinkable. The law in Angola did not forbid miscegenation, but it was socially well-understood that miscegenation was meant for white men to marry black women and not the other way around.
Inês was born in a neutral country during the Second World War. She was born on 30th October 1942, the same week when General Rommel fought (and lost) at El Alamein. This fact fascinated the Portuguese-speaking girl, who learned German by herself using Assimil (after learning French so she could use Assimil).
She was a very bright girl, and one of the prettiest girls in her private college and at the local horseback riding club. In other words, she was a young member of the all-white aristocracy in these rural parts.
Being with a black boy was unthinkable for a white girl like Inês. There was no bigger taboo. And this was why it was so exciting to think about black men and black dicks when she played with herself in the shower or in bed.
There was a man who caught her eye. He was old enough to be her father. Her father and his other bosses called him Miguel. He was the foreman at the nearest field; Inês could even use binoculars to observe him from her own bedroom window!
Miguel stood proud and tall under the Angolan sun. He was a descendant of fierce tribal warriors of the Kongo nation. His true name was best spoken in Kikongo—in his family and among his close friends, everybody called him Samba.
Samba was tall, prodigiously strong, and massively built. He competed in Olympic weightlifting at the Helsinki Games, in 1952, at the tender age of thirty-eight years old. He weighed no less than 130 kilos; he was no match for the best heavyweight lifters in the world, but he nonetheless was able to clean and strict-press weights such as 120 or 125 kilos overhead, using only his gigantic arms and shoulders.
Inês observed him with her father’s binoculars from her bedroom, and she fantasized more and more about a taboo encounter with Samba. She went nuts whenever she masturbated and imagined that he was filling her up. Everything about him was big, strong, and masculine! He was her physical opposite—black and big while she was white and dainty.
On one occasion, she took a stroll and walked scandalously close to a group of workers, who all politely wished her a good day while looking at the fascinating whiteness of her uncovered legs.
Samba was among them. He gazed at her. As her green eyes met his African dark gaze, the colossus smiled a mile wide, as confidently as if he were a king. Inês blushed and looked down as she walked past them.
Her stepmother saw the scene from the villa. Inês went so close to them! No more than fifteen metres, perhaps ten metres! Her behaviour was scandalous!
The more she tried to discipline her, the more she seemed to rebel. Her father was too soft on her. She was the only daughter he ever had and he was indeed very fond of her. His two sons were serving in the military as officers. The elder was a transport pilot and the other was in the artillery. Inês now had all his attention at home.
This was part of the problem. Her elder brothers were gone and she was left alone in a large house, where she was not supposed to be friends with the black servants. At college, she was shy and wasn’t liked that much. Her fellow students thought she was snobbish.
Her father had given Inês a fancy dress from Paris for her birthday. It came complete with a set of elbow-high evening gloves and wrist-short day gloves, a wonderfully stylish round hat, and a pearl necklace jazzed up with black onyx beads. It became her wonderfully; the burgundy red really highlighted the rich subtleties of her pale complexion and emphasized the warm notes of brown in her dark hair, not to mention how it hugged her slender hourglass shape.
That dress made her look like a teenage beauty queen, all 1,57 metres of her! Truth be told, it did bring Inês closer to her stepmother, and the two of them spent wonderful moments together where the glamorous wife enthusiastically offered advice to her teen stepdaughter on how to properly wear a dress, when and how to wear gloves, how to walk and move about, etc. This was Elizabeth’s natural element.
Inês wore it for Christmas and was the teenage sensation in the select circle of executives and retired military officers that formed the gentry of this rural county. In spite of her newfound glamour, the boy she fancied preferred the humble daughter of a retired air-force colonel. She had quite a fit of rage when she got back from the ball and banquet.
She sulkily sat on her bedroom floor, alone in the middle of the night, listening to records on her turntable with the volume low. Caterina Valente was singing Ganz Paris träumt von der liebe.
Caterina Valente sounded glamorous and soothing. She sang of far-away Paris, and Inês wondered why she never seemed to fit in, whether it be in college or in society in general.
That day when she dared to walk so close to Samba—she had learned that the foreman preferred to go by that name—and hailed him and the other workers under the bright sun of Angola, she felt at home. These men respectfully saluted her back and she could tell that they would accept her without any hypocrisy.
Could she find acceptance with Black Angolans? Weren’t they the vast majority in the country where she was born? It was so, to the point where you only said, “Angolans” when speaking about them. You only specified and said, “White Angolans” to speak about that small, privileged minority.
Could she find love in the arms of an Angolan? She felt instinctively that she would melt in Samba’s arms, but it was taboo! Samba also had a son, who was twenty, perhaps twenty-two years old. Why couldn’t she marry such a tall, handsome boy? Samba was a widower; she learned this two months before. He lived alone with that son of his.
Inês could not or did not want to understand that her father, as the CEO and owner of one of the biggest companies in Angola, could not afford the scandal of having his own daughter involved in an intimate relationship with an Angolan. Everybody would think of his daughter as a catastrophic failure, to put it very kindly.
Inês had just been rejected by a white boy who thought himself too good for her! She wanted to get back at this society that was so exclusive and thought they were so much better than everyone else. She heard her father and his friends making all sorts of jokes about Germans, French, English, and especially the Spaniards as if the Portuguese were God’s gift to mankind!
