Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

"It's interesting country here," Eddie said, as they drove along A104. He had been quiet, thinking about the last few days after they'd cleared Arusha and headed southwest toward the coffee plantation he'd bought sight unseen for a song. He wasn't a fool. The deal on the plantation had been an inducement for him to move to Tanzania and become the striker for the Dodoma national football association's Ruvu Stars. Amri obviously had been thrown in on the deal. Eddie was agonizing over whether Amri's cocking was so much better than Jimbo Walsh's had been in Washington, D.C., to make such a drastic move. "The lowlands here are scrub—what you call the Serengeti—grasslands," he said, turning his head to Amri, in the driver's seat of the Land Rover. "But conical volcanic hills and mountains pop up here and there and the vegetation is more tropical on their slopes. Exotic and unexpected in Africa."

"Unexpected for those who know little about Africa," Amri said. Then he added, "It makes for great coffee bean growing." He shifted the gears of the Land Rover into a higher speed on a straightaway. Few other vehicles were on the road. Those that were there tended to be headed in the other direction—en route to tours to Kilimanjaro, which rose, snow-covered, behind them. "The volcanic soil is perfect for coffee. You'll love the plantation you've bought."

"I suppose," Eddie said, looking out toward the small mountain that had appeared in the distance, the mountain next to Lake Manyara, the mountain on whose lower slopes he'd been told his plantation was located.

"Once you've seen the plantation, I don't think you'll ever want to live anywhere else again," Amri said, his baritone voice low, attempting to be soothing and convincing. "Have you given more thought to the football contract?"

"Yes, of course."

"And . . .?"

"I haven't made up my mind."

"I could move to the plantation," Amri said, and then when Eddie didn't react immediately to that. "If you wanted me to, of course." Still there was silence between them. "Is there something . . . am I not satisfying you?"

"Yes, of course you're satisfying me," Eddie said, turning his face to the passenger window again. He hadn't lied. Amri satisfied him. It was just that satisfaction didn't seem to be enough. "Are you turning here?" he asked, as the Land Rover slowed down and Amri engaged the turning signal.

That was so like Amri, Eddie thought. There's no one out here to see the signal or to care, but it's in his list of "things always to do," so he does it. How I wish he'd just loosen up—get dirty and forceful; make a sharp turn without signaling.

"Yes, from here," Amri said, breaking into Eddie's thoughts, "it's a straight run up into that small mountain, to your plantation. But there's a stream off to right up ahead and a picnic area where travelers stop for a rest. I had sandwiches and wine packed. I thought we'd break the journey there."

They lay on the blanket under a tree, by the stream. The empty wine bottle lay on its side by the blanket. They were shielded from view from the distant road up into the mountain by the Land Rover, parked next to them, the driver's door hanging open. The waxed paper from the consumed sandwiches rustled around in the breeze between the blanket and the stream.

Eddie emitted little gasps and grunts with each of the thrusts, deep, hard, into his inner, soft center. He was open wide, in total surrender, to the thrust of the cock. The wine had loosened him up. His arms embraced the broad chest of Amri, who was kneeling between Eddie's spread and bent legs. Amri was holding Eddie's torso off the blanket and pulled into his chest. As always, with Amri, it was a missionary fuck, with his knees pressed in under Eddie's buttocks, tilting Eddie's pelvis up to receive the long, thick, jet-black cock deep.

At least it wasn't on a bed.

Using the leverage of his feet placed flat on the blanket, Eddie was thrusting his pelvis up with each hard thrust deep inside him of Amri's cock. The two were concentrating on getting the best fuck out of this that they could. And it was a good fuck, quite a satisfactory fuck. And it had at least seemed spontaneous on Amri's part, although Eddie wasn't fooled. He knew that every step of it had been carefully planned. If anything, it had been too carefully planned, too well laid out. If anything, Amri was trying too hard. His assignment here was too obvious.

But it was a good fuck. Eddie tensed and blurted out, "Oh God, I'm going to come." And then he did so, up Amri's belly. Amri continued pumping him, though, as Eddie collapsed in his arms, all tension melting away from him. If anything, his core was going softer, more of his attention went to the muscles of his channel walls, which released, opened even more, the muscles shimmering and undulating over Amri's shaft as it dug deeper, increased in intensity. He was pistoning Eddie hard, his breathing belabored, mining Eddie's ass deep, with Eddie flopping around like a rag doll in his embrace, when Amri tensed and ejaculated.

That was good, very good, Eddie thought. What did he have to complain about? Why was he even thinking whether it was all he wanted out of a fuck?

