by Paul Blades
Now, as he stroked himself inside her, his mind reeled as it gathered up her emanations. He took his mouth from hers and suckled at her hardened teats, inhaling her passion as it flowed from where the old man had stroked her. Diane moaned and writhed beneath him. Her body clenched and shuddered as she orgasmed, her pussy gripping his fevered prick. Her hands struggled at their bonds above her head, yearning for the feel of him. He felt his forces rising and he let them go, groaning with delight as his fluids pumped from his pulsing rod.
Not yet satisfied, he remained within her, sawing his still hard cock along her pleasure bud. The frantic, passion overwhelmed woman came twice more before he spilled himself in her again.
Afterwards, Blackthorn rose from the bed and compelled his acolytes to disrobe and attend to their charge. They leapt to their task and, joining Diane on the bed, stroked and caressed her, keeping her lusts burning. The three red headed college girls stared in amazement, confused, uncomfortable looks on their faces. They too had felt the heat of Blackthorne's lust and their eyes conveyed their yearnings. Jonathan left them simmering there, as his mind turned to food.
As if waiting for a signal from him, a voice outside the tent announced the arrival of his meal and he answered that the voice should come in. It was Bob again and he was followed by three, pretty, young Apache girls carrying trays of comestibles and two bottles of Heineken. Blackthorn was nude, his long, thick limp cock was still wet with the passionate discharges of his familiar. The girls just tittered, averting their eyes, sneaking furtive looks at his manhood. He could feel the lust burning in them. But, he had decided, the pretty Apache girls would be, for the most part, off base for him, unless proffered for his amusement.
They placed the trays on the tables and scurried out.
"It's just about six o'clock,” Bob said. “The ceremony will begin as soon as it gets dark. I'll come get you around 7:30."
After he ate, and while his acolytes fed Diane and themselves, he compelled his three red headed offerings to suckle at his cock. He didn't come, but let the eager mouths of the three girls send him languorous sensations of pleasure while he drove their lusts and reinforced their compulsions to obedience. Their faces looked so pretty as he presented his manhood to their lips one by one. Their expressions migrated from shock and confusion as they realized their irresistible compulsion to open their lips and consume the thick hard rod, to ecstatic pleasure as they felt the radiation of his power through it, to being dazed and confused after he withdrew without climax, their minds befogged by lust.
Bob had gone over what was anticipated from Jonathan at the ceremony and, although he had plenty of lust to spare, Jonathan had decided he would preserve himself to ensure a good show. He was resting on the bed when Bob returned. There were three, strong men with him. Bob announced it was time to get ready and that the women would have to be brought to the women's tent to be prepared for the ceremony. Jonathan nodded his consent and the men stood the women up and proceeded to bind their hands behind them with leather thongs. One of the redheaded girls began to cry when she felt her wrists being bound off. Jonathan stood and sent all of them strong messages of fear, pain and obedience, drawing sustenance from their misery as he touched their bright fiery heads one by one. The men hooded the females and led them off, the three redheads still in their pretty, short, flowery skirts and his acolytes and Diane nude. He was apprehensive about the necessity for separation from the beautiful, blond familiar, but he let it go.
As soon as Bob and the men left with the females, a portly Apache woman entered followed by three young, bashful, Apache beauties. They were all dressed in long, white, deerskins sheaths, adorned with beads and feathers. Their long, black hair was tied back in braids behind them. Jonathan was still nude and his lust arose immediately as he felt the minds of the three young girls reach out to him. The older woman paid his erection no mind as she urged him over to the bed and had him sit on it.
"I'm Cocheta,” she said in Apache. “We will only use our Apache names during the ceremony. This is Ujjwalam, Prita and Lolotea. We are to get you dressed and stay with you until the ceremony begins. The girls will serve you afterwards. They are a gift from the shaman and our people."