Angolans were better. They knew where they lived. They knew who they were. They did not pretend they were somewhere else, like White Angolans who pretended that they still lived in Portugal. She was Angolan and proud of it. She too was a daughter of the bright sun and loved feeling the savannah grass under her bare feet.
Unlike other white girls, she wasn’t afraid of snakes. She knew what to do and what not to do in the presence of a dangerous one such as the forest cobra. She belonged in Angola. This was her home. Then, why not take an Angolan husband?
All she was doing was giving herself a plausible reason to taste the taboo that fascinated her so powerfully —the cock of an Angolan man… Samba’s cock!
Why not?
The night was still black outside. She quickly got out of her fancy dress and put on a simple skirt and her usual long-sleeve shirt, before putting on her saddle shoes without socks. Since the night was a bit fresh, she put on an emerald-green cashmere shawl that she knew matched her eyes. Then, she went downstairs.
Just like she thought, her father had thrown the keys to his car on the dining table while he was urgently undressing her stepmother. She could still hear them as she laughed at some jokes. She smiled; she was beginning to understand that her father was probably a very good lover. This reminded her that she was still a virgin.
She took the keys to her father’s 1954 Opel.
After very quietly leaving the white villa under dawn’s first grey, Inês stopped in front of the moss-green car; its two round headlights were like a pair of unlit eyes that looked at her above a wide mouth of steel-cold chrome. It felt as if the car had a life of its own and was asking her, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
She took a deep breath and opened the door. She sat behind the wheel and tried to remember Joseph’s driving lessons. Her father’s chauffeur had taught her how to drive over the last few months. He did not tell her father about this; she had thanked him by giving him a few blowjobs, fulfilling the man’s fantasies. She had also allowed him to suck her breasts. The man had refused to go as far as full-blown sex with his employer’s daughter. He was a gentleman.
Inês was now very curious to know what it would feel like to have an Angolan man sucking her breasts, or to have his full dick inside her mouth.
She took an even deeper breath and turned the ignition key. She pushed the clutch with her saddle-shoed foot and gracefully pulled the three-on-the-tree gearshift lever all the way back and up to put the car into reverse.
“Bloody hell! I forgot my gloves! It’s too late to get them back!” she sighed as she turned the car without turning on the headlights. Then, she put the lever down into first gear, and there she went on the trail. She soon turned on the headlights and pushed the lever all the way up into second gear, then all the way down into third gear. She was driving okay. The clutch play was easy! But she was very nervous. She drove with trembling hands.
There was no turning back.
Samba was half drunk with the remnants of his banana beer. He had gone asleep right there on the kitchen table, amid scattered playing cards and empty glasses and beside a full ashtray that was dangerously close to getting tossed to the yellowish-tiled floor. His son, Nganga, was sleeping in his own room.
There was a knock on the door. It was a quiet knock.
Who could that be?
Who had the nerve to disturb him on Christmas day?
Samba answered the door, wearing only boxers and a camisole; he would have taken the time to put his trousers back on and a shirt if he had known who was beyond that door, which he presently opened.
His jaw dropped in shock. Was it a ghost?! Was she the mummy of Nefertiti?
“Inês?!”
She stood there, silent and looking back at the tall, Herculean man towering above her; she was short enough to look a bit like some Girl Guide going door-to-door to sell chocolate, except she was now much too old for this. Her errand still had something to do with chocolate; it was simply of a more adult kind of flavour.
“Inês?!” the flabbergasted colossus blurted out, his mouth still wide open. Then, he looked all around to make sure no one saw her, and he added… “Quick, come right in!”
Inês walked inside and he closed—and carefully locked—the door. What was she doing here?!
Her green eyes under the dim entrance light partly answered his question. She was looking up at him as if she were on a desert island and he was the first man she saw in years.
They were alone together, both standing in heavy silence—the white girl, light and gracious, and the black man, tall and massive.
There was only one thing standing between them—the invisible wall. Inês was unable to move; she felt she was dripping wet, but she was barely able to breathe and took a step back to lean against the wall. Her eyes never left his.
Samba gazed at her, utterly fascinated by the white daintiness of her figure. She was so pretty! So young! He had seen her countless times when she was plucking flowers on the field and wearing only a light long-sleeve shirt and panties that left her legs and feet fully exposed, all the way to the white buns of her alluring butt, which was uniquely tight and juicy.
She was presently wearing that very same long-sleeve shirt. Its colonial white loudly proclaimed the social transgression Inês was committing by coming alone to Samba, who still could not believe that she was really there.
To make sure she was there, and to give himself a plausible excuse for breaking the invisible wall and do what he secretly desired to do, he took a step forward and noticed that she wasn’t trying to run. She was panting hard while he was sweating.
“Inês…” he whispered as he touched her hand. She was gazing up at him, so petite under his massive presence. She shyly looked down just like she did a few weeks prior when she walked so weirdly close to them and openly hailed them.
“Inês…” he repeated, his jaw still dropped and unable to properly welcome her under his roof. He took her hand and very gently kissed it like he had learned to do a long time ago, as a kid when he was a caddy on a white-owned golf club.
