Date: Sun, 8 Apr 2012 12:39:01 +0100 (BST) From: Hasan Khan Subject: Dr. Martin's African Initiation The sun beat down on the village of Kituri, baking all that its rays fell upon. The young white doctor perspired from every pore, large stains visible on his shirt under the armpits and down the middle of his chest. His groin was warm and damp, briefs sticking to his arse and cock. Dr. Peter Martin, at the end of his first month in this desolate spot wondered if he had, after all, made the right decision about coming out to Africa. By contrast, Nalondu, his dark black medical assistant worked easily in the torrid heat, despite wearing a classic white uniform over his shirt and pants. It was not yet mid-day, but between the two of them they had seen at least thirty patients and the afternoon promised more to come. The little dispensary was the only place for medical treatment in a radius of twenty miles and even if the natives form the local villages could make it to the nearest town, they were unlikely to have enough money to pay for treatment. After qualifying at medical school in England, Peter Martin had spent two years in the university hospital and three as a very junior member of an inner city medical practice. It was an old uncle, who had spent his younger days in the colonies, who had sparked the interest which led to Peter applying to do some voluntary service in Africa. Peter was eventually posted to Kituri, north west of Nairobi, far away into the Rift Valley. For his services he would have a small monthly stipend, a little house and a house boy. Apart from that, he was on his own, professionally reliant for the first few weeks on Nalondu, who guided him through the complications of tropical infections, snake bites and performing minor surgery in a cement block surgery. Nalondu, a six foot tall, slim Kikuyu, with a noble face and wonderfully slim hips lived in one of the nearby villages, having been to Nairobi to train as a rural nurse. His family, initially suspicious of his professional ambitions were eventually reconciled to the fact that medical work for an NGO might in fact bring in more money than herding cattle across the Valley floor. Peter Martin loved the boy from the first: his calm cool manner, and the musky aroma which the boy gave off. Physical closeness was often unavoidable in the small surgery, especially when both were involved in dressing a wound or treating and injury. The brush of the African's arms against Peter's still pale white skin was enough to raise the temperature in the white man's groin. After work, Nalondu always showered in the tiny bathroom built onto the surgery, usually leaving the door half open as he did so. For the doctor, who had nonetheless seen more naked men and boys in a day than he would ever have done in England in a week, the opportunity was too much to be missed. How he loved to see his medical assistant naked from the rear, the slim hips and firm buttocks, the deep crevice between and the soapy white water running over the shining black skin, the strong hands caressing his thighs as he washed away the grime of the day. Peter always wished Nalondu would one day turn around and soap his massive dick face to the door. But he never did. What mysteries would be revealed if for once he could catch sight of the heavy black genitals the boys promised to have. Nalondu, when not in his three quarter length nurse's jacket, was an ebony boys lover's dream: slim and slightly muscular, Nalondu's chest was well defined by his sport's shirts but the real attraction was lower down. Whatever style of shorts, trousers, chinos or jeans he wore there was always that very obvious bulge at the groin: pants packed with African meat. Whenever the two had to sit close together at the surgery desk, thighs and knees just brushing or touching as one or the other moved, Peter's cock never failed to register the trill, a thrill which always prompted a downward gaze in the hope of getting a glimpse of the penis line in the handsome African's package. Shower over, papers cleared and the surgery locked, doctor and assistant went their separate ways. Nalondu had over a mile to walk back to his homestead. Peter Martin had just to cross the dirt yard and allotment which separated his house from the surgery. The house, like the surgery was a cement block construction comprising a sitting room, bedroom, shower-toilet, kitchen and storeroom. Like the surgery, it was supplied with an erratic electric line and a roof high water tank which ensured at least a meagre flow to the shower head. The house boy had the daily job of pumping water up to the reservoirs. Wamuru, the house boy was in the kitchen stirring a pot of stew. Stew four days of the week: chicken, beef and mutton. The rhythm never varied. Fish on alternate days. Stew with rice, stew with yams. From