Captive Travelers

by Candace Smith

  Aubrey felt a tingling sensation, and her nipples tightened under the dexterous application of the herbal salve. Fingers worked the oil onto her slit, and within moments she felt her pussy cramping in answer. She tried to force herself not to respond to the tormenting stroking, but already she felt cream sliding from her core.

  No. Oh, god. What are they doing to me? Aubrey wailed and choked on the strips in her throat.

  “Calm yourself, Wacasa,” Leotie murmured. She glanced down at the two spirit women and nodded. The infusion of herbs was an aphrodisiac that Wacasa’s body would learn to manufacture as the addiction was forced. Leotie agreed that with Nashoba’s size and intimidating countenance, the woman would have to be kept filled with need to want to satisfy him.

  Aubrey felt fingers pulling at her nipple. The fingers rubbing her pussy had stilled, but they left her aroused and she shifted her hips in frustration. Her throat had grown accustomed to the strips and her retching had subsided. She tried to see what the women were doing, but Leotie kept the grip on her chin. Other than a few glances at the other two Indians, she focused on Aubrey’s eyes, feeding off her fear.

  There was pressure at the tip of one sensitive nipple, and Aubrey began to wail and buck her hips as it increased. “Calm her, Leotie,” Namid cautioned in a soft warning. She continued to push the hollow porcupine needle into the tight bud Yepa was pinching.

  Aaah… oh no. Oh… oh, god stop. Aubrey was frantic, and she felt her nipple being pierced with a needle pushing into her breast. Fingers squeezed around her areola and the quill stopped. Her tear-filled eyes begged Leotie when she felt her other breast manipulated.

  “Calm, Wacasa. You are fortunate the shaman has ordered you prepared for my son. The pain you experience here is an honor not afforded to all white captives.” Leotie stared at the quill protruding from her breast. There was only a drop of blood on her nipple. The girl shrieked around the gag when her other breast was pierced. Leotie was pleased to see the girl remained conscious.

  When the women reached for her pussy, Aubrey stiffened for a moment and then she thrashed in terror. Yepa straddled her hips to keep her still and she spread her lips. A fingertip rubbed more herbed oil and coaxed her clit out. There was a sharp sting when the quill was inserted into her sensitive bead. Aubrey screamed and sobbed behind the plug blocking her mouth, begging Leotie through her tears.

  “Let her adjust to the quills,” Namid said. Leotie stroked her forehead, and rose with the other Indians to move back to the fire.

  Aubrey could only move her head slightly, and she looked down her body. Her breasts heaved with her sobs and she saw the two black and white striped quills standing up from her nipples. Oh god. I want to go home. Please, let me go home. When her wails subsided to mewls, the women rose and approached her again. Aubrey began sobbing and trying to beg.

  Yepa had another length of plug, and she pushed it into the sack in Aubrey’s mouth. Leotie gripped her chin and tilted her head back, so the first length could slip down her throat. Abruptly, the girl’s sounds were silenced. “Watch her breathing, Leotie. Make sure her nose does not block with all her crying.”

  Namid added, “It will be difficult to provide the infusion with all her moving, but sleeping juice would contradict the potency.”

  Aubrey screamed in her mind, and her frantic eyes continued to beg Leotie while her throat convulsed around the plug. She managed the smallest of struggling breaths around the thin plug, as long as she controlled her crying and screaming. It took all of her concentration to breathe, and only the trembling of her body showed her reaction to the pain of the quills.

  Leotie calmed when she saw the girl close her eyes to work on her breathing. She watched the quills quivering with her fear. Wacasa’s sacrifice for her son pleased her. The girl had opened her eyes again, and Leotie looked into the teary gaze. It reminded her of a green swirling pond she had found by the meadow.

  Please, it hurts. Please, stop. Aubrey had never felt such pain.

  “You must keep her calm and still,” Namid cautioned. She had taken a smaller quill and filled it with the potion. She slipped it into a quill protruding from Wacasa’s nipple, and released the end to let the liquid flow into her.

  Ow… oh, god. Aubrey felt as though her nipple was on fire, and she felt a burning spread under her skin.

