I want to tell you a story that will certainly please everyone for how unusual it is.

It all began when my husband and I planned a trip to South Africa. Since a couple of friends of ours had recently returned from that country, we invited them over for dinner to tell us about their experiences there. They brought lots of photos and a video to show us. My friend M. told me to pay attention to the Black man who would appear in the video in a little while. Soon a huge Black man appeared on the screen, and she told me he was a fine specimen of the Watusi tribe. Without a doubt, that was a privileged people, not only in height and bearing, but also in the beauty of their men and women.

When the video ended, M., under the pretext of taking a peek at the wardrobe I would be bringing on the trip, went up to my room to tell me the story of the Watusi.

According to her, her husband wanted to see her being taken by a well-endowed Black man. One of the reasons for the trip had been to fulfill that fantasy. I was embarrassed by what she was telling me. I never imagined they could do something like that. And she told me everything, in the smallest details. All of it left me impressed and—why not admit it?—curious and aroused. M. talked and I kept getting wetter, with a heat that involuntarily took over my sex. I myself didn’t understand why I reacted that way, because up to then I had only desired my own husband. I had never looked at another man. Perhaps it had been something about the story I had heard. Perhaps...

The day before we left, M. brought me an envelope, saying it contained all the information in case I happened to want to meet that Black man. And, if I did, to tell him that she had not forgotten him—and more than that, that she never would for the rest of her life! I told her I didn’t want to do that. She insisted that I take it, just in case... Once there, it was quite likely I would change my mind and regret it.

Faced with her insistence, and to put her mind at ease, I took the envelope with trembling hands and put it away. On the plane, I opened the envelope and found a photo of the Watusi man and all the instructions on how to find him, along with a photo of my friend dedicated to him. I felt that something was pushing me toward that encounter. No matter how much I wanted to push the thought away from my head, it kept taking hold of my desires and increasing my curiosity.

One of the activities on our tour was scheduled for the next day: a visit to one of the reserves. I told my husband I preferred not to go, but to stay and rest and then do some shopping. I had to insist that he go without me, and that would give me about 15 hours of freedom. As soon as he left, I looked for a guide who would take me to the Watusi people. I had finally decided to meet Lao-to, the Black man. I was stunned by the price he charged me and by how long it would take: four hours to go and another four to return. I almost gave up. But curiosity won out, and I convinced myself I would regret it for the rest of my life if I didn’t go meet Lao-to. In less than half an hour I was already in the jeep, on my way to meet him.

The ordeal of that trip is indescribable. The road—if one can even call it a road—was awful and the vehicle absolutely uncomfortable. Before we were halfway there, I was already regretting my foolish decision. But it was too late, and the only thing to do was accept it and keep going. Hours later, thank God, we arrived at that people’s village, tucked deep in the forest. My first impression was wonderful. I was very well received, and those people were in fact even taller and more beautiful than in the video.

The vast majority of them spoke English, so I had no trouble communicating and even less trouble locating Lao-to. One of the beautiful women looked at me, smiled, and asked why I wanted to meet Lao-to. I explained that I was bringing a message from a friend for him and showed her M.’s photo. She recognized her and immediately commented slyly: “You want to meet our To-tem too. He really likes European women like you. Come with me, let’s see if he’s available.”

I followed her into one of the tents and finally saw the famous Lao-to, lying on a mat beside two women who were caressing him. When he saw me, he pushed them away and came toward me all smiles. I was completely paralyzed. A few seconds later, I handed him M.’s photo, since I didn’t know what else to do. I gave it to him and he exclaimed: “Beautiful, very beautiful woman!” Then he put his huge hands over my breasts, squeezing them and smiling: “You are much more beautiful than she is, and you will be mine now.”

And, joining action to word, he ripped off my blouse. His women came to help him and in moments, before I could even begin to react, I was naked. Completely naked! His hands roamed over my body and one of his fingers plunged deep into my vagina. Then he withdrew it, brought it to his nose, then to his mouth, and sucked it greedily. The women laughed. I understood that this was a sign of approval, since they dragged me to a strange chair and, only after I was settled in it, did I realize it was some kind of sacrificial chair!

