FUCKED ON KILIMANJARO

Jay Starre

Philippe couldn’t recall what exactly had made him decide to undertake such a stupid challenge. His body ached all over, he was gasping for breath at least half his waking hours, and according to their guides there was worse to come.

Granted, the African landscape was absolutely gorgeous. Stark and increasingly barren, but with exotic plants scattered among the rocks and the unmistakable tracks of a lion around their camp that very morning, the slopes of the famous African volcano of Kilimanjaro were interesting to be sure. But. It was fucking exhausting, and Philippe was tempted to turn back nearly every morning. He was not a wimp, at least not most of the time. He loved hiking and had the thighs and butt to prove it, muscular and taut as a bowstring.

He would have given up except for one thing. Not his ego, not that at all. He had already gone higher on Kilimanjaro than most of the rest of the population of the world in just his first three days. One thing, and one thing alone got him up that morning and gave him reason to pack with a groan and push his aching muscles ahead, one step at a time.

Ralph was a lanky redhead, with serious blue eyes and a quirky smile, rarely offered. As the air grew thinner and the trail more difficult to negotiate, the man’s perky buttcheeks hovered ahead of Philippe, beckoning him onward. He had taken to following just behind Ralph on the trail, and the redhead had seemed content with the situation.

Ralph often stopped while Philippe struggled to catch up; they would take a drink and gaze at the surreal landscape in companionable silence. Ralph had a thick Southern accent, which Philippe, born and bred in New York City, found adorable. But talking wasted precious breath, and neither had the energy to muster up conversation while hiking.

They shared a tent at night, which Philippe thought was a stroke of absolute luck. When he fell into his sleeping bag on the rocky, uncomfortable ground, the tall, athletically perfect redhead was snoring beside him.

It was Africa, but it was cold after dark on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. The flimsy tents kept out the wind, and fortunately the tour company provided small propane heaters, which Philippe and Ralph gladly lit once they crawled into their tent.

On the third night of their grueling ordeal, they lit their heater and nestled side by side in their thick sleeping bags. Philippe was content, Ralph already snoring beside him. The guy fell asleep almost instantly every night.

Philippe was supposed to turn off the heater after it had sufficiently warmed the tent. They had agreed on that, while Ralph woke first in the morning and lit it then so they could get up without shivering to death.

Philippe’s mind wandered. He found himself half dreaming, half fantasizing. Ralph’s taut butt globes pumped steadily and provocatively before him, just out of reach. Encased in the flashy emerald shorts he liked to wear, each separate ass mound rolled and clenched and rose and fell, the deep divide between them promising hidden delights. Philippe contemplated that deep crack. Hairless, he was certain. A puckered hole. Pink. Tight. Willing.

Ralph’s snoring diminished, then ceased. Next thing Philippe knew, he was sitting up and blinking sleep out of his eyes. It was the middle of the night and he heard Ralph’s soft voice grumbling in the darkness.

“You forgot to turn off the fucking heater, Philippe! It’s hot as Hades in here.”

That sexy drawl stimulated his already bone-hard cock, which twitched nastily and bobbed up into the hot air of the tent. Philippe realized he had thrown open his sleeping bag in his sleep, with the heat he supposed. His exposed dick was stiff as hell.

It was too dark to see much of anything, but he could just distinguish Ralph’s lean form as he crawled to the foot of the tent and turned off the heater. Without that small glow there was no light at all, and Philippe was thankful his rude erection wouldn’t be visible to offend his new buddy.

Ralph crawled forward in the darkness. A hand groped Philippe’s bare thigh. He jerked and gasped. The hand rose and fell again, this time landing right on top of his stiff cock. He yelped.

“What’s this, Philippe? You got a woodie. Nice. Mind if I sit on it?”

Philippe’s cock leaped in Ralph’s fingers, not the least bit shy about broadcasting its emotions. Philippe, on the other hand, was unable to utter a single word. His mouth had gone dry in the heat and his body throbbed around the sensation of a hot hand now slowly pumping his cock. The image of Ralph’s oh-so-awesome butt riding him was just too good to be true.

He was dreaming. He had to be. The thought released his tongue and voice. “Fuck yeah, Ralph. Sit on my hard cock. Fuck me with your hot ass.”

Words Philippe had been dying to utter. If it was a dream, what was the harm? If he was rejected, he’d wake in the morning no worse for wear.

But the physical sensations bombarding him in the pitch darkness felt all too real. Ralph’s thighs, lean and smooth, slid over his and settled down to straddle him. Satin-hot asscheeks, naked and firm, pressed into his lap.

