Tribal Fantasies

Suddenly Holly had lost all the apparent confidence. "What? Couldn't. No.........." she stumbled over her words.

Suddenly Jasmine, the quietest of the family, turned to her cousin Holly and whispered. "I've always wanted this......." She leant over and kissed Holly on the lips, pushing her tongue into Holly's mouth.

The other three stared fascinated, as little by little Holly began to respond. But Holly, the apparent confident one, was now allowing Jasmine to seduce her. We watched as Jasmine's hands explored Holly's body, caressing her breasts, squeezing her nipples, undoing her blouse, putting her hands in her bra. The more Jasmine did, the more Holly melted and allowed Jasmine do.

I spoke quietly to Jasmine. "Jasmine - strip her."

Jasmine pulled Holly to her feet and quickly removed her clothes, first her blouse, then her bra, allowing Holly's breasts fall free. Then removing her trousers, finally her panties. Jasmine quickly removed her own clothes - her dress, bra, panties. The two women stood naked before us, then Jasmine pulled Holly into her arms, kissed her again, began gently rubbing her body against her, their nipples rubbing each other hard. We watched as Jasmine's hand disappeared between Holly's legs, causing Holly To moan.

Within seconds Jasmine had Holly lying on her back on the floor, had knelt astride her in a 69, and begun kissing Holly's pussy. Holly began to moan gently at Jasmine's work.

I leant over and whispered to Holly "why don't you kiss her back?" Tentatively she reached out with her tongue, and began to caress Jasmine's pussy, then wrapped her arms around her and buried her mouth in Jasmine's pussy. The two were squirming, caressing, moaning, hotter and hotter..........

There is only one thing better than watching a woman orgasm and that's watching two women orgasm. Jasmine and Holly tensed, cried out, came together...............

I looked to Ruth - the only one who had not been pleasured. Ruth was eighteen, but looked much younger. She was very pretty, very sweet. "Honey - we ought to have Christmas dinner. But you will be my desert." Ruth nervously giggled.

Lunch was a fun meal - Valerie had excelled herself mixing traditional English food with African spices. The girls were lively, a bit bawdy, giggly. We ate, drank a little, relaxed. I sat on the sofa and invited Ruth to join me, to cuddle up to me. We just cuddled, with me occasionally cupping her breasts, or running my hand over her. Occasionally I would kiss her - she tasted and felt so young and girl-like, her body young and slender.

At last I lifted her in my arms and simply carried her to the bedroom, and lay her gently on the bed. I slowly removed her t-shirt, her bra, her jeans, her panties, till she lay there naked, beautiful, shy, embarrassed. I stripped off my clothes and lay next to her.

I took Ruth in my arms and softly kissed her, gently caressing her lips with mine, allowing my hands to slowly explore her body, caress her, squeeze her gently. She was clearly enjoying it, but too embarrassed to touch me back, so I gently and slowly made love to her. My hands caressed her breasts, squeezed her nipples, until at last I gently put my hands between her legs. Still going very softly I kissed her on her breasts, allowed my fingers to explore the lips of her pussy, before pushing a finger gently inside her.

For many minutes I kissed her as I allowed my finger to explore the inside of her pussy - she was clearly enjoying it as her pussy became moister and moister. At last I allowed my thumb to gently flick her clitoris, which caused her to hold me tightly and moan softly. For a few moments I played with her clit, her body responding, but then moved my thumb away again to continue to play with her pussy. I allowed a finger to play with her tiny rosehole further on while my finger stayed in her. For perhaps 15 minutes I played with her, occasionally allowing my thumb to caress her clit, but never allowing her to approach orgasm.

At last I moved my mouth to her pussy, removed my finger and replaced it with my tongue, again caressing her, sometimes playing with her clitoris, but again never letting her orgasm.

It was obvious she was getting more and more excited, more and more frustrated, more and more aroused, but I again lay beside her, putting my fingers back in her pussy, kissing her on the mouth.

For perhaps 45 minutes I kept her in a state of arousal sometimes with my tongue, sometimes with my fingers, never quite reaching orgasm, until I spoke softly to her: "Invite me in".

Her voice as quiet and coy, but she did not hesitate. "Please take me."