time to time Peter was able to escape the dreadful monotony of Wamuru's culinary skills when agency workers and aid experts passed through the area. How enjoyable it was to meet up with ex-pats in a hotel restaurant or cafe bar. But that was not too often. Wamuru was, for all his limitations as a cook, an efficient house boy. The "boy", for he was in his mid-twenties, was usually dressed in a white, short sleeved shirt and khaki knee length pants which like those of the medical assistant, and in fact like most of the men in the area, left both little and a great deal to the imagination. Wamuru, at about five and a half feet was as black as could be imagined. The Bantu nose, the thick sensual lips and the solidness of his buttocks were as exotic as any that could be painted. Peter Martin was more than once able to detect the line of a heavy penis held in place by the clothing. Today was an exceptional display, not only the was the thick African cock thoroughly outlined, but a large cock head was clearly visible through the thin cotton trousers and the ridge of a crown that had been certainly sheared of its foreskin in a traditional circumcision rite. "Wamuru, you can leave the meal warming for a while. Do bring me a bottle of Tusker and a plate of salt biscuits." Peter went and stretched himself on the lumpy sofa in the main room. The boy brought in the bottle of cool beer, a glass and the biscuits on a try with all the style of a hotel waiter and placed them down in front of Peter, affording the doctor several variations on the view of the thick crotch as the boy went about the business of serving his boss. The cock definitely had a beautiful form, hidden inside the khaki pants. Whilst Peter quenched his thirst with the beer, the boy went off to take his shower in the primitive bathroom: an old fashioned aluminium shower head atop of a cast iron pipe with some four slight inclines in the floor meeting at the drain hole. There was not enough pressure in the water to warrant a shower curtain in the place. A off white toilet bowl and a single cold water tap sink completed the fixtures. Peter, still sweltering in the heat, even though the sun was about to go down, stripped off his polo and chinos, letting the breeze from the slowly turning fan cool his body as he sipped the Tusker. Picturing the sturdy black body of Wamuru glistening with water in the shower, he idly rubbed cock and balls through the thin cotton of his boxer shorts. His cock began to rise and he felt the mushroom head rub against his boxers as it pushed its way out of the foreskin. Slipping his fingers through the fly of the boxers Peter began to slowly wank the sweaty foreskin up and down. He pulled it back to the edge of the helmet, up over and back again down the shaft, released the taught skin and let it slide back up to the edge of the crown. Grasping the shaft in his fist he pumped his cock with a steady rhythm rubbing the slippery glans with his broad thumb, his mind overcome with desire to have his ass filled by Wamuru's thick black cock. Slowing down and letting go of his stiff sick, Peter took another mouthful of the cool Tusker and idly rubbed at his tits as he continued to drink. Feeling the need for piss he got up and ambled to the bathroom. Presumably Wamuru would be face to the wall and he could relieve himself without offending or embarrassing the boy. The door was open and to his great surprise Peter saw Wamuru facing him soaping his genitals in the light coming through the doorway. The long thick circumcised cock was a black as the rest of the boy's body and the scrotum a massive sack of balls hanging languidly behind the turgid organ. "Need to do something Wamuru, please forgive the intrusion." Peter away turned to the bowl, got out his penis still thickened from the unfinished wank, skinned back the foreskin and began to urinate, enjoying the relief as the pressure on his bladder diminished. Finished, he slowly milked his dick drawing the foreskin up and down wishing Wamuru to do the job for him. In a moment of erotic frenzy he stopped, leaned down to take off the boxers and stepped under the trickle of water at the side of his houseboy. "Hottest day so far. Hope you don't mind if I join you", as if the African could object. What servant could complain about the behaviour of his boss? Peter stood still, with his back to the houseboy, as the cool water ran over his head and down his pale body. Sunbathing had not been one of his priorities and his skin was a pinkish as it had been the day he left England, apart from a slight tan on his face, neck and lower arms. The contrast with the blackness of Wamuru could not have been greater. Back to back, their arms and buttocks touched and brushed against one another bringing Peter once more to the start of erection. Wamuru turned around at the same