South African Safari Sequel Ch. 05

South African Safari Sequel Ch 05

Paul and Ron Work on the Business Plan and?

This story is entirely original and fictional. South African Safari was published on Literotica several months ago. There were requests for more chapters after South Africa Safari. I continue to examine the adventures and regrets of Paul Goodfield, a neurotic survivor of abuse who alternates between one night stands and longer term more complex relationships. All characters engaged in sexual activity are over 18. No AI was used in the production of this story. © 2024, All rights reserved. Brunosden

(First person narrative of Paul Goodfields continues.)

The tour of the property took most of the day. The morning was spent inspecting the animal "pens"—really very large areas, somewhat distinct from each other, criss-crossed by dirt roads, with varying ecologies—savanna, lightly wooded areas, water holes, a meandering stream (which judging from the sandy shores flooded its banks for at least some months of the year creating marshy conditions), rocky outcroppings—essentially terrain very similar to the Kruger, but with some vegetation which was more obviously sub-tropical and in an area south and on the coast that clearly got more rain.

Each of the "eco-parks" was enclosed with what appeared to be expensive care: combinations of berms, stockades, barbed fencing, electro-wiring, sturdy double gates. Each held a small barn for equipment—and perhaps for food storage. Most of the structures seemed very old—and may have been laborer lodgings in a past era. But, unlike most of the Kruger, there were several newer viewing platforms—where tourists could relax and wait to see what might pass by.

There were few animals. One park contained several dozen albino wildebeests and a hundred or more black impalas—both rare sub-species. There were also zebras which looked fairly ordinary to me, but I was told the "markings" were rare, almost unique. Ron remarked that these were his first purchases—when another eco-park had ceased operations. These would ultimately be among the least valuable inhabitants.

One park was divided into a dozen pens with cheetahs—one of the rarest of African breeds where male sterility seemed to be dooming the species—without human help. This was an active breeding program and associated with the university in Durban, being operated under a grant from the local government and the World Wildlife Foundation.

There was a bird sanctuary where the trees were the tallest. Here was the largest viewing platform for bird enthusiasts. Ron would attract unusual birds to this area with food—as exotics were plentiful in and around Durban.

The parks were relatively different and isolated. A tourist could easily spend several days—or even a week—and not retrace game viewing experiences. And, of course, because of the fencing, not only was the game scarce, but it is pretty much guaranteed to be "on view-on demand."

While not so pure as the typical Safari experience (which really wasn't so pure anyway with game tracking and ranger walkie-talkies), I thought the concept would work—particularly with what I had learned was a new breed of tourist—an African middle class family with a desire to reconnect with its history. These families clearly could not afford the thousands of dollars per day that most of the camps charged. Camping without ranger assistance—and where firearms were forbidden except for licensed guides would be too much danger for the average family. Durban, a large city, was nearby—and short or even day experiences might be possible. Ron had been very clever in deciding that roughly half of the accommodations would be more primitive and self-catered—and thus affordable.

Throughout Ron was professional, knowledgeable, and careful. I think he realized that he had moved from seduction to marketing to an investor. (Of course, I knew there was a thin line separating the two.) It was pretty clear that Ron hadn't decided yet whether I was someone to be seduced to his bed and life. Or whether I was an investment advisor with potential to deliver capital and/or debt. I had the feeling he wanted both.

Lunch was alfresco and the picnic that Harriet had packed was terrific—but light as the occasion demanded. After we ate, Ron leaned back onto the safari blanket and pulled me on top. I didn't have to guess what he had in mind for dessert. I realized that South Africans (like Latinos) knew how to separate the business day from the "free time" for lunch and.....

It took only a few minutes. His hands were under my belt and squeezing my globes, massaging them apart, with fingers positioned to provide some fun. I could feel his rigid erection inside his safari shorts. I lifted up on my elbows and bent to take his mouth, and out tongues began to duel. I spread my legs into a frog and sat up. I had decided. "I'm going to ride Ron. Let me do this." So I unbuckled myself, then him. I stood and stripped as he lifted his ass from the blanket and pulled his shorts off. The sun had been warm during lunch and we had already removed our tees. I stood astride him and waved my dick at him. His tongue emerged as he licked his lips. So I settled down and fed my cock into his mouth. His hands came to my ass and pushed me deeper inside. I could feel the tongue stroking and I could feel the lips sucking. I bent forward to get more depth as his hands rose to massage my balls.

