I knew Bess well and she has told me in great detail the unbelievable story that for her begins in that unnaturally cold winter of 1830. Bess was only 13 years of age, a shapely young girl with small breasts just beginning to show their rosebud tips through a thick weave-work frock; long sturdy legs made for the rugged north country, and the face of an angel surrounded by masses of rich golden hair falling down to a slim waist.
Hiram Gagnon, her father, had been the off-spring of a French-Irish union and he had strayed from the norm when, in the spring of 1816, he took for his wife Hiilka, a white-gold beauty of Icelandic origin, and settled in the area of Danby's Post to hunt, fish and farm. A year later, Bess was born and within two days Hiram Gagnon was found dead just north of the post, mutilated by the wild beasts of the forest.
Hiilka found gainful employment at the post where Ephraim and Martha Danby, with scarcely enough for themselves, found supplies and care for the young widow and her infant child.
Mistress Gagnon and young Bess lived in the small cottage built for them by Hiram. They tended its garden and sewed bright curtains for the windows and colorful cloths for the table, so that despite the hardships, they lived a good life.
It was Bess' thirteenth year, and she and her mother sat by a glowing fire, sewing and quietly enjoying the warmth and the comfort, when there came a knock on the door.
Without hesitation, Hiilka, expecting it to be Ephraim, answered, but then stood frozen to the floor. It was not Ephraim nor was it a friend. She tried to scream a warning to Bess, but a large brown hand clamped down across her lips. Throwing her body against the door, she was able to partially close it, while Bess, terrified, quickly rushed under the bedstead nearby and crouched into a corner behind a shuck of dried grass. She held her hands fast against her mouth to keep from screaming in her terror.
Suddenly the door again swung open with such a force that it flung Hiilka half way cross the room, and two brown figures loomed tall over her. Before she could call out for help from the nearby post the hand was against her mouth once more. These were Indians from the Saracee tribe, not particularly noted for their cruelty, nor indeed, for their kindness.
Tall, brown and leering, one held Hiilka, struggling, while the other looked at her intimately from head to toe. She was a fine figure of a woman then, mature, but well curved, her white gold hair in plaits, piled high on her head; fire in her eyes to defy the devil himself. Alas, these were no devils but mere human males on a search for a sacrifice which would bring them good luck again in their hunting endeavors. Both fish and animals were not too plenteous of late and the Saracees believed that if they could ravage a golden-haired woman, their hunting prowess would be returned to them once more.
Fascinated, Bess watched the natives from her vantage point beneath the bed and uttered not a sound lest the same fate befall her. With leather thongs they bound her mother's hands to the rafters so that only her toes touched the ground and then stuffed rawhide in her mouth to keep her from alerting anyone on the post. One went to the door and opened it, letting others of their number enter.
The young girl Bess could hardly contain herself when one of these brown heathens took a knife from his belt. With one motion he slashed the woman from neck to knees, very expertly, and in a manner peculiar to the Saracee tribe. There was not a mark on her smooth, white body, but every thread holding together the bodice and skirt of the frock, petticoat and binder were slashed as though a cocoon had been sliced open.
The savages stood and looked at the beautiful sight in awe and wonder, for they had not anticipated such perfection of body. Hiilka's breasts stood proudly, with round full tips pointing upward; her smooth soft belly, heaving and beautiful right down to the nest of pale golden hair through which peered two pink lips of her nearly unused womanhood. Then without a word, one of the warriors slipped down his white man's breeches to display a magnificent pole straining forward. The tip was round and swollen and blood red veins stood out the length of it. It jerked upward and pushed toward the woman's cunt hole.
From her hiding place Bess stared, also in awe and wonder. What was this great weapon pointing at her mother? She had not ever known such facts of the human body, nor did she know whether such swords were private property of Indians alone, or did white men also possessed such spears.
The villain came forward pointing his thing at her mother's crotch and reached down to open the bottom lips as he rammed the pole hard up her belly with no preparation. Bess was sure her mother would die from this stab.
Hiilka gasped through her gag as her assailant grabbed her lush bottom with his two hands to firmly impale her honey pot on his tool. Pulling her forward and lunging his tool in, then pulling it out-in and out about four or five times, until he then stood bolt upright. With a groan, he let go of his prize and slunk away, his tool small and limp and dripping slime as it slipped from the woman's soft nest. White pasty liquid trickled down Hiilka's legs. Her face was flushed as she watched the next Indian approach of his attack.
Bess could see the next assailant clearly, his front pole stuck out straight, a bulge showing through the wrap which he wore. As he flipped up the wrap, she saw his huge machine and marveled at its size. It was nearly twice as big as the previous one, and the knob on the end of it seemed to be at a bursting point. Surely this one would split her mother if he stuck it into her warm pee hole. Bess turned away, her face in a panic as the brown creature pushed his stick against her mother. Hiilka moaned as he kept pushing, pushing. He crouched and again pushed slowly up and then forward as gradually the woman swallowed up the entire weapon, leaving only the bag behind. He rammed and jammed until Hiilka closed her eyes and groaned through her mask.
Just at that moment a third ravager displayed his appendage which was much smaller than either of the other two. He slipped in behind Hiilka while yet another frantically pushed backward and forward with his huge pole poking into her front opening. With both hands he pulled open the sides of her back cheeks to display a little round pink hole in the rear.
Despite the horror of it all, Bess was tempted to laugh at the size of this little stick which was not much bigger than Mr. Danby's pointing finger. It was pointing right in toward the backside hole which was being held open by the spreading of the butt cheeks. The native with the little stick shoved and shoved it right into the back hole, while the one with the big one kept ramming and jamming into the front hole. Soon they had kind of a rhythm, both coming together at the same time and both pulling out as if they were keeping time to music. Bess sucked in her breath, her own bottom feeling hot and wet as she watched. She almost screamed when she saw her mother rear up, gasp and give a shudder before falling limp between her two attackers. For a moment Bess thought she had died, then she noticed the breathing and guessed her mother had swooned into a dead faint.
The warrior with the large pole, which was now remarkably shrunk, gently released Hiilka from her entrapment and laid her down upon the table. She stared glassy-eyed and thoroughly limp as he took a linen towel, dipped it into a pail of water and proceeded to wash down her crotch and the inside of her legs. Then, turning her over he wiped clean her back side so that the oozing liquid was all cleared away.
Then with not a sound, he wrapped her in a skin, flung her over his shoulder, turned and swiftly abducted his prize. Bess never saw her mother again.
The young girl lay crouched under the bed until morning, afraid to move, and in fear for her life least there be savages around who would do the same to her as they did to her mother. It was only when there was no reply to his persistent knocking that Mr. Danby walked into the cottage and Bess dared to crawl out from under the bed.
Ephraim cradled the young Bess in his arms as she sobbed her heart out. He rocked her back and forth until her tears subsided; then he carried her in his arms back to the trading post where his wife Martha would be able to comfort the youngster more efficiently.
Martha Danby was a good woman. She was righteously religious, pious and she practiced what was preached. She never had an evil thought in her head nor did she speak of anything that was not of a spiritual nature. When Bess tried to explain to her about the great poles of the Indians and how they pushed and rammed them into her mother's holes, Martha blushed and shushed the child saying, "Now Bess, those are things of the devil and must not be talked about. Enough time to learn of such filth when you are grown and will have to know about it."
"But Aunt Martha, does everybody have such things, or only Indians?"
"Bess, the Lord did not mean that children should know about such things. They are evil. Do not even be tempted to have wicked thoughts about those wicked things."
And that was how Bess came to believe that only savages had poles sticking out from between their legs and that white men were built the same as she unless they disobeyed the laws of religion. Then as punishment they would be given wicked rammers to grow between their legs.
CHAPTER TWO
Ephraim closed the Gagnon cottage and Bess moved in with him and Martha, to help out with household chores and as a welcome companion to the colorless, fading woman. Soon both adults depended on the youngster for their moments of laughter, for Bess was able to shut out the awful past. Such is the lot of tender adolescents ... to forget quickly that which is better not remembered.
Then one day Bess came upon Ephraim in the back woods when he had his cock out to relieve himself. She uttered a painful gasp and stood frozen to the spot as the man turned, first in surprise, then in embarrassment, and quickly plunged his member back into his trousers.
"Aeeee! You ugly, wicked man! Aahhhh! Heathen! Wickedness!" cried young Bess, quivering and shaking beyond control.
Her confused mentor grasped her by the shoulders and tried to understand the accusations being hurled upon him by this girl of extreme youth.
"Bess, what is the matter with you! Have you never seen anyone take a piss before? You were watching me, I wasn't expecting anyone to come creeping up...."
"I know about that bad pole ... Only sinners have rammers."
Ephraim slowly understood the consternation of this child. She had, of course, been exposed to the pallid, sterile Martha for too long and too much influenced.
"Here now Bess," he soothed as he gently led her to a fallen tree and brought her down to sit beside him. Caressing her tense shoulders he continued, "That rammer, Bess, is called a cock and it is very natural and right for all men to have."
"But ... but ... Aunt Martha..." began the child.
"I know, I know all about Aunt Martha," he said resignedly. "You trust me, don't you dear? You know I wouldn't hurt you for all the world."
The girl nodded tentatively for she wanted to believe her Uncle Ephraim.
She gasped as Ephraim, removing his limp cock from his trousers, exposed it to her staring eyes.
"You see, Bess, it won't hurt you. It is simply a cock. Every boy child has one at birth, sinner or no. Red man or white. Aunt Martha should really be telling you this," he mused. "Here," he offered up his prick to her, "touch it and you'll find there is nothing to fear from it."
Alas the very gentle touch of Bess' fingers as she caressed the pole, caused it to twitch involuntarily. She jumped back and gasped, "But Uncle Ephraim, that moved ... it looks almost like one of the bad Indian's things...."
"Prick, dear," he corrected. "Prick's get hard when they get excited."
Then she poured out her whole story to him. "The ... the ... wicked savages poked their hard pricks into mother's hole in front and in back, in and out and kept poking her for a long time. I thought they would kill her. . . " she sobbed, her hand again on the large tool that was now getting very hard indeed.
Ephraim reached his own hand down and placed it around hers to show her how to firmly grip his knob and to feel the throbbing lest she be more and more afraid.
"Their pricks were all dripping white paste though, Uncle. And yours is not." she ventured.
"That is because I am in a hard position. That white paste is called making a spend or a come. There are many words for these things. The prick was going in and out of your mother's front, and the front is called a cunt, and that is called fucking. That is very normal, Bess. In fact your mother and father fucked to make you. Men and women all fuck."
"Didn't you and Aunt Martha fuck?" she asked, knowing this was a childless marriage.
"Not very much, dear, and you don't always fuck for the making of a child."
"Is the back hole fucking for making children too," asked the now fascinated young girl.
"No, the cock going into the butt is called buggering and that also is a normal thing for men and women to do. Sometimes one man will ram his prick up another man's ass and that is less common, but it is buggering nonetheless."
"There are many, many other things that men and women do together or pleasure with their cocks and cunts. Sometimes a man will ... but wait," he reached his large hand and cupped a gently swelling breast.
"Ohh! What are you doing?"
"You have very nice titties dear. Undo your dress and let me hold them."
The young girl did as she was bid and freed the beautiful white birds from their constricting cage. The man gasped in wonder and building passion to see the pink nipples pointing upward from their milky white swelling mounds. Gently he caressed and kneaded the tits and the child looked on in amazement. He brought his mouth down upon one tittie and played his tongue over the surface, rasping over and around the tiny hillock.
"Aaahhh," sighed Bess. "That feels very strange."
He kissed and caressed the breasts first gently, then more passionately until his breath was hot on the cool skin of the young, inexperienced girl. She was sighing and wriggling her body sensuously against the tree trunk on which they sat, brushing her body against him from time to time. It was madness, but letting go of one breast, with his hand, while he sucked the other greedily with his hungry mouth, he reached under the hem of her worn dress and brushed her inner thighs. After a gasp of surprise she was coming to the realization that she was a woman and feeling the stirring of womanly passions. His hand suddenly touched the very brink of her cunt where small wispy clumps of hair were just beginning to curl naughtily around the hole. His finger tip barely touched the opening and found that already the juices were escaping from the so recently awakened quim. He could not fuck the child, for all that his body cried out for her, but by the gods, here was this dainty morsel placed before him and he would ... he would ... Then suddenly he pulled his hand away, and pulled his sucking lips from their prey and he stood up.
"Oh, Uncle," cried Bess disappointed that he had stopped. "Is that all there is to it? It felt so nice, or don't you like me. I have never done anything like this before, you know that. Maybe that's why I'm not very good, but if you will tell me what to do...."
He picked her up from the tree trunk and embraced her gently, resting her head against his shoulder. "There, there, my darling. You are just perfect, and it's like I said such things are not wickedness. But we won't tell Aunt Martha, for she would not understand. Here, let me take your dress off and your shift so I may see you in all your beauty, child."
And with that he led Bess to a sheltered clearing, surrounded by trees and laid with a rug of soft moss. He removed her dress, and her shift and the loose hanging drawers with their wide legs and stared at this beauty as she stood proudly, naked, her breasts jutting forward and up, her belly smooth, white and gently raised from the strong bone structure. The cunt bush was only just growing round and the soft curls barely covered the skin around the fountain of honey. He removed his coat and laid it on the moss, then his britches until he had on only his underwear and his stiff prick jutted out from that. Then he laid the beautiful virgin down gently on his coat and looked down on her. He wondered if he could resist her cherry and was sure he could not.
"What are all the things men and women do, Uncle. The things you were telling me about. I liked how you sucked my titties, that felt nice, but it makes me feel soft inside."
He again attacked her small breasts, and rained kisses and gentle nips on both of them and on her belly, and down and down until he was kissing the fur around her quim. Raising her legs as he kneeled between them he then looked on his treasure. The cunt was a gentle pink and yet unused or un-stretched by pricks, fingers or childbirth. The little point seemed to beckon to him. He dove into the crotch, trying to control his motions so as not to startle the girl, his tongue licking around the point and the hole, and he could taste the salt of unwashed perspiration and it was like mead from the gods. Her thighs rested on his shoulders as he licked and sucked ... he found the area behind her cunt that made her squirm deliriously. Then his tongue darted quickly right into the hold and he could taste the juices. Table manners forgotten he sucked noisily and saliva and girl juices dribbled down his chin and the girl raised her hips to meet him, her legs splayed to give him room and she wriggled and writhed in new found passion until she almost fainted.
His tongue probed and mouth fucked her while his lips sucked in the juices ... he reached his hands around her thighs and caressed her buttocks, around and around to make her squirm more and more. His finger found the puckered circle of her butt hole and he flicked his fingernail gently against it and then thoroughly carried away by his passions, inserted the tip of his pointer finger right into the hole. The friction of the finger against the rectal walls and the tongue rasping against the cunt walls and teeth nipping gently from time to time at the button which caused more and more juices to flow, defeated all resistance on the part of a hitherto inhibited virgin. She became taut and reared up like a wild pony as she cried out.
