Wild Woman

by Peter Marriner

  Two of the murderous brutes seemed to be doing more of the speechmaking than the others; one, the man who had served as her transport, she could identify by his carrying a musket. The other, notably so among all these impressively brawny black warriors, was short and skinny with a wrinkled face. In the background the women had returned to work, preparing food and cooking it apparently in a trench-full of hot stones rolled out of a large fire. Isobel recognised that this was to be a cannibal feast for she definitely saw a human hand among the pieces going into the trench, presumably pieces of her slaughtered former captor brought up after her from the shore. She hoped fervently that they had sufficient ingredients from that source not to require any contribution from her.

  The smaller man rose from the group and approached, moving with a limp to inspect Isobel. Sharp intelligence showed in his black eyes as he first closely examined what must have been to him an unusual colour of hair. He passed his hands over the rest of her, felt the firmness of her thighs, prodded her soft belly, roughly squeezed the plump rounds of her bottom with his hands and weighed each of her breasts. He looked as if he needed a good meal and this sort of thing put Isobel terrifyingly in mind of a chef testing the meat on a butcher’s counter. Finally cupping her furry mons within his palm he thrust the middle finger deep into her vagina. She thought this to be a more reassuring interest and working swiftly upon the thought, wriggled against his intrusion with an artificial sigh that she felt might help arouse the male libido even in the most barbaric mind. The crooked savage rose, shouted peremptorily, and rolled Isobel bodily off the platform. She fell with a breathtaking thump and the man bending over her produced a stone blade set into a wooden handle, and with it slashed through her bonds.

  One of the naked females diverted from the cooking pits where she had been turning over hot stones with a stick, padded across, stooping as if in respectful obeisance before the men to take charge of Isobel. The woman overtopped her man, a bulky figure, comparatively handsome in features beneath her big frizzy bush of hair like a round busby. She was wearing no more than the others, a mere pelmet of leaves in front, but she was festooned with a multitude of necklaces, earrings, bangles, and anklets, made of beads and shells. She put a noose of rope round Isobel’s neck and prodded her insistently with her blackened stick. Isobel was almost too stiff to unfold herself and loath to reveal her nakedness to all eyes, but her pleas for merciful treatment didn’t seem any better understood than they had been to the males. The woman waited only until Isobel had struggled stiffly to her hands and knees, before whacking her impatiently across the bottom and driving her forward. Isobel in her turn, though constrained by both stiffness of limb and tender feet, was only too eager to be relieved of her conspicuous presence at the gruesome feast. Speeded along by several shrewdly aimed whacks landing in a peculiarly sensitive part of her anatomy she was introduced into a wooden pen beneath the raised floor of a nearby hut, already full of grunting black pigs which made her heart sink once again since it seemed to equate her too with the tribe’s food supplies. A lumbering fat sow was driven indignantly from her repose inside the gate followed by her litter of squealing piglets and their place taken by Isobel. The gate when closed had a small round hole through which the female savage passed Isobel’s tether and used it to pull her forward, the hole proving just large enough to permit the captive’s head to pass through. With the tether knotted to a projection just below her chin, Isobel was held as in a low level pillory, still upon hands and knees, facing out towards the indifferent world of the village while frantically reaching behind her, trying to drive away the unseen pigs who nuzzled and snuffled curiously at her naked body.