He suddenly became very shy as he still held her hand, which he loved to have in his own—her little hand disappeared in his field-strong hand. He had a raging boner as his gaze naturally fell on the gentle knolls of her breast shapes, quite visible through her colonial-white shirt.
He wanted her. This was undoable, unthinkable. Besides, she was so young…
Inês saw the bulge on the front of his boxers. She no longer felt her legs. How did she still manage to stand? Everything was spinning round around her! She knew he was aroused. Something strong held her back. It was so taboo—herself, sixteen years old and white, with him, black and well into his forties.
She suddenly thought of a basic equestrian principle. When you ride a horse to an upcoming fence, you need to fully commit to jumping that fence…
Before she realized what her own body was doing, Inês threw herself in Samba’s arms.
She kissed him, and kissed him again, then kissed him some more.
“Samba! I want you! Samba… I… think of you… all the time…” Inês said as she kissed the tall, massive former weightlifter, who was unable to grasp the enormity of what this white girl had just done. He ought to stop her and prevent what he knew must not happen, but his own raging erection wanted that girl! A white girl! Why not?
“Samba… Kiss me… There’s nothing in our country’s laws against this… Ooohh… Samba!”
As she kept kissing him, Inês lifted herself and wrapped her petite legs around Samba, giving him no other choice other than holding her butt.
Under her ever-renewed kisses, Samba was unable to think. He turned sexual. He felt the lovely firmness of her butt in his hands, through her navy-blue skirt and he thought of the girl who plucked flowers wearing only panties and that very same shirt. He was going to fuck her like he had dreamed of so many times!
Samba grunted and gently pressed Inês against the wall. He kissed her and learned what a white girl’s tongue feels like against his. He brushed his pouty lips against the delicateness of her own lips and felt her little nose against his own wide nose. It was like a wonderful dream wrapped in the unbelievable scent of her freshly-shampooed hair—Inês always used a girly shampoo.
That scented shampoo produced in Portugal obliterated whatever last-ditch barriers remained between them.
Inês yelped with unbridled delight as Samba pulled up her shirt and she raised her arms to help him remove it, then she completely melted in his gigantic arms as he kissed her breasts through her bra.
“Oh meu Deus! Oh meu Deus!” (Oh my God!) Inês yelped as she felt Samba’s thick lips on her sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of her chaste white bra.
“Oh meu Deus!” she shouted when he pushed her bra up and out of the way, forcing Inês’s small breasts to rise up and out, before bouncing back down and settling in their natural glory—two perky mounds with brownish nipples, inches from Samba’s wonder-filled eyes.
Inês went nuts as Samba completely engulfed her left breast inside his mouth and she felt his tongue twirl around her sensitive nipple while he cupped the other one in his dark brown hand. Her body strongly responded to his touch and the overwhelming strength of his musk. No white boy felt and smelled like this. He was so ungodly strong! She nearly fainted!
She ran her frantic fingers all over his woolly hair, where some white was to be seen among the black majority as he kept delightfully sucking her sensitive breasts. She began to moan as she felt her pale boobs swell under Samba’s tongue and hands.
She could not wrap her head around what was happening. Neither did Samba, even when he felt her nipple under his tongue while his hand got intimately acquainted with the dainty firmness of her other boob. It was unreal and marvellous!
He knew that his son was awake and probably peeking from the kitchen. He didn’t care. He felt how willing she was. She was clearly offering herself all the way. The pleasure of anticipation was perhaps just as intense as he knew the act itself was going to be. Was he going to fuck his boss’s daughter?!
“Take me, Samba! Take me right here! Right against the wall!” she begged him, as she half-licked, half-kissed his neck, and got utterly intoxicated with his musk.
Inês couldn’t believe she just said this. She felt Samba’s unbridled strength as he went under her skirt and urgently removed her panties.
Unable to resist the pleasure, he felt her patch of intimate hair and gently put his index finger inside her…
“Oh meu Deus! Oh meu Deus! Foda-me! Foda-me, Samba!” (Oh my God! Oh my God! Fuck me! Fuck me, Samba!)
Samba hesitated. What was he going to do? If he took her right now, he would not be able to fully taste her pussy after she got filled up with his seed.
He took his decision and went down on her as she still leant with her back against the wall. He undid her belt and she literally screamed out of sheer pleasure as she felt his gaze on her exposed cunt.
“Ohhh, Deus!” uttered Samba’s son as he watched from the kitchen door. He knew better than to disturb his father. Besides, his old man was feeling so lonely since the untimely passing of his wife. But good heavens! What was she doing here? He stopped asking himself silly questions and started masturbating as he looked at Inês’s jet-black triangle of cunt hair. She had a real Portuguese carpet!
Inês had felt unfathomable pleasure when Samba sucked her breasts. She now found no words to describe how her world got toppled and everything became blurry and whirling around her when Samba’s tongue began exploring her wet folds.
She could only moan, moan and moan louder and emit shrill notes of whimpering delight as his darting tongue made her feel the vastness of his experience as he tasted the yeasty flavours of her juicy pussy.
