The Mato Grosso was a green hell, and like every other hell on earth, the Mato Grosso hid many secrets in its jungle slime. Venetia Cabet sought to unravel one of these secrets: the location of a million dollars in uncut emeralds. She hired Patrick Galsworthy to help her in her desperate quest, and once in the jungle, each of them discovered far more than either had expected-about themselves, about each other, about lust and greed, and about the fires of hell, which destroy the weak and transmute the few who can survive into nearly unrecognizable forms.
In this hard-hitting, red-blooded story of the extremes to which lust and greed can drive men and women, Winston Regret delves deep into the secrets of the human heart, and what he finds is more surprising than any secret of the Mato Grosso, and more enduring than the fires of hell which smolder in that jungle's darkness.
I
The naked Jivaro girl walked briskly in the early morning chill as she hurried through the brush in an effort to warm her blood. Her muscles, taut with youth, gave her thighs and breasts a rubbery pliability. A jungle insect, seeking warmth, landed on her buttock. She swatted it angrily, and the creature's blood streaked and blended with the dusty mound of flesh.
Patrick Galsworthy watched intensely from a thicket. He had heard her approach and had hidden quickly, half suspecting that some hostile warrior was hot on his trail. As she passed his hiding place his reaction was more than one of surprise. His eyes gleamed with lust and appreciation for her full woman's form, nubile as an Indian fertility figure. Finding himself alone in the wild with her, he had the urge to pounce upon her and satisfy his animal lust, but his long years of experience with these people helped him to overcome the heady impulse. It had taken a long time for him to win the trust and friendship of the Jivaros. The girl might well agree to the suggestion he had in mind, but then again she might not, and more importantly, the males of the tribe might also object. Galsworthy grimaced. His thoughts had left his loins tingling, and he was forced to remind himself that he was here on more important business. Still, the girl presented a picture too pretty to ignore completely. He continued to watch the matched mounds of her posterior moving away from him. She paused at a small stream and stepped behind a tree. Galsworthy saw her head bob once as she crouched, and then he heard the soft sound of water striking the jungle floor as the girl relieved herself.
Suddenly Galsworthy stiffened and became ill at ease. It was a trait he had developed over many years and long solitary hours and miles. The slight snapping of a twig had told him he was not alone with the girl, and the sound was that of man, not animal. His sharp eyes scanned the foliage in the area around the still concealed girl, finally settling on the brush beyond the narrow stream.
Galsworthy could make out the man quite clearly, although he was obviously hidden from the girl's view. He was a young Jivaro buck, probably from a neighboring tribe. The youth studied the girl and desire began to alter his features, the skin of his face pulling tight with passion. Made brave by his own lust, the Indian stepped around a bush for a closer look at the girl. He leaned forward and braced his body against a tree. Galsworthy's interest was heightened as he watched the youth's thick penis begin to swell, raise its head, and then expand into a full erection. Rape was not uncommon among the tribes, although it often as not invited full retaliation, sometimes taking the form of a mass counter-ravishment accompanying actual warfare and killing. It depended on the general attitude of the tribe at the time, the weather, and the amount of honor involved. Indians were funny that way. The same thing that amused them one day might well incite them, on another, to return to the old custom for which they were most commonly known. It wasn't a time for humor, but Galsworthy couldn't help but think that, here, a man could truly lose his head over a piece of ass.
He didn't like standing idly by while the buck ravished the girl, even though he himself had been entertaining a similar notion, but he actually felt quite helpless. He could not pick sides without angering one tribe or the other. Any interference from him would guarantee animosity from some quarter and might well mark him for sudden death by spear or blowgun. And he could think of no worse fate than to have his head become some warrior's tsantsa.
His thoughts were interrupted as the girl stood and approached the stream. She knelt and cleansed herself, her breasts swaying heavily as she put water on her face. She then leaned back, resting on her haunches and rubbing the cool water on those dark mounds, then massaging the nipples which began to expand and extend through her moving fingers. It was more than the young Indian could take. Galsworthy saw him drop to a crouch. The heavy muscles of his powerful thighs bulged, and he sprang forward in a dry land swan dive. Galsworthy clinically noted the youth's prominent erection in mid-air. Momentarily, he found himself once again wanting to spring forward to defend the endangered girl. He restrained himself. Hell, every native girl on the verge of puberty knew what her cunt was for. If this one didn't, it was high time she found out.
The boy's shoulder hit the girl just above the breast, bowling her over and knocking the wind from her. She had only time to emit the beginning of a squeal which ended in a punched-out gust of ragged breath. The boy was all over her at once, his hands racing from thighs to crotch; squeezing her breasts, leaving dark imprints; finding the lips of her cunt, invading briefly, and moving on to maul her full buttocks. The girl remained motionless on her back, staring at the youth through stunned eyes.
He gripped her breasts again and she began to moan softly as he leaned forward and bit her mouth. Trying to twist away, the girl raised one knee, giving Galsworthy a tantalizing view of her most intimate crevice. The boy's hands were there, his finger first penetrating, then plunging furiously in an attempt to excite his victim before her senses returned. She opened her eyes fully and gave out a short shriek. Her attacker slapped her hard, bloodying her mouth and terminating the bothersome sound. Her thighs involuntarily closed on his ravishing hand and she tried to roll over on her stomach. He tried to throw his weight against her, but was too slow. She slashed him across the face with her elbow and managed to crawl forward a few inches before he fell upon her again.
The girl cried out as the boy's hands captured her wrists. She strained to free herself from his grasp, but found his strength too much for her. Thwarted, she snapped her buttocks upward, catching him in the groin. He only grunted angrily and looked more closely at her struggling body. He wanted to release her wrists and grip her elsewhere, but he knew that she could be at him immediately, trying to pluck his eyes from their sockets.
Galsworthy could hear their labored breathing as the girl's hands were drawn inexorably backward. When the boy had regained freedom of movement, he savagely jabbed the girl's ass with his stiff prick. She gave a small cry as she scooted away from the foreign object, eyes bulging. The boy repeated the degrading action with a combination of lust and anger, not really aiming his straining cock, but striking buttocks, crack and cunt over and over again, using pain and shock to subdue his captive. The girl twisted, jerked, and squealed, trying to escape. It was to no avail.
Galsworthy noticed his own breathing had become heavier. He took a deep gulp of air and rubbed his uncomfortable crotch. The raw display of primeval sexuality had excited him. If he couldn't save the girl, couldn't have her for himself, he was damn well going to enjoy the sight of another male taking her.
The girl had remained still for a few moments, taking the continuing punishment with an occasional whimper. After timing the thrusts of the marauding shaft, she rammed her buttocks backward and up again, hard, taking her assailant full in the balls. He cried out and rolled away, clutching his heavy sac, his dark face showing excruciating pain. The girl, still shocked by the force of the assault, pushed herself slowly to her knees. She had almost regained her feet when it dawned on the rapist that he was losing his prize. Pushing away his pain, he lashed out, gripping the girl's ankle just as she began to stagger forward. She fell heavily, too weak to make a verbal protest, but she instinctively cocked her legs and kicked out as she hit the ground.
The boy grunted out his surprise as the girl's feet thumped against his chest. He directed a string of Jivaro expletives at the fighting girl as he found himself sprawled on his back. Pure anger was in the girl's heart now. She no longer wanted to escape. If possible, she wanted to kill. Panting, she rolled to her stomach, then gained her knees again, crawling forward with murder in her now fierce eyes. The boy had managed to return to a sitting position, and was staring dazedly at his failing erection, bewildered by the sudden turn of events. The girl's hand reached out, curling like a talon as it fastened on his now spongy prick. She snarled and snatched brutally at it, trying to tear it from his groin. The boy's eyes bulged with fear as he gave out a loud screech, and sent the girl sprawling with a desperate blow to the side of her head. She lay quietly, her rib cage heaving with exertion.
The boy stood slowly, circling the girl once to make certain that she was truly exhausted from the fight. He rubbed his balls thoughtfully, no longer certain that he wanted to thrust his penis into a potential meat grinder. The girl continued to breathe heavily, beginning the series of small sobs and croonings of a tired animal of the jungle.
They held their respective positions for long seconds, and the boy's eyes became sensual again as the sight of the lush body before him drove all thoughts of fear, pain or anger away. He knelt beside the girl and began to stroke her back tenderly. She continued to whimper, but Galsworthy could see her muscles relax noticeably. After stroking her back and caressing her hair for awhile, the boy took new heart and swung astride the girl's body. His knees surrounded her waist, and his buttocks rested lightly on hers. She was silent now, and the youth began to cup and gently, rhythmically squeeze a half-exposed breast. When the girl did not protest, the other hand crept rearward, molding her buttocks with a light touch, following the crevice until it was beneath the body. His fingers began to toy with her cunt already moistened with the uncontrolled violence of anger. The girl sobbed audibly, and her legs parted ever so slightly. As the boy realized that he had won the battle, he increased his stroking in both areas.
Galsworthy was breathing so heavily that he thought he might be discovered, but he threw caution aside and unzipped his trousers, withdrawing his own massive erection. Fascinated by the lustful scene before him, he began to stroke his own rod with a slow, pumping motion, instantly cursing himself for being a masturbating ape. How long had it been since he had defiled himself with such a personal act of abuse? Ten years? Fifteen?
The girl had lifted her buttocks now, and was aiding the boy's manipulation of her wet cunt and clitoris. One side of her face was pressed against the grass, her eyes staring but sightless. The boy leaned down and bit her neck several times, then licked her shoulders and one armpit until the girl moaned in helpless sexual anguish. He dismounted and knelt beside her head, holding his stiff cock as he directed it toward her mouth. He paused when the enflamed head of his penis was several inches away from her quivering lips. He wanted her willing submission, wanted to make love instead of rape.
Galsworthy clutched his erection tightly, pulling against it until the foreskin sprang rubbery and strained from around the bloated glans. He well knew that he did not have a perverted bone in his body, but here he was, clutching his prick like an awakening twelve-year-old who had just recently discovered its presence and did not have the will power to let go for fear of losing all the wonderful sensations which came from it. An insane thought flitted through his head. Why not bash the lad's head in and take the girl, obtaining relief in the proper manner. No, dammit! He was too close to getting out of this endless jungle once and for all to louse it up. He gave his prick another vicious jerk and cursed his own pride.
The girl was staring at the boy's angry red knob, hypnotized by its nearness. She made no move toward it, but simply let her breath rush in and out. The boy moved his instrument closer, not quite touching her full, Indian lips. The situation renamed static until the girl let out a long moan of desire and ultimate defeat. She raised her head and damped her mouth on the swollen knob, sucking almost at once with an insane fury. The boy threw his arms back and let them fall to his side. He had won the great sexual gift. The girl continued to suck with considerable vigor, reaching out to caress his ualls as she did so. He braced his hands on her body and withdrew his penis with a liquid pop. The girl's eyes were glazed with a newfound lust as she pulled her knees up, kneeling with butt high and face pressed into the grass. The boy moved behind her and presented his stiff organ at the base of her buttocks, resting it against the entrance to her vagina. She pressed backward, and he lodged the warhead of his cock into the depth of her hungry flesh with a short, decisive thrust.
Galsworthy could not be sure of who did what, so swift was the agreement reached. Within the flickering of an eye, the bov's taut rod was plunged to the hilt, withdrawn with a wet flash in the early sun, then riveted home again and again in a noisy fashion.
Galsworthy hammered his own flesh with a sort of panic. Somehow the action would not be at all proper unless he climaxed with the pair he was watching. He had no guilt now, only a deep longing for release. He saw the girl go into the frenzy of approaching climax, grinding her buttocks like a well-paid whore, twisting and churning at the plunging poker that strove to discharge inside her and drench her womanly parts. She began a string of short, girlish barks, and the boy closed his eyes, grimaced at the sky, and came voluptuously in gut-wrenching spasms.
Galsworthy's own cock strained, then jerked and spurted satisfying jets of white fluid. Moments later he felt guilty again, but he consoled himself with the thought that he had saved both his hide and his future by the act. A man could always get a woman, but a fortune in gems did not turn up every day. Neither did a second head.
Galsworthy returned to his camp, which adjoined the Jivaro village. He began to pack the few things he'd need to make the trip back to comparative civilization. From Jivaro country, he'd make his way across Colombia to the Negro River, and from there he'd head deeper into Venezuela to a place called Orinoco. There a woman by the name of Venetia Cabet waited for his coming.
Venetia Cabet lay on her dingy bed, dressed only in sweat soaked panties. The weight of her soft white breasts pulled each slightly away from her body, and the red nipples pointed in opposite directions as she wiped a rivulet of sweat from the valley between. Despite the large, lazy fan revolving overhead, the heat continued to be oppressive, and she breathed in short pants. She stretched her long legs in an open position, so that her crotch would not overheat and cause more discomfort. A half fifth of gin sat on a battered nightstand. Some quinine water sat beside it. The alcohol didn't help the heat, but after the third drink she cared less about almost everything.
She sipped the gin and smirked, pushing away a long, damp hank of her once attractive blonde hair. In a way she hated herself. She had voluntarily come to this hell hole of the world. She had looks, some breeding, and a not-so-bad background, but she'd always been too wild, taking chances, trying to live life like a thrill hungry jet-setter. For that personality trait she had paid the price in full. She had married Stanley Cabet, a man who had outwardly thought and acted as she had. They were quite sure that their marriage would be ideal, with each willing to take every challenge, to dare what others wouldn't and take a fitting reward. Except in Stanley's case it had been all talk. His courage lasted only as long as his bluster, and behind all his daring was a deep terror, a horrible fear of his own inadequacy. Venetia had stupidly bought the whole package. What had made her think that such a seemingly perfect match could ever be achieved? Only one last disastrous schoolgirl idea-and that had been enough to put her on the edge of the Mato Grosso jungle. It was possibly the most forbidding place on earth, and, she smiled ruefully, she deserved every bit of it.
Stanley had tried one crazy scheme after another, each undertaken and executed with more desperation than the last, and each more horribly bungled. And, as he had plunged insanely onward, she had followed him to still another bitter defeat. She told herself that she had been too totally committed. If there was nothing for her with Stanley, there was nothing for her anywhere. To reject Stanley's hollow soldier-of-fortune posturings would have been a return to an even more dismal defeat for her. So she had come, drinking more, and trying not to notice that Stanley's newest venture was like all the others, marked for failure before it had begun.
II
Galsworthy spat in the dust and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. His waist was burning with heat, so he loosened his gun belt to let it ride lower. He stared at the three story building, built sometime in the 1920's and once meant to be an elegant restaurant and private club. Almost nothing had been changed since that time, including the paint.
"Shit," he murmured. "The only game in town!"
He scratched his balls and climbed the squeaking wooden stairs. Before he could reach the large porch, the door burst open and a heavy blonde woman of unique vintage held her arms out to him, yelling raucously, "Galsworthy, you son of a bitch. The girls haven't been the same since you've been gone. You ruined every one of them on your last visit." She dug a fat elbow into his ribs as he drew close. "Worth every cent you spent, right?"
Galsworthy smiled and eyed the cracked wooden boards of the building. "As I recall, Gwen, I got my money's worth."
"Why sure you did. I run an honest place!"
"I've been in the jungle three months, Gwen. Right now I could do with a taste of something civilized."
The old madam's eyes squinted. "Ah, you're not broke, are you son?"
"I've enough for anything furnished here."
"Then come inside," Gwen beamed. She took his arm and led him through the doorway. "We just got a new supply of really good whiskey, and a couple of new girls who can turn a man inside out. And they're practically virgins, too."
"Like yourself, Duck, like yourself."
Inside, the brothel took on a new look. The paint was fresh. The furniture, of mixed age, was well cared for and garishly plush. Fittingly, it showed a whore's taste, a voluptuary's appetite. Gwen seated Galsworthy on an overstuffed divan of maroon velvet. She clapped her hands and a semi-naked Indian girl, breasts bobbing, brought a tray with two glasses, ice, whiskey, and water. Gwen poured. "And that, my friend, is real Canadian Club, no phony bottle."
Galsworthy stopped her from adding water to the whiskey and swallowed most of it. "That native girl is a looker," he said, "although a bit ludicrous in high heels."
"You like her?"
Galsworthy grinned. "I didn't come through half the jungles in South America to buy an Indian girl," he said.
"Of course you didn't, dear," Gwen soothed. "Something European, perhaps? I know your taste, a little sophistication, and practically virgin."
Galsworthy looked at her askance. "Actually, I was hoping to get away from these almost-virgins that seem to be all over the place these days. How about a couple of good old whores?"
The painted woman looked at her customer for a moment, almost stupidly, then burst into a gravelly laughter. "Haw, haw, haw. You're a caution, Patrick Galsworthy. Pride of your mother's brood, I should think." She turned and bellowed at the top of one landing. "Lily, could you come down for a moment? We have a gentleman caller."
Galsworthy rolled his eyes at Gwen's ghastly play-acting and poured more whiskey. The divan was comfortable and the liquid was having a settling effect on him. Gwen saw to it that the sizable fans in the house had sufficient power behind them and it helped. He looked up to see a giant black girl in a short nightgown descending the stairs.
"God's blood," Galsworthy expostulated, "she's a Nubian!"
"Nonsense," Gwen sniffed. "She's American." The girl came forward and curtsied. "Christ!" Galsworthy said.
"A pleasure to have you here, sir," the giant Negress said, demure in spite of her size. Galsworthy could see her thumb-sized nipples poking the thin fabric of her garment, pointing at him. He was becoming aroused in spite of himself.
"Look, Gwen," he started. "I've just come through a black jungle...."
"Hush and pay attention for a moment," Gwen said. "I know what's best for you. Lily, I think Mr. Galsworthy would like to have a better look at you."
"Yes, ma'am. Here or upstairs."
"No, just right here, dear." The Negress whipped the white nightgown over her head and Galsworthy gasped. The giant girl was perfection, with one of the most beautifully proportioned bodies he'd ever seen. Her ponderous breasts were projectiles of muscles and flesh, swooping in an inverse arc that ended in perpetually erect nipples, dark brown studs that provoked a man's mouth. The rib cage was large, shrinking quickly to her waist, then flaring to big, child-bearing hips. Her dark skin shone, though she wasn't perspiring, and there was not the slightest crease to suggest extra weight on any part of her body. The mound of Venus, large as most men's hands, had been shaved, and the girl thrust her hips forward, her big black hands pushing at the ebony rounds of her basketball buttocks. The creased mound popped forward, presenting to Galsworthy a neatly divided chocolate kiss.
Galsworthy stared. "Damnation, Gwen," he hissed. "She's a beautiful beast. Better than an African safari, all by herself."
"From Alabama," Gwen said smugly. "I shouldn't have told you that, but you'd have found out anyway. Seems the boys left her alone a lot, because of her size. All the time she was just growing more flesh and getting hotter and hotter. Police chief picked her up one night and threw her in the can, just to be ornery. He came back to the jail drunk, with the idea of seducing another little black girl. Well, the poor little thing just fucked that man out of his head, making him the laughing stock of the other prisoners and a couple of deputies who were around. Had to run her out of town since she was such a blow to his human dignity. Anyway, one thing led to another. Some seaman on a tramp steamer smuggled her aboard so that the crew would have something to entertain them on the long voyage. She nearly sapped all the marrow from their bones by the time they had reached South America. The captain discovered her, and rather than lose his whole crew to dissipation on the return journey, he left Lily stranded. Somehow, she found her way here and I saw instantly that she was a jewel in the raw. I added a little culture and polish and came up with what you see here. Show him, Lily."
Lily looked at Galsworthy, her eyes becoming lidded in open invitation. He was a big man, but lean. His angular face showed total masculinity, and a hint of cruelty. But Lily appeared undaunted and smiled as if he was one of the few white men she could actually like.
She began to lean away from him, swaying slightly as her massive body curved in a backward bend. The big breasts pointed toward the ceiling, with nipples swelling from her own thoughts. She continued her stretch, and the Indian girl put a shooting, rhythmic record on the phonograph. Finally, Lily touched the floor behind her with the flat of her hands. Her cunt, which faced Galsworthy, had stretched wide, and the mound was tilted up, begging to be pierced by a stiff prick. Lily grunted lightly and her muscles began to work. The lips of her vagina fluttered and began to part, then close; part, then close; almost breathing.
Galsworthy rubbed his erection, pushing it to one side of his trouser leg so that it would not ache so badly. "I'll come in my pants if she keeps this up," he whispered.
Gwen chuckled. "Watch!"
Galsworthy saw the huge black thighs strain once, and the plump vaginal lips parted in a vertical grin, exposing the curved inner contrast of pink. The lips fluttered at him once more, and he groaned. Lily straightened at the sound, the big whites of her eyes beckoning to Galsworthy.
"Well," Gwen said smugly.
"Look, old girl," Galsworthy gulped. "I appreciate the fact that she's your new star and all that, and you probably get a bundle for her when she works. But I told you, I just got out of the jungle and I...."
"I understand, Patrick, and I'm not trying to force anything on you." Gwen patted him on the knee. "Something European. Something different. How about a sleek redhead from France, really haute couture. In the mood?"
"Let's see her." Galsworthy's breathing was heavy and very audible.
"Certainly," Gwen said in a condescending tone. She nodded to the Indian who'd been standing silently in one corner of the room. "But I think we should reward Lily for her efforts, don't you? The poor dear's got herself so worked up over you."
"Uh, yes, yes," Galsworthy said, reaching for his wallet.
"No, no, dearie. That's not necessary now. Lily," Gwen called to the Amazon, who had moved away.
The black had a magnificent stride. "Yes, ma'am?"
"Do you like our Mr. Galsworthy?"
Lily's lips parted and the flash of her teeth was like the sun suddenly appearing over a dark ocean. "Oh, yes ma'am."
"Would you like to take him upstairs, later maybe?"
"Oh, I'd like him to lay me good, if that's his pleasure, ma'am." Still demure, Lily had lowered her eyes while making the almost whispered statement, and she only glanced at Galsworthy when she'd finished.
"Poor dear," Gwen said in mock sympathy. "Did you get hot and bothered during your little show?"
"I just like his looks, ma'am," Lily said.
Galsworthy spoke. "Lily, you're a very beautiful girl."
"Yes, sir. Thank you." She had the teeth of a cannibal.
"Why do you like me, Lily?" Galsworthy was pleased that he had excited her.
"You ... " The huge black body shuffled for a moment. "Your looks, I guess."
"That's all?" Galsworthy was amused.
"Well...."
"Don't be shy," Gwen urged. "Answer the gentleman."
Lily's eyes were pleading. "You ... you look like a man who really knows how to do a girl up right," she blurted.
"Umf," Galsworthy said.
"You may kiss Mr. Galsworthy goodbye for a few moments, Lily," Gwen instructed.
Lily grinned as she fell on her knees before Galsworthy, her beautifully coiffured African hair still almost as high as his own. She unzipped him quickly and after a little fumbling, withdrew his massive erection. Its plum-red head twitched with excitement, and Galsworthy held his breath, not wanting to concede the game. Lily leaned down and pressed the swollen staff against first one cheek and then the other. All the while her great white and brown eyes held Galsworthy's in a lover's beckoning gaze. At last she bent and kissed the head, flicking at it just once with the warm, wet tip of her tongue. Galsworthy expelled his breath as she moved away again. He retired his penis from view and redid his trousers, but he unbuckled his gun belt and laid it to one side.
"Lily," Gwen suggested, "why don't you lie down on the couch and relax yourself? I believe Mr. Galsworthy would like to watch while we talk to Odette. That's it, dear."
Lily picked up her nightgown but didn't put it on. She first sat, then lay on her back on the opposite couch. She closed her eyes, let one leg dangle to the floor, and began to masturbate almost immediately. Her fingers moved in and out of her glowing crevice with tantalizing slowness.
Galsworthy was thoughtful. Either Gwen had decided to stimulate business, or she was just trying to be kind to an old customer. In any event, his condition told him he must be having a good time, not to mention the real Canadian Club in this wilderness. He wondered what Odette would be like, but he could not keep his eyes from Lily's huge body and the starving cunt which sucked at her fingers.
At a signal from Gwen, Odette came down the stairs. She was ready for instant business, wearing nothing but her high heeled shoes. She was a real redhead. She had the body of a model, with small, high breasts and a neat little red muff. Her legs were what every photographer longs for, and her carriage was queenly. Galsworthy was still admiring her studied entrance when Odette suddenly paused. Lily had begun to moan lightly as she neared her first clitoral climax, and Odette turned and watched as the mass of black flesh began to undulate. The effect was startling. The redhead stumbled, missed two steps, then staggered the rest of the way down the stairs, never taking her eyes from the erotic scene Lily presented.
The redhead approached Gwen and Galsworthy in a flushed, unsure condition, apparently ready to come apart at the seams. She glanced repeatedly over her shoulder at the inflammatory action taking place on the other couch.
"Odette," Gwen said, "this is Mr. Galsworthy."
Odette nodded.
"Hello," Galsworthy said, reaching out to fluff her lovely red-haired mound. "Your trick is beautifully trimmed." She turned slightly, still watching Lily, and Galsworthy patted her tight, white buttocks. They contracted beneath his touch. He grinned. "Is the color real," he asked, "or do you do it yourself?"
Odette smiled stiffly. "It is real, monsieur." She moved closer to keep from offending Galsworthy, but her attention was still glued to the moaning Lily. Galsworthy didn't blame her. If that damned black didn't climax pretty soon he's have to go and fuck about twenty pounds off her.
Gwen tried to gain Odette's attention. "Don't you find Mr. Galsworthy attractive, dear?" She was visibly irritated.
"He's very nice, madam."
"Then why don't you show him that you're pleased with him? He'll think we're very unfriendly here."
"I'm sorry." Odette forced a smile and licked her lips seductively. She leaned over and kissed Galsworthy soundly, running her tongue around his lips and thrusting it in and out of his mouth in an imitation of intercourse. She offered him one compact breast, which he bit lightly and then kissed. It was like hard sponge.
Lily interrupted everything as she experienced her first climax. "Ah, ah, ah ... oooh," she cooed.
Odette watched Lily, transfixed. Lily's huge black breasts rose and fell as she regained her breath. Her mouth was open and slack. Odette made a childish, whimpering sound.
"Odette!" Gwen said sharply.
The girl was pale as her head snapped around. "I ... I'm sorry, madam."
"I can see that all this is upsetting you," Gwen said, "but you must realize that Mr. Galsworthy is your first consideration."
"I ... can't help myself."
Gwen shook her head and gave in. "Very well. If you feel you must, go and help Lily."
"Oh, thank you, madam!" Without another look at Galsworthy, Odette crossed the room to the open and supine Lily.
"Watch this," Gwen said to Galsworthy. "You're really going to see something."
Galsworthy was confused as he watched the milk-white buttocks and red hair move away from him. "Is this something you've arranged? That skin is just about the right shade of white."
"You mistrust me, Patrick. I wouldn't think of such a trick. It's just that Odette is such a sympathetic child."
The redhead fell upon Lily's black mass with a whimper, like a lithe, white flower trying to cover an acre of black contoured earth. Lily's eyes popped open in surprise as the redhead kissed her hungrily, claiming the plush vaginal mound with her pale hand and fingers.
"Ungh," Lily grunted at the new stimulus, as Odette bit and licked at the ripe, open mouth. She moved her body squarely astride the dark one and the girls were mound to mound. Odette then began to grind her lean labia against Lily's full one, presenting a bristling contrast of red hair against black skin. Galsworthy could almost see sparks bouncing from the grinding lips.
"Duck," he said dryly to Gwen, "our redhead wouldn't be a confirmed Lesbian, would she?"
"Oh," Gwen grimaced, "she has her weaknesses, and I must occasionally give in to them. She's been wanting Lily ever since she arrived, and seeing her like this was just too much. But she's a real professional with men. You name it and she'll give you a top-flight performance."
"And Lily?" Galsworthy helped himself to another drink. This was just too much.
"Oh, the poor thing is perfectly normal, except for being terribly over sexed. Really, she's managed to evade Odette quite well, up until now.
"She-likes men, huh?"
"Men like you, Patrick. like you."
Odette was rubbing her mound frantically against Lily's, trying to achieve clitoral friction, and pinning Lily's shoulders with her hands. She sucked avidly at the big chocolate nipples, her eyes bulging with passion.
Lily began to respond with her hips; her eyes were rolling and flashing white. She emitted a series of noises that were half grunts and half sobs. Odette had reached her clitoris, and the Negress came fully again. Her body was still jerking with the stunning effect the climax had had on her attuned sexuality, but she rolled her head sideways, away from Odette's hungry mound. Her eyes pleaded with Galsworthy to be a man and to allow her to be a woman, not a toy.
"Bully!" Galsworthy roared, suddenly coming to his feet and reaching Lily in two bounds. He grasped Odette's flaming hair and threw her to the floor with a bump. "I'll give the big girl what she wants and needs!" He took Lily's hand and brought her to her feet. Her look of childish happiness almost embarrassed him. She gazed at him absolutely adoringly.
"You're so demanding, Patrick," Gwen said from behind him. "Do help Odette to her feet. She can't help the way she is."
Galsworthy withdrew a bill from his wallet and flung it at Odette, who scooped it up before rising. "Lily," he said huskily in his deep and somewhat nasal voice, "why don't you show me to your room?"
He was mesmerized by the huge beauty of her buttocks, which swayed from side to side as it proceeded him up the stairs. He patted Lily several times; she giggled, casting backward glances at him, still showing that incongruously demure expression.
"I'll not hold out more than thirty seconds with this one," he muttered to himself, "but she'll amply make up for the one I missed back there in the jungle." He had not yet forgiven himself for having masturbated so shamelessly while the young buck had ravished the Indian girl.
