Barbarian King
Page 23
debauchery; her mouth was dropped wide open, her eyes were the size of saucers, and she had to occasionally punch a primitive, or two who were trying to grab and hump one of her massive, hairy, beefy legs.
BamaOay glanced back at the witchdoctor, he had not joined in the sexual carnage and only was smiling in an approving fashion.
This village-wide orgy went on for a short time before the Chieftain decided everyone had had enough fun.
“Okay, time settle down Jackasses!” he bellowed out at the top of his mighty lungs.
Only a few of the tribespeople stopped their fornicating.
“Okay Jackasses, time to settle down...celebration over!”
He extended his arms upward with his wand raised above his head and shouted for the villagers to cease their degeneracy, but could barely be heard above the crazy howling and hooting. That is when he took to knocking people’s heads together to get their attention and soon the ruckus began to die down.
A few persisted, a few more noggins were rocked.
“I said stop screwing around you Jackasses!”
Everyone was eventually brought to heal and had picked themselves up from their various sexual positions and were putting their skins back on to become, once again...civilized savages.
The Chieftain smiled as relative calm descended upon his village; he then turned his attention back to the President bowing profoundly adding, “Sorry for the inconvenience, clan like to celebrate most any occasion. Welcome to Little Hoot’Shaland B’jackass, we have been waiting for your arrival a long time. I am Moonbeam, the local Chieftain. And who is this attractive young female.”
“Moonbeam, this IllaryHay.”
The Medicine Man nodded his approval, smiling, “Yes, it nice to have both of you with the Little Hoot’Shaland clan.”
“B’jackass...”
“Yes.”
“Ill...Ill...Illar...” The Chieftain was having a real problem pronouncing her name.
“Name no good,” he looked to the feathered Witch, “What think Moose Breath?”
She studied IllaryHay for a moment and nodded with her decision, “Me think name ScrowSucka work.”
“What?”
The Chieftain nodded his approval, “That sound good, from now on your woman name is ‘ScrowSucka.’”
“What the fuck did he just call me?”
“Shhh...just go with this for now.”
“I will not!”
“Shut up!”
“Why she talk back? She not supposed to talk back. She need slap to put in place?”
“No, no, she’s good.” BamaOay looked at her sternly.
“That good, let me know if wench act up.”
Apparently, this was a man’s world, a place and time where the men called the shots.
“Come, we drink and eat to celebrate your arrival. You can bring wench if you must.”
The President’s cleated shoes drew an occasional spark drawing Ahhh's and Ohhh’s from the villagers, as the two walked alongside one another.
Behind the two, IllaryHay could barely control her outrage and was mumbling something like, “I’m going to kill that SOB.”
“Oh, look there,” BamaOay pointed off to distract the Chieftain momentarily, so he could turn around and whispered, “Shut up, I think these lowbrows are cannibals!”
“Me not see anything,” replied Moonbeam.
“If you want us to get out of here alive, you’ll stay buttoned up.”
“She still talking back? Me know how to put She Devils in place.”
“No, she’s good.”
Bullshit she was! thought the President.
The thatched huts lining the primitive thoroughfare reminded BamaOay of those in his father’s village in Kenya; practical, dry and circular, regular third-world charm. This place was looking more-and-more like home. Towards the center of the village they came upon the Chieftain’s residence, a mansion of wood beams, stones and straw. Smoke rose from an open pit somewhere in the center part of the expansive building.
“Come,” he pushed aside a large hide that acted as the front door, “Wife will take you to the den. I have a little surprise I need to get.”
The place was filled with the haze of a burning campfire.
“This way,” remarked the feathered Witch, as she led them toward a surprisingly cavernous room with a campfire the centerpiece. A hole in the roof opened to the elements and only partially worked in ventilating the Chieftain’s mansion.
Cough...cough... “Nice place...”
“We like.”
“Say, are those human heads hanging on the walls?”
“Yes, shrunken heads.”
BamaOay looked over at his companion with a look of, “I told you so.”
The Chieftain reappeared with several goblets cradled in one arm and an animal bladdered filled with liquid refreshment hanging on the other.
