Lalapanzi Hotel

Author’s note: The word Lalapanzi is a Zulu word that means, sleep here or rest here.

A plethora of hotels and motels catering for travelling salespeople in the remote areas of South Africa existed during the nineteen-sixties. As time progressed and the world modernized, however, these places began to dwindle, as multinational corporations swallowed them up or ended these charming and individually owned places of accommodation.

Much later, of course, the blossoming B & B era would also follow. A few of these hotels survived into the nineteen-eighties, nonetheless.

Every six weeks on my most northern visits, I would pass by one of these relics. Although I had often passed Lalapanzi on these trips, that evening, after a lengthy delay on my previous call, I was so tired, that I finally opted to stay over and forgo the additional hundred miles. Having passed by a myriad of times, I had often wondered about this place.

To my delight, when I got shown to my room, it was not as bad as I had imagined. The bungalow assigned to me had a bathroom and was charming. 

After settling in, I went through to a pub, which adjoined the dining area. As I sat down an enthusiastic barman took my drinks order as well as giving me a menu to peruse for later. Although I have to admit that the barman did not ring my bells, Richard, the barman was very engaging. As my gaydar got stimulated, I could not tell if Richie was coming onto me or perhaps sending me up.

There was a roughness to his demeanour, and I could tell that his broad hands showed clear signs of a former labour-intensive type of work. Intrigued by this, I wondered why he was working as a barman. 

As we chatted, his manly hands became fixated on his crotch. Richie was my height, five-foot-eleven-tall, which usually would not have appealed to me because l liked big boys. After hastily slugging back my initial drink, I ordered a second one and offered to buy him a drink as well.

“I don’t drink anymore,” Richie graciously replied.

“Why?” I asked matter-of-factly.

“Booze is not my friend, and that I have ended up here after losing everything,” Richie told me with a look of embarrassment.

With that riddle solved, I decided not to pursue the matter.

After my second drink got placed before me, I urgently needed to piss. With the bar devoid of other patrons, Richie not only pointed toward the toilets but even offered to show me the way.

Once we got to the urinal, Richie stamped his authority by producing a third leg. I had never seen such a large cock in my life. It was fuckin’ gigantic. With a triumphant look on his face, he flapped his dick about majestically. At the sight of his dick, all my former misgivings disappeared as I got utterly ensnared. There was no way that I would be able to resist a dick like this. Although I knew it would hurt, I did not give a fuck.

Regrettably, my worship got interrupted as another patron entered the ablution area, before Richie and I hastily made our way back to the bar. 

As I casually sipped my drink, Richie’s hands kept reminding me of the treasure I had witnessed. Like a slut, I made sure that my key lay on the counter displaying my room number.

As I made my way to the dining area, I unashamedly announced that I would return for a nightcap.

The dinner was far better than I had imagined, and ultimately, I once again found myself seated at the bar. To my joy, it was a slow night at the hotel, and Richie informed me that the pub would soon be closing. With only one other patron in the pub, who fortuitously was not sitting at the counter, Richie began to torment me as he started putting on a show of extreme salaciousness. Apart from rubbing his fingers all over his torso and tweaking his nipples, his hands delved into his pants. It was abundantly clear that his fingers were exploring his foreskin as he looked at me excitedly. To add to my woes, he raised his fingers to his nose as he sniffed the digits lasciviously. After imbibing the scent, Richie’s tongue danced over his lips enticingly before licking his pungent fingers. My cock had never been harder in my lifetime.

Hornier than I had ever been, I finally hurried back to my room to perform the necessary preparation required in expectation of his arrival. With my arse twitching in anticipation, I could not wait for my anal assault.

When I heard the knock on my door, I was hyperventilating. After opening the door almost naked, Richie propelled me toward the bed in a flash before I got flung onto the mattress.  

During this process, Richie’s clothing magically disappeared before he pounced on me. Before I could think, that monstrous cock began sliding in my crack. 

“Brace yourself, bitch, I am about to fuck the living shit out of you.” Richie exulted.

My sublimation was hectically uncomfortable but unbelievably gratifying. As Richie commenced his sustained assault, I whined like a bitch in heat.

‘Oh, Jesus, it is magnificent.’ I pondered hornily.

“Are you okay?” Richie asked.

“Yes, yes… Just fuck the living shit out of me,” I intoned.

“I’ll be glad to,” Richie replied with a hint of malice to his tone.

Richie’s rough and powerful hands now came into play as I got slapped incessantly all over my body. Additionally, his powerful fingers tweaked the living hell out of my nipples, cock, and balls. I had always liked a bit of roughness, but Richie was now giving me a masterclass in ‘torture,’ and I wasn’t sure what hurt more, my dilapidated sphincter, or the rest of my aching body.  

After Richie finally unloaded, any hope of a respite in his onslaught got dashed as I received the most severe skull-fucking of my life. My head and chest looked like a hurricane of saliva had swept over me.

Richie ‘abused’ me for the following three hours before he finally departed, leaving me sucking on ice cubes frantically.

Over the following year, I always stayed at Lalapanzi. It always amused me to think it meant, ‘rest here.’

Sadly, a year later, Richie had moved on, and I never saw him again.