Lily's room was large and sparsely furnished. On the bed stand was a basin, some towels, whiskey, and a small radio. She padded toward it, then paused to look at Galsworthy through large doe eyes. A small line of perspiration had formed on her upper lip. Galsworthy reached out and fondled the stimulated tips of her breasts for a moment, noting the exceptional springiness of the great globes. Then he spun her around and propelled her toward the bathroom. He adjusted the shower, stripped off his sweaty clothing, waited for Lily to climb in, and followed her quickly. He delighted in the rippling movements of her body as it gleamed under the water. When she turned, her breasts were compressed against his hairy chest, and the sensitive knob of his stiff prick slapped lightly against the curve of her abdomen. He laughed aloud and the big girl giggled like a child.
"God's sake, Lily," he boomed in the small cubicle. "You must be the world's biggest fuck!"
Lily lifted her chin and let the soft hissing spray hit her face and white teeth, grinning with the pleasure of it. "Yes sir. Miss Finian says I can move into a room with a big girl's shower if I get enough good gentlemen callers, like you. I was so scared you wouldn't come up with me." She snickered and grabbed at Galsworthy's twitching cock, slapping it against her stomach several times and pumping it slowly with her water-warmed hands.
Galsworthy tried to think of something else. He picked up the soap and rubbed down the dark flesh. When he got to her breasts, they kept popping through his strong fingers, like trying to catch an eel in a barrel. The slippery feel of the soap and the touch of Galsworthy's masculine hands was too much for Lily. Her nipples received a pleasant buffeting and her huge tits swayed then broke out in goose bumps as he began to nibble on her blood-tightened nubs. She squeezed the pulsing prick again and Galsworthy groaned, pausing momentarily in his soaping. She leaned forward and licked the water from his face, French kissing him until he was salivating. His own control was not perfect, and while she masturbated him with added vigor, he used the soap to frig her cunt and clitoris. Never a cold girl, Lily's eyes grew large, making her look more like a frightened African than ever.
"Oh, Mr. Galsworthy!" she cried, using his name for the first time as she sagged against his shoulder. Her cry, combined with the look of an impending climax, only made him frig her more avidly with the soap, allowing his fingers to slide in and out and along her fluttering gash of sex. She began to sob and bite at his shoulder. "Sir ... sir ... sir," she panted and whined, and Galsworthy knew her time was near. He forcefully jammed the bar of soap up her stretching cunt, concentrating on manipulating her clitoris, which was now as stiff as cartilage.
Lily squealed like a dying rabbit, and the black bulk of her shook and shimmied against Galsworthy as though she were being jabbed with hot pokers. The firm, tremendous ass pumped up and down, and her pink heels thumped madly against the shower floor. Her high shriek rose and she came in copious floods of fluid. Galsworthy ran his hands along the inside of her thighs and felt smug as the rivers of slick moisture ran in greater quantity than the shower itself. Lily became still, her head resting on her lover's shoulder. Galsworthy experienced a last moment of satisfaction as the bar of soap slipped out of the relaxing pussy and fell into the stream of water flowing down the drain.
She lifted her head and smiled gratefully at him, then turned as best she could in the cubicle, bending to retrieve the soap. Her tits dangled in perfect pointed domes, the swaying nipples almost scraping the floor from the extreme hang of her flesh. Galsworthy gripped his cock and slipped it just below the dark crevice of her stretched buttocks. Because of Lily's size, Galsworthy's contrasting white shaft passed along the crevice, along the bottom of her cunt, and emerged with inflamed and drooling glans on the other side of her body. Lily grinned up and caught the fleshy staff with one hand, rubbing it gently. With the other she brought up the soap, massaging the enlarged channel running along the underside of his rod. Galsworthy closed his eyes and enjoyed the excruciating sensation of her soft pink palm against the knob of his cock. The soap slid back and forth along its bottom in imitation of a woman's hot clit.
"Lily," he croaked weakly, "you're going to fuck me before I'm ready." He said it without conviction. The sight of her massive female form, with its taut black buttocks, in a leap-frog position before him, happy to do his bidding, willing to cater to his wildest sexual dream, was too good to shatter, but the tingling in his balls told him he was weakening.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Galsworthy," Lily called in a voice that seemed far away. "If you can crawl when Lily gets through with you, she'll get canned." She giggled and watched the big prick jump as she soaped more vigorously. She squeezed his puffed glans between two fingers and watched it swell angrily with each application of pressure. He would probably blow like a whale when he came, and she wanted to make sure that he asked for her on his next visit.
Suddenly she stood, and Galsworthy thought she might give him some respite, perhaps allow him to let the first charge drag out a bit more. He was wrong. She backed up against him, as far as her buttocks would allow, and began to gyrate in a grinding motion. He could feel the sliding friction of her swollen lips along his extended penis, as her soapy hand held him tight against the length of her grasping crack.
"Lily," he croaked. "Stop."
"Oh, don't let me spoil a good time for you, Mr. Galsworthy. I just get these funny itches. Anytime Lily does something wrong, you just jam that big thing in my cunt or ass or something. I'll do you right, wherever you put it. You just let Lily know." She laughed and continued to rotate her buttocks furiously for a few seconds. It caused a flash of heat to rip through Galsworthy's body, and he almost sobbed out his pleasure.
She stood and turned to face him. "I think Pat needs a good come now," she said flatly.
"Uhh," Galsworthy groaned and leaned against the far wall, his violated erection bobbing its head in a begging motion.
Lily used only the slowest movement of hand to masturbate the swollen prick, never carrying the motion farther than the rim of his knob. Watching him all the while, the whites of her eyes meeting his sex-dazed expression, she knelt down and began to lick one side of the red head, her big pink tongue causing a small patch of drum-tight skin to throb with fire.
The tormented prick began to jump in her hand, the lower channel repeatedly flexing in anticipation of the jets of fluid to come, the gorged head bobbing and swelling to proportions Galsworthy didn't recall it being capable of. The wet heat, the warm hand, and the sight of the man-eating cannibal before him, begging with great servile eyes to be screwed, was too much. His cock tightened and his mouth dropped open. Lily watched with careful pleasure, and when the straining rod ripped open with come, she nibbled at one side of the head and slapped a warm, sopping washrag against his balls.
"Arrgh!" Galsworthy shouted in agony. He thrust his hips forward, and Lily watched with obscene satisfaction as gut-wrenching jets of sperm splattered the far wall. Galsworthy shook and quivered mindlessly, free of all thought.
After a cursory drying, Galsworthy threw his damp body on the bed, not bothering to see if Lily had followed. She stayed in the shower long enough for a good rinsing, then dried carefully. She approached Galsworthy with a dry towel. He was lying on his back in a greatly relaxed state, sipping a whiskey and water. She began to pat his body dry, while smiling and humming to herself.
"Yes sir, Mr. Galsworthy," she said thoughtfully. "You looked like a man who'd been saving it up for a spell."
"Right you are, girl," he said slowly, enjoying the touch of the towel against his hide. "And there's still quite a bit left in the old account."
Lily nodded with enthusiasm. "Oh, I just gave you the shower job so you could really enjoy the rest of it. I hate to see a man bad-off nervous." She grinned broadly, put the towel down, and lifted his limp penis with two fingers, levering it like a piece of fat, warm putty. "Hmmmm," she said. "We just got to do something 'bout this."
It was Galsworthy's turn to grin. "Sounds like you have some ideas of your own, you bloody sweet cannibal," he said.
She cupped one heated, pink palm against his prick, and his temperature soared. The flaccid meat began to swell ever so slightly, until the skin covering was loosely stretched. Lily bent and took a part of the lumpy penis in her mouth, her lips rested just behind the fattening head. She used her tongue to softly friction the canal that ran along the bottom of his prick.
Galsworthy sighed and closed his eyes, dreaming, while Lily let her head rise with the now unstoppable erection. Straight up it came, until the glowing head unsheathed itself and the first drop of tickling fluid appeared at the small orifice.
"There now," Lily said, rising. "I think you're ready for something again." She took his glass from him and prepared another drink, placing it on the nightstand while he watched her splendid tits with quiet enjoyment; his erection occasionally jerked as the sight titillated it.
"You know, Lily," he said, "the liquor up here is a bit different from the stuff downstairs. A little raw on the throat."
She grinned. "You spoiled, Mr. Galsworthy. Once Lily had hold of you, you supposed to forget how good the whiskey is." She looked petulently at him. "Just how much you care about that stuff?"
Galsworthy roared like a happy lion. "Not that much!"
"Good," Lily said. Then, in an almost commanding tone: "You sit in the chair now, enjoy the whiskey. I made this one strong, for lasting strength."
Galsworthy was bemused. "All right." He arose and spread his naked frame in a comfortable chair.
Lily eased herself onto the bed while Galsworthy sipped his drink. With no sign of emotion on her face, she began to knead her massive, now slack breasts. She pushed the pounds of flesh back and forth, and Galsworthy was almost objective, in spite of his erection. He thought he could detect a certain rhythm in the way the fleshy teats were being manipulated. The soft, flowing motion of the huge loaves was almost soothing to a man, reassuring in fact. He drank more. With tits like that in the world, things couldn't be all bad. And right now they were damn near perfect.
The motion began to slow a bit. No, Lily's hands were still kneading at the same rhythmic speed, but the flesh was moving less. The glistening globes were becoming firmer, fighting any flabby tendency. He could actually see the progress of their swelling, puffing like bread in an oven. Lily moaned and began to flick her nipples while the domes pointed like projectiles. They were like bits of chocolate candy, which, as she nipped them, gained erection in the manner of a man's penis. The sight inflamed his imagination. The woman was magnificent. She probably had puff glands on every part of her body.
His erection strained again as he stared at the blood-filled breasts. The skin was taut and shiny, and the nipples were inch-high pyramids, almost too tight to flip. Lily spun her big body on the bed, pulling her knees up and presenting Galsworthy with an exciting view of her lower set of Nubian lips. She began to undulate her hips slowly, revolving her big ass simultaneously. The plump vaginal lips began to slip against one another, like a geologic fault. They ground on until the teasing action caused them to swell and turn outward, and some inner pink began to show. Galsworthy stared wide-eyed, his cock clutched in one hand.
Lily groaned again, as a thin film of moisture appeared along her great divide. Her labia began to flutter, and Galsworthy noted that the lips of the well-trained cunt were beginning a motion that resembled a man chewing a piece of steak. But the morsel that hungry mouth wanted wasn't steak. It was too much. He was on his feet in a bound, placing the knob of his shaft against the grinding pussy.
Lily boosted herself slightly and Galsworthy could have sworn he saw the black cunt lap, capture, and swallow the head of his erection. The slick heat engulfed him, and the woman flesh gobbled at his prick, the hot, strong muscles gnawing hungrily at his offering. He jammed his hard rod as far as he could and Lily whimpered happily, flexing her thighs to take in more of him. With a second lunge he rammed home, and, numb with exquisite sensation, he happily ground and rotated his pubic hairs into her smooth, slick love mound, feeling the hot flesh of her buttocks caressing his buffeting balls. Surprisingly, the fit was snug. He had originally thought the girl was too big to be really good with her titanic twat, but she apparently was able to make adjustments enabling her to fit herself perfectly onto whatever was offered. She shifted her ass and flexed her thighs again. Her cunt, like a hot, wet hand, tried to pull him onto the bed. The muscled cunt rippled again, and Galsworthy grunted, pulling his slick cock slowly from the vise which gripped it, and then rammed it home in a series of short, powerful fucking motions.
"Ayee!" Lily cried, wrapping her legs around him and constricting her entire body, so that he had to fall toward her. Each hand grasped a breast at its base, and shook it hard as he fucked the big cunt. The intense heat built and the vaginal muscles permitted him only what he could take, exquisitely threatening to pull his manhood from his body and swallow it forever.
"Take it, you bitch!" he swore, working all the harder. "Open that goddamn volcano and take my poker." He was showing more control now, pulling his penis out slowly, then jabbing it home in inch-gaining thrusts, sometimes retreating so that he could jab and caress parts of the sex canal he hadn't attended to. He kept this up until only a few inches of cock were left showing, and then he pum-meled Lily's mound, withdrawing the whole length quickly, then ramming it home in long, wet plunges.
Lily's eyes rolled and her big ass churned furiously. "Oh, you are one of the best fuckers ever." She was panting in spite of herself. This man had given her too much of what she craved, and she was losing control. "Shit, you just a goat, Mr. Galsworthy. You're gonna fuck me useless!" Galsworthy shut her up with a tremendous burst of energy and raw muscle power.
He smiled grimly as Lily fell back in a spread eagle position, her eyes closed. She was sweating, moaning, and loose. He had screwed her to the point he wanted her, and she could no longer contain herself. He raised himself and looked down the slack vagina, its pink, wet lips flabby and drooling around his white shaft, still hungry for his hard penis.
He chuckled, pushing in and out with ease, wriggling his cock sideways, sensing the give of her flesh against his dominating erection. He eased his frame against the marvelous cushions of her black breasts and turned his head to chew on on a taut nipple. Lily sobbed and tried to turn herself inside out around his strongly screwing shaft. He felt the soft flesh of her entire gash open up and loosely caress the belly flesh around the base of his penis.
"God!" he groaned in surprise. All of the wet, lax flesh had suddenly contracted like a wet hand against his balls, snapping shut and milking him with a terrific force. His eyes bulged with determination. The restrengthened cunt crawled along the length of him like a man-eating clam, sucking and squeezing for a greater purchase. "Lily," he cried. "You lovely, black bitch!"
The long glove of wet flesh mauled and wrung his aching cock until he felt as if five vaginas were working at him. He was able to see her face dimly through the passion which clouded his brain, and he tried feebly to take command again. Her eyes were barely open and her mouth was starting to form a triumphant smile. "Oh, you going to throw one hell of a fuck into me," she said. Her pubis still sucked at him.
Galsworthy wasn't listening to her murmurings. Wild-eyed, he felt the first tingling trickle leave his scrotum and travel along the length of his quivering cock.
"Honey ... I ... " she gasped. "I'm gonna suck two loads at once from that big, wonderful thing."
Galsworthy was helpless. He began an uncontrollable shuddering, bounding up and down against her writhing body without really fucking it. He was in the throes of a terrific climax. Lily's sweet vaginal lips went on sucking, kissing, and kneading his hard, abundant shaft. "Uhh ... Lily ... Lily...."
"Lily ... here," she managed to smile up at him.
"Fuck, Lily!" he croaked.
She reached under him and ran the tips of her sharp fingernails along the seam of his violently churning scrotum. At the same instant she raised her head, clamping her cannibal mouth to one flat masculine nipple, sucking and biting at it as her nails scraped his balls. Her cunt gave him one last, powerful suck.
"Ahhh, you bitch!" Galsworthy's eyes bulged and his face became a death mask in red. He shivered as though in a malarial fever. "Fuck!" he yelled, bucking hard at her as the scorching jets of semen leaped from his burning body and pumped into hers.
She crooned, still sucking at his nipple, massaging his balls, and trying to devour his throbbing, fiery cock.
He groaned in sweet misery. The climax carried on endlessly, for much longer than he could ever remember. The large head of his penis contracted madly, spitting out his semen into the strong inner muscles which held his knob in a death grip. His very sanity was threatened.
In apparent victory, Lily was undone. This extended fuck had addled her mind, and she wept as she came in long hot gushes of sympathetic and appreciative sex. '
By now they were both rolling and tumbling, righting to free themselves of one another, yet never wanting it to stop. They sobbed and yelled together. Her hot fluids reached his balls and flowed around them, seeping through her still clutching fingers. With a final effort, Galsworthy's courageous penis gave one long, tearing spurt which seared even deeper within her. Her wild, sweat-drenched body just managed to answer it before they both collapsed in a passionate embrace.
III
Venetia Cabet had downed just the amount of gin she needed to ignore the heat, or at least ignore the more unattractive effect it had on her body, although the general discomfort was still there.
She wiped her flesh one last time and adjusted the vain trickle of the ancient shower. Her own perspiration ran faster, and even the water marked COLD, was tepid at best. Outside, the sun glared angrily like a hot demon, set on destroying her pore by pore. She could hear only the faint spatter of the shower, and the surrounding jungle was still and quiet.
Venetia stepped into the shower, closed her eyes, and turned her face into the watery dribble. The vague dizziness prompted by the gin was even more pleasurable than the feeble stream offered by the shower. She turned her body about and let the salty sweat flow down the drain, her hands moving lazily over her anatomy.
"Miss Cabet?" A Latin voice called to her from outside the bathroom door. "Are you there?"
"Yes."
"I must speak with you."
Venetia's mouth pulled flat. It was the grubby Portuguese who ran this hovel he called a hotel. She supposed he didn't have more than two or three paying customers a month, but he insisted on harassing her about the rent.
"One moment," she called drearily, wrapping a fresh towel around herself and stepping out of the shower. How she hated the little bastard!
Moments later, Venetia appeared before Senor Delgado in a short robe which exposed most of her long legs. As the garment blotted against her wet body the flesh showed through only too clearly. The short, swarthy man before her was visibly impressed. "Ah, Miss Cabet...."
"Mrs." she corrected. "I was married to Stanley Cabet, remember?"
"Ah yes, of course," he said apologetically. "Forgive me, Mrs. Cabet." He smiled. "I can offer a multitude of apologies if it pleases you, but on the question of the money for the room...."
"You'll get it."
"You did promise that you would have it for me yesterday. I thought I would allow you the extra time. I would not hurry so lovely a lady, but I have expenses to meet, endless matters of upkeep...."
I'll bet, Venetia thought sourly. It must take a couple of hundred rounds of ammo a week to keep the rats down. She looked at Delgado without expression. "I'm sorry. I thought the gentleman who was to bring the money would be here by now. Still, I know he'll be along shortly. Your money is as good as in the bank ... almost. As for the room ... " she waved her hand in a circular motion to indicate the whole hotel
Delgado cut her off quickly with an upheld palm and a slippery smile. "Ah, but were it not for the demand of the room," he lied unashamedly, his mustache quivering above the smile. "For myself, the room would be yours indefinitely. But my partners, the co-owners of this hotel, they insist the guests pay their way day by day. I am in no position to refuse them, or the tourists who harry me constantly. There are not so many hotels in this part of the country."
And damn few men, Venetia thought, just hordes of vermin. "I have nowhere to go until the person I'm meeting arrives with my funds," she said flatly. "Do you intend to put me out in the jungle?"
The Portuguese threw up his hands and rolled his eyes, apparently horrified at the suggestion. "But Mrs. Cabet ... what are you saying? I am a man of honor, of reputation, of family and breeding. If you are temporarily embarrassed ... " Again the quivering smile and the spread of hands expressing beneficence. "You must accept the personal hospitality of Delgado. My own quarters are much too large for me ... too large for an entire family." His eyelids were glittering and he was speaking more quickly. "I will make no attempt to get in your way ... you would hardly notice me ... during working hours. It is really so little for me to do for one so fine." He ignored Venetia's cold expression. "And a magnificent lady such as yourself must have somewhere to turn, in the middle of nowhere-What if the expected gentleman does not appear? Whom would you have? These scum who hang about ... you know how much help you can expect from them."
Venetia forced an artificial smile. "You ... would see to my comfort?"
"Senorita!" Delgado became expansive. "Anything in my house! I will have fresh linen for you every day ... the best foods prepared. These things mean nothing to me, but ... " He ventured a dark palm to pat a wet spot on Venetia's shoulder.
Venetia looked thoughtful. "I would have to do something to repay this courtesy. I shouldn't feel right if...."
"Oh, Mrs. Cabet. A man such as myself, alone so often in this wilderness with nothing but the muttering of a few Indian women. I would ask nothing but your occasional, tender companionship." His voice trembled as he moved closer, and she could feel his breath. He was shorter than she and had to look up as he risked sliding a short arm behind her, his hand coming to rest on her hip. His fingers twitched nervously on her jut of hefty flesh.
"A girl like you," he wheezed. "If only you will allow me to be kind to you. A woman can be very comfortable, very happy, in a place like this. I have money, and a bit of power, but what good is it if I have no one with whom to share it?" He brought up the other moist palm and began to pat her rounded stomach. "However, with someone like you," he continued excitedly. "I could make you a queen. Tell me the number of servants, the maids you require. One word from you and I ... " Delgado was overcome by passion. With a whimper he buried his head between her breasts, planting myriad kisses on her robe.
She cringed at his touch. It was too much. "For God's sake, Delgado, stop your damned sniffling and get out! You make me sick to my stomach!"
Delgado kept his head where it was for a moment, not wanting to believe that he had heard her words correctly. She put her hand under his chin and propelled him back several feet. "It is bad enough that I dislike you Delgado," she sighed, "but you are also a whiner and a beggar of crumbs." She reached under the bed and brought out a suitcase, put it on the bed, and began folding her few things.
Delgado was crazed. He'd almost convinced himself of success, was already dreaming of having this pearl for his own, and now ... His own sexuality was negligible, but to have such a mistress would have given him the prestige he had long sought. He shuffled closer. "Mrs. Cabet ... Venetia, don't be foolish," he pleaded. "You can't go out there alone. A woman like you..so beautiful ... you would be ravished a dozen times before night falls again."
"Better that I die in a gang rape by savages than to sleep in your bed," Venetia said.
Delgado's head snapped back as if he had been slapped. "I am sorry you feel that way."
"Just get out!" Venetia ordered. "If I have to look at your drooling face a minute longer, I'll be forced to deduct it from what I owe you. As for your tender sensibilities, I'm sure one of the older Indian matrons will be willing to shore them up for a consideration." She leaned over to get a garment from the far side of the bed, causing her robe to slip upward, exposing the beginning of her taut and rounded buttocks.
The sight was too much for Delgado. He howled like a dog and threw himself upon her, knocking her flat for an instant. "Senorita," he panted, "please do not go. I was only joking about the room. It is yours for as long as you like ... even for an eternity." He was kissing her furiously, any part of her that presented itself. She twisted from his grip and sprang to her feet, tightening her robe and glaring at him in a rage.
"You slimy worm!" she spat. "If you so much as touch me again, I'll rock you to sleep with this gin bottle." She turned her back on him, contemptuously, and began to pack her bags again. She tried to imagine that Delgado wasn't there, that he had never entered the room. She would leave before he became more violent. If Galsworthy came, he would find her. If he didn't ... well, nothing would matter then.
"Senorita," Delgado hissed from behind her.
Venetia turned, preparing to tongue lash the man, but cold fear stabbed at her heart. She now faced a different Delgado, a quiet, venomous little man who brandished a long, ugly stiletto in a practiced fashion. She shrank away.
"I would rather have remained a gentleman," he said sullenly, "but you have left me no choice." He advanced slowly. "Now you will give me everything I want of you, or I will cut you badly. You will wish that you had been nice to me, because I am going to show you how a whore earns her money."
She knew what he meant. "Please...."
Sharp points of light glittered in his dark eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched menacingly. His temper was barely in check, and he was managing to control it because he was thinking of the flesh rewards he would be enjoying within moments. He would make the blonde bitch crawl and beg. He would see that she became a victim to his virility, accommodating his every whim, however perverted it might be. When he was finished, she would be good for nothing, save perhaps Gwen Finian's house of pleasure, if her mind could take more of the same.
Delgado stepped forward quickly, and Venetia responded by throwing herself back on the bed and springing up on the other side. Delgado held his knife before him and crawled after her. He was smiling, already enjoying the tingling sensation in his scrotum. The tart was finally afraid of him, and it was as it should be. God knows what had gotten into the crazy whore, making her reject his hospitality so rudely. It was American women, that was it. They never knew their place, never learned it, always held themselves a head above all others. His mustache quivered as he slid from the far side of the bed like a snake, his beady eyes bright as he watched Venetia back her way into the last available corner. He smirked openly. The foolish female's eyes were frantic, and her stomach quivered as if she were going to lose control of her kidneys and piss all over herself. Ah, what great satisfaction such an act of fear would give him!
Venetia's eyes tried to keep track of Delgado's movement while she looked quickly around for a weapon, something heavy, preferably with some length to it. Nothing! Dammit, she should have made a grab for the gin bottle as she had spun across the bed. Delgado was too sure of himself with that knife. She'd seen practiced fighters before. Once they got close to you with their blade it was best to see things their way. A smooth knifer could change a person's entire appearance in a matter of seconds. Venetia shuddered. Her very perishable looks were one of the few assets she could still count on. Without them she would be the kind of woman that Delgado wanted her to be, except that no one would want her then.
Delgado was directly before her now, and she could smell the tobacco on his breath. He eased forward ever so slowly, the knife reaching out and marking small circles in the air before him, as though the blade privately desired to prick her supple flesh and feel it. cringe from its own superior solidity.
Inches away, Delgado suddenly stopped and grinned with magnanimity. "You are angry with me now, Senorita. I dare say that you would shoot me dead if you had a gun, but you will not feel so for long. Delgado is not unaccomplished with women. You will forget your anger, and then perhaps I will forget mine. I am the kind of lover who makes woman want more and more of what I have to give them. Now walk to me, slowly. It will be so much better if you come to me on your own."
Venetia was as much disgusted as she was afraid. How had she got into such a situation ... as though she hadn't been around, and knew nothing of men, especially ones-likes Delgado? Ugh. Her stupidity made her deserve this flaccid slug advancing on her. Desperately, she lunged for a drawer in the old bureau beside her, yanking it open in desperation. Nothing. A cockroach scuttled away, seeking darker recesses. When she looked up, Delgado's knife point was at her throat.
"Move," he grunted from between clenched teeth, his tension evenly divided between anger and lust. "To the bed."
Venetia defied him with her eyes. She remained motionless, her back against the wall. She gasped suddenly. Delgado had allowed his wrist to twitch just once, and the point of the obedient knife had brought a single drop of blood, a red teardrop against Venetia's graceful white throat. She began to move reluctantly toward the bed, always feeling the shiny metal point at her jugular as Delgado moved after her. She paused as she felt the mattress at the back of her knees. Delgado's hand twitched again and she sat down. She tried to remain cool. Her mind was so filled with hatred for the Portuguese, that she could not come up with any effective plan of escape. She couldn't let him. She couldn't bear the thought of having his vulgar flesh inside her. There must be something ... something with which she could crush his grinning skull in one fell swoop.
Delgado crouched before the helpless woman, grunting obscenely as he loosened the belt of her robe and proceeded to fish out a plump breast with his free hand. He plucked at its stringy nipple and went after the other globe. His motion caused the short robe to fall completely open, and he feasted his eyes upon the healthy outcropping of blonde muff which signaled the beginning rise of Venetia's prominent mound. He peered, his enraptured gaze fastened on the golden sex thatch. His free hand dropped from her breast and his fingers curled into the furred mound, then went quickly back to her breast. Impatient, he put the knife aside so that he might fondle both tit and cunt simultaneously. Venetia tensed one leg, intending to dig a knee into his groin, to splatter his forming erection against his balls. Delgado sensed the vague movement, and his knife was instantly in his hand, its tip pricking the soft flesh of her belly just below the navel.
"Please, no, Senorita," he snarled. "I should hate to find myself fucking your dead body."
Venetia gasped, and, as if by signal, the door swung open and a large, tanned figure strode easily into the room, speaking almost immediately. "I say," he said, spotting Delgado and Venetia and walking briskly toward them, "I looked all over for the manager chap and they told me I might find him in one of the upstairs rooms. Just happened to be coming down the hallway and heard your voices. I'm after a room, really, and should be in the vicinity for a couple of days before pushing on."
Venetia had frozen, and only her eyes moved, following the stranger with a look of confusion at the mindless chatter coming from his strong, manly face.
Delgado did not know how to take the man. He was either a fool, or-the man was looking him directly in the eye and still moving forward. His expression was pleasant, and so was his tone. Yes, perhaps the man was a fool after all. Only a mad Englishman would interrupt-his mind groped for the best word-lovers and continue to make a nuisance of himself.
The look of congeniality never left the stranger's face as he stood over Delgado's still crouching form. The knife was still at Venetia's stomach and a small bit of red welled around its point. Delgado attempted a weak smile and began to rise, not knowing what else to do. There would be time for the woman after he sent this ass away without any trouble or fuss. He would explain it simply. A lover's quarrel ... his fianc' ... a fickle creature, as were all women.
"Ah ... " was all Delgado got out before the lean man interrupted, apparently noticing the knife for the first time.
"Easy sport," he said, appearing to be dancing away. "Easy, might get hurt with one of those."
Delgado's mouth jerked open in surprised pain. His brain signaled red flashes as he felt a spear of pain driven through his wrist. He blinked back the tears that had formed instantly. The crazy Englishman had gripped his wrist with the speed of a mongoose. The man had incredible strength. The finger tips were crushing the nerves and blood vessels in his wrist. His eyes squinted with the excruciating pain. The feeling was rushing out of his hand as he saw the lunatic gingerly reach over and pluck the knife away by the blade. What was wrong with this one? He did not know Delgado. Delgado had no quarrel with him. And still the terrible pressure continued, and the pain was now creeping up his forearm.
"Arrgghh," Delgado finally bellowed, unable to bear the torture being inflicted upon him. He tried to swing with his free hand, although he was badly off balance.
The Englishman did not bother to ward off the feeble blow, but pulled forward on the wrist he had pinned. Delgado fell toward him, and he kicked out with one boot, catching the Portuguese squarely on the shins. Delgado belly-flopped on the floor with a gust of breath and a groan.
The intruder stepped over him. He reached out to wipe the drop of blood from Venetia's pale throat, making sure that she had suffered no bad cuts. He peered closely at her flesh, clinically noting the small break of skin just below the navel. She gawked at him as he wiped at it, his hand just above the golden mound.
Delgado began to curse in Portuguese, scrabbling about on the floor like a crab as he attempted to rise. The warmth in Venetia's belly turned cold, and she started to warn the stranger of Delgado's tricks, but he needed no reminder. The jungle boot swung in an arc toward the window, then retraced its movement, skimming along the floor as it gained speed. The heel of the boot lifted, catching Delgado's rising head at the temple. There was a bopping sound, like two large melons hitting. Delgado sighed and flopped again, unconscious.
