by Paul Blades
Diane thought he was done with his exploration of her. She was wrong. The old man paused for a few moments as if digesting the knowledge he had gained from his callous exploration of her body. He then, without warning, reached up his hands and pushed her shoulders back, forcing her torso down. He relented only when her shoulders were touching the ground. Her knees were still under her and her thighs and back ached. Her belly and breasts were pointed to the harsh sun above. The rough, worn hands caressed her belly and, to the supine blond woman's dismay, moved up and seized her breasts once again. This time, he was not weighing them, assessing them. Having gained knowledge of her flesh, he now sought to explore her desires, her passions, her lusts. He began a slow, gentle massage of her generous mounds, teasing and squeezing them, worrying her stiffened nipples. His hands were hot and filled with a strange energy. She could not prevent the enflaming of her desire. Diane closed her eyes and let her mind become absorbed in the pleasures of the skillful, knowledgeable hands. Slowly, methodically, he stroked her, almost like he was drawing something out of her, milking her soul.
Diane was panting and squirming with need when the hands left her breasts. They ran back down her belly and she felt them stop at the site of her master's mark. She hated its presence on her body. Her master sometimes radiated his power to it, causing it to burn, filling her with fear and despair through it. Every time she saw it, on herself in the mirror, or on the other women who he used to torment and pleasure her, she cringed and felt the man's evil powers running through her.
Now, she felt the old man infusing the symbol with his own powers. The detested mark seemed to glow on her belly and the man's psyche flowed into her through it. She felt like her body had been filled with a fierce fire. She screamed and moaned in agony. Her body was frozen in place and she was unable to make any move to escape him. It went on and on. She felt like her insides were being scorched, burned away. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he withdrew his hand and the fire subsided, leaving the pale skinned, blond woman panting and moaning.
As the agonizing burning diminished, Diane body became infused with a terrible energy. She started to shudder and shake as if some being had sprung to life inside her. Her pussy burned with need, her breasts ached. Her mind screamed for release. Then, eschewing all other physical contact with her, the old man placed one long, boney finger between her naked, exposed labial lips and began to stroke her needful slit. To Diane, nothing in the world existed except the small point of contact between the flesh of the man's gnarled finger and her sex. Her pussy became lush with her discharge and grew hot and fevered. Slowly, delicately, the finger teased her, driving her lust higher and higher. The frantic woman's mind begged him to grant her completion, but he kept her passion burning on and on. When her orgasm came, it came on her all at once, her pussy exploding into hard, excruciatingly pleasurable contractions. Diane called out, “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!” as her spasms rocked her. When they subsided, and her mind was able to express her gratitude for relief, she found the cruel finger was still inside her, stroking her slowly and steadily until her lusts began to arise again.
When the old man had made the familiar come for the third time, he finally sat down back in his original place. He left the woman where she was, dazed, sweaty and panting, her back lodged in the dry, clingy dust, her legs bent and underneath her, her thighs spread wide. He poured himself and the stranger another whiskey and waited another fifteen minutes before he spoke.
"She will serve you better now, better than before. I can see you draw your power from your ghost world through her. It will be better now, stronger and more pure. She is your power and your weakness. You have need to protect her from the one who will come later."
Jonathan confirmed the man's prescience with a nod. The ancient, gray haired man continued.
"I have a task for you and then I will tell you whether I will serve you. A young woman will be here shortly, sent to me by her family to be cured, although she does not know that. She has taken up with the white man's filthy ways. She sells herself for their money and takes their white powders. Her soul is blackened with her sins. When she comes here, you must purify her and bind her to serve me. If you do that, I will serve you."
The men sat together, silently meditating. Diane remained lying where the old man had left her. After a short while, he went into the tent and returned with a dark brown hood which looked like it was made of unfinished deer hide and a gourd filled with liquid. He lifted Diane's head and pushed the gourd against her lips, tilting it back until a milky, white liquid poured out, some of it spilling over her chin and down around her neck. The woman gulped it down gratefully. Then, placing the gourd aside, the man drew the hood over Diane's head and pulled it tightly around her neck. He let her head down to the ground gently and resumed his position.