  Yepa massaged the breast, pushing up to keep as much of the potion as possible disbursing into the nipple. It was reddening and swelling nicely. “It may take only three applications, Namid. She responds to the solution well.”

  “The shaman did state that she was passionate,” Namid reminded her.

  The other nipple was infused, and Leotie’s black eyes filled with an aroused shine when the solution was added to her pussy. She envisioned many passion filled nights with Wacasa needing her son’s body to please her. Wacasa was shuddering in agony. The Indians retreated to the fire while Wacasa’s body absorbed the changes.

  Aubrey choked on the gag in her throat, trying to breathe around the blockage. Please, I’ll do whatever he wants. Don’t do this to me. As terrified as she was of Nashoba, it was nothing compared to the torment she was suffering at the hands of the Indian women.

  Aubrey’s nipples and pussy began to itch with frustrating stimulation. She clenched her hands and pulled at her bindings. The women returned and infused the quills a second time. Aubrey felt as though her nipples and clit were exploding in burning flame. Leotie held the sides of her head, while Yepa removed the plugs from her mouth.

  “Please,” she begged in a hoarse cry. Leotie smiled down at her and shook her head. Aubrey sobbed quietly, while the spirit women and Leotie curled up in furs on the other side of the fire. They were finished until morning. They listened to the girl whimper.

  Soon, Aubrey was gasping and shifting her hips as the potion encouraged her arousal. She groaned in frustration and tried to force her legs together while cream drooled onto the blanket. Her breasts quivered with the need to be caressed, and the result of the spirit women’s torture was becoming very clear. Aubrey understood how an animal must feel when it was in heat. Nothing mattered more than satisfying the building passion.

  As the night wore on, Aubrey could not control herself. The need to stop the itching stimulation was maddening and she no longer thought of Kayla or Cici. At first, she found herself thinking of the passionate trysts she had with Mike over the past few months. The handsome man was a fun lover who Aubrey had enjoyed teasing to erotic pleasure. It was only after she had used her talented mouth and let him rest that they would roll into a lazy series of caresses and gentle thrusting until Aubrey managed her own release.

  Mike’s youthful face was gradually replaced with dark piercing lust-filled eyes and a strong determined jaw, surrounded by long flowing midnight black hair. Aubrey found herself consumed and focused on the thought of Nashoba and how it would feel to have his cock sliding inside her and his warm hands on her breasts, demanding her passion. Aubrey remembered the warmth of his chest and his primal musky scent when she had slept next to him on the journey from the farm. It drove her desire to frightening need.

  While Wacasa lay in her torment, Ahiga made his way to the raven. It was his job to feed her, and he walked through the moonlit darkness to the cleansing poles. The raven was awake, with her head hanging down and staring at the ground. He lifted a flask from his hip belt. “Urika, I have brought water with jerky juice.”

  Kayla lifted her eyes, and she pulled back in terror. Ahiga had been her tormentor since they left the farm. “Drink slowly,” he ordered.

  Kayla swallowed a few sips squirted onto her swollen tongue. She could not pull it back into her mouth, and the fluid leaked down her chin and mixed with her dried blood. Ahiga gripped her ponytail and pulled her head back slightly. “Swallow slowly, Urika.”

  She cried softly while he fed her, and he ran his fingers through her silky black hair. Her eyes were as blue as the sky around the stars, and filled with misery. It was a feeling he
knew well. “They call me Ahiga. I am the Fighter, and I am cruel and vicious.” Ahiga felt her stiffen. “No,” he whispered. “I will not fight you. I see what my brothers do not. I also know of Hehewuti’s reputation. What you did deceived her, but not this warrior. You upset her reputation.”

  Ahiga continued to feed her juice. He was very patient and helped her to swallow by tilting her tired head and letting it spill down her throat. “I have put drops of sleeping juice in with this to help you rest. I cannot betray the tribe or disrespect the shaman’s word, but to me you are not Urika. To me, you are Wyonet… Beautiful.”

  Ahiga had decided the woman was almost as brave and proud as Nashoba’s white woman. Even though he held many tribal honors for his warrior abilities, he had been passed over again by the spirits for a captive of his own. Tocho, Nashoba… even the Fox, Tokala… had all been given the honor of a captive. Ahiga was trying to figure out a way to keep the raven for himself. Although it was against his nature, he decided to gain her trust.