Venetia smiled a small smile, reassured amusement beginning to show in her wise blue eyes. "Mr. Galsworthy?" she queried.
"Most certainly not Doctor Livingston," Galsworthy grinned.
"Right now you look better than ten Livingstons," she said with obvious relief. She tried to smile again but it didn't quite come off. She took a step, faltered, and Galsworthy had to catch her body before she fell. It was only a mild form of shock from what she had thought was to be her fate, but it gave Galsworthy the opportunity to press his body close to her well-padded one. His gesture began without sexual overtones, but as he caught her to him her robe opened completely. Her large, pointed breasts warmed his chest as she tried to recover her breath.
She tried to take a steadying step and only succeeded in pressing her profusion of blonde pubic pelt against Galsworthy's crotch. He heard the rasp of her crisp bush against the coarse material of his trousers. His penis jerked twice as blood began to pump into the swelling organ. She swayed once, and as he changed his grip on her body he found himself with a handful of bare female buttock. His breathing increased as he tried to bring her upright against him, creating more friction between their bodies. He looked down and saw the lovely swell of her perspiration-filmed breasts moving against him.
"Oh ... " Venetia moaned as his movements stimulated her weak, quivering body. Her awakening sexual senses were actually helping to bring her around, racing blood through her body and to her brain. He felt her plump mound push out slightly in the beginning of a swell. Galsworthy had involuntarily begun small hunching movements, rubbing his growing penis against the pouting pussy denied him only by a layer of trouser material.
"Oh, no," she whimpered in a small, helpless voice, and the subservient sound only served to inflame Galsworthy's growing lust. He slid one large hand between them and caressed a full tit, pulling at one nipple until it began to elongate and stiffen.
Venetia helped to push the breast against the teasing hand, even while she made small sounds of protest.
Breathing heavily, Galsworthy was anxious to push his advantage. He hadn't intended this, but the whole violent meeting had created a carnal atmosphere. They were going to be closely associated anyway, weren't they? Damned close, he snorted to himself, and then drove one hand behind her. He clutched each round white buttock in turn, bringing sensual moans from Venetia and prompting her to push her fast-heating snatch against his now pulsing erection. His hand moved below the fleshy overhang of her jutting ass, coming up from beneath her body to plunge two thick fingers into her already moistened cunt.
"Unnhh," Venetia groaned while her violator frigged her sucking snatch, wetting her hairs and his hand. "Galsworthy," she whimpered, "don't do ... this ... You took ... unh ... advantage."
Galsworthy quickly brought his hand to the front of her body. He massaged the fat mound until the full, pudgy lips parted of their own accord, allowing his knowledgeable fingers to slide warmly into the slick gash. He felt her breath now, coming in gasps against his neck and shoulder as he teased her wet, abundant flesh.
"Galsworthy," she panted with growing emotion, "don't do it. I'll ... unh ... call the whole thing off ... I'll...."
Galsworthy decided that she was talking too much. He crammed three fingers in her at once, frigging her pussy until it made loud, sucking sounds and turned outward against his hand, inviting an even more marauding probe.
She stopped talking. Her breath was raspy. She didn't help or hinder him, but she stood very still while the sweet melting sensations crept through her body. Galsworthy continued to bring her inflamed organ closer and closer to a climax with one hand while the other unzipped and withdrew his throbbing prick. He placed one of her delicate white hands upon the angry red knob of his cock, holding it there for a moment, inducing a fucking motion in her hand. She moaned and resisted for a moment, then clutched the pulsing knob with savage abandon; shaping it, squeezing it, learning the male member with her palm.
The breath whistled from Galsworthy's nostrils as he pumped into her clutching hand. At this point Venetia wanted only one thing, and that was to be soundly screwed. The big son of a bitch had taken advantage of her, but this was past the point of discussion. Her hungry twat threatened to gulp in his hand to the wrist. She grasped his white sex stalk and luxuriated in the thick, meaty feel of it. She began to pump the big prick in slow, sensuous claspings, and the taut, shiny head became wet.
"Over here," Galsworthy croaked, pushing her around the room, toward the bed and Delgado's unconscious body.
"No, no," she protested feebly, but she allowed herself to be driven back, taking small, mincing steps so that her eager cunt would not lose contact with Galsworthy's madly manipulating hand.
They avoided Delgado, and Venetia fell back onto the mattress, her white legs nipping in the air as she bounced, giving Galsworthy an intimate view of her loose, wet gash. He was out of his trousers instantly, presenting the knob of his long cudgel at the waiting entrance of Venetia's hot vagina. She lay on her back, her legs spread wide to facilitate his penetration. Her stretched cunt allowed the aching cockhead to pop in with the first thrust. She gasped, eyes closed, and tilted her pelvis so the whole stiff stalk might ream the dark tunnel of muscle. Galsworthy pressed forward, sliding his thick rod into the steam channel of building lust and hot sensation.
"Ahh!" It was more of a yell than a moan as Venetia felt the whole prick pierce her. "Fuck me now! Oh, it's been so damned long!" She drove her pelvis at Galsworthy with wild, body-slapping abandon. She felt his body lift so that his driving penis rode high in her man-hungry cunt, stimulating the inflamed clitoris with every stroke.
Venetia's eyes rolled unseeing in her head. She felt like a man-crazy whore. "You big fucker," she babbled, "I'm going to kill you for this. Oh! Oh, that cock." She reached under Galsworthy and found his large, swaying sac. Her fingers curled and she placed her manicured nails at a point just below his bobbing anus. She pressed in slightly, pricking his vulnerable flesh. Slowly, she dragged the nails downward, following the undercurve of his body, reaching the seam of his swinging scrotum and spreading her fingers so that each ball was stimulated by the lightly probing nails. Galsworthy grunted and went into a driving, frenzied, fucking movement. His eyes bulged in the middle of his effort, as
Venetia's nails reached the base of his wet shaft. "Owwww!" He yelled loudly and pumped jerking charges of hot liquid into a cunt that flooded him with its own come. Venetia sobbed gratefully.
After they'd claimed their second mutual orgasm, they lay on the bed, resting. Galsworthy had taken the time to bind Delgado and throw him into an empty room, still unconscious. Suddenly, Venetia sat up and searched about for a pair of panties. "I think it's time we got out of here," she said. She tried to sound unemotional, but her features were still beautifully flushed with the afterglow of sex.
Galsworthy was silent for a moment. "I don't blame you for being angry," he said. "I don't know what got into me. You looked so beautiful ... and the excitement...."
"Oh, don't apologize," she said. "Any man would have done the same thing, I'm sure." She stood to complete her dressing, keeping her eyes away from him.
He shrugged. "Well, it was lucky I happened along at that moment."
She faced him squarely. "Why?"
Galsworthy's male ego smarted. "Look...."
"No, you look, Mr. Galsworthy. My husband hid a fortune in emeralds somewhere in the Mato Grosso. You and I made a deal to find them and split them. I need you because I can't very well defend myself against gangsters like Karl Ulrich. Also, I don't know the jungle. But I do know my husband ... did know him. If there is something hidden, I'm most likely to find it. Now, let's get this one thing straight. I don't need you for stud service. I have sexual appetites like everyone else, but I prefer to have something to say about when and where. If you think you're going to jump me any time the urge takes you, we can go our separate ways right now."
"Take it easy." Galsworthy held his hand up. "Remember, I'm risking quite a bit by going against Ulrich. Not only is he a rough ex-Nazi, but he has an awful lot of influence in South America. And he doesn't mind emphasizing it occasionally with a dead body or two."
"Well, force should be nothing new to you," she retorted. "The only difference between you and Delgado is one knife."
"You didn't think so a few minutes ago," Galsworthy murmured arrogantly.
Venetia blushed furiously. This egotistical gorilla was going to be impossible. "My husband and Karl Ulrich made a deal about a treasure in emeralds. They turned on each other, and now no one has the stones. Are we going to begin like they finished?"
Galsworthy was amused by the girl's spunk. He sat up and reached for his shirt. "Let's see about the supplies," he said.
IV
Days later, a very different Venetia Cabet sat in a long wooden boat which was propelled by an inconsequential outboard motor. Her long, blonde tresses were straight and stringy, yet very clean looking. Her eyes were clear and her skin was beginning to show what would soon be a coffee tan. She wore boots, breeches, and a gun belt around her waist. Her blouse was of heavy khaki, the short sleeves roughly cut and stitched. It had belonged to Galsworthy, who had insisted on outfitting her in a way that would, as he put it, "give you an outside chance of surviving the jungle for a day or two...."
She sat in the back of the boat, going over some maps. To her they meant almost nothing, but Galsworthy acted as if they were the difference between life and death. He was at the front of the boat, checking over some of the new equipment he had purchased. A stoic Indian manned the small motor. Another boat, manned by an Indian, followed immediately behind them with more supplies. Venetia put down the maps and tilted her face to the sun for a moment. She squinted at the blue sky and smiled softly to herself, then she moved forward and spoke to a preoccupied Galsworthy, raising her voice to overcome the sound of the small outboard.
"I don't care what you say, this is the closest thing I've had to a real vacation in years."
Galsworthy glanced at the blonde woman's happy face, grunted, and turned back to his inventory. "All you've done so far is to take a few boat rides or short treks."
"Stanley and I went everywhere."
"Do you think that he took you where the real danger was? No. He left you behind at some fleabag hotel such as Delgado's." Galsworthy lifted his eyes to look ahead. "The smaller rivers can be meaner going, to say nothing of packing in when we have to. I told you this wouldn't be any picnic, and you might as well be bracing yourself for the coming hardships. In a few days, you'll remember this part of it as real civilization."
"Galsworthy, you're a pessimist," she grinned, raking back her long blonde strands. "I know traipsing through all the greenery gets pretty miserable, but as long as we can use the boats occasionally, and I get some rest in between, I won't complain. Right now, I like it. I have a new tingle in my bloodstream."
Galsworthy gave a short, harsh laugh.
"Probably the first time in years you've been off gin and cigarettes for more than a few hours. Your grateful body is making you optimistic. Midday heat'll begin getting to you after another day or so. You'll start getting uncomfortable. After a little booze to forget about the heat and bugs, then more cigarettes to calm the nerves the booze brings back, you'll be your old self again, cursing the jungle, the emeralds, me, and your husband's ghost."
Galsworthy fell silent and Venetia looked indignant. "Well, what a hell of a lot of faith you're showing all of a sudden!" she exclaimed.
Galsworthy shrugged. "Until a few days ago, I didn't know you from Adam ... Eve. Why should I be brimming over with faith and trust?"
"Well, you knew Stanley ... had heard of him," she corrected.
"You're bloody right on that point," Galsworthy retorted. "Anybody who has been anywhere has heard of Stanley Cabet. You were his wife. How can I be sure this isn't some kind of a lark you've dreamed up?"
Venetia frowned, knowing that her past association with Stanley gave Galsworthy plenty of reason for doubt. "Anyway, you're stuck with my company and you know it. I just wish you'd get used to having me around and try to act civilly. And any time you feel like running out on me, keep thinking of the emeralds."
"Wherever they may lie," Galsworthy said wryly, without looking up.
"That's right," Venetia fumed. "Wherever they may he. And maybe it's time you remembered there's only one of me, Mrs. Stanley Cabet. On the other hand, I think I could find a number of Patrick Galsworthys-men with guns and a greed for riches."
Galsworthy chuckled. "You didn't send all the way to Jivaro country because help was so easy to find."
"All right," Venetia said, her voice becoming extremely soft. "So I do need you more than you need me. I still feel good and would rather stay pleasant."
"I don't mean to offend you," Galsworthy said quietly and without rancor. "I suppose I'm more used to traveling with men in the jungle. They're not so thin-skinned, and they don't anticipate aspersion quite so readily." He grinned openly at the tanning, healthy female face which glared at him. "Maybe I wanted to gauge your general attitude. Some people start getting jittery after they really get into the interior. Some can go to pieces and don't even know it's happening to them. I just wanted to find out what category you fall into."
"You needn't worry," Venetia said flatly. "Whatever's in the jungle can't match what's already in the cities. I won't go to pieces, and I won't be extra trouble." She smiled at her own calm. "Who knows," she appraised the admiring twinkle in the Irishman's eyes. "I might even do something to keep the boredom away ... from both of us."
"On this particular trek," Galsworthy said, tying up a canvas bag, "the possibility of boredom never occurred to me, although there may be times I'll wish for it as a preference."
"Later, you'll be glad you have a woman along," she said.
"Perhaps," he said dryly.
That night they camped at the edge of the jungle, just back of the river bank. With dusk a certain quiet descended over the green vastness through which the Orinoco carried them. An occasional bird screeched self-admiring notes, and was usually answered by some disrespectful monkey. If the sound was the cough of a deep-chested jaguar, it was invariably followed by seconds of total silence. Even the irreverent monkey listened.
A small fire crackled in the middle of the camp site the Indians had rigged for Galsworthy and Venetia. Galsworthy crouched over it, pouring himself a cup of coffee to round off a meal that came out of cans.
I believe, Venetia thought to herself from where she sat on a log a few feet from the fire, that I would prefer boiled leaves and river water. She took another sip of the thick, man-killing brew Galsworthy had filled her cup with. She still wasn't quite sure of him, or just what kind of man he was under the surface. The manner in which he had played the mad Englishman for Delgado's benefit made him capable of deceiving anybody. She even wondered if the coffee was some sort of practical joke. She sipped at the hot concoction, screwed up her face, and swallowed.
"A bad thought?" he asked.
"No." She almost laughed. "It's so peaceful out here." She looked out over the broad, quiet river. It barely seemed to flow in the darkness.
"It's always like this at night," he said. "And every time you think you can relax and enjoy the peace and solitude, the whole bloody jungle opens its jaws and tries to crunch your bones."
"Ugh." Venetia felt an involuntary shudder. "You make it sound as if it has a personality all its own. like it was bent on destroying all intruders."
"Oh, no," Galsworthy said, drinking more coffee with obvious pleasure. "The jungle isn't really evil. It's indifferent. If you're good at survival, then it'll let you survive. But if you forget for one second what you're good at ... " He snapped his fingers. "A snake, an Indian, bad water, a tricky river. There's a wide variety of death waiting for the fool."
"A fool like Stanley," Venetia said, almost coldly.
"He may not have been that much of a fool," Galsworthy said flatly.
Venetia showed new interest. "You've heard something?"
Galsworthy shrugged. "The Indians didn't have much to say before we left, but when they get out here, alone, their tongues gradually loosen. There's a rumour that Ulrich's men are following some kind of trail. If they are, we'll find out about it before too much longer."
Venetia turned and looked over her shoulder. She could make out some of the treetops against the sky, but below, the foliage looked like an impenetrable black mat. For a moment she felt the terror of one lost in the dense wilderness. She had to admit that if she ever became separated from Galsworthy or the guides, there would not be much chance for her survival. For an instant she allowed herself to think realistically about her so-called independence in this joint venture. This was nothing like getting along in the outside world. Here her beauty, her tact, her womanly wiles meant nothing, and her living or dying was of little consequence, save to a few hungry grubs and maggots.
"Wishing won't make it so," Galsworthy said with amusement.
"Are you laughing at me, Mr. Galsworthy."
"Just curious as to what your thoughts are at the moment. Take it easy, don't be so tense. You're wearing a good .38 and so am I. And we have rifles if we need them."
"Well, I'm not quaking in my boots, if that's what you mean," she said. "I'm quite capable with a pistol, but I don't think that weapons mean everything."
"Almost everything," he yawned. "However, I think we can relax tonight. Things will be picking up shortly, I suspect, and I want you to keep one thing in mind. We'll be okay as long as we don't get surprised-by men or the jungle."
Venetia leaned back on one elbow and the firelight caught the sharp thrust of her breasts, causing Galsworthy's breath to catch for a moment. Her blonde hair shone beautifully, and her face looked more delicate than ever. She stretched her long legs. "You didn't happen to include any tea among the supplies, did you?" she asked.
He sputtered out his surprise. "Tea! What Ruddy, weak tea?"
"All right, all right," she said quickly. "I just thought I'd ask." She feared she'd struck a sore spot with him and thought she was in for a lecture on coffee a la Mato Grosso, but Galsworthy had stopped talking. He eased his revolver from its holster and she heard the hammer cock. He allowed his head to turn slowly toward the trees. Then one of the guides called out, identifying himself and his companion. Moments later, both men walked out of the darkness and approached the fire. Galsworthy put his gun back into its holster and poured two cups of his specialty for the Indians. He began to speak to them in one of the more popular tribal dialects. Venetia arose and walked to the water's edge.
She tossed a pebble into the broad, shimmering belt of dark water, and watched a fish jump in the reflection from the camp fire. Not having been able to understand a word, she wondered what the Indians were reporting. Had they really heard something about Ulrich? Obviously Galsworthy knew what he was talking about, and she was suddenly very glad that she had found him and not somebody else. She didn't really know much about him to begin with, and she had learned even less since their meeting, but it seemed that she had managed to tell him all there was to know about herself. He wasn't at all like he appeared in the letters they had exchanged. Chasing fantasies and fast dollars hardly fit his personality, which Venetia suspected sometimes became too much of a diamond in the rough. Either way, she needed him. Against Karl Ulrich, she needed the best man she could come up with. And she was certain that she had such a man in Galsworthy.
When Galsworthy spoke to her from several feet away, she jumped, startled. "It seems that Stanley was playing out a game for himself, just in case he didn't make it," he said.
Venetia spun around, facing her tall companion. "What did they hear, what did they say about Stanley?"
"By the time Ulrich's men started after him, Stanley had been up and down the territory so much that he left them a dozen cold trails." Galsworthy paused thoughtfully. "And he apparently did it without too much trouble on his part."
"You mean he was never really in danger?" Venetia asked.
"Not quite," Galsworthy answered wryly. "It's hardly a sand box in there. But at least he learned it as well as anyone can, short of the Indians. Ulrich actually sent in several teams, and Stanley led them in circles, wearing them out. He knew where the good water was when they couldn't find a drop, and he knew by instinct which Indians he could trust, no matter how many miles he traveled." Galsworthy paused to light a cigarette and gaze out over the Orinoco, so jealous with its secrets.
Venetia was perplexed. "But I thought Stanley didn't know what he was doing. He never got along that well anywhere. How did he do it?"
"I don't know," Galsworthy exhaled. "Especially the trick with the Indians. Damn few who come in here get along that well."
Venetia stepped closer, and the firelight reflected the growing excitement in her face. "The Indians could have been lying," she suggested.
"No," Galsworthy said. "I can tell a lying Indian before he speaks a word." He shrugged. "Sometimes, rarely, it happens. A man the rest of the world considers an outcast comes to a green hell like this and finds a home. He gets along with the birds, the Indians, the land itself. No explanation for it really. Old Mato Grosso never laid out a welcome mat for anyone."
Venetia was silent for a moment as they walked slowly back to the fire. "I hope it was like that for Stanley," she said softly. "I didn't love him, at the end, but I hope he found something friendly in this life before he left it."
She turned to lift her face to the strong, masculine one. "But ... if Stanley was getting along that well, how could he have died as he did?"
"The mamba, you mean?" Galsworthy asked. "A mistake of the moment, I suppose."
"Another blunder," Venetia said.
"Not necessarily. Such things just happen. He was on the run, no matter how confident he may have been. His haste could have been him careless. Maybe he thought Ulrich's men were on top of him. And then again, ironically, he could have been going on sheer luck, and the luck gave out."
Venetia sounded bitter. "The story of his life."
Galsworthy wanted to get away from the subject of Stanley for a moment. "It happens to a lot of men out here. Winners and losers alike. The jungle can't tell one from the other; nor can the Indians. Anyway, we may have other problems."
"The guides told you something else?"
He nodded. "It doesn't involve us directly, but an insulted Indian is worse than a woman scorned and all that rot. Seems the local tribe is claiming one of their maidens was callously raped by a warrior from another tribe. One of our guides belongs to the affronted tribe, and the other is distantly related to the wronged girl. They want both men to help out."
"Well, how long are they going to need them, for heaven's sake?" Venetia asked.
"Oh," Galsworthy said, rubbing his chin, "until they pull their planned raid against the accused tribe."
Venetia was aghast. "You mean they'll actually fight over the girl?"
"Probably, but I guess that most of them would settle for a couple of good retributive rapes, just enough to let the other village know who they're messing around with."
"It's so childish," Venetia exclaimed. "How can anyone regain honor by counter-rape? They must have the mentality of a Delgado!"
Galsworthy shook his head. "Not Delgado, but you described part of the Indian mentality. I suppose that they're all really part children. They know about civilization, but only a few ever let it interfere with old customs. They know about Cara-ca, but few wish to travel there to see if what they've heard about the great city is true. Within tribes and between tribes the rules are pretty much the same. A simple wrong is rectified when the injured party commits a similar wrong as an act of revenge."
"Stupid!" Venetia spat, a look of repugnance contorting her features. "How could they have survived for centuries with such laws?"
Galsworthy was patient. "Actually, it's worked rather well for them. Killing is not uncommon, but their traditions keep it from becoming wholesale slaughter, except occasionally. For instance, if a woman has some punishment coming, the husband may dish it out, quite severely in some instances. But he knows the woman's brothers are watching, to see that the beating is equal to the crime committed. If it is too severe for the offense, he may find himself the target of a bloody vendetta. Oh, a few of them buy the farm once in awhile, but for the most part, there's a hell of a lot of Indians running around."
Venetia threw a piece of wood into the fire with some force, creating a few sparks. "If there are so many Indians about," she huffed, "why don't we get a couple others? I don't want to be in this damned jungle all year."
Galsworthy chided her. "I thought you considered old Orinoco the best vacation spot this side of the beaches at Sydney. Are you really in that much of a hurry?" He smirked. "I doubt that the price of emeralds will go down."
Venetia rolled her eyes and folded her arms, a gesture which only lifted her large breasts and caused the nipples to become more prominent against her blouse. She had discarded her bra the first day out and had not bothered to put it back on. Out here, comfort was the thing. She shook her head. "You do pick the damndest times to show a sense of humor, if I may risk calling it such. Well, I like it here just fine. like you said, it's a real lark. But I would also like to get the damned stuff we're after and get out. If these two boys of ours want to chase a couple of fishy-smelling women around, then let's find a couple who have already had their sexual adventures for the month. I don't see why we should let a little pussy get in the way of our own interests, which happens to be a bit more important than some Indians with hot pants."
Venetia had spoken the last with some heat, but colored slightly when she saw Galsworthy look strangely at her after the casual allusions to sex. "Well, it's true," she said weakly. She sat on a log again and tried to make a careless throwaway gesture with one hand. It came out very awkward. "You know what I mean." She was suddenly acutely aware of the sweat and tobacco smell emanating from Galsworthy.
He had noticed the darker color suffusing her face, and the flickering fire only made her more desirable looking. A girl in a place like this was bound to feel intimidated, no matter how tough she tried to sound.
He made an elaborate ritual out of fishing for a cigarette, giving Venetia an opportunity to regain her composure. She was right, he thought. Her references to "pussy" and things sexual had served to make him more aware of her lush femininity. It wasn't that he couldn't get along without women for extended periods of time, it was just that he didn't like to if he didn't have to. And Venetia Cabet was certainly no boy-like female. He puffed on the now lighted cigarette, still musing. He supposed she didn't really care for his type. They didn't actually have too much in common. Not that it mattered to a knock-about like himself, but sometimes it felt damned good to be with someone you hadn't paid for, or someone who could actually talk to you about what they were thinking. Something more than hot, quick sex and the spreading of the sperm. He tried to remember someone like that. It had been so long, so very long. At any rate, they'd better get on with their search for a while before he allowed himself to entertain such thoughts about her. Hell, she'd probably damned near prefer an Indian to him. Damned near.
"I was just thinking it would be best if we didn't get bogged down early," she said in a much reduced tone, echoing his thoughts. "I was just thinking...."
He looked up from his cigarette and grinned openly at her. "So was I," he said, almost maliciously. He didn't know why he kept trying to irritate her. She was uncomfortable again. She flushed furiously, one hand nervously pulling at the top buttons of her blouse, with the action serving to draw the material tighter over her breasts. The globes moved voluptuously under the material, and Galsworthy let his glance rove brazenly.
"Mr. Galsworthy...."
"Yes?"
"I believe you are purposely teasing me."
"Perhaps I am."
"Well, I'm not some virginal school girl who becomes all hot and bothered at the mention of sex."
Galsworthy's face became more cagey. "On the other hand, I think maybe you're taking the local Indian trouble too lightly. These raids and counter raids can be quite serious. They don't all end with a final stolen chicken or a last tumble in the grass. We could get sucked into one hell of a bloody mess against our wills."
"I didn't really mean to appear to be taking it lightly," she said, scratching at the ground with a stick. "But we are here for something other than the Indian problem. And we can get new guides with enough knowledge of the jungle to get us in and out."
"Oh, at least that, Duck," Galsworthy reassured her with a kind of wryness. "Now whether the next two would want to get us out or not is something else again."
She shrugged and her breast bobbed. "A guide is a guide."
"You couldn't be more wrong," Galsworthy said, trying not to show his irritation. "I know these two, having worked with them many times in the past. They even like me, in their own way. They almost treat me as an equal sometimes. But two new ones ... you can't tell. A lot of the Indians have worked for Ulrich, too. He's done all right by some, by their standards anyway, and they wouldn't mind doing him an added favor, like signing on with us as soon as they learned we were in the market for guides. I've always avoided Ulrich when it was convenient to do so, and he's certainly given me no trouble. You might say that we have a mutual respect for one another, but he'd cut my throat at the drop of a hat. Needless to say, I'd do the same for him if forced into it. No, I don't think we can consider new guides. Not if we want to be moderately sure of keeping our skins."
Venetia shrugged in her dejection. "I suppose you think I'm a prime example of woman's stupidity?"
"You'll learn."
"Perhaps too late," she said. "I suppose I should be concentrating on survival first and the treasure second."
Galsworthy grinned stiffly. "That's a good start."
Venetia sighed. "But that still means that we're stuck indefinitely."
"If you want, I'll speak to the guides again," Galsworthy said soothingly, noting her deep concern, "but I doubt that it will help. The tribes aren't going to interrupt their flesh party so we can be on our merry way. For now, though, let's try to get some rest." He pointed to a small tent which had been erected a short distance from the fire. "You sleep in there. I'll be just outside," he nodded to a nearby sleeping bag, "if you need anything."
"You mean like a pair of strong masculine arms?" Venetia smiled, toying with some pebbles with a small coquettishness. "I think I'll probably need some decent plumbing even more. Men aren't the only things in demand."
Galsworthy bowed with mock seriousness and gestured regally toward the river. "The mighty Orinoco is more fortunate than mere men. It waits to serve your needs, at least as far as plumbing. It's guaranteed silent and sure." Venetia blushed at the personal intimacy of his words. Galsworthy grinned and turned on his heels, making his way toward the Indians.
Venetia felt a hot flash of unwarranted rage toward him. Why were her moments of dislike so powerful? After all, in the last analysis, he was better than most men. Perhaps that was it. He was a damned sight better, and sexier too. Trouble was, he was too damned sure of himself. How could a woman acclimate herself to a wall of male arrogance?
Without thinking about it, Venetia squeezed her thighs together, and in the discreet darkness began to massage her breasts. First they ached, and then the tips began to tingle, the good healthy feeling spreading into her body as her knowing hands plied the rubbery flesh. When she became aware of what she was doing, she dashed down to the river. Almost bitterly, she splashed the cool water on to her body, shifting only one piece of clothing at a time.
Back in the tent, she closed her eyes and tried to think herself into a relaxed, sleep-inducing state. Her thoughts remained on Galsworthy and his animal magnetism. Her blood tingled and her skin itched under her loosened clothing. She twitched and turned, beginning to perspire. Finally, in exasperation, she stripped nude and lay spread-eagled on her back, praying for sleep to calm her tormented nerves. When sleep came, it came on the wings of a dream.
She sat on the edge of a huge sunken bathtub in a large, luxurious bathroom. The tub was pink, and the water was warm and scented. She turned her head first to one side and then the other, as a quiet, tender Galsworthy wiped the perspiration from her face with a soft, soothing washcloth. She felt the wet warmth on her breasts and nipples, and looked down to see the dark hair on the back of Galsworthy's hands as they moved inside her open jungle blouse. She could feel the scented cloth circle her nipples and lift her breasts. He knelt and began to remove her boots, and it did not seem at all odd that they both still wore their jungle outfits. Even as he toyed with the boots, she could feel the cloth moving over her body, across her abdomen, along the insides of her thighs. She loved the feeling and appreciated his gentleness. This was the way she had wanted it to be with him.
She was naked now, her buttocks perched on the warm, pink tile tub, her legs thrust before her in a wide V as Galsworthy delicately attended to her tingling mound of Venus with his tantalizing cloth. Venetia sensed that her breathing was heavier. She strained to push her pussy closer to Galsworthy's clever hands, and more and more she felt the sensual ticklings that led to that most glorious of meltings. Her breasts had tautened, swelling and sensitive for a man's mouth. When was Galsworthy going to take off his clothes? Now she wanted to see the large, veined erection she knew he could manifest. He wanted her, probably more than anyone else, and when he was like this she wanted him. She had any healthy woman's need for a strong fuck, but she wanted the initial taking to be gentle. And Galsworthy was gentle now, still stroking her naked thighs with his warm cloth.
Everything was so funny, so fuzzy, and then the heat suddenly exploded in her loins. She groaned as she felt her cunt flame. Oh, God, it was so good! She looked down ever so slowly, her excitement growing as she saw Galsworthy's dark head pressed into her crotch. She moaned again and pushed her mound at his head. It was ... too good. If he stopped, she wouldn't be able to stand it. He knew so much, he was so good at this.