There was no further movement or action until, about forty minutes later, a car's engine was heard in the distance. Jonathan turned and looked and saw a dusty, battered old Chevy barreling down the dry dirt road, raising a huge cloud behind it. As it approached he could hear loud, tinny rock music blaring from its speakers. The car skidded to a stop, the music died and the car door swung open. A young woman emerged. She was clearly a native, about 20 or 21 years old, and pretty in a saucy, insolent sort of way, with dark, black stringy hair and deep reddish brown colored features. She was wearing a short, tight, black spandex skirt which stretched over her enticing hips and a bright, tie dyed, multicolored t-shirt about two sizes too small. Her legs were covered by thick, dark tights that were torn in two or three places and she wore tall, black leather boots with pointy tips and high heels. Her large, loose breasts pushed firmly against the thin cotton cloth. Jonathan could see about three inches of her taut, brown belly. Her hair was held fast to her head by a black headband.
The girl stuck her head back into the car, pushing the front seat forward. As she leaned over, her skirt rode high on her thighs, exposing the gentle curve of her buttocks. After a second, she reemerged from the grubby vehicle slammed the door shut with a loud ‘clang!’ and began to march towards the two attentive men.
When she got a few yards away from them, she spoke, not in Apache, but in English. “Here, old man, I got your whiskey for you,” she announced.
The old man turned to Jonathan and whispered in Apache concernedly, “Don't let her drop the bottle."
Jonathan, smiling, nodded his understanding. The woman stopped a few feet from the old man and held the bottle out to him. “My aunt told me to bring this to you and that you'd be able to give me some peyote buds,” she stated matter of factly. Jonathan screened her mind. Her aunt had paid her twenty dollars and gave her two bottles of whiskey for the old man. The other one was still in the back seat of her jalopy. She had said nothing about peyote buds.
The woman's Apache name was Faun that Leaps. She called herself Betty Leaps. Her stage name at the strip club she worked at near the air force base in Billingsly, about 200 miles west of where they stood, just over the Arizona border, was Faun. The place doubled as a whorehouse and Betty lived there for weeks at a time and then came back to the reservation to rest at her aunt's for several days. The girls lived in trailers at the back of the club which is where they did their entertaining. Betty spent most of her money on drugs for her and her Anglo boyfriend, a 37 year old biker named Billy. Billy was an ex-con who had done a stretch for armed robbery and drug distribution.
All this, Jonathan learned in a few seconds of searching Betty's mind. He also learned she had shot up a speedball about an hour and a half ago and was as high as a kite, which apparently interfered with her ability to see the naked white woman lying in the dirt. A moan from the hooded, obscenely displayed woman made Betty turn her head and look.
Betty's eyes only lingered on the form of the naked woman for a few seconds. From Diane's appearance, the implications of a nonconsensual arrangement that could be drawn from the hood tightly bound around her neck and her submissive, unusua
l posture, a reasonable person would have at least suspected there was something going on not necessarily in the supine white lady's interests. Betty paid it no heed. Jonathan noted that her mind, while registering the other woman's probable distress, did not flinch or deviate a single iota from her goal. Betty looked at the two men quickly. “Having a party?” she asked jokingly. And then she looked back at the old man and said, “How about them Peyote buds?"
Diane had heard the car pull up, had heard the woman approach and had heard her speak. But Diane was not in receptive to communication or particularly concerned about what was going on around her at that moment. She had been happy to receive the drink the old man gave her, although it was hot and seemed bitter. She had been startled when he covered her head in the course, brown bag. Her face quickly became hot and sweaty and it was difficult to breathe. She dared not remove it or complain. Her lord would punish her severely, something she wanted to avoid with all her soul.