"Oooohhh, I'm burning! I'm dying ... ohhhh my hole ... ooohhhh my hole ... my cunt ... my cunt ... my cuu ... Ooohhhh." And she lay still, her eyes half closed, her mind and spirit in a swoon. She had all but fainted.
Ephraim was beside himself with passion. He had taught his ward the meaning of a come, and the usefulness of womanhood. He now was on the brink of madness, insanity as his swollen prick reared up, the muscles contracting and the semen fighting to escape from the constricting sheath. He wasn't going to frig himself off. He'd fuck the girl ... he'd have to fuck her.
"Uncle ... Ooohh Uncle that was like dying and coming to life. Is fucking better than what you did?"
"That's called eating cunt or sometimes people just call it sucking. There are pet names for all these things." His breathing was making speech difficult.
"Do women suck men? Can I suck you?"
"Yes, my darling child, Yes! Yes! Yes! to both." And he quickly laid himself out on the ground and motioned for her to take the great head of the distended cock into her mouth. She was a natural student and soon her tongue flicked the tip, and the ring as she sucked and sucked. Her hands reached under and she grasped at his butt for she tried to remember and to do all the things he had done to her. Her tiny finger found his hole and she experimentally inserted the tip as she continued her sucking. He was jerking his body from side to side and up and down until she thought he would choke her if he shoved anymore of his cock into her mouth.
"Hold my cock in your hand and pull up and down ... Hold ... hold ... it..." he croaked.
The willing student did as he had asked, and up and down the skin came up to her mouth then back down. Had Ephraim been told this would be his dying moment, he would have gladly surrendered to the angel of death. So sweet was this gentle mouth sucking on his prick, the slim finger reaming his butt-hole and a small tittie brushing against his leg as the body worked on him.
"Uuuhh ... Oahhhh Bess, I'm coming. ... My come is going in your mou ... mouth...."
"Mmphg ... Aaawr..." she was gagging on the copious flow of spend but she kept sucking and sucking and swallowed it down and sucked until the balls were drained fully of their fluid. He had told her to suck so she sucked and he did not tell her to stop when he came. She loved her Uncle Ephraim dearly and wanted to please.
He lay back unable to move and whispered, "Oh, Bess ... Bess, you're just fine...."
In a few moments they both got up and washed at a nearby creek. On the way back to the trading post, Ephraim again cautioned the child.
"Don't forget Bess. We won't talk to Aunt Martha about any of this because it would only make her angry and upset. This will be just our little secret."
"Certainly Uncle. If you want that. If I promise never, never to tell, will you let me do it again sometimes? Please uncle, please. Can we do things again?"
"We'll see. You just be a good girl and behave yourself." They trudged back home satisfied. Bess, because she discovered womanhood. Ephraim because his pent up sex finally was released somewhere but in his hand.
When they got back Martha was busily cleaning and tidying as usual. She shot a glance in the direction of the girl and called sharply, "Where on earth have you been child? I've worried about you."
"Just ... just..." stammered the girl.
"Just, what ... and look at your dress. It's a mess. I suppose you think I have all the time in the world to wash clothes and mend after the two of you. How did you get the mud on your dress?"
Ephraim paled and felt the earth fall away from beneath his feet. Bess, quickly recovered herself and shot him an elusive smile as she answered.
"I was just playing by the brook and chased a frog, Aunt Martha. It was such a lovely day. I'm sorry, truly I am."
"Well, girl. You deserve a sound thrashing for that. I've a mind to give you just that. We've been too lenient with you. Your mother, God rest her soul, wouldn't have been as lenient. She used to give you thrashings and pretty regular," the old woman sniffed.
"You're probably right Aunt Martha. I'll bet my mother would have whipped me good if I had come home like this."
Without further ado, the woman in one motion swept the girl over to a chair, sat down and brought the child over her knees. "There now young lady. I'm going to give it to you and give it to you good. You've been needing a good spanking." And with that she whipped up the skirt until it hung down over the startled girl's head, and unbuttoned the drawers and slipped them down over the milk white buttocks. The old woman could not hold back the gasp of pleasure and she feasted her eyes on the beauteous backside, so well formed, rounded and smoothed. Each cheek straining upward as if to receive the onslaught of punishment.
"Auntie ... Auntie, not in front of Uncle, please ... please..." cried the embarrassed young girl. The womanly pleasures of the afternoon made way for the submissive whimpers of a little girl. The humiliation of finding herself upturned with her bare butt exposed for the world to see and forced to accept whatever punishment the older woman chose to give it, had performed the miraculous transformation with ease.
"Don't whimper child, or I'll have Uncle Ephraim give you a real whipping. And you'll be bare all over, not just your backside. Humility is good for the soul ... Nay, necessary for the growth of a good Christian human...."
And with that, SMACK SMACK SMACK, her palm bounced off the jiggling posterior. As Bess wriggled in an effort to escape the resounding smacks on her backside. She wriggled against the strong, worsted covered lap of her aunt, and apart from the pain on her quickly reddening bottom, she began to feel a tingling in her cunt. SMACK
SMACK SMACK on the backside, and wriggle wriggle wriggle went the front against the lap. Suddenly Aunt Martha stopped and rested her hand on the youngster's bottom cheeks. She checked herself as she had begun to caress the cheeks and discovered to her chagrin that it was a pleasurable sensation. Guiltily she moved her hand away and cried out, "Your wickedness can not come out with just a hand spanking. You'll be properly punished. Ephraim, give me your belt."
She had to call again sharply for Ephraim was wide eyed and open mouthed at this erotic spectacle. First the beauty of Bess so exposed, then the realization that his wife whose passions had dried up years ago, showed unmistakable traces of arousal at the touch of the girl's butt against her hand. It was certain that Martha would have to punish Bess severely for causing the sensuality to occur. Yes, Bess would be innocently punished for her Aunt's arousal but Ephraim could do nothing about it, and in fact, so fascinated was he by this beautiful punishment, he did not care to do anything. After all, spare the rod, spoil the child. A good whipping never hurt a growing youngster. As Martha had said, it was necessary to the growth of....
"Ephraim," Martha called again sharply. "Are you deaf. Give me your belt, and come here and sit and hold Bess for me."
Ephraim removed his leather thong belt which he had had tied around the top of his britches and sat down on the high back chair. Bess, who was now sobbing fitfully, was lowered across his lap. As Martha adjusted her into place, Ephraim felt the stirring in his manhood, familiar today, but so unfamiliar for so many years.
He re-adjusted the child so that her feet barely touched the floor on one side and her head nearly touching on the other. This put the target area into prominence and by moving his head slightly he could peek into the suggestion of quim. With the skirt hanging down over her head the girl was naked from waist down to her knitted socks which stopped below the knees. He secured her position by placing one arm around the naked waist and the other used to anchor her to him by pushing her upper bare legs against him. In this way her cunt was rubbing deliciously on the spot where his prick was quickly beginning to stiffen, and the butt was placed in an advantageous position ... advantageous to the thong which would clap down, on to the helpless Bess.
The thong was about a half inch across and rough and gnarled at the ends where the leather had been exposed to much wear. Martha folded it up in four so that it resembled a particularly thick tawse at the end; her eyes glistened as she looked down on the bare bottom only pink spots from the hand spanking.
"It is only through pain, Bess, that wickedness can be got out of a body. Pain and suffering is the way to purity..." SLAP ... SLAP ... Twice the tawse kissed the beautiful butt leaving angry red marks on both cheeks.
SWAT ... SWAT ... Two more and at the same time, Ephraim tightened his hold on Bess and pressed her further onto his now stiff cock. The child herself was half mad from this paradox of emotions. What was the pain? What was the pleasure? Her cunt was hot and burning from the feel of a cock against it, and her butt pained unbearably as the belt bit into the tender flesh. This was unequalled confusion.
SMACK SMACK The belt against the bottom and rub rub against the cock.
"OOHHHHH Auntie ... awwwr ... please please. Oooohhh m Uncle ... please. I will be ... I won't be. What is happening to me. Ooohhh don't hurt me ... Stop! Don't! Auntie ... Uncle ... please!"
"The pain is good for you Bess. It will remove the SMACK SMACK wickedness from your soul," droned on Aunt Martha.
"There, there child" murmured Ephraim as he pressed her wriggling body against his cock, "It will soon be over. Be a brave girl there."
After an eternity of leather thong biting into butt, thighs and even a few licks into the cunt, the pain stopped and Bess could feel the wetness squishing in her hole as she rubbed against the cock hard and tautly pushed to the breaking point of the britches. Apparently Aunt Martha had noticed none of this, preoccupied by the passions wakened by the touch, and sight of a beautiful butt, and the wondrous feeling of power to be had by whipping a defenseless child, who incidentally needed the whipping. Aunt Martha was wet in her own shriveled, aging quim and would have whipped the first one who might suggest such a thing.
"Now Bess," said Martha as she handed the thong back to her husband, "let's get you cleaned and fixed up then we'll all have supper. No sense in holding a grudge. And I think that whipping was good for you. Young lady, you can expect whippings on your ass whenever I feel you need it. That will make you into a nice, well-behaved, submissive young lady that we'll be able to marry off one day soon."
Bess rubbed her poor bottom through the harsh material of her dress and quickly moved her hands away as the scratching wounded her tormented flesh far more than it soothed. Without a note of humility she flung up the back of her frock and rubbed shamelessly regardless of who might be looking on. Martha guided her into the corner where there stood a washstand next to a cot. She gently laid the girl face down on the cot and eased the child's pain with cloths dipped in cold water which she placed on the angry red posterior. As she pressed gently and rubbed she cooed, "There, there now Bess, it's all over now. That's a good girl. You're a brave girl there. Hush ... hush. Don't cry now. Auntie Martha will wash away all the pain and everything will be better than ever."
All the while she spoke so gently, her own breath came in shorter spurts, hot against her nostrils as it came up from her mouth whose protruding lower lip forced this displacement of air.
As soon as the older woman became aware of her own arousal, she quickly patted the girl's behind and turned away. "Enough of this nonsense girl. Supper is just about ready. And I hope this will be a lesson to you."
CHAPTER THREE
For some days after the whipping and the discovery of womanhood, Bess avoided the glances of both her protector's. She avoided Uncle Ephraim lest she had sinned in the pleasures she had taken at his hand, or perhaps at his mouth. And Auntie Martha for very nearly the same reasons. Rather reversed, for Bess, while she could not explain it, she knew that Martha had taken pleasure in beating her bare butt, and in her wiggling her cunt into her aunt's lap, and then in the physical handling of it. Why earlier that day she had felt her breath come in hot spurts when she got excited for Uncle's cock. Auntie had felt the same thing toward her and she knew now that that was why she had whipped her. This was certainly a strange world.
Then one morning Bess became aware of her uncle's glances and his discomfort at having to sit beside her.
"Bess, my girl," he coughed. "I'm going to check the traps this morning. Want to come and help?"
At the very thought of finding herself alone in the woods with her uncle, away from the prying eyes of the old woman, Bess fidgeted on the bench, feeling the warmth around her cunt hole and creeping up to her stomach.
"Oh, yes Uncle. I would like that very much. May I go, Auntie, please? May I?" she looked beseechingly at the woman.
"Well, I suppose so. But mind now. You had better put some old clothes on. You know what happened to you last time you got your good dress soiled. And Ephraim. You take care to stay close by. The Saracees have been nosing around here abouts I understand. Enough we lost the mother to the heathens. Keep close watch on the girl."
Bess hastily changed her clothes. She removed her drawers altogether on the excuse that she didn't want them to get dirty, but in reality so that Uncle Ephraim would have easier access to her hot and squirmy jelly pot. She could already feel it sticky between her legs and she furtively reached her hand down and gave it a swift tickle and a scratch. Her only garment was a loose hanging shift which fell straight down to her woolen stockings bunched up around her ankles. Her golden tresses were pinned back behind her ears, only wisps of hair falling forward on to her delicate face. As the two of them left the cottage they turned and waved to Aunt Martha and quickly disappeared into the bush.
They had traveled but for perhaps half an hour, when Ephraim suggested they stop for a cool drink. He had brought a packet with them containing fresh bread, dried meat, a few nuts and spring water. Sitting down on the grass in the shade of a tall pine, Bess deliberately brought her knees up so that with very little trouble Ephraim could peek up to her crotch. The knowledge that he was peering at her cuntie made her squirm delightfully and before more than a minute had passed he had his hand firmly around her cunny bush, his fingers tickling and probing and teasing.
"May I have your prick to play with, Uncle? Is it hard today?" she asked.
"It is hard my dear." The swollen red tipped cock leapt out at the invitation, fitfully twitching in anticipation; the long rod reaching upward, capped by it's glistening mushroom top. The child closed her hand around the rod and pulled the skin back and forward as she had been taught till the head stood out even more firmly and proudly.
They sat beside one another, each with a hand on the other's passion. "Oh, Bess. You have such a beautiful pussy. That is your cunt, your rabbit warren, your pussy. It is so warm and wet, I feel thirsty for your juices." And with that he brought his mouth down upon the throbbing cunt and sucked till the juices glistened on his chin.
"Oh, Bess ... Bess. I am going to bugger you. I am going to cram my cock into your little arsehole until you scream and scream for more. Turn over girl. Put your little butt up like you do for a whipping. On your knees girl."
"No, no uncle. Don't. Please. I'm sure your prick would split me right up the back. It is so large. Please uncle. I can't do it. Let me suck you instead. There isn't room in my little bottom for such a big cock." She pulled herself away from the man, but not quickly enough nor far enough away for in a trice he had a firm grasp about her waist and brought her down face first over his spread legs. Her face rested in a gentle clump of grass, her backside displayed to her uncle as she rested her front onto his lap. At the first smack of his hard palm on her soft, resilient bottom cheeks, she let out a shriek and began to kick her legs.
"OHHHH UNCLE ... DON'T DON'T..." she pleaded. His hand smacked down on her buttocks and pushed her cunny mound into the bulge in his britches. Again Bess felt the strange stirrings both in her cunty and the pain on her fast reddening butt.
"Dare to tell me 'no', will you. We'll see about that young lady," chided Ephraim as his palm bounced relentlessly off the sore bottom. "Don't tell me your cunty isn't hungry for some activity. Why, it's fair to brimming with invitation." Smack! Smack!
"OOOHHH, Oowww, uncle, whatever you say, but please don't hurt me any more. Owch! Oh, Uncle.
"My bummy is so sore, please, please!" The pleadings continued.
By the time Ephraim visited the beautiful butt surface with a good twenty smacks, his cock was nearly bursting with desire. With each smack, harder and harder it became as Bess pressed down onto it, she herself about ready to be given up to anything for the satisfaction of the desire welled up within her.
"Oh, uncle," she cried between slaps. "Give me a come, please give me a come with your prick or your mouth or anything. Please give me a come, my cunt is sick with wanting. Oh, oh no more spanking, Uncle, Oh, oh, my whole!"
He left off the playful punishment and took her roughly to sit on his knee as his mouth came harshly down on her own pleading one. With one hand he fondled her tender, budding breasts, while the other, having disengaged itself from around her waist, quickly found the passion button which he teased between his thumb and forefinger, kneading and pressing as the child writhed in rising passion. Then without warning he thrust his middle finger right up into her watering vagina so that she screamed in ecstasy and anticipation of what was to come. Before she had reached her awaited climax, Ephraim nipped her off his lap so that she landed on her hands and knees, her butt stuck well up as if in invitation to punishment.
