by Paul Blades
Time seemed to stand still for her. She felt like she had spent long hours just luxuriating in her lord’s warm flesh, laying against him while her gently stroked her. She remembered being on her hands and knees, her hips angled properly to receive him as he probed her narrower, sensitive, rear opening. The brushing of the long, thick meat along the tender tissues there brought a sensation of delight to her whole body. He lingered long inside her, bringing her to completion several times with his steady, rhythmic strokes, his strong hands wandering her body, his thighs pressed firmly up against hers.
He never spoke to her, but his used his lips to bring her pleasure, kissing and suckling her breasts, washing her energized body with his tongue, lavishing it along her fevered slit and over her stiffened bud until she groaned and cried out in joy.
Marjorie remembered well when their time together came to an end. They had just completed another fevered bout of lust. The god slid his manhood from between her still quivering love lips and gave her a long passionate kiss. He looked into her eyes and smiled lovingly. She knew that he was saying goodbye. A protest began to form on her lips and then he passed his strong hand over her forehead.
The next thing that she remembered was reaffixed to her frame and being carried out of the cave. Her body slumped in her bonds with exhaustion. Her pussy felt heavy and tired. Her mind swirled with confusion. The priestess was there as she emerged. Her frame was placed down on the ground and the old woman smiled and caressed the short, blond bristles on her head. Margie smiled back at the old woman. She had been wrong to think evil of the woman, she knew that now. She had been blessed with an experience beyond all human imaginings. She was the servant of the Emerald God, Guarito, something blessed and holy. The old woman pointed up at the night sky. The moon hung there like a huge, bright, round pearl. Its fullness had passed and it was now new. She had spent two nights and days inside the cave, lost in passionate adoration of the green god.
Her bindings were released and she felt herself lifted up into the strong arms of one of the men. She looked up to see the smiling, friendly face of the leader of the expedition that had brought her here. She smiled back and then her body sagged and she passed out.
Chapter Twelve
Everything Comes Together
Margie was carried back to the village and laid down on her soft, furry, black bed in the woman’s hut. The old woman bound her hands to the ring in her brassy collar and looped her ankles together. She fell into a deep sleep. All through the remainder of the night and into the morning, the ecstatic pleasures of her couplings with the Emerald God kept coming back to her. When she finally awoke, it was midmorning and the light of the day shone brightly into the hut through the open door.
The young woman had never felt more alive. It was as if the green god had rejuvenated her body, taken years off of it. She happily ate the breakfast that the priestess fed her. The old woman alternated between proffering her bits of fruit and meat to seize between her lips and stroking her lovingly. The white captive had not disappointed. The old priestess could tell that the Emerald God had been pleased. Desiring to partake of the pretty, young woman’s experiences, she affixed to the wooden frame when she was done eating and blew a cloud of smoke from the burning bark into her face. When their mouths joined and as she stroked the happy white woman to pleasure, she delved through her mind, quaking and shuddering as the girl recalled every kiss, every caress and every soul shattering climax.
The old woman was exhausted when she finally broke free from the girl. It was as she had remembered it. She had served as the green god’s earthly servant for many years until her body’s juices dried up. But now the beneficent god had another to please him and the future of the tribe was secured. There was just one more hurdle to clear.
Margie was allowed to lie on her smooth, furry pallet for a long time. She nodded in and out of sleep. The young girls who were her daily attendants finally came and brought her to the stream where they washed her. When they brought her back, they treated her to a long session of Sapphic caresses until she moaned and cried out her pleasure. To Margie, every kiss of their lips, every caress of their hands, every lick that their active tongues granted her precious quim, was reminiscent of the acts of her god and lord.
After lunch, Margie was brought outside of the hut. The priestess had bound her hands behind her and affixed the long rope to the ring in front of her collar. They knelt in the shade of a small tree by the entrance to the hut and one by one, the villagers came up to express their happiness for and gratitude to the beautiful white woman. Gifts of fruits and nuts, carved artifacts, flowers and pretty, shiny stones were laid at her feet. The women, smiling and happy, kissed her and caressed her breasts. The men stroked her hair and gave her their thanks.