She reached down and clutched at the sides of his head, purposely grinding her loosening gash at his fiercely sucking mouth. "Pat, Pat, Pat," she groaned in ecstasy, writhing as he ran his thick tongue along each puffy cunt lip in turn. Venetia felt her body shudder in pleasure. She would most surely die of happiness at that moment.
Galsworthy fucked her hole meticulously with !s tongue, stretching it as he did so. "Uh, uh, uh,"
Venetia sobbed happily, feeling the beginning trickle of her own hot fluids. He snapped once, clamping his mouth on her clitoris like a vise and whipping it rapidly with his tongue, creating a flogging and a suction at the same time. She came in deep, grinding spasms, her whole pelvic region jerking deliriously.
The hot juices spilled out of her. She could feel Galsworthy's dear mouth, clamped all over her vagina, like a bulldog. It was one of the finest mo-mets she had ever known. She felt fuzzy and sexy and dirty all at the same time. She gasped loudly, suddenly frightened. She was awake. Awake? Awake and fucking. Oh, God, no. She was fucking Galsworthy's mouth and he wouldn't let go. He just kept sucking, even though he knew she was awake. And ... oh, she was going to come again. She could feel it building ... building ... "No, Pat, noooo," she moaned.
But Galsworthy pursued his advantage, taking her whole cunt into his mouth, and working wildly with his tongue. He felt her shudder again, and he was triumphant. He knew this woman. She was headstrong, but had the tendency to forget she was a woman sometimes. There were several keys to such a personality, and he was sure this was one of them. If he could show her enough sex, she would begin to see herself in a different light, and perhaps him too. But he had to take firm action.
Venetia had her eyes closed and her head back. She could hear the male animal down there, between her legs, and right now she loved that beast.
Nothing could feel like this. She whimpered, arched her back, and discharged, but the building resumed almost immediately. One coming almost on top of another. God. Would it never stop? She couldn't get enough, she was crazv with desire. Galsworthy was moving, shifting his body around on the floor of the tent. She let her head flop over to one side, watching his body's progress. She opened her crotch wide, hoping that Galsworthy's grip would not slip while he licked her vagina toward another frenzied orgasm. She was aware of a auick feeling of panic and the tremors of a dark lust forming simultaneously. Galsworthy had stripped naked, and his stiff prick was jabbing her neck now, the hot, red knob searching for the warm, wet harbor of her gasping mouth, even as he sucked and flogged her trembling gash from a reverse position.
"Unnhhh," she half moaned and half whimpered, tossing her head from side to side, away from but always back to the stiff cudgel of flesh that begged entrance to her salivating mouth. "No, no, noooo," she crooned to herself, helplessly hypnotized with lust.
Galsworthy continued to perform acrobatic twists and turns within the quivering folds of her cunt. His tongue teased the snapping nether mouth with quick, lizard-like motions, causing her hot crotch to push itself at his punishing mouth, begging his administering head with small, fleshy, bumping motions. All the while he ran his stiff prick along Venetia's cheek, beneath her chin, and beside one ear. It bumped and teased her face, begged at her mouth as it touched a wet corner of her loose lips. He did not try to forcefully gain entrance; she had to take him of her own free will. He realized that her breathing was becoming more ragged, that she was thinking about how his erupting stalk of sex would be inside her nursing mouth.
When he felt a strong shuddering take command of her body, Galsworthy jammed his large nose into the crevice of her buttocks and fucked her vagina with a hard tongue. Her buttocks made a flopping sound on the tent floor, and she cried out as another orgasm softened her mind. "Ohhh!" The cry was long and drawn-out. Taking advantage of it, Galsworthy shifted his body and slipped his pulsating but disciplined cock into her open mouth, a simple but delicate maneuver which Venetia had expected.
"Unh," she exclaimed quietly at the fleshy invasion. Both participants froze in place, with Galsworthy's throbbing organ resting on the cushion of Venetia's tense tongue.
As her lips closed on the jerking stalk, Galsworthy immediately fucked gently into the soft mouth. The change in Venetia was spontaneous. She opened her mouth to take more of the moving prick inside, to suck as much of its great length as she could. She chewed the tense rod, caressing the sensitive glans with her now greedy tongue, salivating over the hot flesh with such relish that Galsworthy was forced to stop his happy task and rest his face on the floor between her stretched legs.
Now it was Galsworthy's turn to groan, and even sob deliriously as Venetia became a cannibal, running her lips along the fat cock, using them to feel and measure, to flutter along the ridges and full veins of the agonized penis. Once she tried to run her entire head upon it, pulling tightly on Galsworthy's flexing buttocks, but the rod was too much for her. She felt the twitching cockhead at the back of her throat, and still a handful of prick remained outside her stretching, lapping lips.
Her head flopped back, away from the quivering knob of velvet, until her sensuous lips surrounded the area directly behind the glans. Their trembling almost drove Galsworthy insane as she opened her mouth to talk around the pulsing knob. "Galsworthy, oh, Patrick Galsworthy," she chanted mindlessly, the lips clamping and releasing the head as she spoke.
"Ah, suck me, girl," Galsworthy hissed impatiently, interrupting his own ragged breathing.
His words, combined with the erotic feel of the swelling prick inside her mouth, served to turn Venetia into a completely wanton bitch. More fluid trickled from her tingling cunt. She cried out in a banshee wail, sucking, chewing, and muttering around the straining penis. She slobbered savagely, actually trying to swallow the bursting knob. i
Galsworthy jumped and cried out at this unpre-dicted attack. Her voracious mouth and flashing tongue assaulted his vibrating prick from every direction, its head, its shaft, even the dangling sac which held his fiery balls. His eyes rolled in his head and his face banged weakly against the tent floor. Saliva ran from his lips and his breathing almost ceased as he tasted dirt in his mouth.
He heard himself calling out something, he thought it was her name, and then he screamed as the initial charge of racing semen rippled through his stiff penis like a white-hot bullet. The splash of warm sperm in her mouth drove Venetia to the summit of her now whorish passion. She used her tongue to rasp against the furiously pumping cock, causing more and more jets to bolt from Galsworthy's trembling body. She swallowed deeply, still using her magic mouth to coax an even greater amount of come from the thrashing man. For a time, after Galsworthy's orgasm subsided, he lay like a beached whale. Venetia kept his flesh in her friendly mouth, nursing it tenderly, as though it were a soft, warm bird.
V
When Venetia finally curled up and closed her eyes, she found that she was a good deal more tired than she had suspected. She was worried about the guides, and was beginning to have premonitions about the miles and miles of green wall that stood only a few feet away from the wide, dark river. The Orinoco was calm now, a black scarf slipping quietly through her mind. Strong, quiet, almost seductive. It was better now. Better than it had been with Stanley. Her search was an honest effort to acquire a moment of peace in an unpeaceful life. She felt so alive, more so each day. The sun felt good, and she could breathe. At night, the peaceful river was always there, and she could sleep.
Venetia came slowly to consciousness, thinking, surprisingly enough, of Galsworthy. She did not open her eyes right away, letting her senses return to her body one by one. She felt pressure at the back of her arms and legs and around her rib cage, like a man embracing her from behind. The almost cool air had the promise of heat in it. It couldn't be much later than dawn.
She could smell the river, and something else. The fire crackled and the heavy smell of coffee came wafting across her nostrils. Her first thought was a pleasant one, but then she remembered Galsworthy's coffee. Ugh! Galsworthy and the Orinoco. How could she have dreamed of him for even a moment? He was a giant ego, forever talking her down. She opened her eyes and sought civilized thought. She imagined that her mushy thinking was typical of the thing the wilderness did to men when they ran off with native women smeared with coconut oil or goose grease.
She sat up abruptly, suddenly happy at the thought of another day on the river. And then she remembered, no more river for a while. Only the jungle.
"Hello." Galsworthy's voice greeted her from just the other side of the tent flap. He was startlingly close, and the sight of his strong face pushing through the canvas was more than reassuring. "Hurry and attend to your needs," he said. "The coffee is waiting, but it won't be long. You know how nuts everybody is about my coffee."
Venetia grinned in spite of herself. Even Galsworthy's specialty could not spoil this day for her. On the contrary, she found herself looking forward to breakfast, whatever it might be. She pulled on her boots and dashed through the bushes toward the river, giggling for fear that Galsworthy would see the way she looked at this time of morning.
Venetia sipped nervously on Galsworthy's strong, black brew, looking at him in perplexed disbelief. He had just finished bringing her up to date on the Indians. "Let me get this straight," she said. "The Indians will speed things up for us, and let us have our guides again, if we go with them on their raid."
"That's it." Galsworthy had been annoyed at the prospect himself, but was amused because Venetia was treating it as a thing she'd prefer to sweep under the rug.
"I can't think of a good reason why they should want our help," she argued. "You gave me the impression that they thought of themselves as superior to the-likes of us. I can't imagine what a couple of white, civilized inferiors could do to help them."
Galsworthy turned away to prevent her seeing his large grin. "Well, of course, they do think of me as being a little different from most white men who come here."
Venetia rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure. I certainly didn't mean to suggest that they didn't think of you as god-like, as all who know you do, but with such an unworthy being as myself along...."
Galsworthy turned back just in time to see her salaaming from a kneeling position. "Great Galsworthy, great Galsworthy," she mumbled into the earth, and the rawboned Irishman laughed aloud.
"I think I really am that worthy," he said finally, "but that's not the entire picture as far as they're concerned. They respect our guns, our firepower."
"They want you to shoot their enemies?"
"If they did, I wouldn't go along with it," Galsworthy assured her. "No, my presence with the guns will give their band a funny sort of prestige. A lot of their honor in warfare consists of sham ferociousness, rather than literal devastation. Not that they can't be damned bloody, man-eating savages. Make no mistake, they can. But if they can terrify their enemy by the discharging of guns, they'll be able to celebrate the drama-charged coup for a long time. The superficial effect of the attack is generally worth more than individual deeds. That is, unless the 'trick' is about to be played."
"Oh, fine," Venetia said. "I can imagine what sort of tricks these cretins like to play. Something good and bloody, I suppose."
"Good and bloody," Galsworthy replied with intentional calm. "I've never been along on one of these, but I've heard that it begins with some gross affrontery, generally the avenging of a number of deaths. The tribe seeking vengeance enlists the aid of a neighboring tribe, who invites the victims to a general feasting and party time. This is quite common during the dry season. The buggers are actually sociable in their own way. Anyway, the visitors are supposed to lie down in hammocks shortly after they display their finery, while their hosts prepare the food. At this point the hosts descend with spears, sticks, stones, and whatever else they can lay their hands on. Those guests who aren't killed immediately flee the camp area, only to run into the instigators of the whole thing. They, in turn, make pin cushions of the would-be escapees. Surprisingly enough, the whole thing is usually pretty effective, no matter how many times it's been pulled off."
"It sounds horrible," Venetia said, squirming. "I want to have as little to do with those brutes as possible."
Galsworthy raised his eyebrows. "It depends on how much we want those emeralds."
"I don't want to kill, or die, for them," she said flatly.
"We may have to."
Venetia's expression was torn with frustration. "I mean that I don't want to take part in some wholesale slaughter."
"It's not toolikely," Galsworthy reassured her. "I was just explaining the 'trick' to you. All they want us to do is go along on this so-called raid. It'll probably end up in a lot of face-saving bluster. That's all." Secretly, Galsworthy hoped that he was right. He'd hate to subject the woman to a gory suicide mission, as badly as they both wanted the emeralds.
"All right," Venetia said, hooking her thumbs behind her belt like a man and throwing her shoulders to the rear. Her large breasts sprang outward and Galsworthy thought they would pop free of the straining shirt. "I'll go along with this mad scheme, because I have no other choice. But are you sure you've given it sufficient thought?
"Meaning?"
She smiled knowingly. "Have you considered that you'll be making new enemies as well as new friends?"
He nodded, a bit pleased with the wisdom of her words. She was learning fast. "I have," he said, "and I'd never have risked it a month ago. But I don't intend to come back this way again-I don't intend to set foot in any bloody jungle again, once we get the emeralds."
"You're that confident of success?" she asked.
"If I wasn't, I wouldn't have come," he said strongly.
"God bugger the bug god," Venetia cursed, pausing to flatten a gelatinous green blob which had landed on her arm as she marched through the steaming jungle alongside Galsworthy.
Galsworthy grunted, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "You say something?
"Oh, how much longer before these damned savages get to where they're going?"
"Tonight," Galsworthy replied testily. "I told you." He looked up at the short stretch of sky which peered through the giant green foliage that had housed them for most of the two-day journey. "And don't speak so loudly. Some of the Indians do understand odd bits of English. like children, they pick up the worst parts first."
Venetia looked ahead of her. There seemed to be about thirty-five Indians with them. She'd had to sit through several sickening rituals the first night, while they prepared for combat. There had been some loud shouting and some weird testimonials. Each night an effigy of the enemy was erected for target practice. This was followed by more chanting and dancing. She'd about had it with this crazy bunch of aborigines. Them and their stupid looking haircuts, done with a bowl on the head, apparently. She had to admit that the younger warriors looked powerful. Lots of muscle in the torso and thigh, but not at all appealing to her feminine soul, especially with their nightly mumbo jumbo, face painting, and the chewing of charcoal. Brainy bastards, they were. Did everything but play with dolls. However, being in their presence gave her a bit of fright. The strong bodies and ten-foot spears made them quite formidable, and she had no doubt that they were naturally bloodthirsty.
Well, warriors or no, they were a dirty bunch of monkeys. They picked lice from one another, and blew some narcotic smoke up one another's nostrils through a long tube. Galsworthy said he had tried it once. A bit of a lark, but not his cup of tea. He said he preferred to have a shot of whiskey or a woman. He probably traded the smoke in on some squaw, knowing him. There were some rare beauties among the native girls. Ha! you couldn't tell one from another. But she did have to admit they had their points. There were some really outstanding breasts on the younger ones. She involuntarily glanced down at her own structure as she marched, at once aware of the bob of her well-sprung breasts. She was no fourteen-year-old, but not bad for an ancient inferior. She sniffed and inhaled deeply, feeling the satisfying stretch of her pectoral muscles. She was aware of twin rivulets of sweat streaking down the valley between her mounds to quickly meet at her gun belt. Her womanly mound blushed, tingling with blood. Her face flushed, making her all the hotter. She tried to turn each thigh slightly inward as she walked, wanting to rub the congested area without being noticed. God! How long could she put up with this damned heat? And insects. Her whole body was one continual itch.
She let her mind grow numb, losing track of time. One foot before the other, keeping the last Indians in sight. She could smell Galsworthy beside her. Put him out of mind. Big ego Galsworthy. Suddenly, dusk was upon them. It had seemed that the trees overhead were crowding more closely together, when actually it had been night coming on. The Indians stopped to eat, and Venetia and Galsworthy kept their respective positions, with Galsworthy attending to their own food.
An Indian came dashing into camp to bring word to the Irishman. They expected to make contact as planned. It was always better to engage the enemy at night if possible. Darkness favored the ambusher, and aided greatly in a speedy withdrawal. The Indians held a final short ritual that night, and they were off in their usual blustering form. However, as they drew close to their objective, a quiet tenseness overtook their bravado and buried it behind them. They were too close to actual combat to enjoy pretending.
They moved forward with purpose. Although still not comfortable, Venetia was grateful for the cooler night air. They came to a large area of open ground, the only approach to a fringe of jungle that surrounded the enemy village. The party split into two units which were only slightly separated. They moved forward again, this time in a loose-knit pincer movement. Coming to the very edge of the open area they squatted down on their haunches and discussed the situation in very muted mumblings.
To the rear, Galsworthy explained things to Venetia with little loss of words. "They're afraid to make an open attack. They'd rather pull off an easy ambush."
"All this fuss and sweaty marching," Venetia hissed waspishly, "and they decide they're not really mad!"
"Sometimes you manage to sound as bloodthirsty as one of those heathens," Galsworthy whispered back.
"That's not what I mean," she muttered, wiping the hair away from her face, "but, God, this is a miserable expedition."
"Even for the emeralds?" He glimpsed her angry look in the darkness and became silent.
Venetia finally broke the silence. "How much longer do we wait here?"
"Until some poor devil wanders out of the village and stirs up a hornet's nest," he said. "Our group seems to have lost a hit of stomach. I think they'd be willing to rape one old woman and call it even. No cause for bloodshed there."
Galsworthy grinned evilly and Venetia understood the flash of his large teeth in the darkness. She turned away abruptly and strode to a tree a few feet away. She sat and leaned against it, trying to close her eyes but unable to do so. Galsworthy found his own tree and sat, a small smile playing on his lips as he looked toward her. "If something drops out of that tree on you, try not to scream," he said.
"Will you shut up?" she spat, still refusing to look at him, but a few moments later she arose, walked toward him, and cautiously seated herself beside him. Their bodies did not touch until a monkey screamed from the pungle directly behind them. Venetia shivered then, pressing against Galsworthy's strong frame to seek warmth and reassurance. He held her to him, trying nothing, but seemingly glad of the soft presence of her body.
The victims came early the next morning, when only a few of the myriad birds had awakened. The two women were moderately young, even by Indian standards, and their breasts were like sun-swollen gourds. Their tits bobbed and swayed as they made their way across the clearing. They moved flat-footedly, their bodies lax and slow with sleep. A small male child ran ahead of one of the women. Two other children apparently belonged to the second. One was a toddler. The other she held by the hand, and his progress was accomplished mostly by the half-dragging motion supplied by his mother.
Venetia and Galsworthy were aware of the nervous, hoarse muttering from the band of Indians, and then one of their original guides came back to tell them of the new development. He also told them to make ready to move. The Indians had calculated that the two women were headed for a medium-large stream not far behind them. It was quiet and private, and a fair distance from the village.
When the guide had gone, Venetia touched Galsworthy's arm. "Isn't there something we can do?"
"Do?" Galsworthy looked at her like a naming lunatic. "What did you expect? You'd better be thankful they didn't find someone to stick full of holes."
"I hate you and I hate your kind," she said, although her words lacked true venom.
"Oh, great," Galsworthy exclaimed. "I should have left you behind to tend the nursery while I came on for the gems." He checked the ammunition in his rifle and slung if over his shoulder. Venetia cursed under her breath as she prepared to follow him back to the stream where the quarry would be entrapped.
The actual capture could only be called anti-climatic. For an instant, dark eyes blinked fully in the women's flat Indian faces. The surrounding men had jumped into the open as a body. One of the children squeaked and was cuffed for his trouble. One mother swept up her youngest toddler and clutched him to her fecund body without a sound. The second emitted a short shriek and made a formal show of trying to escape. She turned almost immediately, reaching for her young son.
From back in the trees Venetia clutched Galsworthy and buried her face in his shoulder. Her trembling voice was muffled, and his masculine scent was comforting to her. "It's very common," he said, patting her shoulder.
"That doesn't make it right!"
"Our being along doesn't make any difference. They would have taken the women anyway."
"What about the children?" She was more tearful now. "They wouldn't hurt...."
"Furtherest thing from their minds," Galsworthy assured her. "Children are very valuable in this part of the world. It's imperative that each village acquire as many as possible, by any method. The women know this, that's why they take the kids wherever they go. If they're kidnapped by themselves, no one can look after the children. This way ... they'll manage to form a happy home in another place."
Venetia calmed herself, looked up at him, and brushed away her tears. "Are they going to ... I mean ... the women ... ? "
"Yes," Galsworthy said bluntly, "but not here. Too close to the village yet."
In minutes the long column was moving through the jungle again, farther away from the village. Venetia was still disturbed. She didn't want Galsworthy to think her squeamishness was anything but temporary. She did want to-had to-keep a stiff upper lip, but this was all too horrible. Those women and children. What kind of life was this, living like some two-legged animal? Still, she did have to consider the emeralds. She had come from her own jungle, and she was not inclined to go back to one of the same kind. She had to see this through. She was as tough as Galsworthy any dav. These native women grew up with things like this happening all the time, and it wasn't as if they were being killed. One village must be like another, with each smelly buck much like his brother. She made a firm resolution. She wouldn't give Galsworthy any more feminine nonsense. And her conscience had better damned well leave her alone, or she'd jettison it into some Mata Grosso marsh.
For his part, Galsworthy felt pretty relaxed toward the outcome of the whole raid. Things could have been worse. He was happy that some useless slaughter had not occurred. Venetia would have aroused the whole jungle with her screaming and crying. He couldn't really blame her for becoming emotional back there, seeing her own sex captured like soft cattle, along with their young. It was the sort of thing that seemed to effect women most. A couple men shot through with arrows might have bothered her less. Women were a strange breed, but soft, and cushy, and nice to have around. Oh, hell, if he kept thinking about her, he'd find himself with a bothersome hard-on. He certainly wasn't going to take part in the rape of the Indian women, not with Venetia looking on, and he was certain that she was in no mood to help him relieve himself. He cursed as he switched his rifle to the other shoulder, slinging it in a more relaxed position.
When they had put a good distance between themselves and the enemy village, the Indians quickly became restless for the women. If they intended to violate them before reaching home territory, they had to act soon. The column crinkled along like a jointed serpent, then folded into a mass as they spotted a small, armed band of white men. The warriors moved as a group, brandishing spears and forgetting the two outsiders who brought up the tail of their column.
Venetia, from her position on a slight decline, was squinting down the slope, trying to determine the nature of the interruption. Galsworthy gripped her arm so tightly that she grimaced with pain. She began to complain loudly, but one of his big hands clamped over her mouth and drew her soundlessly into the protecting jungle a few feet away. The Indians moved on, and it was as though Galsworthy and Venetia had never existed.
VI
The Indians sat in a large circle, sniffing narcotic smoke and drinking the beer the white men had given them. Its presence had been explained amply by the white men. They had brought the beer up river and inland, seeking them. They wanted the warriors to enjoy it. And they had also given them shiny new machetes. For what? So that they might enjoy the women for a while. How foolish these foreigners were. With their arms they could take women any time. True, the warriors had intended to take the women almost immediately, but what did it matter that the white men played with them first. They could have all they wanted of them when they returned to the village. Perhaps watching the white men take the women would provide more entertainment than the women alone. It would be quite a show, watching the bungling men as they attempted to take the quicker women.
A heavily muscled, bald man called Turk goosed one of the women cowering before him and she shrieked with fear.
"Go, Turk, go," one of his companions called from where he sat with the Indians. "That's what they understand best. Only use your prick the next time. Or can't you get it hard? Haw!"
Turk grinned broadly from beneath his walrus mustache, took a swallow of beer from a can, crushed it in his hand, and lurched toward the cringing women again. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, and his rod was stiff and painful in his sweaty pants. He had drawn straws with his companions to see who went first with the women, and he'd won. They'd protested, for his huge organ usually ruined the women for those who followed, but a deal was a deal. Ulrich had driven them until they were half mad, refusing to let them tarry in one of the towns along the way. But he couldn't stop them from taking a little fun out here in the wilderness. At least, Turk hoped not.
Panting, he grasped one of the plump-bodied women by her full breast. She cried out and beat at his violating hand with her small fists. He threw her to the ground and fell upon her, salivating in anxiety.
Her companion stood back and watched in fear. Her turn would come, she knew, and she hoped they would not be so rough with her. These white men were worse than the pigs who had taken her. They hurt for pleasure alone.
The woman on the ground writhed beneath Turk's dead weight. He plucked one of her big teats like a piece of fruit and stuffed it into his mouth far past the nipple spike and aureole. He sucked vigorously to the applause of his companions and to the laughter of some of the Indians. The Indians wondered at the sheer madness of the foreigners, who seemed to be creatures of whim and little else.
Turk began to chew on the rubbery breast, enjoying the touch of the erect nipple against his tongue. His groping hand found and invaded the woman's fat cunt. It was dry, but he was sure he could change that.
The woman struggled feebly. She was no longer as intent upon escaping as she was in trying to insure living and being raped with no broken bones thrown in. Suddenly she felt free. The monster had released her. Perhaps he didn't want her. Crazy foreigner. She turned on her hands and knees and began to crawl toward her companion, who was just beginning to watch the rape with some interest.
Turk, on his knees in the dust, watched the woman's progress with a large smirk. His friends were cheering him on, and a few of the Indians had joined in the drunken chorus. Turk bellowed at the sky and threw himself at the large, feminine buttocks as they wobbled away from him. He aimed his big nose at the dividing line between the dusty rounds of flesh, almost posing as he flew through the air. When it appeared that his face would bash into the retreating ass, Turk reversed his big frame and fell with a thump between her legs. He grasped her wriggling hips and lifted his bear-like mouth to engulf the almost hairless Indian cunt. Using his tongue like a lash, he stroked the musky gash rapidly, making the pouting lips relax with the heat and moisture.
Another great cheer went up from the crowd as the woman stopped crawling. She was at first stunned, then began to moan and blink her eyes as Turk's heated ministrations awakened the healthy nerves in the soft organ she liked to use as often as possible. She could hear the wet sucking sounds the monster was making, and she remembered the strong phallus of her husband. Actually, the white monster's approach did not suffer by comparison. Her knees slipped outward, widening her crotch so that Turk's ravenous mouth could eat more of her. She whimpered. The fear was leaving her, in spite of herself. Her vagina was beginning to drool into the monster's mouth, and he seemed to like it.
Turk, always one to enjoy an audience, relished each second. This fat, odoriferous cunt was like a little sex animal within itself. The springy lips followed his tongue, and when he jammed it into the woman's hole, he thought her box was about to suck back at his mouth. He opened wider and took in all of her, the throbbing clitoris, gash, and full outer lips. He bit hungrily at the whole sexy pouch, then hard-tongued her hole rapidly, banging his bowling-ball head at her crotch as he did so.
"Aiieee," the woman screamed, staring into the sun with sightless eyes, even as she spread her legs to their widest degree and fell with her pelvis atop Turk's face. With Turk's head on the ground beneath her freely running cunt, she swam like a fish out of water, fucking his face in the mindless motion of an agonizing orgasm. The fear she had felt moments before had only served to heighten the climax she now experienced. Turk, overcome with happiness, pulled his head away from the heavily flowing slit so that his companions could get a better view of an expert at work. Then he began again sucking tirelessly at the bountiful brown vagina that continued to undulate and bleed prolific fluids into his waiting mouth.
Turk lifted his head and got to his knees, wiping at his evilly glistening mouth as he acknowledged the raves of his fellow henchmen. He turned his globular head back to the woman, who lay sprawled on her stomach in the dust. Her rib cage contracted and expanded with her deep, satisfied breathing.
She had never had anything like the white devil before. Although her mind was repelled by him, her body was only too aware that something deeply gratifying had taken place. She tried to push the treacherous thought into a dark corner of her conscience, but was forced to admit that no Indian had ever felt as good. If a woman had to be taken by force, she could think of no better way for it to happen.
Turk had turned back to his captive. The large, fleshy buttocks still rose and fell ever so slightly against the ground. He grinned in anticipation. By God, this one was appreciative. He liked that in his women. He chuckled deeply as he reached out and spread the large cheeks at their lowest curvature. The tender folds of dusty cunt opened easily and his eyes went mad with lust as the woman scent emanated from her wet lower lips. The woman moaned and scooted the frontal lips of her vagina along the ground. Turk heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up into the frightened face of the second captive.
She was as young and full-bodied as the first. She had tried to back away from the spectacle of raw sex, never dreaming that such a thing existed, but the Indians had cursed her and thrown empty beer cans until she had edged closer to the bald giant who was going crazy for the intimate parts of her companion. Shortly, the sexuality of the scene had mesmerized her, and she had become a willing spectator, if not participant. Now Turk was staring wildly at her, and she was suddenly frightened once more. She was afraid that he was going to perform the same act upon her, and she was not at all certain how she would respond to it.
However, this was not the case. Turk liked his girl of the moment. He was now going to screw her so well that her companion would realize she had missed something when his comrades raped her. Those half-men couldn't really do a woman up proper. He reached down and grasped his partner's thighs, rolling her like a log until she flopped lightly on her back, her now fathomless eyes searching his face in anticipation.
Turk straightened up but remained in the kneeling position. The shouting from the men had become a noisy rumble as they sensed he was going to give another sensational demonstration. He moved a big hand to his belt, grinning wolfishly as his victim's flat eyes followed it. She could not keep her gaze from the horrendous bulge at his crotch as he slowly opened his fly. The taut material peeled away from his straightening erection like skin from a huge banana. He popped the buttons on his boxer shorts and rolled both shorts and pants down in a single motion.
The woman's eyes rounded in wonderment, and she actually raised her head from the ground, trying to get a better look at the largest penis she had ever seen. The engorged branch of masculine flesh seemed to breathe, pause, then stretch like an elephant's trunk. The woman's awed expression aroused Turk all the more. She shuddered in fear and anticipation. The great cylinder of erectile tissue was beginning to shine with tension, making ready to probe her helpless, twitching hole. She whimpered with a mixture of horror and lust. The terrible cock would be merciless, but it would also be ... it would be....
Turk laughed, and the men behind him began taking bets as to how long it would take for him to achieve full penetration. He gripped his frightening penis with both hands, waving it over the woman's head. He squeezed the grotesquely thick length in his hands, and blood filled the apple-like head as it glistened in the sun. He bellowed with amusement and rolled away for a moment to kick off his boots. Standing over the waiting woman, his hairy, naked body resembled that of a gorilla. He knelt at the woman's side and pushed his aching shaft to the nipple of one breast. The nipple twitched and the breast bobbed as he teased and jabbed with his knob. The nipple became erect under his attack, and the entire globe grew taut. The woman had closed her eyes as though in death. Her lips were parted and her breathing was quick and shallow. A heavy beading of perspiration had formed on her upper lip and forehead.