I was getting close, and he wanted to be inside, so I pulled back. As I did so, I realized how much wider he was than Breck: my thighs on either side of his waist were widely vee-d, such that my opening was already poised with his cockhead at the entry. I reached around and liberally lubed both of us as I rolled down his hood. When I touched the glans, he hissed, an animal-like sound of extraordinary pleasure. Then I began to descend, sliding his thick cock into my chute. My cock bounced a few times on his abs leaking precum. I felt him massage the love nerve bundle with his fat dick and soon he bottomed. I could feel his short wiry pubes on my balls. I started to pump my thighs, and he followed, rising on his haunches as I lifted. We got into a nice rhythm. I again dipped forward, but this time my goal was his nipples. I grabbed both between thumb and index finger and began to roll and twist. Ron swore—I think, in a language I didn't understand—but the expression was perfectly clear. My attention to his nipples was the combination of pleasure and pain—but I think mostly pain. So I released as my tongue came down to bathe and soothe them each in turn. He was going crazy. He bucked, grabbed my ass cheeks in a firm hold and inserted a finger to tighten the penetration of his cock.

That pushed me into a hard orgasm. I sprayed his chest and a few drops even reached his chin. The tongue came out and he sucked it in. Then as we reached the top of one of the upward exertions, he froze on stiffened thighs. I felt the pulse and the seed moving up his shaft. He was cuming. Big time. There were a few dry spasms. He was stoking and cocking the cannon. Then he began to pour out his cum. And he filled me once again with his stuff, deep and wide. His ass dropped to the ground and I fell on his chest, squirming in my own cum. His arms went around my back, holding me tight into his body, and his legs lifted and curled around my thighs, with equal pressure. I was plugged. I was on top, but there was no doubt where the power was.

We relaxed for awhile in the sun until finally Ron got up and soaked a cloth in a nearby watering trough and wiped us almost clean. We'd need a shower later for sure. We redressed, leaving off the shirts in the bright sun.

We visited the last space in the afternoon—a fairly desolate area, but reasonably close to the manor. Here the fencing seemed even stronger. "This is for the rhinos—the pinnacle of any breeding program—and it needs to be near the manor for easier protection for the inevitable poachers. This fence is electrified." He pointed to a few poles, "And it will be under video scrutiny 24/7. A single white rhino with an intact horn is the most valuable animal in the ranch."

Then it was back to the manor. On the way, I suggested to Ron that I needed a little time to organize my thoughts on the plan. So when we arrived, he showed me to the office. It was fully equipped, with desk and lap top, phones, stationery etc. "I've got a few errands to run. Shall we meet in the suite for shower and drinks in a few hours?"

I did manage to get quite a bit of work done although I was regularly distracted by his cum dripping from inside me—and the aroma of my own sex which had congealed on my chest. I wondered if Ron had deliberately postponed the shower, knowing that I "would be stewing in his juices" as I worked on the plan for his future.

The wi-fi was really fast and I used the opportunity to catch up. There were a few quick questions from Dad about investments that I had analyzed. And two emails from Breck—to one of which he had attached a photo of himself—nude and erect with just a few words, "Thinking of you. Waiting for you." I tried to call using an internet protocol that would permit imaging, but his laptop and cell were either engaged or turned off. The photo would need to hold me. I sent a brief txt, "Received. I hear you, no I see you, loud and clear. Look forward to seeing the flesh—oh, yes, THAT flesh, in a few days. Love, Paul." At first I was going to erase the last two words, but decided to send them anyway.

