Date: Sat, 16 Dec 2006 08:08:26 -0500 (EST) From: Herb Cat Subject: Rip part 10 of 12 Installment 10 The Mentor Copyright 2006 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission. Please note: this story depicts oral and anal sex between a male adult and male minors. If this offends you or is illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further. The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you. --- Marcus and Pieter sat in the front seat of the old Plymouth; Rip, Torang and Pablo in the back. The fishing gear was in the trunk along with minimal luggage. The Sambian males understood they didn't need to bring many clothes. "I found your brother-in-law's lake on the map, Marcus. It's quite a distance." "Yeah, that's why I suggested we get an early start. I often feel it's too bad Rip doesn't live closer to his uncle." Shit. Did I just say that? A year ago, I thought Malcolm couldn't live far enough away! What the hell has come over me? "Dad, how come Tony won't be there?" "The Johnsons said their schools didn't close for Rosh Hashanah." "I'm sure glad my school closed. Wow! Four whole days at the cabin. I can't wait." "Yep. And the college doesn't have classes either, so I thought this was a perfect time for us all to go to the lake. Mr. Johnson said he might bring Tony up for a few hours on Saturday, to see you. You can show him your pictures from Greece. And of course, he'll want to meet Torang." "Cool. You're going to love it there, Torang. Uncle's a lot of fun and he really likes boys a lot." "This area reminds me so much of the hill country back home," Pieter remarked, "Don't you agree, Pablo? I'm afraid it's making me a little homesick. Last year, Pablo and I climbed Mt. Wilhelm and looked out over our beautiful forest. We saw wallabies and cassowaries, and orchids, oh, what beautiful orchids. Remember, Pablo? It makes me sick thinking how the lumbermen are cutting it all down." The sun rose higher as Marcus made his way toward Malcolm's cabin. After a while, Rip began to feel warm. He knew what he wanted to do, but hesitated. With each mile, though, his clothes seemed to gain weight. The more he envisioned his destination, the heavier his clothes felt. It was like the time in Greece when he went diving with Dad and had to wear a rubber vest with weights to hold him down. Finally, he couldn't wait any longer. He unbuttoned his shirt, loosened his trousers and nonchalantly slipped off his clothes. Sitting back down, he turned to Torang and grinned. Torang didn't need any further encouragement. He quickly tore off all his clothes, then both boys looked at Pablo. Pablo had been told to be prepared for nudity at the lake, but didn't expect it would start so soon. As a married man, he was not supposed to just let his klot hang free. Back in his village, a young boy might "accidentally-on-purpose" steal his semen, which he was saving to make more baby! boys in his wife. So, like all married men, he wore a patch of cloth over his penis, nicely decorated with feathers. But that handsome bit of garb was back in his village. Anticipating this situation, Pablo had gone to Wal-Mart to find something approximating his penis cover. He decided on a black jock strap, and purchased a dozen for himself and Pieter. Now, with two naked boys looking at him, he slipped off his own shirt and pants and sat there wearing only his new jock. Marcus observed the whole strip show in his rearview mirror. As Pieter went on remarking on the lovely fall scenery they were passing, Marcus watched with amusement the scenery coming into view in the back seat. "Look, Pablo, we have trees like these back home." Pieter turned around and saw three young men, contentedly sitting bare-assed behind him. "Oh." Everyone in the car began to laugh. .oOo. Malcolm was of course waiting to hear the Plymouth making its way through his trees. He was glad the weather was cooperating. A beautiful, warm autumn day. Marcus had described little Torang to him and he couldn't wait to meet the cutey-pie. And the last time he saw Rip was when they got home from Disney World, and he had to turn around and put him on a plane to Greece. He wondered how much his nephew had grown. Not too much he hoped. He diddled around with the chores throughout the morning, but finally there was nothing to do but wait on the porch for the guests to arrive. "There's Uncle. See, Torang, don't he look great?" Rip rolled down the window. "Hi, Uncle! We're here!" stating the obvious. "This is my new brother!" stating the not so obvious. The car finally stopped and the two boys jumped out and ran to Malcolm. Pablo gathered up all the loose clothes in the back seat, then stepped out and opened the trunk to begin carrying in the gear. Marcus and Pieter walked over to meet Malcolm. "How do you do. I've heard so much about you, young man. About your generosity and superior teaching abilities. I am proud to have Torang meet such a fine man." "Oh, hold on there, you're going to give me a swell head. I'd say I could burst my britches with pride, but as you may have noticed, I'm not wearing britches. He he." "Yes, and I can see how well equipped you are for your role with young boys." He was lying, of course. Malcolm's equipment wasn't that spectacular, but he knew from back home that even men with small klots often produced copious susu kental pria. "I am also impressed with your men's house here. If it's all right with you, Sir, I wouldn't mind removing my britches as well." "Sure thing, Mate. Get with the program." The word "Mate" brought