Turk gloated. like so many other sluts, she wanted the greatest cock in South American inside her, warming her guts with slick friction. He would not keep her waiting. With a bound he was between her muscular legs. He stuck a thick finger into her cunt and fucked her rapidly, purposely rolling the finger around the walls of the already loosening vagina to prepare the way for the world's champion.
A great cheer went up as Turk placed the awful knob at the woman's vaginal entrance and pushed. His throbbing stalk was of such length that it kept him a foot away from the prone body beneath him. Although he had given some force to his thrust, his cock had managed to get through only the outer lips. He took careful aim and shoved again. The woman grunted and her eyes flew open. His painfully bloated knob was but partially into the wet cunt, and his movement had actually slid the woman along the ground. The spectators howled. Some of them had seen Turk in this same situation in the vilest whorehouses in the world, and even those practiced cunts had been surprised.
Turk grasped the woman's fleshy hips, so tightly that he brought a grimace to her face. She was too far along now; she had to have the giant white cock, but it would be impossible. He would kill her. A short sob escaped her.
Turk twisted her like a wing nut, left and right, always pulling her toward him, trying to screw her cunt onto his immortal axle. The woman bit her lip and tears sprang into her eyes. Sympathetic juices were pouring from her organ, but to no avail. No lubricant in the world could ease the passage of this man spear. The thing felt like a crocodile trying to crawl into her tortured slit.
Never ceasing the pressure, Turk stopped the twisting motion and pulled the cunt straight against his cock. The battered woman dangled like a rag doll, her legs flopping helplessly as he continued to ram her. The men were howling. Old Turk liked to brag, but he always had trouble.
The woman was sobbing with pain, although Turk had managed to lodge but half his glans inside her agonized aperture. Her arms flailed the ground and her head tossed from side to side. She drew her knees up, trying to ease the pain by stretching her cunt to its widest. The raw lips peeled back, and she thrust her gaping maw against the pulsating apple.
Encouraged by her assistance, Turk lurched forward again. His knob gained another inch. Fluids ran strongly from a cunt that seemed destined to tear, bathing the head and the forepart of his shaft. This wet trickle of desire infuriated Turk and he called for help.
Two of the men got lazily to their feet and rambled over. "Whatsa matter, champ?" they asked in unison.
"Wipe the smile off and give me a hand," Turk growled, "else I'll put you where the cunt is."
"Yeah, yeah," one of them said. "We've heard that one before."
"Unghh," Turk whined in sensual agony, hunching his ass in an attempt to gain a bit more space for his tortured penis.
The woman's mouth pulled wide, her teeth showing in a smile of death. Turk lunged, and her back arched spasmodically, the curvature so extreme that the top of her head rested on the ground, far below her straining buttocks.
"Shit," one of the men said. "Just like old times. C'mon Rollie, let's give old Turk a hand. like that time in Morocco."
Rollie was still sipping from a can of beer, and he set it down carefully, ignoring the growing moans of the painfully impaled Indian. She twisted once in desperation, giving Turk another half-inch of her body, but she was still millimeters away from getting her agonized female orifice over the widest part of the mammoth cockhead. She cried out and her cunt flexed powerfully, pinching Turk and prompting him to angrily curse the men to faster action. Rollie locked his strong hands around one of the woman's ankles and his companion took the other. Wordlessly, they straightened her legs, jerking without mercy as they attempted to pull the reluctant cunt, like a tight, wet rubber glove, onto the blood-engorged pole.
"Aaeeii," the woman screamed hysterically, her eyes bulging with pain. It felt as if the two men were trying to force a giant tree into her womanly crevice.
The men ignored her screams, and Turk closed his eyes in bliss, pleading for them to keep it up. He had felt her tortured chasm give a bit more around his sensitive knob and it brought him great pleasure.
The men continued to tug at the woman's legs until she was almost suspended above the ground. The awful tension in her vagina seemed to spread throughout her stomach. She babbled in the Indian tongue, her words running into each other as saliva ran freely from the corner of her mouth. Even her big teats were almost pulled flat from the strain.
"That's it!" Turk yelled. "Oh, God! That's it. I feel it giving. I'm going in. It's good, it's hot. Oh, fuck I'm going to make it."
The cunt had finally stretched over the largest part of his awesome red knob and was now traveling slowly along the shank of the stupendous prick, like a fat brown caterpillar, its angry, red mouth hungrily devouring a succulent giant cucumber.
The woman's arms fell limply to her sides and she went into a partial coma, her eyes open and staring. Turk gripped her large, brown buttocks and pulled. The gobbling vagina turned inward as it was force fed the veined pole. Aided by his friends, Turk's progress was steady.
Finally, the last five inches of cock shot home, bringing the woman to babbling, drooling consciousness. She twisted wildly, insane with sexual feeling, hoping she would die happily on the spliting shaft of the man-spear.
Turk leaned back on his haunches, an expression of unequaled ecstasy on his face. "Oh, thanks, babe. You're the best. He lifted her buttocks again and simply pushed and pulled her along the length like a yo-yo.
Her fluids poured out and around the marauding penis. She felt as hollow as when she had given birth, but that sensation would never match this. She knew her body would be deformed forever. Nothing could close her up after this, but all she wanted now was the man's penis plunging in and out.
Turk grinned like a coyote and moved the woman faster, using her easily, like a ripe, plump, masturbating machine. As he moved her like a toy, she began to contract her stomach muscles. The glide and flow of her hot flesh around his stalk was glorious. The pain had gone and she could feel only the sensation of a near orgasm on every stroke.
She contracted her muscles again, and her body swung up so that she actually rode the stiff prick while Turk supported her from a crouching position. Seeing the madness of hot sex in her eyes, he put his hands behind him and threw his legs forward, keeping his body suspended to give the woman all of his bayoneting cock.
She screamed in glory as she tried to commit suicide on the too-thick penis, her hair flying in all directions, her eyes squeezed closed, and her pelvis jamming itself down against the big man's hairy crotch. She then began to use her thighs to help her hungry cunt convulse against the man-tool, squeezing, milking, strangling it.
"Arrggh, fuck." Turk said, staring at the contorted face and madly jiggling black melons of flesh before him. The warning tingle had begun at the bottom of his sac, and the Indian woman's eyes popped open as she stared at him with stupid incredulity. Her mouth opened, and her tongue shot out so extremely that Turk could see her tonsils. She screamed loudly and eerily, like a gut-shot female panther. Her lips quivered and dripped saliva while she continued to shriek.
Turk's groin was bathed in gushes of hot fluid that rippled over his balls in copious waves of unending orgasm. The female quivered deliciously while her ruined nerves cried out their demand for a mind-bending climax of endless cycles.
The shrieks and the expression on the woman's face prompted Turk's ready stalk. "Unghh," he managed to grunt, as the monster prick fired a salvo of jigger-sized sperm loads into the hot and fecund Indian body. He no sooner drew his breath when his driving cock caused him to arch upward, driving the last half-inch into the woman's body. She responded with great trembling and a massive orgasm.
The white men and Indians had become quiet as they watched the unequaled spectacle come to a climax. They saw the joined bodies go through a final shuddering, with the wash of sex fluid running in rivulets from the meshed crotches and thighs, and then collapse in a mound of contorted, panting, agonized flesh.
VII
Galsworthy and Venetia had watched Turk's handiwork from beyond the thick foliage which concealed their presence. Venetia did not know whether to be awed, inspired, or just plain disgusted by the ape's performance. She had been a woman of the world, but this had been her first opportunity to watch another couple engage in sexual intercourse. Clinically, she had to admit that Turk probably had the largest penis on the entire continent, although she herself did not have the experience to be considered an expert. She had been most discreet in her affairs before meeting and marrying Stanley Cabet. Their love had been passionate at first, but as they had slowly drawn apart, sex had gradually become only a need to be periodically satisfied. But regardless of her opinion of the rape she had just seen, her healthy woman's body had been excited. The hair on her warm mound almost bristled and there had been a slight, hot discharge from her vagina.
Galsworthy, not having the natural finesse of his companion, was unable to conceal his throbbing erection. His prick bulged hard and strong against his pants, like an arrow about to be shot from a cross bow.
"Achhm," he said, clearing his throat as he noticed that Venetia's eyes had fallen to his tremendous hard-on.
Venetia smiled, getting a kick out of the big Irishman's obvious embarrassment. Men weren't the unemotional sex machines they thought themselves to be. "Why don't you just go out there and get in line," she whispered, wanting to push the barb deeper into his thick hide and gain a bit of revenge for the way he had treated her the other night in camp.
Galsworthy countered as best he could in his precarious position. At a other time and place he would have thrown her to the ground and had his way with her. Since this was impossible, he did the next best thing, moving his hand swiftly to her crotch and gripping her cunt through the tight breeches she wore. Venetia dared not scream out, but there was a sharp intake of breath. She tried to move his hand, but his grasp was so secure that the pubic hair threatened to come aws" with it. "Please, not now, Patrick," she said softly, calling him by his first name, a thing she had done very infrequently since their journey had begun.
"Later?" he croaked.
"I can't promise,'" she said, turning her eyes away as if she was trying to hide her true feelings. Galsworthy relaxed his grip as a wild roar went up from Ulrich's henchmen. At first he feared they had been discovered, but quickly saw that the men had gathered around the remaining Indian woman. Together, they were tearing the clothing from their bodies like a group readying for a quick community bath.
"Oh hell, Patrick," Venetia said. "Stop them. I can't stand to watch another orgy."
"Afraid of the effect it might have on you?" Galsworthy grinned.
"I'm no angel," she said, "but this brutality is too much for any self-respecting woman."
Galsworthy grunted. "I'm man enough in my own right," he said, "but I'm not crazy. To go up against their automatic weapons would be suicide. Besides, the Indian woman appears scared, but she's actually relishing the thing that's going to happen to her."
"You have a pat excuse for everything," Venetia said. "To hear you talk, one would think that every woman has an endless desire to be constantly and thoroughly raped during her every waking hour."
"It's a bloody shame they don't, Duck," Galsworthy said, grinning. "I recall that you've liked it well enough at times." Before she could retort, he tuned his attention back to the Indian woman, who was now being firmly wrestled to the ground by two of the men.
The woman continued her struggled, even as her legs and arms were pinned. "Damn it, spread her legs wider," the man called Rollie said, falling to his knees and scurrying between the woman's dark thighs. Although his organ was dwarfed by Turk's, it was a hard lance of flesh that would do any normal woman justice, being a good eight inches in length with the forefinger and thumb just meeting as he gripped it and shoved forward.
"Eeeyaah!" The woman's mouth opened widely as her scream rent the jungle. Rollie had slammed his prick at the center of the dark mass of pubic hair, tearing into her only slightly moist cunt until his balls were flush with her quivering buttocks. The woman would have cried out her misery again, but Rollie had freed her from the wracking pain almost immediately. He sprang to his feet and leaped around the clearing like a man possessed, cuddling his mangled cock with both hands, hurting too badly to be embarrassed by his antics.
"Goddamn! I think I busted it," he said, and a solitary tear trickled down a grizzled cheek.
A slender, raw-boned man laughed heartily and back-handed Rollie's buttocks. "You silly son of a bitch, you ain't following a hole reamed out by Turk. Any damned fool knows you can't just crawl a cunt and give it all you got without any preliminaries. It's a wonder you didn't tear the damned thing plumb off."
"I guess you can do better, Tad," Rollie gasped, adding a few more tears to the one that had already fallen. His throbbing erection drooped its head with the overwhelming pain. "You were always such a perfect bastard."
Tad grinned broadly. "I can't hold a candle to the Turk when it comes to size," he grunted, "but I know how to use what I got. If you're going to give a woman a good fuck, it ain't necessary to tear her insides out doing it."
Several of the men had kept the woman pinned into position, and Tad motioned them away as he approached. She did not try to rise as she was released, but she quickly drew her thighs together and intertwined her feet, hoping to lock out the next battering man-thing.
A puzzled expression crossed her dusky features as Tad leaned and kissed her full on the mouth, plunging his tongue deep inside her. The woman squirmed slightly beneath him as his mouth went to her left breast and began a gentle sucking. Her legs were still locked together as his hand went to her mound, a finger forcing itself between the outer lips in search of her clitoris. A new sensation began to creep through her injured canal, and she drew her legs up high, keeping her knees together until her heels rested flesh against her quivering buttocks.
Sitting beside her, and having sucked both nipples into a fully erect state, Tad turned slightly over so that his hard prick lay across the woman's stomach, the hot knob directly against her heaving navel. The maligned Indian's hands remained free and they came down to grip the virile shaft. She had intended to push it away, but was instantly mesmerized by the feel of the shiny, bloated flesh burning against her palms. Her grip persisted, but it was almost gentle now.
The woman squeezed her eyelids together, making small animal sounds as Tad continued to massage her ever swelling clitoris. Slowly, the dark knees parted, allowing the man's hand to move in her rift with complete freedom. A vigorous manipulation took place and the woman's thighs continued to move until her cunt was completely exposed to the onlookers. It was a shimmering red line against a darker background, the clitoris standing out like a wet, glowing ruby. Having turned resistance into anticipation, Tad moved quickly into the saddle and pushed his shaft slowly into the hot, mushy orifice. The dark buttocks snapped together, then parted, and the Indian shuddered deliriously as the hard prick slithered between the vaginal lips until only the body behind it remained outside her.
Her aroused passageway was now slick with juices, and all sign of hurt had gone from her organs. She whimpered softly and smiled her appreciation for the hot cock buried deeply within her belly. She shoved her pelvis high into the air, dropped it, and lifted it again. The rapidly frictioning vagina, combined with his long period of forced abstinence, proved too much for Tad. He felt his balls contract once, twice, and the hot jets leaped the length of his penis before he could counteract the too quick orgasm. Tremors ran along his flanks, and his toes dug into the jungle floor like the hooves of a mad bull. The wildly contracting vagina milked him for his final drop of sperm, and was still continuing its vigorous manipulations as he withdrew the withered stalk of manhood from her burning hole.
"Haw!" one of the men exclaimed as Tad arose on weakened knees and staggered backward. "Technique may be a bloody good thing, but it don't leave much time for screwing." With this bit of ridicule, the man lunged between the woman's waiting thighs. She accepted his offering easily and most appreciatively, beginning to milk it down the moment she felt the knob pushing into her hungry vagina.
Rollie, who watched the ensuing gang-bang with some interest, felt his own pain vanish and was now relishing the thought of another erection. The sight of the woman's current lover driving his shaft into her engulfing red slit caused Rollie's erection to achieve more enormous proportions than before, and he found himself seeking instant relief. His eyes fell on the prostrate woman who had been amply ravished by Turk, and he found himself between her thighs almost immediately. He grinned out his relief as her slippery cunt accepted his hard offering. There would be no injury here, Turk had seen to that. Rollie thrust himself forward, burying himself to the hilt.
The woman moaned slightly and her eyes opened, showing a bit of disappointment at this latest bit of male flesh which violated her crevice. Rollie quickened his thrust, and the vaginal lips flapped hotly against his sac as he drove to deep center with every movement. Turk's reaming had been so thorough that the disillusioned woman's vagina refused to respond, and her slippery folds were loose and without friction as Rollie continued to pound her. Rollie was disgusted. He had gone from one extreme to the other-a tight cunt which had almost torn away his knob, to a loose rift that seemed capable of devouring his entire lower torso. Given a choice, he preferred the tighter slit which now housed the shaft of a comrade. Crazed by the hotly lubricated mass of flesh protruding from his groin, Rollie took instant action to relieve the congestion. As he tried to roll the woman over on her stomach, she resisted, but was no match for his strength. His hands pried at the dark mounds of her buttocks, forcing them apart.
Chattering in her own tongue, the woman tried to reach behind her and push away the man's clawing fingers. The nails were digging deeply into her tender flesh, and she cried out and tried to rise on her hands and knees. Rollie's weight forced her down again. Before she could renew her effort, his flaming knob was flush against her hole. Her buttocks clenched against the violating tip, but the intense pressure persisted. She groaned loudly, biting at her lower lip as the pain suddenly centered in her stretching ass-hole.
"Arrggh!" Rollie thrust forward. The woman gasped as the unwanted knob popped through.
"Ahhh." Rollie moaned, relishing the gravelly tightness of this improper orifice. He'd never felt anything quite like it. He rotated his shaft vigorously, ignoring the pain which lanced through its entire length. The sensations issuing from his knob and culminating in his balls were more than enough to override the small discomfort. He drove in another inch.
The woman whimpered and tried to wriggle forward on her belly, hoping to escape the lance which impaled her from behind. The hurting thing followed her. threatening to tear deeper into her bowels. She collapsed, closing her eyes, then reopening them as pleasurable sensations began to creep into the newly assaulted area. A single thought dominated her mind. What he was doing to her was good. Maybe even better than the big man in front. Her ass trembled and she lifted it ever so slowly toward the pile-driving prick. Rollie grasped her hips like a drowning man grabbing a floating raft. The ring-like bit of tortured flesh gripped his knob in a spasm of lust, and the woman was hunching madly at his stalk of flesh, trying to gather more of it in. He obliged as best he could, driving his hard penis into the woman's tight canal until she screamed in perverted pain. The crawling, clasping sensation against his knob was too much. Rollie came profusely and the fluids of another orgasm overflowed its bounds and saturated the twitching slit beneath his still pounding cock.
Turk, meanwhile, had regained his strength and was watching the final man back from between the thighs of the other Indian. The woman lay prostrate, her parts saturated with the spendings of a half-dozen men. Her eyes were limpid pools of spent passion. One leg lay straight out from her body and the other was crooked at the knee. Turk eyed the plump buttocks and the spreading wet gash which separated the woman's thighs. Excited to still another erection, Turk mounted her without flourish, spreading the flabby vaginal lips with his fingers and tucking his huge knob into the opening. He roared and pressed forward. Aided by the bountiful juices already present, he plowed without assistance. She gasped for relief as the huge cock stretched her cunt and probed deeply into her bruised belly. It was as if she had never had a man, as if she were virginal again. She came profusely at the thought of being entered by such as unbelievable penis, then closed her eyes in a trance near death as Turk finished with her.
Venetia took Galsworthy's hand and urged him deeper into the jungle. "I've seen all I want to see," she said. "I didn't know that such men existed. The women ... they...."
"Yes?" Galsworthy said.
"They ... actually liked it." A bit of disillusionment showed in Venetia's face.
"Being subjected to it, they made themselves enjoy it," Galsworthy said.
Venetia registered horror. "If they caught us, they'd do the same to me," she said. "I ... don't think I could stand it."
Galsworthy grimaced, becoming serious at her words. "While I'm alive, they won't touch a hair on your pretty cunt ... head," he said. "That's a promise."
She gripped his hand more tightly at the words of reassurance. "Maybe we'd better forget about the emeralds."
"Are you getting a weak stomach?"
"No," Venetia answered quietly, "but I didn't expect anything like this."
"This is the part I warned you about," he said. "I told you it wouldn't be a picnic."
"All this rape!" she exclaimed. "You'd think that nothing existed out here except raw sex."
"It's part of the life." Galsworthy grunted and held her back. "This is far enough."
"Not for me, it isn't," Venetia told him. "I can't put enough distance between us and those ... those creatures. The emeralds be hanged."
"I've come too far to turn back," Galsworthy said with conviction.
"I don't intend to die out here!"
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Stop it!" he hissed. "This hysteria is exactly what they want. Stanley was probably in just such a state of mind when the mamba sank its fangs in him. Well, I don't crack, Mrs. Cabet. No man can say that Patrick Galsworthy ever went to pieces."
Venetia's features went stern as she braced herself. "I'm sorry," she said. "That little emotional scene was really out of character for me."
"Yeah," Galsworthy said dryly. He was almost beginning to regret coming on such a mission with a woman, and thought of flinging his dreams of riches to the winds. He wasn't afraid of dying, and had never come close to doing so in the many perilous situations he had faced during his thirty-five years. But this wasn't the same. He'd never teamed with a woman before-except in sexual combat-and he knew that Venetia's presence jeopardized both his success and his life. He frowned deeply. The thought wasn't sheer fantasy. She could damned well get him killed. Hell. He couldn't turn his back on the emeralds and run. He'd never ran before, from anything. And he wasn't getting any younger. This knocking about the four corners of the earth was getting a bit tiring. Well, maybe thirty-five wasn't a decrepit age, but, in this business, a man could fail to reach forty by several seasons. He suddenly felt hard inside again, much as he had felt when he had decided to go up against Karl Ulrich.
"Patrick." Venetia touched his arm lightly with her fingertips. "I didn't mean what I said."
"About what?"
She sighed. "About backing out of the search. Stanley would have wanted me to go on."
Galsworthy's usually complacent features stiffened. "Are you doing this for yourself, for Stanley, or for us?"
"Us?" Venetia was startled.
"Us," Galsworthy repeated, feeling slightly chagrined. "I signed on at fifty-fifty. Just how far does the contract go?"
"You mean, does it include part of me?"
Venetia was both amused and frightened. During the days and nights she had been with him in the jungle and on the river, she had never seen such a demanding expression on his face. This, taking into account that she had made love to him several times. His eyes almost burned through her clothing, stripping her, and caressing her hot skin. She felt more than uncomfortable. The growing congestion in her genitals could not be ignored. "I hardly think this is the time and place for such a discussion, Mr. Galsworthy," she said.
"One minute I'm Patrick and the next I'm Mister Galsworthy," he growled impatiently.
"When you try to become too personal, then you are Mister Galsworthy to me," Venetia said, almost coldly. Still, the tingling in her crotch did not go away. like it or not, she was physically excited by the man. "You're trying to talk me into bed again, and Stanley's body is hardly cold."
"It's a helluva lot colder than it was the first time I...."
"Will you shut up?" Venetia snapped. "I don't know why I let you before. Gratitude, I suppose. But I don't intend to let it happen again. I owe Stanley that much."
"Your love for Stanley Cabet died long months before he did," Galsworthy reminded her. "Admit it."
"Yes," she said wistfully, "but the memory...."
"What kind of memories, Venetia?" he asked. "Good ones?"
"In the beginning, yes," she said, looking away from the Irishman's probing eyes. She stared off into a bush for a moment, then turned suddenly, her arms folded under her breasts. "Will you give me an honest answer, Patrick?"
"Yes," he said gruffly, "to an honest question."
"Are you talking to me in this manner because of the sexual fantasv you witnessed back there in the clearing?" she asked directly. "If I compromise and give you my body anytime you want it, will it mean anything to you except hot sex?"
"I don't know," he replied. "I hope it will become more. I've never had a woman I could truly call my own."
"That bit of prose doesn't sound at all like you," she taunted. "It's too gushy and sentimental. No, thank you, Mister Galsworthy. If you'll forgive the expression, I don't intend to become another quick piece of pussy."
"Okay," he growled, more than matching her dainty bit of vulgarity. "If you want to keep your cunt zipped for the rest of your days, it's okay with me." He turned his back, pouting like an overgrown child.
Damn, he thought. She was right. This wasn't like Patrick Galsworthy. He turned without warning and pulled her to him, crushing her mouth with his own.
"No," she murmured, but he drowned out her protest with his lips. Her breasts squirmed against his chest, unrestrained beneath the fabric of her Shirt; strong, yet teasingly soft and yielding. He kept his mouth glued to hers until she began to respond, returning his passionate kiss. When he felt all resistance crumbling, he ran his fingers around her waist, removing the shirt tail, then running one hand up her torso to the contour of her large left tit. He kneaded the bulging nipple until it he came hard and pointed between his thumb and forefinger.
"Please," she panted, but his hand was moving back to her waist, trying to undo the belt of her breeches. She gripped his strong wrist with both hands, exerting a force she did not know she possessed, and so hampering him that he gave up for the moment and slid his hand under the band and along the curvature of her trembling belly. Still tugging at his arm, Venetia felt the crawling fingers persist in their downward travel. She gasped as she felt the tips resting at the edge of her pubic hair. Her mound was aglow but she could not fully appreciate the sensation. The crushing pressure of his big hand and wrist resting between her soft abdomen and the band of her breeches, was forcing the breath from her. "No," she moaned, but quivered deliriously as a finger plunged inward and made contact with her engorged clitoris.
"I beg you, Patrick, not now." She leaned weakly against him, whimpering, and his hot, bulging erection pressed against her upper thigh. Oh, why didn't he hurry and get it over with, as long as it had to happen. God! He'd been so good before....
Galsworthy's expression changed and he sprang away from her without warning. Thinking she had offended him, Venetia extended her hands, her eyes imploring him to proceed where he had left off. "Back," he hissed, shoving her roughly into the bushes while his other hand reached for his rifle.
"What...."
"Quiet," he warned, and if his face had ever contained any lust for her body, it did not show now. From all appearances, he had been suddenly and crudely castrated with a dull knife. "Someone's coming."
Venetia strained her ears as she tucked the shirt back into her breeches. She could hear little except for the fluttering of wings as an occasional bird took flight. Long minutes passed before she could detect the crackling of twigs beneath the feet of the oncoming intruder. And then the rapist called Rollie could be seen, blindly staggering through the brush, a bottle of whiskey raised to his lips. She turned her eyes away from the sight. The man was clothed now, but his flabby penis hung from his Opened fly, its purplish head bruised and bleeding where the foreskin had been brutally ripped away from the knob.
Rollie paused directly before their hiding place, taking the bottle from his lips and staring down at his mangled organ. He shook his head and brushed the angry tears of pain from his blood-shot eyes. True, he had been weeks without a woman, but how could he have been so foolish as to try and fuck a dry cunt? If this wasn't a fool's folly, he had stupidly followed by trying on a tight ass-hole for size. God, how it throbbed and hurt. He raised his head, looking to his right, and his eyes bulged with fright. He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound was cut off as brutal fingers closed off his windpipe.
Galsworthy's grip on the man's throat tightened, and he did not release it until Rollie had sunk helplessly to his knees.
VIII
When Rollie was released, he struggled to his feet, still clutching his throat. The big son of a bitch had almost made him black out. He would have yelled to his friends, but the rifle cradled in the Irishman's hand brought wisdom to his dulled senses. He looked down at the spilled bottle of whiskey, then gave it a vicious kick, sending it into the tangled undergrowth.
"You damned near killed me, mister," he croaked as he found his breath.
Galsworthy spoke softly. "You're one of Ulrich's men?"
"Hell, yes," Rollie answered without hesitation, "and I take it that you're Patrick Galsworthy. Well, let me give you some advice, you bloody Irishman. You'd better be moving your ass out of this territory. You don't have a chance in hell with three groups of men on your tail."
Galsworthy's eyes dropped to Rollie's still dangling penis. "Get that poor example of manhood back in your pants," he growled. "A lady is present."
Rollie handled his battered shaft gingerly, wincing as he zipped himself up and felt the coarse fabric of his pants against his throbbing knob.
"Speaking of the lady," he said between gritted teeth, "she's another good reason for getting the hell out of here. If that horny bunch back there doesn't get her now, they'll get her later. When they do, she won't last the night out. The Indians will hear her ghost screaming for years."
Galsworthy grunted. "I'm not asking for advice, just information."
"I got nothing to tell you."
Galsworthy nudged him at the beltline with the rifle. "Have you ever noticed what a nasty hole one of these things can leave in a man's guts?"
Rollie felt fear creeping more deeply into his numbed mind, and he became almost sober. He'd kicked around the continent for more than a few years, and had only joined Karl Ulrich recently, but the name of Galsworthy was not new to him. It was a byword in every Indian village, in every bar, and in every whorehouse he'd ever been in. And he'd never heard of the man being shamed or bested. He was, according to the legend, the most drinking, brawling, fucking man ever to come within a hundred miles of the Mato Grosso. He was insatiable when loving, of never-ending thirst when drinking, and a savage brute when fighting. Rollie looked into his adversary's serious face, and he needed no proof of the man's ability. The stories he had heard were enough.
Rollie took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, Galsworthy. What do you want to know?"
"I'd like to know what you expect to find out here," Galsworthy said.
Rollie managed a sickly grin. "Two things we've already found. You and the Cabet woman."
"Anything else."
"Like?"
"Like the emeralds."
"Hell, no," Rollie croaked. "Would we still be here drinking hot beer and screwing captured Indian women if we had?"
Galsworthy jabbed him again with the rifle for emphasis. "Were you only following us, or do you have a line on Stanley Cabet's movements? Was he through this area?"
Rollie almost laughed. "Mister, let me tell you something-Stanley Cabet's been over every foot of the whole fucking country. Every cold campfire you see was made by Stanley. Every damned Indian you speak to has managed to see him a few days before he died. It's almost like he split himself into a hundred different pieces, each going in a different direction. If we had everything we've paid the natives for false information, we wouldn't need the emeralds. And it's the same with every one of the outfits trying to find Stanley's true trail."
"Then why don't you turn back?"
"Mister, you don't run out on Karl Ulrich. And he won't give up."
"Why not? Stanley Cabet is dead. There's nothing Ulrich can do to hurt him."
"A matter of pride, I guess," Rollie grunted. "He has to have the emeralds for his own ego, to prove that he's never been bested, not even by a dead man. And he wants the woman. He intends to make her suffer for the raw deal Cabet gave him."
Galsworthy's eyes grew hard, and a deadly sound came into his voice. "Ulrich may get the emeralds," he said, "but he'll wish he had been bitten by a mamba if he or any of his men touch Venetia."
Rollie swallowed hard. "Don't tell me, mister. Tell Ulrich. Me-I wouldn't touch her with a twenty foot pole." He glanced toward Venetia. "And I don't mean to be uncomplimentary, ma'am. You're pretty enough for any man."
Venetia was amused by the gruff man's forced politeness. He was plenty scared. She suddenly felt more secure. Patrick Galsworthy was evidently even more of a man that she had thought him to be. And he wasn't all hot air and ego. She ventured a question of her own. "Did Stanley leave anything behind, any notes, or anything?"