"Are you ready Bess? I told you I was going to bugger you and bugger you I will. My cock will fill that pretty pouting little arsehole to the brim and so will I whip it from the inside that you will be screaming."
"Oh Uncle," pleaded the girl, "please don't. I am afraid. It will hurt. That whole isn't meant for cocks, I am sure."
"Are you doubting me child? Or do you want a real whipping. That can be arranged. There's a good many birch twigs handy just crying for an butt like yours to lick!" He shoved her sheath frock way up over her head so that when she turned her head to see what was happening the material covered her view. She felt something greasy being applied to her arsehole, first around the puckering, then with a finger being pushed right inside the aperture. Ephraim had brought a jar of grease on the journey, knowing it would be required whether he chose to deflower the child, or as it was, to bugger her. Without hesitation he applied the grease generously to his swollen cock head, pulling back the skin so that none was dry to the touch. He adjusted the youngster, pulling her knees each to the opposite side so that her crotch was spread wide. His breathing had become difficult as he was sorely tempted to fill the gaping cunty hole with his well greased prick instead, but he knew that he must let Bess retain her virginity if they were to find her a husband, or least he would try.
"Now raise your butt, Bess and spread wide your legs so that I may look more closely," he ordered and flicked her cunt with his fingernail.
Bess flinched at the unexpected pain and cried, "Please uncle, I am so ashamed that you should be looking at me there. Do what you want but don't look, please."
"What, Bess! Are you asking for a real whipping? Of course I will look at your beautiful pussy cat and I'll put my finger right inside and pet it like this, in and out until you beg for me to bugger you." He inserted one finger into her tight little hole and massaged in and out, with each in stroke rubbing the clitoris causing much agitation to the young girl whose passions were near to the bursting point. Back and forth until Bess wriggled her buttocks most invitingly, from side to side and up and down, her shoulders now nearly to the ground so that she could stick her passion parts closer to her violator. Then without warning he withdrew his probing finger and sat back as the girl pushed out her butt in invitation for more.
"Oh, Uncle," gasped Bess, in frustration at Ephraim's withdrawal. "Why have you stopped? Please, please don't stop!" At this she turned her face back and pushed the hem of her frock out of the way so that she could look at the smiling face and gleaming cock of her guardian. "What is that on your prick, uncle? Why are you just kneeling there? Please do something!"
"Ah, my dear Bess, I told you that you would beg to be buggered. Is that what you are doing? Begging me to bugger you child? This grease, that will make it slide into your arsehole smoothly, right up to your bowels and fill your whole innards." He reached forward and rubbed the love button on the waiting girl.
She moved to turn on him in ardor, stopping suddenly as he cracked his hand down across the fullest part of her bottom. "Stay right where you are child or you'll get a switching of your life!" he warned.
Sobbing, Bess quickly resumed her position, her shoulders near the ground, her bottom stuck up high in the hair, her knees and legs widely parted so that every part of her womanhood lay exposed, unguarded against any onslaught. Reaching forward, Ephraim rested his cock between her parted legs so that it touched her waiting cunt, rubbing from side to side, his hands grasped her nipples which were already erect and waiting. Her sobs increased as he continued to rub, caress, pinch and gently slap her breasts while his cock rubbed against her waiting honey pot. Now her sobs were of wanting, of needing some relief from her passions which were ready to burst forth at any moment.
Ephraim, knowing he could hold back very little longer, removed his hands from her breasts and placed them, one on each side of her arse cheeks as he separated them, opening the arsehole to his buggering cock. Gently, he inserted the very tip of his cock against the waiting hole and pushed and pushed until the girl cried out he did not know whether in passion or pain. With the aid of the grease it was quickly lodged completely in the tight, muscle spasmed sheath. While he pushed forward into the very bowels of the youngster, he used his fingers, the middle to fuck her cunt, the other to agitate her love button. As he reamed in and out of her tight little butt, he kept time with his finger and the rubbing of the clitoris until she shrieked, "Oh, Oh, Uncle, I am dying again. The come is there ... Oh, Oh ... Fuck ... Fuck ... Fuck ... harder, bugger me ... anything ... Oh, Oh, my cunt. My cunt ... Ooooohhh, Aaahh...."
Faster and faster Ephraim fucked that firm and lovely little arsehole until, as Bess began to cry in her coming, he felt the hot sperm from his balls gushing up through his cock and up into the enclosure of her innards. He could feel the twitching of her arsehole muscles, in and out around his spending prick, more and more spurted out until he fell, uncontrolled upon the young girl, pushing her down onto the ground, his prick lying limp in her little round hole.
Both man and young girl lay panting, breathless, unable to move nor to speak after such a display of the release of passions.
After several minutes Ephraim stirred from the inert body of Bess, slowly removing the limp cock from its hiding place. The girl whimpered softly as the organ gave a soft 'plop' on its escape. Ephraim gently caressed the violated bottom and helped the girl to sit up, weak with the heavy come she had just experienced.
"Come girl, there's a stream just over the ridge. We'd best clean up a bit before we venture on into the woods," said Ephraim. "Wouldn't want Aunt Martha to give you another whipping for getting mud all over you, would you?"
Bess shook her head in answer and followed obediently to the stream where she carefully removed the rough dress, the stockings and shoes and waded into the cool water of the stream. Ephraim settled for a less complete washing and sat on the bank watching the lovely water nymph perform her ablutions. He felt slight stirrings in his prick as she carefully washed the crevice between her butt cheeks, and lips of her cunty.
"Damn little tease," he thought to himself. "She knows what it's all about already and the damn little tart is doing it purposely." As he watched, Bess turned and smiled lending confirmation to his thoughts.
When she had finished washing, she lay full length on her front on a rock by the waters edge, so that the sun might dry her newly laved body. So intense was Ephraim's irritation at her woman game, that he stealthily broke off a willow switch and crept up beside the young girl who stretched herself as she heard the approaching footsteps. Doubtless her intention was to preen and tease with her elegant body, but she squealed with horror as suddenly, swish, the switch came down across her still wet bottom.
SWISH! It left a bright red line in its wake which darkened visibly in a matter of seconds. SWISH! SWISH! She turned over quickly to escape any more of these cutting strokes, when SWISH, right down across her bottom stomach. Her shrieks were heard only by a family of snipe curiously looking on. And again SWISH, this time the tip of the switch kissed her unprotected quim and her hands reached down to cover her so recently love filled woman hole. SWISH! Again the switch came down, this time across her breasts. It was as if Ephraim had been goaded into this madness and could not stop himself. Only as Bess worked herself off the rock and back into the stream did the ravagement cease. She coughed and sputtered as the cold water shocked more pain into the cuts of the switch which were already turning an angry purple.
Ephraim, in the meantime, shocked by his own behavior, had turned and fled into the clearing where these two adversaries had been lovers, and flinging himself on the soft bed of pine needles, wept like a child. How could he do thus to such a lovely child when he had indeed fucked her so lovingly and carefully in her butt so as not to despoil her virginity, had fondled her beauteous, gently forming breasts? Was he a beast, or was it that he had known so little woman love in his life with the sterile old woman, Martha?
He did not know how long he lay on the ground, weeping for the injustice he had dealt Bess, and the many injustices life had cruelly dealt him. Perhaps it was half an hour, perhaps two or even more. But when he returned to the stream where Bess had sought refuge from his madness, she was no longer to be seen. Her clothing too was gone so he knew she had dressed herself and departed. He hoped she would return to the post rather than foolishly seek safety elsewhere, for there was no safety to be found other than the post for hundreds of miles around. The best she could hope for if she did not return to the post was that perhaps a French trapper would find her, and even that brought a shudder to his lips. He knew how starved for female the white trappers were and knew also how little they cared for gentile treatment in their women. True, what few women they could possess were little other than female convicts or prostitutes of the lowest order who had been forced into this god forsaken country by society's refusal to accept the poor creatures. And white trappers in the territory had little experience except with the lowliest of women.
The only other alternatives open to Bess did she not return to the post would be first to perish from the elements or wild beast in the forest, or perhaps the least desirable of all, to be captured, ravaged she had dressed herself and departed. He hoped she and killed by the Saracee Indians whom it was suspected, had brought death to the child's mother. He fervently hoped that Bess would have enough good sense to return to the post despite his crazed behavior and make the best of things until he could find her a place where she could go as servant to a family or wife to a God-fearing man in the territory.
Bess, in the meantime, had mulled over her alternatives quite as efficiently as Ephraim was now doing and realized that her only hope of survival was to return to the post to the only guardians and protectors she had in the world. On her return, Martha questioned her on her tear stained face, her stony silence and strange carriage. On the older woman's insistence, Bess was forced to show her the switch marks across her milk-white butt; the purple marks which would in a short time fade completely, though they looked hideous at the moment.
On careful investigation, Martha noted the marks liberally scattered on the child's entire body: across her breasts, her lower abdomen, her inner thighs and of course crisscrossing her backside. The older woman bade the girl lie down on the bedstead after she had removed the rough clothing.
She pointedly did not question the girl further on why she had received these severe cuts on her body, for the woman instinctively knew she would rather not hear the details. She had guessed more than enough for her peace of mind.
As the sobbing, naked girl lay on the bed, Martha tenderly rubbed soothing lotion over her entire body.
"My, my," she commented. "If I don't remove my dress, I'll be getting the salve all over me. Just lie still, dear. I'll rub you down all over once again in a moment." She removed her home-spun gown and Bess was surprised to learn that Martha was by no means a thoroughly withered up old lady. She could tell that under the thick, rough bloomers, solid but shapely hips going into not unattractive thighs accentuated a slim waist. The low cut, tight binder belied full breasts underneath an ample cleavage.
As Martha caressed the lotion into the girl's backside and between her legs, Bess groaned involuntarily as the older woman's fingers touched upon the protrusion atop the cunty. Quickly the older woman moved her hand away and nudged the figure.
"Over on your back now, dear. We'll do the other side," she cooed as she continued to caress. Her breath, though she would not admit it, was coming in shorter spurts. She rubbed the girl's legs, up over the first show of fuzz on her cunt hill, up over the streaked stomach and her hands settled gently on the marked breasts which stood proudly tipped up, as though they had not suffered the agonies of the passionate, cruel whipping, the nipples popping up like seeds in the warm spring.
"Oh, Aunt Martha," cried Bess and threw herself into the woman's arms, burying her face in the heaving, massive breasts. "Oh, I've been so wicked! What shall I do? What shall I do?"
"There, there," calmed Martha, snuggling the girl closer into her breast. "We'll fix it up somehow, whatever it is."
As she cooed and snuggled, the binder had slipped down, and brown, large nipples firmly pointed out from large, somewhat sagging breasts. Unable to contain herself, Bess buried her face between these two protuberances, then clasped her lips around one nipple and sucked, rubbing her tongue over the tip of the brown berry. Her hands flew up and massaged the great tits, and her teeth bit in to the brown surface around the thick tips.
"Child! Child!" cried Martha, about to tear herself away, but unable to forego the pleasures of the first awakening of passion that she had known for many, many years. She breathed heavily and found her arms pulling the sucking girl's head closer to her breasts.
"Is that what your Uncle Ephraim did to you?" she asked knowing that it was.
"Oh yes, Auntie. Yes. He sucked me on the titties and ... and ... everywhere. Auntie, can we both lie naked? You feel so cool and my whole body aches with the pain of the switching," Bess implored innocently enough.
"It is wickedness," snapped back Martha, but at the same time she was untying the binder and slipping down her woolen bloomers to expose a firm, flat stomach, below which masses of curly hair hid a little used, nearly dried up cunt. Bess moved instinctively, later Martha was to say she was moved by the Devil himself, for where might the child learn such things otherwise.
"Auntie, let me look at your cuntie," she laughed, and her hands darted down to her lady's crotch. Martha moved to escape this attack, but before she could, the child had touched on her most vulnerable passion bud and toyed relentlessly with it so that the older woman was given to temptation. Probing her fingers deep into the cunt hole she cried excitedly, "Your love juices are flowing. That's what Uncle Ephraim says. The sticky juices are drink from the gods and to let them go unattended is a sin. That's true isn't it?"
Martha had gone beyond all endurance, but this heathen talk, this reference to God in such a sinful way brought her back sharply to reality. She was on the verge of disengaging herself from the youngsters probing fingers, when Bess fixed her mouth onto the woman's crotch and began to suck. She bit into the brown cunt lips, and her tongue darted in and out and around the pot which welled up with the hot juices of arousal.
"Mmmmmm ... m-auntie ... mmmm..." Bess tried to talk as she continued to suck the life juices hungrily from the woman who flowed so copiously after having been saving her lust for so many years. "Auntie, taste my juices."
Bess raised herself full length over Martha's body and roughly thrust her crotch into the shocked, open-mouthed face of the newly awakened woman. As if she had been doing it for a lifetime, Martha quickly grasped the need at hand and poked her tongue into the yawning, waiting well of love above her face. Her hands reached out to grasp the cheeks of the butt above and pull the squirming cunt right onto her open mouth. She sucked and sucked, caressing the tender buns of the buttocks which she had soothed with lotion.
Martha, wearing nothing but rough stockings and work shoes, lying full length on her back, with Bess, naked, face down into the woman's crotch and her cunt being lapped hungrily by the woman on the bottom was the sight that greeted Ephraim as he pushed open the door to the back room of the cabin.
His first reaction was to kill both of them, such was his rage. But fate held his hand and he admitted that he had indeed been the perpetrator of this unleashed desire in young Bess. Had he not awakened these passions in the child, she too might have grown to be a God fearing woman like Martha instead of an instrument of the devil as was in evidence here.
Martha roughly pushed Bess aside and tried to get to her feet to make what repairs possible. Ephraim spoke sharply:
"Martha, lie right where you are!" As he spoke, he was removing the leather thong around the top of his britches that served as a belt, and when need be, a whip.
"Eat cunt, will you? Well, girls you'll eat it until you choke. Bess, you get up! Martha you lie on your back unless you want to be whipped front and back from top to toe. Lie there, I said!"
Martha averted her face so as not to look at her enraged husband, but in an effort to hide her woman hole, she closed her legs discreetly.
"Open your legs!" he ordered. She was not to be allowed privacy. "Now Bess, from the other side, get on your knees and bury your face here in her cunt. Quickly!" he cried and swished the folded up raw hide belt so that it smacked the unfortunate girl across the tail. She did as she was told without hesitation. The tableau was a strange one. Martha lying on her back, legs spread. Bess, her knees on the floor, her butt protruding, her face buried in the lady's crotch as it lay on the edge of the bed.
"Martha, you will look at me."
The shame was too great for the woman and she turned her head to the wall. Smack! The whip cut down a howlingly harsh slash across her full breasts.
"Look at me, you cunt eater! You'd never eat cock in all our years, but you eat this shameless hussy's cunt. Look at me!" he cried half crazed with anger and strange mounting passions.