It was just like when she masturbated, except it was ten or twenty times the intensity. His tongue kept learning her intimate geography while his hands kept caressing the pure whiteness of her thighs while she kept running her gloveless hands all over the tropical wool of his hair.
She closed her eyes and begged Samba to please, please fuck her against the wall; she knew her climax was oncoming and she wanted to have it in his arms with his dick powerfully inside her. She was in the safest time of her month.
“Eu sou virgem, Samba… Eu sou virgem… Então foda-me contra a parede!” (I’m a virgin, Samba… I’m a virgin… So fuck me against the wall!)
As he heard the word “virgem” coming out of her mouth, with her repeated request to fuck her against the wall, Samba understood that foreplay was over.
He stood up and wanted to contemplate Inês in the nude one more time, but she kissed him and wrapped her legs and arms around him.
“Samba! Foda-me! Foda-me, Samba!”
Samba was more than strong enough to keep her light weight in his arms while he had her wrapped around him with her back against the wall.
He somehow managed to find her wet entrance, and he pushed inside! He groaned and strained as he became a prisoner and strained some more… And his raging erection suddenly slid and rammed all the way inside her!
“Arrhh! Inês! Inês! Ooaahhh…”
Samba began pounding Inês against that wall while cupping the fullness of her juicy butt as she remained tightly wrapped around her prisoner; she kept frantically kissing his neck, burning his skin with her moaning breath. What a hot girl she was!
Samba vented out all the pent-up desire he had been secretly harbouring for Inês. He powerfully fucked her and enjoyed the urgent contractions of her vagina, his face buried in the long, dark mass of her shampoo-scented hair while she never stopped her frantic kisses and whimpers.
Her mouth was wide open as she learned what it really felt like to be taken.
She suddenly bolted and filled the humble house with her Portuguese-accented moans of high-pitched bliss as she powerfully climaxed while he kept spearing her with unbridled urgency, grunting and panting and sweating like a pig from such an intense exertion.
His brawny arms were getting tired from holding Inês wrapped around him and against the wall while he kept savagely fucking her, his field-strong hands holding the wonderful whiteness of her butt!
“Mwana-nkento ya mpembe! Mwana-nkento ya mpembe!” Samba uttered as he passed his edge and braced himself for the all-powerful finale…” (Mwana-nkento ya mpembe = the white girl)
“Hnnrrrghh! Aahrrr… Mwana nkento ya mpembe!… Inês…”
Samba blissfully ejaculated deep inside Inês in powerful bolts of hot seed that left him breathless and exhausted.
Inês was barely able to stand while Samba looked at her with round, unbelieving eyes. The two of them were panting and looking at each other with blank disbelief.
She suddenly sensed that someone else was there. A second man took her in his arms. He was already kissing her and running his hands all over her before she had any idea of who that man was.
He had that same overwhelming musk as Samba, his face was of the same chocolate brown and his arms were strong to her—perhaps not quite as strong as Samba, but certainly stronger than the boys she had known before. Only her dad’s chauffeur could compare on the manliness scale.
“Nganga!” Samba shouted. “Nganga, stop this!” he repeated, becoming angry as he realized that his son had the nerve to go and just cut in and impose himself.
“It’s… It’s okay… It’s okay, I can take both of you!” Inês managed to blurt as she panted under the young man’s flurry of kisses.
He too had seen her plucking flowers in the field in that inviting bent-over position. Nganga kept tasting her mouth and feeling the peachy softness of her face as he kept kissing and caressing her face.
He took the naked girl to the kitchen. He knew what he was about to do; the girl plucking flowers was a vivid image in his mind.
“Sim! Sim! Sim!” (Yes! Yes! Yes!) Inês urgently hollered as Nganga bent her over the kitchen table, a small and cheap chrome-rimmed thing that already squeaked as he bent her over and the real play was not even begun.
Nganga dropped his boxers and ran his unbelieving hands—his Angolan field worker’s hands—around the contours of Inês’s silky-soft butt, his hands fully drinking her unreal, forbidden whiteness and feeling how her firmness gently yielded under his touch. He sensed the girl’s burning arousal through her skin—the butt of Inês! He had so intensely dreamed about it! Like the vast majority of the plantation workers.
She blissfully let the side of her face slide in the middle of the playing cards as Nganga began to fuck her. He was far too aroused to try to be creative. He grabbed her slim waist and furiously banged her on and against the squeaking table.
He took unspeakable delight in admiring the moving buns of her butt as she kept repeatedly colliding against him while he kept taking his pleasure and did his utmost to make it last. Before long, she let out a loud, high-pitched series of whimpers and moans and finally screamed, “Ooh, Sim! Sim!” as she came, her beautiful face ever sliding on the tabletop amid the playing cards next to an empty glass of beer. An ashtray fell down and spilled its contents on the floor. Nobody cared.
Her butt filled the kitchen with its surreal whiteness as Nganga savagely accelerated into a frantic pace, and the squeaking sounds from the table were now deafening, yet Inês was moaning perhaps even louder as Nganga finally exploded and pushed himself against her in order to connect deep inside her… He growled like a rutting gorilla and shot his thick ropes of Angolan cum inside Inês, beautiful Inês who experienced a wonderful after-climax as she received the pure savagery of his relief.
