Black Bottom Ch. 02

I have so far relayed five pygiaphiliac stories told me by my one-time lover, Alan: 'Pygiaphilia,' 'Semper Figura Chapters 1, 2, 3' and 'Black Bottom Ch. 01.' The last narrated his first sex with an African woman, who was supervising some of his charitable projects in her country. Here is the sequel.

1

The pattern was set. Azuka and Alan continued to tour his projects, checking progress and dealing with difficulties. When the journey between two sites was lengthy enough, she would order a stop, and he would be expected to provide sexual gratification, without himself aspiring to such. He laid out the tarpaulin, she removed her robe, he took off her knickers, he comprehensively caressed her, he lay down, she drew him into her vagina, he attended to her bosom and huge clitoris, she entered into a stratospheric orgasm, he sponged her down, he washed her knickers, they dressed and resumed the transit.

At the conclusion of their first congress, or, perhaps, her congress with him, she seemed to offer a hint that he might eventually be allowed to climax, but the routine went on for some weeks, and he suspected that her half-promise and continuing denial of release were part of her programme of revenge on a white man for the past colonial regime.

Between whiles she continued taciturn, breaking silence only to taunt him or give orders, though as time passed, her felt that her remarks had become less aggressive. Perhaps his acceptance and unquestioning obedience were mollifying her.

His own motivations were: He was prepared to do almost anything to ensure the success of his projects; he was fascinated by her behaviour; he was enthralled by the sex. Therefore, he was ready to continue the routine, accepting her dominance, whatever was involved, including the withholding of ejaculation. Maybe she was even testing him to the limit, to see if he would, out of frustration or resentment, through the medium of the intercourse, try to adopt the mastery his ancestry had assumed? But he was not to be goaded, verbally or physically. Partly because she was beautiful, powerfully erotic, and amazing in her capacity for extreme arousal and extended orgasms.

He was also determined not to attribute this capacity, or any other characteristic, to her being black African. He had had enough experience with white women to know that a woman's sexual responses and conduct are essentially individual, and should not be stereotyped. White women's breasts could expand as much, and more, their clitorises were not usually any smaller, or larger, than those of women with different pigmentation.

There were differences, other than those of skin tone. African and Hispanic bottoms tended to be larger and with different, though variable, conformations. But their owners' behaviour was culturally determined and their sexualities were their own. Azuka's attitudes and conduct certainly had cultural and political sources, but her striking sexual capacity did not particularly derive from her being African, and he must avoid mythologizing her into the 'primeval, uninhibited black nymph or goddess.' The strain was beginning to tell, however, by the third week of their association, and he began to hope that perhaps there would be respite the next week, when she would be, presumably, be menstruating. This may even have figured in her own calculations, for her tone changed.

'You are patient man, Mr Driverman.'

'You can't hurry schemes like these, Madam.'

'You not hurry black bottom, too, Mr Teamaker.'

'I do like the way you say "bottom," Madam. You make it sound more bottomy.'

'You laugh at my English, Mr Speakerman?'

'Not at all, Madam, I love your English. Especially your "bottoom," delicious. You do know there was a dance popular between the Wars called "the black bottom?" '

'You want to dance with my black bottom, Mr Dancerman?'

'Naturally, Madam.'

'You love my black bottom, Mr Patientman?'

'Indeed, Madam.'

'It is beautiful?'

'Oh, yes.'

'It is maybe strong for white man.'

'I'd happily risk that, Madam.'

Nothing more was said, and the same routine was followed that day. But the next day the atmosphere was different.

'You have wish, Mr Wantingman?'

'I do, Madam, and it is in your power to grant it.'

'Yes, I have power.'

She was thoughtful for a while. 'If I give wish I still have power.' Not a question.

'Of course, Madam. You are the minister's representative.'

'Power also after black bottom?'

'Naturally. All women have power to grant a man's wish. Or not.'

'But maybe give wish make power for man.'

'Only if he thinks it does, and tries to act that way.'

'What happen then, Mr Thinkman?'

'Then, Madam, the woman has power to say No.'

'She say no more bottom?'

'That's right, Madam. Or she says, only if the rules stay the same.'

He was entirely sincere, and his behaviour with me, and his many other stories, bore out his attitude. which was unusually enlightened in the post-war period.