Martha looked at him, for each time her eyes strayed the whip came down with full force across her heaving bosom. Smack! The cord cut across Bess' already sore posterior. "And you Bessie girl, you had better suck really good, because I'm going to whip your butt until Aunt Martha has a really good spend. You can eat all the juices she has been saving up for you. Start! SMACK! He lashed into the tender flesh.
Bess sucked and pushed her tongue into the moist grotto which was releasing flood tides of sex juice. With her hands she caressed the buttocks, and one finger found the love button. She would stop, choking, from time to time as both the juices were too much and the pain on her rump became unbearable. Finally, she found the solution. Sucking furiously at her Auntie's cunt, she stuck one finger up the butt hole and frigged it furiously till Martha panted and wheezed in desire. The other hand busied itself on the upper cuntie, massaging, probing and helping the tiring tongue.
"OOOhhhhh, Aaaeeee ... My cunt! Gaawwwd ... Oh Lord, I am spending ... I am coming ... OOOOOooohhhhhh Suck ... Suck ... Suck ... harder harder,..." Martha called out deliriously. Had anyone told her she had uttered such words, she would have fainted, but her passion was so deeply released that animal unreason had taken over.
Ephraim allowed a few moments of respite and a cool drink of water to both culprits then ordered a repositioning. "Ephraim, I cannot allow this to go further," began Martha trying to regain her dominant position in the household, only to be stopped mid sentence with a slash of the whip across her lower abdomen.
"Aaaeee," she cried. "Ephraim, please have mercy. Do not carry on so."
She was rewarded with another cut of the whip, this time carefully aimed to land with a harsh THWACK between both cheeks of her ample buttocks. Her shriek ended as she was already carrying out instructions.
Bess was placed full length on the bed, her head at one end of the bed, the feet at the other. She lay on her back with her knees slightly bent and widely separated so that her crotch yawned vividly. Martha then was forced to straddle the young girl, raise her bottom high above where the girl's face would be, bend her knees sharply to insure the full extension of her buttocks, then to bury her face deep into the girl's crotch. She demurred, only to be convinced that she had erred with three sharp, hard cracks of the whip across the lower posterior, the knot from one end of the whip snapping painfully the lips of her throbbing cunt.
"Now Martha, you can start sucking that cunt, and eat every bit. It shouldn't be too hard for you because Bess is already panting. She should spend very soon. Wait!" he called, much to the woman's relief who did not relish this unnatural act to be performed in front of her husband. She had closed her eyes in gratitude only to be rudely awakened by a fierce cutting lash across her bottom cheeks.
"Ooow . '. . Yooowww. Ephraim ... Help! Ooooaaaaa!" She cried in unbearable pain and leapt out of position. Smack! Smack! Smack! Down She quickly got back into position over the waiting young girl who squirmed uncomfortably on the bed, suffering much from the visitation of the whip on her backside.
"Now Martha, are you ready? I told you it wouldn't take long because Bess was nearly ready to spend. It would not be fair then to let your great massive butt escape a good hiding. See!" He waved a many fingered dog whip in front of her face. It had a handle of about six inches of leather, with long fingers perhaps a 14 inches long, and six in number, the tips cut into smaller fingers for even more pain. The tips had been soaked in water and felt like steel spikes against the flesh. Martha's cries were justified.
"Begin!" he called and brought the whip down with full force. Martha brought her face up, but the anticipation of another crack of the whip told her she had better resume this sinful duty of causing a come in the young girl before her. The devil himself had brought this about. She gurgled as she sucked furiously, trying to remember what the girl had done to make her reach the climax spend. Her tongue darted into the sticky honey pot as she sucked and swallowed.
"Frig her butt," commanded her fiendish husband.
Tentatively she poked her pointer finger against the rough grain of the surrounding area of the butt-hole. Smack! Ephraim had brought the whip down across the lower portion of her buttocks so that several spikes had reached her tender cunt and seemed to cut right through. Without further hesitation she poked her finger into the waiting butt hole and frigged as quickly as she could, without stopping the mouth fucking.
Smack! Smack! Smack! The dog whip bit into her backside and soon Bess began to squirm and push her cunt hard into Martha's face.
"Ooohhh, Auntie. Auntie. Your tongue! Push it harder into my cunt Auntie! Now Now! Oh ... my butt! Oooohhhhh...." She heaved like a wild pony till the woman was almost thrown off the bed, and spasms of coming broke out through her sated body. Then with one wild whoop, she shivered again and slumped back like one dead from a fit.
Ephraim dropped the dog whip to the floor and stormed out the door, leaving the two women, for indeed Bess was now a woman too, to make repairs and prepare the evening meal.
CHAPTER FOUR
The summer was coming to an end, and there was much excitement at Danby's Post this day be cause of the arrival of the old coastal ship which made an appearance and brought supplies only twice a year. Settlers from around the district had been gathering for days awaiting the arrival of the SLOCAN, bringing mail from loved ones in the old country, goods from the south and women for the trappers.
The rusty old bell announced to folks for miles around that the old ship had finally docked. Bess and her Aunt Martha had been baking bread since early morning and both of them brightened considerably at the prospect of news from the outside world. Bess often longed to hear word of her mother, but in the past year there had not been a hint of information. She supposed the Saracees had killed her after all, though secretly she believed that one day she would be reunited with her mother.
"Aunt Martha," asked Bess, "may I go down to the wharf and see the old ship? I'll bet there is mail."
"We'll be finishing our chores first, girl," answered the old woman sourly. Since the day some months back when Ephraim had made her submit to the perversions of this young she-devil, Martha wasted few words on her charge. In fact, there was very little conversation in the Danby living quarters these days, and in the summer months it was tolerable to live in silence, for one could retreat to the outdoors and to nature for some company, however, Martha looked to winter with dread. They would all be forced to look at one another and to speak of what had occurred.
Life had been dull for Martha before, but now it was impossible. Ephraim had not spoken so much as a word unless to issue an order, since that day he had beaten her with the dog whip and had walked away. If he ever looked at her, it was with disgust, yet he was friendlier than ever toward Bess and had said, "It's an old fool woman who would corrupt youth so."
Martha longed to cry out that she had not done the corrupting, that she was the wronged party, but of course, her age would suggest otherwise. She could scarcely contain herself when Ephraim patted Bess on the rump, or caressed her in front of not only herself, but in front of other men and women in the community. Yes indeed, Martha felt she was the laughing stock of Danby's Post and truly other women did wonder at this new relationship that had sprung up. Many a snide remark was the result.
It was mid-afternoon before Bess was allowed to change her house dress and go down to the wharf. Martha, sour-faced and whining peevishly, followed the youngster. She knew that by this time trappers and Indians alike would be well on the way to getting drunk for old Captain Sandys never failed to include a good ration of whiskey on his trips around the Bay.
As they neared the docks, Preacher Weldon waved and called, "Good Day Miz Danby, Miz Gagnon. Lovely day."
"Good Day Preacher," replied Martha primly. "Will you be holding a meeting tonight?"
" 'Fraid not this trip, Miz Danby. Old Captain Sandys brought himself a parcel of women for the men and it looks like I'll be busy marryin' them up." He laughed a long and lecherous chuckle. The women that Captain Sandys brought on the Slocan were prostitutes, thieves and murderesses who had the choice of jail to wedded life with outpost trappers. The Captain made a good living on his own trading, for not only did the trappers guarantee passage for the women, they also paid handsomely for their brides. Captain Sandys played no favorites, the highest bidder got the choicest piece of flesh.
Martha Danby drew in her breath and head held high went on her way. She disapproved of this kind of auction, but perhaps she disapproved more of the kind of women who were being auctioned, painted and primped for the occasion.
Whiskey flowed freely as the men milled about the dock waiting for the auction to begin. Some had already traded their furs at the post and held their coins in bags waiting to outbid their neighbors; others would bargain with furs. Sometimes Captain Sandys paid a better price for pelts than Ephraim Danby did. It depended on the supply and some trappers felt it was worth the risk.
Preacher Weldon climbed up on to the deck and called for silence. Clapping his hands he yelled "Silence! Quiet! You sons of she-dogs! Let the auction begin."
A burst of applause and screams and shouts rose from the men gathered for the sale. Martha stood watching from the edge of the crowd, while Bess, fascinated by the procedure, was right in the front row.
"Our first handy bit of merchandise, Miss Abigail Rawson, age 22. I'll admit a little old," prated the reverend. Catcalls and chuckles followed this discourse.
"Now Miss Abigail had a little trouble with the authorities. Sentenced to ten years for prostitution and robbery. Now gentlemen, we all make mistakes, and Miss Abigail has agreed to pay for hers. She's ready to become a wife to one of you beasts."
Miss Abigail, haughty and immoral in a drawing room and who could hold her own in any woman's prison, recoiled when she saw what was in store for her. Jake Simmons was coming forward calling. "Fifty dollars!"
Jake was a big man, six feet tall with broad shoulders and thick arms and legs. His red hair, matted, gave him the look of a wild man. His clothes, fashioned roughly from animal skins were stained and smelled foul and repulsive, partly from the skins not having been cured sufficiently, and partly from filth and sweat. Whiskey had dribbled down his flaming beard and saliva escaped from the corners of his mouth.
"Oh, no!" cried Abigail. "I won't go. Please! Take me back to prison! Please! I didn't know. I won't go with a pig like that!"
The crowd roared. Jake himself laughed loudly for they were all good sports and they knew "Miss Abigail" didn't have a chance now. Jake wanted her and Jake would get her. They would see to it, and after all, there were a good many more women to choose from.
Abigail turned to run from the deck when the preacher reached down and took a whip that was hanging loosely from his belt loop. Swish. The black snake whip curled itself around her waist bringing her back roughly to stand facing the punishing preacher.
"Abigail, my dear," he cooed, "you've been a very naughty girl. That's why you're here. Now you've been very rude to Jake here. I want you to apologize!"
Eyes a sparkle, standing defiantly, Abigail spat out, "I wouldn't apologize to that animal. He's a filthy, rotten animal. You are too. ... You're ... You're...." before she could go further the preacher tugged on the whip and down she tumbled on to the deck, crumpled into a little pile.
"I think you boys had better get on with the bidding. We'll tame this little filly later," said the preacher.
"Let's see how she tames first!" called one of the men, then he was supported by all the rest of the crowd. Yes, they all wanted a little taming.
Bess watched these antics, fascinated and wide-eyed; too horrified to speak, yet drawn to the very front of the crowd to observe carefully. Excitement and gaiety was at such a pitch that none of the others even noticed the youngster.
It was agreed that Abigail would be 'tamed' before the bidding would go on.
She tried to get up from the deck to escape, but between preacher and Jake, she was restrained nicely. A dog collar was put around her pale, slim neck and attached to the collar was a long chain which preacher fastened to his wrist. Handing the whip to Jake he offered, "Seeing you're interested in Miss Abigail, would you like to do the first taming?"
Jake laughed and took the whip. He snapped it in the air two or three times, and at each snap, Abigail flinched. "What's the trouble, Miss Abby," he taunted. "I haven't even started yet." And with no warning, he brought the whip down in such a manner that only the tip, thin and sharp, touched the victim's breast, cutting away the flimsy material of her gown.
"Aaaeee. Oh God have mercy!" cried the wretched girl.
Swish! Again the whip cracked down, and again on the breasts, cutting away the material, and cutting into the flesh. Abigail writhed, trying to escape the hot flashes of the whip, but as she moved, the preacher pulled the chain tighter so that the collar round her neck choked her. She coughed and resumed her position.
The whip cracked down on her back, around her legs, her waist, thighs and again and again on her breasts till the gown she wore was in tatters, tormented flesh showing through. Then Jake, goaded on by the crazed audience, pulled the remnants of Abigail's dress away from her body leaving her standing on the deck, slouched over, bruised and marked, naked except for her stockings which were sagging round her ankles, her shoes and the neck collar. Her body was, or rather had been, magnificent. Highly placed, firm breasts, slender waist, a plump backside and long straight legs. As Jake removed her clothes, her hands reached down to cover her cunt from prying eyes; hunched over to hide her breasts.
The preacher pulled sharply on the chain, pulling the girl off balance so that her hands flew up in the air and her womanliness was exposed. At just that moment, Jake brought the whip down sharply to cut between the thighs, the tip biting right into the cunt hole.
"Aaawwrrr!" she gasped, unable to utter a word now for the pain. The whip kissed her body, tormenting the flesh, front and back, from shoulders to knees until, having gone beyond the point of endurance, Abigail pissed herself and fell in a heap on the deck. The preacher had released the chain now and proceeded to unbuckle her collar. Jake reached down for a bottle of whiskey and gently held it to the young woman's lips. The crowd, sated for the moment, chuckled and made lewd jokes about the performance.
Abigail sputtered as the whiskey burned it's way down her throat, and tried to get up. Her eyes now dull and resigned to her fate, she would carry this frightened look for a long time into her future, if indeed she had one. Jake removed his own animal hide coat and wrapped it around her shoulders as the preacher resumed the auction.
"Well my dear, will you now go with Jake if he still wants you?" he asked.
Abigail nodded, defeated. Jake paid the Captain his fifty dollars plus passage, and ten dollars to the preacher who muttered, "Abigail Rawson, do you take this man to be your lawful husband?" Abigail nodded, so preacher poked her in the ribs and ordered, "Say I do, young lady."
She did as she was bid.
He then asked Jake, "Do you Jake Simmons take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?" He said I do, and the preacher pronounced them man and wife.
"Next!" he called, and another unfortunate convict was brought on deck, but she was agreeable to her fate having seen the result of defiance.
Twelve young women were auctioned off that afternoon, not one to go back, yet there were many men who were disappointed. There just weren't enough women to go around. As the last auction was being concluded, the sale of a Miss Evaline Martin, accused of murdering her guardian, the men were getting a little drunk and unruly. Evaline was eighteen years of age, although she looked much, much younger, with the face of an angel and the body of a courtesan.
"Ninety dollars? Is that all I'm bid for this angel.
This beauty. We know she could not have been guilty of this horrendous crime. The judge must have been blind." He looked around for another bid, but ninety was all he'd get for this filly, that was sure, so he slammed his hands together and decreed, "Sold to this gentleman for ninety dollars."
Just as the man was making his way to the ship's deck to claim his prize, and to become wedded by the preacher a voice boomed out, "One hundred dollars!"
Bess looked around and noticed she was standing next to this big man with a big voice. He stood taller than even Jake Simmons, and smelled even worse. His clothes, spattered with animal blood, had a stench that even washing would not ease. His hair, matted and knotted had never seen a comb, and his beard too was matted with old food, liquor and God knows what. Here was an animal to be sure. Bess moved cautiously out of the way for in one hand he held a knife and in the other, a wicked dog whip.
"Who has called one hundred dollars?" asked the preacher.
"Me. Dat's who." answered the man. "Me, Henri Dufoe and I got one honderd dollars for a wife. I want dat one."
"My good man, you can't do that. The bidding has ended and this gentleman has got this young lady for ninety dollars," reasoned the preacher.
"Wat's da matter wid my money?" asked Dufoe. "I got it fair and square, me."
