Free Story of the Week

A Harvard Man

By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
Artwork (c) 2002 by Mike D.

Illustration of A Harvard Man

It was another Mwesika'a tribal ritual. James Pressmore (one of the Newport Pressmores) was in attendance, of course, though he couldn't fathom why his professors wanted to study such...such low-class activities even when performed by an isolated tribe like the Mwesika'a. All these big dark-skinned natives did at such times was dance about, wearing much the same decorative feathers and beads every time, dancing much the same way, and the drums going thump-thump-thump-thump-thump. What was there to learn in such things? He yawned, not caring that the Mwesika'a considered such to be an act of insolence, didn't even cover his mouth somewhat, just showed his teeth.

The local witch doctor came out and started doing his jig. It was like he was looking for someone, his face, painted like a skull, and he was looking everyone in the face. Whatever he was looking for, he wasn't welcomed, every man he looked at was shying away, even some looking panicked. One young guy, maybe seventeen, the witch doctor hovered over longer than the others, and the guy screamed and scrabbled away backwards on all fours like a child playing at "spider walk" and the witch doctor gave out a long, evil sounding laugh.

And then he was at James' face, waving his damned witch-stick (a string at the top held a small bag at the end, which bobbled about as he waggled the stick) and the witch doctor was grinning like he knew something James didn't know.

So James yawned right in his face. The murmur of the watching crowd said that they were rather offended.

And the witch doctor gave a sudden keen and everyone watching broke into sounds of laughter and cheers. The witch doctor left James, indeed, left the dancing circle and the warriors came back, and James decided he'd had enough of the festivities and got up and left.

His tent was a white temple, larger than the many huts of the Mwesika'a, and for good reason. Inside was a miniature sort of home-away-from-home, holding a large, comfortable padded chair and footstool and side-table, a true bed (albeit only half-sized) and a large square wooden object that was his traveling bar. James frowned, one thing was missing. "Norbert! Norbert!" he called out.

"Here, sir." his butler/gentleman's gentleman scurried into the tent.

James ensconced himself on the chair. "Fix me a martini. Quickly, I've had a miserable day."

"Yes, sir." The butler got busy and two minutes later, he presented a small goblet to James.

James frowned at that. "Where's my martini glass?" He demanded.

"I'm afraid it's broken, sir." Norbert apologized.

"Broken? How?" James was furious at this, this sort of thing was not supposed to happen!

"I don't know, sir, I opened the glass case and it was broken. So was your brandy snifter, I think the bearer must have dropped the box."

"You should have told me this before." James scolded him. He sipped the martini and scowled again, deeper. "It's warm!" he complained. "Why wasn't the vodka poured over ice?"

"There is no ice available, sir." Norbert pointed out.

"Not acceptable, Norbert, you should have made arrangements for ice." James would have continued in this vein (there was nothing more satisfying after an unpleasant day or experience than to chew Norbert out for every little failing, and the man never failed to fail in some way or other), but then Professor Catterwal entered his tent. Without bothering to knock! Well, at least ask for entrance in some way. "There you are, James! Where have you been? We've been looking for you!"

"Looking for me? Whatever for?" James sipped his martini and again grimaced at the warm concoction.

"You were chosen during the ritual! You must return with me, now!"

"Whyever should I?" James demanded. He was a student of the professor's, but he could care less whether the professor voted for him when getting his doctorate. His father would make a nice donation to the university, James would get his doctorate, and that would be that.

"But you were chosen! The shaman selected you for the warriors, and you must join them tonight! If you don't, the Mwesika'a will be so offended that they may well take up arms against us! Now come with me, right now!"

James started to speak up, but Norbert interposed. "If you'll pardon me, sir, I think you'd best do as he asks."

James looked at Norbert with astonishment. Norbert practically never interposed his opinion in James' activities, but he'd learned through bitter experience that when he did, he was best listened to. "Oh, very well." He said, dumping the rest of the martini on the floor. And then the glass. Left Norbert to clean that up while he followed Professor Catterwal back to the village proper.

The party seemed to be over, the central clearing was mostly deserted. Only the warriors remained, a dozen and a half, and in their center was a small mound of cloth. James was led by Professor Catterwal to this mound. "You must sit here. And whatever you do, don't make a scene. This is considered an honor, I'm told. You're the first white man to be accorded this privilege."

James sat down and the Professor said, "Now, we are required to leave, only the warriors may remain. And you."

The Professor must have left at that point, but James didn't see, for the warriors promptly swarmed over him.

"Oh, I say, take your hands off me!" James protested, but as none of the warriors spoken English (like any civilized people would!), his protests were in vain. "This is unseemly, don't you people realize, I'm a Harvard man!"

But even those hallowed words failed him here. Once his body was completely stripped, he found himself subjected to a further indignity, one of the warriors proceeded to shove a fair quantity of oily goo up his nether regions. James considered ephithets, even racial slurs, but chose instead to rise above it. "I shall report this behavior to the proper authorities, I assure you!" He said instead and with that, he was pinned by both arms over the top of the mound. Something solid was well-buried under those cloths, as he was bent backwards rather precipitously, the highest point was his stomach, with both head and legs going downward from that area. Not a huge curve, but enough to make him feel extra helpless.

"All right, now, fun is fun and all but I don't see what all this is in pursuit of." He told the men about him, not caring if they understood. "I mean, I'm naked and I'm held by you ruffians over this mound and now what are your intentions here if....oh, my dear Lord!" This last was because he saw what was coming at him.

One of the warriors, a large black-skinned hulk with more muscles than brains was advancing on him, and his loin wrap had been tossed aside, and he was being preceded in his advance with an organ that could have played in a cathedral! Only this one was attached to his groin and was thick, meaty, dripping and ready!