  Kayla looked at him and cried exhausted tears. He was the first one who had shown her kindness since the Indians had taken them. “I am sorry for the pain you must endure, Wyonet. I am in charge of feeding you, so I can try to comfort you when I can. Sleep now. The shaman will soon announce you are ready to join the tribe.”

  Kayla watched the Indian walk away. He was handsome, but with the cruel shine in his eyes that she had seen since he arrived at the farmer’s cabin. This was all right. If he would be kind to her, she did not care. Kayla’s eyes drifted closed as the potion took hold. She was sleeping when the other two Indians approached her.

  “And you saw this?” the chief whispered.

  “I did. The raven claw pointed to the knife tip… the sign of the Fighter, Ahiga. She has been sent to calm his disposition. With his vicious nature, he spends winters in a cave by himself. She will bring him back to the tribe.”

  “Why must she suffer, if this is her destiny?”

  “Ahiga will not accept her if he does not fight for her and prove he can protect her. It is his way,” the shaman whispered. He smiled when he smelled the hint of sleeping juice on the girl’s breath. “The spirits will be redeemed from Hehewuti’s treachery when she joins us with the warrior.”

  The shaman checked the piercing threads of the raven’s shame. Although they appeared to the tribe as an intimidating, cruel punishment, they were thin and would leave very little scar when Ahiga removed them. She proved she was able to endure whatever Ahiga would need from her, and the shaman was satisfied. He took the chief’s arm and led him away. “Come, let us check on Waka.”

  Cici woke up to something pawing at her bottom. She tried to bolt up, but her legs were locked behind her. “I. I, Aka,” Ganali whispered in greeting. It was nice to have another in the pen with her. Tokala had left her weeks ago to go hunting.

  Cici stared up into the moonlit darkness. The woman leaning over her had shaggy brown hair and was crouched. No, not crouched. She’s tied that way. It did not take long for Cici to realize that she was also restrained in the painful position. Her legs and hands were aching.

  “Oood,” the woman garbled.

  Cici saw the ring holding her mouth open, and realized her own jaws were also pried apart. “Ow,” Cici wailed. What had they done to her? It was the first time she had been somewhat clearheaded since she had been captured.

  Awi heard the cry and walked out to the pen. “I see you are finally awake, Waka. This is Ganali. I think she is trying to bring you to be fed.” Ganali rubbed the Indian woman’s leg with her head. She liked spending time in the pens and away from her owner. Awi looked down at Ganali and patted her. “Do not keep her up late. Tomorrow is a busy day for her.” Ganali nodded, and Awi turned to go back to her sleeping furs. She said over her shoulder, “And do not eat all the food, Ganali. Waka has not eaten today.”

  Cici managed the awkward rise to her hands and knees. “Ow,” her fisted knuckles pressed into the dirt. Cici followed slowly to a trough and looked up at Ganali in disgust, shaking her head. Ganali shrugged her shoulders and lowered face to the food. She lapped with her tongue and knelt up again, her big breasts sagging over her belly. “Oood,” she repeated with smiling eyes and gruel dripping down her chin.

  Cici was starving. After a few minutes, she lowered her head and sobbed. The mash was thinned and sweetened. It was a refreshing change from the jerky and water she had had since she left the farm. Soon, she was scooping it up with her tongue. The gruel was a mixture of nutrients and a disproportionate amount of fat. Stevia and lavender hid the taste to make it palatable for the cows.

  The shaman and chief watched them eat and were satisfied. Paytah said, “Tokala left with Honani to hunt. They should have been back to receive the new offerings with the tribe. I will send Tocho and Nashoba to find them tomorrow,” the chief decided.

  The shaman and the chief walked back to their teepees in silence. They would have little time to appreciate the gifts from the spirits before Hehewuti and her warrior grandson would arrive. The shaman was still receiving mystical warnings, and he and Chief Paytah were discussing the meaning.

  Chapter V

  Nashoba stared once at his teepee while he and Tocho headed towards the west hills in search of Honani and Tokala. He wondered if his white woman would be ready when he returned.