back pleasant memories of Pieter's time in Australia. He could see Malcolm was just as friendly as the men he found there. He stripped down to his black jock. Marcus took off all his clothes but his boxers. He had learned enough about the Sambia not to offend them by displaying his klot. He was after all, a married man. "I'm afraid I'm still a little overdressed." "Pablo bought plenty of these black penis covers at Wal-Mart. We'd be happy to lend you one if you'd like, Marcus." "Yes, I think I'd like that." Marcus, Pieter, Malcolm and Pablo got the things out of the trunk and inside, while Rip gave Torang a quick tour of the place. "Well, you all must be hungry. How about some lunch? I made sandwiches." "Uhh, Uncle, Torang says he wants to do something before lunch." "Sure, kid, you're the Boss. What is it?" Torang went to his surrogate uncle and whispered in his ear. "Really? Like right now? Well, OK, Torang. If that's what you want, it's fine with me. Hope the rest of you don't mind waiting lunch a few minutes, but the boy here needs to eat something special first." Without a word, Torang started sucking on Uncle's klot. The first klot he sucked since his real uncle left him. For Malcolm, each new lover boy presented a new array of challenges and a new buffet of delights. Torang was the youngest of all his boys, by a few months, but he was the only one to suck him off within minutes of their first meeting. Previously the first blow job followed months spent in acclimation to nakedness, followed by mutual masturbation. Now here was little Torang, whom he barely knew, working his cock like an expert. He obviously remembered all Somare had taught him. He sucked with such gusto, as if his very masculinity depended on it, which of course it did. Marcus thought of leaving the room, giving the two some privacy, but Pieter and Pablo stood watching and beaming, and Rip was grinning, no doubt expecting to get his own turn some time soon. After lunch, Rip did get a turn, but it seemed like every time you turned around, his new brother was doing more ingesting. Torang had learned the Sambian story well and wanted desperately to make up for lost time. He needed his semen. Pieter eventually sat him down and reassured him that he would have plenty of opportunity to get his required semen, and he must not monopolize Malcolm's attention, and that in fact there were lots of things he could do these four days besides suck. The three older men got to work on a new jigsaw puzzle, standing around the table, their ass cheeks framed in uniform black jocks. Pieter told Marcus, "This is a very comfortable men's house. I expect you try to come here as often as you can." The three boys, for unmarried Malcolm was considered such, went hiking in the woods in search of wildlife, deer, rabbits, chipmunks, beavers, sorry, Torang, no monkeys. Rip was glad he had his camera along. Toward the late afternoon, Pablo offered to cook supper and Malcolm was more than happy to turn the project over to him. Without the Johnson brothers, he had all the chores to take of himself. Except for the towels and making the beds, which Rip considered his sole prerogative. The turkey dinner was filling, with a delicious spicy gravy. Malcolm took the two boys up to bed and left the men to discuss whatever in the living room. Whatever consisted mostly of Marcus asking questions about Sambian beliefs. Up in bed, Rip showed his young brother another way to take Uncle's semen into his body. Torang remembered watching some of the mentors fuck their boys like that, in the pantlup, but they always screamed and cried, and it frightened little Torang. However, Rip seemed to enjoy receiving semen that way. After Uncle pulled his klot out, and Rip was still in the doggy position, Torang noticed the precious fluid dripping from Rip's pantlup. He quickly went over and began sucking Rip's anus. Rip tried very hard not to giggle as his brother's little tongue darted in and out. Uncle lay down on the bed, his arms behind his head and smiled thinking of the events of the day. He wondered if he could count the orgasms he had that day, all the wads he blew into little Torang's mouth, the ones that Rip was able to swallow, and now this final one shot into his nephew's ass. Apparently, Torang did not think this fecund klot was done for the day; he laid his head on Uncle's pelvis and began sucking the limp organ again. But within a minute, the boy had fallen asleep. Uncle whispered, "Your little brother is tired, Rippy. He did a lot of work today." Gently, Uncle picked up his exhausted body and settled it on a pillow beside him. Rip whispered, "Don't worry, Uncle. I'll be able to finish the job he started." "Thanks, Rippy. I knew I could count on you." When Uncle got up in the morning, he discovered the three men had risen early and taken the boat out to fish. He made pancakes for his two boys and either the smell of the maple syrup or the clatter of the pans drew their sleepy bodies down to breakfast. Malcolm wondered if Torang would require any semen before breakfast, to wake him up. He was sort of glad the boy wasn't hanging on his dick but he supposed he could have accommodated him if he had to. Both boys ate huge stacks of pancakes, and Malcolm was kept busy refilling their plates. After breakfast, Malcolm asked Torang to help him with the dishes. Might as well start giving the kid some chores. Rip went to make the beds, now plural. When he came back to the kitchen, he found Torang had gone out on the porch to watch his father and the others