Anyone who had lived in the territory for the past few months knew just how fair and square Henri Dufoe got his money. There had been a group of missionaries come to Christianize the natives, and had come to an untimely end. The story was that Indian's had killed the small group, but local people knew better. They had ventured north and east into Henri Dufoe's territory and had, when they left the trading post, over one hundred dollars in gold; just such gold as Dufoe was offering for this young lady now. The remains of the missionaries were found, but there was no gold.
"I came all da way in from my cabin to gat a wife for me dis trip. I gonna get me one, sure." He threatened.
"Sorry Dufoe, this young lady is taken and there are no more. If you want I'll bring you a big hussy next trip, next year at this time. You save your hundred dollars till then, huh?" offered Captain Sandys. He felt compassion in his heart for Evaline Martin, even though he knew she had cold bloodedly stabbed her guardian in a temper tantrum. There was no woman alive that he could enjoy seeing go to Dufoe, let alone this frail, pretty youngster.
"Nevair mind dat. I want a woman today!" He jumped on deck with his knife held high and aimed at the preacher's chest. At that very moment, however, Captain Sandys had drawn his pistol which was aimed at Dufoe's head.
"Oh ... Alright, Dufoe. You'd better get off my ship now, or we'll carry you off."
Dufoe knew he was the loser. He would not get a wife this time. If he didn't obey the captain, he would get a bullet in his head; that is all he would get for his trouble. He slumped away to the edge of the dispersing crowd and took a long pull on a bottle of whiskey, letting the hot burning liquid trickle down his hairy face, and on to his clothing.
Bess stood watching Henri Dufoe, terror gripping her heart, and she uttered a prayer of thanks to an unseen god for the deliverance of Miss Evaline who had escaped the clutches of this beast.
From a distance, Martha Danby also watched Henri Dufoe; she had not terror in her eyes, she was working out a plan that would be her salvation. She would have Ephraim back all to herself again, and Bess would be taken care of. After all, she was an orphan, and it was her guardian's duty to find a proper husband for the child. She was going into her fifteenth year and quite grown up enough to keep house for a man who would supply her with food and clothing, and would father her children.
The crowd had thinned out; most of the men went to the meeting house down the river where women had been preparing food for the night's festivities. There was always a gala evening when the ship came into harbor, and tonight, there would be twelve weddings to celebrate. Perhaps Abigail Raw-son, or rather Simmons, would not be joining into the fun, but she would soon learn to live with the desolation of the north. The women who were doing the food fixing had largely been in the same boat at one time or another. Some women had come as honest wives with their husbands; more had been sold to men in the territory because they were law breakers, so that in a very short time it was impossible to tell the difference between an honest woman and a whore. Life was hard on all women in the north.
Martha sidled up to Henri Dufoe and whispered, "Mr. Dufoe, if you want a wife come to the trading post tonight when it is dark. But shht. Not a word to a soul."
Dufoe just grunted and eyed the old woman curiously. "What you say?"
"Mind now, not a word. Just come to the trading post. Out in back, and bring the hundred dollars." And with that Martha Danby skitted away, not sure that he had got her message, but was willing to leave it in the hands of the gods.
She had to go home and complete her plans.
Oil lamps hung from the rafters and old Jim Travers had brought his fiddle for a bit of dancing and pleasure. At one end of the hall, platters of food laid out for the hungry men, who needed plenty of it to offset the effects of the liquor. Already the new wives were beginning to feel more comfortable with the established women. Some compared notes with the newcomers who were surprised to learn that these respectable ladies of the north had, at one time, been convicts like themselves. Even Abigail had come to the party, and sat gingerly on the sidelines, for her body ached so from the terrible beating her new husband had given her. Jake, now contrite as a naughty youngster, was thoughtful and considerate. He was the butt of many a joke this evening, for by way of an apology to Abigail, he had bathed, changed clothes, and even trimmed his beard. He'd be a long time living that down but, then as he had said to Abigail, she impressed him favorably with her spunk. She howled like a banshee when beaten, but held up pretty well for a city girl.
Martha helped the other ladies with the food, glancing furtively about for Henri Dufoe, hoping against hope that he would forgo the pleasure of the party. He arrived late, and very drunk, his second bottle of whiskey near the empty point. Going directly to Martha he bleated, "Hey you. Where's my woman. Huh? You said. Huh?"
"Henri Dufoe, you're drunk as a sot," she chided and looked around to the other women as if to suggest she didn't understand this man's words. The other women, however, were otherwise occupied, and paid little attention to this contact. When she was sure no one was looking, she hissed, "Get out of here or I won't help you. Come later, behind the Post and I'll have a wife for you."
He gave her a long, confused bleary eyed look and turned and staggered out of the meeting hall. Martha sighed in relief and returned to her task of providing food for the menfolk.
Bess had been enjoying the evening immensely, for she was only just learning to dance, and
Ephraim had been most attentive. She might have been the belle of the ball had there not been so many new women there to take some of the attention. However, she was having the time of her life until Martha, about ten o'clock told her she would have to go home now.
"You're still a child, Bess. Come now." she said.
"I think she could stay a little longer, Martha," said Ephraim and for once hadn't displayed his usual hostility toward his wife.
But she insisted and leaving the gaiety behind them, the two women walked down the road where the trading post was settled in amongst a clump of trees, and awaited them to witness a new atrocity.
As they neared the Post building, a shadow moved stealthily around to the back, waiting for the promised treasure. Martha looked about, and quickly distracted Bess with cheerful conversation when she realized that Dufoe was already there to collect his prize.
"Let us make ourselves a cup of tea, and relax for a bit before we go to bed, shall we Bess?" invited Martha.
The young girl was so surprised at this show of friendship she leaped at the chance to reciprocate. "Oh, yes. Aunt Martha. Yes that would be very nice."
And so minutes later, drugged by a strong potion in her tea, Bess was handed over to Henri Dufoe to be his wife.
"But you will have to leave this minute, Dufoe," cautioned Martha Danby. "Give me that hundred dollars. I should charge you more for this one. She's a virgin."
"She sure is a pretty one," murmured Dufoe. "How old this little one? Maybe thirteen, fourteen?"
"Fourteen, going on fifteen. Old enough to be a wife. Be gentle with her Dufoe. She is a real prize."
And with that she pushed Dufoe, who carried Bess on his shoulder, out the door and into the night.
"Go now, travel through the night Dufoe, or I will change my mind! God speed."
Henri Dufoe was a happy man as he gently laid his prize down into his supply laden canoe. He had made his purchases early in the day and packed the canoe, knowing that he would be drunk later, which is why he was so late for the auction. But no matter; he had a better prize than a convict from the ship. He had a pretty, young, virgin wife; but she would not be a virgin for long, he snickered to himself.
As he paddled against the current, beneath a star heavy sky, a bright moon guided his sure, easy strokes. The night air had cleared his head from the whiskey cobwebs, and he hummed a tune to himself as he paddled and gazed at the beautiful young girl, looking like an angel of God, sould asleep against the bags of supplies.
She would sleep the night, the old woman had said, and would waken with no ill effects. He hoped she would not bear him ill for he would be good to her and she would be a good wife. He knew that. But then she looked so soft. In time the north would harden her up and meanwhile, he liked that softness that made her look like a timid rabbit.
Her hips were broad, and he smiled in satisfaction as he thought of their unborn children. Yes, she would carry children well. His children. Maybe they would have a son first and he could take the boy out on the trap line and teach him all the wonders of nature, and the secrets of the forest.
His cock stiffened as he thought of what would be their wedding night; how he would gently ease the large swollen head of his prick in between those, long slender legs, right up into Bess' belly. He would ream her until his cream shot up to the deepest well inside that beautiful body. He wanted to suck her luscious breasts and her cunt, but he knew he would have to wait until he was well out of reach of the Post. So agitated had be become that he had to piss over the edge and manipulated the skin on his encrusted cock, back and forth until he shot out his spunk with such force that some of the white liquid reached the hem of the young girl's dress. He didn't bother to wipe his prick clean, just shoved it back inside his breeches, and somewhat relieved, continued to paddle up river against the current.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ephraim arrived home after midnight, and it wasn't until morning that Martha told him about Bess. She tried to tell him that it was an accident, that Henri Dufoe had kidnapped the child, but Ephraim knew better. He knew what his wife had done and that there wasn't a search party in existence that could follow the route of Dufoe up river. He had several hours head start, and there would be no catching him before he reached his own territory; by that time, he was unassailable.
"You gave that beast Dufoe the prize of the north. You shriveled up, dry cunted whore. You gave Bess to Dufoe! How could you do it, slut!" he cried in anguish, railing against the woman.
"I ... I don't know Ephraim. I ... I ... please Ephraim. I didn't mean to do it. I wanted you to give me more time. I wanted you to talk to me; to play with me," she whimpered.
"What! Tell me what you really meant! You got a taste of being alive in your cunt and you want more, is that it? What do you want more of? What is it?" he demanded.
"Please, Ephraim. Nothing. No...." He grasped her by the hair before she could finish and flung her to the floor.
"Tell me, Martha my love," he sneered. "You want to be fucked! You were jealous because everyone wanted to fuck Bess, but nobody wants to fuck your arrid, foul smelling, cunt hole! Tell me the truth!" He pulled her hair and shoved her face into his crotch, twisting and turning till she cried out in pain.
"Answer me bitch whore! Tell me what you want!"
"Ephraim, please don't!" Her agony was intolerable, yet he continued to torture her until she cried, "Yes Ephraim. I wanted to be fucked in my cunt hole! Why not?"
"So be it," he announced and walked to the door. Outside a search party was already forming, for the news of Bess' disappearance had already spread and most of the trappers were willing to take extra time away from their lines to look for the child.
"It's no use men, we'll never find her now," he told them, and outlined what had in actuality happened.
"Come in," he invited and ten grisly, lumbering men entered his home to see Martha cowering in a corner in an effort to escape her husband's wrath.
"My wife, Martha, men," he pointed to her. "She was so jealous and hungry for cock that she sold young Bess to the foulest beast in the north wood. How about it? Will you help me to feed her good? She deserves enough fucking that she'll never be hungry again."
The men shuffled, first embarrassed, then chuckled obscenely to one another, muttering so that from the hum Martha could hear bits of conversation like, "big tits."
"suck cock."
"cream her cunt," etc.
Each vulgar phrase one man would utter, encouraged the next to get even more vile and vulgar, till the woman, even before they so much as touched her, was cringing with shame and discomfort.
"On your knees, bitch!" ordered Ephraim as he grabbed her gown at the neck and ripped it from her. She kneeled, wearing only the rags of her dress, a binder and thick bloomers. "Alright men, rip her clothes off."
The men converged on the unfortunate woman and shredded every bit of clothing until she, in a prayer position, knelt naked on the floor, hands together, sobbing, imploring the lord for forgiveness.
"Mike," ordered Ephraim, "get your prick out of your pants and lie down. Martha, get on top of him and wrap that cunt around his cock before I count three." Mike moved into position quickly, Martha did not and for her tardiness was rewarded with three cuts from Ephraim's cruel dog whip.
"Get on top, woman."
Martha struggled to straddle Mike, an obese, large cocked woodsman. His cock was wide and thick, though not so long as some, and Martha who had not been aroused was dry as falling leaves in her cunt so that when Ephraim pushed her roughly onto Mike's cock, she screamed in anguish. "Fuck him, slut ... fuck, I said."
Slowly Martha began moving up and down on the pole on which she was impaled. So mortified was she that she was unaware of her husband's movements behind her. He had placed the small framed Jean Monet who was once a Jesuit, behind and beckoned him to thrust his penis into Martha's gaping arsehole.
As he pushed forward, she jumped out of position and Mike's prick slipped out of its rapidly moistening sheath for her cunt was responding to the fucking more than she cared to admit. Ephraim smacked her across the breasts with his dog whip and pushed her back into position. Now with one cock up her cunt and another up her butt, she joggled up and down and back and forth as if riding a mule through a rocky path.
"Fuck her Mike. Martha, beg, implore, Mike to fuck you. Beg him. Beg Jean to fuck your butt! Ask him nicely to bugger your arsehole! Now," came the firm insistence of Ephraim.
She demurred, but only for a moment as the dog whip did it's convincing.
"Fuck ... fu ... fuck me Mike. Ooohhh, F-fuck me!" she stammered.
"Where?" queried one of the bystanders, all of whom had stiff, straight up cocks as a result of this display of raw, animal sex.
"F-f-fuck me in the ... the ... cunt. Please! Jean, Fuck my butt, please. Bugger my ... Oooh, Ephraim, I can't! I can't!" she wailed.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! Three sharp smacks across her tits was the only answer she got.
Ooooooohhh. Aeeeee. F-fuck my butt, Bugger ... B-bugger, my butt hole, I implore you. I be-beg you Jean, fuck my ... mmmmFGLG...."
Suddenly her mouth was full and as she opened her eyes she could see only black hair up close, and felt a huge, foul smelling, foul tasting prick shoved deeply into her mouth till she almost choked. Then she was aware of her predicament.
"Fuck her in the mouth, Monty," the other men jeered, encouraging this onslaught. Monty was a mentally deficient half breed whose finest gift was his incredibly large penis which he now rammed mercilessly down Martha's throat.
Martha tried to turn her head away to escape this punishment only to be roughly brought back into position when Ephraim grabbed her long hair and shoved her face into Monty's excited. crotch. He fucked her mouth as enthusiastically as he had ever fucked anybody or anything. Monty was known to pursue certain pet animals when he ran out of women to satiate his lustful sexual appetite.
Despite the torturous, humiliating agony visited upon Martha she could feel her sex juices escaping from her cunt, found herself pushing down hard onto Mike's reaming, ramming cock, wriggling her butt to take the full length of Jean's longer, thinner prick. All her motions she performed in spite of herself, for the animal passion had been aroused, and the inhibited woman could no longer control herself.
"Ooooooohhhh. Aaaeeee! I ... I ... Ooohhhmy cunt ... My come ... Oooooooaaaaeeee" she jerked convulsively, as the three men, fucking each a different orifice allowed their own spunk to be shot from their cocks into mouth, cunt and butt. All four reached their climaxes simultaneously.
Jean pushed deeper and deeper into her butt. Martha pushed hard down onto Mike's cock as he strained upward and Monty fucking furiously shoved nearly the entire length of his cock down her throat and spent his come down her gullet making her gasp for breath as she swallowed his white cream, and what she could not swallow forced its way out through the corners of her mouth, dripping down her chin.
As they released her, she involuntarily gagged and vomited. Ephraim, in anger rapped her three or four more times across her bare butt and dictated the punishment for this.
"You don't like the taste of cock, eh? You want fresh young cunt to suck. We'll see about that! Anybody that wants to be sucked off, line up. Martha will be happy to do the honors. And Martha, every drop of spunk you fail to swallow will get you a whipping with the dog."
Four men lined up, exposing their rigid poles for her attention. When it suited Ephraim to smack her bottom with the whip, he did so, encouraging her to relieve four men with her mouth, and when she swallowed, she did not vomit, but with great effort held the sperm down and dropped only a few stray droplets that escaped.
Gerard Lefevre waited his turn. He had not had any sex with a woman for several months and wanted to make the most of this woman whose husband's looking on, made her even more desirable. Ephraim had agreed to let him do whatever he chose and Gerard searched vainly for some original ideas.