  “They were told not to go on this hunt,” Tocho muttered in disgust.

  “They are trying to increase their tribal standing,” Nashoba replied. “My father said they did not even tell him they were leaving. He learned through Honani’s wife.”

  “The brothers are fast,” Tocho admitted. “Perhaps they have managed to stay clear of the bear.”

  “No, they would have returned to the village for the offerings. I think they expected to bring the beast back, and to disrupt the arrival of the captives and gain attention for themselves. Tokala did nothing to hide his anger when I did not choose him to make the journey with us,” Nashoba reminded him.

  “Have you heard of Wacasa? Will she be ready to come to you soon?”

  Nashoba rubbed his crotch. “My mother will not let it be rushed. She will make sure that my woman is well prepared.”

  Tocho was silent for a moment. “I was thinking of reclaiming Sahkyo for the winter, but I can see it could cause a problem with the farmer.”

  Nashoba stared straight ahead, as though he was studying the low hills. “Do not give up on the signs, Tocho. Until this season, mine had always been empty of a woman. I had thought I was to make my journey alone. Perhaps Sahkyo will be back in your casting, again.”

  Tocho looked toward the hill. “Do not think so hard about this, Nashoba, but I see a look in your eyes when you stare at Wacasa. It is a look not for captives.”

  Nashoba sighed. “I think it is best to leave the Mink with her farmer until there is a sign in your casting, Tocho.”

  “Perhaps I will trade for a captive at the rendezvous.”

  They rode towards the hills in silence. It was before noon when they saw the two riderless horses grazing, and there was dried blood on the belly of Honani’s paint. On the side of the meadow, they found the warrior. He was bleeding from a wide gash on his side, but still breathing. Nashoba wrapped the wound to staunch the blood flow while Tocho constructed a travois and strapped it to the injured man’s horse.

  It was another hour before they found Tokala’s broken body in the woods. They laid him on another travois attached to his brown gelding. Nashoba and Tocho turned toward the hills and wished the grizzly peaceful travel. With the sacrifice of a warrior from their tribe, they were certain the bear would climb deeper into the forest and away from the village.

  Tocho looked back at Tokala’s ripped body as he led his horse back to the settlement. Nashoba was leading Honani, who had begun moaning softly. The two men were twin brothers, and Tokala was always guiding Honani on foolish missions to try to gain the chief’s attention.

  “Ganali will belong to the tribe, now,”
Tocho said.

  “Yes, it will be good for Waka to have company. Ganali has earned the rest and was a loyal captive for the Fox,” Nashoba sighed. Tokala had been so cruel to the woman it was obvious she was relieved to spend her summers in the pen.

  When the Indians returned, Honani’s wife gathered her sisters to try to heal her husband. The shaman gave them medicine and spoke ritual words, but with the spirit women busy with Wacasa, Honani’s recovery would rest in his wife and her sisters’ hands.

  “The death of a warrior,” Chief Paytah whispered. “It is the first sign.”

  “Yes,” the shaman agreed. “I must hurry to get the offerings prepared and settled with the tribe. It will not be much longer before the others cross over. I will have Tokala’s funeral ritual to prepare now as well.”

  Awi walked up to them. “Is it true? Tokala is dead?”

  The chief replied, “Yes. He should not have taken his brother to hunt the bear. The shaman had already said it was to be left to feed on weakened buffalo and wander back to the hills.”

  “What of Ganali?” Awi pressed.

  “She will be left with Waka. The tip of the cow horn was split. Two will feed the children of the tribe,” the shaman answered.

  Awi nodded and wandered back to the pens. “Ganali?” The woman waddled over to her on her calloused knees and padded fists. She had been kneeling in the shade with Waka. “Tokala is dead.”

  Ganali’s eyes widened in surprise. Although Tokala threw fits of anger when he was left out of tribal missions, he avoided anything that had the risk of causing him actual injury. She cocked her head.

  “He lost his hunt with a bear,” Awi informed her.

  “Oani?” Ganali asked. The brothers were inseparable, though Honani was much more quiet and calmer than Tokala.