I rolled on top of her, put the tip of my cock to her pussy and pushed gently in. It was too much for her - she cried out, her body shook as it pushed her over the edge to her orgasm, she screaming out loud, holding me tight with arms and legs wrapped around me, long moments of arousal finding huge relief.

I waited until her orgasm had subsided then slowly began to slide my cock in and out of her. I spoke to her again. "I want you to watch the face of the man fucking you. I want you to be aware of my cock sliding in and out of you. I want you to know when I'm pumping my cum into you". As I spoke I slid in and out quicker and quicker, until I cried out, pumping my cum deep inside her, pumping and pumping until I felt I had emptied myself completely into her.

At last we slid apart. We dressed, we returned to the sitting room. We retuned to find Holly and Valerie naked in each other's arms, Jasmine and Sophie sitting together naked, looking exhausted.

The rest of the Christmas break was wonderful. They set up a bedroom so all of us could sleep on two mattresses on the floor, and I stayed beyond where we had agreed, making love to each of them in turn, watching them becoming more and more comfortable with each other, making love to each other.

It was on new years eve the letter arrived, and it was Valerie who told me of it's contents. She told me they were very sad, but very happy. The letter had come from the immigration authorities. Someone had told them that there were other people living at the house, which was not allowed in the rules. As such the authorities would moved them on the 2nd January to another city 200 miles away as part of their "dispersal programme". They had no choice.

I was heartbroken, but the ladies were happy. It was Valerie who explained: "Mr Bill, you can come with us if you want, but we are happy to be going there - we have family in that city. We have many uncles and aunts and cousins in that city. Many from our village live there. It might be bad, but it has worked out well for us."

I wanted to go. But I had a job. I had a house. Even if I moved it would be months away. I promised I would visit, and see whether it was possible, but would not follow immediately. The truth was I wanted to see whether there was more than just wonderful sex with these women. Whether I wanted to be with them for ever. Could this Christmas ever happen again? I would see how things went.

On the Monday the women hugged and kissed. At last Valerie spoke. "Mr Bill. Fe-handa. We want to thank you. The system had just made us into animals. But you have turned us back into women. We will give you all that we can." She handed me a carrier back, a bag which contained 5 pairs of panties of different sizes.

It was then the minibus appeared, and in minutes they were gone. My taxi arrived just as men arrived to board up the house. I returned for the first time to my house since Christmas Eve.

Over the next couple of months life began to return to normal. Work was fine. Some people in the street began to acknowledge my existence, but it was time to put the house on the market and move. It wasn't hard to sell the house for a good price - commuter world is a good place to own a house, and by May I was moving into a new home a few miles away, in a much more multi-cultural area - my "contact" with five black women had taught me how good it was to live in a mixed culture. My memories of the Christmas period were wonderful, and the bag of panties I treasured but kept at the bottom of the wardrobe. I kept in touch with the five women, and it was great to hear that they got their residence, and had begun to study and make new lives for themselves, Valerie and Jasmine already having met men to be prospective husbands. I knew I might meet them again, but also knew that we would never be able to re-create that Christmas. Yes, I was Fe-handa, but the atmosphere would not happen again - I was what they needed, they were what I needed at that moment, and that moment had impelled us into the rest of our lives, positive lives.

I read and studied as much as I could the code of the Fe-handa, the code of honour, and vowed I would always keep to that code. Respect and honour to all people, respect and honour shown most truly in the manner of sexual union. There was little more to find, and by the end of March I was losing the memory of Fe-handa as life moved on.

It was towards the end of May as I settled into my new home, as the weather turned warmer, that I went into a local pizza parlour, that I noticed her. The waitress. The black girl was perhaps in her mid-twenties, but her face was full of sadness. She was polite, but there was no spark in her eyes. But I noticed on her forearm the tattoo. The same tattoo that Valerie and the others had. I wasn't sure how to react - I didn't. I paid and left.

I went to the pizza restaurant twice more, and the same girl was there working as a waitress, the same dull eyes, the same sadness, but by the way she treated customers there was a glimmer of the real woman underneath the sorrow. And there was no question - potentially she could be a beautiful women - tall, slim, attractive, but a beauty marred by her inability to smile from her sorrow.

