Dreams and Desires

by Paul Blades

  Fawn-who-Leaps gave a mighty sob and leaned forwards until she was on her hands and knees. Crying, she spread her legs obediently. When Jonathan poised the head of his cock outside her plush gates, rubbing the tip along her swollen lips, the lovely Apache girl's body shook with fear. Jonathan was feeding off of her terrified emissions. His cock radiated with intense energy and as he pushed it forward, parting the Apache girl's outer sex lips, submerging it into her hot, soft interior, the girl gave out a loud wail of grief.

  The pretty, young whore who had called herself Betty felt her identity and will being drawn into the man's thick, hot cock as it filled her. At the same time, her body began to burn with intense, unquenchable desire. She moaned and rocked her hips against those of the demon who was filling her, stealing her, taking everything from her. She felt her lusts growing higher and higher, frantic that she was nearing the moment of her doom, unable to prevent herself from expediting its approach.

  Blackthorne directed the panting, lustful girl's eyes to the amulet on the ground in front of her. “Look upon my sign, Fawn Who Leaps," he told her. “This is the sign you will serve and whose possessor you will obey. When you look on it, you will feel fear and lust. You will think of me and my power over you. You will feel loneliness and despair that only service to your master can dispel."

  Jonathan sent the girl a wave of unhappiness and misery as she stared at the metallic disk. She moaned in anguish as she felt its power over her. And then the black hearted, white skinned demon pushed a strong wave of lust through the girl. He came at the same time, flooding her delicate chamber with his spunk. The girl's passion overwhelmed her and her pussy pulsed and spasmed in return. “Ohhhhhhhhh!” she yelled as the intense pleasure mixed with her knowledge that she was lost. “Nooooooooo! Noooooooo! Ooooooooh!"

  The broad shouldered, blond man groaned with satisfaction. His mind drank in the girl's despair as the hot sun baked his body. He could feel the sweat running off of him as he relished the throbbing of his meat inside the girl's pulsing sex. “Ohhhhhhhhhh!” she moaned again. “Ohhhhhhhh!"

  Fawn Who Leaps felt the man's hot juices spread into her womb, damning her. Her eyes were fixed on the evil symbol of his power on the ground in front of her. She felt the loss of her will and her soul even as her body radiated with satisfaction at her powerful climax.

  Jonathan let his manhood slide from the sobbing woman's channel. He leaned over and retrieved the talisman and handed it to the old man. “She is yours,” he told him.

  The two men sat and drank some more whiskey. The sobs of the lost Apache girl subsided slowly until she silently, in despair, placed her head on the ground in the dust in front of her.

  "You have strong power," the old man finally said. "The word will spread quickly about what you have done to this girl and the men will come to see and to use her body. Come back in thirty days and I will assemble many members of our tribe. They will want to see your power for themselves. You will have what you want. My father fought the white man, and his father and his, the Americanos and the Spaniards. My people are poor and weak. You will make them strong and give them hope. Our women will no longer serve as sluts in their bars and the men will not take the welfare and the money of the Indian Agency. The spirits of our fathers and mothers will sing as the people return to the old ways."

  Jonathan, pleased, rose to leave. After he was dressed, the old man went back into the tent and retrieved the gourd that contained the hallucinogenic he had fed Jonathan's familiar. He spoke to him again. “Give her this to drink, no more than once a day. Her dreams bring you power. When she drinks this, she will dream while she is awake and draw more energy for you from your ghost world. Keep the dream hood on her so all that she sees will be in her mind. And one more thing, leave me one of your white women so my people can see what you have done to her and how I can force her to serve them. The one with the fiery hair."

  Jonathan realized the old man had seen into his mind and learned of the other women in the camper. He also realized the old man would serve him well, but only so long as he, Jonathan, kept his promises to the Apaches. That was no problem. They were fierce and loyal and deserved to be strong and have power. Over the years to come, they would be very useful. He would reward them manyfold.