moment as Peter, both now trying to get the maximum benefit from the thin spray of water. Both looked down to groin level anxious to see the other's equipment. Pete had now seen plenty of black dicks in the course of his professional duties but for Wamuru this was a totally new experience. He stared down at his master's boy cock. To Wamuru, despite it being a full five inches hanging down, it was a boy cock, covered in foreskin. Did these white men have no shame? How could it be that an important man like his boss had not been made into a man. He thought with pride about the day he had stood in front of the circumciser who, with bony fingers had pulled his foreskin tightly forwards and sliced it off with a sharp iron knife. "Doctor Sir, your manhood" the houseboy exclaimed. "I have never seen a such a thing." Peter reached over, took the houseboy's hand and placed it on his cock, guiding it up and down to wank the foreskin backwards and forwards over the helmet. Happy that the boy was getting into his own rhythm and seemingly enjoying his new occupation, Peter reached downwards and took the black circumcised dick and began to massage it, his hand just about able to grasp around the thick shaft. He held it tightly, teasing the place where once the cock string had been, rubbing the triangle of the black helmet with his thumb. Peter worked his fist up and down the nine inch shaft as the helmet swelled blue black into an enormous plum. How he wanted that fruit in his mouth. The white man, still wanking the black tube of flesh dropped to his knees in front of his servant and caressed the plum with his lips, digging his tongue into the wide, deep piss slit ready to suck out the African's man juice. Spreading his lips and opening his jaws Peter gradually took the massive black helmet into his mouth, sucking it with the eagerness of child who had been given a succulent fruit. For a moment he let the cock head out of his mouth while he explored the shaft with his tongue. Wamuru had been radically circumcised and an uneven scar almost halfway down his dick marked the point where his outer penis skin met the inner skin left exposed by the circumcision. From the base to the scar the cock shaft was as coal black and smooth as the rest of the boy's body. Peter licked and teased with his tongue the slightly lumpy area of skin left by the cut, licking his tongue around the thick beer can shaft. His tongue travelled up above the circumcision line towards the helmet, savouring the new texture of the skin. Here the skin was a dark coffee colour, lighter than the lower part of the cock. Peter teased this more sensitive skin with his pale lips before sucking on it from the sides, above and below as if it were a stick of toffee. Once more he took the steel hard cock into his mouth, slowly but surely widening his jaws until he had at least a third of the thick penis in his mouth, filling him to the limit. Up and down he sucked. Wamuru grabbed the white man's head and began the push and pull Peter over his cock, gradually forcing more and more of it into the already full mouth. This was beginning to be painful for the young doctor: the thick black penis was more than he had ever taken, even from the most well endowed of his several boyfriends. He reached up and began to take Wamuru's hands in his own bringing them down, slowly working his way off the cock until his mouth was emptied. The blue black helmet was throbbing to his touch as he massaged the drops of precum that were oozing from the piss slit. Having anointed the crown with its own juices, Peter, still holding on to the cock turned around and raised his white arse to it, guiding the cock head to the cleft of his buttocks. Wamuru grasped his master around the waist and began to manoeuvre his stiff cock into the cleft, pushing the cheeks apart until his reached the white man's hole. Slowly but firmly he pushed against the quivering ass and broke the seal. Peter groaned as the massive helmet pierced his ass hole and began to work its way in. He was conscious of every millimetre as the plum shaped glans forced its way into his ass until the moment when the pressure on his ass lips was reduced as they slipped over the thick ridge of the helmet. Wamuru held still for a moment, letting the doctor feel the pleasure of this great lump of hard flesh just inside his arse hole. Then suddenly, Wamuru began to push forward, in an inch and back again, in two inches and back again. Peter felt every penetration stretch his bowels as the thick black cock drove further into him. As Wamuru began to glide in and out against the doctor's prostate gland Peter started to groan with both pleasure and pain as the enormous cock ploughed further into him. Wamuru would not give up until the whole of his thick nine inches were into the doctor who feared that he would