Rollie nodded, almost impatient to answer questions now. "Notes, maps, everything you can imagine to lead us down another false trail. All we've ever found is booby traps and bad water holes. Oh, your late husband was really a joker, ma'am!"
Galsworthy felt that the man had been truthful with them, and that they could learn nothing more from him. He stared into Rollie's face, his own features resuming their complacency. "Sorry, old chap," he said, abruptly swinging the rifle around and sending the butt crashing against Rollie's skull.
"Why did you do that?" Venetia gasped, looking down at the fallen figure.
"Do you think I enjoyed it?" Galsworthy asked sharply.
"Couldn't you have just let him go?" Venetia snapped.
"And let him warn the camp?" Galsworthy shook his head. "They'd have been after us in two minutes flat." He forced a sour grin, irritated that she was inclined to argue with his every decision. "Or perhaps you'd like to try the Turk on for size?"
Venetia looked shocked. "Oh, all right. I was wrong. You should have crushed his skull."
"He'll be all right," Galsworthy assured her. "I've never needlessly killed a man." He touched her shoulder and steered her in the opposite direction. "Back to camp," he said, "to start all over again."
Venetia tried to hang back for a moment. "What about the guides?" As much as she trusted Galsworthy, she didn't appreciate the idea of being guideless in this green hell.
"They must have left the war party as soon as we spotted Ulrich's men," Galsworthy said.
"They're just Indians, like the rest of the group," Venetia suggested. "Why didn't they participate in the drinking and rape?"
"Professional integrity," Galsworthy told her, "believe it or not. They're still working for me, and therefore they wouldn't needlessly become involved in something I didn't approve of."
"But they insisted on going on the raid," she reminded him.
"A different matter altogether," he said. "Tribal honor and all that rot. Even then, they asked for leave of absence."
"Of course."
Venetia nodded understanding, but she realized that nothing made sense to her. The Indians, Ulrich, Stanley's death, even the emeralds; nothing was worth the misery she had already undergone, and only God knew what still lay in store for her. She shuddered at the thought of being forcefully mounted by the Turk, of having his horrendous penis shoved into her belly. No civilized woman could face it and live.
They pushed through the seemingly endless jungle. Galsworthy tramped steadily ahead, like a man on a simple hike, never tiring, but glancing over his shoulder ever so often to see that she stayed close at his heels. Venetia was worried. She could no longer see the sun through the treetops, and she was gripped by hysteria at the thought of the coming night. She managed to keep her fears to herself, not wanting to be ridiculed by the Irishman again, but she felt cold all over. Even that usually warm spot between her moving thighs was like a moss-covered crypt.
Venetia could hardly restrain her joy as they broke into the clearing and she caught sight of the river. "We made it," she said softly.
Galsworthy chuckled. "Did you ever doubt it?"
"I've doubted everything, even my sanity, since our last night in camp," she admitted. "Oh, it's good to be back." She breathed a sigh of relief. They had barely made it. It seemed that someone had abruptly shut off the sun as they had stepped from the jungle's edge. The Indian guides were sitting by the fire, staring stonily at the perking pot of coffee they had prepared, half expecting it to explode at any moment. When they caught sight of Galsworthy and Venetia, they retired to the far corner of the camp.
Galsworthy stripped off his shirt, exposing his hairy chest, and followed by kicking off his heavy boots. He poured coffee, handed a cup to Venetia, and scowled as he sipped his portion. "The guides will never succeed as coffee-makers," he grunted.
Venetia giggled her disapproval of the Irishman's comment. The coffee was delicious. Mild and fragrant. A far cry from the gut-buster he had prepared.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"I don't think I'll ever be hungry again-at least not until we get back to civilization.
"That's some time away," he said. "I doubt that you can do without food for such a long period."
She finished her coffee and stood. "I'm tired. I could use a good night's rest." Venetia vanished into the tent and reappeared a few moments later, carrying toiletry items.
Galsworthy stopped her. "Where do you think you're going?"
"To take a bath," she said. "I , 's been a miserable, hot day and I can't sleep when I'm smelling of my own perspiration."
"You brainless female!" Galsworthy exploded. "You don't go bathing in the Orinoco at night. There's a good chance you won't be coming back!"
She tossed her head and jerked away from his restraining hand. "Well, I'm going, even if I get eaten alive by some river monster."
He watched her retreating figure for a moment, then threw several sticks of wood onto the fire in order to obtain more light. When she stopped at the river's edge, he was standing directly behind her. She turned. "Surely, you don't expect me to...."
"Duck, there are worse things than modesty," Galsworthy said simply.
He was indeed relishing the thought of seeing her totally nude again. Damn. Could a man and woman fiver really understand one another? A man could see a woman over and over, and become hard every time she undressed. A woman, no matter how many times she was fucked, still managed to retain her modesty.
"I absolutely refuse," Venetia stormed. His eyes were laughing at her. "If you think that the things that have happened between us previously...."
"I don't think anything," he said calmly. "I only know that I have to watch out for you if you insist upon bathing in the river tonight."
"Watch out for me, or watch me?" Her words were pure acid.
"In this damned ink, I'm not going to see too much of anything," he growled, "and it's not as if I haven't seen it all before. No, if you're going to bathe, get with it."
Venetia flashed him a despicable stare as she stepped close to the water's edge. Looking out over the dark river, she realized that he actually had her safety in mind. Anything could happen here. Slowly, she undid the buttons of her shirt, removing it with her back to him, almost like a strip teaser without music.
Galsworthy shuffled uncomfortably. The mere sight of her back excited him, and he didn't need to guess at the beauty of the large white globes which were hidden from his view. He grinned stiffly. Well, at least she could not conceal both her ass and her breasts from him simultaneously. One or the other had to be exposed. His penis stirred against his thigh, its head beginning a slow swell. Venetia was tugging at her belt, pausing, then sitting to remove her boots. She stood again, fumbled with the waistband of the breeches, then jerked them abruptly over her hips and down her thighs. Galsworthy watched the uncontrollable quivering of her pale buttocks, thinking he had never seen such a lovely cleft between two equally beautiful mounds. Her thighs were firm and supple as she raised first one foot and then the other to step from the breeches.
"I hope you're happy," Venetia said, trying to sound angry.
"A man is no happier than the woman he escorts," Galsworthy told her.
"Well," Venetia spat, "if you think I'm getting some obscene thrill out of being an exhibitionist...."
"You are damned beautiful tonight," he chuckled. "At least, what I've seen."
"That's all you're going to see now."
She crouched at the water's edge, not daring to leap into the black danger it presented. She shivered as she used her hands to splash the cool wetness against her breasts and stomach, soaping and rinsing quickly so that he would not get a prolonged view of her nudity. Already she had done damage enough, for, when she had last glanced over her shoulder, his penis had grown to a bulging knot against his pants. When she had thoroughly bathed her frontal parts, Venetia pushed the soap at Galsworthy over one shoulder. "Can you wash my back and still remain a gentleman?" she asked.
"No fine lady can say that Patrick Galsworthy isn't always a gentleman." He took the soap and crouched at the water's edge with her. She turned, hopping like a princess who had turned into a frog, and covering her bobbing breasts with her hands.
"Behind me," she said. "Behind me."
Galsworthy moved as she moved, and the arrangement was achieved without any undue exposure of Venetia's charms. Well, he thought, she hadn't quite succeeded in concealing all. He'd seen the upper swell of her breasts, and the faint rim of the golden moss where it almost forcefully tucked itself between her squeezing thighs. His prick was now an elongated mass of hard flesh along his inner thigh, and his lips were bloodless as he splashed water on her back and followed with the soap. His groin contracted. This was a far cry from the huge black female he had soaped down at Gwen's place. What was her name? Hell, he couldn't even remember. The cry of a strange woman's hot flesh was loud and long, but it ended abruptly and was soon forgotten. It had never been that way with Venetia, and more each day he thought it would never be....
His hand moved to the small of her back and proceeded downward. "Far enough," she warned, when she could feel his hand at the cleft of her buttocks.
"Damn." He tried to laugh but was unable to make it come out as such. "Do you have to take the fun out of everything?"
Venetia giggled, suddenly feeling wanton and gay. "You might put something else where your hand is. You'll have to admit that I'm in a precarious position, with you perched behind me like his."
The laugh finally came out of Galsworthy, but there was no real amusement in it. It was a throaty thing, deep and filled with passion. God, how his balls ached. "For a moralist," he said, "you have a filthy little mind."
Venetia felt even more evil. "And what were you thinking, Mr. Galsworthy?"
His laughter was genuine this time. "The same as you, Duck. The same as you."
He rinsed her back and she stood, pulling a large towel around her body as a kind of sarong, thereby hiding everything but her shapely legs from his view. Where in hell she had come up with such an object, he did not know. From some of the things she had packed, there was no doubt that she had really thought of the trip as a holiday.
"Can I safely go back to my tent dressed like this?" she asked thoughtfully.
Galsworthy glanced toward the camp. "The guides are out of sight; probably a ways into the jungle. Anyway, they won't be lusting after you. They think you're my woman."
Venetia changed the subject abruptly. "Are you going to bathe, Patrick?"
"I thought I would," he grunted. "I don't intend to be the only dirty bastard in camp." He undid his belt and unzipped, pausing as he stared at the thin line of hair which proceeded from his navel and vanished at the edge of his shorts.
She laughed. "Well, what are you waiting for?"
"Goddamn it all, woman," Galsworthy sputtered. "A man-likes a little privacy."
"Now look who's being the prude, and after all we've been through together," she said, still laughing. "Is there a difference between a man seeing a woman and a woman seeing a man?"
"Oh, hell yes, my dear," he almost shouted. "A woman is a thing of art and beauty. A man is nothing but a gross, hairy beast." He scowled. Her laughter irritated him to no end. He suddenly leered at her. "And you're forgetting another thing, my lovely Venetia. Down below is a huge charm which I won't be at all adept in concealing. But that's okay. Seeing it might break down that damned barrier you've thrown up between us."
Venetia turned and dashed toward the camp with Galsworthy's victorious laughter ringing in her ears.
Ignoring his own warning, Galsworthy stepped into the river and waded out several yards. His roaring blood needed something besides a few dashes of water to cool it down. His balls dangled along the river's surface, and the moving water felt similar to a woman's caressing fingers. He bent his knees, sinking a few inches deeper and letting the cooling liquid swirl around his hot and aching sac. His hard prick bobbed for a second, then sank out of sight. He soaped himself vigorously and bathed quickly. A man could lose a leg out here, or something more valuable. When he stepped back onto the shore, his erection had fallen, but the discomfort still persisted deep within his flesh. For all its softness, his organ was still lightly bloated with desire.
Oh, but this trip was turning out to be just ducky. Danger behind every tree, death over every hill, and a beautiful woman who obviously had lost all desire for a good fuck. Well, if worse came to worse, he could always relieve himself as he had done when he watched the Jivaro maid get hers. He returned to camp and zipped himself into his sleeping bag. His rifle was lying close, within hand's reach. A loud gush of air came from his lungs. It was going to be a long night.
Venetia tossed and turned within the confines of her tent. She was exhausted, but she could not sleep. She slept nude, and the sheet had been cast aside in favor of nothing at all. Her flesh burned with heat, although there was a definite nip in the air, and the congestion in her loins had grown since leaving Galsworthy at the river's edge. Oh, why hadn't she gone ahead and given herself to him, with no one to see them make love except the dark, silent waters of the Orinoco? Why did she persist in being so childishly gauche about this affair? Stanley was dead, and she could not make love to his ghost. A woman needed something she could feel, with her hands, with her body, with her inner recesses. She whimpered softly with desire, then sprang abruptly to a sitting position as the front flap of the tent unfolded.
"Patrick," she whispered.
"I had to come," he said thickly, his face hard with wanting her. He bent lower and stepped inside, the light from the campfire pushing between his muscular thighs and bathing his testicles with a hot light. His prick protruded from his hairy groin, a beseeching mass of masculinity.
"Patrick," Venetia said again, more softly than before, and he sank beside her, stroking her hair until it appeared as burnished gold. The light from the fire crept through the half-opened flap, bathing the interior of the tent with a dancing, almost erotic light. Shadows flickered on her full-bodied beauty as she ran her hands around his waist and pressed her hot mounds against his heaving chest. The large, spreading nipples firmed and dug into his flesh. She buried her face against his shoulder, kissing him there, and letting her fingers play up and down his spine. "Oh, Patrick," she said, her voice almost inaudible. "I was afraid you wouldn't come."
"You wanted me," he asked huskily, "regardless of what you said."
"Yes, oh yes, Patrick!"
She sank back, and he half sat, half lay beside her. One hand rested across her body, with a white globe of flesh relaxing against his wrist and arm. Such lovely tits, he thought, not at all vulgar, with milk-white background for the roses of her nipples. The blueness of her eyes was deep and sensitive, and when he leaned to kiss her, her full lips opened to meet him, her pink tongue darting out like the hungry probing of a honey bee. It was inside his mouth, exploring; a sweet, moving thing which he finally grasped and held in a tender embrace. The kiss was a lasting one, and when their lips parted his penis was a firm lance against her right hip. She squirmed against it, wanting to feel its hard heat against her sensitive skin.
Galsworthy kissed her neck, dropped his face between her breasts, and moved the tip of his tongue along the crevice. She gasped as he kissed one mound, went to the aureole, and finished by sucking an already firm nipple into his mouth. It was large and hot against his tongue, and its size made him hunger all the more for it.
Venetia moaned softly as the sucking grew stronger, and then she pushed against his head, urging him downward. Blind with wanting her, Galsworthy did as bidded, kissing the generous curvature of her stomach and digging his tongue into the belly button. His big hand engulfed her vaginal mound, clutching at the soft yellow mat. She squeezed her thighs tightly together, then opened them almost immediately. His finger probed, forcing its way into her heated labia and finding her love-flesh. It was a wet mass of erectile tissue, and, as he manipulated it, a wanton expression flitted across her face. Her mouth opened slowly, her breasts heaved, and she whined out her sexual agony. The final barrier of modesty dropped away, and she grasped his stiff cock and began a vigorous, uncontrollable pumping.
Galsworthy gnashed his teeth as the tantalizing sensations gripped him. God, he'd come before he even got it in her. He threw one leg across her thighs and tried to mount her. Her fingers were still strong around his prick, jerking, refusing to release him. She had to stop. He wanted her to ... no, he didn't want ... She hammered at his stiff organ, and its knob was fired with blood. Her beautiful face was twisted with a perverted passion. It seemed to him that she was obsessed with forcing him to an orgasm before he could enter her precious hole. Did she fear pregnancy? She wanted him, yet did not want him to have her. Oh, hell, he'd never make it. She was hunching against his leg. He pressed his knee into the cleft of her buttocks, and her slippery cunt rode up and down his outer thigh like a pulley on a fleshy rope of sex. "G'worthy...."
The sound came from the back of his mind, from the shadows, and was blotted out by his thoughts of hot female flesh. He couldn't ... the feel of her fingers around his stiff stalk, still pumping....
"G'worthy...."
There it was again. A pleading sound. A small, weakening voice calling his name. Why did he always have to be disturbed? Why? Through the sexual fantasy which filled his mind, he heard it again, more faintly. If he ignored it, it would surely go away. He was between her thighs now, spreading them, trying to release his thick penis from her grasp and drive it into her hungry slit. His balls contracted. Once, twice, his knob jerked like the head of a angry red demon.
"G'worthy!"
It was more of a scream. He tried to rise to his knees, even as Venetia's grip tightened on his aching prick, even as the hot jets ran down his canal and splattered onto her quivering white stomach.
His passion spent, Galsworthy was suddenly intensely aware of the jungle around him, where catastrophe lurked at every turn. Venetia had released his cock and was gripping his upper thigh, pushing her cunt up and down the greased pole his leg formed against the slippery inner lips of her cunt. She strained for an orgasm that would not come, her eyes pleading for his assistance. "Give it to me, Patrick, now."
"G'worthy."
The sound of his name was almost non-existent, but it was there, low and muted. He sprang away from the woman, ignoring the hands which still reached for him. Leaping through the flap of the tent, his eyes instantly attuned to the surrounding night. The fire had burned low, and was not much more than embers, but he could make out the body of the dying guide, crawling slowly toward his sleeping bag, his fingers digging desperately into the dirt, searching for another inch of leverage. The Indian's chest was bathed in blood, his features already forming a death mask, and still he tried to pull forward, his lips moving in silent sound.
Galsworthy cursed under his breath as he made a mad dive for his rifle. like a fool he had left it beside the sleeping bag, forgetting one of the first rules of survival. It had happened, just as he had feared it would. A woman was sure death out here. The smell of one, the taste of her mouth, the unholy alliance between cunt and prick, made a man accident prone. He....
It was already too late. Even as he gripped the rifle with one hand, trying to rise with it, Ulrich's men burst into the clearing, their weapons leveled at his head. He could get one or two of them. maybe three, but the remainder would shoot him full of holes. And then what would happen to Venetia? He dropped the rifle and faced the grinning Turk, who was the first to reach him.
IX
Turk motioned for Galsworthy to move further away from his weapon. He then burst into laughter as he surveyed his enemy's nudity. "Did we interrupt something, sport?"
The Irishman grimaced. "Do you mind if a man gets dressed?" he asked, looking around for his clothing.
"By all means," Turk grinned. "I don't get a damned bit of pleasure out of looking at your hard ass. The woman now ... that's different."
Galsworthy glared at Turk as he jerked his pants around his waist. "You leave the woman out of this, you bald bastard."
Turk's face darkened. "I can't rightly see that you got a say so about that, sport."
"If you do to her what you did to the Indian women, I'll cut your balls out and use them for fish bait," Galsworthy warned. He was weaponless, but he felt that he could kill the grinning monster with his bare hands if need be.
"You seen us take the Indian women, huh? Quite a cunt-splitting contest, huh?"
"Just don't try it on Mrs. Cabet," Galsworthy warned again. It was his final word on the subject and he glanced toward the fallen guide, who had died where he lay. "The other one?" he asked.
Turk spat. "Dead, out there in the jungle. Luckily for us, this one lasted a bit longer, and we were able to follow him back to your camp."
"Now that you've got us, what do you intend to do?" Galsworthy asked.
"Well, personally, I'd like to give the blonde a good fucking, and put you out like the Indian there." With this, Turk strolled toward the tent and disappeared inside. Venetia screamed as he dragged her out. She had almost finished dressing, and had been in the process of buttoning her shirt when Turk grabbed her. His big hand managed to unloose one white globe. He massaged it brutally as he tried to hold her with one hand and still maintain possession of his rifle. "Now, that is what I call a tit," he guffawed.
Seeing Venetia's soft flesh being mangled by the obscene Turk, Galsworthy forgot the other guns. He flung his entire weight at the Turk, striking him at the waist and sending the much bigger man sprawling. Venetia was momentarily freed, and the Turk's weapon went harmlessly in the other direction.
Turk was quick and supple for a huge man, and he was on his feet and facing the equally quick Irishman in a matter of seconds. They glared at one another, two angry gladiators set on a fight to the finish, with only their bare hands for weapons. Several of the men raised their guns, but the man known as Tad restrained them. "Let them fight," he said. "Turk will break every bone in the stubborn Irishman's body. Maybe it'll keep him quiet and out of our hair for awhile."
"Hell," grumbled one man. "Let me shoot the bastard and get it over with."
Tad turned on him. "You're a blood crazy son of a bitch, Charlie. Do you want Ulrich to have you skinned alive? He wants to see the girl and Galsworthy in one piece."
"Shit!" Charlie sulked and let his weapon drop.
Turk leaped high into the air, fighting Oriental style, and his feet crashed against Galsworthy's chest. Galsworthy was unhurt, but the unexpected move sent him sprawling and the Turk was on him instantly. The giant's leering face was directly above him, and Galsworthy sent an elbow whipping across the man's mouth. The leer turned to a bloody gurgle, and Turk sprang back, trumpeting like a wounded bull elephant.
Turk ran his forearm across his mouth, staring in amazement at the wet streak of red left behind. He swung wildly at the advancing Irishman, missed, and swung again with the other hand. This blow connected and Galsworthy felt as if he had been pole-axed. He could hardly feel the pain for the numbness which engulfed his brain, threatening to spread to all his limbs before he could defend himself. Venetia! The single thought saved him. From the corner of his almost glazed eyes, he caught sight of her. Another man was struggling with her, having completely unbuttoned her shirt. The pale globes of her breasts jerked back and forth as he tried to hold her and get his mouth at them.
"Patrick!" she screamed, and the pleas gave him added strength. Turk, thinking his victim helpless, had advanced too quickly. For his haste he received a smashing blow to the solar plexus. Turk tried to scream, but no sound came forth. He attempted to breathe with a set of lungs that no longer seemed to function. He held his hands before his face, and the Irishman swung through them, chopping blows to his head. Each blow was a punishing thing, like the gore of a bull, and Turk staggered backward as Galsworthy's arms continued to swing like heavy pendulums. As the big man succeeded in covering his face, his adversary whipped blows into his rib cage, each one leaving an angry welt behind it. And when the hands dropped to thwart this opening, the vicious assault on Turk's bald head resumed.
"Fight, you rapist bastard!" Galsworthy challenged as he advanced. He sank a hard fist into Turk's gut and the man almost fell. Another in the same spot sent him to his knees. Turk's eyes looked imploringly into the dark sky as he lifted his head, and the Irishman put him away with a solid right to the jaw. Turk fell face forward, blubbering into the sand and dirt which filled his mouth.
Galsworthy started to turn, hoping to help Venetia, and half expecting to be shot down in his tracks. A crushing blow to the base of his skull eased all worry. The campfire shimmered before his eyes, then went black.
Rollie stood over Galsworthy's prostrate form. He glanced at the rifle he had used as a club, hoping that the Irishman's hard skull had not ruined its stock. "Sorry, old chap," he said.
When Galsworthy came to his senses, his head was a throbbing, unwanted thing upon his shoulders. He tried to move his hands and arms, but found them secured by a large length of rough roping. They'd trussed him up like some wild jungle animal who threatened to devour the entire group. His next thoughts were of Venetia, and he spotted her next to the campfire. She still appeared unmolested and had been wise enough to seek the safety offered by the fire. Alone in her tent, she would have probably been visited by more than several of the men during the night, each after the same thing. It wasn't that any of them had scruples about taking her in public, but hot desire for her simmered in the loins of every man present, and there was considerable jealousy as to who would be the first to claim the beautiful blonde when the opportunity presented itself. Turk, of course, could be controlled by no man, but Galsworthy had stopped his play for the present. As for the man who had been molesting her at the time Galsworthy had been clubbed, Tad, the mental leader of the group, had come to her assistance. Ulrich did not want the woman hurt. And, if she were to be sexually violated by any man, Ulrich himself preferred to do it. After all, it was he whom Stanley had not settled with. It was only fair that his wife make some token payment in his stead.
When Venetia saw that Galsworthy was conscious, she left the fire and ventured to his side, kneeling. Tad, who trusted only himself to remain guard while the others slept, spoke to her from a short distance away. "Don't try to release him, Mrs. Cabet. You'll only get him killed."
Venetia examined the large bump on Galsworthy's head. "The skin is slightly broken," she said. "I'll get some water from the river and bathe it."
"And have one of these goons drag you into the bushes?" Galsworthy asked. "Forget it." He managed a grin. "It'll be okay. Most children are born with a soft spot on their head. Me, I had an exceptionally hard one instead."
"You want to smoke?" she asked, trying to ease his discomfort in some way. He nodded and she left long enough to obtain a package of cigarettes from his gear. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed one between his lips and lit it.
"The Turk?" he asked, puffing and talking from the side of his mouth.
She smiled. "His feelings are hurt more than anything else. I don't think he'd ever been beaten before. I do know one thing, though. He'll be out to kill you the minute Ulrich has his say." She took the cigarette from his lips and allowed him a breath of fresh air.
"We're safe 'til we see Ulrich, eh?"
She nodded. "I've sifted that much from their drunken conversation. It appears that Ulrich thinks Stanley may have left me information on the actual whereabouts of the emeralds, and that I've merely hired you to guide me to them."
"He's in for a big disappointment," Galsworthy grunted. His head was feeling better now, and his mind was beginning to clear.
"What about us?" Venetia asked.
"Ulrich won't kill us until he's certain that we don't know where the gems are cached. We'll try to keep him guessing as long as possible. Sooner or later, we'll get an opportunity to escape. How long until we get to Ulrich?"
"He's waiting at one of his plantations, run by a man named Garman."
"I know the place," Galsworthy said. "A rundown cotton outfit, merely another front for Ulrich's illegal activities. Garman's an ex-con supposedly going straight. Lives there alone with his daughter and a handful of natives. About a day, possibly two day's march from here."
Venetia appeared more disturbed. "Can we ... can I survive for another night? These men...."
"Tad's keeping an eye out for you," Galsworthy explained, trying to ease her concern, but feeling far from confident himself. Tad, for all his apparent control over the men, could do nothing to save Venetia once they decided to draw straws for her. He would be swept aside like a gnat in a whirlwind, and would probably end up enjoying a bit of her himself, once the sexual revolt started. Galsworthy was hoping that the beating he had given Turk would offer a bit of a deterrent. As long as he was alive, they had someone to fear besides Ulrich. The Irishman's warning to Turk had been more than jest. He swore that he'd leave the balls of every mother's son floating in the Orinoco if they subjected Venetia to the final humiliation of gang rape.
"Sometimes I wish I had forgotten all about the emeralds," Venetia said wistfully. "It wouldn't have helped."
"Why not?"
"Ulrich was simply biding his time, waiting for you to make a move," Galsworthy said. "If you hadn't done it, he'd have come after you. He's firmly convinced that you know something, else he wouldn't want us alive. A human life means nothing to him unless he can use it."
Venetia stroked his cheek, now rough with a thick growth of stubble. "What happened in the tent tonight...."
"Forget it." He looked away, a bit embarrassed by the memory of it. A beautiful woman, holding his engorged prick, masturbating him like a common....
"...I wouldn't have done that to any other man," Venetia said, still wanting to explain. "I felt that...."
"...that you owed me something." Seeing the shock in her face, Galsworthy was immediately sorry that he had said it. Damn his tough hide, he'd have to remember that he was dealing with a lady, not some slut at Gwen's place.
"Yes," she said, hurt but not really angry. After all, she had done what she had done. "But it was more, too. I had a feeling tonight. A premonition that you and I were more than a man and a woman in the jungle. Something more than two greedy, selfish people hunting for Utopia."
"Do you expect me to believe that?"
"I let you make love to me, didn't I?"
"But you were holding out the final gift," he said, "protecting your cherished domain with all the faculties you possessed. Why?"
"Still thinking of Stanley," she said softly. "Perhaps I wasn't sure about us. Funny, isn't it? Thinking of Stanley and wanting you."
"Not so damned funny," he said gruffly.
She leaned forward, touched his lips briefly, and pulled away. "I ... don't want our lust to become a common thing," she said, her face flushed with remembering. "Do you imagine that I enjoyed having you spill your seed upon my belly. Don't you think that I wanted you inside me?" She flipped a bit of blonde hair from her forehead. "Oh, I feel guilty in more ways than one. Guilty because I allowed you to make love to me. before. Guilty tonight because we didn't do it properly. And, most of all, because I caused you to drop your guard and allow us to be captured by Ulrich's men."
"It probably happened for the best," Galsworthy mused. "Us getting captured, I mean. I'm no superman. I couldn't have stood up against them alone. They'd have killed us. This way, at least, we live a while longer."
Venetia sighed. "What do we do now?"
"We sleep," he said, "as best we can. I want all the strength I can muster when the time comes to use it."
Galsworthy was awakened by a brutal kick in the ribs. He cursed and opened his eyes to see Turk glaring down at him. The big man's face was a mass of bruises and cuts, and his lips were swollen out of proportion to the rest of his face. "Get up, you stinking Irishman," he growled. "There might be a scrap or two left from breakfast. I want you hale and hardy when I get my next chance at you. I want to hear some loud, strong screaming when you die."
Venetia came over to feed Galsworthy from a tin plate. Ullrich's men seemed reluctant to release him for even a short period of time. She tried to ignore
Turk's presence, but his lustful eyes ran over her body, caressing every curve. A partial erection stirred against his leg, and he turned and strode angrily away, almost insane with wanting her and knowing that he couldn't have her.
To Venetia, the ensuing day's march was much like the trek they had make to the Indian village when the two women had been captured. The heat, the bugs, the endless walking were the same. Only the men in the party differed, and she was certain that she had preferred the Indians over Ulrich's band of cutthroats. While it remained light, she felt no deep fear. Thieves and killers they were, but they were also professional jungle men, and they assaulted the green hell as such, always alert with no sign of drinking. However, when night came, she knew it would be another story. The strong drink would reappear and their minds would turn to her woman's body and the comfort it could give them.
Galsworthy marched close to her, offering some reassurance by his very presence. They had removed some of the rope which bound him, but his hands were still tied securely behind his back. But really, what help could he give her now? What could he do but scream and curse while they had their way with her?
Tad glanced up at the sky through an opening in the trees. "We'll never make it to the plantation, even if we march half the night," he said. "We might as well make camp."
The column broke impatiently into the next clearing and began to set up for the night. A fire was built and Venetia was forced to prepare a meal from their dwindling supplies. Turk untied Galsworthy's hands and marched him a distance into the thicket so that he might attend to his needs. Galsworthy knelt by a small stream, rubbing his chafed wrists with cool water. Turk stood directly behind him, the rifle pointed at his head.
"There's nothing I'd like better than to kill you with your own gun, Irishman," he said, laughing harshly. "And then you know what old Turk would do? He'd go back to camp and give your woman enough prick to last her a lifetime!"
