by Paul Blades
After that, the bargaining began anew, but the fat man knew that he had them. After they returned to the bargaining circle, he pointed to five large, shiny green stones and the leader pointed to three smaller ones. The pipe and bottle went around again and the leader upped it to four. He and the fat man came over to the distraught, feverishly panicked woman and the fat man loosened her gag and pulled her mouth open so that he could see her teeth. Margie, once her mouth had been emptied of its awful, sound smothering instrument, began to beg and plead with him.
“Please don’t sell me to them, please!” she urged the blond man desperately. “I’ll do any….” He interrupted her by giving her a sharp blow across her face.
“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled at her. He grabbed her nipples and twisted them harshly. “Shut...the…fuck…up!” he repeated slowly, his voice full of ominous portent.
Margie whined at the pain and the not quite veiled threat and obediently terminated her entreaties. Tears fell down her face as the Indian leader peered into her mouth while the fat man distended it with his fist on her chin. He didn’t bother to re-gag her when they returned to bargaining. Before the Indian leader left, he took a strand of Margie’s reddish blond hair and ran his long, calloused fingers through it while staring deeply into her frightened eyes.
The men finally agreed on two of the little stones and two of the big ones. The deal was made. The bottle and pipe were passed around one more time in celebration of a successful trading day.
Margie sobbed and cried as she saw that she had been sold. Her body shook and her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. She watched disconsolately as the white men broke their camp. She wanted to renew her pleas not to be left behind with the strange, ominous looking, native men, but she was too afraid of the fat man’s cruelties and too certain that it would avail her nothing but a painful remonstrance. When the fat man came over and made to remove the ropes that bound Margie’s feet, the Indian man gave a protest. The fat man shrewdly explained through gestures that the Indians had bought the girl and not her ropes. The Indian became red in the face at the realization that he had been cheated. His hand nervously fingered his machete as the white man remained intransigent. Finally, the Indian relented and he called one of the other men over, took a small sliver of a gem from the little pouch and disgustedly handed it to the fat white man. The white man shrugged, gave Margie a victorious little smile and headed for the boat.
It was all that the beautiful, unfortunate, blond haired, white woman could take. She gave out a loud, piteous wail and began to yell and plead with the departing white men. “Pleeeeeease, don’t leave me here, pleeeeeease!” she shouted as loud as her warbling, distressed voice could go. “For God’s sake, don’t leave me here, pleeeeease! I’m begging you, pleeeeeease! Pleeeeeeease!” It was the most words that she had spoken since she had been kidnapped. Her body shook and convulsed as if she had been stricken with St. Vitus’s Dance.
The Indian leader was startled and annoyed at her outburst. He grabbed a handful of the broad, thick blades of grass from the ground and, after balling them up, shoved them deep into Margie’s extended, frantic mouth while she was in mid cry. As she sputtered and whined in reaction, he reached into his satchel and withdrew a length of leather thong. He tied it around her head trapping the vegetation inside her mouth. Her cries of pitiful entreaty lowered to a murmur and, then, were replaced with hopeless, bitter, forlorn sobs.
Chapter Nine
A Walk In The Forest
All hope of a return to her former life passed from the unhappy woman when she heard the boats engine’s grumble to life. She watched forlornly as Estaban gave the bow of the boat a push with a long pole. The boat swung out into the water and began to turn downstream. The fat, blond man was piloting it and, after Estaban hopped on the stern as it started to float away from the riverbank, he turned and gave her a happy wave of his hand. Within moments, the boat had disappeared from sight.
Margie listened despondently and tearfully as the sound of the boat’s engines faded. She had surrendered to her fate and her body sagged in her bonds. She chewed unhappily on the offensive, green vegetation that the Indian leader had stuffed in her mouth. She desperately wanted to tell him that if he removed it she would remain silent. But he and the other men were paying her no mind. They had crouched down on the riverbank to watch the white men’s boat leave and remained there until there was no longer any visual or aural evidence of its former presence. The leader spoke to one of the other men, the youngest and strongest looking of them, and the man nodded and headed down stream through the bush. He would make sure that the white men had truly left. Although few men on this earth were strong enough and possessed enough endurance to keep pace with them as they made their way back to their village, many miles distant, it made sense not to take any chances.