It was no dream. Philippe gasped as he clutched for flesh. His hands found strong arms and pulled them forward. Ralph released Philippe’s cock with a sexy Southern giggle, and then scooted up to sit right on it.

They both grunted at the connection of cock and crack. Philippe’s stiffie throbbed between Ralph’s parted buttcheeks, pulsing and twitching all along the deep valley where it lay mashed against his stomach and Ralph’s grinding hips.

“Oh yeah, buddy. I’m gonna fuck you real good with my hot asshole. Real good.”

The drawled nastiness was followed by more grinding, and Philippe had to feel that silky butt with his hands. He released Philippe’s arms and searched farther, sitting up on his elbows until he discovered the objects of his desire.

Twin globes of heat. His palms cupped them as they writhed over his stomach. They felt larger in the darkness than he remembered them. Full and heavy and powerful. Sleek, clenching, relaxing, writhing over him as Ralph slowly humped Philippe’s thick cock.

“You love that ass, I can tell. That’s real good. Real fucking good.”

Ralph’s ass rose in the darkness, Philippe’s groping hands following it, unable to relinquish the feel of those amazing mounds now that he had them in his grasp. He kneaded and stroked the big cheeks, probing into the spread crack and finding the sweaty crevice, even slicker and smoother. With Ralph’s ass in the air, Philippe found the redhead’s hole, and attacked it.

“Fuck, so sweet,” Philippe grunted out as his fingers ran across the puckered slot and then settled on it.

“It’s all yours. Hot and tight and ready for cock. You lick your finger and put it up there.”

Philippe snorted, almost laughing at the nasty request uttered in that languid Southern drawl. But he instantly complied, moving one hand to his mouth and shoving a pair of fingers in it, working up a mouthful of saliva before removing the fingers with a slurp and returning his hand to that satin-hot buttcrack.

“How’s this? Feel real good yet?” Philippe muttered.

His fingers, slick with gooey spit, collided with Ralph’s wrinkled butt rim. The hole convulsed, twitched open and then swallowed those fingers whole. They sucked him right in as Ralph groaned, arched his back and sat down on the pair of invaders.

“Real good. Real fucking good,” he gasped in the darkness.

The hole was alive with spasms and twitches. Philippe rammed deep and twisted, probing for prostate. Ralph wiggled his big smooth can over those fingers and began to fuck them, promising unbelievable delights for Philippe’s cock once it replaced those fingers.

“Cock. You. Gimme some of that fat cock.”

Ralph’s face hovered close over Philippe, and the whispered words carried an urgency Philippe shared. His cock throbbed with need. The big bone jerked on his belly as it rubbed against an equally stiff cock his redhead friend was thrusting into him as Philippe’s fingers twisted around deep inside him.

Now that Ralph’s hole was spit-wet and fingered open, it was ready for cock. Ralph himself eased the way by spitting on his own palm and reaching down between their bellies to rub the gooey saliva up and down Philippe’s stiff tool. Philippe yanked his fingers from Ralph’s quivering hole and Ralph squirmed while propping up Philippe’s cock so that the head was again rubbing into his smooth crack.

That hairless crevice was hot and slippery with spit. Philippe thrust up from the ground with his hips just as Ralph planted the head of Philippe’s cock at the gooey entrance to his anal slot. They both wriggled together, moaning, then grunting as cock-head penetrated butthole.

Twitching anal lips parted, hot hole gulped. Philippe shoved and Ralph sat down.

The redhead was impaled. Philippe’s mouth was wide open as he groaned loudly. His cock ached, entirely surrounded by pulsing anal flesh. Sphincter clamped over the root, while hot inner muscle quivered all around the fat shank and head. Ralph was breathing hard, his body rigid for the moment it took to accept all that girth inside his aching guts.

Then the redhead went nuts. Fingers reached down and clamped over Philippe’s nipples, twisting and yanking as the Southern hottie began to ride the cock up his butt with slamming force.

Ralph rose and fell, fucking his ass and Philippe’s cock with a slapping frenzy, his chunky buttcheeks smacking against Philippe’s thighs and hips on every downstroke. The tight hole clamped around Philippe’s cock like a heated vise, sucking him in then spitting him out with every rise and fall.

Philippe held on to those driving buttcheeks, squeezing and kneading them furiously. His back arched, lifting his chest into those pinching fingers as Ralph twisted his nipples like they were handles he was holding onto while he rode cock for all he was worth.