  Blackthorne called for the redheaded Marie to come out of the trailer. He knew the three women had been peeking from its windows, watching. Marie, the 24 year old former kindergarten teacher from a small town just outside Denver, came trotting happily out, apparently in anticipation of his or the old man's use of her. She was naked and her breasts swayed pleasantly as she stepped hurriedly but cautiously over the rock strewn dirt the 20 yards or so over to the two men. Her hair was bright orange, loose and free down to below her shoulders. Her skin was almost pink, and she had round, soft hips and strong, heavy thighs. Her eyes were big and round and starry blue. She carried the tattoo of his talisman over her hairless mons. Jonathan hated to lose her. She was the first of the three acolytes he had recruited and she had served him energetically and well. He quickly overcame his momentary qualms. She, like all of them, was an inferior being. What difference did it make? He could get a hundred red heads who would serve him just as enthusiastically. Whatever fate the old man ultimately had in mind for her, it was no business of his.

  When Marie stepped near to him, she saw the hardness in his eyes. She looked at him and the old man and a look of anxiety and uncertainty crossed her pretty face. Jonathan ordered the now unhappy Maria to kneel before the wrinkled, shabby, old Indian and compelled her into his service. The old man showed her the amulet and her body shuddered with fear.

  The pleased traveler called the other women and they came and retrieved the woozy and dazed Diane and brought her back to the trailer, her face still covered with the deerskin hood. The old man, whose name Jonathan still didn't know, had retrieved two long, leather thongs from his tent and was tying the hands of Marie and the Apache girl behind their backs. He had another gourd of psychedelics and poured long drinks into each of the girls’ obedient mouths. He looked at Jonathan. “I have my own ceremonies to perform," he said by way of explanation.

  As Jonathan maneuvered the van around to begin his drive off of the reservation, he saw the old man leading the two bound and naked, compliant women into the tent.

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  CHAPTER TEN

  And so Blackthorne had his fortress, or would have once the formal arrangements were made and he could start having it built. He contacted the company's chief of the engineering division, a man whose pretty little wife he had converted some weeks before, and went over detailed topographic maps with him and started to plan what facilities his fortress would need. He had introduced some innovations to the company's products that had the marketplace abuzz. Already profits had started to climb. He had a couple of other ideas under development and, once he was able to arrange the acquisition of the appropriate smaller companies, he would introduce them.

  A few weeks after his successful meeting with the old shaman, the Apache who had taught him showed up at his office unannounced and instructed him as to the time, date and place he should return. This time, unwilling to lose another of his acolytes, he recruited three red headed, college students up at the university in Boulder to take with him.

  Jonathan didn't really know what to expect. His retinue was met at the gate to the reservation by three black SUV's and they were all driven for about two hours on little one lane, rocky roads to where the gathering would be. The drivers were taciturn, young, Apache males, well built, and dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and straw cowboy hats. When they arrived at the gathering place, a large, flat plain covered with mossy grass and near a large spring fed lake, he saw, not the teepees and Indian ponies he expected, but a wide array of pick ups, banged up cars, motorcycles and a number of trailers. He got out of the SUV and a tall, broad shouldered Apache with dark glasses and wearing a neat, cotton flannel shirt and jeans said, “Ta hey, Mr. Blackthor
ne. The welcome tent is over here."

  The place looked like a Fourth of July picnic. There were huge braziers grilling thick steaks, big pots of beans with large slabs of bacon in them cooking over fires. Men and women congregated everywhere talking and laughing. A three guitar band was playing country and western songs on a small stage in front of which men and women were dancing two-steps. Children were running around kicking balls, chasing each other. Pretty Apache girls dressed up in flowing summer skirts and halter tops smiled at him as he passed. From his quick estimate, the must have been about 200 people there. And new vehicles were pulling in all the time.