Samba had got hard again while he watched the no-holds-barred copulation between his son and his boss’s daughter. The utter impossibility of this new reality and the unspeakable taboo fed his second erection even more powerfully than Inês’s naked splendour.
As soon as his son had pulled out of Inês, he also banged her doggy style like a madman against the creaking and squeaking table, while she began moaning again.
Inês felt as if she was going to spend the rest of her life getting fucked by black men from behind as the side of her face kept sliding amid those dirty playing cards. She got introduced to these guys; there was a Jack of Clubs half covering a Nine of Diamonds close to a bunch of low cards.
In her aroused mind, as she kept receiving the father’s heavy, repeated strokes, Inês viewed the Jack of Clubs as a metaphor for Samba, and herself as that Nine of Diamonds—the white girl with the diamonds who had worn a glamorous dress on Christmas Eve, complete with white evening gloves that covered her entire forearms and elbows.
It was now the morning and she was getting fucked by coffee-plantation workers. Another card was nearby, the Eight of Spades, which was the son, and the bunch of low cards… Wouldn’t that be a bunch of other black men also waiting for the privilege to fuck her?
Inês let out a loud cry of bliss as she climaxed again after picturing herself amid a bunch of plantation workers and getting gang-fucked.
She was on a quick learning curve and started to use her breathing to spare her energy while Samba banged her with unbridled fury and she blissfully heard and felt him twitch inside her as he roared and uttered something that resembled an inarticulate war cry and he gleefully gave her his second load of Angolan cream.
Inês was a woman now. They had promoted her three times, just because.
“Do… Do you know some friends who can keep a secret?” she suddenly asked the panting father.
Before she had time to get her question answered by the father, the son grabbed and lifted her off her feet and laid her down on that rickety table that proved surprisingly sturdy.
Nganga was already hard again from watching his father fucking Inês doggy style. There was something beyond words in her butt that made him hornier than ever before. The mere concept of fucking a white girl, and a very pretty one at that, was enough to get his blood flooding his Angolan bamboo and turn him into an alpha gorilla with nothing else on his mind than mating. It was so intense that it was bordering on the spiritual.
The young man took her dainty ankles and propped her legs all the way up. She felt a wild rush of fascinated anticipation upon seeing how wicked hard he was. His crazy eyes were all eagerness and anticipation as he entered and began to fuck her.
“Aaarrhh!” he grunted as he enjoyed Inês with her petite legs propped all the way up and her lovely feet close to his face, where he could kiss and worship them. He loved her legs and feet. He never thought he would ever get to kiss and smell the feet of a white girl, let alone Inês.
Her salty, sweaty smell was filled with unspoken mysteries; the taboo factor made her feet taste and smell like heaven to him while he felt her vaginal tightness and heard the pleased surprise in her whimpers.
She just couldn’t believe their stamina! They were so intensely into her! The son displayed nothing but pure sexual brawn as he urgently fucked her on the table. She liked his kisses on her feet while he banged her; it was a nice touch that made her feel valued from head to toe, literally.
Samba had recovered. He held her arms and stooped down and while his son accelerated the pace, he began sucking her breasts and she once more had her fingers running through his woolly hair, then she was hit by a sudden orgasm from the breast play in addition to the vaginal thrashing she was getting, and Nganga knew what he was doing; he kept the brunt of his strokes nearer her entrance, where he had noticed she responded the most.
The kitchen was filled with her moans that mingled with Nganga’s increasingly loud grunts, while his father kept silently enjoying her boobs and the small tabs of her nipples under his tongue and hands; he kneaded the girly dough of her breasts and couldn’t get enough of the mysterious way they firmly yielded, and the unfathomable thrill to be holding the pleasure-swollen breasts of a white girl.
“Aaahhrrr! White girl! White girl!” Nganga hollered as he looked up to the ceiling and fully let himself go as he gave Inês another thick load of tropical stickiness.
They left her sweaty and unfathomably happy on the table. As she panted and slowly recovered her breathing, she paid close attention to how they behaved toward her, now that she had completely given herself and they had used her to their full content. This was the key moment when you saw a man’s true character. Her stepmother had told her this, on a day she felt particularly cheerful.
Samba gently took her hand and helped her to her feet, while he told his son to go fetch her clothes. Nganga brought her clothes back and she laughed when Samba said they would go to the living room if she wanted some privacy to get dressed again.
All three of them laughed and joked together as she helped them tidy up the kitchen and wash the dishes. She made them a café con leche while they cooked a hefty breakfast, mostly grilled bread with half-melt cheese, some ham, and many pieces of fruit.
“Merry Christmas!” Inês told her lovers, the father, and the son, and she kissed each man starting with the father. These were love kisses with her hands tenderly resting on her man’s shoulders. She felt overwhelmed just by touching their muscles and getting a whiff of their powerful musk. Angolan men were dynamite, to be handled with care.
“Merry Christmas, you too, Miss!” Samba replied as he kissed her back; he felt suddenly shy upon thinking of the full meaning and the enormity of what he just did with a girl not even half his age. It almost felt like he just had sex with his own daughter. He felt even more ashamed as he realized that he looked forward to bucking her again. Seeing her fully dressed again only made him hornier at the thought of undressing her again. Stripping that white girl naked was priceless; it was almost as thrilling and pleasurable as the sex itself.
