GONE NATIVE
by
C. Lakewood
THIS A SEQUEL TO JOE DOE'S STORY, "GOING NATIVE." HEATHER GETS
A PROLONGED ATTITUDE ADJUSTMENT...AMONG OTHER THINGS.
You may remember, from the first part of this story, that I and
my wife, Heather, formed a Peace Corps team, along with a young
doctor named Dan and a construction man named Bob. Our first
mission was to improve sanitation in Sharmbay, an African village
suffering from periodic outbreaks of cholera. We built a sanitary
system, several hygienic latrines, and a big gang shower. We were
also supposed to accustom the natives to the idea of routine
medical inspections and inoculations.
I was team leader primarily because, through a bureaucratic
snafu, I was the only one who spoke the native dialect. I
frequently had long chats with the village chief, Zuha'ar,
sometimes about the project, but more often about our differing
cultures and about life in general. Despite my attempts to seem
nonchalant, the chief could see that I was often troubled. And
he also could easily deduce the reason: Heather. More than once,
he suggested that I would have fewer problems with my wife if I
took away her clothing and treated her like one of the tribal
women.
(The status of the tribe's women was very low. At all times,
they were kept naked except for a red headband -- often decorated
with a few beads and feathers -- and a pair of leather sandals.
Whenever a woman left the village, she was well supervised, and
she also had her hands bound behind her back.)
Heather, of course, an avid feminist, deplored the way the
women were treated, and she was absolutely furious when I told her
of the chief's suggestion. But, a few days later, she surprised
me by admitting that she did enjoy going about in scanty clothes
in front of Dan and Bob and, indeed, the native men and boys --
knowing she was off-limits. She then asked me to engineer a
scenario in which she would be "forced" to strip (partially) as
part of the demonstration of the shower and medical procedures.
She even admitted that she had fantasized about joining the tribe.
(I think she'd been drinking fermented goats' milk, and that stuff
is sneaky-potent.)
If you've read "Going Native," you know just how satisfactorily
that demonstration turned out.
While Heather was having to prance around in her birthday
suit, most of our supplies and equipment had been loaded on the
6x6 truck and were heading towards the next village downstream,
a place called Loora, the scene of our next assignment. We were
planning to stop by the marketplace in the morning, pick up some
perishables, and then go on to meet our kit down river.
And, in a few more days, yet another town would be a lot
healthier.
Of course, as it turned out, all of Heather’s clothes had
gotten packed up and trucked away with the rest of our main
baggage. While she was first stupefied and then enraged, the
chief calmly smiled and announced that he was so grateful for all
of Heather’s help that he was going to make her an honorary member
of the tribe.... So she didn’t need those clothes anymore.
And, when she continued to insist on having something to wear,
he simply beamed and handed her a garish, ceremonial box that held
her new ensemble: a red headband with 3 parrot feathers and a pair
of red leather sandals.
Heather spent that night in a sweat lodge, drinking pints of
warm native beer, and the next day she was led naked through the
crowded bazaar with a rope around her neck. Of course, she was
groped freely by the excited, multi-racial street throng. All the
while, she was thoroughly aroused, all hot and wet and blushing --
and also deeply humiliated. It was, all in all, fascinating. The
chief even left her briefly with a slave merchant, who proceeded
to give her a complete physical up on the central auction block.
But all that, as they say in the jungle, is another story....
******************************
While Heather was being displayed in the market square, I
had some time to myself in which to ruminate about our past
together...and possibilities for the future.
Heather had always been very much a two-edged sword -- at her
best, a passionate, intelligent, conscientious, and charitable
partner...but, at her worst, an arrogant, lazy, manipulative,
self-centered, bluestocking bitch. When we were dating and even
more so while we were engaged, she was at her best almost all the
time, but things began to change almost from the instant we were
married. Issues that I thought had been settled to our mutual
satisfaction suddenly turned 180 degrees and went spinning off.
There was the matter of money, for example: her assets remained
"hers," and my assets became "ours." Then there was birth
control: the Pill was a health risk, condoms unreliable, IUD
obsolete, Rhythm Method absurd, blah, blah, blah. Therefore,
if we were to have intercourse at all, I'd have to get a vasectomy.
The alternative would have been for me to give her oral sex and
then masturbate myself. (Sorry, but she couldn't blow
me...uncontrollable gag reflex, you know.) So I got a vasectomy.
It was her idea to join the Peace Corps. And, while I was
pretty much okay with that, I wanted to stay in the Western
Hemisphere. But she insisted on Africa, just because (as I later
learned) she'd had a couple of interesting courses on African
history and culture in grad school. Even then she couldn't be
bothered studying the local languages or trying to develop a skill
that might have some value....
I loved her, but I just wasn't sure how much longer I could
tolerate her. Almost three years ago, I'd even contemplated
divorce. It would be harder to turn back now, if I ever started
down that road again.