When the young man left, the others began to gather their booty. They had satchels that strapped around their chests and they loaded the goods into them and then hoisted them up on their backs. The leader came to the white woman they had purchased and untied first the rope that had held her arms aloft, and then the bindings on her ankles. Margie sighed with relief as the pain in her outstretched muscles was relieved. Holding the rope that still led to her bound arms, he placed his hand on the shiny brass collar that ran around her neck and tried to pull it off. Margie’s head shook while he tugged at it, her naked breasts swayed invitingly, and tears filled her eyes as she realized that she was now under this man’s power. Frustrated at his inability to remove the collar, the Indian leader took out his machete and tried to wedge it between the circular brass and the skin of Margie’s neck. Margie screamed in fear as the blade scratched her throat and tried to put her arms up to protect herself. The Indian man batted her bound hands away angrily, and continued to try and pry the ring from her neck. Finally, but not until he had drawn blood from the woman’s pretty throat, he stopped.
One of the other men had come up and they had a brief conversation. Margie had studied native South American languages and she was able to pick up a word or two here and there. She heard the word for ‘pretty’ or ‘beautiful’ and ‘walk’ and ‘rope’. She took it that the second man was arguing that he thought the golden hued collar was attractive on her and that she should be secured with the rope so that they could get on with their journey home. The second man took the end of the rope that bound her wrists from the leader and snuck it through the ring dangling from the front of her collar. He demonstrated to the leader how pulling on the rope brought Margie’s hands up to her neck, confining them helplessly there. The leader took the rope back and smiled and practiced letting Margie’s hands rise and fall in front of her. The woman was trembling with fright and her knees were weak as the man played with her, almost childishly, and as she contemplated the prospect of being hauled away into the jungle by these fearsome, strange men. When he had tired of his game, the leader gave a shouted command to the three other Indians who barked back acknowledgements to him. With a harsh tug to her leash, Margie was propelled forwards. She gave a great sob as they entered the forest.
Passing single file through the bush, the men did not walk so much as trot. Margie struggled to keep up with them. She was soon panting heavily and crying as her lungs began to ache. Due to her stuffed mouth, she had to breathe through her nose and she snorted as she tried to take in air. Every time that she slowed, her captor gave another callous yank on her lead. When she stumbled and fell, the leader whipped her body with the free end of the rope until she struggled to her feet. She knew that there was no way that she could keep up with what was to her a murderous pace and she feared what the men would do to her when she collapsed from exhaustion.
A half hour later, the men stopped and put down their packs. Margie fell on the ground moaning and crying from her ordeal. Her body was streaming with rivers of sweat and her lungs and legs ached. She would rather be whipped a thousand times than take another step, she thought as she lay on the dirty jungle floor t
rying to regain her breath.
The leader, realizing that the white woman would not be able to keep up with them, decided that this would be a good place to wait for the man he had sent down river and also make arrangements so that the woman would not slow them down too much. He gave instructions to the men who proceeded to hack away with their machetes at two straight, tall, young trees. Margie watched warily as they felled them quickly and then began to chop off the slender branches on them until they were left with two long poles.
