The Visitor Ch. 01

The bracing cold air in the mountains awoke his senses early that morning, just as it had each day he had been in the Swazi village.

Dawn would be breaking in a few minutes, and the first rooster's crowing had just died off, its waking call being echoed in the by others in the distance. Mark swung out of his bed and stood on the rough sisal mat that covered most of the hardened mud flooring of his hut, enjoying the feeling as the cords bite comfortably into his feet. He stretched and yawned, making his way out of the hut out into the courtyard.

Faint pink tendrils of the coming sun were beginning to mark the distant horizon, and he took in a deep breath, watching the mist that swirled around the craggy mountaintops around him.

This was exactly what he needed, coming out of the disaster that was his life in New York. He shook his head as familiar tensions started to flood his mind with just the thought of New York and he walked out into yard.

He was rich beyond his imagination and yet the fact there were others who were richer consumed his every waking moment. He could probably fuck every woman he wanted to, and had actually slept with many, and yet he was unsatisfied. There didn't seem to be an end to this chase.

And now here, in the remotest part of Swaziland, he had come to find salvation. He was still skeptical but as he looked around the yard, and felt the beauty of the place soak into him, he realized that a lot of the tension had evaporated.

Even in the daytime, he had some privacy in this yard - a chest high, closely thatched bamboo fence kept out prying eyes. But now, at dawn, he had complete privacy and had taken advantage of it every morning the past week. He was nude, the cold air raising goose bumps on his skin, but he enjoyed every minute of his early morning ritual. By the time he got to the fence in the far corner, he was massaging his tumescent cock and slowly moving down to gently squeeze his testicles. What a feeling, he grinned, a sort of return to an bestial state.

As far away from the trappings of modern society as he could get.

He stood with his legs apart and urinated into a bush that line that area of the fence, a strong and powerful stream that was steaming in the cold. The pleasure was exquisite and he threw his head back and grunted, clenching his buttocks as he did so. He had discovered this base pleasure some days ago and then had continued to indulge in it ever since.

Suddenly, he stiffened and he cut off his peeing in mid stream. He was sure he heard something. Or someone.

"Hey, don't stop now," he heard a woman's voice, South African accented lilt.

"Ah crap," he said, looking around and then saw her leaning against fence, peering in from the other side. Red hair, he could just make out but not much else, "I didn't know anyone had moved in."

She laughed, a low chuckle.

"Came in late last night, but seriously - don't stop on my account," she said, looking unabashedly at him, at his body. She stood on tiptoe revealing the tops of bare breasts,"See, I am dressed for the occasion as well..."

He made some sort of noise, embarrassed out of his senses, and walked back into his hut quickly, urine burning in his cock. "Fucking hell," he muttered in confusion, "What the heck was that about?"

Behind him, he thought he heard her chuckle again and shame overcame him.

But his cock had hardened to a thick pole by the time he fell into bed, and he started to stroke it. He thought of the woman, her laugh, her breasts ... and her lack of inhibition, his cock hardening even further and he gasped at the pleasure he felt as his hand traveled its length, squeezing the soft curves of the shaft and the bulge of his cock head. A spurt of pre-cum moved through his cock, burning him with pleasure and he welcomed it as it spurted out gently through the slit. With another gasp, he licked it, enjoying the musk and salty taste, as he kept stroking.

With a gasp, he drew his legs up and raised his head, looking and enjoyed watching his hand working the thick pole. Pleasure started to gather at the cock head and with a groan he laid his head back on the pillow, his stroking becoming faster. He could see her eyes and her lips, imagining her under him as he fucked her...

With a long drawn groan, he came, cum shooting out in stringy, white globs, landing warmly on his stomach, and dripping wetly down his shaft and on his pubic hair. He continued to squeeze his cock, eking out more semen and pleasure. Breathing hard, he lay down and closed his eyes.

"Hey, boss, you hit the jackpot again," Tsotsi's chirping voice cut through the warm slumber a couple of hours later.

"Ah, bugger off, man," Mark groaned, "And I would clean up if you would just come in a more decent hour."

Tsotsi grinned at him, a tall handsome lad, bare chested even in this cold weather. He had, just like everyone else in the camp, a brief covering over his loin, barely hiding his long cock, "You know I don't mind cleaning you up, boss. And the deal is that you get up at the right time for the day."

With a warm, wet cloth, he gently wiped down Mark's body. He delicately held up his flaccid cock and then cleaned the crotch area, and Mark held back a groan. The first time Tsotsi, his personal butler here, had cleaned him intimately this way, Mark had fought back with vigor fearing some sort of rape. But then he had got used to the touch, almost looking forward to it. Tsotsi was professional, but was obviously not averse to it, squeezing his cock or massaging his testicles often.

Mark lay back and relaxed under his ministrations, enjoying the feel of the fingers on him. He grinned as he thought of his buddies in New York, a world away. If they ever found out that what he was allowing, they would completely freak out. Well, that was the point. He needed a complete break from that world.

"What you smiling at, Mark? You like the touch?" Tsotsi grinned and stroked Mark's cock.

"Hey, hey, buddy, enough of that," Mark swung off the bed. He could not help noticing that Tsotsi was somewhat aroused.

"You know who moved next door?" he asked as he fastened his own loin cloth.

"She woke you up?" Tsotsi said as he put down the breakfast on the low table, "She came in late last night, a woman from Cape Town. You know, South Africa. Jennifer. Her third year here."

"Third year?" Mark pulled up short and looked at the young Swazi with suspicion, "You all have been saying one stay cures all. She had to come here three times?"

"Relax, Mark," Tsotsi barely looked up from the dishes, "She comes back because she loves it here. Like a homecoming thing."

Mark was silent for a bit, wanting to believe him. This whole trip was really an escape for him even if the ultimate goal of a complete destressing would be good. Two months of this would relax him but even he did not think he would be completely stress free when he went back to the States. Making the $10 million dollar bonus had left a deep scar that could not possibly be healed.

"We'll be back in the fields today, Mark..."

"Damn! This is me working for you - and paying to do so as well!" there was an edge of truth to Mark's complaint. They had been in the fields for a couple of days now, with a hoe, tilling the land slowly. The men and the women, working long hours. They had been patient with him, teaching him what was obviously basic to them, and now he had got into the rhythm. And the aches and pains were now subsiding and giving way to some toning.

But he was getting tired of the same routine. The women, young ones with beautiful breasts and older ones that looked like they would be a great fuck, would flirt with him but nothing more. The sexual tension was great but without relief in the horizon.

"Patience, boss," this time, the young Swazi looked up, "Tonight, we shall start the other part of your healing."