By shower time, I had gotten through the plan again—with the benefit of the knowledge of the manor, the tour, and Ron's commentary. I was convinced it could work. But it was going to be very risky—primarily because there would be three to five years of negative cash flow before there was any prospect of income. Long periods of negative cash flow might be acceptable in the tech world—where potential payoffs were measured in terms of multiples of the original investment—not in a situation where "normal" corporate hospitality returns would be expected in the future.

Ron was inexperienced in finance and hostelry. Both were critical needs of the venture. He would need to depend on third parties with whom he hadn't worked for years to gain confidence in them. Thus, he would be dependent on others for a critical part of his plan.

And perhaps the biggest risk: most of the investment would go into assets—building residences, purchasing animals, fortifying the camp. In the hotel context where a failure occurs, the banks can step in, re-concept and sell to another operator to recover most of their investment. Here, there was likely no secondary market; no "chain" operator of similar reserves. This was a nearly unique concept. So in the event of failure, the assets would have little value. Ron was going to need a deep-pocket partner that had as much enthusiasm for Africa and wild game breeding as he did.

And so I did some additional research and sent out a few emails to friends at eco-funds to seek their intelligence.

After a little while, Harriet came in with tea and biscuits. The look on her face told me everything. I was still bare-chested. And I was rank—and she knew it was mostly from sex. Male pheromones are pretty obvious. So she placed the tray on the table and left quickly. I'd have to ask Ron later how much she knew about his sexual preferences before I spilled any more secrets. Obviously, she knew there was only one bed in the owners' suite, and she hadn't been asked to make up any of the guest rooms upstairs.

After about three hours of intense work, I made my way back to the suite. Ron was just finishing outdoors and he had entered only a few minutes before. "Let's do that shower. We both really need it."

And so we used the large rain shower as we had the previous day—but today we really scrubbed. I was so ready when we dried, I pushed him over the edge of the old sofa and pressed my chest into his back, trailing my fully erect snake into his warm pink butt crevice. He reached his arms and legs out in surrender. Although I was just about his height, and certainly no twink, he was huge by comparison. His stance of surrender seemed ridiculous. His shoulders were nearly twice as wide. His waist was full. His ass and thighs were huge. Compared to me, he was a giant of a man. Nevertheless I reached around to hold him steady as I began penetration. His abs were softer than I remembered—particularly in this position with him bent forward. I remarked, "Too much bread and potatoes, stud." I felt him pull in his gut to harden his abs. He knew and might be a little ashamed.

"Maybe. But that big black mamba that's slithering around my ass seems to like the terrain." At that moment, I did indeed find the burrow and started to push in. The mamba reference was perfect: Africa's deadliest snake, long and thin with a nice big head. It really did describe my cock quite nicely. So I pushed harder, reached under to grab his shaft and cup his balls—perhaps the most effective way to express my dominance. He was still warm from the shower. He was hotter from what I was doing to him. I pushed in. Ron gasped, but his ass muscles seemed to be pulling me inside. I stroked several long ones, being sure to scrape the love bundle as he hissed. "God, I like it when you do me, man. Nobody feels like you do." I speeded up and reached the pinnacle.

"I'm cumin inside, Ron. I want to leave a souvenir of my visit." He twisted and looked back at me with a curious question.

"Visit?" he seemed to be asking. At that second I knew. Ron did not want this to be a visit. In the next few days, Ron was going to ask me to stay. He didn't need to say another word. And at that same second, I realized that I was not ready to answer, let alone accept such an invitation. What the fuck have I gotten myself into? Have I gone from Billy's clutches as his sub, to an equally constraining capture THAT I CHOSE by someone who desperately needs me? Oh, shit. Here I thought this was just a holiday and a little consulting.

Then he shot bigtime into my fist and squeezed his big muscular butt tightly to hold me inside. I was indeed trapped. But, it felt so good. I began to spasm, at first dry, then spurting cum deep into his gut, until it began to run down his inner thighs. I collapsed on his back and nipped his shoulder. Then I rose, slapped his ass, fairly hard, leaving a handprint.