Galsworthy turned, crouching to spring at his tormentor. "You bloody, cunt-licking bastard...."
"Come on, Irishman," Turk urged. "Make your move." His finger tightened visibly on the trigger. Shaking with rage, Galsworthy turned back to the stream and dashed a handful of water into his burning face.
Bound again, Galsworthy sat at the edge of the clearing, watching as Venetia repacked the utensils. The men had already taken to drinking, and several of them had fallen into deep stupors. The remaining men nursed their whiskey and watched Venetia while she worked. Rollie and Turk sat closest to her, and Turk reached out to almost touch her leg.
Rollie slapped playfully at his hand. "No touch," he said. "Remember what Tad said."
Turk guffawed, staring straight up at Venetia's well-shaped buttocks. "Now, tell me, friend Rollie, would you not face hell and the devil himself to get a bit of that sweet ass?"
"Indeed I would," Rollie said, stroking the half-erection which lay along his thigh.
"And Tad ain't half as mean as the devil, is he?" Turk's tongue flicked along his already drooling mouth. "The Indian women, they were fine, but this ... I tell you, Rollie, we won't ever get another chance like this."
"The Irishman ... " Rollie said, looking toward Galsworthy.
"Fuck the Irishman," Turk spat. "I'm gonna kill him, anyway."
"And Ulrich?"
"The way I see it, Rollie," Turk said, taking another drink from the bottle they shared between them, "I can get another job. Hell, there's an Ulrich around every corner. But a sweet blonde cunt like this ... God, I got to have her, Rollie!"
Turk finished the bottle, rubbed his bald head, and got unsteadily to his feet. He made a great flourish behind the unsuspecting Venetia, then reached for her, wrapping his big arms around her waist and lifting her high into the air. She screamed and Galsworthy sprang toward them, dashing across the clearing and trying to slam his head against Turk's back. Turk shoved a hand into his face, and Galsworthy was unable to keep his feet, although he fought to free his hands as he fell.
"Keep the son of a bitch out of my way, Rollie," Turk growled, and Rollie pressed the barrel of his weapon against Galsworthy's temple.
Venetia cried out and clawed at Turk's face as he tore the shirt from her body. "Oh, God, no ... don't let it happen...."
Turk lifted her again, with the strength of two men, burying his sweaty face between her breasts and making a blowing sound with his wet mouth. His tongue lapped hungrily at her swelling globes, running over them in much the same manner as a dog. She pushed against him, and his mouth searched blindly for her white mounds as they juggled about her chest. Finding one, he latched on, sucking almost a third of the entire tit into his mouth. When he released it, the breast was bruised far beyond the flushed nipple and aureole.
Tad was stunned momentarily by this turn of events, and he rushed to Turk's side after the first sexual flurry. Turk had Venetia on the ground, and was struggling to remove the breeches from her resisting hips and thighs. "Turk!"
"Damn you, Tad! I'm gonna fuck her!" Turk stood, rising a full head above his would-be boss. He drove a hard right to the smaller man's jaw and sent him sliding across the jungle floor. Tad did not move, and Turk turned to fall upon Venetia as she attempted to rise. Galsworthy tried to move forward again, but Rollie neatly reversed his weapon and gave the Irishman another blunt taste of the butt. For an instant before blackness closed it, Galsworthy caught sight of Venetia's completely naked body, writhing in Turk's arms, while his fingers clawed voraciously at the blonde mound between her thighs.
The other men had been aroused by the struggle and gathered in a circle to watch the Turk perform. "Eat her, Turk! Eat her like you did the Indian!"
"You boys can read my mind," Turk whooped.
He forced Venetia's pressing thighs apart and ducked his face between them, his tongue pushing a full inch from his mouth. Venetia drew her legs up, as if to give Turk more room to get at her slit, then lashed out to send her bare feet crashing into his smirking face. Turk cursed and wiped a bit of blood from his split lip. "Damn you, Rollie, get off your ass and help me with her," he bellowed.
"Ulrich will kill you for this!" Venetia was cold with fear, yet was fighting mad because this unbelievable thing was happening to her.
Rollie pinned her arms, admiring her heaving breasts as he did so. "Turk seems to think you're worth dying for, and I'm inclined to agree with him."
"You ... said you wouldn't touch me" she panted.
"That was when the Irishman had a gun in my guts," Rollie leered. "Now, there ain't much you can do about it, Mrs. Cabet. I'd advise you to spread your legs and try to make yourself as comfortable as possible. It's going to be a long night, but it won't be so bad after the Turk gets through. The rest of us will come easy. After him, it'll be just like you ain't got one in you."
"Oh, please ... " Venetia's eyes widened as Turk pushed a ringer into her anus up to the first knuckle, rotating it vigorously around the resisting gristle. What ungodly methods would they use to violate her? She closed her eyes to the thought. Turk's tongue was lapping against her inner thighs, then actually caressing the thin line of golden moss between, flicking gently against her labia. She'd never allowed ... never thought ... never dreamed ... his tongue was pushing into her orifice violating the sanctuary, his lips sucking hungrily at her clitoris. She tried to bring her legs up again, but Turk held them securely in place.
Venetia was both revolted and aroused. Oh, no, she was getting wet. His mouth was capped over her cunt, trying to devour the entire organ. The tongue still working, moving, then pushing like a soft penis against her vagina. She gasped. She couldn't stand it.
"Patrick!" She looked to the fallen Irishman. "Oh, damn," she said loudly, "you promised me this wouldn't happen."
Rollie was trying to hold her arms, kiss her mouth, and free his bulging erection. It was an awkward task but he somehow managed it. Venetia managed to keep her face away from him, but the now freed penis was pressing beneath the fold of her left breast, making a slight screwing motion against the soft tissue.
"You vulgar, miserable beast!" she cried, and Rollie answered by hunching faster. She lifted her eyes to see Turk rising to his knees. She almost fainted at the sight of his enormous prick. It was a good twelve inches, and its circumference was such that a man's hand could only partially encompass it. The glowing apple on its tip had appeared monstrous when he had attacked the Indian women, but it appeared even twice as large now that it was to be used in violating her own crevice.
"Oh, God, I beg you, don't ... " She squeezed her eyelids together and the lashes were flecked with tears. The awful knob was at her outer lips, pushing, hurting. The assaulted parts stretched, forming a giant pink oval around the pain-producing object which banged at her. Still no admittance, no yielding ... only deep hurt.
"Please." She could not think. It was all a mad dream. If they helped him into her as they had with the Indian woman, she should surely die upon his terrible stake of flesh.
Turk's hot knob was like a baseball grinding against her spread labia. Even her clitoris was being pressed flat by the enormity of the punishing glans. "Uhhhh ... " Venetia grunted. The giant penis was pulverizing the bones of her saddle, tearing her entire crotch asunder. God, how it hurt! Her vaginal lips were spread as far as they could possibly go, and yet she had accepted only half of the terrible head. Could she bear up under the constant pain, could she absorb the magnificent ... no, horrible thing he was forcing into her?
"You tight-assed blonde whore!" Turk bellowed, thrusting forward with such force that Venetia's buttocks were lifted from the ground.
"Patrick, save me! Oh, God, save me!" Venetia felt as if the thin partition between cunt and anus had been torn completely away. There was a hot gushing from deep within the organ, and she feared that she was bleeding to death. She could not conceal her own amazement as the lymphatic fluids flowed around Turk's embedded knob. Her buttocks snapped together, followed by a spasmodic trembling, and she found herself enjoying an unwished for orgasm.
"Fuck ... " she gasped, then forced further exclamations of enjoyment down her throat, hoping the rapist had not heard.
But Turk had heard the sound of delight. He grunted like a boar as he gave another hard thrust, succeeding in getting half of his thick shaft into Venetia's strained vagina. He saw her face become pallid, saw her lips stretch tightly across her teeth, and felt the minute pulsations of her canal against his knob. He pushed forward again. She cried out as her ass was shoved along the ground. Stopped momentarily, Turk rotated his stalk in her slit, trying to loosen the walls of her hot, seeping vagina. Pearly fluids gathered around his pile-driving penis, making a wet, slapping sound, yet the pink oval of her cunt gripped his organ like a steel band.
The pain and disgust Venetia experienced was mixed with a heady, never-before-felt pleasure. Her vagina began to contract rhythmically against the stiff prick through no conscious effort of her own. Her cunt was no longer controlled by her mind, but was a thing within itself, a flesh-eating blossom devouring a hefty and struggling victim.
"Arrgghh ... " Turk growled as the contractions got to him. Rollie, who was still pumping his erection beneath Venetia's breast, was shoved rudely aside as Turk found him a handicap to the business at hand. Rollie retreated a few yards away, resisting the temptation to masturbate himself in hope that he could have the blonde woman after Turk had finished with her. This wasn't saying much, following in Turk's footsteps, but a loose, wetly mangled cunt was to be preferred over a man's hand.
Turk could still feel the growing contractions of the vaginal sleeve which gripped his shaft. He pushed Venetia's knees almost against her breasts, so that her orifice was at its most receptive position.
"Ahhhh ... " She felt him grinding deeper into her tearing flesh and was beginning to relish what he was doing to her. She was minutely embarrassed by the sudden escape of intestinal gas as his awful prick tore away all muscular restraint. The big man's huge testicles came to a slapping halt against her buttocks. She realized that all of his organ had entered, that no more could possibly follow. It filled her like an enormous, red-hot rivet, thrusting in and out of her folds and leaving voluptuous sensations in its wake. She tried to squirm away, but instead, found herself lifting her buttocks to meet the driving rod. From the waist down, her body seemed to be one huge sex gland. She closed her eyes and allowed the Turk to have his will anticipating the hot glow which spread throughout her stomach and buttocks. When she came, even her womb poured its fluids onto the hot, churning shaft. Turk groaned as if dying when her cunt gripped his prick in a final spasm of ecstasy. His knob jerked wildly and he shot his hot jets into the clasping hole.
A shot rang out in the deadly silence of the jungle night, and the pain was suddenly withdrawn from between Venetia's tortured thighs. She was almost afraid to open her eyes again. When she did, Karl Ulrich's face was peering down at her. "Ohhh," she gasped before fainting.
Ulrich turned to the stunned Turk, a sinister smile on his thin, handsome face. He tugged at his left earlobe, screwed up his mouth, and chuckled.
"Take another good look at the beautiful lady, my dear Turk," he said, almost seeming to jest. "I promise that you shall never, never forget her."
X
Karl Ulrich was a rangy man in his early forties. A bit of gray showed at his temples, but his face was extremely youthful. His lips were thin beneath a Roman nose, and, had it not been for the sinister gleam in his grayish eyes, his soft-spoken voice would have made him seem most generous and kind. When Venetia reopened her eyes to see his smiling face above her, she was much relieved. He was holding a damp cloth to her forehead, comforting her, and in no way resembled the ogre she had expected to meet.
"Mr. Ulrich?" she asked.
He nodded. "Take it very easy, Mrs. Cabet," he said. "You've been through a terrible ordeal. I hope that Turk...."
"He...."
Ulrich appeared almost depressed by what had taken place. "I give you my solemn promise that he shall pay for what he has done to you, Mrs. Cabet."
"It is for myself also, Mrs. Cabet," Ulrich said with conviction. "Turk violated a direct order from me, and no man does that to Karl Ulrich. Many of the men who work for me are the scum of the earth
-what else can one find in this wilderness-but I demand discipline and obedience."
"Stanley ... " she said.
Ulrich smiled. "We shall talk of your husband later, Mrs. Cabet. For now, rest. We will be breaking camp soon." He left her side and walked toward Galsworthy.
"Patrick, how are you?"
"Karl." Galsworthy nodded. The two had met face to face but once, years ago, at a poker game in Rio, but neither had ever forgotten. They had both been heavy winners, and had ended up fighting their way out of a den of thieves and cutthroats. Back to back, enemies forever, but brothers for a moment.
Ulrich took a knife from his belt and kneeled to cut the bonds from Galsworthy's wrists. "I see no reason for you to remain tied like an animal," he said. "And I apologize for the discomfort and humiliation suffered by your woman."
"I'm afraid she isn't my woman."
Ulrich chuckled. "Please, Patrick. Give me credit for some intelligence. You are too much of a man to remain in the jungle with one so beautiful without tasting the fruit she had to offer."
Galsworthy stood and rubbed his wrists to bring back the circulation. The last blow on the head by Rollie had been a short one, causing only slight discomfort. "All I can say is that I'm grateful you arrived in time to save Mr. Cabet from more of the same," he said.
"I suspected that such a thing might happen," Ulrich explained. "A runner was sent out the same night they captured your camp. He told me what had happened-that there was some trouble over the woman, and that you and Turk had fought. Frankly, Patrick, I wish you had killed the dumb bastard. He's been more of a thorn in my side than my enemies. Anyway, when I received word you had been taken, I immediately moved out with several of my natives, being almost certain that my men would spend the night in this general area before coming on to the plantation. I knew the situation would be most critical at this point, in regards to the woman. My men ... I know they've had hell out here, following Cabet's trail for weeks, with no women except the Indians. A white woman ... well ... " He shrugged. "I just didn't want Mrs. Cabet harmed." Ulrich turned and snapped orders to his men. "All right. Pack up. We're moving out immediately!"
The party arrived at the plantation slightly after dawn. Galsworthy and Venetia were fed, allowed to bathe, and permitted to retire for the day. Both were refreshed and in considerably improved condition when their guards came to take them to dine with Ulrich that evening. Garman and his daughter were also present, but neither had much to say as they ate a bountiful meal.
Garman was as Galsworthy remembered him, a tall, skinny man with a nervous disposition and eyes filled with distrust for everyone around him. The daughter, Anita, was new to him, but he had met the girl-dark eyes with hair to match, and an almost olive complexion with the fullest, most sensitive red mouth he had ever seen. Garman had not been good to her, according to the wife, and she had left him before the girl was half-grown. She had run off with another man, who had in turn left her stranded, which forced her to go to work in a house of ill repute. It was there that Galsworthy had met her. She'd spent the night with him, telling him a short, sad story of her life between bouts of sex. He couldn't remember much else about her, except that she had fucked like a mink.
The girl, Anita, remained very demure throughout the meal, and excused herself before it was over. The curve of her olive breasts showed above her low-cut white blouse as she leaned to push her chair away from the table. Galsworthy noticed that the flaring, flowery skirt she wore struck her below the knees as she left the room, but the looseness of the material could not conceal her tiny waist, nor the large hips and rounded buttocks below. Ulrich's eyes also watched her movements, and he could not very well conceal his hunger for the girl.
"Your daughter is a most exquisite creature, Garman," Ulrich said, smiling.
"Thank you, Mr. Ulrich," Garman said in subdued tones. "I have been most careful with her ... " his eyes hardened, "hoping that she would not turn out like her mother."
"It is most doubtful that you can protect one so beautiful forever, my dear man," Ulrich said. Garman seemed to take the words as a warning, excused himself, and quickly left the room. "Very, very nice," Ulrich said, folding his hands together. "Do you know that I have been to this plantation many times, but this is the first time I've seen the girl. A lovely example of womanhood in early bloom." He turned to smile at Venetia. "And I mean it as no affront to you, Mrs. Cabet, for a beauty such as yours cannot be overshadowed by any woman."
Venetia flushed. "Thank you."
"And now," Ulrich said, finishing his wine, "shall we get on with the business? A little matter of the emeralds?"
"I'm afraid we haven't found them, Karl," Galsworthy said.
Ulrich wiped at his mouth with a cloth napkin. "But you know where they are?"
"We were hoping you did," Galsworthy told him.
Ulrich looked severely disappointed. "I have scoured ever inch of this jungle. My men have left no stone unturned." He held up his palms. "Nothing." He leaned toward Venetia. "Surely, Mrs. Cabet, Stanley left you some word, some note?"
"Nothing, I'm afraid." Venetia shrugged. "Oh, he did correspond with me several times while he hunted the emeralds, and before he ran away. The messages didn't make much sense. They were almost cryptic. I sometimes suspected that the heat and the loneliness had gotten to him."
"What did they say, Mrs. Cabet?" Ulrich almost hissed, then caught himself. "If we find them, half the gems are yours, Venetia. Stanley and I were partners in this venture, and I am not one to forget that, even though Stanley's personal greed proved to be his undoing."
"Let me think ... " Venetia put her fingers to her forehead. "Something about a trail to the north...."
"Ahh." Ulrich's small eyes brightened.
"No." Venetia shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr.
Ulrich. I just can't seem to think. Perhaps tomorrow, when my mind is more clear. The ordeal I've been through...."
"Of course," Ulrich said quickly. "You do need more rest, my dear. It will all come back to you. If not, I'm sure you still have the letters in your possession."
"Yes, of course, at my hotel," Venetia said. She excused herself and asked to be taken back to her room.
"Go at your own pleasure," Ulrich said soothingly.
"No guard tonight?" Galsworthy asked.
Ulrich poured himself a final sip of wine. "Guards, yes, but not so close as to be bothersome." His eyes trailed after Venetia's swaying hips as he left the room. "The guards are stationed all around the plantation, so many that they are almost within arms reach of one another. Knowing you, Patrick, I should not risk it if you were alone, for you would find some way to get through. However, I doubt that you will leave the woman, or the emeralds, and try to escape."
"On that one point I must agree with you, Karl," the Irishman said gruffly.
A terrible scream ripped through the night and Galsworthy sprang to his feet. Ulrich motioned with his hand. "Don't be alarmed, Patrick. It is only Turk." There was another scream, more horrible than the first one, followed by the deep, broken sobbing of a man.
"What in hell are you doing to him?" Galsworthy asked, feeling his blood grow cold.
"A simple castration," Ulrich said.
"God!" Galsworthy breathed. "Cut like a hog!"
Ulrich shrugged. "The man needs a lesson. He needs to know that authority is to be respected, that a man's mind should not be entirely between his legs. But I am not without some mercy. Only one of his testes is being removed. Now he shall continually think about the blonde woman, and his violation of her against my orders. Every time he scratches his scrotum he shall be reminded of her. And he shall live in constant fear of having the other ball removed, thereby becoming a complete eunuch." Ulrich chuckled, not at all affected by the pitiful cries that still came to his ears. "Don't look at me so, Patrick. I've heard you're quite hard yourself."
"Like yourself," Galsworthy grunted. "Like yourself." And his eyes told Ulrich that the words were not said in jest.
Venetia stared at the ceiling, not really trying to sleep. The room was small and without windows, making it hot and uncomfortable. She lay nude on the bed, feeling much as she had felt that day at the hotel when Galsworthy had appeared to save her from the filthy Delgado. Her body was bathed with perspiration, and time seemed without end. Tomorrow. What would she do tomorrow? There were no letters from Stanley in regards to the hiding of the emeralds, there never had been. How many days would Ulrich believe her? How long before he demanded that she return to the hotel and show them to him? No matter. Given enough time, Galsworthy would find their freedom.
She heard the lock on the door click and she sat up. A tall figure loomed between her and the hallway. "Patrick," she said. A faint light showed behind the man, and then the door closed, bringing total darkness again. Footsteps. Growing closer. He was beside her bed now.
"Patrick."
A hand touched her breast. Smooth skin, slender fingers, caressing first one mound and then the other, moving like spiders along her stomach to trail along her pubic hair. The breathing was more pronounced. Not deep, but slow and prolonged, filled with lust. The mouth came close, then moved against her own, wet and demanding. Not Patrick, her mind moaned. He was on the bed now, pressing his chest to her breasts. The man was wearing a robe, and it parted in front as he squirmed against her. His skin against her skin. Slippery and hot, like an eel on fire. His hand patted her cunt and pressed between her sweaty thighs. She held her legs tightly together, trying to prevent further intimacy, but the lubricating action of her perspiration made it almost impossible. The violating hand proceeded to probe, inspecting her labia and every exterior fold.
"Ulrich," she whispered in horror.
"Don't scream, my dear," he panted. "Or Mr. Galsworthy will be dead before he gets halfway to you." His hands continued to move, generously rubbing her crotch. "I had to come," he said. "You must understand. Lying there awake, thinking of you ... thinking of how you looked as Turk left you. Your lovely, lovely ass, straining away from his horrible penis."
"You're no better," Venetia sobbed, pushing against his chest. It was hairless and boyish, but the heart beyond it was pounding and masculine.
He threw one leg across her stomach and sat. His organ was hot and long against her skin, of much greater proportions than she had thought it would be. "You ... mustn't compare me with one so crude and animal as Turk," Ulrich gushed. "I understand women. I know that they are delicate, sensual creatures, that they must be loved gently, titillated until desire is a naming coal in their female loins." He raised himself higher, almost to her chest, so that his engorged prick lay in the valley of her breasts. "And perverted. Yes, my dear, a woman must be perverted to fully enjoy all that the male has to offer her. But surely a woman so worldly as yourself knows this, Venetia."
His hot knob touched her chin, and she jerked her face to one side. She shuddered uncontrollably, filled with both disgust and fear. She almost cried out for Galsworthy, but bit quickly at her lower lip to stifle the sound. He was her only chance at freedom. If he died trying to save her honor-an honor which really no longer existed-it would be the end. Better she be violated one more time than to lie in an unmarked grave at the edge of the Mato Grosso.
Ulrich's voice was tight. "Kiss it, my sweet one, gently. You'll like it. You'll find yourself wanting to suck it. The taste of man-flesh is much like the cunt of a woman. Not so moist, but deliciously sweet. If you do right by me, I shall reciprocate in kind."
"No!" Venetia became hysterical as he gripped her face between his hands and tried to force her reluctant mouth closer to his throbbing glans. She grasped his shaft with both hands and pushed it high against his stomach. Ulrich grunted under the intense pain and moved away, further down her body. And then he tore at her thighs, trying to part them.
"You filthy bastard!" Venetia was fighting mad, and somehow managed to roll over on her stomach.
Ulrich giggled obscenely as he rode the back of her thighs, his hands clasping her buttocks, forcing them apart. She could feel his hot knob stabbing at her crevice, trying to penetrate either proper or improper channel. Her anus contracted at the thought of being thus defiled, and she tried to slither from beneath him.
"Uh ... ooohh!" Her protest was muffled against the mattress. His knob had struck squarely against her ass-hole, and although he had achieved no actual penetration, a dull throbbing was left behind. In desperation she drew her knees up and shoved her buttocks out at him. Caught by the unexpected show of force, Ulrich rolled from the bed onto the floor, grunting out an exclamation as he landed solidly.
"You bitch!" He arose in the darkness as she jumped from the bed and tried for the door. His arms looped around her waist, and she struggled helplessly against his lean body. He was strong, too strong. Still clutching her to him, now belly to belly, Ulrich made repeated stabs at her mound, obtaining not the slightest penetration, but madly dry-fucking her. To Venetia this was more repulsive than the real thing and she beat at his slashing prick with both hands.
"Damn you!" Ulrich flung her away from him, and she went limp as she slammed against the far wall. "I'll fuck you if it takes the night!"
Venetia sank helplessly to the floor, stunned by the impact, and waiting for Ulrich to have his way with her. She no longer had the strength to resist his advances. He loomed above her, and she could almost make out the stiff penis which bobbed menacingly from his groin.
"Go on," she breathed, "take me, but Patrick Galsworthy will see that you die for it!" This reminder was her final weapon, but it had the desired effect. Ulrich paused in his assault.
"Do you think that I fear him?" The passion was not quite so strong in his voice.
"I only know that you shall answer to him if you rape me," Venetia said hopefully. "As long as he lives...."
"That is correct, my dear Venetia ... as long as he lives." Ulrich's laughter filled the small room. "Be sensible. What do you profit by keeping your thighs closed to me, if you lose your life in the process?"
Venetia tried to rise and Ulrich forced her back to her knees. In the darkness she could smell his hot sex, close to her face. She could almost taste him, and ... oh, God, she could! Gripping her hair, he had yanked her head back with a vicious, jerking motion. When she'd opened her mouth to cry out, he'd popped his knob neatly into her mouth. It slid along the surface of her curling tongue, throbbing and warm, threatening to spill its sperm at any moment. When it began to jerk against the roof of her mouth she spat the revulsive thing free, almost gagging as she did so.
Ulrich made small, animal-like whimpers as he fought the coming orgasm. Quickly, he flung Venetia to the floor and mounted her, his wild passion giving him the needed strength to overpower her. He dug his fingers into the vaginal lips, spreading them, then rammed his fiery cock deeply into the slightly moist slit. He managed to bury himself before his straining testicles pushed their hot jets through his twitching shaft. Venetia cried softly as she felt his scalding fluids spurting up her canal.
Ulrich arose and tightened the belt of his robe. "You could be excellent, my dear, if you'd put forth a small effort."
"Patrick will kill you for this," she spat angrily.
He chuckled weakly, his lust spent. "I'd advise you not to mention this to Galsworthy," he said. "It would only hasten his death." He stepped quickly through the door and closed it behind him.
Venetia arose and threw herself across the bed, her tortured cries disappearing into the pillow. She hated herself for being a woman-despised the hot, female object between her thighs, an object which seemed to become more prominent as the days progressed. She wanted to go to Galsworthy, to tell him and to cry, perhaps to have him make love to her, but she dared not.
XI
Venetia said nothing to Galsworthy of the rape by Ulrich. No great harm had been done, and Patrick would surely be at Ulrich's throat if he learned of the incident. Such an action could only end in catastrophe. According to the plan the Irishman had discussed with Venetia, they would bide their time before trying to escape. When the attempt did come, he did not mean for it to take place at the plantation. The number of Ulrich's men and the automatic weapons they possessed would put their chance of success at zero. It was best to wait until they were on the trail, traveling in small numbers.
Galsworthy had not yet given up on the emeralds, and it worked to their advantage to be open with Ulrich about this. He readily accepted the bits of memory which seemed to be returning to Venetia concerning the messages from Stanley. The entire week and part of the next was spent following false leads to nearby villages and commonly used trails. The ruse was aided by the fact that Stanley Cabet had indeed shown himself at almost every place the party visited.
"I doubt," Ulrich commented bitterly, as they returned to the plantation after another day's search, "that your husband was man enough to be honest with you, Venetia."
"Then why don't you forget about the emeralds?" Venetia suggested. "Patrick and I are most willing. For all we know, they are lost for an eternity. I could use the money they would bring, most certainly, but a man with your wealth has no actual need of them."
Ulrich lit up one of the thin wood-tipped cigars which he habitually smoked. "I would think that my pride is strongly evident by now," he said. "By taking the emeralds from me, Stanley achieved a victory-a hollow victory as it turned out, but a victory nevertheless. Up to this point in my life, he's the only man who can say that."
"Dead men tell no tales," Galsworthy said, a bit of irony in his voice. By now the Irishman was almost ready for a change of plans. Even on the trail he and Venetia had been watched too closely for an escape attempt. Alone, he might have succeeded, but Ulrich always managed to keep Galsworthy and Venetia separated by the body of men. As for the emeralds, he was almost willing to forsake them in exchange for their lives, but Ulrich's malice and distrust would permit no such compromise. To Galsworthy's knowledge, the German had shown no bitterness or efforts at retaliation against Venetia, but he had no doubts that such thoughts existed in Ulrich's scheming mind.
The man was tricky, but the Irishman had not been fooled by the display of hospitality. Ulrich was waiting for something, but what? Galsworthy had seen the growing lust in Ulrich's face as he watched Venetia, and it was becoming hard to control. If he wanted her so badly, he only had to take her, killing her solitary protector in the process. This, perhaps, was the key. Ulrich did not need him. Venetia was the only one necessary to lead him to the emeralds. And yet he waited. Did the man possess a drop of human kindness in his otherwise rotten character? Was he waiting for an actual escape attempt before gunning him down, being unable to do it in cold blood because of that single incident in Rio years ago?
Another thing Galsworthy noticed was that Ulrich seemed to be making an attempt to transfer some of his thwarted admiration for Venetia to Garman's daughter, Anita. Garman had tried to keep her from Ulrich's presence as much as possible, and had succeeded admirably, with two or three exceptions. This obvious sexual plot of Ulrich's had little to do with the welfare of Venetia and the Irishman, but Galsworthy was interested for several reasons. He had known the girl's mother, and thereby felt concern for her. But even more prominent was the thought that Garman was obviously worried about Anita becoming a victim of Ulrich's animal lust. If he became concerned enough, Garman could always offer a possible means of escape.
An incident on the trail the following day led to the near end. Ulrich was at the head of the column with Venetia. Only moments before they had unsuspectingly come upon two Indian youths engaged in frantic copulation at the edge of a stream. The boy had fled in fright, and the party of gruff men had mocked the girl to tears. None of them had shown a deep sexual interest in her, for the girl was not a day over thirteen. Several had gone so far as to tweak her childish breasts and pat her almost hairless cunt.
Ulrich, however, had been aroused by the sight of the youths making love, for he began to make slight advances toward Venetia as they moved deeper into the jungle. A touch of his hand against her buttocks, a slight pressure against her breasts as he reached across her under the pretense of pushing a viny growth aside, his thigh brushing intimately against hers as they walked. Venetia marched with eyes straight ahead, ignoring the all too obvious advances of Ulrich and hoping that Galsworthy would not see them.
All the while, Galsworthy had been slipping up through the column, almost unnoticed, so subtly did he move, and was at Ulrich's back when the man grasped Venetia's cunt through the coarse fabric of her breeches. The Irishman moved like a striking snake, relieving the nearest thug of his knife and pressing the point against Ulrich's twitching throat.
"Are you crazy?" Ulrich tried to remain cool while his eyes searced for the unseen blade. "My men will cut you to ribbons at a word from me."
"But you won't see it," Galsworthy gritted. "Stay away from Venetia, Karl. This is my final warning."
"You're in no position to make demands," Ulrich snapped.