be split apart by the massive cock. Peter felt the heat of Wamuru's chest against his back and when the house boy held him tightly with his cock fully in the doctor's ass chute, he breathed deeply savouring the fullness of the African's cock buried deep inside him. Both were by now standing fully upright but now Wamuru began to push Peter forward towards the wall of the shower causing the doctor to spread his legs and raise his arse for the main event. Pulling his cock out almost to the helmet Wamuru began to piston drive the white arse. There was no gentleness this time. With his hands holding Peter firmly in place he drove his cock in and out until the white man screamed for relief. The house boy responded by quickening his pace, ploughing his cock in up to the hilt, slapping the white buttocks with his hairless black groin. The more the doctor yelled the harder Wamuru pumped, now withdrawing his cock from the pale arse and then violently slamming his engorged helmet through the tight ass hole to pump again. Fantasy turned to nightmare as Peter felt himself being ripped apart by Wamuru's. Pleasure had turned to torture as the horribly thick black cock pierced his insides. At last Wamuru began to slow down. Keeping a tight grip on Peter's hips, Wamuru's cock ploughed up and down Peter's ass chute, never pulling out completely but teasing the tight ass hole with just a partial withdrawing of the helmet which somehow pleasured Peter as he felt the ridge of the helmet slip past his hole. It compensated for the pain he felt in his bowels. Peter's scream's turned to low groans now as he felt his house boy's cock begin to throb inside his ass. Wamuru quickened then slowed, quickened and slowed his pumping into the white arse and began to groan himself as he shot his load into his master. Never fully withdrawing his cock he slowly drove in and out as his balls emptied themselves into the doctor's asshole. For what seemed like an eternity he continued to plough Peter's arse, reducing his strokes as his cock emptied and began to soften inside the white man. Only then did he release his grip and in a show of tenderness wrap his arms around Peter, lifting him upright whilst at last pulling himself out of his master's arse. Peter turned himself round, pressing his body against his servant to feel the heavy black cock close to his groin and thighs as it dripped the last of its African juice. Peter held on to Wamuru, almost wanting to cry on the boy's shoulder both in relief at being delivered from his ordeal and in thankfulness for the painful pleasures he had been submitted to. His own cock was quite deflated. Sore and exhausted by his initiation into African man sex Peter felt that retreat to his bed was the better option at the moment and that his own pleasure would come later.... Later that night the doctor lay under his mosquito net with only the light of the moon shining through the thin curtains of his room. Naked, once again relaxed and very definitely aroused he began to wank his foreskin up and down remembering the agony and the delight he had been through. Leaving his cock upstanding he began to pinch hard at his nipples, digging his thumb and finger nails into the soft flesh, deliberately causing himself pain before gently massaging the aureoles and tits. Pulling his foreskin up and down, digging a thumb nail into the piss slit he recreated every sensation of pain and pleasure. Alternate moments of tit torture and wanking, and eventually the two together. Peter's right hand furiously drew and withdrew the foreskin whilst his left pinched his right nipple and bringing him to shuddering climax, his creamy man juice shooting up towards his navel. He continued to pull the foreskin up and down, letting the cream lubricate his helmet and skin until his cock head was a greasy pleasure down, covered with his velvet like foreskin. With the disregard of a uncut teenager, he lay back and let the juices mature in his cock and dry out on his groin and slowly drifted off to sleep, wondering what the comings days might bring as a sequel to his first foray into the world of African sex....... As hot humid days turned to cool ones and the grass began to dry up in the valley Peter felt more at ease and comfortable in the climate of Africa which had until now exhausted him on a daily basis. A few weeks into the dry season Nalondu announced to Dr. Martin that within the week they would be getting some extra patients. "It is our initiation time. Every two years, when the rains have finished boys have to be cut. Their fathers and uncles decide on the year and the day." Nalondu went on to explain that for the most part the boys, who could be between fourteen and eighteen years old, were circumcised in the villages, standing before the circumciser in their house compound with the male members