Slowly, Margie noticed that the regular flow of people scurrying here or there across the compound was diminishing. Some of the women and men walked by hurriedly carrying bundles of their meager valuables, a family stone, small carved statutes, necklaces of beads and feathers. The men were all armed with their bows and arrows and their razor sharp machetes.
It was late in the afternoon when the shaman came over. He was carrying the large bowl of emeralds that had been in his hut. Wordlessly, he placed them down before the white woman. He too was armed and he gave the priestess a solemn look and marched off quickly into the forest.
Margie and the old woman knelt there for a long time. The white woman wondered somewhat fearfully what was going on. Her morning of bliss had turned into an afternoon of tension. It became worse when the priestess went back into the hut and returned with the rubbery bladder that Margie had held in her mouth every day since her arrival in the village. Margie took it into her mouth meekly and sighed with incipient pleasure as the old woman crept behind her. She crossed the mesmerized girl’s ankles and tied them together with a thong.
It was almost dark when one of the men came scurrying across the compound at top speed. He was shouting something as he ran. A moment later, there was the sound of the burst of an automatic rifle. And then another. And then five ragged looking white men came walking into the village.
Margie recognized their leader right away. It was Armando! Behind him was the loutish, cruel, blond bearded man who had brought him upriver and his sidekick, Estaban. Two other mean looking men were with them. They spread out, their weapons at the ready, and strolled across the compound cautiously. They darted in and out of the huts on their way, checking for the village’s inhabitants. Margie wanted to get up and run, but could not, both due to her bindings, the long leash held by the old woman and to the rush of mesmerizing fluid that leaked into her mouth from the drug filled bladder every time that she moved.
When Armando reached the place where Margie knelt helplessly as if waiting for him, he smiled. “Hello, putita,” he said snidely. “Have you been enjoying yourself?”
Margie could not believe what she was seeing. She had thought herself long rid of her cruel, cool tormentor. She started to speak, but the bladder of the mesmerizing potion in her mouth caused her head to swoon.
The tall, lanky, aloof looking man looked at the old priestess and then down at the large bowl of emeralds on the ground. “Mi Dios!” he exclaimed. He knelt down and ran his fingers through the sparkly, green jewels. “It’s a fortune!” He leaned his head back and laughed. “Look, Ernesto, Estaban, come and see! It’s just as I told you.”
The other men quickly assembled around the bowl of jewels. Each one ran their hands through it. Murmurs of amazement and greed passed through them. Estaban went to pick one of the glittering stones up. Armando slapped at his hand and then jammed him in his chest with the butt of his rifle.
“Get your fucking hands out of there!” Armando exclaimed. “You’ll get your share when I say! Got it!”
Ernesto, who had fallen back into the dust, snarled but kept his anger in control. Armando turned again to Margie.
“What’s going on here? Where are all the people,” he said in S
panish.
Margie, distraught at this new development tried to answer, but her voice was stilled by the bladder in her mouth. Armando took note of her stuffed mouth and reached into it and pulled the rubbery bladder out. A wave of confusion and lust passed through her as the bladder gave off more of its liquids as it left her.
She felt a sharp slap across her face and her head jerked sideways. She moaned as fire grew on her cheek.
“I asked you a question, cunt!” the cruel man said angrily. “Where are all the fucking people!”
“I don’t know,” Margie moaned plaintively. The man slapped her again. Her body fell over into the dirt and she cried. “Please, don’t hit me! I don’t know!” She began to sob. She could think of nothing worse than the thought of being this man’s prisoner again. How had he found her? She knew why he had come: to rob the village of its emeralds. But she could not see the thin man and his out of shape companions trekking over the mountains and streams that she had traversed. Her answer came from Armando’s mouth.
“Well, its better that they’re gone. I would have had to shoot them, I’m sure.” He paused to take in the lovely form of his former, and soon to be again, sex slave. Grabbing her leash, which the old woman had released when the men had appeared, he pulled her back to her knees.