“Please, sit around fire.”
The Chieftain sat crosslegged across from his guests adding, “This is my special brew. We only bring it out on special occasions.”
He took what could have only been a human skull and filled it with the frothy brew from a goat bladder, he then handed skull to the most honored guest from across the fire pit.
The President accepted the skull of ale, only tepidly nodding.
“It is a special family recipe.”
BamaOay hesitantly took a whiff of the beverage, that skull was going to take a little time getting use to.
“Say, this doesn’t smell all that bad.” The ale, or the fireplace, gave the broth a smokey aroma.
He took a sip. “Say, it doesn’t taste all that bad, either.”
The President took a large gulp.
“No, wait. Don’t...!”
Too late, BamaOay downed the contents without taking a breath, the way he learned to drink back at the university.
“Uh-oh...”
It did not take long for him to realize that brew packed a wallop.
His head began to spin.
“Wow, this shits like acid.”
Dropping the skull to the floor
“What’s in that stuff?”
Moonbeam smiled, “Honey, herbs, some mushrooms and fermented yak piss.”
“Yak piss?”
He heard IllaryHay laughing hysterically and then nothing.
One Night Stand
That night...the flap of the guest suite entrance was slowly pulled aside awakening the President. He did not awake as a civilized dude would - drowsy, drugged and stupid. He awoke instantly with a clear mind recognizing the noise of soft footsteps that had interrupted his dozing. Supine, tense, pretending to be asleep in the dark, he now saw the starlit sky framing the dark outline of someone he could not make out.
“King...?”
He felt his skin crawl.
“B’jackass...you want play?”
Pile Driver was back.
“Piley want play.”
“Oh hell,” he mumbled, “why not. Get in here.”
“Goody...goody...”
“Shut up and close flap first.” He did not want to see what was about to happen.
She tied the flap securely.
“Oh, God...here we go,” he murmured to himself.
Noiselessly she approached, her breathing burdensome and foul. Sliding under the animal skins then slowly coiling her hairy legs around him.
“Wait...wait!”
Too late, Pile Driver struck the first blow...without warning, murderously as if she were a Tasmanian Devil, tearing and ripping; soon the President was down to bare, naked flesh.
Down and around...and down and around, again, again and again; the banging, the muffled screams, the overwhelming stench of raw, animal sex...the debauchery would go on all night. Falling to the floor heavily here, falling to the floor heavily there...on and on and on it went, never slowing, never stopping for a second; again and again, pure, unadulterated, raw, animal, love making.
La
ter, a rooster crowed announcing the aurora of a new sunlight in paradise. Finally, the nightmare was over. BamaOay lay unmoving in the growing light on some animal skins in a fetal position. Stripped, body fluids smeared everywhere, Pile Driver had finally satiated herself...for the time being. He stared through a crack in the hide flap into the growing light. The two-person orgy had taken the pair to every corner of the hut, then out to the pit of charred bones, then into a small brook, then back to the hut, then back out to the pit...then to his current spot.
It was about an hour later when the President stepped from the guest hut a bedraggled mess and hungover to beat the band. His golf attire was now in tatters. The same was true for the eagle’s feather replacement. Beneath the ripped fabric one could make out the claw marks of the She Devil. Clearly visible were the long claw marks down both legs and one side of his face.
It had been a sleepless night. All the tales the President had heard about primordial women having turned out to be true, save for the being unbathed part, and the claw marks he now sported on every part of his fair body. Pile Driver had not only used her fingernails to draw blood during those dozen, or so episodes of lovemaking, she had also put her toenails to use as well. The clammy, sweet, stench of sex filled the air about him assailing his nostrils. Thankfully, last night’s date had noiselessly sleeked away before the crack of dawn saving him from having to be reminded who he had been doing what to.
As he took pause he recalled another dream he had had that night during one of the few lulls in the whirling dervish when he was able to catch a little shuteye. He recalled that there had been a spinning sphere of ethereal light, that it had engulfed him, then in a flash that specter had vanished like a bursting bubble.
Was that what the doorway home looked like?
In the dream the President next found himself standing with a white mist coiling about his feet, a finely