Sex Stories – Extreme Porn Stories – XXX Stories
This is an offshoot from a chapter in my Indian Sex Club Chp 16. It can be read and enjoyed as a stand-alone story, but background character depth will be found by reading the Indian sex Club stories Chp 14, 15 and 16. and from earlier stories in this series.
It was two days after I witnessed the female Kenyan navy chief petty officer Peninah Anyango when she was being utilized as a sex aid by the forearm sized cock of Onkwani, the vessel’s cook, to wring cum after cum from the mature Indian Anushka. And it was one day after I got to know her intimately. Anushka was from my recently started Indian sex Club, and I thought until those 2 Kenyans took her apart to claim their prize money, sexually insatiable. Why only 4 hours before taking these two Anushka had not only outlasted a marine from the same Kenyan naval vessel but ruptured his cock. All of this was part of my competition which started the day before that with six Kenyan sailors competing for a $5000 prize to get the most cums from the Indian woman.
Peninah had replied to the phone number I had left on her phone and I was now on autopilot impressing the 5 ft 4-inch Kenyan navy Chief petty officer. To be fair I was doing a good job of hiding my fear of inadequacy as one of my stipulations was that all the 6 Kenyans Anushka took on the first day had to have 10 inches of fuck meat. You would have the same feeling as me if The Rock turned up at your gym and started working out beside you.
I have been blessed I suppose in the fact that one of my few talents is to listen when talking to someone. Most people half listen, impatient to start talking again themselves; seduced by the sound of their voice and convinced what they are spouting is the only relevant thing in the other person’s life.
Then without knowing how, I also had the skill to not only remember at a later date what we had discussed, but to miraculously select what was important to that person and somehow sound trustworthy, honest, and that I was interested and it was important to me. That and my incredible luck meant I usually obtained far more than what I deserved, and rarely suffered for my callous manipulation of others.
I was doing all the right things with Peninah and she was lapping up my honeyed words. It was only a matter of time and I had never had a black coffee let alone the Luo woman I was escorting past the women’s clothing shops in Bridge Road. My other talent was I could measure a woman’s sex drive. Her real sexuality. I could weed out the pretenders like no one else, and Peninah was sending my measuring meter past the red zone and into uncharted areas. In the words of that fabulous song Gimme Some Lovin’ by the 1960s group fronted by Steve Winwood, the Spencer Davis Group:
Well my temperature’s rising and my feet are on the floor
Twenty people knocking ‘cos they’re wanting some more
Let me in baby, I don’t know what you’ve got
But you’d better take it easy, this place is hot
I’m so glad we made it, I’m so glad we made it
You’ve gotta gimme some lovin’ (gimme some lovin’)
Ahhh, Steve Winwood. The man who caused me to swap my bass guitar for a Hammond B3. Sure, most people know of Jon Lord from Deep Purple, the sound of Santana’s B3 man, Gregg Rolie, or Gregg Allman of the Allman Brothers. But for me, Steve was the man. Perhaps if I had been christened Gregg not Greg, I too would have made it big.
But it meant that I was saddled with a 350-pound monster with its wooden cabinet and seat, two keyboard, twin 12-inch revolving Leslie speakers, 12 wooden foot pedals and drawbars. It was as heavy as the groupies that Stan “The Man” Stevens handed to us peasants that made up the band. He had the grace not to smile when he said he was giving us the ones he wanted most. We believed him. Hell no, they weren’t even factory seconds; they were factory rejects. Though perhaps our bass player John “Fingers” McEvoy did, but then even bass players know bass players have IQs as low as their lowest E string.