of the family as spectators. Dr. Martin shivered at the idea. Nalondu continued saying that this was the greatest moment in a boy's teenage years and that bravery, ie no fainting, crying or screaming would be remembered by all present as the marks of his being a real man. The medical assistant added that he himself was a circumciser, like his father and grandfather before him, though he always used sterilised instruments and medical supplies for dressing the wound, even if the boys and their families refused the painkilling injection. Nalondu explained that some families, for the sake of health and hygiene, were beginning to bring their boys to the surgery for the cut, though that invariably they would still refuse to have painkillers. For the sake of tradition and the appearance of the circumcision Nalondu explained that the simplest method was used: stretch out the foreskin, clamp it in forceps and slice, letting the remaining skin slip back down the shaft. Only in rare cases would it be necessary to scissor into the skin, cutting it longwise and then around the shaft. Dr. Martin wondered what agonies they must go through and found it hard to imagine himself having to perform surgery in such conditions. In any case, circumcision had warranted no more than a footnote in medical school, the operation having long gone out of fashion in England. During his houseman days, Peter Martin had observed no more than a handful of cases, where circumcision had been performed on young men with severe cases of phimosis. Sure enough three days later a teenager appeared at the door of the surgery accompanied by two older youths and a grown man. "It is Kalonjo, come for the cut" Nalondu informed Dr. Martin. The boy was dressed in only sports shirt and loose cut off pants, which he proceeded to drop as he presented himself at Dr. Martin's desk. The youth had a typically long and thick five inch flaccid penis with a long and thick tube of foreskin hanging well beyond the glans, tapering to a slightly wrinkled spout. The glans was however, well defined under the rubbery foreskin, the edge of the crown clearly outlined. Peter Martin took the heavy flaccid penis in his hand and withdrew the foreskin revealing the dark glans. Retracting the skin far down the shaft he satisfied himself that there were no abnormalities before pulling the long prepuce back over the large glans. "Please go over to the table and lay down. Nalondo will prepare you for the surgery. I presume you will take an anesthetic injection to stop the pain?" began Dr.Martin. The elder man present with Kalonjo interrupted, "You must stand here and face the knife as a man". Continuing "Doctor, he must not lay down, he must stand before the knife which you will hold. He will show his courage and have no white man's injections. Such a thing would be shameful to us." Nalondu brought over a small bowl of tepid water, cloudy with drops of Dettol, placed it on the doctor's desk and reached over to pull back Kolonjo's foreskin cleaning it, inside and out. The boy stood passively as the medical assistant prepared him for the surgery and stood rigid when the medical assistant gripped the end of the foreskin and pulled it as far forward as possible, stretching it for what seemed to the Doctor an impossible length. Nalondu picked a pair of stout forceps and locked them onto the foreskin just ahead of the glans. "Stand and wait" instructed Nalondu as he let the penis fall from his hands. Dr. Martin looked on, his heart beating, at the strange sight of the pendulous penis hanging and weighted by the forceps. Nalondu went over to the instrument counter and returned with a scalpel which he handed to the doctor. "It is good. You should cut now" he instructed, speaking as the one who seemed to have taken charge of the event. Still seated, Dr. Martin reached out with his left hand and gingerly grasped the fleshly tube of skin at the end of the penis. He pulled it toward him stretching it taut in front of the scalpel. Positioning the knife against the outer edges of the scalpel he sliced the skin off in one go, Kalonjo remaining rigid and stiff, as the two friends and older man smiled as congratulated the boy on his bravery. Opening the forceps, Dr. Martin watched as the remaining skin slipped quickly, of its own accord, back over the dark glans and down the shaft becoming pink and bloody as it did so. Blood oozed form the wound and dripped onto the cement floor as the circumcised penis hung limply in front of Kalonjo's still rigid body. The youth was now a man, and having silently and motionlessly undergone the cut would be feted by his sponsors and family as a full member of the clan. "What do we do next?" wondered Dr. Martin, who felt as if he had been caught up in a surrealist film. After what seemed like too long a time, as the blood continued to