“Merry Christmas, Inês! And welcome to our humble house!” Nganga said as he kissed her and took a whiff of her wonderful hair that felt and smelled like fresh spring—like the girl herself.
Once they had eaten and washed the dishes, Inês renewed her question to Samba…
“Do you have friends whom you can absolutely trust to keep a secret?”
Samba had two friends who had served in the military with him. He could rely on them with his very life.
Once he knew what she had in mind, Nganga didn’t mention any of his friends as he felt they would get jealous and would also disapprove of his father being intimate with Inês.
Samba picked up his phone, black with a round dial and a straight cable. His friends were both married, but when he told them that it was warlike stuff with a young lady and that it would really change their life, each one of them made up a story and found a reason to take his leave from his wife on Christmas day. They were allegedly going to play a round of golf with Samba and his son to commemorate something very important that happened back in 1933.
They both told the same bullshit story they had kept in store for such an occasion—their sergeant instructor was demonstrating how to throw a grenade. He was foolishly standing near a burrow in the field, and just as he unpinned the grenade, a cobra suddenly emerged and bit him just above his field boots and he dropped the grenade right at his feet. They hit the cobra with rifle butts while Samba took the grenade and threw it away just in time before it exploded far enough to be harmless.
The Sergeant recovered and always hated them ever after, for they had seen him in what felt to him like a most humiliating predicament.
Nature could get dangerous in Angola, especially when one got too cocky.
Inês took her father’s moss-green Opel and she drove her lovers to a spot they all knew for its quietness and remoteness. It had many tall and massive baobabs that cast gigantic shadows, but it could be dangerous; there could be elephants coming there for the fruits they loved. They were also home to beautiful birds.
They had brought rifles in case they ran into hyenas or other dangerous wildlife.
Samba’s friends soon showed up in a beat-up Ford pickup from 1948. The eleven-year-old black truck had seen better days, but it was reliable.
Inês wore a hat and felt the long grass under her saddle shoes. She enjoyed the bright sun and the heat on her as the warm breeze caressed her face. The dust settled down where the pickup truck just stopped nearby and two men emerged.
Filipe and Kiala politely introduced themselves to Inês, looking at her with contained fire in their eyes. They knew what they were there for.
Inês gently kissed them and very nervously told them that she was okay with all this and that it was her own idea.
Filipe had a practical mind. He gently touched her forearm, through the thin sleeve of her shirt, and told Inês that she would be better to keep that shirt on, at least for a while, as they did not want her to get sunburned; it would be such a pity to mar such wonderful skin as hers.
Kiala was also of Samba’s age, balding with greying temples, but he looked fit, while Filipe looked deceptively young with a thin frame and angular features; Filipe also had midnight-black skin that was clearly darker than the three other men’s chocolate brown.
Inês felt very thrilled and curious to take such a black man in her mouth. Her big fantasy was to take each of them inside her mouth and suck them dry, but first, as she had discussed with Samba and Nganga, she was going to fulfill their most intense outdoor fantasy.
She had to insist to get Samba to finally confess, in a shy voice, while his son was grinning, that he had always wanted to violently rip off her panties as she stood bent over on that green-yellow grass field so he could fill her up from behind.
For that very reason, Inês took a very deep breath and began undressing. She took off her saddle shoes. She then took off her dark skirt and set it down on the green-yellow grass like a towel. They were near a baobab that stood proud and tall with its massively thick trunk that reached a surprising height. The place looked safe with no elephants in sight. There were some zebras in the far distance.
Inês loved the setting and felt quite confident that the truck’s vibrations had scared any snakes away. They had looked carefully and there were no burrows nearby. Besides, snakes were heating under the sun and the hyenas were sleeping at this time of the day when the sun was getting close to the zenith.
The shadows were getting very short. She knew she could not remain under the sun for very long with her skin exposed.
The four Angolan men got really horny as they saw Inês without her skirt, wearing only her sky-blue panties. She took a bent-over position a few paces in front of them and smiled at Samba, who quickly grew a powerful erection—quite surprisingly after what he had already done—from contemplating her incredibly erotic legs and feet under the bright sun of Angola.
The sharp shadows intensified the softness of her girly lines; her legs were slender and still kept something of the little girl she used to be, but at sixteen years old, she was already a young woman. Her legs alluringly blended into the juiciest, whitest butt these men had ever seen in their life—it fascinated and aroused them beyond words.
Her butt was a mind-boggling cocktease that fuelled their wicked erections.
Samba was the first one to “tee off”.
Inês was now breathing very hard, her legs trembling with nervousness and anticipation as she heard and felt his footsteps and his mighty presence as he was drawing near until he stood right behind her.
She remained in that bent-over position and looked away toward the ground, pretending to pluck some grass as insects were heard under the calm breeze.
Inês felt the electricity from his hand and yelped at the excitement as Samba took hold of her panties and uttered an incredibly intense grunt as he ripped off her panties… “Rrrhh!”
There was a huge release of pent-up relief in that grunt; it said, “Now I got you, you little cocktease!”
At last!
At last!