“Glad to see me, putita?” the man asked tauntingly. “I missed you. But we’ll have plenty of time to get reacquainted on the trip down river. I would say that Carmelita misses you too, but she has gone the way of all flesh. I had grown tired of her obsequious little ways and there was no sense leaving her there all alone while I made this little trip. So, after a little fun in the basement of my hacienda, I fed her to the alligators.”
The tall, slender, black haired, evil man took hold of Margie’s nipples and squeezed them painfully. “We’ll have some fun when we get back too,” he said, leering at her. “I’ve been dreaming of ripping your delightful flesh ever since I won you in that card game. Now that you’ve served your purpose, I’ll be able to satisfy my urgings. How would you like to dance on a bed of hot coals for an hour or so, eh?”
Margie whined with fear. Her heart went out to the pretty, happy young girl who had assuaged her life with the evil Armando. She imagined in her mind her screams and pleas of torment as the man made waste of her body. And that was what the future held for her too! She sobbed as she knelt in the dust, helpless to raise herself, unable to flee.
“Thank you for leading me to my fortune, cunt,” the callow man continued. “You see I added a little something to your pretty brass collar. It led us right here.” The man polled from his pocket a small electronic device. Its red light blinked and glowed. When he pointed it at Margie’s collar, it grew more excited.
“This is just a hand held,” he explained. “The big one is in the boat. There’s a GPS device in your collar and I was able to pinpoint where the stupid Indians had taken you. They thought that they were clever trekking over the mountains, but once I saw where you were from the satellite, I knew that I could take another route. We have been chugging up the Rio Carimba for five days. It took weeks to organize it. But once we got upriver far enough, it was an hour’s walk to the village.”
The man pulled Margie’s face close to his by her leash until their eyes were inches away from each other’s. “I see they took all of your long, beautiful blond hair, muchacha,” he said, rubbing his hand over her fur covered head. “You look better this way, like a drowned rat. I’m going to enjoy fucking you tonight as we steam downriver. And then I’ll let all the men have a turn. They’ve earned it, don’t you think?”
Margie stared back at the man in misery. She had no answer for him, of course, only a low, despairing whine as she contemplated her ravishment by the scrofulous men.
Armando turned to look at the old priestess. “And what have you got to say, auntie?” he asked. She looked back at him silently, her face as expressionless as the Sphinx.
The fat blond bearded man had been eying the jewels and Margie’s proffered, naked body, his eyes darting back and forth between them. “Tell the old lady to get us something to eat,” he said in his gruff, crude voice. “I’m starving. And something to drink too.”
Margie turned to look at the old woman. She was strangely calm and she nodded at Margie as if she knew what the men had asked. She got up to walk into the women’s hut. She retuned with a large gourd filled with the alcohol that she had plied Margie with a few nights ago and handed it to the men. Ernesto was about to take a sip when Armando grabbed it from him.
“Don’t be stupid!” he shouted. “What if it’s poison?” He turned to Margie. “Here, you drink it,” he ordered. He pushed the top of the gourd to Margie’s lips and poured the sweet, strong liquor into it. Half of it spilled from her mouth, but the other half found its way down her throat. She coughed and sputtered as it broke out a fire inside her. Her head, already woozy from the potion the old lady had administered, reeled as the effects of the high proof liquor entered her bloodstream.
Armando and the other men just knelt and waited for her reaction. When they saw that she did not keel over and die, they clamored for the gourd. Armando took the first gulp and then passed it on. He wiped his lips with his sleeve and smiled. “That’s good, whore. We’ll bring it with us and celebrate tonight.”
Margie knelt there sullenly as the men all took a long pull on the liquor. The priestess reemerged from the hut with a large wooden bowl balanced on one hand containing dried meats, tubers and greens all chopped up. In her other, she carried the long thin gourd that had contained the dark, treacly liquid that she had fed Margie before she went into the cave. She poured it over the food and stirred it up with a long wooden spoon.
Armando took the spoon from her and fed a large bite of meat to Margie. The captive white woman wondered what the old lady was up to and she ate the spoonful with relish. She smiled inwardly as she chewed it, not wanting to do anything to spoil the old woman’s plan.