The redhead paused long enough to alter his rhythm, pulling almost all the way out so that only the aching head of Philippe’s cock was trapped inside his snapping sphincter, then he began to grind his ass in circles as he fucked himself a little more slowly but just as deeply. He groaned and gasped, obviously feeling all the meat penetrating his guts and massaging his prostate. He fucked like a skank, riding and humping and squeezing and releasing. Philippe was helpless beneath him.

Philippe’s nipples were on fire, a direct line of heated electricity arcing through his chest and down into his throbbing boner up Ralph’s hot ass. Waves of fire emanated from both areas, cock and tits simultaneously. It was the hottest ass-fuck of his life.

Philippe had been fantasizing about this moment for days as he had groaned his way up the slopes of Kilimanjaro behind Ralph’s sweet, pumping ass. Now that he was getting what he wanted, he sure as hell didn’t want it to end. But orgasm couldn’t be held at bay forever.

Ralph ripped it out of him. That squeezing, riding, twisting hole massaged and worked his cock so relentlessly, while those pinching fingers yanked his nipples so fiercely, he couldn’t hold back. Holding in a scream with all his willpower, Philippe rose up off the ground and shoved deep into Ralph, then dropped down just in time to pull out and explode.

Cum shot out of him like a water pipe had burst, spurting over Ralph’s heaving asscheeks. Fire in Philippe’s nipples burned right down into his belly, balls, and erupting boner. He shook and gasped and thrashed all over.

Ralph released Philippe’s nipples, which only made them throb all the more. As he was still squirting, Ralph scooted down on the sleeping bag and knelt between Philippe’s thighs. In the darkness, Philippe couldn’t see what was going on, but he felt his thighs being lifted, Ralph’s slim, smooth body moving again, and then the insistent throb of a very hard cock rubbing up between his raised legs.

“Now I get to fuck you. I’ve been thinkin’ of your sweet butt for days and praying for a crack at it.”

The words were whispered in the darkness, and Philippe’s ears were ringing with the final, exhausted spurts of his orgasm. But he understood and, limp and willing, he spread his knees and offered up his own creamy brown butt for fucking.

And now he really got fucked. Ralph’s cock was long and slim like he was, and stiff as an iron pipe. The head was like a gloved fist, though, as the redhead punched it right up Philippe’s defenceless and quivering asshole.

Thankfully the cockhead was coated with a layer of spit Ralph had applied at the last minute before ramming it up Philippe’s ass. That flared crown drove home, splitting Philippe in two and then searing him like a hot spear as it gored him to the balls.

Philippe’s nipples burned, his asshole burned, and his chest burned. He gasped for air, partially because of the altitude, partially because he was so stuffed with cock. The ache inside him became another wave of intense pleasure that rose up to blast his hot nipples, still throbbing from Ralph’s assault.

Philippe slammed back against the pile-driver dick up his butt, fucking himself as wildly and eagerly as Ralph had just done. Ralph’s breathing was like a bellows in the darkness as he sucked in air with every pounding thrust up Philippe’s tight ass. Hips slammed against asscheeks again. Hole massaged cock again.

Orgasm followed almost too quickly. The ache up Philippe’s ass was a pulsing pleasure, and the fire in his nipples had become a soothing heat, and he could have gone on for much longer taking that lengthy fuck spear up his guts. But Ralph was fucking too fast and too deep, his cock drilling Philippe’s tight hole in a frenzy that couldn’t be resisted.

“I’m blowing. You got my load!” Ralph yelped.

The redhead pulled out and hovered over Philippe, his body tensed and then jerking as warm cum erupted from his cock to splatter Philippe’s uplifted buttcheeks. Ralph sprayed Philippe’s ass.

He collapsed on top of Philippe and both men gasped for breath. When he could speak, Ralph whispered in Philippe’s ear. “I think I almost had a heart attack! Maybe it ain’t safe to fuck at this altitude.”

They began to laugh, their sweat-slick bodies thrashing together on Philippe’s sleeping bag. But that effort had them gasping for air again and they finally settled down. They slept the rest of the night in one sleeping bag.

Philippe’s determination to conquer Kilimanjaro was renewed, and three days later he stood beside Ralph for a photo at the peak. A sign beside them proclaiming Kilimanjaro Summit proved their conquest.

Naturally, the hike down was easier, but they still managed to work up a sweat. At night in their tent, mostly.

It could have ended there at the foot of Kilimanjaro in Africa, but Ralph went the extra mile. The redhead drawled out a sincere invitation to Philippe to visit him at his South Carolina beach house after they returned to the States.

Philippe took him up on it, and the New Yorker has been there ever since. They both get a kick out of telling people how they met—fucking, almost breathless, in a tent high on the slopes of Kilimanjaro.