As I left the café the third time I handed her my letter and said she had to read it. I said to her - she might want to see this, and showed her the necklace I had been given. She gasped, and I could feel her eyes boring into me as I left the café.

Next morning, as I had invited her, I heard a knock on the door at 9.00am. I opened the door to see the same woman, the waitress from the café, her face still looking solemn and downcast. I invited her in and sat her on the armchair, gave her coffee. Her air had something about it - perhaps a hint of defiance.

"Well," she said, as soon as she had drunk her coffee. "Aren't you going to take me to the bedroom?" a hint of bitterness in her voice.

I paused for a moment. "Not today. Maybe never................."

"But you are Fe-handa, the white Fe-handa, that's what you do, isn't it?"

I smiled. "No - we honour ladies, we do not use them". Again I paused. "I want to know you first. Your story. Perhaps you could start by telling me your name."

The girl was called Margaret. It was a long story, a remarkable one, taking the rest of the morning to hear. She was an asylum seeker, working illegally. She was a widow - her husband had been killed. Remarkably Margaret was a doctor, but couldn't practice. Margaret lived in a small flat, sharing a room with two other girls, sleeping on a mattress on the floor. Sixteen of them shared one toilet, one bathroom. Margaret was working 14 hours a day at the café just to make ends meet - today she had simply phoned in sick. The tale was awful.

At lunch time I fed her, then spent the afternoon on the phone. Through contacts of contacts she was interviewed at a local hospital desperately needing doctors. Through some registration scheme her training and experience was accredited. It took 4 weeks for her to start work on a temporary visa, working in the gynaecology department. For those four weeks she had stayed in my spare bedroom, and I had made no move on her - she needed to be able to regain her dignity, her chance to make choices, and I knew that she had to be free to choose whether we made our relationship physical in any way.

Even better for Margaret, she was offered hospital accommodation - a flat near to where she worked. The evening before Margaret moved to her flat we had a special meal together. We chatted, until at last she said, "Mr Bill, I want to thank you, I want to thank you and the only way I know how is in your bed. Can I thank you properly tonight?"

I looked long and intently at her face, now transformed from the sad and lifeless face I had first encountered into the smiling lively face of a woman transformed. But there was something.........

"Let me guess" I said quietly. "I think you want to thank me and you are prepared to give yourself. But I don't think you want to. I think you feel that by sharing my bed you will be disloyal to the husband you adored and who died only four months ago." I had already heard much of her story over the previous weeks. I continued: "I think you are not ready to be with someone else. You will do it for duty, but you will not do it for joy. And if you cannot do it for joy, then we will not do it."

Margaret burst into tears. "But how can I thank you?"

I handed her a tissue. "Thank me? Margaret, the greatest honour to receive is to be made Fe-handa by your people. To be given the gift of every woman in your people. I could take you, but my calling is also to honour every woman in your people too. And tonight, it will be honouring to you to say - spend the night with your husband, it is him you love, not me. Remember him, and honour him when you start work tomorrow."

Margaret shed the tears that evening she had not shed for her dead husband. All through the evening she cried, through the night - whenever I was awake to hear. By next morning she had remarkably pulled herself together, dressed smartly, walking proudly. As she left she said: "Thankyou for last night. It is the best night I have spent in a long time. The tears I did not have were shed last night. Soon I will come back and you will be my Fe-handa."

She hesitated. "And one last thing, I will send to you any of my people in need, to the white Fe-handa. They will know you are an honourable man. All will also be willing to honour Fa-handa."

Margaret settled well into her work. We did spend one long hot night together perhaps three months later, but then she married another doctor at the hospital, her life going from strength to strength.

It was Margaret who phoned me to tell me about a friend of hers, Alice. Could I help Alice? Or course I could, but it was a complicated story. Alice had been a friend of Margaret's, but then had married the tribal leader, and was seduced by the position and power, using her position not to harm others, but to build up her own status, her own wealth. She saw herself as higher than the rest of the people, more important. However when the government troops had attacked her husband was taken, and she only just escaped with her teenage daughter, and in the end had escaped to this country. She had approached Margaret, and demanded that Margaret find her somewhere suitable to live, where she could be served by her people.