So that was my frame of mind when Chief Zuha'ar sought me out
about mid-day. He informed me of his decision to pay an extended
visit to his cousin, Adello, who was chief of Loora, the village
we were about to head off to. He further insisted that Heather
(now usually referred to by her tribal name: "Hettua") would be
part of his retinue and must be treated like any other tribal
woman.
While I was, at this point, not really averse to this
arrangement in principle, I certainly didn't want to run the
risk of her becoming pregnant. I was attempting to voice my
concerns...and explain about birth control...when he suddenly
grinned and described to me an old tribal form of chastity belt,
rarely used any more, but certainly well within acceptable
customs and traditions.
I shrugged. Being married to Heather had taught me how to
accept the inevitable gracefully.
Zuha'ar then went off to collect "Hettua" from the block. I
smiled again at the contrast between those two. He was 5'11" and
272 pounds (I can be precise because we'd weighed and measured them
all), 44 years old, with dull black hair and shiny black skin, and
dressed in a mixture of Western clothes and native finery. By
contrast, she was 5'6" and 129 pounds, age 28, with pale hair and
skin, and naked except for headband and sandals (and leash).
Back at the chief's compound, I explained the situation to
Hettua very briefly. Zuha'ar had warned me that it was taboo for
an outsider to talk with a female of the tribe unless there was a
tribal male present who could monitor the conversation. And that
was impossible, due to the language barrier. He gave me some
leeway, but not much. So I didn't have time to wait out one of
her tantrums; I just gave her the facts and told her to keep her
mouth shut or we'd gag her.
She did keep quiet, for a while, but started complaining when
Dan, Bob, and I began to put her into the chastity belt. (So we
gagged her.)
The main component of the chastity belt was a twisty,
cigar-shaped object carved from some heavy, oily wood; one
end was rounded and the other blunt. Almost 6" long and
three-quarters of an inch in diameter, it had a hole bored
right through it about an inch from the blunt end. It was
usually fastened on with thongs, but Dan and Bob thoughtfully
contributed a couple of lengths of light, stainless steel chain
and two small brass padlocks. One chain was looped round her
waist; both its ends and one end of the other chain were
padlocked together, with the rest of the second chain dangling
crotchward. The rounded end of the wooden cylinder was inserted
into her pussy, and the free end of the dangling chain was passed
through the hole in the cylinder, pulled up her ass-crack, and
padlocked to the back of the waist chain. It took some adjusting
to make sure the fit was snug enough that she couldn't wriggle out
of the harness or expel the plug -- yet loose enough for some
comfort and to allow her to pull the butt chain aside slightly
when she took a crap. During the "fitting," we did discover that
the chain tended to get tangled up in her pubic hair, even as
sparse as it was. So we shaved her.
That night, Hettua slept in the chief's house, under the
watchful eye of Nandi (5'3" and 142 pounds), his #1 wife. He
had three others.
******************************
Early the next morning, we set set off for Loora. Dan, Bob,
and I went by Jeep, and the chief's party followed by ox cart --
Zuha'ar, 16 bodyguards, 2 cart drivers, Nandi, and Hettua. Because
of her status (and because she would act as cook on the trail),
Nandi's hands were tied in front. This also enabled her to use a
variety of "persuaders" on Hettua -- among them a limber switch,
a horsehair fly-whisk, and a bunch of nettles.
The chief and his people had to travel by road because, at this
time of the year, the river was too low to float the royal barge
properly. As a result, they took two and a half days to cover the
distance we did in about an hour.
When the native contingent pulled in at last, there was much
ceremony accompanied by a great deal of drums and yelling. (It
reminded me of a rock concert.) Adello, a younger and slimmer man
than his more powerful cousin, was careful to defer to the big man,
while still maintaining his own status as host.
That evening, there was a great feast -- principally roast
pork, stewed yams, and various fruits. Zuha'ar was the guest of
honor, of course, with Nandi seated at his right side and Hettua
squatting at his left. Nandi, with her hands in front, was able
to feed herself, but Hettua couldn't. Indeed, she ate from
Zuha'ar's fingers all evening. She ate only what he fed her...and
everything he fed her. I later discovered that he was feeding
her more than one kind of "pork" -- a task in which all of his men
assisted. (They may have been primitives, but even they knew about
blow jobs. And apparently a dose of Nandi's switch had instantly
cured my wife's "uncontrollable gag reflex.")
Adello's village was somewhat smaller than Zuha'ar's, but
construction there was slower, and, even after more than 3 weeks,
we still hadn't finished. All this time, Hettua was still
wearing her chastity belt; she even had to wear it while she was
menstruating -- something the natives seemed to consider quite
amusing. There was, indeed, a great deal of speculation concerning
Hettua's "khunt." (Yes, Dan and Bob had been teaching the natives
a few words of English ...basic stuff like "khunt" and "fukh.") I
also discovered that the oil gradually leached out of that wooden
plug over the course of a month or so, keeping her "khunt"
well-basted with a mild irritant. Eventually figuring out that
complaining got her nothing but more switch strokes, she'd learned
to wiggle her hips as she walked, in a sometimes successful effort
to scratch the itch. (I must say that she certainly looked good
doing it.)