  Later in the day she was fed from a hollowed out wooden trough, put before her to be reached by stretching out her neck. The same woman was in charge and prodded Isobel into motion from above, indicating what was required of her by rapping alternately the side of the trough and Isobel’s vulnerable rump. Isobel’s stomach rebelled at the prospect of suspect meat, but she was thankful to find her first feed was to be a kind of sloppy porridge giving off the chestnutty smell of breadfruit that she could recognise. The woman gathered up Isobel’s mass of hair first and dragged it all back, fastening it with a piece of cord into a kind of bush like the bound tail of a fox-hunter’s horse, but Isobel made a mess of eating in this fashion, smearing it all over her chin and mouth like a small child. The grunting pigs meanwhile, reared up behind her with sharp little hooves, almost mounting on her naked back, excited by the smell of food. It immediately occurred to Isobel that this might be the way her captors fattened their human captives for future consumption. She tried refusing to eat it all, but it swiftly led to her having her bottom well smacked by her female attendant, like a naughty child being made to eat up its nursery pudding. Two of the savage women were present; one who seemed to be the crippled man’s wife and who was named Laluala, took Isobel by a hank of red hair tilting her head back, and then with the fingers of her other hand nipped the white girl’s nostrils tight shut. The other was carrying a length of cane and a gourd. Forced to open her mouth to gasp for breath, the hollow cane was thrust between Isobel’s jaws and almost down her throat. From the tilted gourd a thin stream of vile-tasting oily substance shot down her gullet defeating any attempt she might make not to swallow. Laluala examined the empty vessel approvingly then pointing at Isobel made what the gagging captive suspected was meant to be an obscene gesture with forearm and clenched fist, then shaping her front with her hand to indicate a huge belly shook her head vigorously, patting her flat one instead and grinning.

  Towards evening, the two female savages returned and opened the door, Laluala fastening a longer rope to the rough collar round Isobel’s neck and then leading her forth at the end of it. The other woman had a long piece of hollowed bamboo as a water container from which she poured little dashes of water onto Isobel’s naked form as indicated by her companion who scrubbed assiduously at the accumulated dirt and pig dung with handfuls of wadded leaves. Welcome though this humiliating process might be, it was followed by a generous coating of oil, vigorously rubbed into her skin and ominously finished off with a finger-full of pork grease worked deep into Isobel’s vagina. They proceeded on, Isobel still being led along by the halter in animal fashion, but at least erect now upon her hind legs. She felt sufficiently like a human again to be self-conscious about her glistening cosmetic treatment and complete lack of other covering for her nakedness, being at the head of a procession of bug-eyed, naked, pot-bellied children along a line of native houses. These were constructed of interwoven leaf panels and deep leaf-thatched roofs, raised upon short piles and varied only in their length,

  As they came to a halt before one of the smaller buildings, a male savage, stark naked except for his penis case, emerged ducking through the semi-circular doorway, to whom her female conductor handed the end of the rope before turning and scuttling away. Isobel recognised the man’s heavily scowling features at once as those of the big savage over whose shoulder she had been delivered to the village and who had lectured his fellow cannibals at such great length before their gruesome feast. She supposed that as her initial captor he must have established a claim to her possession. She had little time to react, before an impatient jerk on the rope made it clear that he was anticipating the enjoyment of his rights here and now. The meaning of Laluala’s pregnant gestures came back to Isobel with unhappy force and she fervently hoped that she had interpreted the purpose of the potion aright. But if she had been given the inestimable release from fear of pregnancy it was only to free her to be placed at the service of savages. Creeping through the door after her new owner with an apprehensively thudding heart, Isobel found the inside to be quite roomy, built of neatly plaited leaf panels, and more house-like than she would have imagined. The high roof was a wooden lattice-work supported by long wooden ribs curving and tied together at the ridge with coconut fibre rope. The floor was of well-swept coconut fibre matting, the furni
shings sparse, fibre baskets, wooden pots and containers, and more suggestive of inexorable fate, a rude bed of leaves. That these hulking primitive males were any different in desires and lusts from her late captors on the L’Alouette, Isabel had few doubts, and if she was not to be eaten then she was clearly fated to be used in another manner. So it was no surprise when the savage immediately fumbled with the strings at the base of his penis sheath and whipped it off.

