Nubians: Part 3

By M. Greene -
published May 23, 2019

The ancient past holds many strange mysteries

Part 3

London, 21st October 1904:

Victor Browne arrived in South Kensington by omnibus and found the correct house without too much difficulty. The property was in the middle of an early Victorian terrace, with an imposing portico over the front door, supported by two stout whitewashed stone columns. The number of the house was helpfully stencilled on the right hand pillar in black paint and the whole row faced the Victoria and Albert Museum. Victor regarded the place with some pleasure. This was a very upmarket area compared to the dump near King’s Cross Station he had last worked in.

Somewhat to Victor’s surprise, the large green front door was opened by a tall gentleman of African appearance almost as dark-skinned as himself. Even in the world’s largest city, black people were a rare sight and Victor seldom ever met anyone who looked similar to him.

“Mr Browne, I presume,” the servant said, smiling as he ushered Victor into the spacious hall. “Professor Govan is expecting you in his study. Please walk this way…”

Victor followed the man into a richly furnished and carpeted room dominated by a highly-polished mahogany desk. The elderly white man sitting behind this rose to his feet as soon as they entered. He walked around the desk and shook Victor’s hand.

“Ah… Mr Browne, is it not? From the Agency?”

“Yes, Sir,” Victor replied, somewhat shocked by the physical contact. Employers never usually touched their servants, particularly if they were black…

“I will deal with this matter, Professor,” the black servant said. “You need to go to your workshop to continue with your important cataloguing work…”

“Of course, of course… I really must get on with that,” Professor Govan replied, nodding his head and moving towards the doorway. “Just let me know what you decide, please, Joseph…”

“I will…”

Victor watched bemused as the old man left the room. The way the servant had practically ordered the professor out amazed him. He had never seen a white man taking instructions from a black man before.

“Please sit down, Mr Browne,” the servant said, indicating a richly upholstered chair to the left of the fireplace.

Victor perched on the edge of the seat and watched as the other black man sat down in a matching chair on the other side of the cheerfully glowing fire.

“Tell me a little about your background, Mr Browne…”

“I was born in the colony of Nigeria, Sir,” Victor said, “but both my parents died when I was still a baby, so I was placed in an orphanage. When I was three years old I was adopted by Miss Browne, an elderly English gentlewoman who worked in the country as a church missionary. She brought me back to England with her when I was ten and, four years later, once my education was complete, I began working for her as a houseboy. Sadly, Miss Browne died two years ago, since when I have worked for the Agency as a temporary servant.”

“What is a temporary servant?” the man asked.

“In cases of sudden dismissal or long-term illness, the Agency provides servants such as myself to temporarily fill the vacancy, Sir.”

“But you would prefer a permanent position?”

Victor smiled for the first time since entering the house. “Oh yes, indeed, Sir…”

“You may call me ‘Joseph’…”

“Thank you, Joseph.”

“I think you will be very suitable for this household’s requirements. When can you start work?”

“Immediately,” Victor replied. “I just need to return to my lodgings to settle the rent and collect my suitcase…”

“Consider yourself hired,” Joseph said, rising from his chair. “Although in theory, you will be the employee of Professor Govan, you will take all your instructions from me. The professor does not like to be bothered with the day-to-day running of this house. Do I make myself clear?”

Somewhat overawed by the man’s forceful personality, but elated at having found a decent position, Victor stood up and nodded his head. “Yes; quite clear, Mr Joseph, Sir… Thank you for this opportunity, Sir… I won’t let you down…”

The Diary of Ronald Forrest

23rd October 1904.

After tossing and turning restlessly in bed for most of the night, I awoke feeling utterly exhausted, but ravenously hungry, and made my way downstairs for some breakfast. Mercifully, Joseph was nowhere to be seen, but Victor, the new chap who turned up yesterday, was on duty in the dining room to serve our meal. Like Joseph, he is an extraordinarily handsome black man; younger, but tall and athletically built, with skin the colour of ebony and bright brown eyes. As he leaned over to fill my plate, I could feel his warm breath on my neck and I almost wept with frustration and desire. Even Professor Govan must have noticed my discomfort because he asked me a moment later if I was quite alright.

Once breakfast was over, I went out for a long walk to Kensington Gardens and back. Although it is the Lord’s Day, I cannot bring myself to attend church; not in the state of mind in which I find myself at present. I keep telling myself that I must be strong, but I simply do not seem to be able to purge my mind of these sinful thoughts, which have grown stronger and more persistent over the past week. Strenuous exercise and repeated cold baths have done nothing to dampen my lust and the continual perverted fancies which flit through my head like tormenting demons prevent me from concentrating on my prayers.