fish. Malcolm had given him a pair of binoculars and showed him how to bring the boat closer with them. Rip quietly knelt and gave his favorite uncle his first blow job of the! new day. Uncle reset his mental counter to one. The men arrived with some sockeyes. Pablo took them to the barbecue table and began scaling them. Rip got a soccer ball out for him and Torang to play with; futbal, the universal sport. Again, Pieter thanked Malcolm profusely, telling him how happy his son is now. "He no longer is worried about not becoming a man." Pablo made a delicious lunch, catch of the day. "Hey, Uncle, guess what?" "What, Rippy." "Torang wants to be your mo-mog. He wants you to be his mo-e." Pieter and Pablo sat up at the news. Marcus started to ask, "What's a . . ." but Malcolm simply answered, "Sure kid, you're the boss," not knowing what the hell he was agreeing to. The boys gave each other a high five and went running to the lake for a swim. "OK, now tell me, what did I just myself into." Pieter explained, "In some of the tribes near the Sambia the mentors regularly use the anal entrance to get semen into the boys. Our tribe uses that method some times, but the oral entrance is the standard one. Mo-mog is a Jacquai word that means anus-son and mo-e is anus-father. I will have a talk with the boy and explain that you didn't know what the words meant. Don't worry; I don't expect you to do that." "Oh, I don't mind. I've actually had several mo-mogs. But I wouldn't do it if I felt the boy's "mo" might get hurt." Pieter remembered the size of Uncle's klot at full erection. "Well, Sir, I have a feeling it might not hurt him all that much. If he wants to receive semen that way, I have no objection." "Fine, why don't we do it this afternoon when the boys finish their swim. You can watch if you want?" "I would like that. Are you sure you don't mind being observed? You Americans seem to get pretty uptight about sexual displays in public." "Nope, I don't mind. In fact, just a few months ago, I had a mo-mog's father watch me fuck his young son." Marcus nodded. "Yes, that's quite true, Pieter." .oOo. The boys came running up from the lake, giggling, unaware of what the adults had been discussing. Suddenly, Torang's wet feet slipped on the grass and he went tumbling on to a rock. The men went racing down the lawn, as Torang stood up, his nose bleeding profusely. The Sambian men laughed which seemed rather cruel, but Torang was smiling. Dr. Sloan started to take charge, "Here, lay the boy down and hold a towel over the nose. It will stop bleeding soon. Malcolm, get some ice cubes. Rip, you go . . ." "No, no, no," laughed Pieter, "Do not bother. Let it bleed 'til it stops itself. You see, in our country, it is good to bleed. Blood is from the mother and it is good to get rid of it. Bleeding makes the boy's tingu stronger. Just stay here, Torang. We don't want to get blood on the nice furniture in the men's house. Marcus, when our boys are very little, we poke sticks up into their noses to make them bleed. They hate it of course. Most of them quickly learn to use their fingers to make it bleed so they won't have to endure the sticks. So a nosebleed is nothing unusual for Torang." Marcus wondered how many little Sambian children had hemorrhaged to death from this casual attitude, but he kept his mouth shut. The men went back to the porch and relaxed as Rip stood with Torang and told him jokes until his nose did indeed stop bleeding. When they got to the house, they were both giggling so much they almost missed it when Malcolm greeted them as Rippy and Mo-Mog instead of Rippy and Torang. Both boys stopped and stared at Uncle. Torang's eyes were wide as saucers. "Do you mean now, my uncle?" "No rush, Boss. Any time you're ready to give it a try." Torang grabbed his surrogate uncle's hand and pulled him into the bedroom, followed by Pieter, Pablo, Marcus and Rip. Rip spread towels out for the audience and Torang took the doggy position on the bed just as he had seen his new brother do the night before. Malcolm opened the lube and spread a generous amount on his cock, which was already rising, and around the precious black rosebud. When he inserted a greasy finger into the hole, Torang let out a "unh." "Now, just relax, my little darling. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." Pieter leaned over and whispered to Marcus, "In our village we don't use any grease, just precum." "That's why the little boys cry and scream, then." "You're right." They watched the sweet, caring man continue. Fully erect now, Malcolm took Torang's waist in his firm hands and leaned forward until his helmet was pressed against the virgin sphincter. "Unh." "OK, little buddy, just relax, that's it, Mo-Mog." Malcolm waited patiently, and when he felt the love muscle loosen slightly, he pushed in half an inch. Another unh, and more quiet calming words of encouragement. Holding the tiny buttocks, Malcolm gradually made his entrance until his klot was totally embedded in the happy Sambian boy. No crying, no screaming. Only love. Malcolm began thrusting and shortly filled the boy's love canal with the precious energizing fluid. When he pulled out, the Sambian men applauded. They were very pleased. Torang remained in position, and Rippy knew why. He got up and went over to lick the pantlup before Uncle's semen was lost. "Hey, Uncle, there's some blood dripping out." "Oh, shit. I'm sorry. I tried to be so careful. I didn't want to tear the precious little boy." "Don't worry, Malcolm," Pieter assured him. "Bleeding is good."