2

The discussion gave Azuka to think for so long that they were at the next location before she had come to any conclusions about future interactions. But, after food, sleep, oversight of progress, and some distance of travel next day, she broke the silence.

'Stop now, Misterman.'

He drew to a halt on the rolling, apparently empty savannah, amidst long, dry grasses, and waited further instructions. But she said nothing, just got out and walked away a few paces to stand facing away. He got out and walked round to stand behind her, rather than obtrude himself on her vision. She heard or sensed his approach and stepped backwards into him. Instinctively he put his arms round her waist and pulled her closer. She laughed and pushed her bottom against his thighs, which seemed to constitute encouragement.

So he moved his hands up to hold her breasts. And she put her own over them and moved them up to the top of her robe, indicating with a little pressure and positioning what he might do next. The hint was obvious He was able to loosen and unfold the material, which fell away like a curtain, trapped between their bodies until he moved to release it. The garment fell into the grasses, and her knickerless bottom was a few inches away. A clear enough message, and, with a gulp of wonder and excitement, he laid his hands on those splendiferous haunches.

'Black bottoom for you, Mr Bottooman,' she said, guying her own pronunciation.

This time the caressing of the cheeks seemed to be as much for him as for her, perhaps more for him, though she swayed a little from the knees to add a little humour and increase his enjoyment. But he was not to try to turn her. All the action was to be with her back to him. Of course, he could, and wanted to, fondle her breasts, and, as they swelled, she said, 'My mommas make wet, Mr Mommaman.' Which he understood to mean that it was necessary to induce her vaginal secretions.

What joy it was to lodge his fingers in her sub-gluteal creases, to trace the cheek-curves down and under, into the scratchy, sweaty, labial folds, testing the vestibular readiness. Which she seemed to appreciate by tilting forward a little to enable access.

Suddenly, she slid her bottom down his still clad thighs and knelt into the crackling dry grass, bending forward onto her elbows, so that at last he was given the view he had dreamed about, crack open, pussy exposed, vulva lips slightly open. So, there was to be no tarpaulin, no lengthy homage, no accumulation of excitation to her orgasm. She said, 'Go in black tonga, Mr Pussyman.'

Quickly he ripped off his shirt, pushed down his shorts and pants and knelt behind her. Carefully he moved forward, offering his penis-tip to her slit, feeling for her entry. He found it, but could not easily proceed, since she was not very slippery, despite the bosomanipulation. She said, 'Strong, Mr Tongaman,' and, though he disliked the possibility of hurting her, he took her at her word and forced his way in. She helped by pushing hard back, and abruptly he slammed in all the way. How hot she was inside!

It was so wonderful to be held within her, obviously permitted to ejaculate, that he simply rested, hardly moving, for some time, his whole attention focused into his penis. But he was reluctant to pursue his enjoyment without her fuller participation, so reached forward round her body to hold, squeeze, her breasts again and gently pluck at her nipples.

She said, 'No wait, Mr Maninside. Give in tonga.' Which did not mean submit. But after so long holding back, so it would seem likely he would com at once, it was curiously difficult to let go. He even feared he might soften and drop out. She probably sensed this, for she said, 'I want now, Mr Pushyman.' And he was able to set up an in-out rhythm, which seemed to please her, for her vagina loosened and she flowed more readily. The excitement of that was the final spur, and, gasping and thrusting, lifting her up and clutching her bottom, he let loose a succession of sperm-gouts.

She emitted a little grunting laugh, and said, 'Good in black bottom, Mr Shootman?'

'Wonderful, Madam.'

'All things come to him who waits,' she said, giving him the first inkling that she might have been playing with him all the time. But no more was said, after he withdrew and pulled up his pants and shorts,, got out the tarpaulin, built a fire and boiled the kettle.

This time, of course, there were no knickers handy to sponge her with, but she extracted a wash-cloth from her bag, wiped herself, got out some clean knickers and resumed the robe, while he replenished the water and made tea.

As they drank she was darting little amused glances at him, as if there was a joke she was not sharing with him. Soon after they began driving again, she fell asleep, rocking back and forth with the motion of the wheels over the rough ground. The jeep's seats being more utilitarian than comfortable, he was anxious she would fall sideways or forward and hit her head on the dashboard or window. He, therefore, gathered her to him as best he could, though it entailed an uncomfortable sideways-leaning position and left him only one hand to steer.