Samba let out his primal joy as he grabbed Inês’s butt and forced a loud yelp out of her as he penetrated her with a sudden thrust…
“Arrhh!”
“Aaah!”
With his field-coarse hands, he let her vagina grip every fibre of him and began blissfully fucking her while he caressed the pristine-looking contours of her bottom as if he was making sure that all of this was really happening and that Inês was indeed bottom-naked in front of him and whimpering now that he was making himself at home inside her; sweet Inês!
His wildest fantasy unfolded in broad daylight in the form of unbridled grunts mixed with her loud whimpers. There are no words to describe how she was enjoying this.
Inês felt the wild rush of his hands as he now held her waist through her thin shirt while he kept dishing out her ultimate punishment, with each stroke shaking her world and flattening the curves of her butt.
The hot sun and the great outdoors magnified their primal delight. Samba held her waist and kept pounding her and grunting while she filled the air with her whimpers; she was literally exploding with bliss as she kept being fucked near the majestic baobab with her bare feet in the savannah grass.
Nganga and the two close friends looked with intense fascination at Inês’s butt, where Samba’s respectable size remained fully connected as he kept drilling her like a savage, untiring piston. The tall and thick baobab overlooking them took a more powerful meaning as the act progressed to its unavoidable conclusion.
She was about to come when Samba could no longer sustain the pressure and filled the remote place with the savage echoes of his bliss as he erupted with unrestrained joy and shot his throbbing bolts of seed, fully Africanizing the girl, who looked small and vulnerable against him as she received his final heat with a joy of her own.
Nganga took over and fucked her in the same doggy style, standing behind her while she still wore her long-sleeve shirt that wickedly intensified the erotic power of her butt while the young coffee-plantation worker kept flattening those buns as he repeatedly collided with her colonial whiteness.
He felt her wild vaginal contractions as she hit her climax and filled the place with her forced singing in high-pitched notes that thanked them all for being there.
Nganga was unable to withstand the tight pressure for long and he powerfully capitulated with another shout of victory, “The white girl! The white girl!” as thick bolts of semen left him.
Inês immensely enjoyed being gang-fucked in such a way. She too was fulfilling her wildest and most secret fantasy by letting these Angolan men have her under the bright sun, near that baobab.
As Filipe walked near her, he removed all his clothes and she looked at him with unadulterated fascination and deeply felt arousal. He was so dark! She had never been so close to a man with such midnight-black skin.
Filipe held her wrists and pulled back her straightened arms while he fucked her doggy style as well. The added leverage worked great for him, but not so much for her. Her legs and lower back were also really getting tired from keeping that same position.
Filipe was kind and understanding. He took the opportunity to caress her wonderful legs as she repositioned herself on all fours, on her spread-out skirt that was now acting as a towel.
The older man tenderly stroked her butt and her loins in a fatherly way, before he re-entered her. His fatherly kindness paid off and she whimpered while repeating his name. She kept looking back at him with a deep fascination for the midnight-blackness of his skin, so glossy under the sun.
She let out a series of loud moans, shortly before Filipe was forced into a vocal conclusion and had the unbelievable experience of shooting his Angolan cum deep inside that white teenage girl, something he never believed he would ever do.
Inês was now sweating and tired, yet she was very excited to learn what Kiala was going to feel like. Kiala had the most impressive size among the four men and by a long shot.
Inês’s jaw dropped as she saw the wicked branch that extended its curvy size and reached a surprising length from the massive balls of darkness at its base.
After seeing such massive artillery, Inês could only scream with wild excitement as Kiala entered her.
Like Filipe, he was kind and fatherly and was very gentle as he slowly pushed his huge size inside Inês, who felt a stretch that she never thought possible.
When he began to rhythmically pound her with his elephant’s-horn-shaped branch, Inês took deep breaths and let the powerful sensations radiate throughout her tight body with that immense cock acting as the epicentre.
“Aahh… aaah… aaah, aaah… Aaahh, sim! Sim! Sim! Sim… aaahh, sim!”
Inês was given the joy of yet another orgasm. She perhaps responded even more strongly from knowing that she was being fucked with such a huge thing, than from the sex itself.
It felt so delicious to be Africanized right down to her bones! She was proud to be Angolan.
Kiala opened his mouth wide and uttered a series of plaintive-sounding whimpers as he passed his edge and stared at Inês, her sleek black hair, her white shirt, and her teenage butt. Then, he uttered some sort of long, inarticulate growl as he spewed heavy bolts of semen that seemed to keep pulsating out of him for a lingering eternity.
He pulled his massive horn out of her and shot one final burst of Angolan cream that splattered the pure-white curves of her butt. The massive deposit glistened under the sun like slimy pearls of long-awaited fulfillment.
Inês loved the warmth of that semen on her. They truly and genuinely enjoyed her, and they were all so kind and respectful!
She rewarded them by taking off her shirt and flaunting her nubile breasts. She basked in their collective gaze and felt their joy of contemplation right down to her core.
In a kneeling position, the Eve-naked girl nodded at Samba and his son…
“I would… I would love to take all of you in my mouth. I hope you have some love left for me, don’t you?”
They had some left. It wasn’t a large amount and it required some energetic hand work from Inês in addition to the seal of her tender lips, but she did manage to extract all the seed that remained inside them.