"Only in the position to kill you," Galsworthy said.
Ulrich forced an unfelt laugh. "It was only a little fun, Patrick. Surely, a man like you can appreciate...."
"She doesn't appreciate it," Galsworthy said, looking at the extremely pale Venetia.
The entire group had stopped, anticipating the climax and solution of the present problem. Ulrich's henchmen readied their guns, preparing to shoot the Irishman dead at a signal from their employer. "You have made a very foolish move, Patrick" Ulrich said, his composure unbelievable. "Have you ever stopped to think what will happen when you take that knife away from my throat? I could have you killed instantly."
"But you won't."
"I don't need you, Patrick. You must know that by now."
"But you do," Venetia said bluntly. "Having me isn't enough. If you kill Patrick, Stanley's secret dies with me. I won't talk regardless of what you do to me."
Ulrich smiled and nipped his hand. "So we have a stalemate on our hands, but even that will be taken care of shortly. Perhaps tonight." He shrugged and Galsworthy took the knife away. It was promptly reclaimed by its owner, and the still angry Irishman was forced back to the rear of the column.
Galsworthy wondered at Ulrich's reference to that night, but he was too incensed to give it much thought. Looking past the men who walked before him, he could see that Ulrich was once again caressing the more intimate parts of Venetia's anatomy. This time he could not relieve the situation. The solitary man behind him had his rifle centered squarely on the Irishman's spine.
Upon their return to the plantation that night, Ulrich acted as if nothing had changed. He was almost too civil as they dined, and Galsworthy thought it strange that both Garman and his daughter were present for the meal. It had not been so since the first day of their arrival.
"A command performance," Ulrich explained, answering Galsworthy's unasked question. His eyes looked past Venetia and feasted on the maidenly charms of the uneasy Anita. "Would you not say, Patrick, that such a lovely creature is worthy of my attentions, and that she should indeed put on quite a performance?"
"I don't think I have to ask what kind of performance," Galsworthy said, suddenly having lost his appetite and pushing away from the table.
Ulrich put up a restraining hand, and nodded to the armed guard who stood at the double doors which led to the dining area. "Stay, Patrick. I insist that you do. Both you and your valued lady. I want you to see how well I account for myself with the women, and the dear Venetia must get a taste of the delightful things that are in store for her in the near future." Ulrich laughed. "Don't look so undone, Patrick. A man who has frequented the world's most outstanding brothels shouldn't be astounded by anything."
"There are places for whore-house ways," Galsworthy spat. "This isn't one of them."
Garman stood suddenly, his gaunt features darkly outlined as he extended his hands. "Senor Ulrich, I beg you. Reconsider the thing you are about to do."
"What is there to reconsider?" Ulrich asked. "I want the girl, and I am willing to pay for her."
"I cannot sell my own daughter," Garman insisted. He was quivering with fear, but was forcing himself to be a man. "She is barely eighteen, a virgin, untouched by a man until this time."
"Anita," Ulrich asked sharply, "are you truly a virgin?"
Anita stared at the tablecloth, her hands folded in her lap. "Please, Senor, do not ask me such personal questions."
"Answer me!"
"Only ... once have I let a boy ... " The girl's voice faded away.
Ulrich's laughter was mocking. "You see, Garman, your eyes are not as sharp as you think them to be. The girl has admitted to sleeping with one boy. Who, in truth, can swear that she has not enjoyed coitus with half the native boys on the plantation?"
"She would not ... " Garman's voice was choked with emotion at the revelation by his supposedly innocent daughter. Disillusionment showed in his face as he condemned her with his eyes. "Anita." She refused to look at him and he strode angrily from the room, leaving her to the fate that Ulrich had chosen for her.
"Mr. Ulrich ... Karl," Venetia implored. "Don't do this to the girl."
"Why should you be concerned, Mrs. Cabet?"
Ulrich snapped. "After all, it is you who are responsible."
"I?"
"Yes, you." Ulrich arose and goose-stepped around the room. "You have preyed upon my sexual ego ever since your arrival. You have dared me to prove myself a man, yet you have not allowed me to do so. I must vent my erotic frustrations upon one female or another."
"Does it have to be the girl?"
Ulrich smiled. "Are you willing to act as her stand-in, to be the sacrificial lamb?"
Venetia's genitals contracted at the thought, but Galsworthy was moving around the table, heading for Ulrich. The guard was instantly between them, his weapon aimed at the Irishman's middle.
Ulrich's face was dark with anger as he spoke. "Patrick, you have proved yourself to be a problem in more ways than one. Try to take this bit of pleasure from me and I promise that neither you nor Mrs. Cabet will live to see the light of another day." Ulrich took Anita by the hand and motioned for the others to follow them outside. "Come! I want all of you to see that Karl Ulrich is a good and capable man."
Why Ulrich insisted upon performing before his entire crew, Galsworthy did not know, unless the man had doubts about his own manhood and felt that he had to prove it to the world by making an exhibitionist of himself. Galsworthy surveyed the eager group gathered in a circle by the huge bonfire. Many of the men were already drunk, and several were making love to native women in the shadows. He recognized Tad, Rollie, and the man called Charlie. There were others he did not know, had never seen, but his attention was drawn mainly to the Turk. Turk sat back from the group, his eyes glazed with drink and hate, his faint movements visibly nursing the deep hurt at his crotch. From the expression on his face as he looked at Galsworthy, it was evident that the big man blamed him more than Ulrich for the partial castration.
A plan played in the Irishman's mind. Perhaps he and Venetia could escape during the orgy of sex and drink. What better time? He thought of Garman. If he could save Anita from the ravishing Ulrich, Garman would become an ally. The idea was quickly discarded. Garman had turned his back on the girl upon discovering that she had already lost her virginity to some unknown lad. He had left her to follow in the footsteps of her hated mother.
Ulrich paraded around the fire, barefooted and stripped to the waist. The flames glinted on his bronzed but hairless chest. Slowly, his hand came to his belt, and he stripped away his trousers and shorts. He was a well proportioned man, not too muscular, but lithe and supple on his feet. His stomach, like his chest, was almost free of hair, but the substance grew in a profuse mass around his genitals. His penis was softly bloated, not yet showing the desire which simmered in his loins. He walked toward the trembling Anita with a funny smile playing on his thin lips.
"Senor," she said.
Taking one of her hands, he guided it to his organ, forcing her to cuddle it until a strong erection occurred. When the shaft sprang from his groin in a hard mass of flesh, he began to finger the girl's blouse, and did not stop until he had stripped her to the waist. She stood silently before him, trying to partially conceal the medium mounds of femininity which sat firmly on her chest. The girlish tits were perfection against the glowing light of the fire, with small nipples that pointed upward toward the dark heavens.
Ulrich held a breast in each hand, gently caressing them. He kneaded the tiny nipples until they were hard, rubbery knots of red against his thumbs. Anita's face paled beneath her olive skin, and her white, even teeth showed as her lips parted with sporatic breathing. "Dance!" Ulrich commanded. "Dance for us, my pretty one."
Anita danced to silent music, her skirts swirling high around her slender thighs as she moved in a circle, shaking her hips with a tantalizing jerk as she passed Ulrich on each turn. She raised the hem of the shirt, swishing it back and forth, and Galsworthy could see the crotch of her plain cotton panties. They were white, of such thickness that the shadow of her pubic hair did not show through, but the shape of the exquisite and youthful mound was revealed strongly.
"Enough!" Ulrich grabbed at the swirling skirt as she passed again, ripping it from her in a swift movement. She leaned, her back to him, while he ran his hand beneath her panties and played with her furry little cunt. The hair was like silk beneath his fingers, warm and slightly moist where it ducked between her hot thighs. Still standing behind her, his tumbs looped over the panties and edged them over her hips. He stooped, then kneeled, kissing the small of her back, and biting each exposed buttock with sharp, fine teeth. Anita moaned softly, her body fully erect as she lifted first one foot and then the other from the panties. A groan went up from the crowd as Ulrich tossed the intimate article into the fire. The panties were consumed almost immediately, turning first black, and then a fiery red before disintegrating completely.
"As hot as her little pussy," someone said.
Ulrich's penis had now reached its ultimate length and thickness, and he gripped the girl's hips as he advanced from behind her. He slipped his prick between her buttocks and between her thighs, laughingly parading her around the fire in this position so that all eyes might see. His blood engorged knob did indeed protrude from beyond the girl's pubic hair, like an enlarged clitoris springing from between her vaginal lips. The girl's shapely body was thin, not having reached the full-blown maturity of womanhood, but this took nothing away from the size of Ulrich's organ. Any staff which could travel such distance was ample, and no man in the crowd could proclaim a finer weapon, except the Turk, who could not be considered human.
Embarrassed by the display, Anita tried to push the hard rod from between her thighs. His face a chalky mass by now, Ulrich withdrew slightly, pumping his shaft in and out, and feeling the soft, giving lips of her cunt become slightly open and moist. He grabbed her roughly and forced her to her knees, facing him. The girl registered ignorance, staring in amazement as the huge knob came ever closer to her mouth.
Ulrich shoved his hips forward. "Kiss it, my dear."
Anita shook her head vigorously. Grasping her hair, Ulrich placed his knob against her violently trembling lips. "Now!" he said viciously.
The girl closed her eyes, hoping that the hot, foreign thing would go away. When it continued to push against her reluctant lips, she opened her mouth and took it in. The huge knob was choking. She pushed at it with her tongue, unable to free her head from Ulrich's firm grip. He hunched his stiff cock further into her mouth, moaning as her tongue rolled wetly around his flushed glans.
"Senor ... " she choked. The tongue rolled again.
"Oh ... good!" Ulrich said excitedly. "Ah, suck it now."
Knowing no way out, Anita did as bidded, applying first a gentle suction, then, in an effort to finish it, a more vigorous one. His flesh seemed to expand in her mouth, and each time she tried to withdraw, the maddened Ulrich countered by probing more deeply.
"Ahhh. That's it." A delicious tingling ran along Ulrich's shaft and culminated in his balls. Oh, damn. She was sucking harder now, seeming to like it. He'd like to come right in her mouth. No. He couldn't. He had to show the men. Had to make them respect their leader. He jerked his knob free and the girl's teeth clicked loudly together at the sudden removal.
Anita kneeled, her face against the ground to hide her shame. Her spreading buttocks jutted into the air, unprotected from a rear assault. Ulrich was instantly behind her, wanting to show his worth at each and every position. He was on his knees, shoving his inflamed knob at the small, puckering anus. The girl's face snapped upward and she tried to scamper away from him. Ulrich ran his hands around her thighs, holding her in position. The mounds of her ass clenched, then relaxed. He probed the soft flesh with his shaft until his knob rested flush against the tightly contracting ass-hole. He pushed forward and she closed the orifice to him entirely. His glans tingled against the rough, sucking movement. "Uhhh." He gave a powerful surge forward.
"Eeeeiii!" Anita's scream was loud and long, as the cock tore through the rubbery tissue with a single thrust. She'd never felt such pain, such bursting pressure in any part of her body. She couldn't stand it ... not a moment longer.
Ulrich's shaft buckled as he tried to shove it deeper. Anita cried out again. Oh, God, how it hurt! She should never have allowed him ... she should have fought like a wildcat. Ahhh. That strange tingling in her loins. What was it? The hurt didn't seem so bad now. In fact, the grinding penis was beginning to feel most pleasurable.
"Senor! Senor!" she cried, suddenly going into a rapid spasm, so that Ulrich's embedded knob was almost wrenched from his shaft.
"Gaaa ... " Ulrich snorted, his eyes bulging as her jerking anus held him in a grip of death. Damn, he was going to come if he didn't free himself. It was all going to be over ... if ... "Senor!"
The girl pushed her quivering ass at him. Ulrich groaned, righting the impending climax. He rammed forward as he lost the battle and the hot jets of sperm gushed into her bowels.
"Oh, Senor!" Anita sank to the ground, dragging Ulrich's battered cock with her. The lips of her cunt twitched as she experienced a full and complete orgasm of her own.
Ulrich was more than pleased with his performance, and was satisfied temporarily. However, the cries of the men urged him to proceed, and he had no choice but to continue to show his sexual prowess although the lust in his body burned at a low ebb. The girl's stomach still squirmed against the ground, her buttocks contracting periodically, as if she were still straining to come. Her eyes were glazed with dark passion when Ulrich took her shoulders and rolled her over.
Anita stared up at the hovering Ulrich, her firm breasts rising and falling with her deep breathing. Exhausted as she was, she appeared willing to have it all happen again, and she made no protest as Ulrich fell beside her and began to suck one dainty teat and then the other. She experienced a crawling sensation around the nipples, which quickly expanded to the entire globes, then bathed the remainder of her body in a warm glow, even in the expended area of her cunt.
Ulrich's penis hung quite limp between his legs, but he continued to fondle her breasts until minor sensations could be felt moving into his genitals once more. His mouth suckled and smacked at her breasts as if they were new and exotic fruits, sometimes engulfing half the spongy globes in an effort to devour their sweetness completely. As for Anita, she had never really suspected that these thoroughly titillated mounds were such a prominent part of her sexual make-up. She would have gladly allowed his mouth to remain there until the nipples became raw with irritation.
The German sat to inspect his penis, which had not yet strengthened itself enough for actual penetration. Anita's thighs were spread wide, her small slit pink and swelling beneath the damp black muff. She sighed brokenly as Ulrich licked each inner thigh, running his tongue along her labia, then ducking inward at the last moment.
Anita started as the tip of Ulrich's tongue touched her inflamed clitoris. He flicked at it until it was a small, slippery mass against his lips. She raised her buttocks into the air, purposely widening her thighs. Ulrich was made heady with the sexual perfume of the youthful slit, and his mouth worked feverishly into the inner lips, sucking hungrily at the entire channel.
"Oh, Senor," Anita whined. "Eat me!" She hunched at his face until the lower portion was wet with her fluids, and still Ulrich licked at her until his fleshly appetite was satiated. When he did lean back his cock was a bulging mass of blue-veined flesh, bobbing and searching for a crevice in which to relieve itself.
Ulrich scooted between the girl's thighs. She tried to move away from him as his large knob strained against her hot vulva. He shoved again and she backed off like a crab. His drive was blunted by some unseen obstacle for a second time, and he gripped her hips to try again. Bracing his shaft, he drove steadily forward. The girl's straining cunt opened to engulf his glans. She cried out and pushed herself to a half-sitting position, her eyes staring pensively at the hard cock which sought entrance.
"No, Senor, I can't!"
"You can't?" Ulrich croaked.
"Please do not make me," she pleaded.
"But you've enjoyed the rest of it," Ulrich growled, unable to understand her sudden reluctance.
"The other, yes," she said quickly, looking away from him. "This, no. I can't."
"Why not?" Ulrich roared.
"Because I am pure," she said softly, her dark eyes still brimming with passion. "Pure?"
"I am still a virgin."
Ulrich slapped her, snapping her head around. "You are a lying little whore. You have tasted half the cocks in the territory."
Anita clasped her hands to her face. "No, it is true. A boy ... a man has never done this thing to me."
"But you told your father ... " Ulrich saw no reason to discuss the matter with her, but he continued to be dismayed by her refusal to conduct coitus in the prescribed manner. He liked perversion in a woman as well as any man, perhaps more so, but he also enjoyed topping it off with a proper fuck.
"Only to protect him," Anita said, putting her hands to her breasts. "If he had known I was truly virgin, he would have fought you for my honor, and you would have killed him."
Ulrich looked impressed, almost sympathetic. "It is good to see a child so devoted, so sacrificing." he said, and then, with a laugh, he pushed her to her back and remounted her. She struggled beneath him, but his knob was firmly entrenched between her thighs. She tried to close them against him, but he respread them with a vicious surge of strength.
"Senor ... don't."
Ulrich watched his glowing knob as it pushed beneath the dark powder puff, relishing the sight of the tight pink slit straining to either repulse or admit his charging cock. Her vagina pushed out at him, then contracted in a sucking motion. Grasping her ass and lifting her, he drove steadily forward.
"Oohh!" Anita felt her hymen sag, then split as Ulrich bored a good two inches into her vagina. "Don't ... " Her mouth froze in an opened position as she felt the hard prick plowing deeper into her tight canal. It tore brutally at her insides, each inch bringing more pain. "Oh, please ... you're killing me!"
"Sweet, tight little pussy," Ulrich moaned, giving a final mighty thrust which sent him to the hilt. His sac was flush with her tensed buttocks, and his pubic hair mingled with her virgin muff. She groaned and shifted, trying to adjust her tortured parts to the bulging shaft which threatened to split them. The lips of her cunt formed a tight band around the embedded prick, and Ulrich took short strokes in and out of her, savoring the extreme tightness of her passageway. Her vagina was a burning sheath against his cock, tightening excruciatingly, relaxing slightly, then pouring forth its hotly lubricating fluids. He withdrew his shaft completely, then slammed it into her again, groaning out his enjoyment as the female's flesh rippled against his own.
Her virginity torn completely away, Anita concentrated on the hot, stiff penis which rammed her hole. It was better than anything he had done so far, and she felt that she should die if he did not continue forever. He was withdrawing the huge knob, then putting it in her again, and it slid up and down her belly like a hot poker of flesh. "Fuck, oh fuck, Senor!" she cried, her nails digging into his back. Her head rolled back and forth and a bit of spittle gathered at one corner of her mouth as he continued to pummel her with that filling monster. Her cunt was alive, all-feeling; grasping, sucking, crawling along the stiff, hot penis. She wanted it. More and more of it. The sweet, agonizing building began, flowing through her loins, creeping through her buttocks, bathing her slit with a warm, wet glow of sex. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!
Ulrich pumped madly into her, his battering cock slick with her virgin fluids. Grasping her thighs, he stood, raising her lower body with him so that her head was on the ground, her eyes looking up at him.
"Uh, uh, uh." Anita's face was a twitching mask of passion as she watched the wonderful thing tear out of sight beneath her furry mound. It was almost over, and her fluids strained upward. The hard cock disappeared again into the sweat-drenched muff. It reached more deeply than ever before, throbbing and jerking as the swollen knob spat its hot semen against her vaginal walls.
"Arrggh!" Ulrich's balls jerked convulsively, and he shuddered as the girl replied. Her buttocks undulated, clenched, and the pearly white fluids pumped from her cunt in spasmodic gushes of heat.
"At least," Galsworthy commented as he watched the two lovers collapse, "I'm glad the girl enjoyed it." He was amazed to find that his own penis was a bulging erection against his thigh. He was even more surprised to find Venetia's hand resting on it, squeezing it tightly. Another moment and she'd have had it out of his pants.
XII
Ulrich raised his hands to put down the chants and cries of his men. "Later," he said. "Later." He knew that they wanted to share the girl with him, but he had decided that such a sharing was some time off. It was not often that a man was fortunate enough to find a complete virgin, and only a fool would be tempted to share such a jewel before he had tired of it. He slipped back into his trousers while Anita dressed. "Back to the house, my lovely," Ulrich said, squeezing her cunt through her skirt as a parting gesture of his affection. She smiled appreciatively.
Someone was coming up the trail from the left of the clearing, and Galsworthy could hear a man's protesting voice. Venetia, who was still sitting beside Galsworthy, felt her face go pale as Senor Delgado was pushed closer to the gathering by several of Ulrich's henchmen. "Senor Ulrich," the little Portuguese panted, falling to his knees and clasping his hands in mock prayer. "I swear to the...."
"Shut up!" Ulrich snapped. He turned to look at Venetia and Galsworthy, a grim smile forming. "This is the thing of which I spoke today," he said. "Senor Delgado, the owner of the most exclusive rat hole on the Orinoco. I sent my men for him the moment you mentioned the letters from Stanley."
"Why?" Try as she might, Venetia could not prevent her composure from falling completely apart.
"To insure that the letters existed, that you weren't stringing me along." He turned to Delgado, who was still cringing on his knees, his small, bright eyes pleading for mercy.
"Your men, Senor, they beat me, tried to make me tell a truth I did not know," Delgado whined miserably.
"You mean there are no letters?"
"I swear to it on my dying bed, Senor Ulrich. No letters." The sweat of fear trickled down Delgado's quivering cheeks. "Many times I searched her room, even before she left with the Irishman, when she would leave the hotel room for awhile. I'd heard about her husband, about the emeralds. But always I found nothing! Nothing!"
"Could she have had them with her?"
"No, Senor." Delgado shook his head vigorously. "I even found the opportunity to check her handbag while she bathed."
Ulrich exhaled in a long gush. "So you see, Mrs. Cabet, you have been lying to me all along." He shrugged. "Well, so a fortune is lost."
"You won't need us any longer, I take it," Galsworthy said, rising.
"Precisely, Patrick, precisely," Ulrich said coldly. "However," he mused, "I find that I cannot bring myself to free you and the woman."
"What harm has been done?" Galsworthy braced himself for the worst.
"None, so far, Patrick," Ulrich said meticulously. "However, I keep remembering that you put a knife at my throat on the trail today ... because of a woman."
Galsworthy grunted. "A thing of the moment."
"A triviality, I agree," Ulrich said, "but you would have killed me for it?" He grinned broadly. "Mrs. Cabet has been wise enough not to tell you about it, but I now confess that I made a small sexual excursion to her room while you slept. She fought hard, but I won. Sooner or later she would have felt compelled to tell you about it, and you'd have come after me. I have no desire to lie awake nights, wondering when and where you will appear. Therefore, it is best for me that you both die. Here, in the jungle, where I can see your graves with my own eyes."
Galsworthy surveyed the mob about him. There were too many. Too many. Even if he had an automatic weapon. He wanted to die fighting, but he wanted to wait until all hope was gone before doing it. "Give us a chance," he croaked. "At least, turn us into the jungle and hunt us down like animals."
"There is nothing I'd like better, being something of a sportsman," Ulrich said, almost sincerely. "However, you have a long and illustrious history of succeeding with all the odds against you. I can't risk it."
Venetia leaned against Galsworthy's strong shoulder, her knees weak, her heart beating madly in her breast at the thought of dying.
Ulrich came close, keeping just beyond the Irishman's reach. "And you, dear Venetia," he said, "shall be the last to die. Of course, I shall first make sure that Patrick is thoroughly disposed of, but I have every intention of making you pay for your snobbery."
"You can have the emeralds ... " Venetia began.
"The emeralds were never yours to share," Ulrich snapped. "They weren't even Stanley's to share with you. I hate to disillusion you, Mrs. Cabet, but Stanley was but a common thief, hired by me to carry off one of the greatest jewelry robberies in South America's history. All of the stories Stanley told you were lies, fantasies he manufactured to conceal the fact that he was forever to be an unsuccessful bungler. However, he surprised me by being most successful on the Rio job. But he made even this a failure for himself when he tried to flee with the entire take."
"Ah, but she has already hurt me, Patrick, by refusing my love," Ulrich said quickly. "But I promise that she will plead with me to take her in any manner that pleases me, even as she digs her own grave. And after you are dead, Patrick, I shall oblige her. Up until the moment she dies, your lovely Venetia shall practice every perversion known to woman upon my body, hoping to save her miserable life. And she will do it, knowing that I am going to kill her the moment my lust for her has been fully fed."
"You black-hearted bastard ... " An armed guard leaped between Galsworthy and Ulrich. Another man brought shovels, and Venetia and Galsworthy began to dig their own graves under the watchful eyes of Ulrich and his men.
Galsworthy, stripped to the waist and sweating profusely, climbed out of the rectangular hole he had dug and tossed his shovel aside. Venetia was crying softly as she spaded the hard earth, having achieved a poor showing for all her effort. Ulrich had added to her humiliation by forcing her to work in the nude. Sweat dripped lazily from her swinging breasts, and her blonde mound was an almost muddy mass of sweat and dirt.
"I'll be damned if I'll do any more," Galsworthy gritted. He was trying to move close to Ulrich, hoping to get his hands at the man's throat before the end came. If he could possibly kill Ulrich, Venetia would have an excellent chance at survival. The thugs, he knew, would rape her unmercifully, but she would live. Anything was better than dying.
Ulrich reached out to take a weapon from the man nearest him. He smiled as he pointed it at Galsworthy's chest. "I well know what you have in mind, Patrick" he said, "and I'd rather have a mamba within striking distance."
"Damn you! Fight me like a man!" the Irishman bellowed.
"I would, but ... " Ulrich spun around abruptly as an angry spitting sound erupted at the jungle's edge. Ulrich fell, cursing as his guts were ripped out by the chattering sub-machine gun. Galsworthy sprang for the freshly-dug grave, taking Venetia with him as he went in head first. Peering over the edge, he could see Ulrich's men milling around like confused sheep. Some were firing back at the death which spat at them from the darkness, but their numbers were being rapidly reduced. The few Indians present had fled upon seeing Ulrich die, and the dwindling white men were left to fight alone.
One man leaped across the open pit, gun in hand, only to die in mid-air. Realizing that the grave offered immediate safety, the several remaining men were making a mad dash for it. Galsworthy stooped to pick up the fallen man's rifle, then stood quickly to fire at the closest two men. They fell almost simultaneously, and only Turk and the man called Rollie were left behind. Screaming like a demon, Turk raised his own weapon to return Galsworthy's fire. The Irishman squeezed the trigger and emptied the semi-automatic into the giant's chest. Turk fell with his eyes already glazing as his head thumped over the edge of the pit.
Rollie jumped into the hole with Galsworthy and Venetia, cursing as he tried to turn and steady his own weapon. Galsworthy slapped the muzzle aside and his hands fastened on the screaming man's throat. This time there was no reprieve for Rollie. The Irishman meted out death with his bare hands.
A half dozen men walked into the clearing. Two of them were supporting one of their number who had been critically wounded during the battle. Galsworthy and Venetia greeted them with smiles which quickly turned to consternation as the dying man raised his head.
"Stanley," Venetia gasped.
"Hello, Venetia ... " Stanley Cabet forced a smile through his blood-flecked lips. Already his eyes had begun to take on a faraway expression. He coughed loudly.
"Stanley ... the mamba," Venetia said softly.
"There was no ... mamba," Stanley said. "At least not for me. One of my men was snake-bitten and died on the trail. There ... was some resemblance ... and I figured, with the decomposition of the body and all, that Ulrich would be fooled. He was." Venetia moved close, hoping to comfort him, and he motioned her away with a weak effort. "It's all over, Venetia. Another failure." And Stanley Cabet died with an ironic smile on his face.
XIII
Venetia walked down the hallway, humming softly to herself. She was refreshed, and her body felt youthful and exciting beneath the first truly feminine clothing she had worn in weeks. Tomorrow, she and Galsworthy would be leaving the plantation, heading back to civilization. They had decided to return the jewelry Stanley had in his possession. The remaining men had agreed to it, provided that they be allowed to vanish inconspicuously into the jungle. Afterward, who knew what would happen? Patrick had mentioned the fifty-fifty proposition to her again, and a possible honeymoon to Paris. A smile played on her lips, then quickly vanished as she heard muffled sounds coming from the door nearest her. She paused and pushed the door gently open.
Galsworthy and the girl, Anita, were lying on the bed. The Irishman had his mouth capped over one of the girl's firm teats, and her mouth was opening and closing with the suction he applied. "Oh, Senor Pat ... " she gasped, her thighs wiggling back and forth as he ran a ringer through her pink slit, manipulating the tiny crimson clitoris and stirring up an abundance of creamy fluids in her hot little slit.
Venetia started to protest, then thought better of it. Galsworthy was willing to forget what Ulrich and the Turk had done to her. Why should she not also overlook this small indiscretion on his part?
As Galsworthy continued to rub her crotch, Anita's thighs opened wide. Her inflamed, pulsating clitoris sprang from her labia, a small female penis, fully erect and waiting. Galsworthy titillated it until the shimmering fluids had gathered prolifically at its base, and then he mounted her. His cock was being mutually admired by both Anita and Venetia. It was an enormous organ, yet was not so outlandish as to make him some kind of freak. The shaft was milky-white against his tanned body, and the blue veins pulsated along its surface like tiny, passionate snakes. The glowing, purplish-red knob was placed below the girl's delicate black muff, then eased slowly forward. Anita oh'd and ah'd as the hard cock crept inch by inch into her quivering stomach, her slender buttocks coming tightly together as she felt his balls come against them.
Galsworthy gave the girl time to fully appreciate the presence of his entire shaft in her vagina, and, as the thankful sleeve of flesh began to express its gratitude with a violent series of contortions, he began a rapid pumping, his prick coming out to the knob, then zipping back into the girl's smoldering cunt with gusto.
For the second time in her life, Venetia was seeing two other people engage in intercourse, and it was in itself an education. Her view was perfect as she watched the stiff penis slide in and out of Anita's clasping pink slit. Her vaginal lips were frictioning against the pummeling cock, showing a sucking action as he withdrew, then seeming to disappear entirely as he drove to the hilt. Venetia's eyes were almost admiring as she watched the Irishman increase the girl's excitement. He was prodding her with a smooth, even motion now, and her fluids had not only bathed his shaft well, but were gathering in the indented oval formed by her cunt.
"Sweet ... ah, Senor Pat, fuck!" Anita cried out as the final spasm began to form in her loins. She whipped her small ass at Galsworthy's prick in an almost violent fashion, and did not cease until she had achieved a hot, lasting orgasm which wet the sheets beneath her. "Come ... come ... she pleaded, still quivering beneath the pounding cock.
Venetia cleared her throat, and Galsworthy looked over his shoulder as he drove madly into the juicy, clutching gash beneath him. His balls melted in a tingling heat, and his semen shot hotly into Anita's belly, followed by a second and a third jet. "Uhhh ... just having one last fling, Duck," the Irishman explained as a fourth jet drained him.
Venetia turned away to hide her smile, not at all surprised to find her own slit moist and warm. She was, after all, getting quite a guy, and it would indeed be a pleasure to bed him down again.