Finally, he settled to have her on her hands and knees, and he would attack her in the cunt, but from the rear, in this way he could feel her tits and fondle her love button or whatever he chose.
It no longer took kisses from the dog whip to make Martha submit to any degradation required. "On your hands and knees," Gerard ordered, and she quickly took her place in the middle of the floor.
He took his time, first caressing her breasts, then when he removed his clothing, she kissed his prick and begged him to fuck her as she was told.
Having stepped behind her, he reached around her widely parted legs to fondle her clitoris and to arouse her to a point where she wanted fucking herself. He rubbed, teased, pinched and finally inserted a finger into her hole. Involuntarily she began to wriggle her backside, pushing back toward him. Slowly and deliberately, he guided his smooth tipped cock toward its goal. Martha raised her behind even higher to give him better entrance. As he pushed forward into her cunt, she pushed back with all her might; all the while he toyed and played with her liquid making pussy.
Before long, she was breathing heavily, and he, unable to contain himself any further pushed forward till his balls slapped against her inner thighs and he rammed into.her cunt feverishly. At that moment, she had lost herself in another huge orgasm and moaned loudly, muttering..."Oohhh, my cunt. My cunt. Aaaeeee. Oh, now. Now. Deep." This was her second very strong come in less than an hour and her face carried the telling lines of fatigue.
Ephraim was not going to let her stop yet, for he would avenge the fate of his dear, sweet Bess, and Martha would be made to pay and pay again.
Before she had completed her come, Ephraim pushed Gerard aside; his cock popped out of her cunt and he sat on the floor, exhausted.
Ephraim mounted his wife, who looked back over her shoulder at him in alarm, wondering what was next; wondering what her husband had in store for her, yet knowing it would not be agreeable.
Without a word, Ephraim freed his prick from its restrictive britches, it was hot and throbbing now, awaiting it's turn, and he rammed it mercilessly up her arsehole that had been twitching invitingly when Gerard's hair prickled against it as he had fucked her.
"Aaaeeee!" she cried in torment, for her husband's sizeable cock all but tore her small hole across. The muscles contracted, adding to the already pulsating discomfort. His cock was buried deep within her bowels. "Monty," called Ephraim. "Do you want her to suck your cock again? On your knees Monty, give her your cock and she'll suck it dry and swallow all your spunk, won't you Martha? There. Your butt is going to get fucked until you can't sit down, then when everybody has fucked your butt, I'll whip you till you bleed, whore!"
Martha tried to wrench herself forward, but Ephraim held her fast from the back, and by this time Monty had his oversized cock lodged within her jaws, and was ramming in and pulling out, yelling, "Hold you mout tight, leddy, hold you mout tight. You mout fuck Monty, huh? Yipee!
Your mout as good as cunt, huh leddy?" He threw back his head and laughed cruelly as he rammed in and out her mouth, choking her. Ephraim butt fucked her for all he was worth.
Monty came first; this time Martha swallowed most of the spunk, except for the trickles which she could not catch. Before he removed his cock from her mouth, Ephraim shot his load and pushed so hard that Martha fell over, he on top of her. This so angered him that he pulled his cock roughly out of her arsehole, bade her kneel before him and lick it clean.
"Ephraim, please, have mercy! I ... I ... can't. You can kill me, but I can't ... It's wicked. It ... it is oohhh. Ohhhhh Ephraim please, please."
He had grasped her by the back of the head and thrust her face into his crotch. She twisted her head away as Monty, eager to help Ephraim, took the dog whip and began whipping her buttocks. Her face was shoved against her husband's soiled prick.
Ephraim had to stop Monty before Martha became unconscious and then her tongue worked efficiently and licked the outer skin, and the inner portion of the cock the tip, and the base. There was not a spot on Ephraim's cock that had not been thoroughly cleaned by his wife's licking tongue. When he let go of her hair, she slumped on the floor, more unconscious than aware, but her ordeal was not so easily ended. The Boulton twins were still waiting their turn in this makeshift brothel. Ephraim had promised all the men on the search party a portion of this orgy, and Martin and Raymond Boulton were not to be left out.
Mike, who had been watching begged the men to now let Martha off, but when he was reminded of the fate of their favorite youngster Bess, he agreed to continue with the punishment and ravagement of so vicious a tyrant as the good woman Martha.
Martin and Raymond wanted Martha together, and they wanted her able to respond to their sex, so Raymond produced a bottle of whiskey and poured some down the woman's throat. She gagged, but it quickly revived her and she was again ready for a sexual attack to pay for an act which would haunt her the rest of her days.
Martin was very shy for he was not too amply endowed with cock though he could perform well with it. The size left much to be desired, he felt. So Martin lay on his back and cautiously lowered his britches to free his little prick. Sympathetically, his twin shielded him from the prying eyes of the audience, and taking Martha by the waist, thrust her butt-hole down on the little penis before anyone could see what was happening. With Martha safely impaled on his brother's small erect member, he disrobed, showing a magnificent tool, perhaps eight inches long, and thick right down to the core. Martha gasped as she took notice of this pole that was aimed at her poor, aching cunt. Her love pot was tender and pains shot up her groin from her ravagement. She knew better than to cry out for mercy; each time she had done it, she was whipped for her insolence.
She bounced and bobbed up and down on Martin's little prick, then Raymond, his legs pressed together, shoved her back so that she lay against Martin's supporting arms, his cock up her arsehole, Raymond fucking her from the front. Now instead of bouncing from Martin's efforts, Raymond carried her back and forth, up and down on his magnificent cock; he brought his mouth down on her large tits, tightened his lips around the protruding, brown nipples and began to suck, nibble, bite, pull and tongue the breasts, till Martha was writhing and moaning in passion again.
As Ephraim watched thoughtfully, he wondered how he had gone wrong. Why had Martha been so cold and sterile? Why had her passions never been aroused by him? He had thought she was sexless, but as he watched her in agonized ecstasy, he knew her sex was aroused; she was animalistic and alive. In future he would see to it that her passion well brimmed over with juices and was open and ready for him whenever he chose.
Without warning Martha suddenly reared up and moaned, "Oooohhh. Fuck harder and harder. Oooohhh my cunty, my poor ... oooohhhhhh my butt...." Her passionate outburst on her coming brought both the twins to a strong climax right afterwards and as Martha was coming down from her orgasm, Martin and Raymond pushed each into their holes, hard in pushing, moaning with spent passions.
The ten men having satisfied their desires and Martha, having been punished for her outrage against Bess, Ephraim bid the trappers good day and closed their door.
"Ephraim," whimpered Martha. "I am sorry." Her eyes were dark and there were dark circles under them from the agonies of this day. She knew she would never be able to pay for the crime she had committed in selling young Bess to Henri Dufoe. Yet she hoped that somewhere in his heart, her husband could find forgiveness. That he had caused her so much torment, pain and humiliation only seemed right and for the first time in her life, Martha felt like a woman in her husband's presence.
"Never mind Martha, we'll talk about it later. Get cleaned up now." He felt a pang of remorse at having been so cruel to his wife, for he suddenly understood why she had had to get rid of Bess. She was jealous and her awakened passions had cried out for him, but he had turned his back.
He had planned on ending her day with a severe beating, but he took her to bed and for the first time in years, Ephraim made love to his wife.
CHAPTER SIX
Henri Dufoe had paddled religiously through the night and now, as he turned his canoe around a bend and into the east a blinding ball of fire leapt into view. Dawn was breaking and Dufoe, tired from the long night of escape, longed to stop for breakfast and the consummation of his hasty marriage.
Bess stirred as she began to waken from her drugged sleep, instinctively trying to bring her hands to her face to rub her eyes and to protect them from the early morning glare. Slowly her eyelids fluttered as she looked around tentatively, confounded by the scene which met her eyes. Tugging at the bonds which held her wrists fast behind her, she let out a whimper which might be that of a frightened young animal of the forest. Dufoe was almost moved to sympathy, except that his passions were too great for much sympathy.
He reached forward and patted her young breasts lightly. She screamed and recoiled as though he had beaten her. He would undoubtedly beat her in the future if she needed discipline, but he could not understand her pulling away from him. He wanted to pet her, to stroke her body, her hair. He wanted to be gentle with this his new wife, but it would depend on her whether or not he treated her with such dignity. If she would only smile at him, he would then venture to speak to the child wife-to offer her what love and tenderness he possessed. He even went so far as to grin broadly at her, baring his yellow teeth, but she recoiled even more, pressing herself against the bags of supplies behind her.
He had once tamed a dog who was much the same-it was part wolf, part domestic hound and in a short time that dog was taught to lick his hands and his feet. Surely if a dog could learn, this angelic mistress would be an even more apt student.
He guided the canoe to shore where there was a clearing amidst the greenery, that they might stop for food and rest and perhaps he would, at his leisure, relieve her of her useless virginity. Still not sure of her, he tied a rope to one ankle and the other end of the length to his wrist. He knew she could not really escape and this precaution was for her benefit. He did not want her to rush off stupidly into the dense woods and get lost, or meet up with an unfriendly animal.
Untying her wrists, he muttered, "Girl, collect some dry wood for da fire. We have some breakfast." She stumbled from the canoe and tripped over a tree root, sprawling indelicately on the ground. Dufoe could not hold back his mirth. He slapped his thigh and laughed heartily.
"Easy. Der is no place to go dere, Girl. Jus collect fire-wood for breakfast. I bring blankets for resting and maybe some sleeping, and maybe little more, huh?" He slapped his thigh again and chuckled lecherously.
Bess gathered herself up and timidly gathered a few sticks of dry wood in the immediate area which the rope allowed her. Dufoe busied himself with laying out blankets and animal skins, then he took out the big heavy pot, filled it half-way with meat, water and salt before lighting the fire. Bess had not spoken one word yet nor was she-likely too, she told herself. She guessed what had happened, although she would never have guessed that her Aunt Martha received one hundred dollars for her. No, she would never believe that.
She crouched on her haunches as far away from Dufoe as she could, pulling the rope taut, while he started the fire and began the meat stewing. While it sputtered and cooked, he advanced on the poor child.
Turning to run, she again tripped and fell full face on the ground, he falling atop her. Grabbing a sharp twig, she turned on him and beat him about the face and shoulders, scratching his face badly.
"Beetch!" he muttered under his breath. "Crazy beetch!" He grabbed the stick and threw it to one side, doubled up the rope and secured her wrists once again behind her back and threw her down roughly on the blankets.
As she struggled, kicking her legs, he threw one leg over her two, anchoring them, rendering her helpless while his hands explored his prize.
"So, you scratch Dufoe, huh? You don't wanna talk huh? So, Dufoe has his fon anyway. You see. Look I can pinch you little titties. They not so big like some. Let me see better, huh?" He pinched her nipples through her dress, then grasping her frock by the neck, he ripped it down exposing her bare breasts in all their beauty. He gasped with unexpected pleasure at the whiteness, the firmness, the sheer loveliness of these white breasts.
"I make you wanna fuck, you see. You see how you gonna want Dufoe, huh?" His mouth attached itself to one breast as he sucked hungrily, for this was his first contact with a woman since over a year ago when he bought a prostitute at the post, and then she was tired for he was fourth in line.
In his enthusiasm, he had released his hold on her legs which kicked frantically out at him; one shod foot caught him smartly in the groin so that he fell back on the ground, moaning in pain, his balls aflame from the kick.
When his cries subsided, Bess, frightened and panicky, crouched cowering in her terror. She hated this beast, his smell, his lechery, his ownership of her. She wanted to die and hoped that she had angered him enough that he would kill her. No, perhaps not such a drastic end, but if he hurt her then he would not paw her body, nor fawn over her privates as she knew was his intent. She could not anticipate the animalistic urges of Dufoe, whom other trappers called, 'the animal.'
Crazed with pain in his groin and the humiliation of not being able to fuck his bride, he violently grabbed the girl and pulled away her tattered dress. Naked she stood, ready to take his worst, though she would not have been so proud and defiant had she known what was in store.
He dragged her to a tree which was about two feet across, untied her wrists and attached a length of leather thong to each, pulling one arm around each side of the tree so that she embraced the rough tree trunk. Pulling on both thongs roughly, he bound them together tightly so that the bark cut harshly into her milk white breasts.
He did the same with her ankles, so that her legs were spread wide as well, and pulled round the base of the rough barked trunk exposing her bare butt in its entirety; inner thighs and spread cheeked butt.
He once tamed his she dog, the part wolf, part hound by sucking her cunt; he supposed Bess would respond favorably to this. Falling to his knees behind her he stuck his tongue out, and licked slowly and deliberately, beginning at her cunt hole, then wriggling his tongue over in and around her butt hole and up the crack.
She let out a whimper, but still refused to utter a word to this beast. Next he started at the top, slowly licking her down the crack, stopping for a few moments at her delicious little butt hole, then a furious jab into her cunt. His mouth, like a leech, attached itself to her pussy as he sucked vigorously. The more she wiggled her butt, the more the rough tree trunk dug into her breasts and her belly until her front showed signs of bleeding, yet Dufoe did not give up his sucking. Faint stirrings of passion had begun in her belly though she tried to control her desire. And as she was about to reach a peak of her passion, Dufoe suddenly stopped his ministrations.
"Ohh ... oh ... oh" she cried.
"Der now girl, I see you can say someting, huh? Say you want fuck. Say! Girl. Say!" he screamed.
Her body writhed with unfulfilled passion, but yet she refused to make any communication with this beast. Dufoe got his bottle of whiskey from the canoe, then armed himself with a birch switch and returned to his captive. Again he implored her to speak, to consummate their marriage, but she stubbornly refused.
Swish! The switch sailed through the air, landing with a sharp snap across the girl's milky backside. Passion turned to pain, and as Bess tried to squirm out of the way of the switch, she tormented her already raw belly and titties.
SWISH! Dufoe brought the branch sharply across long all the tender leaves had flayed from the branch and only a bare, cutting twig remained. SWISH! Dufoe brought the branch sharply across her back, carefully spacing his strokes one directly below the other, crisscrossing only in error so as not to damage the tender skin in a lasting manner.
"Girl." SMACK! "You say you wanna Dufoe to make screw with you!" SWISH! "You beg Dufoe to play wit you cunt, huh?" SWISH! SWISH! Each cut burnt indelibly into the girl's tender flesh.
"Ooohhhhh. God ... please ... s-s ... s...
"Cat no got you tongue, eh! You talk to Dufoe now! You ask for Dufoe fuck you now?" he growled, bringing the birch down with more force than before, so that droplets of dark red appeared where each criss cross of the weapon met.
"M ... mer ... mercy ... p ... please. Ooohhh Aaahhhh! No ... nooooooo," Bess felt she would have to submit to the animal rape of this man but she could not bring herself to this though his whipping branch cut visciously into her very soul. She shrieked loudly each time he brought the birch down, and it seemed that her cries and pleas fanned him to greater violence.
"Ooohhhhh. God ... please ... s-s ... s ... t t. . . " Bess had reached the point of submission, but Dufoe continued the punishment.