Margaret had explained how difficult it was, but wondered whether I could help. Alice had immediately demanded that I house her and provide her and her daughter with the standard of living she was used to. Margaret had mentioned Fe-handa, and Alice had snorted - "Perhaps he is the right person to treat me as I should be treated, to treat me as a queen of the people." Margaret was phoning because she knew I would help, both help Margaret to deal with the pressure she was getting, and also to deal with the haughtiness of Alice and her daughter, who Margaret called Grace. She also told me that Alice and Grace were arriving by train from London in two days, and would I pick them up from the station.

I met them at the station - Alice tall and strutting, dressed very smartly in African costume. Beside her was Grace, her daughter - tall and slim, dressed in T-shirt and jeans, perhaps 18. She looked a slim version of her mother, yet to fill out into womanhood.

"You will take our luggage and take us to our home", Alice said by way of greeting, speaking very stiffly. I took their luggage, put it in the back of the car, and allowed the two women to sit in the back. We drove in silence for the ten minutes to the house.

As I pulled into the drive Alice spoke again. "An adequate house. We will organise it properly." They walked through the door I had opened, leaving me to bring in the luggage. They moved through the house, decided the master bedroom would be theirs to sleep in, and told me to put the luggage on the bed, to make space in the cupboards for their things. "This is our room. For us to sleep in. Do not think the Fe-handa stuff will play any part in this house while we are here."

Through the rest of the day I moved my clothes to the spare bedroom, prepared the house for the women, and prepared food for them. Alice and Grace both seemed to think they should be treated like royalty, and rarely said thankyous or pleases, spoke very condescendingly. By the time I went to be sleep I was hating Margaret for suggesting this................!!!

For the next two days, little changed. I had to take them to the doctor, to the shops. Had to buy the food they liked. They were two very demanding house guests. Two very arrogant house guests. Only a couple of times did the starchiness break through. Firstly it was when I mentioned Alice's husband, and her eyes filled, and suddenly she looked very vulnerable and frightened., but it was only for a moment. Secondly it was when I mentioned to Grace that she would make new friends, and again that vulnerability appeared again, as she simply said "But I miss my old friends so much".

Those two incidents suggested there were real people underneath the harsh exteriors, that the harsh exteriors were really a way of coping in their difficult situation. But that didn't make the first few days any easier, as Grace and Alice began to take over the house, even to trying to keep my sitting room to themselves, reducing me to little more than a servant. We could not have this.

On the Sunday, after they had eaten and I had washed up lunch, Grace spoke. "You will go out so we can have peace in the house without you to interrupt us."

Time to make a stand. It had to come. "No. I am going to stay here in this sitting room and I am going to watch my television, and I am going to enjoy soccer all afternoon. You are free to do what you want."

The silence was electric. Alice pulled herself to her full height. "You will do what you are told. When I tell you to go out, you will go out."

"No".

The word "No" led to a torrent! Shouting at me explaining how she was wife of the king, how I had to serve her and her family, and how this was her home................. it went on for perhaps 10 minutes until she had run out of steam.

I let her stop before speaking. "You will not talk to me like that."

"I will talk to you however I want.................." another, even angrier, torrent of invective exploded from her.

At last she ran out of steam, and I spoke quietly to her. "If you talk to me like that again I will cane you. This is my home. This is where I am offering you hospitality. But you are abusing my hospitality. You speak to me again like that and I will cane you."

This time it was too much - she began to scream, how dare I say that to the wife of a king, to my superior. How dare I threaten her. I couldn't hurt her with a cane.............. Again it went on for several minutes............

I turned to Grace, her daughter and spoke fiercely - "Don't you dare move!" She wouldn't - even she looked shocked and horrified at her mother's attitude. I quickly got to my feet, pulled Alice over the arm of the settee, sat on her back, and within moments had her hands tied with silk scarves behind her back, had long silk scarves tying her feet to the legs of the chair. I sat her back on the chair, with her legs tied to each leg, spread wide, her arms tied behind her. Still she shouted, and continued shouting as I went to fetch the cane.