Joseph is in my thoughts from the moment I awaken in the morning until the time I close my eyes at night. I try to avoid him in the house as much as I can, but it is impossible to do so entirely. The very sight of him sets my body on fire; his dark, muscular form, so handsome and desirable. What is happening to me? This is an appalling sickness of some kind, a terrible perversion. I know it must be Satan’s work, but I fear I am too weak to resist this unholy temptation…

May Almighty God help and preserve me…

It is past midnight. The household sleeps. It is time…

When I push open the bedroom door he is standing next to his bed almost as though he has been waiting for me. He looks at me as I enter with a mixture of lust and hopelessness in his light grey eyes. As he drinks in the sight of my naked body for the first time, I can see that his manhood is stiff with desire under his long white nightshirt. I close the door softly behind me and move closer.

He tries to say something, but his throat is so tight with pent-up emotion that he can only produce a half-strangled sob. I wrap my strong arms around him and stifle any further attempts at speech with my lips.

As we embrace and kiss, I sense the tension leaving him as the last vestiges of his resistance crumbles. Both he and I know that he is mine, now…

I am also consumed with lust for this slave. I grasp his nightshirt with both hands and rip it open. I tear it from his body and throw it into a far corner of the room. He gasps, but does not resist as I turn him gently but firmly around, then push him down over his bed.

I feel him shudder with pleasure as my tongue begins to lick the delicious groove between his sweet, pale buttocks. Soon, his puckered hole is wet enough to allow me ease of entry. Once transformed, he will produce a natural lubricant of his own, but for now, my saliva must suffice.

I am already magnificently engorged. Physically, this is the first intercourse my new body has had for four months. Mentally, it is my first for over four millennia. I am almost on the point of release as I push myself inside his deliciously soft passage, but I manage to control my sexual urges in time. This slave needs to be totally mine. On no account, therefore, must any of my superior seed be wasted…

He cries out at the first thrust. It hurts. Of course it does; nothing worthwhile or valuable is achieved without some pain and sacrifice. He struggles slightly, but I hold him tightly in my strong arms and order him to relax. He listens to my whispered command and his body loosens as I push deeper and deeper with every stroke. Faster and faster, I thrust myself into him until I feel the warmth of orgasm radiate from my abdomen and spread like a wave of wildfire across every cell of my body.

As my seed spurts forth I am transported from this cramped and smoky little city bedroom to the banks of the Nile where I sport in the fresh air with Anwar, one of my favourite slave lovers. We couple on a cool grassy bank, with bright afternoon light shining through the leaves of an overhanging tree. Above us and around us are blue sky and blue water. We are together in Paradise…

Once I am fully spent, my dream fades and I return to the mundane world I now inhabit. The exhausted slave lies under me, a residue of my seed leaking from his hole to trickle slowly down his creamy thighs. It is done. Enough of my essence is inside him, being absorbed into every part of his mind and body; changing him. Making him fully mine forever…

London, the Present:

Alex spent the rest of his Sunday cataloguing the many other photographs taken on the Govan expedition to Sudan in 1904. Although colour photography had not yet been developed, the professor’s camera lens must have been very good quality, for the sepia pictures were perfectly sharp and clear. Most of the shots were close-ups of the various artefacts the professor had discovered. Alex planned to match these to the actual objects themselves in the museum’s collection. He knew that the strangely-shaped, pod-like, metal sarcophagus was definitely missing and was intrigued to learn how many other objects had also failed to make it into the museum’s display cabinets or storage vaults.

Jaxon entered the office and placed a cup of coffee on the desk. “I thought you’d like a drink,” he said. “You’ve been at it all morning and most of this afternoon…”

“Thanks,” Alex said, picking up the cup and taking a sip. “Lovely!”

“Don’t forget that we’ve arranged to meet Max and Don later at Luigi’s, later… You’ll need to wash and change…”

“Oh fuck! Do we have to? Can’t you put them off?”

Jaxon shook his head. “Impossible. Luigi’s is the most fashionable restaurant in Islington right now and people will kill for a reservation there. We’ve had our table booked for months and I’ve paid a hefty deposit. Besides, I’ve been looking forward to tonight. Max and Don have just returned from NYC and I want their full report on the club scene there…”

Alex sighed. “Okay, okay… One more hour and I’ll jump in the shower. I just want to finish going through these pics.”

Jaxon picked up one of the photographs and stared at it for a moment. “I wouldn’t throw this one out of bed. He’s really cute…”

Alex glanced up at the picture. “That’s Ronald Forrest, Professor Govan’s archaeological assistant on the Sudan Dig.”

“I love his dreamy moustache and sideburns,” Jaxon said. “His face is handsome too. Do you think he had a hairy chest? I bet he did; you can tell by the butch way he’s staring directly at the camera…”

“Does your lust know no bounds?” Alex asked, snatching the photograph out of his lover’s hand and placing it back on the ‘already catalogued’ pile. “The poor man will have been dead for years…”

“Not when sexy body hair is involved, no…”

Alex shook his head. “You’re incorrigible…”

“And you’re a workaholic. Make sure you’re ready by seven, because I’ve booked an Uber…”

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