They lay side by side, finishing off the second bottle of wine Amri had gone to the Land Rover to fetch—Amri looking so sexy and fetching as he moved to the Land Rover, his perfect butt twitching. Why would I want anything more? Eddie asked himself, as he enjoyed the view even more when Amri had retrieved the wine and turned to move back to the blanket, his jet-black meat swinging low as he walked.

The bottle half polished off, Amri turned his body to facing Eddie and reached for Eddie's cock. Eddie returned the favor, grasping Amri's balls and the root of his cock. Amri was hard again. Realizing that, Eddie started to go hard too. Amri lowered his face to Eddie's and they kissed. Amri propped his head up on his bent arm, his face hovering over Eddie's, and whispered, "I would miss you if you weren't here full time—playing for the Ruvu Stars. Please sign the contract to be here with me." He mumbled off into a more quiet whisper then with what could have been a declaration of love. This was a ploy just a bit too far. Eddie wasn't interested in commitment from another man, and he didn't, in the remotest possibility, think that Amri loved anyone but himself.

"I'm thinking about it," Eddie answered, forcing a smile. But the obvious ploy—Amri pushing his assignment, and the extreme to which he was pushing it—had spoiled the mood for Eddie. Except that Amri didn't leave it at that. He didn't give Eddie time to withdraw from the circumstance. He rolled over on top of Eddie's body, pushed his knees under Eddie's buttocks, gathered Eddie's torso to him, and thrust his cock up into Eddie's channel. Completely separate from any irritation or indecision—or shortage of satisfaction—Eddie was intellectually experiencing, his channel walls wanted Amri's cock again and spread open immediately to the invading cock.

"Yes, yes," Eddie murmured. "Fuck me." It would be a good fuck, as satisfying fuck. It wouldn't be a great fuck. But it was here, now, and Eddie wanted to be fucked.

Yet another missionary fuck.

* * * *

Eddie's excitement grew as the Land Rover started to ascend the mountain. Amri told him that all of the fields they were driving through were his and that they'd be at the plantation house in less than ten minutes. Then he called ahead on his cell phone to ask the overseer to assemble the workers for inspection.

"Elias Mkude is an excellent overseer," Amri said when he'd disconnected the cell phone call. "His father was British and his family has been in coffee growing back into the colonial period. I'm sure we'll want to keep him on."

We? Eddie thought. That was assuming so much. But he didn't say anything. He was much too excited at taking it all in. There weren't just fields of coffee beans; the plantation was growing bananas as well. And the vegetation was lush. The plantation house was coming into view, a rambling, one-story cottage surrounded on every side he could see by deep porches. It looked like it needed work, but it also looked perfect for the setting—exotic, Africa.

He spent so long eyeballing the house that the Land Rover was there, in the circular drive, surrounded with a riot of colorful flowers in the circle and also in beds lining the cottage porch, that his gaze didn't turn to the line of workers standing at the side of the drive until a tall, gangling, middle-aged man of obvious mixed African and Caucasian lineage opened the passenger door.

When he did turn to look at some twenty Africans, all but three men, and a dozen obviously muscular field workers, Eddie froze half in and half out of the Land Rover, in shock. The tallest, most muscular, blackest of the field workers was wearing Eddie's shirt, the brown T-shirt with the coffee bean motif and "Coffee, T, or Me" written across a bulging chest.

The man wearing the shirt—most certainly the forceful power fucker from the Club Hercules just three days previous—did a double take that matched his. As soon as they saw each other, the black bull stepped back from the line, but those next to him nudged him forward again. Following the overseer, Elias Mkude, after having been introduced to him by Amri, and with Amri following Eddie, the three walked down the line for introductions. First, the women, starting with the cook, the housecleaner, and the laundress, with Eddie immediately forgetting their names, trying his best, but unsuccessfully, not to look on down the line to the man wearing his T-shirt.

Then the houseman, Nadir Yodani, a thin, effeminate man, who was the "do everything" inside the house—to which Eddie thought, he won't be doing me, as he looked down the line again to pick out the man who had done him so completely. He barely gave his attention to being introduced to the gardener and driver, Himid and Khamis, both looking a little disconcerted and embarrassed. And then the field workers.

Standing in front of the man wearing the brown T-shirt, which was stretched tight over his bulging musculature, Eddie had to look up into his face. The man had to be at least six foot seven. Eddie was tall himself, but he was a dwarf in the presence of this man. "Joram Kiemba," the overseer said. "The field foreman. You want to know anything about how the coffee is grown or prepared for shipping, Joram is your man."

"Joram is my man," Eddie echoed. Yes, indeed, he had been Eddie's man.

Eddie couldn't gauge the look on Joram's face, and he wondered what his own face was giving away. Joram's face was hinting at entirely too many conflicting expressions. The man looked surprised, concerned, arrogant, and proud all at once. His handshake was strong—crushing—though. Arrogant won out. He might be sent packing, but he'd go proudly, knowing that when it had come to him and this new master of the plantation to lock horns, he'd come out on top.