drip, Nalondu, who to all intents and purposes had taken the role of master of ceremonies, instructed the youth stay still and proceed to stretch the wound even further down the shaft of the bloodied penis sprinkling antiseptic powder over the raw flesh. Kalonjo still stood rigid as what must have been an excruciating procedure took place. Releasing the penis from his hand, Nalondu watched the bleeding skin retract a little before shaking the powder tin once more and quickly wrapping and tying a loose gauze bandage around the shaft. Kalonjo's penis now looked respectable: a compromise between the traditional and the modern. The thick black shaft was still visible at the base. The white gauze around its middle portion denoted a concession to hygiene. Above the bandage, coffee coloured skin, which would surely darken as the months went by. Hanging heavy and proud was the now exposed glans, dark and proud, exposed forever, shorn of its youthful foreskin. Prompted by his uncle, Kalonjo moved for the first time, stooping to pull up his pants. Dr. Martin handed to him a small box. "You must take three of these tablets every day for the next week. They are antibiotics and will help to stop you getting any infection in your wound. Do not forget to take them. You must also come back in three days for Nalondu to change the dressing and check that the wound is healing properly." Kalonjo was now standing with his older teenage sponsors supporting him at the shoulders and arms as they turned to leave the surgery. They were stopped in their tracks by the old uncle. "The foreskin must be given". Turning to Nalondu he spoke in the local language which Dr. Martin was still struggling to understand. Nalondu went over to the instrument table and brought back a kidney dish in which was laying the excised piece of black flesh, somewhat shrivelled and wrinkled. Picking it out he presented it to the man who pulled it by both ends to see just how much had so recently covered his nephew's penis. Holding it in front of the youth he pronounced "Tonight you will bury the skin of your childhood beneath the mango tree and offer a goat to your ancestors. Tomorrow we shall feast." Dr. Martin listened in amazement, wondering what other rituals might be demanded of the boy. He had read enough anthropology to know that the circumcision was but one of many aspects of initiation and he prayed that whatever had to be done would not compromise Kalonjo's recovery, from what after all was a primitive piece of surgery. Wrapping the piece of foreskin in a leaf which he pulled from his pocket, Kalonjo's uncle thanked Dr. Martin and Nalodnu for their work and turned to leave. His nephew followed walking steadily but slowly, supported by his sponsors.... Peter Martin leaned back in his chair and thought about what the next few weeks might bring. That night he brought himself to cum twice imagining that he could suck on those long African foreskins before having to slice them away. By the end of the month Dr. Martin and Nalondu had circumcised over twenty youths. After the first couple of cuts, it was Dr. Martin himself who carefully determined the pull and stretch of the foreskin, locking the forceps onto the black tubes of flesh, under the watchful eyes of his handsome medical assistant. Only four boys had accepted the offer of local anesthetic, one of them after some persuasion when Dr. Martin realised that his long tight foreskin would have to be scissored and sectioned using a more complicated procedure. Without exception the boys had appeared for post op check ups and appeared to be healing nicely, wounds scarring slowly and evenly. Nalondu's antiseptic powder and antibiotics obviously being more effective than the powdered wood charcoal that the traditional circumcisers favoured. As the initiation season drew to a close and no more young men presented themselves Dr. Peter Martin had reason to be pleased with his new found surgical skills but was wanking himself to sleep night after night to mental images of African boy sex, pendulous foreskin covered black penises and the thought of being penetrated by what he imagined to be Nalondu's magnificent piece of meat.......... A day's work finished, a week later, Dr. Martin tidied his desk and covered the examination couch with a fresh white sheet, checked the contents of the surgical instrument box and took out two small ampoules from the dispensary fridge. Nalondu was tidying up the medicine cupboard when the doctor called him over. "Nalondu, my friend. Today you must do me a great service. I want you to use your skill to make me a man like you and your people." The medical assistant stared at the doctor, a look of incomprehension on his face. "Doctor Sir, what do you mean?" " You should know Nalondu, that where I come from men and boys are not normally circumcised. We