  Jonathan had brought Diane, his three acolytes, and the three red headed girls from Boulder with him. Replacing Marie had not been difficult. In fact, he took the opportunity to add some variety to his diet of female lusts and emotions and selected a tall, graceful black skinned woman who had shown up at a business conference his company had sponsored. He discovered the thrill of her jet black skin and eager mouth in his hotel room that afternoon. The contrast between her pigment and that of his other two pale, white servants he had found appealing as they made love before him for his benefit on the soft, thick rug in the study at the Marjoram Estate guest house.

  Jonathan had no need for any security for his servants since they were all converted and wouldn't have run off even if given the chance. He had left his control of the new women purposely light so they would be nervous and uncertain as to their fate. Although they had been marked with his sign, he had blocked their minds so they would remain ignorant of the tattooed pentagrams on their bodies until he presented them to the shaman.

  The welcome tent was a huge, yellow and white striped canvas tent supported by about twenty 8’ high poles around the circumference and taller poles in the middle. There was a long table filled with a large rack of grilled chicken, thick, red slices of London broil, and an assortment of other grilled meats. There were big platters of home fries, baked beans, potato salad and garden greens. Another table had an assortment of liquors and mixers and next to it was a big barrel filled with bottles of beer drowning in freezing cold water and ice.

  "Get ya anything?” the good looking, young Apache who had greeted him asked. Blackthorne, with all the world to choose from in terms of refined elegant refreshments, had developed a taste for beer.

  "How about a Heineken,” he asked.

  "And the girls?” the man inquired.

  "Oh, just sit them down some place and get them some Cokes or something,” Blackthorn answered. He had to admit he was taken aback by the normalcy of the surroundings. He looked around the tent and, from what he could see, he could have been at a Rotary meeting. Among the small, milling crowd under the tent, there were several middle aged men in white, short sleeved shirts and black rimmed glasses, a couple of older women dressed in long, off the rack summer dresses. If you looked closely though, you could see they all were of definite Apache heritage. Their skin was dark and their faces carried the strong, almost Asiatic features typical of their race. Jet black hair was universal and a couple of the women had long pig tails in braids with small colorful feathers attached at the ends.

  Blackthorne's greeter returned with a bright green, open bottle covered with perspiration. He handed it to Blackthorne with a smile. The girls had all found chairs by the side of the tent and were drinking soda from cans, looking like virginal debutants waiting to be asked to dance. They looked at him nervously, not knowing what to expect from all of this. The only exception was Diane, whom he had specially entranced before they arrived. She was holding her unopened can of cola in her lap with both of her hands, her eyes glazed, her shoulders slumped. All his women were dressed in short, puffed out skirts and sleeveless tops with long ‘v’ necks that showed off the sides of their pretty breasts.

  The man who had been assisting Blackthorne introduced himself. “My name's Bob Cloud,” he said, holding out his hand. “I'm from the Water Clan. It's good to meet you."

  Jonathan shook his hand and probed the man's mind. He found honesty and good will. So far so good. He realized he was incredibly vulnerable in the midst of these people. He could never do anything to control all of them at once, not even more than a few. He was here with his familiar, who the shaman knew was his biggest vulnerability. But he felt he could trust the old man. Anyway, the die was cast.

  Bob introduced him to the Tribal Council President and a few of its other members. They all shook his hand heartily, grinning and expressed their gratitude for his coming. He got sidetracked by the Tribal Business Manager who peppered him with questions about investments, interest rates and long term economic forecasts. A broad beamed, middle aged woman came up to him, smiling. “My name is Barbara Feathers,” she told him, “Juniper Clan. I'll be the high priestess for the ceremony.” Her face was pudgy and jovial. She was wearing a long red, patterned dress that swept the ground. Her jet black hair was in a long single braid behind her back. The bodice of her dress was cut in a low semi-circle, showing off the tops of her large, fluffy breasts. She had a firm handshake, like a woman used to physical labor. She looked over at the line of seated, confused looking, white woman. “Which one is Diane?” she asked.

  Blackthorne led her over to the girls. He started from the other end. “This is Linda, Mary and Donna,” he said. “They're gifts for the Shaman. The next three are Darla, Yolanda and Christine. They are my principal servants and they take care of Diane, who is right here.” He pointed to the dazed, confused pretty, blond woman.