The three moved on down the line. When Eddie looked back, Joram was gone. And from there, they moved into the house for an inspection of that. When they came out, the plantation workers were still there—except for Joram.

"Where is the field foreman?" Eddie asked. "I would like to begin by talking with him."

"Joram is not here," Nadir Yodani, the houseman spoke up. Was that somewhat of a knowing snicker on the man's face? Eddie wondered. He looked down the line of other workers. Yodani certainly wasn't there that night, in the truck, when he'd been gangbanged. But were some of these other workers? That was likely. Some did have looks of concern on their faces, but they probably would have for any new owner who showed up for the first time on the plantation.

"Where is he?" the overseer asked.

"He has gone back to his home," Yodani answered.

"And where is that?" Eddie cut in. "I wish to speak to him. Now. Tell me where he lives."

As Eddie was climbing into the driver's seat of the Land Rover, both Amri and the overseer were at the door, both saying that, if he really wanted to talk to Joram now, they would drive him there. But he said, no, he'd go alone—that Amri should go over the financial books with the overseer while he was gone—that Amri would have to be the one to exam them anyway. They continued to bring up other options, but he ignored them and threw up gravel as he backed the Land Rover up.

When he got to Joram's hut, which was off on its own in a grove of trees between a field of coffee plants and one of banana trees, Joram was in the doorway, leaning up against the frame, his arms crossing his chest. He had a superior, knowing look on his face, like he knew that Eddie would follow him to his hut.

Eddie climbed out of the Land Rover and the two stood there for a long moment, looking at each other. At last Joram broke the silence.

"You didn't tell me you were a plantation owner. The owner of this plantation."

"You didn't ask. I certainly couldn't have known it was the same plantation you worked on."

"If I had known—"

"I would have missed out on the best fuck of my life," Eddie said.

Joram relaxed a bit without losing his stance in the doorway of his hut. There was another long moment of silence, at the end of which Joram unbuckled his shorts, unzipped them, and let them fall to the threshold of his hut. He was in magnificent erection. "In the fields and in your house, you are the master—if you don't want me to find some other plantation to work on—but if you come into my hut, I am the master."

"I understand," Eddie said. He closed the Land Rover's door and took two steps toward the hut.

"Don't make any mistake. I am a cruel master, a punishing master. I will hurt you, but you will never feel more alive."

"I am coming into your hut."

After Joram pushed Eddie to his knees in the doorway and made Eddie give him head and take his cum in the throat, he hung Eddie from the center pole of his hut, Eddie's wrists tied from a beam running along the center of the ceiling, his feet barely touching the ground. Eddie cried out, "Fuck me, fuck me now," in a belabored cry while Joram whipped him with a multithonged leather hand whip and opened Eddie's passage with a four-finger, up-to-the-knuckles stretch with his hand. Still, when Joram turned Eddie's body around to face him, lifted Eddie's legs, and hooked Eddie's knees on his hips, his monster cock still caused Eddie to huff and puff and cry out at the taking as Joram entered him, thrust the cock up into Eddie's melting core, and pumped him hard to a mutual ejaculation.

Joram engaged his technique of stuffing it all in while it was still a chore to take it and then holding as his man adjusted—taking his submissive from almost insufferable pain to incredible pleasure. Both of them groaned and moaned, as, Joram in to the hilt and his cock still hardening, lengthening, and thickening, the two of them focused on Eddie's groaning opening and softening to it. Panting and whimpering, Eddie's core slowly accommodated the total possession of the cock, Eddie's channel widening, the muscles of his walls caressing and undulating over the cock, learning to turn a "No, I can't do this" into a "Yes, yes, yes." And then, just when Eddie's systems were convincing themselves they could survive this, Joram began to pump him. Not slowly, but pistoning him, cruelly, pounding his ass, bouncing him around, making Eddie cry out in pain and violation until he discovered that he could take it, that it was exactly what he wanted. Then the two of them settled down into a rhythm of wild, passionate, no-holds-barred dirty sex, leading to the most glorious ejaculation Eddie could possibly imagine.

Each and every time Joram fucked Eddie, it was new, taxing to the limit, and took Eddie higher than he'd ever been before. This was beyond "good," beyond "satisfying."

Learning that Joram used this hut for just such fucks, Eddie then found that restraints hung from one of the walls such that he was bound against the wall at both wrists and ankles, while his body jutted out from the wall and was pressed back into Joram's enveloping body and Joram thrust his cock up into Eddie's channel again and again and again, taking him hard and deep. Taking no prisoners. Fucking Eddie totally to a whimpering puddle of sighs.