The three young girls were nervous and edgy, but also pleased to have been selected for their honored roles. While Cocheta drew the native garb piece by piece from the manikin, the girls dressed him. The pants to the costume turned out to be leggings that were held tight to the tops of his thighs by leather thongs. He could feel the lust from the young women as they slid the smooth, supple, white leather up his legs. He stood while they fastened them at the crux between his thighs and his loins. Jonathan realized he could have all four women writhing on the floor passionately in an instant, but held his powers in check. Nonetheless, one of the girls took the opportunity while tying off his right legging to circle his cock with her small, smooth hand and caress its length. Her black eyes stared up at him and her tongue washed her lower lip.
"Lolotea!” the older woman said, “Control yourself!"
The rest of the dressing ritual proceeded without incident. The smooth, white shirt fit him perfectly. A thick, colorfully beaded belt went around his waist and a supple, soft, bright red breechcloth was wended through it, covering his otherwise exposed loins and rear. When the women had finished adorning him, they stepped back and curtsied and then fled wordlessly.
The man who had called himself Bob then came in. He had shed his white world clothes and was wearing only a long, colorfully beaded loincloth. His body and his face had been painted in slashes of bright, red, yellow, black and green. His stature seemed to have grown as he presented himself in his true identity. Blackthorne heard from outside the tent the heavy, rhythmic, rumbling of drums. Three strong, young men had come in with Blackthorne's greeter, all dressed and adorned like him. Bob spoke in Apache to the ceremonially attired white man.
"I am Kajika, he who walks without noise. I greet you, Jitendra, Lord of Conquerers. I will lead you to the People."
Kajika turned and took from the men behind him a black, bearskin headdress with a long tail of eagle's feathers attached.
"I give to you the symbol of your power." He intoned, holding it out to Blackthorne. Jonathan solemnly took it from him and placed it on his head. Kajika made a motion that he should follow and he exited the tent followed in turn by the other men of Kajika's escort.
It was a dark, moonless night and Jonathan could hear now the voices of what sounded like hundreds of people chanting to the beat of the drums. He was led along a pathway through the tents until he came across a field that was lit almost as bright as day by a series of large torches mounted on fifteen foot poles circling around. A large fire was burning in the middle and the crowd of Apaches surrounded it. They did not look like average middle Americans now, as they had all donned various forms of native costume. Many of the men had their faces painted in what Jonathan took to be war paint, and the women wore short, deerskin dresses and paint on their faces of various colors, yellow, red, white, black. Bright, luminous feathers abounded. The children had been apparently put away for the night.
Jonathan was led around the fire. At the north side, he saw a large, three foot high platform. In the middle, sat the old man. He didn't look like the wizened wino he had met a month ago. He was wearing a long, feathered headdress and had a heavy, bearskin robe over his shoulders. His face was painted half yellow and half green with a line of red down the middle. There was an empty chair beside him covered in soft, tanned deerskin. In front of the platform, at each corner, he saw the kneeling figures of Fawn Who Leaps and Marie. Their hands were bound behind them to stakes in the ground and their backs had been pressed against them. Their knees were pegged apart. A thong tightly bound their necks to the stake, forcing their heads up. Their faces, breasts and shaved loins had been painted a bright red. They looked delirious and Jonathan scanned them to confirm that they had been drugged.
Kajika indicated Jonathan should
assume his seat and then disappeared. The old man nodded to him and then waved his wizened, gnarled hand. The throng of celebrants silenced themselves and the drums came to rest. The old man stood and walked to the end of the platform
"Men and Women of the People," he shouted, "tonight we celebrate the return of strength and honor to us." His voice was not now the scratchy growl Jonathan had heard a month ago. It was strong and powerful. "Jitendra, Lord of Conquerors, has come among us as it has been prophesized. Tonight he will show you his powers and the People will rejoice." He turned and waived at Jonathan, inviting him to step forward. Blackthorne rose from his seat and stood next to him, dwarfing him with his greater stature and bulk. He got the impression he was intended to speak.