The sobs shook the pain racked body of young Bess and she could not have spoken had she tried, so choked up with her agony was she. Swish! Swish! The sharp birch cut into her round, reddening butt, her back and SWISH! down the crack so that the birch cut mercilessly into her butt hole and into her cunt. She emitted shrieks which seemed to drive Henri Dufoe on to greater cruelty as he cut, cut, cut, into her tender flesh. When he finally threw away the offending birch rod, she was marked from her neck to her knees, and her front scratched, bruised and bleeding.
Henri Dufoe took a long pull from his bottle of whiskey then cut the child down from her torturous stake. She fell to the ground in a faint as she was released, and in pity, the beast bathed her body with cool, clear water from the river. He then laid her down on the skins, covered her with blankets and himself took his rest at the far length of the cord which he fastened securely to her ankle.
Bess could not have walked away, let alone run, for her legs, thighs, her entire body ached so that she could not move. It would be several days before she would be able to navigate a portage when they reached the river of rapids.
Before he fell into a fitful sleep, Dufoe uttered one long, animal cry. Why did such things happen to him?
The sun was high in the sky for it was mid-day when Dufoe wakened and remembered there would be no joy in his life this day. He had anticipated greater pleasures than he had ever known, but reality dealt him miseries of the damned.
Bess was still sound asleep when he broke camp, and he left rousing her until the very last. She could barely walk, so he lifted her gently, her eyes foggy and sleep filled, swollen from her tears. He carried her to the canoe and laid her down on the skins and blankets he had arranged to cover the supplies, thus making the most comfortable bed on which she could rest.
It was very dark and very late when he again guided the canoe to shore to make camp for the night. Now it was important to build a good fire for protection against bear, wolves and wildcat. The small animals too kept away from the fire and in this way supplies were protected from these scavengers.
The meat in the stew was tough and Bess, hungry though she was felt faint at having to chew on the leathery victuals. Dufoe chomped at the meat noisily, juice dripping down his beard onto his clothing that smelled bad enough already.
Noting that Bess was squeamish about eating, he forced a large piece of meat into her mouth and mumbled, "You got to eat, girl. No good to starve. Huh? You talk now, huh? You talk to Dufoe, or maybe you want more taming. Uh-you tell," he sneered.
"No. No, please Mr. Dufoe. Don't whip me anymore. Please. I'll speak. I'll do whatever you say." Bess relented understandably, for she could not move a limb nor a muscle without agonizing pain.
"You learn quick, huh! Hey, girl. What you name?" he asked.
Bess, shrinking away from his familiarity whispered, "Bess. My name is Bess Gagnon."
"Ah, Bass. That is nice. But it not be Gagnon. Now you name is Bess Dufoe. You Dufoe's wife, huh? Miz Danby sell me a wife for one honderd dollars. You good virgin wife, huh? But we make good babies soon. Very soon. When you cunt get better and your ass it heals, then we fuck real good and make good babies. Huh?" he roared obscenely and gestured rudely to illustrate his point to Bess.
She turned her head away in shame; not shame at the coming seduction by her husband, but shame in the knowledge that Aunt Martha had sold her to this animal for a hundred dollars. It would have been kinder to have given her away. She thought bitterly, "I wonder if it is more than 30 pieces of silver." She lay back and fell asleep, Dufoe left her in peace knowing that she had to heal her body before he would claim a wife.
Morning came in unbelievable beauty, the sun peeping up from behind the pines, the river smooth and clear reflecting the blue of the sky, the air fresh, crisp and cool for autumn was on its way. Dufoe breathed in deeply, pounding his chest in child-like exuberance. He glanced over to the sleeping form of his child-wife and grinned his toothy grin. He knew that it was now only a matter of time until she would submit her body to him and his cock stood erect at the thought of its entrance into her virgin cunt hole. He sighed as he saw in his fantasy the act of love that would join him to his young bride.
Rising, he impatiently freed his prick from his pants and relieved himself. The liquid spattered in a great arc and some dribbled on to his fingers which he dried against the leg of his britches. At the sound of pee spattering against a tree trunk, Bess awoke with a start, then rubbing her eyes turned away from the exposed prick.
"Hey, you look Bass. You no like my beeg prick?" he snickered.
"You gonna like it when you feel it in your cunt hole. You wait. You gonna like Dufoe's fuck machine, huh?"
Much of the pain had left her tormented body, but Bess still felt a terrible stiffness when she tried to get up from her bed of skins. She moaned and gingerly rubbed her aching bottom.
"Hey, girl. You feel better now, huh? You want fuck now, maybe?" asked Dufoe, his prick twitching violently.
"No, please Henri, not just now," pleaded Bess. "I will try to be a wife to you, truly I will. I suppose there is nothing else for it. Let me have some time first. I ache so. Please, please Henri."
"Sure. That's alright. We fuck when you ready, huh?"
Bess nodded. She no longer felt the shame at his vulgarity. It was his way and she would learn to accept it. At least until she found a way to escape and return-return to where? She could not return to the post, for hadn't Aunt Martha sold her? And she was not sure that Uncle Ephraim was unaware of his wife's actions. Maybe he knew about the hundred dollars. Maybe he knew about Henri Dufoe. One day, Bess decided, she would escape to somewhere she wanted to go. One day she would know how to escape and where her salvation lay. In the meantime, she was Bess Dufoe, wife to 'the animal.'
This morning Bess found it less distasteful to chew at the tough meat from the stew pot, and she was able to swallow the thick black liquid that passed for coffee. She even helped break camp, washed the one spoon and carefully strapped the lid on to the stew pot so that none of the food would be lost on their journey. They would need sustenance later in the day for Henri had informed her they would spend most of the day in portage over craggy rocks.
It would be another ten days before they reached the Dufoe cabin and while they could go most of the way by canoe, there were several portages past the rapids and today's journey would be the longest and hardest.
By midday, Bess who sat patiently watching when Dufoe paddled, and followed obediently carrying supplies over the craggy pathway when it was necessary to leave the waterway, was badly burned by sun and wind,' her golden hair matted and tangled with burrs. She had begun to understand the reason Dufoe was so unkempt. In the northern woods, nature took its toll and cleanliness and tidiness were not always possible.
The canoe had begun to gather tremendous speed over the winding river and it soon became apparent to even Bess, they were headed for more rapids and another cataract.
She helped Dufoe beach the canoe and together they struggled up a rocky bank with cargo and transport along a narrow path that would lead them eventually to still waters where they could once more travel in the comfort of the swift canoe.
Suddenly Dufoe stopped so that Bess nearly ran into him. He held up his hand and called, "Ssslit." There on the ground was a fresh, large paw print and as they looked ahead they heard the long, low growl of an adversary. For there ahead of them on the narrow path, stood a giant grizzly bear, surely ready to attack.
"Hand me my carbine," whispered Dufoe, for in helping to execute the portage Bess carried part of the supplies.
As Bess moved to hand her husband the carbine, her foot slipped on a loose rock, she dropped the weapon. It crashed down from rock to rock to the bottom of the pathway from whence they had come. The grizzly stood taller and growled again showing his displeasure with these humans. Both Dufoe and Bess kept stock still, for any sudden movement was sure to provoke an attack by the monster ahead of them.
Slowly, slowly, he lowered the canoe from his shoulders; the grizzly watched and with each motion made by Dufoe, the bear snarled, bared his teeth and watched, it would seem trying to decide whether he would charge or whether he might just stand his ground.
One false move and Dufoe knew all would be lost. Perhaps Bess would escape the attacking grizzly, but innocent and soft as she was, she would never survive the cruel forest without him. He knew he dare not make one mistake.
With one hand he slowly motioned Bess to stay back as far on the path as she could, while the other moved to his belt where his hunting knife rested. Slowly, each movement painfully slow now, he raised the knife before him. The grizzly bared his teeth again and snarkled menacingly. Dufoe kept his eyes even with the grizzly's as he took a step forward, his free hand reaching again to his belt where a leather whip hung loose.
Bess blanched at the sight of the whip. She was thankful, despite their present danger, that he had not used such a whip on her for it was long, black and snake like.
Still staring the grizzly in the eyes, he took yet another step forward; the grizzly snarled and growled about to attack in earnest. Then suddenly Dufoe leapt forward and upward letting out a wild whoop that could be heard for miles around. At the same time he cracked the whip which in the closeness of the rocks sounded like a pistol shot, and raised the knife ready to strike if need be.
The grizzly stepped back, fell down on all fours and with a look of utter confusion turned and slinking away from the enemy growled and snarled in his retreat. Dufoe followed for a few yards, yelling, shouting and cracking his whip, pleased with his own success and forgetting the danger that had so nearly befallen them.
His yellow teeth in a broad grin he turned back to Bess, who pale and shaken, nonetheless did not faint. "Hah? You see Dufoe? Huh? You got good husband. Even grizzly is 'fraid of Dufoe."
After they had retrieved the rifle, they continued on the path until the river was again safe for travel. That night Bess allowed Henri to share her animal skin, but he still did not touch her body for it was not yet healed. Dufoe knew that now it was surely only a matter of time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
As the days passed, so the journey became more tiring and treacherous for Henri Dufoe and his wife. Bess, having recovered somewhat from her birching ached now from the ceaseless trudging over rocky paths, carrying canoe or supplies when the rivers or lakes would not afford them passage. The burning sun and cutting wind had already made her face and hands rough and red, aging her skin beyond her years. Her feet were cut and bruised so that now she wore an oversize pair of Dufoe's boots, her own shoes had rebelled against the wild north two days from Danby's Post. And she no longer cared how dirty, blood spattered or foul smelling was her husband's wolf skin coat. It was warm and offered her protection against the cold nights and biting winds.
The last night under the stars, or so Dufoe informed his young wife, was now upon them. The next day in mid-afternoon they could expect to reach his cabin and begin their married life in earnest. This then would be their wedding night.
Dufoe whistled jauntily as he constructed a bower of pine branches over the bridal bed, while Bess pushing all thoughts from her mind, gathered wood mechanically from the clearing which would serve as camp this night. She knew this would come, the day she would be fucked. She had hoped Uncle Ephraim would be the one to relieve her of this burden of virginity, but he had amused himself in other ways and though the young girl had experienced many orgasms, had reached the lofty peaks of climax, she had not yet had her virgin wall punctured. The gate was in tact and Dufoe would burst through it. She hoped it wouldn't hurt too much.
"See now, Bess," called Henri in child-like enthusiasm. "Thees bed is for you and me for fuck. Huh? We make good fuck now. You want food first or make fuck first, food after."
Bess nodded. "Let's start the fire now, Henri. We've been journeying all day and I am very tired. I badly want to sleep." She had begun her monthly bleeding but for fear that he would ravage her anyway, did not tell him. What would he do, she thought. She supposed he would make a fuck with her. She had mixed feelings about it. She knew it was wickedness but perhaps God would grant forgiveness when he knew all the circumstances.
Yes, she would have to try to dissuade him from putting his cock into her bleeding cunty, for she knew it to be fact that he would be poisoned from her blood if he made a fuck. She knew her duty before God and her duty to her husband. She would have to tell him about her sickness before he put his cock in, thus save him from a horrendous death.
As they sat by the camp fire, gnawing at the meat that was rapidly becoming rancid, Bess felt she must tell Dufoe that he would not have his wife this evening. She moved closer to him and put her head on his shoulder.
"Dufoe. I am on my monthly sickness. You cannot fuck me tonight," she spoke directly.
"Wot you say, girl. I aready make bed for fuck. Look!" he released his swollen cock for her inspection. "See Dufoe's beeg prick. He gonna say hello to you cunt hole, girl. You see!"
Though he spoke roughly, he had tears in his eyes. Bess noted with pity the disappointment he could not hide, for Dufoe knew full well that he would not claim his bride's virginity this night. He had waited for nine days, and now he would have to wait for how many more days.
"Henri. It will not last long. Only three or four days. You'll see and then we'll be like husband and wife. I promise you," she pleaded with him.
Half-crazed with animal passions that cried for satisfaction, Dufoe rose from beside his bride and roared about the camp, raging and screaming like a northern banshee.
"Awr. Why you wait till now to tell Dufoe. Dufoe wait for you get better from whip!" With his prick sticking stiffly up in the air, for he had not returned it to his britches, he stamped around the girl, standing over her, whimpering like a wounded bear.
"Wot you tink Dufoe gonna do wit dis beeg, hard cock, huh? You tink he gonna fuck she wolf?" Grasping her by the hair he pulled her roughly to him. "You answer Dufoe! Maybe I beat you with my bear whip. Den you know how Dufoe's balls feel wit hurd and ache for fuck!"
"Oh, no. Please," begged Bess. She had seen that bear whip in action but once when Dufoe had saved them from an attack from the grizzly, and she had heard the pistol shot snap of the black snake.
"Dufoe! Henri! Wait. Don't be angry with me. Let me suck your cock. You can fuck me in my mouth. Won't that be alright." She snuggled her face into his crotch which smelled foul from sweat, urine and unwashed sperm. Distasteful as it was, this would be better than the black bear whip.
"Oh right," agreed Dufoe grudgingly and sat down on a bundle of supplies, presenting his cock so that the swollen, twitching member would fall even with the girl's mouth as she kneeled before him. Roughly, he grabbed her by her hair and shoved her face into his genitals.
"Mmmmmmffffgg." Bess pulled away from him. She would try one more thing. "Dufoe. Let me wash your hard prick with warm water. I'll show you how to wash away all the old fucking cream and piss."
He started to push her face back into his crotch, then stopped. It might be enjoyable indeed, to have his young wife wash his balls, his prick and his butt-hole. How they all could use attention from such beautiful, young hands. Dufoe waited patiently while Bess brought the bucket filled with warm water which had been heating over the fire. like a slave which he had once seen pictures of in a book of fairy tales, she gently held his stiff stick while the warm water caressed his stretched, taut, outer skin. His hair, harsh and prickly curled tightly at the touch of water. Bess rubbed and rubbed, using a fingernail to scrape the area clean. Her slender fingers reached back to rub his twitching arsehole. Pouring warm water into her palm, she rinsed the butt. She took special pains when cleansing the balls, careful not to press too hard, but to rub gently and caressingly. Dufoe was on edge and one false move from her would mean a taste of the black snake.
Dufoe, with a silly grin spread over his face, watched Bess perform these ablutions religiously and was satisfied that he had indeed acquired a good and proper wife.
"Enough!" he yelled like a Sultan to his lowly harem maid. "I tink you now mout fuck Dufoe. Take care you don bite or I tink I bite you ass wit a black whip, huh?"
Bess obediently laid aside the bucket of water and knelt supplicatingly before her master, for Dufoe was certainly her master until she could escape.
She licked her lips arousingly and placed her mouth hard around the swollen knob of Dufoe's extended penis. The washing had made this a not unpleasant task, and Bess reached her hands between her husband's legs to fondle and caress his balls, while she sucked voraciously at his bobbing cock. He placed his two hands behind her head and shoved back and forth with a sexual motion so that not only was her mouth and tongue sucking and playing with the member, but at the same time Dufoe experienced the in and out motion of fornication.
"Assshhhh. Ohhhh, Bass. You got good fuck mout. Ooohhhhaaaah," he moaned in his passion, eager to hold on to this first sex in many months, as long as he could.