"You don't surely intend to do what I think you intend, do you?" James asked hopefully. "A joke is a joke and I can take it in good part, but...." The warrior was now kneeling down between his legs, and two other warriors grabbed James' ankles and held them spread wide for their comrade.

"...But really, if you will reconsider this, my father can be very generous to....urk!" The thick, purplish glans on that dong had just touched his body and it was knocking on his anus' front door! "If I were a Princeton man, you could do this but I tell you, I'm a Harvard man, and...Ooh-ooh-oh-OOG!" That massive prong had just been shoved with considerable energy and force right up his backside!

The oils they had squelched in there was helping, at least his rectum wasn't being ripped to shreds, but the passage was otherwise far from comfortable. Frankly, it felt like he was the Popsicle and that dong was the stick! Too big and too far up in there!

"Oh, you foul-smelling, lizard-eating, finger-licking scoundrel!" James complained. He'd been far too well bred to curse, but he had no such compunctions about describing this man's personal hygiene, dietary habits, method of earning a living and probable destination after death and he proceeded to lavish all of those in every turn of phrase his tongue could lay a grip on.

Perhaps some of what he said pierced through to the senses of those warriors, for one of them frowned and said something to his comrades.

At that, one of the warriors knelt by James' head and held it downwards until he was upside-down, at least with his head, and he found himself presented with another hard pud being slapped at his lips.

"No, you don't...." was as far as he got and the prick was shoved inside his mouth. The warrior at his ass must have felt he'd buried his dong deep enough inside James for now, for he began to thrust back and forth, driving the prod in and out of James' ass. James wanted to yell...but it's so hard to make a coherent sound of any sort when you have a huge dick in your throat! He mumbled and that was the cue for the warrior at James' face to grab him by both sides of his head and begin to fuck at his mouth roughly.

"Glmph, gluh, uhnk, uh!" James complained, but he was being alternately rammed full and then stripped empty as the warriors thrust in and out together. The odd thing was, he couldn't decide which was more agonizing to him. The hard cocks inside him filled him, but in doing so, they stroked the tender flesh inside of him, the shafts were covered in velvety skin, the cocks tasted of warm male sweat and musk, the one in his ass stroked his prostate and that sent shivers of joy right through him. The one in his mouth and throat was like feasting upon raw male strength. He started holding onto the dong with his lips as it wove in and out and the warrior he was swallowing began to groan and grunt. So did the warrior at his ass, and James began to clutch at the shaft down there by clenching his sphincter, that made the warrior groan even more.

The warrior fucking his face gave a loud groan and James found his mouth and throat filling with a thick, salty fluid that could only be one thing. "Oh, dear Lord!" he thought to himself. "This blackguard has had the unmitigated temerity to discharge his semen into my mouth! This is...this is unbearable, is what it is, after all, I'm a Harvard man!"

And the warrior at his ass proceeded to do the same, he clenched his teeth and thrust in deep and James felt the rush of salty spunk invade his nether regions.

The warrior at James' head was replaced with another warrior, who barely gave him time to gulp a few desperate gasps of air into his lungs, then he was stuffed down to his tonsils with another huge, black dong. The warrior at his buttocks was similarly removed and another one took his place, and the double violations continued.

James realized that they all intended to take their turns with him. "Well, if that's what I have to put up with, best deal with it as expeditiously as possible." He worked their dongs with his mouth with every bit of skill he could muster and his ass clenched at them all as they rammed into him, and he was sloshing with their sperm loads before the dozen and a half were done with him. The last few of them pulled out before they climaxed, and proceeded to splatter him all over, his face, his chest, his stomach and his groin with their loads. And to cap it all off, they then simply walked off and left him there, alone and sperm-coated, to pick himself up and wend his tired, ass-fucked way home.

Norbert was still awake, thank God, and he saw his master in complete dishabille, clothes in hands being dragged along with him, and he gasped, "Oh, sir, what have they done to you?" He had prepared a bath for James, James saw gratefully, the tub was in the middle of the room, and clean towels laid out for him.

"Done to me? The blasted spear-carriers had their way with me. I have been repeatedly violated by nearly a score of their roughest young warriors! I am going to register a complaint with the university about how Professor Catterwal permitted this to be done to me, a Harvard man, the plaything of several black horn-dogs. Rituals indeed!" He climbed into the bathtub and moaned gratefully, the water was heated to the exact degree he preferred.

"I'm so sorry to hear that, sir." Norbert agreed. "And what do you plan to do about tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night?"

"Yes, I've been told that the ritual selects a partner for the warriors for the next cycle of the moon. You're their sex toy, I fear, for the next twenty-eight days, until the moon is full once again."

"A full month?" James was appalled. "This is...this is unconscionable. I can't possibly endure this. I'm...I'm a Harvard man, I have to uphold the honor of the school! If they find out about this I'll...I'll have to transfer to Yale!" he wailed at the prospect. Far, far better to endure the flames of Hell than to pass those accursed doors!

"Your best choice, sir, is to put on a brave front and not mention it. I'm sure Professor Catterwal will keep your secret and so will I. You can still graduate and join your father's firm."

James looked at Norbert gratefully. "Norbert, my dear best friend. I know I treat you poorly at times, but I really need you, you know that. I don't see how you put up with me." And he sank deeper into the warm waters of the tub.

"Not to worry, sir. My job has its compensations."

"Another month of being gang-fucked every night." James groaned. "And me, a Harvard man! Who's going to even want to look at me after that? All covered with spunk and reeking of man-sweat, having been fucked repeatedly, who'll want to look at me even?"

"I'll be here for you afterwards every night." Norbert told him. "And I'll look at you then, never worry. Even all covered with sperm." And the smile on James' butler's face could have been sympathetic. Maybe.

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