While the men had sat quietly, her mind had been concentrated on the echoes of her ordeal at the hands of the old man. Slowly, her body started to feel strange, as if it was beginning to float off of the ground. Her mind began to spin and she found it hard to focus. The sounds around her became loud and sharp. The arrival of the car had been like a roar in her ears, and the woman's voice was strange, almost unearthly. She recognized the words as English, but could not fathom any meaning from them. She started to realize the old man had given her something in the drink that was making her mind go wild. She had heard that American Indians of the Southwest were heavily into psychedelics, peyote, psilocybin. She was certain she had been dosed by the old man. Her concern quickly faded as her mind drifted away into a meditation on nothing. Her moan had been unconscious, an involuntary reaction to the mesmerizing images floating in her head.
Jonathan decided it was time to act. “Please hand me the whiskey,” he told the young Apache girl in a soft voice. It was the first time he had spoken for hours. He was not thirsty or tired. He could regulate his body's needs easily and could sit there for many more hours without distress. He sent a strong message of obedience to the girl's mind. The girl looked at him quizzically and then handed him the bottle. He put it down next to him.
There was no need for Jonathan to speak his commands to the girl, the old man knew exactly what he was doing. But the effect of hearing the verbal commands on the subject of enslavement was to heighten her fear and confusion, as if the words themselves held the power that compelled her to obey.
"I'd like you to kneel, Betty, and take off your shirt. I want to see your tits,” Jonathan ordered the girl in a soft, gentle voice. The girl looked at him as if he was off of his rocker, yet her knees slowly lowered until they were on the ground. She tried to say something, looking at the old man, and then her hands went to her waist and she lifted her shirt free, over her swaying breasts, over her head and then tossed it aside. Betty's breasts were large for her frame, but, despite her profession, completely natural. Her skin was dark and reddish and her areolas were even darker. Her nipples were long and fat. Betty went to place her hands on them, to cover them, then seemed to remember the white man had wanted to see them. She turned her body towards him so he could get a better view. Her eyes were frantic with misunderstanding as to why she was on her knees showing this strange man her tits. Her mouth moved several times. Nothing came out.
"Betty,” Jonathan, said to the confused, upset girl, “please move a little closer to me so I can caress you.” Betty complied immediately, even raising her chest so her lovely, heavy mounds could find a home in the man's hands. Jonathan reached out and took hold of them, sending waves of lust and fear into the dark skinned woman. She whined as it flowed through her. He then sent her a strong message of obedience, forcing his will over hers. It only took a few seconds. He altered her mind surgically, leaving her memories and personality in place, but depriving her of independence, rebelliousness, self interest. He terminated her brain's ability to receive stimulation from the drugs that were in her system and replaced it with an intense sensitivity to stimulation of her loins, her lips and the tips of her breasts. He drew new lines of pleasure from the tight ring of her rear entry to her brain.
The young woman moaned as Jonathan's hands continued to stimulate her. He passed to her a need to obey him so strong and deep into her psyche that her body shuddered when it received it.
Jonathan did not need to explain to the old man what he was doing. And he had not been concerned about the ability to meet the old man's challenge. He wanted to impress the strength and intensity of his powers on the priest so he would tell the others, bring others to him, until the tribe was willing to let him build his sanctuary here.
Jonathan removed his hands from the girl's breasts. She was panting with lust and consternation. She knew the man had done something to her, changed her. She knew she shouldn't have such a strong desire to be possessed by him, to serve him, but it was there, as undeniable as the need to breathe. She wanted to offer herself to him, be with him, go with him when he left. Nothing else mattered.
Jonathan sent the girl a silent message and she quickly turned and began to pull off her boots. When they had been shed, she leapt to her feet and loosened, removed and stepped out of her skirt. She then pulled her tights down over her thighs and then off of her feet, a thin black thong with it. She resumed her kneeling posture in front of the compelling white man. Jonathan sent her a wave of pleasure for her obedience and she moaned.