One of the women poured over my body a viscous liquid, like honey, only purple and smelling of fennel, and smeared it all over me. I felt immobilized and, worse, completely exposed. My legs were strapped down and at the same time forced wide open. They coated me even inside my vagina, which made me feel an immense heat. That was part of the ritual, since the liquid was collected in a basin, transferred to another container, and offered to Lao-to, who tasted it through a thick, huge bamboo tube.

He tasted it and, apparently, approved it, because he then hid it under his tunic. A few moments later, he said a few words in his language and one of the women removed Lao-to’s tunic, letting me see the bamboo that clothed his sex. The women intensified the massages with that purple substance on my sex and made me smell the foulest, strongest thing I had ever known, then poured the rest of the honey into Lao-to’s bamboo.

His face and breathing began to change while the women sang and said things I didn’t understand. A sudden order from him restored silence inside the hut. He then began to remove the bamboo and a true snake covered in purple honey started to emerge. One of the women took the bamboo and finished lowering it. It kept going and going, never stopping, coming out of that form. Until at last it was free and came toward me, swinging that indescribable member. He laid it over my breasts and, after smearing them well, moved down to my thighs, positioning himself over my open legs. The two women took his stallion-like member and began rubbing it against my vulva. For a long time I was whipped by that trunk.

Another order from him and they began smearing my vulva again with that viscous liquid. Then they placed the head of his member right at the entrance to my vagina. Lao-to held the shaft of his cock with his hands and gave a deep, prolonged cry before hiding part of his colossal member inside my vagina.

The sensation was much stronger than the pain I felt. I could not imagine that I had taken more than half of it inside me. The pain I should have been feeling was surely greater than what I was actually enduring. Without a doubt it must have been the effect of that strange honey. There was far more pleasure than pain in that instant. With every thrust, my vagina spilled out jets of honey. My insides were pushed inward, my womb was being assaulted, but there was no pain, only a feeling of being stuffed full and a hallucinatory pleasure.

When Lao-to took one of his hands off his cock, I already had more than 20 cm inside me and just as much still outside. The pleasure I was experiencing was not of this world. I came and screamed through my orgasms like a madwoman. Lao-to smiled and thrust harder and harder into me. He placed his hands on my breasts and squeezed them furiously when I felt his milk gush inside me. I had never experienced such a quantity of semen flooding me from within. When it finally began to come out of me, I don’t know how I had the strength to remain conscious. He kept pulling that monstrosity out and I kept coming apart. When he pressed it against my face, I kissed it, licked it, bit it like a possessed woman and ended up crying hysterically. At that moment, I understood why M. had not forgotten that man and her experience with him. Who could ever forget a 34.9 cm cock?

Before leaving that chair, the two women came close to me again and made me the object of a new ritual. They took a leaf, rolled it like a cigar, and inserted it into my vagina. Then they placed another one like a pad, folded in half, and dressed me in panties. They said I had to keep that on for twelve hours or I would suffer the consequences of the taca-luei.

My time was running out. I had to leave and I told Lao-to so, adding that one day I would see him again.

When I got back to the hotel, my husband had only just returned a few minutes earlier. He seemed excited and told me I had missed a wonderful outing, that it was a shame I hadn’t gone and that, when I saw the films, I would truly regret it. Poor thing, if only he knew I had just taken the biggest trip of my life. I would never be able to trade Lao-to for a scheduled excursion. I was drifting in my own thoughts when suddenly I froze. I remembered I still had the leaves and the Black man’s semen inside my vagina. I ran to the bathroom and, when I pulled down my panties, I remembered that taca-luei thing. I didn’t know what it was, but I feared something might happen and put my panties back on. What was curious was that I didn’t even feel like urinating. Luckily, my husband was very tired and fell asleep as soon as he laid his head on the pillow.

I stayed awake the whole night and, when the twelve hours were up, I took off my panties and removed the outer leaf. When I tried to take out the “cigar,” I almost fainted: it wasn’t there. I felt around with my finger, and nothing. It had dissolved inside me. Only the strong smell of Lao-to’s semen invaded my nostrils. I couldn’t control myself and masturbated furiously. When I was about to come, my husband woke up and found my behavior strange. He wanted to help me and hurried to cover me. That strong smell did not escape him. He asked what it was. I told him I might be getting my period, that he should go because I was going to the bathroom. I took a shower and finished what he had interrupted. When I got back to bed, my husband was snoring like an angel.