only perform the operation in cases of medical necessity and sometimes for religious reasons. Me, I am uncircumcised but I have always admired the neatness of the circumcised penis. Many times I have thought of arranging a private consultation for myself. Having watched you turn boys into men gives me confidence that you can do for me what I want for myself. In fact, I think you would do better than many a surgeon back home." "Doctor, you honour me. If you are certain that you wish to go through with this I will gladly help you. It is good that our people did not know this thing for they would think it shameful for an uncut man to circumcise their boys." Peter Martin began to undress and stretched himself out in the examination couch. Nalondu stared at the pale white body. The penis was certainly small compared to his own, no more than four inches long, the glans hidden inside a foreskin which ended in a short stubby spout just a fraction beyond the organ. The doctor's pubic hair was clipped short and his scrotum cleanly shaved. Nalondu prepped the whole area, fascinated and repelled by the adult foreskin which he pulled backwards and forwards determining how much to cut. At Dr. Martin's request he injected the two ampoules of lidocaine into the base of the penis. Before the anesthetic had fully taken hold he firmly grasped the end of the foreskin and pulled it far forwards clamping it in the steel forceps. Peter Martin gasped at the cold blades gripped his sensitive skin tight in their lock. "Nalondu. You must wait for a moment. There is still feeling in my penis. I don't think that I want to come to manhood as have our young men this month! Why don't you palpitate my penis and work the lidocaine up the shaft?" Peter Martin, lay motionless as the long black fingers massage his penis which slowly but suely began to lose all feeling. "It think you can procede now Nalondu, it's out cold". Nalondu lifted the white penis pulling it upwards by the trapped foreskin. A sharp pain seared Dr. Martin's groin as Nalondu sliced off the skin with one sweep of the surgical blade. The tight forceps had obviously blocked the passage of the lidocaine to the end of the foreskin. Drops of perspiration bubbled on Peter Martin's forehead as he gasped and breathed deeply, willing himself not to groan at the unaccustomed pain. The torture seemed to intensify when Nalondu released the forceps. Peter watched in agony and amazement as the remains of his skin slipped back down over his glans. Nalondu delicately swabbed the bleeding flesh as it came to rest mid way down the shaft. The pain subsided for a moment as the penis lay inert and lifeless between Peter's legs. The lidocaine seemed now to be having its effect. Peter closed his eyes and breathed deeply, relieved and content that the cause of his shame in the eyes of Wamuru had been removed. Nalondu took the doctor's hand and held it tightly whispering words of encouragement and congratulation on his new status. "You are now one of us" Bandaged, dressed and slightly trembling Dr. Peter Martin gingerly walked back to his home across the yard, supported by Nalondu who kept his arm around the doctor's shoulders until they reached the small sitting room of the little house. Nalondu called for Wamuru and in words which Peter did not understand explained the doctor's new status and gave orders for the houseboy to pay attention to in the coming days................. A MONTH LATER On a Saturday evening after a long and tiring week in the surgery Peter Martin was enjoying a cold glass of Tusker beer, leafing through a bundle of magazines which the postal service had recently delivered. Why he should get four or five weekly publications all at once he had never worked out. He stretched out his legs parting them wide, very conscious of his newly healed circumcised dick nestling in the cotton pants. The first ten days had been not too bad, just a dull ache from time to time and the occasional stab of pain when erections threatened. The scabs from the wound were gone within another week and now he was enjoying a painless stiffness whenever his cock decided to rise. Another few days and perhaps he would relieve himself with a much needed wank. Peter was catching up on the news of football, theatre and cinema in London when there was a loud knock at the door of the house. He rarely had visitors and wondered who it could be calling after sundown. Opening the door he was pleasantly surprised to see his medical assistant, Nalondu, carrying what appeared to be a large bottle in a plastic bag, accompanied by a younger man, no less dark and handsome. "Do come in. What an unexpected delight. You are most welcome." Dr. Martin exclaimed as he ushered his guests into the room. Pointing to the small sofa he gestured to Nalondu to sit with him having pulled up a stool