As they slowed, approaching the next location, in the short dusk, she woke, lifted her face from his upper chest, and said, 'White men gentlemans, too, Mr Alanman' The first time she had used his name, and the utterance seemed odd, as she surely knew the plural of 'man.' She made no move to draw away from him until they were almost at the collection of huts, a village where a well was being bored.

3

The next day they were destined for the capital, she being due to report to his father and he needing to check the financial and supply situation. He was not expecting anything other than a long day's drive over the stony and baked-mud tracks which constituted the roads until near their destination. But when they stopped for a frugal lunch and tea, usually taken in the vehicle, she bade him lay out the tarpaulin, and joined him on it after he filled the kettle. She took him by the upper arms, looked into his face, and said, with almost no accent, 'Black is black and white is white, and never the twain shall mate, Mr Alan?'

'Ah, Madam, you've been fooling me all along. That's why you wanted to speak English, so you could play with me like that, pretending you didn't know it well.'

'The benefit of a missionary education. Plenty of poetry, including Mr Kipling.'

'You were testing me.'

'It was my job. What sort of a man are you, apparently here to help my country. Were you another white colonial, a fraudster, cashing in on our independence? I know your schemes are largely to enable women to develop themselves, do business, grow food, improve their health and educate their children. Did you want some payment in kind? Are you too good to be true?'

'What is your conclusion, Madam?'

'I will tell you in my office tomorrow.'

'And the twain did mate. Was that a test, too?'

'My mother taught me that is how you learn the truth about a man.'

'Well, that was the best set of tests I ever...sat. Did I pass?'

'Not yet. There is one more test, and it is not taken sitting. It is like this. First, the examiner prepares the candidate, like this.' She stripped him, including the boots. 'Then she prepares herself.' Off came the robe and the knickers. 'And it is a practical exam, which starts like this.' She drew him down beside her on the tarpaulin and took him in her arms. 'I see you are ready to begin, your pen is poised. Soon you will write, in white ink, in the pink, inside the black lines.'

She began to stroke him, looking into his eyes and smiling, and he naturally began to caress her, revelling in the sweep of his palm down her back onto the outcurving cheeks. She said, 'Now we are equal. I am not Madam, I am not black bottom. We are Azuka and Alan.'

Africans did not then kiss very much, so that the mashing together of their lips was an intimacy almost as great as that of intercourse itself. It also sealed their equality and added another stratum of feeling to the spectrum of their now mutual, tuned, arousal.

And this time, as her labia engorged and her breasts hardened, she drew him on top, parted her legs the widest extent, and urged him in. They shivered with the delight of his penis probing to find her entrance. They shuddered as he slotted home. They relished the adjustment of his entry-angle to rub her clitoris. Then they locked gazes and sought the rocking rhythm which kept him within but butted him up to and away from her cervix.

She said calmly, 'We are near the conclusion. You have used all the right formulae. Finish now!'

They speeded up, clutched each other ever tighter, and as ejaculated copiously, she clamped her legs about him, forcing him yet further in, and entered into her orgasm.

4

Alan was in many ways, as you may have gathered, quite an unusual man, especially when considered in his chronological context, and one of these was that it was especially the woman's orgasm which gladdened or satisfied him, or, rather, not the orgasm alone. For what he found most fulfilling was simply being inside a woman, relishing her warm, wet, welcoming vagina. His favourite position for maximum enjoyment was a variant on the scissoring lesbians make use of. He lay alongside me on his right side, turned towards me, with me on my back. I lifted my left leg to enable him to slide his left leg under my left leg and over my right leg. At the same time, naturally, he entered me and there we were, locked together and with hands and mouths available. For example, he pushed his right hand under my left buttock, gaining access to my crack, while his left hand sought my clitoris, and, or, roamed across and moulded my bosoms and twigged my nipples. He could even, if I moved a little, get his lips to my left one.

