Chapter 3 – Chapter 3

I remained in seclusion for the rest of the afternoon and evening, not making an appearance when the rest of the safari group returned, voicing exclamations of the lions they'd seen on their drive into the park. It got very quiet, though, when Vandergrif told them Harvey had died, and they all went to their tents. No one disturbed me. Akashinga, the Zimbabwean servant who hadn't fucked me, brought my dinner to the tent.

I went to bed early, events of my life with Harvey going through my mind in a loop, with two burning points continually coming up—that Vandergrif was right that I was heavily sexed—randy for the fuck—and the question of what I did now. Could I just go back on the chorus line in New York, auditioning extensively for parts and scoring a show infrequently and one with a decent running time almost never? Had I become dependent on having a sugar daddy to sustain me in the comfort I'd learned to expect? How did I reconcile these two issues?

As I lay there, staring out of the open flap of the tent entrance, I realized that I was following a moving point of light with my eyes. I eventually identified it as the tip of Prabha Rao's cigarette. He wasn't in the hot tub. He was somewhere closer to the decking.

I rose, naked, from the bed and padded slowly out onto the deck. He was sitting in a lotus position, legs bent and crossed in front of him on a mat on the deck. He too was naked. He'd worn a loin cloth of some sort out onto the deck—a long length of material—but that lay next to him, coiled like a cobra.

"Rao," I said, coming closer.

"Brent," he said, in answer. "I have been waiting for you. We both know the comfort you seek."

We spoke no further for some time. We didn't need to speak. I came close beside him, and, swiveling his torso without changing his sitting position, he wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me to him, turned his face to my crotch, took my cock in his mouth, and sucked me to a hard erection.

Then, smoothly and easily, he turned my body into a challenging position of flexibility, upending me in front of him and facing away from him. My back was arched and my head turned down so that I could take his cock in my mouth. My legs were slung over his shoulders, and he buried his face between my buttocks cheeks and ate my ass out, preparing me for his cock.

As smoothly as he put me in that position, he reversed me so that my thighs rested on his and my legs were wrapped around his waist. My channel was skewered on his cock. I leaned back, supported at the small of my back by the length of his loin cloth material, fisted at either end in his hands, and he tightened and released his grip on the cloth rhythmically, pulling my channel up and down on his cock.

Eventually, also seemingly effortlessly, he stood up, supporting me in front of him in the same position and by the same means and finished the fuck. We went back into the facing sitting lotus position and kissed and nuzzled, knowing that we'd fuck again and that, as we did so, the positions would become more athletic and would progressively challenge my flexibility and his invention more. It was as if he was looking for some sort of edge of my capability. He was moving me from grief through lust to wantonness, and I went with him willingly.

I knew it would be both a challenge and a means for me to hold his interest to be able to accommodate him—if there was any hope of getting what I wanted from him.

"You are good, very good, always fresh and surprising," Rao murmured.

"So are you. I could be happy being taken to new, greater pleasures by you forever," I answered, carefully choosing my words.

"Have you ever been to India—to Mumbai?" he asked after a pause that told me that his mind was churning—that I had him on the edge of what I wanted.

"No, never. But I'd love to see India."

"Can you see yourself living in India—as a companion to me?"

Bingo!

"Yes, I think I could," I answered.

"You would not be the only one, I must admit," he whispered. "I have somewhat of a harem of young men at my disposal and in my house. But you intrigue me more than any other I have."

"It's a start," I answered. It was a beggars can't be choosers situation and I was a realist.

With a sigh he moved into a new position, standing, with my smaller body draped on the front of his, my knees gripping his hips, my fists clasped behind his neck, and his hand locked across my lower belly, as, while starting to move his reengorged cock inside my passage, my new provider took me—and himself—to new, greater heights of pleasure.