Intro. In this story, a sequel to 'My Wild African Princess', James and Nandi meet some of the characters from 'Things Get Wild In Africa'.
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So far we had been on horseback for over three months, we had not travelled fast, but were getting somewhat saddle weary. There was still at least another month before we would arrive at our destination in Tanganyika (now Tanzania).
We had travelled two and a half thousand kilometers as the crow flies, much more with detours, either to see something of interest, or more likely, to circumnavigate the impassable, on horseback, mountain ranges of the Great Rift Valley.
But here we were, with about three quarters of our journey completed since we had left Nandi's home in Zululand. We had set up camp, high in the hills overlooking Lake Nyasa (now Lake Malawi). The views were truly spectacular, mountains with sheer cliffs to our left, and in front the beautiful lake, stretching to the horizon.
Here we would take short rest, before we descending to the lake, to hopefully pick up a steamer to take us to the northern extreme of the lake, disembarking in Tanganyika.
Beside me my wife, well technically anyway, sat Nandi, gazing in awe at the vastness below. "Never have I seen so much water, how is this possible?" she asked. Her use of English had vastly improved these past few months . "There are many lakes, some even bigger than this one, that stretch from Arabia far to the north, and then right down to southern Mozambique, almost to your homeland. This is the Great Rift Valley. One day, perhaps in thousands of years time, it will finally split away from the rest of Africa, to form a new island, probably one of the largest in the world."
"It is beyond my understanding." she stated with a frown on her beautiful face. "But I could sit here for ever, to just look at this wonder."
I turned my head to look at her, totally entranced. We had now been together four months, and if it were possible, my love for her had only grown deeper. Although she had taken to wearing more clothing for our travels, than just her simple skirt that she had when we first met, today she was perched on the rock, with a short European skirt round her waste, that I bought in a market in Fort Victoria in Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe).
Her chin rested on her knees, with her skirt fallen back to her lower body, her breasts scrunched against her thighs. It was a somewhat erotic sight, which I couldn't but help be aware of.
Suddenly, "You're staring at me again, you rude man, and with all that down there to look at." she said pointing to the lake.
"I am looking down there, but it's much closer than the lake."
She glanced down between her legs, realising where her skirt was, and what I could see, she grinned.
"Shall we go to the stream and bathe, before I cook for us?" I had built a small dam with boulders and stones in the stream that ran alongside our campsite, it had formed an ideal pool for us, with constantly running fresh water.
With that she rose, unclasped her skirt, letting it fall to the ground. For a moment she stood facing me, with hands on hips, her legs slightly spread, and a wicked grin on her face. She moved one hand to the place between her legs, the fingers parting her labia, those gorgeous flaps, I had come to love. One finger stroked inside for, just a second. She raised it to her lips, her tongue stuck out between them, before she tasted. "Mmm, nice, but I need a wash," with a playful grimace. Then she raced off, with a laugh.
We soaped and washed each other, quite thoroughly in some places, before we lay in the water. It was only shallow, barely covering our bodies, which in itself was quite fun, as it allowed my cock to just float on top of the water, and waft about in the current. Whilst her breasts were just buoyant enough to wave about, with her nipples nicely showing above the water.
We lay side by side, her eyes watching my cock, and I admired her nipples. "I'm going to catch a fish for dinner." as her hand playfully chased my cock around. With an exaggerated grab and a splash, she squealed gleefully "I've got one!"
She swapped hands, waving it about "It's trying to get away, the naughty thing." Allowing the current to swivel her body round, she brought the 'fish' to her mouth "I'm going to bite his head, he won't go anywhere then." The water, being very cold, had till now ensured, my cock had remained quite limp, but as her lips enfolded it into the warmth of her mouth, that soon began to change.
Rapidly it grew in size, so that when she withdrew her mouth, her fingers still round the base, it was as a flagpole sticking out of the water. She waved it about a bit, grinning at it, "I've got him now, but I'll have to make sure he's not going to get away."
She wriggled on top of me, her hand guiding me between her legs. She raised her hips and adjusted her aim, before slowly lowering her body. My flagpole disappeared, passed her lips, and into the depths of her vagina, with it's wetness and heat.
Where the cold had previously kept me limp, it had the opposite effect on her nipples. They were as two 45 calibre bullets, pressing into mine. Her hands went below my head, to keep me above the water, as she pressed her lips to mine.
"I think he likes it in ibhentse (Zulu for vagina), he goes nowhere now, he is all mine." she had slipped back into her pidgin English, which she always did when excited or aroused.
Her hips rotated, causing her pussy to swivel on my cock, then she lifted all the way up my length. It almost came free, but with a rapid lunge back down, until her pubis banged into mine, "No you don't, you not get away." As her passion mounted, the joking ceased, instead "I fuck you hard my man, please put your hands on my ass and push me down, you could play with little hole, I like that." She had learnt these words in the past few months, she had at first used them quite shyly, but not anymore.
Her anus was exposed to my finger, allowing a quick twirl around, as she pulled upward on my cock, before trapping my finger between her cheeks on the way back down. I was ready at the next rise, and my finger just had time to press it's way inside her ass, before she again lowered herself. She began making shorter strokes with her body, getting more rapid, even as my finger penetrated more, passed the knuckle and deeper.
I struggled to keep my head above water, she had forgotten her helping hand, as she was now into a frenzy of passion "Oh fuck me, it is time, I'm cumming" she managed to gasp. Her legs shot out rigid behind her, her hands pressing my chest, as she arched her back, her head going high. Then she started to shake, her whole body sort of vibrating, as the wave hit her, she orgasmed hard. Then "Roll me over, fuck me more, quick."
I rolled her gently, aware of the sharp stones below the surface. Her arms round my neck, legs round my hips, she clung to me. I thrust into her. "Harder, faster, more" she shouted.
My own peak hit me then, as I complied with her demands. I could feel my cock pumping into her.
"Yes, yes, don't sto...owwwww" as an orgasm ripped her body, and still she screamed.
For a while we embraced, resting and recovering from the intensity of our love making. "Fish got away now" she was looking at my shrivelled cock.
"I'm going to look like a prune, if we don't get out of this water" I said.
"What is prune?" came the question.
I was stumped, if I told her it was a dry plum, she would have asked what a plum was, so I said "Just all wrinkled."
We busied ourselves preparing dinner, spit roast guinea fowl, with ash baked sweet potato and flame grilled maize (sweet corn). Washed down with a couple of bottles of Tembo beer, I had bought just a few at the duka (Swahili for shop), in the last town we had passed through.
The sun would set shortly. It was half an orb above the lake horizon, the mists from the water, making it possible to look at the golden glow. A perfect day, in many ways.
"What are you thinking James?" She would insist on calling me James, even though, I was generally known as Jim. She had said that it was what my mother named me, so therefore, it was what she should call me.
"Oh, just reflecting on our journey."
Although, we had not been in any hurry, it had still been an arduous three months.
Nandi had never ridden a horse before, never fired a rifle even. Nor had she been far from her own people.
After we had left our cave (see My Wild African Princess), we walked to Paulpietersberg in northern Zululand. Here, I was able to purchase four horses, and sufficient supplies for a long trek, it was going to be somewhere between three and four thousand kilometers.
I then spent a week teaching her to ride and shoot.