"Face the priest, Betty,” the powerful, dimension traveler told her. “Show him your pretty breasts."
The girl turned her body so she was facing the old man and lifted her breasts to him. The old man looked at them appreciatively.
"She has nice tits," the old man said to Jonathan.
Jonathan did not reply. Instead, he moved on to conclude his demonstration of power. The hot sun beat down upon the girl. Her dark body was sweating and her knees were covered with dust. Her breathing was heavy, raising her chest up and down making her breasts flutter. She was cupping them in her hands, proffering them to the strange, old man. Blackthorne eased his control over her until her mind began to race with frantic worry about how the man had compelled her to strip and pose lasciviously before the old one. Although the girl had spoken English when she had arrived, she had learned Apache as a child and had buried it deeply within her. Blackthorne reached into her subconscious and opened it to let her ability to understand the harsh, guttural sounds bloom forth.
"Fawn Who Leaps,” he addressed her, “you have made your body into a pit of sin. You have shown your body to strange men, let them touch it and use it for the white man's money. You have used the white man's poison to dull your brain and to excite your body. You have abandoned the old ways, shown your disdain for your elders. Even today, you have stolen from this priest, keeping what was meant for him, lying to him, seeking to profane the medicines of your religion and sell to the white man"
The Indian girl shivered in fear. She could not move a muscle of her body, although every ounce of her will wanted to get up and run away. The man had some strange power over her, she realized it. Suddenly, she panicked. “The white man is a witch!” she screamed inside. Her mother, now dead from alcoholism and drugs, her father, who disappeared several years ago and had not been seen since, her aunts and uncles who had tried to keep her from her self destructive ways, all had told her the old tales about spirits who could take human form and steal your soul. Back at the pueblo, the other young people had told stories about the old man, saying that he dealt with devils. The older ones, when they heard that talk quieted them and refused to speak of him. She should have realized something was up when her aunt, her face serious and concerned, gave her the twenty dollars and told her to bring the liquor to him. She needed the money for gas to get back to Billingsly. She should have known better. And now, here she was, in the power of a demon. She started to cry and made an attempt to beg for release. She couldn't get any sounds past her lips an
d her fear deepened. She looked at the old man. He looked cruel and decrepit, evil. What were they going to do to her? Would they turn her into a snake or a rat, or imprison her in a stone? Would they burn her body as a sacrifice, her and the white woman who they held prisoner?
Jonathan let the lovely, desirable, dark skinned woman's fears rage inside her. He reached into her mind and fueled them, filling her with despair. He then drove her body to lust, causing her pussy to ache with need.
"I have come here to punish you for your sins, Fawn Who Leaps. I am going to take possession of your body and steal your soul. You will serve my priest, obey him in all things without question, without hesitation. Your body will burn with desire for the touch of men, and you will please those that my priest, your master, shall direct, offering yourself to them, yearning to be filled by them."
Jonathan stood and quickly removed his clothes. He was tall and muscular. His skin was pale, as pale as the bleached stones in the desert. His shoulder length blond hair blew in the hot wind. Before kneeling down behind the shaking, quivering girl, he removed one of his talismans from his pants pocket. When he was on his knees behind the girl, he placed it on the ground before her and then reached around her, seizing her full, soft breasts. He sent a strong message of pleasure and need through his hands to the terrified girl. Her hands were still under her breasts, cupping them. Blackthorne let his right hand descend across the shapely woman's taut belly and over her thick thatch of pubic hair until he felt her mound beneath. He traced a line down between her lower lips, parting them, letting the impassioned girl's moisture run free. She sighed deeply when his finger entered her and then began to tease the nub of pleasure at the top.
"When I enter you with my cock, Fawn who Leaps,” he whispered in her ear, “you will feel your soul begin to empty from your body and flow into my manhood. When I fill you with my seed, your lust will overflow and your will will be gone and you will be my servant forever. Bend over and spread your legs and offer yourself to me."