Joram drove the Land Rover back to the house, but he stopped half way, reached over, and shed Eddie of his shorts, which was all that Eddie had yet put back on.

"I lied about you being the master of the fields. These are my fields. If I stay you'll only be master of the house. If you come into my fields, I'll fuck you like an animal. Scramble for that tree over there, if you can make it. On all fours," he growled, as he leaned over Eddie and opened the passenger door. When he came back into the driver's seat, his other hand lifted the hand whip. He stung Eddie across the chest with it and commanded, "Go, now. If you make it to that tree before I catch you, I won't beat you."

Eddie stumbled out of the Land Rover and started scrambling toward the designated tree on all fours.

"I lied about that too," Joram growled, as he jumped out of the vehicle and followed along behind and beside Eddie and struck at him repeatedly with the hand whip.

Eddie didn't make it to the tree. Joram came down on his back just short of the tree trunk, covered Eddie, on all fours, close, mounted him, and fucked him hard to another mutual ejaculation.

They lay there, in the dirt under the tree, panting hard. "Do you want me to pack my things and go?" Joram asked.

"No. I want you to stay."

"If I stay, it will always be like this."

"I want you to stay."

"I'm not giving back the T-shirt."

"You don't have to give back the T-shirt. But tell me something. The other men, that night . . ."

"Yes, Himid, Khamis, Agerey, and Shomari were among them. Will you send them away? They will say nothing if I tell them not to. They will not give you less respect if I tell them that is the way it will be. They will know I am your master, though."

"They can stay. And they can also . . ."

"Will you want them separately or together?"

"Surprise me. Always surprise me. Always be rough. Never be easy."

"You'll be . . ."

"Yes. I'll be staying here tonight. You can bring them to me one after the other tonight. Be sure you tell them that, in the bed, I am not master; they are—and that I don't want it to be easy."

Eddie was lying there, arms and legs akimbo, still panting, eyes glazed and a sloppy grin on his face.

Lying next to him, wearing the T-shirt and nothing else, his head propped up by an arm, Joram looked down into Eddie's face, a slight sneer on his lips.

"Who is your master?"

"You are my master," Eddie answered in a tired voice.

"Have you had enough for the afternoon?"

"You have completely exhausted me."

Joram pulled Eddie's body up from the dirt and fucked him again against the tree, Eddie's back sliding on the rough bark of the tree and his knees hooked on Joram's hips and holding on for dear life against the hard pistoning of his channel. He came with an exhausted whimper, realizing only there from the warm trickle of cum he felt dribbling down his thigh that Joram hadn't been wearing protection all this time. Right at that moment, Eddie didn't give a fuck about that.

Both Eddie and Joram were fully dressed when they returned to the plantation house. Joram was particularly proud to stick his chest out in his "Coffee, T, or Me" T-shirt.

"You found the field foreman," Amri said. "You were gone so long that we were going to come looking for you. It will be after dark before we get to Dodoma." He looked from Eddie to Joram and back. He was no dummy. He could tell they had been fucking around. He was just perplexed about how that had come about.

"Yes, I found him. You can go on to Dodoma. I'll be staying here tonight."

"You'll be staying here?" Amri said, "And you want me to go on to Dodoma?" He said it like it didn't compute.

"Yes. I've decided I will live here, on my plantation, full time. I'll remain in Tanzania. And I will play for Ruvu Stars. You can tell Mr. Haroub that he can send a contract to me here—you can bring it yourself; you can plan to spend the night when you come. I will sign the contract. I'll come to Dodoma later, in a few days. I want to settle in here first. You can tell Mr. Haroub you convinced me to move here and play for the Ruvu Stars—that it was your attentions that convinced me. I will welcome your attentions when you next come. But don't linger for now. I'm in the mood for discovering all that my plantation has to offer."

Joram accompanied Amri back to the Land Rover.

"So you—" Amri started to say.

"Yes, I did," Joram answered with a big grin. "Four times. Rough. He wants it rough. I figured that out the first time I fucked him." It was stated with pride. "He says my cock is much bigger than yours. And I suggest that when you come back you will be more forceful and will have learned something more than the missionary fuck. I don't mind sharing. If you do, I'll see to it that you never see him again. You play your cards right, and we'll do him together. I'll want some shares in the Ruvu Stars' franchise, of course. I knew who he was from the first night I fucked him, and I knew he wanted it rough. I follow football. I read the newspapers on what teams are trying to do—what star players they're trying to get. When I saw that the Ruvu Stars were after him, I researched where he was coming from and why he was looking for a change. I found out he likes it rough—you could have found that out too. I didn't realize he was buying this plantation too, but it worked well into my plans. It can work well into yours and your employers too if you let me handle this guy my way."