  The convict manhoods that she had been unwillingly made to practise upon, even Jacob’s big black one, had been quite different from this stripped down version. She guessed that this must the consequence of circumcision. It seemed more mushroom-like, the expanded head more arrow-shaped and the wrinkled stem seeming somehow harder and cleaner. Clearly she must propitiate this untutored savage at all costs. She felt double shame in her position, since being unable to speak his language, she was forced to use her body to express her eagerness to please. Suppressing tears and summoning up the unwholesome skills in which she had been so painfully tutored, she slid to her hands and knees on the matting floor almost at his big bare feet, posturing herself blatantly, choosing to present herself for his use in doggy fashion, since shameful as it might be, it seemed to require a less intimate involvement. Wriggling her bottom at the man and reaching back under her body, she spread the lips of her vagina invitingly wide with finger and thumb.

  The matting felt rough beneath her knees. The darkening interior of the hut was hot and still and she could smell the overwhelming stink of the brute, a mixture of sweat and lust, and the reek of rancid coconut oil and pork grease; but then she probably smelt no better herself. Posed in nervous provocation with her back hollowed and her dangling breasts almost brushing the floor, she felt the heavy thump as his knees hit the floor behind her. So far so good! Hands slapped on her hips, strong, spreading, hard-palmed hands that would wield a stone club with crushing effect. She let go an unsteady cry then gripped her lip as she felt the fat mushroom head spread the soft lips that guarded the entrance to her vagina. She was suddenly conscious of the thinness of the hut walls and the ears of the idling crowd of children outside.

  “Hole belong white missus… belong… one big fella… hole!” a deep male voice rumbled from behind her, the words were shockingly, distinctly English and though the grammar was not, it sounded as if it was intended to make sense!

  “You… uhhh… you… uhhh… speak… uhhh… English?” Isabel squeaked and panted, feeling the big knob of his staff being driven deep within her well-greased and slowly expanding channel, and wriggling with unthinking excitement.

  “Longtime… me fella… belong ship!” he grunted, beginning to drive his strokes enthusiastically to her depths. “Name belong Mickey...” Shortly he was surging greasily into her at full bore. Isobel tried to fix her mind upon devising some way of conjuring up sympathy for her plight, while having at the same time striving to please him by cooperating with his ready penetration of her. Caught by this paradox, of having to appear an eager participant while hoping for some means of escape, she failed to make any sense to her lust-engorged captor, who carried on regardless with shameful obtuseness. He had worked quickly up to full speed, and for a while Isobel’s breath and attention were entirely taken up in the effort to keep pace. Then at last, raising her hindquarters and matching his action with an expertise almost grown automatic, so that his steadily thumping penetration took less of her breath away, she tried again.

  “What… uhhh… will… uhhh… happen…uhhh?” she gasped. “Will…uhhh they… uhhh… eat me…? fixing upon her principal fear, only to get in response an explosion of masculine breath from behind her in a guffaw of amusement.

  “Bad colour…! More better pigs eat you, maybe!”

  “No…!” Isobel protested in horror, spurred by this to greater effort, pushing back onto his penetration. “Please…! uhhh… I am sure… uhhh… I can give you… uhhh… plenty of pleasure… Please… uhhh… Please keep me!”

  “You white missus…” her captor declared between lusty heaving thrusts, “belong all fella… belong all fella Wanangimi…!” He was holding her plump hips steady with a strong clasp while he thrust into her. Forcing her foundering brain to concentrate upon deciphering his words, they seemed to Isobel to convey the sense that if she were to preserve her life, she would have to please more men than her present user! In the midst of an effort to make good her earlier assertion, she spared a corner of her mind to be both horrified by what fate had in store and what had already become of her, that she could be being forced to submit to sexual intercourse with a cannibal savage, and yet have her mind drift off into such speculations. Nevertheless she sensed his explosion gathering, in time to thrust back vigorously, feeling every inch of him drive deep and then in the way she had been tutored, expressing noisy appreciation as he began to cum into her, feeling no more than a tinge of shame at it. After all, she thought despairingly, what had worked to appease her captors before, white, yellow and black men alike, must be of use to her now.