"Great Chiricahua Nation," he called out. "I have come from the ghost world to redeem the promises made to your fathers and bring life back to the People. The Chiricahua Nation will live again." There was an outpouring of throaty yells and high pitched Indian style yelps from the surrounding crowd. Blackthorne saw the woman who had called herself Barbara Feathers standing to his right. She gave him a nod and, scanning her mind, he realized this was the time to present his gifts to the shaman. He nodded back to her and the three naked, frightened, young, red headed college students were led out by three colorfully dressed and bedecked Apache women. The girls’ hands had been tied together behind their heads and connected to a thick leather thong that was wrapped several times around their necks and which terminated in a leash. Their nervous eyes flitted around the crowd as they were dragged towards the platform, their hands raised behind them and their breasts and bright orange, furry triangles presented for all to view.
When the distraught young women were standing in front of him and the old man, Jonathan gave them a strong surge of his power, suffusing their bodies with intense, piercing psychic pain. All three girls collapsed to their knees, their faces masks of misery. He removed from them the block he had put in place and revealed to them all that had happened since they met a pleasant looking stranger on the streets of Boulder. The girls’ faces became frantic with fear. Suddenly, everything around them became sinister and threatening. With a wave of his hand, Jonathan sent them intense pulses of lust, and their eyes widened and their bodies began to writhe. The Apaches around him stared with wonder and respect as they witnessed his power to control them. He had secreted one of his medallions in the folds of his tunic and he removed it now, presenting it to each of the beautiful, naked and bound white women. He had instilled them with its power when they had been captured and the evil, enthralling nature of it came back to their minds, causing them to moan and cry. He spoke to them in Apache, conveying directly to their minds the meanings of his words.
"You bear on your loins the mark of the medallion and will serve any male who possesses it. It will drive you to lust and fear. You will obey without question fully and with all of your life forces any commands given to you. You will open your selves willingly, stoked with desire, to anyone who wishes to make use of you." The crowd was silent as it watched the submission of the three helpless white women. Jonathan turned to the old man, "I give these females to you to serve you and your people as you see fit."
The old man bowed slightly to Blackthorne to acknowledge the gift. He produced from under his robes the copy of the medallion Blackthorne had given him previously. Jonathan gave the women a command to crawl to him on their knees and to kiss it.
Miserable, crying, and their bodies shaking with fear, the three shapely and desirable, redheaded young women obediently shuffled towards the shaman on their knees. One by one, they kissed the powerful circle of copper colored metal. A pretty Apache girl ran up and gave the shaman a gourd and he poured the milky psychedelic mixture into their mouths, forcing them to swallow it and spilling it over their chests and breasts. The old man then placed his hands on them, caressing their naked breasts, stroking their heads. He waved his hand and the three native women who had led the girls in tugged on their leashes and led them to the side of the podium. Stakes had been pounded into the ground there and, after being forced to kneel again, their leashes were tied off to them.
The shaman waved his hand once more to signal the continuation of the ceremony and he and Blackthorne resumed their seats of honor.
The drums began a mesmerizing beat and a chorus of male voices cried out in song. The crowd began to sway back and forth to the beat. From the side, four fabulously bedecked men came out, feathered headdresses trailing, carrying rattles and drums. It was Kajika and his three escorts. They began an ecstatic, rhythmic dance around the fire, twisting and turning, raising their heads up and down, kicking their knees high in the air. A pretty Apache maiden offered Blackthorne a cup of an aroma laden, thick, syrupy mixture. He scanned her mind quickly and realized it was the Apache corn beer, tis-win, a potent brew. He accepted the glass, signaling his gratitude and gave the smiling young woman a surge of pleasure in response. He eyes widened in amazement and she scurried off the stage.
There were four dancers and they pranced around the fire in a clockwise direction. Four men ran out and each planted a 4’ tall stake in the ground around and close to the fire, one for each direction, north, south, east and west. At some signal Blackthorne could not discern, the dancing men came together and stood before the platform on which Jonathan and the old shaman sat.
The drums and the crowd became quiet. Jonathan waited expectantly for the next development. Suddenly, four naked and bound, young white women were led into the circle from the left side of the crowd. They were gagged with thick, leather covered sticks lodged crossways over their mouths and tied off behind their heads, giving them obscene grimaces. Their arms had been folded up and tied crossed behind their backs with leather leads running from each wrist over their shoulders, in between and then under their naked breasts, around their torsos and tied off again behind their backs. They were presented to the two men on the dais, their painted faces filled with mind numbing fear, their beautiful, pale, nude bodies trembling, looking ghost like in the lights of the dancing torches.