We could remain entwined in that style for hours, during which I might have three, five, seven orgasms, while he eased into and out of me, and experienced my vagina to the full. He usually ejaculated eventually, when satisfied I was satisfied, to gain relief and release, but his basic idea was that the penis was given to man, largely as a means of pleasure for a woman, apart from its reproductive function, and that it had evolved in order to savour, understand, rejoice in a vagina. He loved the caresses of the labia minora around the cock-shoulders and root. He loved the feel of the cervix against his tip or glans. Above all, he was transported into a special dimension of feeling and fulfilment by a woman's climax.

And that was the position that Alan ad Azuka adopted after her orgasm had crested and diminished. He guided her, until, without having withdrawn from her, he was alongside, with their legs interleaved. He had the idea that it was new to her, that possibly the position they had just used was new to her, or not usual. Whether or not, she welcomed that he had ready access to her big clitoris while also able to move within her, once his erection had re-hardened, and he devoted his attention to nuzzling and nursing at her nipple and wanking her clit as though it were a little cock.

'This is the optional extra exam,' she breathed into his ear, 'Which comes with bonus credits, and they are about to total a hundred percent - like this, oh, yes!' And he held her as she shook and bucked with the intensity of her ecstasy.

'You like my big black kinembe, Alan?' Using the Swahili for clitoris. 'You have seen a lot of it, all of it.'

'Magnificent, Azuka. But not all black.'

'Like the pale hands I loved - pink-tipped.'

'This is the woman who pretended to have only basic English, and she can quote "The Indian Love Lyrics".'

'There are African love lyrics, too, my dear Alan, and before you leave our country I'm hoping you may learn them.'

'Dear Azuka, I've been trying to pass the exam.'

'Alan, this must be our last dance of the black bottom. Though possibly not yours. I am already spoken for, and this is my final Savannah fling.'

'Does your fiancé know?'

'No-one will tell him, but he is a man of the world beyond Africa.'

'I wish you joy and happiness. He is a very lucky man.'

'Perhaps, before we part, there is one more scribble in your propelling pencil?'

Her wisdom was that a concluding vaginal convulsion might cover the disappointment she knew he felt that their revels now were ended. She tensed her pelvic floor and his already immersed erection perked up, and after a few thrutches she sensed his approaching ejaculation, and, as he spilled into her, she said, 'Maybe, tomorrow to fresh bottoms and pussies new.'

5

They reached the capital, the ministerial residence, then his hotel, late, but he was up betimes and in the reception area of the ministry the following morning, clad in tropical business suit, white shirt and sober tie. The receptionist waved to a seat while she summoned someone to show him up to the minister, or a representative.

A slim, elegant woman in a crisp white blouse and calf-length pencil skirt entered and said, 'Dr Azuka will see you now. Please follow me.' She turned and strode away on high-heels which rendered her several inches taller than him.

'She is Dr Azuka, then?'

'Over her shoulder the woman said, 'Oh, yes, a thesis at the London School of Economics. Your old school, yes?' She stopped at the foot of some stairs.

'She studied in England. Of course.'

'Oh, yes. Her title was "Unchained and Untrained: Possible Future Models for Economic Development in Sub-Saharan Africa". We are all very proud of her.' She briskly mounted the stairs, giving him a feeling of déja-vu, as he followed, studying her bottom, which, though less impressive than Dr Azuka's, was highly attractive. No wider than her slim hips it jutted backwards in what in profile would be a perfect semi-circle.

She opened the door of an office and ushered him in, herself going to sit at a desk in a corner. Behind a larger desk in front of the window commanding a view of the city, Azuka was seated, in a dark orange shirt, showing the outlines of an impressive bra, and a dark skirt like that of what was clearly her assistant.

She rose, came round the desk, offered her hand, bade him good morning and invited him to sit in the visitor's chair and read the file placed on it. This turned out to be her report on the projects the had been touring, complete with exact analyses of the costings of materials and labour and estimates of their future economic benefits, locally and nationally. Accounts at the banks which were handling the funds were quoted. He recalled that she had taken no notes at any of the locations, but had closely interviewed all the overseers. She had, then, absorbed all the facts and figures and remembered them. Her conclusion was a hearty endorsement of his work.

'The examiner's report,' she said with a smile hinting at a double meaning. ' As you see, we strongly encourage you to stay with us a while longer to continue the work. As you know, I cannot accompany you, but my assistant, Mrs Dzifa, will be with you. It will be valuable experience for her to get about and learn more of the country.'