While they were working, the leader was carving notches into the two ends of a six inch long, two inch wide piece of wood. When he was done, he attached leather thongs that he had pulled from his satchel to the notches. He then tugged on the rope that led to Margie’s collar and pulled her close to him. Margie crawled along the muddy, leaf strewn ground, her hands pulled up close to her neck in mock prayer, until she was kneeling fearfully in front of the muscular, silent, brown skinned man. She cringed when her reached his large, calloused hands to her head, but was grateful when she felt him untie the thong tied tightly around it. She opened her mouth dutifully and let him reach inside and pull out the messy, wet grass that he had filled it with. She spluttered and spit the torn remnants onto the ground and then looked up at her captor. She was about to make some kind of pitiful statement of thanks when he jammed the thick, round piece of wood that he had been working on between her teeth and quickly and efficiently tied the thongs on its ends firmly behind her head. She moaned and cried as the hard object pulled her mouth back in a grotesque grimace. The wood was bitter tasting and coarse and jammed her tongue down on the bottom of her mouth. She tried to beg for the man to remove it, but he cuffed her head with his hand rudely and yanked on the rope to her collar. She got the message and tearfully fell into silence.
The other men had completed their tasks and the Indian leader stood and dragged Margie over to where the two poles lay together parallel to the ground. She shuffled her knees along the jungle floor obediently, scuffing and cutting them on the myriad stones and sticks that lay there. The rope that bound her hands was unthreaded from her collar and then untied from her wrists. Hard, strong hands grabbed hers and despite her frantic struggling, she was dragged to the ground and placed on her belly. With her arms extended above her, the two poles were placed on either side of her spine and her wrists wrapped around it. Margie gave out piteous, garbled protests as her hands were affixed to the poles with leather thongs. Her legs were then wrapped around the bottom of the poles and her ankles bound to them similarly. Two, shorter lengths of wood were lashed crossways to the two poles, one over her neck and the other under her lower back. When they were done, the poles were flipped over so that the dolefully unhappy woman was lying face up and staring at the bright green canopy of leaves overhead. The leader took one of the shorter ropes that had formerly bound her ankles at the campsite and, while the white captive whined in misery, wound it through the ring in the front of her collar, wrapped its ends around the wood that lay under her head and then tied it off, securing her neck in place.
The men left her lying there, bound and spread eagled, while they awaited the return of the scout. Margie pulled at her bonds, testing them unhappily. The scar face leader crouched down next to her and, to her dismay, caressed her thighs and belly and played idly with her defenseless, naked breasts and the mound between her thighs until she gave out a soft moan of desire. The men all laughed. Margie wriggled in discomfort and shame in her bindings.
One of the men came over to where the leader sat next to her and started a conversation. His eyes kept darting to Margie’s naked form. At first, the scar faced leader demurred at the younger man’s apparent request. Margie knew that they were discussing her and she hoped desperately that the conversation did not involve what she thought it did. She squirmed and pulled at the straps that confined her to the two poles desperate to avoid what she knew was coming. Finally, the leader relented and a bright smile erupted across the face of the younger man.
The younger man called out to his friends who were waiting patiently, crouched in the dirt, some distance away from where Margie lay. They were evidently awaiting the results of their friend’s appeal to the leader. As one, they smiled and came over immediately. Two of the men went down to her ankles and started to untie them. The young man who had negotiated on their part with the leader was happily running his hands over Margie’s recumbent, pale breasts. His smile had turned to a leer.
The woman uttered useless, distorted protests through her gagged mouth. Her objections became louder as she felt her legs pulled up and her ankles retied to the pole on either side of her now upraised thighs. The leader of the native men reached out and took hold of her left breast, giving it a mighty squeeze and holding it in his tortuous grip until Margie, after an initial whelp of protest and a subsequent, long, agonized moan of pain, tearfully quieted.
The young man who had spoken to the leader climbed between Margie’s outstretched thighs. The anticipation of his pleasure shone over his shiny, smooth, brown skinned face. His hair, like all the men, was jet black, cut short, and he had a thick, pug like nose. His eyes were deep brown and set wide apart on his broad face. Margie looked up at him dolefully, knowing that begging and pleading not to be ravished by him was futile. But she could not help issuing a forlorn whine and twisting and turning her hips in a useless expression of the denial of her consent.