Samba had the time of his life as he tenderly stroked her raven hair while she licked his dick before fully engulfing it in her mouth; she worked its full length while taking hold of it in her dainty hand like she had learned to do with her father’s chauffeur.
She added a wonderful twisting motion with her hand and Samba realized that Inês was a well-trained cock sucker as he felt the way her tongue kept circling around his cock, and she kept at it until he yelled out his echoing bliss and filled Inês’s mouth with a nice load of cum, which she swallowed before licking off the rest off his cock.
She left him with a perfect spit polish and disbelief in his eyes.
Inês then invited the three other men to encircle her kneeling figure, so perfectly graceful in the way she moved as she offered them her pretty face and the wonders of her dainty charms. She took Nganga in her mouth while massaging Filipe’s midnight-black dick.
She spent a long while working on Nganga using the same technique as she had done for his father. She kept using her other hand to massage Filipe as well. Finally, her efforts were rewarded.
Nganga pulled out of her and he growled like a rutting baboon as he showered her pretty face with his load. She opened her mouth wide and caught two nice dollops, which she swallowed.
Filipe was already far gone in his wicked erection when she began to suck him off, and she was so thrilled by his utter blackness! She bobbed her head back and forth and delightfully heard the older man grunting his guttural approval as he stroked her hair with fatherly affection.
She made sure that she pulled him out of her and looked at that black cock as a geyser of cum shot out of it and beautifully splattered the bridge of her nose and the soft daintiness of her left cheek, while Filipe growled his content and looked down at the scene with utter disbelief.
Then, she took care of Kiala and his enormous dick!
Inês held his chocolate-brown branch with both hands and explored its massive curviness as she began to lick his glans—massive and purple. She felt some sort of diffuse orgasm from simply holding that big thing in her hands while being overwhelmed by his intense musk and the sense of utter submission she experienced as a white girl alone with four Angolans in the great outdoors.
She eventually gave Kiala a vigorous massage while taking his dick throat-deep and gazing up at him, until he let out a tribal war cry and violently splattered his load all over her breasts. It was a respectable load that left three glistening pools on her milk mounds.
Filipe and Kiala drove to Samba’s house for a quick bite to eat. They had to head back to their wives and children for the Christmas feast. They would tell their wives they had a very enjoyable round of golf.
Inês remained with Samba and Nganga. They spent the afternoon cuddling and kissing. Samba and Nganga both took a tour of her wonderfully firm body, and she treated herself to a tour of both men when the three of them took a shower together.
Inês was in paradise as she explored the anatomy of the former Olympic weightlifter whose warm-brown nakedness towered above her graceful figure. She ended up giving a loving mouth job to his son until she relieved him of his ultimate drops and swallowed them with her black hair wet under the shower.
They both insisted that she came back to her father for Christmas.
Her father was more relieved than angry to see her back home and he played down the fact that she had taken a joyride using his own car. After all, he was planning to buy himself a Mercedes and she could keep that car for herself provided that she got her driver’s licence, which was easily done in Angola.
Elizabeth was furious and this time, she felt Inês had crossed the line. She made the mistake of forbidding her to go outside.
Inês of course disobeyed at the first opportunity.
She paid more visits to Samba and his son. She ended up being seen there and people began to talk.
Eventually, Inês decided to get engaged to Nganga. She would be his wife if he wanted her. If not, then she would marry Samba!
This time, her father Carlos was enraged. The scandal hit him hard. His company lost a huge share of business because people in Europe and America—especially America—would not do business with a man whose daughter mingled with local men.
Nganga greatly upset an Angolan girl when he proposed to Inês. Inês needed her father’s approval to get legally married since she was under eighteen years of age.
Her father thought it over. He was in a predicament where he had to choose between different bad options.
Using force to get Inês back home would stir hostility from his plantation workers, who loved Inês and were happy for their foreman’s son. Carlos needed them.
Refusing his consent to the marriage, as Elizabeth adamantly advocated, would cause an enormous, shattering scandal, as Inês would live with Nganga and Samba as a concubine, which was unacceptable and would mean even more loss of clients than the last option that remained.
Carlos consented and let Inês marry Nganga. It was a scandal and he became a laughing stock, but at least the situation was legal. He also found that he loved Inês and her happiness was more important than money.
He stepped on his pride and attended the wedding. None of his sons came. Elizabeth flew back to Scotland and filed for divorce.
After seeing him at the wedding, the plantation workers began worshipping Carlos. No CEO was loved and honoured by his employees as much as Carlos was. His company was now smaller, but it stood on such foundations as money could not buy. His employees loved him.
Carlos learned that Inês was loved and treated with great kindness in her new family, barring one or two jealous Angolan girls who had hoped to wed Nganga.
Now a bachelor again, Carlos took his time and eventually found himself a White Angolan wife. He married the eighteen-year-old daughter of one of his vice presidents. The girl turned out to be the wife he truly needed. People talked about their age gap, but they were happy together, much more than anyone could think.
Inês was in fact many things at once. She was a stepdaughter to Samba and a stepmother to Nganga. She was a wife to Nganga and also a wife to Samba, who never remarried.
Inês became a mother.
