Warnings: This story contains graphic language, interracial sex, and m/m and m/f/m sex.
Word Count: 12,732
Acquanetta Ferguson, Erotica & Romance Books Examiner, 4/5 Stars!
"As far as erotica tales go, this one, while short packed a powerful story of one man’s journey of learning who he truly is... Habu gets what erotica is all about and the story comes off as a powerful read. This one is definitely recommended to add to your list of erotic reads."
I was pulling quietly up to the cottage not long after the break of the next day. The landscape was magnificent in the early-morning light. I could see how Africa could get its talons in a person. I could understand why Alister had made the choice he had, especially now that I had seen his sons. This wouldn’t really be hurting Alister. This would be releasing Alister, which I now felt prepared to do as I was now released from him. He could merge into the kraal life of the Shona in Epworth. He’d be all right through the hard times to come. He’d be one of Rhodesia’s survivors. The sons of the House of Devon—regardless of never being accepted in England—would be enough for Alister here in Africa.
And this would be releasing Pamela, and her deep-seated guilt too. Or at least I told myself that’s what I would be doing for her.
All was quiet at the cottage. For some reason I had assumed that I’d hear Alister’s booming voice, his acid tongue at work, if he had returned already. I quietly mounted the stairs to the veranda. I stood, ready to knock at the door, but then I heard the moaning. My heart went dead, and it was on leaden feet that I pushed the screen door open and crossed the highly polished parquet floor and looked into the bedroom beyond.
They were stretched out in the middle of the massive stinkwood four-poster bed, covered in the brightest of white muslin. They were both naked. Pamela was lying on her back in the center of the bed, her knees wide, the heels of her feet planted on the bed, and rocking her pelvis up and down.
Penny, the young, muscular Shona house servant was crouched between Pamela’s knees, his hips pushing in and out in rapid motion, the muscles of his bulbous butt cheeks contracting and releasing, fucking her hard and deep. I was moved by the contrasting color of the merging and writhing bodies—and by the power and beauty of his gleaming, heavily muscled body—massive strength working her delicate, white body like a musical instrument. Overpowering, brute strength, taking her willowy, compliant body, even in the realization of the steel and resilience of her, meeting every thrust with a thrusting power of her own. Not a powerless taking, but a machine of contrasting parts working in brilliant concert.
Pamela was moaning and sighing as she’d never done for me or, last evening, for Gavin either. She was murmuring to him in that click-clacky language of the Shona. She was writhing under her Shona lover as she had never done for me. She was crying out in a voice of passion that I had never heard before.
I could not help myself. I crept closer rather than retreating. The vision of Pamela and Gavin fucking beyond the beaded curtain at the hotel bar—and the emotion of what I had wanted at that point—flooded me and kept me in the room—not just in the room, but creeping closer to the bed. What Alister had said, back in the rondavel, swam up from the depths. “Think of her as Pamela.” No pretense now. It was Pamela. Pamela and a young, muscular man at the height of his desirability. I wanted Pamela in a newly discovered shared coupling, but I didn’t want just Pamela. I wanted Penny too. And I wanted him fucking me like he was fucking Pamela. I knew I had wanted that the first time I saw him in his dance of polishing the bungalow floor.