It was all so humiliating for her, but I couldn't help thinking
that it might be beneficial, too, in the end. She'd always been
almost pathologically fastidious, and she'd found living in the
bush, even under ordinary conditions, was a terrible imposition.
Perhaps this experience would teach her some patience and humility.
******************************
On the 23rd day, Zuha'ar took me aside and asked when the work
in Adello's village would be completed. I gave him my best
estimate -- 14 to 18 days. He then shrugged and informed me that
he and his party would be starting for home the following morning.
He mentioned having to begin preparations for the big ceremony that
would be held in 9 days' time. Dan, Bob, and I would of course be
expected to attend.
It wasn't until 3 days after the chief and his party had left,
that it suddenly struck me -- the word I had unconsciously
translated as "big ceremony" was more properly "royal wedding"!
I put everything on hold, jumped in the Jeep, and set a new speed
record back to Sharmbay (which, I found, was already beginning to
look festive).
In a private meeting with Zuha'ar, I must have spent the better
part of half an hour alternating between sputtering and wheedling
-- all of which he sat through, smiling. When I finally ran out
of steam, he sat me down and calmly explained the situation.
First, for well over a century, that chastity belt had been
worn only by the various chiefs' various fiancées, and to flout
that custom now would be to alienate the populace and risk undoing
everything we had accomplished here -- and perhaps even provoke
bloodshed. Also, there was a time factor: she could (and should)
wear it through one whole menstrual period, but not through more.
Second, Hettua was now a member of the tribe, but our wedding
almost 5 years ago had not been done in conformity with tribal
law and custom. It was, therefore, though not completely invalid,
at least no real impediment to her marriage to Zuha'ar. Third,
this latter marriage would be in effect only within the area over
which he had authority. Outside that area, our status would revert
back to what it had been. Fourth, the wedding would happen because
he said so, and his word was law. Fifth, he wanted no more
argument, because he was doing me a favor...and because it was
now lunch time.
I was strangely at peace. I'd made my grand protest, and it
had been rejected pretty decisively. So I joined him for lunch,
after which I returned to Loora.
******************************
Five days later, Dan, Bob, and I declared a holiday and drove
back to Sharmbay. I don't really remember much about the ceremony
(thanks to fermented goats' milk spiked with medicinal alcohol).
I do recall more than the usual amount of drums and yelling...plus
much cavorting (more and more like a rock concert). Hettua looked
lovely (and eager, in fact); she wore tall white feathers in her
headband. The chastity belt was gone.
My hangover lasted three days.
Ten days after the wedding, we'd finished plumbing Adello's
village, given the demonstration, and were preparing to get back
to the coast and more-or-less civilization for some R & R. Five
days later, we were all back at the port of Nola, and she was
missing her period. We eventually managed to get a pregnancy
test kit and confirmed it -- Hettua was going to have a baby.
We spent most of a month in administrative duties (reporting,
reviewing, and planning), and then we headed back out into the
field. During this time, there was a great deal of soul-searching,
but we really always knew what we'd decide to do in the end. In
the middle of her 3rd month, we went back to Sharmbay village and
talked to Zuha'ar. We quickly came to an understanding. I'd go
on to the next job, but Hettua would stay in Sharmbay until the
baby was born. (She had gotten an appointment to stay on as
English teacher.) Zuha'ar had a dozen daughters, but no son.
So, if the child turned out to be male, he would become the
chief's heir and remain with him. If the baby was female, though,
we would keep her. And, between now and then, Dr. Dan would come
by the village frequently to monitor things.
I could visit only about once a month, and very briefly, but
Dan kept me well-informed. Still, it was interesting seeing her
at intervals like that. My memories are like a precise series of
timed snapshots, rather than a long, blurred watercolor panorama.
And each time I saw her, it appeared that not only her belly was
growing, but also her libido (perhaps even faster).
Her nipples grew bigger, darker, and more sensitive. Her
labia, too, were swollen; her clitoris was considerably
larger...and apparently almost permanently erect. Her orgasms
became much more intense -- and she was having a lot of them.
By the 8th month, her sex-drive was off the charts.
Throughout, she seemed not to have been given any sort of
privileged status. She was worked hard -- grinding grain with
a pestle, gathering sorghum, stewing tubers, laundering, milking
goats, fetching and carrying. Her chores would often be
interrupted by a young buck with a hardon -- and then by a young
woman with a switch. In between, she frequently did her chores
one-handed when feasible, so she could work and masturbate at the
same time. And she seemed, maybe not happy, but at least content.
(Nandi, of course, was firmly in control of things, and Hettua
eventually wound up doing most of Nandi's work in addition to her
own, in return for sexual favors.)
Eventually, she did give birth...to a healthy boy, weighing
10 lbs, 9 oz. He was named Ahrun.
By the end of the month, we were both back in Nola for a brief
respite, but we still had another 13 months ahead of us in Africa,
before we could finally head home, our service completed.
******************************
That was years ago. And we've been happily married ever since.