* * * *
Paula Fowler and her three friends had been driving through the New Mexico desert about three days ago when they stopped at a small, run down gas station just outside of Los Cruces. They had left their homes in Connecticut the week before. It was the trip of a lifetime for them, one that they had been planning all during senior year of high school. They had worked all summer to earn the money for the trip, waitressing, babysitting and the like. Los Angeles was their goal where they all hoped to get jobs as models or actresses. Penny had the name of an agent who was a friend of her father's and he had promised to get them photo shoots for a portfolio. They all knew it was a long shot, but what's the sense of being young if you don't gamble. Promising their parents that if they didn't make it in a year they would come home and go to college, the girls had decided to travel the scenic southern route across the country and to take their time and enjoy the sights.
The black haired, scraggly, service station attendant offered to check their oil when they pulled in for gas while they went into the small convenience store to stock up on sodas and, for Jane and Samantha, cigarettes. Samantha had wanted to use the credit card her dad had given her, but the place only took cash. Paula wondered if the man who was servicing her car was a real Indian. She had never seen one in real life. He had the dark skin and broad face she had come to associate with that race. He was standing by the side of the car when the pretty, 18 and 19 year old girls emerged from the store. He smiled as he took their gas money and told them that everything was “all set” under the hood.
They had driven about an hour along the flat, straight highway when the car engine began to whine and make strange sounds. Penny was driving and she pulled the car to the shoulder. It stalled and made a great hissing sound as steam poured out from under the hood. They all got out and commiserated about their bad luck. Jane went to get her cell phone out of her purse in the car to call Triple A. It was missing
. Samantha looked for hers and it was gone too. So was Paula's and Penny's. They realized the attendant at the gas station had probably stolen them. It was odd though that he hadn't taken their wallets or anything else.
There was no one on the road. The flat, empty highway stretched for miles straight as an arrow over the forbidding, dry landscape. The late August sun beat down on them cruelly. They all turned when they heard a car engine coming towards them. It was a dirty, dull red van. Jane recognized it as having been at the gas station when they stopped there. The van slowed to a stop next to them. It was driven by a young woman with dark skin and pleasant features and long, strait black hair. She smiled. Another young woman, looking the same, sat in the passenger seat and she was the one to address them. “Ta hey,” she said. “Having trouble?"
The girls explained their predicament. The girls in the van didn't have cell phones. They offered to drive the marooned white girls to their place about fifteen miles from there and let them use the phone. The black haired girls were friendly and none of the white girls wanted to stand around in the blistering sun if they didn't have to.
To Paula, the ride seemed longer than fifteen miles. It actually took about an hour. The van left the highway and drove for a long time along a single lane dirt road. It pulled up, finally, in the driveway of a tumbled down farmhouse. There were several cars already parked there and when they went inside the house, there were four strong, mean looking men sitting on an old brown couch drinking beers and watching a fluttering, old, color TV.
It was then things got really hairy. Paula screamed when the biggest one grabbed her and threw her face down to the floor. She protested and flailed her arms and legs. The man circled her right wrist with a thong and then pulled it tight. He dragged it behind her back and, holding it with his one hand, gathered her left wrist and tied it to her right one. She was pulled to her feet and one of the girls from the van popped a mouth filling, spongy, rubber ball between her lips and then covered them with a wide band of clear packing tape. The man dragged her from the room. When they went into the kitchen, there was a plump, older woman standing by an opened trap door in the floor. The man led the struggling and crying Paula down the stairs and, when they reached the bottom, dragged over to a heavy wooden door that opened into some kind of storeroom. He pushed the bound young girl onto the floor and pulled off her sneakers and socks. He then used another leather strap to bind her ankles together. He made her kneel and, pulling the lead from bound ankles between her thighs, pushed her head down and tied it around her neck, knotting it in the crux of her throat. He put a black hood over her head and drew it tightly under her chin.