  “Alltogether fader belong Wanganimi give you alltogether same fella,” the former sea venturer said, slapping Isobel’s sweat-slick haunch as they lay side by side afterwards, panting in mutual breathlessness upon the yielding leafage of the bed. “Same farder belong me.” This must confirm her earlier surmise, Isobel decided miserably; he meant that the tribal ancestors had sent her as a gift to the whole tribe and the male savages had decided that her services were meant to be shared by them all. She was given little time to contemplate the future. Her current user seemed determined to make the most of this forced and presumably temporary, honeymoon night.

  “I go onetime Sydney!” he boasted, “Savvy white missus! Plenty good fuck!” Isobel groaned in secret dismay, uncertain what dissolute practices such a wanderer might have picked up with which to edify his fellow savages. She would be forced to employ all her own knowledge in the face of such possible recollections. He took her vigorously twice more that night, urging her to different positions and then, after a short doze, roused her once again just before dawn. She was forced to restore him laboriously to suitable rigidity, kneeling between his long sinewy thighs and employing tongue and lips. Before they had completed their ensuing successful coupling, this time with Isobel mounting upon his restored shaft and dutifully riding him to ejaculation, a bright shaft of sunlight had penetrated the narrow door to illuminate the meagre results, a blob of white clinging to the head of his fast collapsing erection as she drew off. He seemed astonished at this but appreciative as she went on to lick it off and then clean his shaft with her tongue, his big lips making appreciative smacking noises.

  Laluala returned to collect her, adopting a begging attitude towards Isobel’s yawning abuser. He waved the appellant off, towards a wizened old woman who had appeared at dawn and who looked old enough to be the man’s grandmother. The naked old crone eventually responded by bestowing upon Laluala a couple of the purplish-brown phallic tubers that Isobel recognised as yams, from a stock hung in nets under the rafters of the house. This seemed to confirm that Isobel’s fate was to become the common whore of this village, and be sent from house to house, to be at the service each night of some new and expectant male savage, forced to please and satisfy each one in turn. Could this be all that she was worth to the savages, an armful of vegetables? It was a fee the lowliest London streetwalker would have scorned!

  During the day when not required for this degrading service, Isobel was given language lessons by the sorcerer’s woman. At first it was a matter of being told the names of objects or actions, repeating and memorising them. Inside Sirawea’s own roomy house Isobel was made to assume a position on hands and knees where her bottom could be conveniently whacked with a stick by her teacher every time she made a mistake, which she found to be a very efficacious method of impressing the words on her memory. Later when she acquired enough command of the language, she discovered that Laluala’s husband Sirawea was a so
rcerer, spending a good deal of his time pounding leaves berries or roots in a stone mortar with much incantation, feared and respected by the tribe. The house with the skull platform was the men’s clubhouse and it was here the almost unending male debates took place. Despite his lack of muscle, Sirawea ranked as a Big Man, a man of status, with warrior followers and with prestige enough to be listened to. It appeared that the Big Men of the tribe absorbed many of the available young women, acquiring several wives by purchase and mostly eating any who were taken captive in raids upon their neighbours. The female captive being such a strange colour, it had indeed been suggested at first that she be fed to the pigs. However, recent murderous disputes among the tribe over adulterous affairs had led to the conclusion that she had been sent by the ancestors to resolve this problem and so to her being assigned to service the unmarried males until such time as they tired of her or the supply of meat was short enough to warrant other uses. Eventually Isobel was to realise that the pigs she lived among were rarely eaten but were prestige items to show off their owner’s wealth and only expended at important ceremonies or to seal agreements with other Big Men. She discovered that Miaki, her first user, advertising her sexual proficiency, had advocated her revaluation as just such a prestige item, from which it seemed clear that she must seize every opportunity to encourage this impression of being a valuable rarity if she was to avoid becoming a cannibal meal.