After they saw that there were no ill effects from the food, the men formed a little circle around the bowl and started to eat from it. They scooped out bits of meat and vegetable with their hands, licking off the sauce.
It was not long before Margie began to feel the effects of the psychedelic mixture. The laughing, happy men started to wave and sway before her eyes and the compound, which was now lit by the light of the rising moon, seemed like a ghostly stage.
The men’s activities had slowed as the drug started to take effect on them. Armando was the first to react.
“Fuck!” he shouted, “the old witch has poisoned us!” He looked around for the priestess, but she had slipped away from the men silently. He tried to get up, but stumbled and fell at Margie’s feet. “What was in that!” he demanded of her, grasping her shoulders and shaking her. “What has she done to us?”
The other men were trying to rise to their feet. After a few efforts, the blond bearded one finally succeeded and shouted at Armando, “We’ve got to get back to the boat! Let’s get out of here!”
Armando nodded. He picked up the bowl of jewels and emptied it into the satchel that he had carried over his shoulder. He leaned over behind Margie and untied her crossed ankles. “You’re coming with us, cunt! I’ll make you pay for this, believe me!” He stood, wobbly on his legs and pulled the blond haired woman to her feet.
“No! No!” she shouted. “Don’t take me, please!” Armando lashed her across the face.
“Shut the fuck up, whore!” he yelled. He gave the rope that led to her collar a fierce pull and the frightened, desperate woman stumbled after him. She tried to struggle against him. He turned and slapped her again across her breasts. “Don’t fuck with me or I’ll shoot you right here!” he shouted.
Off in the distance, there was a loud rumble. The men, who had been stumbling and falling their way across the compound all turned to look. There was another rumble and the ground shook beneath their feet. Margie stared off into the jungle in the direction of the emerald mine. A thi
rd rumble sounded, closer this time. And then, above the tree tops, standing 30’ tall, was the figure of Guarito, the Emerald God, guardian of the village’s treasure, protector of his people, lover of the beautiful, white sacrifice they had made to him. His face was wrenched with anger. His large, stone hands were gripped tightly into dreadful fists.
The men stood and stared in disbelief at the tall, ominous, dark green figure. It was a sight right out of a horror movie. Such things didn’t exist. They were the things of superstitious legend. And yet here it was.
Guarito took another long determined step towards the men. As if sobered from their psychedelic stupor, the men all started to run willy nilly into the jungle. Armando yanked at Margie’s leash and pulled her along. One of the men, as he reached the edge of the jungle, turned and fired a burst from his automatic rifle. The bullets bounced off of the huge, stone figure and the terrified man threw the useless instrument away and ran.
As she was hurried along a jungle pathway, Margie could hear the uprooting of trees and the pounding of the giant’s footsteps behind them. She pulled back at the leash in her captor’s hand, but he jerked it hard, forcing her to follow him. The other men had gone ahead and, in the dark, they had missed the turn off that led to the river. Armando almost ran into them before he discovered that they had fled into the middle of a heavy bog. The men were frantically trying to free themselves as they started to sink lower and lower into it. Armando pulled at his feet and found that he too was stuck.
“Madre de Dios!” he shouted. He released Margie’s leash and tried to pull his feet free from the cloying, soft morass. Margie felt herself sinking too and she cried and struggled as she realized that she was going to suffer the same fate as the evil men.
The one that had entered the bog first and gotten the furthest into it before realizing what was happening was now up to his waist in the muck. He was screaming and pleading frantically. “Help! Please! Help! Someone! Please!” The other men started yelling and screaming desperately. Margie watched as they sank lower and lower into their doom. The bright moonlight cast an eerie glow over the frantic men. A sort of calm came over her. She was happy that the evil men were meeting their just demise. She saw Armando struggling mightily to free himself, a look of terror across his face. “Go to the devil!” she yelled at him. “He will welcome you and you’ll burn forever! Burn for poor Carmelita and all the others that you tortured and tormented! Burn for all time for your sins!”