The man placed his hand on Margie’s soft, hairless sex and drew his thumb along the lines of her labia sending an unwanted thrill through the prostrate woman. The men had formed a little circle around her and she could feel their eyes wandering over her naked and defenseless body. The leader and one of the other, younger men, took possession of her breasts and were stroking them softly, massaging their soft bulk. The leader leaned over and put his mouth to her teat, sucking on it gently, running his hot tongue over her areola.
The efforts of the men to drive the squirming white woman to lust were soon rewarded. Margie moaned with unhappiness and delight as the thumb of her prospective assailant slipped easily into her canal. He used it to explore the sides and top of her moistened tunnel and then rose to its peak and stroked her tingling, hardened clit. He said something to the other men, who uttered low, humored grunts of approval. Leaning forwards, he poised his hardened cock at the portal of Margie’s lusty entrance and, after dragging its head along her engorged and puffy nether lips, slid himself slowly into her depths.
The fat cock eased aside the enflamed walls of Margie’s cunt and she gave out a deep, unhappy moan. She could feel the man’s hard meat filling her and she strained at her bonds. Misery ran through her as the man began his motions and she felt her lustful reactions to his gentle but determined assault on her pussy grow higher and higher. He leaned over, holding himself slightly above her with his outstretched arms to either side. His face had a satisfied smile of enjoyment as he pleasured himself inside her, thrusting his hips against hers, their bellies slapping together. Margie’s ample breasts swayed and jerked as they recorded each impact of the man’s steady motions. The other men crouched next to the rutting couple, enjoying the lusty spectacle.
She did not want to come for the men. She knew that by doing so, she would be sealing her fate as their sexual plaything. But the insistence of the thick, fat cock in her passage caused her body to betray her will. Hands continued to massage and caress her breasts. She saw the faces of the leering men and shuddered at the consequences that her uncontrollable passion would bring her. What was happening was unbelievable to her. It was just about the oddest and unhappiest fate that she could have imagined for herself. It was like some mad dream that kept getting worse and worse. But she could not deny the reality of the iron hard rod that was plowing her furrow, the amused, brown faces that surrounded her, anxious for their turns, the harsh confinements of her bonds or the rude, painful wood that bisected her mouth so cruelly.
The man’s thrusts became harder and faster and Margie felt herself on the
edge of losing all control. She shut her eyes to blot out the vision of her despoilment. The man suddenly grunted, a long and sonorous noise rose from deep in his throat, and Margie felt his cock begin to jerk and throb within her. It was all that her feverish body needed and she began to moan and cry as her disobedient crevasse sent wave after wave of pleasure through her body.
The second man was quicker than the first and even though his cock sent intense messages of pleasure through her, making her moan and writhe beneath him, he shot his load before Margie’s lusts peaked. Her pussy was still burning with need when the third man mounted her. It hungrily swallowed his meat as he knelt between her thighs. She came before he did, to his immense satisfaction, and once more when he began to flood her with his spew.
Margie lay panting and moaning in her mountings, her knees raised high, her thighs parted, when the third man abandoned her. The echoes of her climaxes reverberated throughout her body. The leader of the men was still crouched next to her and he ran his strong, rough hands across her flesh as if contemplating whether he should join the fun. He placed one of them between her thighs and caressed her dilated, flooded quim. Margie moaned at the thought of a fourth assault. He looked her in the face and seemed as if he had come to some decision.
When the man leaned over and released the thongs that held the offensive piece of wood jammed into her mouth, Margie realized what he was after. Her face cringed in dismay and she held her lips tightly together when he crossed his leg over her so that he was kneeling on either side of her head. She stared up at his determined, scarred face as his right hand squeezed her pale cheeks until her lips parted involuntarily. He leaned forwards and probed at her mouth with the tip of his stiff cock. When Margie refused him, he squeezed her cheeks harder until, anxious to end the pain, Margie released a piteous sob and parted her lips and let him enter.