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The African Mating Ritual





S. S. Barry



Copyright © 2018 S. S. Barry

All rights reserved.

This short story is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This short story may not be reproduced, re-sold or transmitted to other people. Thank-you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS



I guess I should be thanking Francis Leroi for directing Magique Emmanuelle / Emmanuelle's Magic (1993). Most readers may not even be familiar with that title, while others may consider it nothing more than some softcore TV movie. However, had I not watched a certain scene from this movie, I would have likely not been inspired to write this short story.

I would also like to thank all my former roleplaying partners, without whom I would not have been able to gain this experience at describing sexual acts with such vivid detail, which I now refer to as my own brand of erotica.


AUTHOR’S NOTES



Even though I have written and am publishing this as short erotic fiction, it is less of a story and more like porn on paper. Based on what I have written, I would consider a story dripping with sex. It has less of a plot and far more sex. If you are looking to get off while reading something filthy, and if you prefer hardcore pornography over softcore one, then this short erotic story is for you.

This is also the first time that I have written a full-length erotic story, albeit a short one, without much of a plot. Nonetheless, all of the characters depicted in my story are above the age of 18. Even though the characters in this story may act and behave like careless hedonists, I advise all my readers to use protection because safe sex is the best sex.



Cynthia stands there behind the railing of the private yacht, clad in a cheetah print-covered, off-the-shoulder, strapless ruffle crop top, and khaki-colored hot pants. The frilled garment covering her breasts sways in the breeze, looking almost like a simple, loose piece of cloth wrapped around her chest. Aside from her breasts, the crop top does not cover much of her milky skin, which is drenched in sweat from the blazing African heat. Her dirty blonde hair is pulled back and tied up in a ponytail.

A pair of binoculars hangs from a strap around her neck. She raises it up to her eyes, gazing at all the naturally glittering and sparkling seawater, and the bleak and desolate isles lined with fishing boats and thatched huts. Her eventual destination is a remote village somewhere in West Africa, where she is going to be a part of an ancient ritual, a very special ritual.

It was her best friend who recommended it, upon hearing of Cynthia’s bedroom woes and her unsatisfactory sex life. Her husband had a decently and fairly large enough cock between his legs, but unfortunately for her, he either never had time to use it or simply did not seem to know how. He was a wealthy snob who was always out on business trips.

She suspected her husband of cheating on her and she would not have cared in the least, had he at least given her a good, hard fuck whenever he was home. However, he was nothing more than a two-pump chump, whose ultimate goal during sex with her seemed to be to cum as quickly as he could inside her discontented cunt. She turns around, leaning back against and holding the railings with her spread arms, letting the binoculars rest against her chest.

▬ ♦ ▬

She recalls that day, a month ago, when her best friend Marcela and her husband Joel paid her a visit, following their trip to Africa. Joel is a cultural anthropologist. It turned out that their trip had been for both research and pleasure. Cynthia always knew them for being quite debaucherous and kinky, but she never imagined them being swingers and never took her husband for a cuck.

It was actually Joel who had enlightened his wife about the remote African village where Cynthia is headed. It was Joel who had told Marcela about the ancient mating ritual of the tribe, which involved every 20-year-old male of the tribe having sex with the most fertile woman in the village. It was a rite of passage into adulthood for young men in the tribe.

After having had spent a great deal of time in the village, Joel had developed close ties with the village elders. That was how he managed to convince them to allow his wife to be a part of the ritual and to allow him to watch while his wife got fucked by a “bull with a large black cock,” which was how he described it while seated in Cynthia’s living room.

Cynthia was reluctant at first. However, after she heard Marcella retell her lascivious experience of having sex with a hung and young African man, it made her ignored cunt ache and wet enough to agree that she too wanted to experience and feel what her best friend had. Thus, under the premise of joining her best friend and her husband on a research trip, not that her husband would be concerned about her whereabouts, Cynthia embarked on her very first raunchy sexual adventure.

▬ ♦ ▬

It is noon when Cynthia descends into the boat that will carry her the rest of the way to the village. Joel and Marcela have joined her, since they will be making the introductions, but they begrudgingly agreed to not be present during the ritual. She did not want to have an audience as she willingly gave her 30-year-old body to an African savage, to be ravaged by him and fucked senseless. As they begin to near the island, the sound of drums and singing in an incomprehensible language fills the air.

The drumming and singing only grows louder once they step foot on the island. The sun seems to be burning even brighter and hotter than before. Cynthia literally feels soaked, sweat having creeped into just about every crevice of her body, so she is glad that she decided not to wear any undergarments under her scanty attire.

She is also fairly certain the sticky fluid dribbling down her wet inner thighs is more than just sweat. The village starts to come into view, the sound of the drums and singing far louder. It almost seems like a fiesta is underway, with men, women and children dancing to the beat of the drums around a bonfire, with numerous thatched huts in the background.

Joel explains that the tribe’s mating ritual is an extravagant affair, with everyone indirectly participating, and cheering for the boy who is going to enter adulthood and manhood by losing his virginity. Cynthia watches the tribespeople from afar, as they dance wildly, moving and shaking their almost naked, dark bodies.

Joel is the only one who speaks their language, and Cynthia watches as he walks over and speaks to what appear to be village elders. Cynthia is equally intrigued and perplexed by the sights before her, the drumming seemingly tempting her into joining the tribe in their ceremonious dancing.

Her heart races with anticipation as Joel walks back towards her and his wife. “The ritual can begin whenever you’re ready,” he informs her.

“It’ll be alright, don’t be afraid and don’t worry,” Marcela says softly, hugging her from behind and planting a friendly kiss on her cheek, something that Cynthia is quite accustomed to.

“That’s the mating hut,” Joel points at one of the many thatched huts that appears to be the nearest to the flock of the dancing villagers. “It’s a shame you’re not willing to let us join you in there and be your audience,” he says with a chuckle.

Cynthia gives her best friend and her husband a nervous smile. “I think it’d be better if I experienced this on my own. ‘But I’m grateful to you both for presenting me with this opportunity,” she says, thanking them politely.

“Don’t be silly, hon. Now go, have fun,” Marcella says, squeezing her shoulder from behind and almost nudging her into motion towards the hut.

Once set into motion, Cynthia begins taking slow and steady steps towards the hut in which her suitor, who is complete stranger to her and not exactly a modern man, awaits to copulate and mate with her. She pushes the straw curtain aside and steps into the hut, a somewhat intoxicating scent filling her nostrils, which smells kind of like incense yet not exactly.


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