Later I asked what Harriet knew. "She really doesn't know anything, but that is probably because she doesn't want to know—in case someone from the village might be asking. But, I'm pretty sure she knows. In fact, I had two guys here during my last break three months ago. She's a very clever woman—and a woman who has survived very difficult political times, managing to hold her family together. They are thriving—and she knows I'm the key to her future. So don't worry." (The comment that he had had two partners at the ranch was interesting.)

We had just slipped into shorts when Harriet entered with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. Had she been at the door? Ron poured us cocktails—remembering my fondness for Bombay, he had a bottle on the dry bar in his room.

"Let's talk a little about the business plan. Just the major assumptions and the outline. We'll leave the numbers and the financing aspects for a detailed discussion tomorrow. I'm a little tired to do the numbers. But, I do want to plant some ideas for you to think about before we get in to the details tomorrow."

"Everyone thinks that his idea is unique. But, we've learned over many years, that every new proposed venture can be analyzed as a three step effort. First, you need to design and produce something. Then you need to sell it. And all of this must be done by people who know how to do it and on a timetable where there is enough money to pay for it—and stay in business. Produce, market, finance."

"Your plan is really two plans: one involves breeding and selling rare animals; the second is the operation of a tourist attraction. You've blended the two—but they are two quite different businesses."

"Let's take the breeding program first. You need to create the production facilities—you and your Dad have done much of that. I'm assuming the ranch is ready to receive, breed and grow animals—your product. You will have to acquire stock, enhance the stock in size and numbers. Then you need to resell it at a profit. I see that you seem capable of acquiring the stock, and probably keeping it healthy and growing although you will need help to do so. I think this is the strongest part of the plan."

"Then you're going to need someone to market—and I don't think that is your best talent."

"And finally, you're going to need someone to keep the banks and investors happy—and track and report the numbers. Again, you are going to need help."

I could tell at this point that Ron understood what I was saying—and I immediately realized he was expecting me to take on the third role that I described. But, I didn't let him interrupt. I kept on.

"Then there is the second business: operating a bush resort hotel/resort. Once again it seems that you and your father have made a great start on the guest quarters separate from the manor—and you've already bought the commercial kitchen. Work needs to be done, but I have the feeling you could have that under control without much difficulty."

"But building a resort is very different from operating one—you'll need kitchen staff, dining staff, chamber staff, maintenance staff. I have the feeling that you think Harriet can handle that. But has she had any experience with running a first class hotel with demanding guests? Can she train all the staff?"

"I don't see any reference to marketing. I guess you've watched how the Kruger camps market—essentially they rely on third parties to recommend and book—and the government tourism authority to market. Maybe you can duplicate that pattern."

"I have an idea however. Is it possible that you could make a good contact and strike a deal with a high end beach resort in Durban—to offer split vacations, beach and bush. They could market—and presumably if they are already operating and getting good marks, they could expand to take over the hotel operations here—using Harriet as the local point person, perhaps GM. That of course would mean you'd have a hotel partner."

"And again, all of this takes financial expertise—raising the funds to stay afloat, keeping the books and reporting."

"Incidentally, the cheetah breeding program is a financial and operating distraction—no matter how good it might be for the country. It produces no income to the manor—although you are investing land. It takes some of your time, for which you are not compensated. Later it may be a tourist attraction, but for now, it is not something you should be concentrating on."

Throughout, Ron was sipping on his beer. He often wanted to interrupt, but didn't. And it was clear that the tasks ahead were far greater than he had anticipated. I stopped abruptly and drank deeply from the frosted crystal glass. "You're turn, Ron."

"I need time to think about a lot of this. But, there are a few things. I do think the ranch is ready to receive stock. And over the last three years I have made the contacts to obtain that stock at favorable or at least fair prices. We could stock the place in a few months with the right amount of capital."

"In two months, the dozen camps could be ready to accept tourist residents. The kitchen could be finished in the same period. The spa installation might take a little longer. Again it's a question of capital."

"I understand that although Harriet is good and loyal, she is not experienced. She has many contacts—but it is likely that all would require some level of training to be effective. She probably can't do that."

"The hotel link up idea is a good one. I've an idea that I'll detail for you tomorrow."