for the younger man. "This is my cousin, Kalenga" Nalondu announced, "I have circumcised him two years ago. He has come with me to celebrate your status as a man. I know you are man in England but here your foreskin would have made you a boy to our people, even if you are good doctor." Nalondu smiled and laughed as he made his little speech. Reaching for the bottle of liquor he asked the doctor if glasses or cups were available. "We drink to your manhood, Dr. Martin. You have braved the knife and shown yourself to be a man." During a couple of drinks each and some rather revealing conversation about local sexual practices Nalondu and Kalenga began to stroke at their groins and evidence of stiff African manhood was soon to be seen as their cotton trousers bulged before the doctor's eyes. Relaxed and uninhibited by the strong drink Peter himself began to rub at his cock and balls through the soft cotton of the shorts he was wearing. Kalenga reached up from his stool, lifted the doctors hand away and began to stroke at the white man's groin, his large black hands cupping balls and shaft. Peter leaned down and reciprocated, remembering the adventure he had had with Wamuru hardly two months ago. Nalondu sipped at his whisky watching his cousin and boss as they began to slide hands into pant legs and then down through waistbands, clutching at each other's genitals. It was Kalenga who took the initiative, lowering Peter's shorts, dropping to his knees and taking the freshly circumcised cock into his mouth. The pale cock was still slightly red around the cut line but the dick stood proudly with a deep purple mushroom cockhead surmounting it. It was a work of art, as if Nalondu had carefully carved away the flesh beneath the ridge. Kalenga licked and sucked in every possible place, tickling the piss slit with his tongue, sucking the cockhead like a hard boiled sweet, taking the cock all the way into his mouth slathering it with his saliva and finally letting Peter piston himself in and out of the mouth letting the black lips of the boy caress his cock as it had never been treated before. For a moment, Kalenga released Peter's cock from his mouth, stood up and quickly ripped off his cotton pants and underwear. His own cock was rampant, like Wamuru's nine thick inches of solid black flesh, with just a delicate change of colour half way up the shaft, evidence of his own circumcision. Wamuru took Peter's hand and placed it on the black column of flesh whilst taking Peter's rather smaller organ in his own. White on black, black on white they pumped each other's cocks following the quick rhythm which Kalenga set. Peter, afraid that after a month of sexual abstinence, felt that he was danger of coming there and then and began to loosen his grip on the blacks man's penis and placed his left hand on Kalenga's to slow down the wank the black man was giving him. Almost instinctively the two men positioned themselves. Peter stretched back on the sofa, his legs wide apart, cock upright and proud. Kalenga stood with his back to Peter fingering his arsehole as he lowered himself onto the circumcised white cock. Peter grasped Kalenga around the waist and pulled him towards the throbbing cockhead. With one hand on Kalenga's hips, Peter took his cock and pushed his helmet against the slippery lips of the black pink asshole. Kalenga groaned as the cockhead pierced his ass and slid up his chute. With the agility of an athlete Kalenga began to rise and fall on the white cock as it throbbed and stiffened even more inside his bowels. Kalenga remembered the night when he had sunk himself into Nalondu's tight arse one month after his cousin had circumcised him, two years ago. He bounced up and down on the white man's circumcised cock intent on bringing him to the fabulous climax which he knew to be the reward of the knife and a month of sexual seclusion. Neither Kalenga or Peter were to be disappointed. The arse muscles clamped around Peter's cock, the lips on the arsehole squeezed at his cockhead as he almost withdrew before being pulled back into the black hole and before not too long he felt the insistent throb in his groin which announced release. Peter groaned as he pumped out his man juice into the black man's tight chute. Kalenga feeling the release of liquid into his arse slowed down his rhythm, savouring the delicious moments as the white cock inside him throbbed, spurted and began to relax itself. .............. Drinks followed drinks and before long the bottle was empty. All that remained was for Peter to take Nalondu by the arms and begin the ritual that would complete his initiation: that his circumciser should penetrate the newly circumcised. The End. If you enjoyed this story of African initiation, let me know. I might be encouraged to write another. Ideas and scenarios always welcome. Jeremy