  "Oh, she's so pretty,” the matronly Apache woman exclaimed. She knelt in front of Blackthorne's familiar and ran her fat hand over the blond woman's dazed head. “How are you doing, sweetie,” she asked her in a pleasant, syrupy voice. She looked at Blackthorne. “Does she talk?"

  "No,” Blackthorne answered.

  "Oh, that's ok, dearie,” the woman responded directly to his familiar. She rose to her feet and walked down the line of seated women, touching each of them on the cheek. She especially remarked Yolanda's clear, smooth, coal black skin. When she reached the three red headed college girls, she said, “Oh, I'm sure the shaman will like them. They're all so cute."

  Linda, Mary and Donna looked back at the woman quizzically. They had heard the strange man who had taken them from the streets of Boulder say that they were presents and then heard the reference to the shaman. It really didn't compute. How could a person be a present?

  It was Bob who saved him. “Mr. Blackthorne, I'm sure that you want to rest up for the ceremony. We have a special tent for you. Don't worry about the food, I'll have something sent over for you and the girls."

  Barbara Feathers had one more thing to mention. “Mr. Blackthorne, we have roles in the ceremony for Diane and her caretakers, but we didn't figure on the other three. Maybe you can just present them at the appropriate point. Okay?"

  Blackthorne was amused at the woman's concern for protocol. “Okay with me,” he replied.

  Bob led him to a spacious, white tent about thirty or forty yards from the welcome tent. It was set off by itself for privacy. Two mean looking Apaches stood by the doorway and nodded at him when he went in. The inside was well appointed with a thick, woven rug on the floor, several large throw pillows, a table and some chairs and a large, king sized mattress draped with a light brown, hand woven blanket. It was covered with colorful designs of geometric patterns and representations of various gods and spirits. At the four corners of the bed were wooden stands from which hung leather thongs with feathers, bones and snake rattles attached to them.

  There was also a large manikin standing in the corner on which was hung a deerskin costume littered with colorful bead and feathers. It was pale white. Blackthorne looked at Bob. “That's for you to wear, Mr. Blackthorne. I hope you don't mind. The shaman gave us the sizes."

  Blackthorne went over and examined the bright, colorful getup. “Why not?” he thought.

  "There's a headdress that goes with it. It's considered very holy and so we'll keep
it in the security tent until the last minute. Don't worry, you'll look great. I'll be in costume too,” he added, smiling broadly. “I'm the snake god."

  When Bob left, Blackthorn had the girls all kneel in a semi-circle around the bed. Except for Diane. He sent her an order her to strip and get on top of it. She mounted it obediently and crawled to its center. Blackthorne tossed off his own clothes and followed her. Someone had thoughtfully placed a thick, wooden stake in the ground at the head of the bed and set a long, leather thong next to it. Jonathan tied off the woman's wrists in front of her and then raised them and tied the other end to the post. He laid the pale skinned beauty's body out and ran his hands over her soft belly and breasts, sending strong, irresistible messages of lust to her.

  Diane had been on a low burn all afternoon. The close proximity to her dream lover caused her to yearn for him intently. She was confused about all the people and where they were. When her captor put his hands on her skin, all of that went away.

  Jonathan put his lips on hers and buried his tongue in her mouth. Diane moaned in response, hungrily greeting him. He placed his hands on her breasts and poured his energy into her. Her body melted under his as waves of pleasure seared her mind. Her thighs opened in invitation and Blackthorne positioned himself to penetrate her. His cock was hard with lust and he pressed it between her engorged love lips, sighing as her moist heat welcomed him.

  The old man had been right. Since his handling of the woman, her body had been an unexcelled conduit for pleasure. It was if he had purified or sanctified her. Her psychic emissions of lust flew out of her. And after she had slept during the night, or after her daily session under the influence of the hallucinogen, he felt surges of pure essence of the Whole rushing from her body.