Bess, one hand rubbing his balls gently, slipped the other hand further back and inserted her slender pointer finger just into the surface of his spasm controlled arsehole.
Dufoe groaned in agonized ecstasy. He had never felt quite like this before. Never had a whore mouth fucked him, nor had anyone played with his butt-hole like this. True, the exiled Saracee, Spirit of Bear, had reamed his arsehole with his cock, but Dufoe hadn't liked it much and had agreed to this only because Spirit of Bear had let him fuck his arsehole earlier.
Suddenly, Bess jammed her finger full force right up his anal orifice; his arsehole jumped, his cock twitched with an overwhelming come as uncontrollably he shot a huge load of spunk right down Bess' throat.
"MmmmmfTfggllbb, Ooohhhh," she turned her face away. Bess had already swallowed a throatful of the come and it kept shooting out like from a fountain, into her hair, her ears, till the pistol-like cock fell limp, dribbling only the few droplets remaining of this incredible spending.
Dufoe, like his prick, had also fallen limp, overcome by this tremendous release of passion. He petted his wife's head, patting and caressing, unaware that he had rubbed his spunk into her hair and over her face. Bess herself felt a certain sense of victory, for she had succeeded in reducing the rough, tough, animal Dufoe to weakness and a gentleness that he himself found disturbingly unfamiliar. Her mouth fucking of him and the play with his arsehole had taken away all his strength as surely as he might be Samson and she Delilah.
Bess had learned the strength of womanhood, and as she snuggled up to 'the animal', Henri Dufoe, under the wedding bower, a hint of smile played on her lips. She was no longer afraid.
It was mid afternoon when Henri Dufoe impatiently grounded his canoe and announced, "We here now Bass. Dis here da home of Henri Dufoe, huh? Get out now, huh?" He carefully pulled the canoe to shore and offered his hand to his new bride. Stepping out of the craft, Bess stared up the slope that led to a small clearing amidst giant pines, where in one corner huddled a rudely built, small cabin of mud and logs.
She gasped and tried to cover her disappointment, but too late, for her husband had already seen the crest-fallen look on her face. Back at the Post, Uncle Ephraim's pigs lived in better pens.
A heavy door hung loosely from its leather hinges. Dirty, tattered animal skins served as curtains on two roughly hewn out windows. The smell was atrocious. The entire floor of the clearing was covered with old bones from slaughtered animals, rotting flesh in evidence on many of them. Blood had been splattered liberally on a chopping block where Dufoe had obviously killed and skinned animals for their pelts, and butchered others for his food.
Bess lost her balance for a moment and faltered, staggering into her husband, such was the odor which assailed her nostrils. She was sure she would faint.
A dark cloud gathered on Henri Dufoe's brow as he glowered helplessly in the face of this failure. "Hey! Gat supplies from da canoe and into the cabin. You tink we got all day, girl? Gat going!" he growled.
Bess collected her wits about her and stepping over the litter of dead things she made her way up to the cabin and thrust open the door. She had felt there could be nothing worse than the scene of carnage over which she had just passed, but the interior of the cabin was worse, much worse. There was not a fireplace nor a stone, only a spot in the center for a fire, with a smoke hole at the top. The walls, which had once been whitewashed, were dark and smudged with the escaping smoke from many past fires. The only furniture was a crude bedstead constructed of pine boughs, covered with a pile of foul smelling, untanned skins.
She turned and fled from this sight, her hand to her mouth restraining the urge to vomit copiously. Bess leaned against a tree; Dufoe, watchful as a mean grizzly stared after her suspiciously, waiting for her to make her move. Exchanging looks, Bess knew she would have to make a decision at this moment, just as Henri had done with the grizzly.
With a toss of her proud head, she removed his coat which she had worn, and laid it gently down on a fallen log. Sniffing impatiently she snapped, "We can't bring our supplies in here Dufoe, until we clean up this mess. Come. Give me some help. We haven't all day!"
Eyes nearly popping from his head, Dufoe, slowly grasped the picture and a smile, starting from his chin spread up through the roots of his bushy hair. "Yipe! Ho! Ho!" he shouted and danced up to Bess. He lifted her high above the ground, grasping her round the waist and danced a little jig.
"By gar, Bass. You a good wife. Sure. We clean up dis place good. Huh?"
Bess picked up a birch branch and shivered as she recalled the last time he had come in touch with one. It was a birch on her bare body; this time the birch would serve as a broom to help sweep away this carnage from her home.
Kicking the bones ahead of her, she swept as though her life depended on it, and soon the clearing was free from the bones. She had piled the litter at one edge of the patch of grass thinking she would tell Henri to bury it deep in the woods the next day perhaps.
Next she attacked the cabin with a vengeance. The tattered curtains of animal skins came down with a tearing sound and she flung them out the openings that were to serve as windows. Bones, rotten meat, bits of fur and skin, she piled in her apron and thus loaded down, carried her burden into the woods, only to return for a second supply and a third and a fourth. Soon, she had brought some little order to the cabin, and looked around in despair, for she knew it would take a near miracle to make this crude, filthy hovel a place where she might dwell.
Dufoe returned with a freshly killed rabbit for their evening meal which they cooked over the open fire in the middle of the cabin. She promised herself that Dufoe would also make a hearth for the cabin and a table with benches so they would no longer have to squat on their haunches like natives when they had a meal. And from old sacking she would make curtains for the windows, and ... and ... .
Their meal was a quiet one for neither knew what to say to the other. They would do what they had to, to survive in the north woods. Bess in these eleven days had already learned much, and she would learn more. Both thought the same thoughts as they noisily chewed on the undercooked rabbit flesh before them.
Ghostly shadows played on the walls and roof of the cabin, as the fire flickered and finally died. Bess had flung herself on the bed of pine boughs and before Dufoe could collect his thoughts to speak to her, he heard her snoring lightly. She had had a tiring day, but tomorrow ... well, tomorrow would be different he knew.
He slapped her nicely rounded rump gently and said, "Sleep good, my leetle Bass. Dufoe gonna tame you good, and you gonna be happy."
He slept soundly beside his still virgin wife.
The next day Dufoe left early in the morning after they had breakfasted on the remaining rabbit meat; he smacking his lips in obvious enjoyment, grease from the meat trickling down the corners of his mouth; she looking forward to the day with some enthusiasm for she planned to make curtains for the windows, to arrange Dufoe's traps along one wall, neatly and in order and perhaps she would even collect some smooth stones for the hearth they would build.
"Don go from da cabin, Bass. They is lots of bear and worf out today. You be safe in clearing and if dey come round, jus stay inside. Dey go away. Now Dufoe go. Maybe we have deer meat for supper tonight, huh? You like? Sure!" He squeezed her breasts as he left, chuckling obscenely.
Bess watched him till be disappeared amid the tall pines, then busied herself with her tasks. She was a wife now and there was work to do.
When Dufoe got back to the cabin about an hour before sundown he was met with a shocking silence. Bess was nowhere to be found. Curtains hung from the windows. His traps had been neatly set in rows on a shelf at one end of the cabin. The cook pot, clean and half filled with fresh water stood next to a smoldering fire.
The 'animal' let out a shriek that was more like the sound from a wild beast of the forest. His agonized roaring and ranting carried him out into the clearing where he searched for clues, for footprints, for animal tracks, anything that would tell him where his virgin wife Bess had gone.
Cougar tracks had skirted the clearing, but Dufoe knew that there would be blood and torn clothing and flesh about if an animal had attacked the girl. Perhaps she had strayed and was attacked by a wild beast deep in the forest.
He cried, beat his chest, and circled the clearing, watching, stalking the night, searching for an answer to this tragedy.
Then he found what he sought so relentlessly; a moccasin print. The Saracee's had been here, or had it been the exiled Spirit of Wolf. He would find out, he vowed and he would bring his Bess back home with him, if she were still alive.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Arms and legs bound tightly with rawhide, Bess was unable to move her limbs and she felt her heart beating as though it would burst, joggling along a rocky path, flung over the shoulder of a broad-shouldered savage. She had long since ceased her screaming for she knew now that no one would hear her pleas for assistance. Death was to be her lot, that she knew. Her mother had been ravaged by these same heathen beasts, and very-likely put to death at their leisure. She too would taste of the same fate and had resigned herself. Her prayers to her God were that she might have the strength to bear the torture that was surely going to come when they reached their destination, wherever that might be.
She hoped that word might be got to Dufoe, that he might know she had not left him of her own free will. Pity welled up in her breast as she thought how hurt he would be to come home and not find her there.
She thought bitterly of this day to which she had looked forward eagerly. True, she had sewn curtains from old sacks for the rough windows, and had cleaned up the cabin as best she could. She hummed to herself as she busied herself with her wifely duties, thinking and wondering what the night would bring. Her monthly sickness was over and this would have been the night she would no longer be a virgin wife. 'The animal', Dufoe had some kindness in him and thinking of his thick, long cock, creaming into her tight little cunt brought a fiery warmth to her groin so that she sat with her crotch on her bare heel, wriggling and jiggling onto it, her love button getting an arousing rubbing. Her hands cupped her small breasts and she tweaked the tip of one and hummed a little tune without words.
She was thus occupied, her cunty getting all moist and ready for a prick, some of the love juice she could feel on her bare heel and it excited her, when she heard a strange noise at the window. Alarmed, she stopped, remained still lest it be the grizzly, or perhaps the cougar which she had seen in the clearing earlier in the day. She knew while she stayed inside the cabin she was safe from the wild beasts, but alas these were not four legged beasts.
The curtain was thrust to one side and in the aperture appeared two wildly painted faces, leering and grinning at her. She scrambled to her feet to throw the bar across the door, but it was too late, the savages were there before her and with a mighty heave pushed it open with such strength that she was thrown against the far wall.
Without a sound, black eyes staring at her, one Saracee, clothed in the customary animal skins thrown loosely around his body advanced slowly upon her. Her screams served no purpose; they must have known that Dufoe would not be back for several hours. She clawed with her nails and fought like a cougar, drawing blood from the face of one native so that he recoiled as though burned with a hot poker.
Crying out in pain the wounded Saracee deftly pinioned her wrists, while the other bound the soft appendages with harsh, cutting rawhide. There was no escape and Bess had cried out in vain to her God who abandoned her to this end. When would they kill her? She hoped it would be soon for she knew of the tortures these half-humans could inflict upon their victims, especially female victims. Her golden tresses would indeed be considered a most admirable trophy to add to the probably large number of scalps in their camp.
Bess gave herself up to the Indians and did not even try to squirm free as she was subjected to the gross indignity of having her skirts raised as one of the beasts parted her legs wide, while the other leered lecherously into her cunt hole, spreading the lips with his fingers and reaching in to the honey pot looking for his prize. In spite of herself, Bess, aroused by the violence and bondage felt the love juices well up inside her sex grotto. Oh, god would indeed punish her for daring to feel passion in such an ignominious a predicament and she tried to hold back the squirming of her butt and the contractions of her cunt.
With a wink to his companion, the probing native nodded his head appreciatively, gave her cunny bush a pat and lifted her to his shoulders where she would be carried away as though she were a side of venison, for now her assailants became unaware of her as a passionate body and concentrated on their long trek to the encampment.
Time stopped and Bess could not guess in which direction they had gone, nor how long it was before the main long house sprang up before her very eyes.
The village was of a remarkable size and housed perhaps nearly two hundred in population. Several fires sent up acrid smoke which belied the meals in preparation. Children romped about the fires, peeking out from behind their mother's ample bodies as the two hunters arrived with their captive quarry. All fell silent as they turned to watch the returning warriors, curiously staring at the golden-haired girl, bound and carried rudely before the eyes of the village, her rough dress fucked up to her thighs, bare long slender legs and the rounded buttocks on display for all to see.
Bess was past caring and returned the glances with a lifeless stare of her own. What more degradation would she suffer before she would be released into death?
An involuntary gasp escaped from her tightly closed lips as her bearer lowered her from his shoulders and pushed her awkwardly against the outside wall of a small building to the side of the main clearing. There was no sound to be heard except for the crackling of the fires, the breathing of natives standing close by and the shuffling of moccasins as they approached her to stand in a semicircle and gape. By wriggling her legs and bringing her knees together she was able, at least, to conceal the bare exhibition of her cunny, though this was small comfort. Thus surrounded by her adversaries, Bess shivered in her own terror breathing deeply in an effort to remain brave.
Suddenly and without warning a fiercely painted native, over decorated with beads and feathers, pushed his way through the crowd of onlookers, followed by what was clearly the chief of this tribe of Saracees. Eyes glaring at her, he roughly pushed her down into a lying position and with his wildly painted hands pulled her legs apart and thrust two fingers between her crotch. In an effort to escape, Bess kicked her legs and cried out piteously. As one leg connected with the groin of this medicine man, he let out a howl and instantaneously, two husky warriors came to his aid. One clapped his hand over her mouth and held one leg securely, while the other pulled her other knee in the opposite direction to open up her cunt to the crowd.
The medicine man, now less carefully, shoved his fingers deeply into her cunt stopped only by the virgin wall. He pushed two fingers in and massaged around, again and again probing into the depths of her virgin hole, smiling to himself as each time his fingers were stopped by the hymen protecting the deep recesses of the girl's fuck abyss. Then with one finger of each hand he spread the cunt lips as far as he could and kneeled down, his head close to her crotch as he peered into her grotto.
Then with a wild whoop, the painted man jumped up and chattered a jumble of sounds to the chief who had stood in an immovable position watching the entire procedure. The stone faced chief, then, his eyes softening, allowed his face to form a smile of satisfaction.
With a nod, he turned and ceremoniously strutted across the quadrangle and into the largest of the longhouses. The medicine man bared his teeth and reached down to investigate the damp grotto between Bess' legs. Lecherously, he moved his hands around her belly, then up to her firm, unfettered breasts, squeezing, kneading as he grunted his own physical arousal. His cock throbbed against the tight breeches straining against the restricting leather. Moving one hand down between his legs, he rubbed his crotch vigorously as if to ease the pressure of his swollen member, his other hand kneading the tender breast of his victim. Bess, trembling and in fear, could not control the twitches of passion in her quim. As if to beg forgiveness for her immoral desires, she wrenched her body to one side, and sunk her teeth into the offending hand.
Mignak, as was the healer's name, howled in anguish as he released his victim and turned his attention to his bleeding hand, sucking at the blood like a hungry animal while the two guards tightened their hold on the squirming, frightened young Bess. Then standing, he stalked back and forth, rubbing his hand, muttering curses upon this young white bodied girl child whom he believed to bear the spirit of a wolverine, such was her viciousness. Stalking, pacing back and forth, staring at the frightened girl he cast a hypnotic spell not only on her, but on the small circle of anxious onlookers.
Then giving a word or two of instruction he stood his height and waited. One native pulled Bess to a standing position and half dragged her to a gallows like form, stretching her arms high above her head as he tied her wrists firmly to the top cross piece. He then fastened one ankle securely to one verticle pole so that only the ball of her foot touched the ground, and repeated the same for the other ankle. Bess was trapped in a most awkward situation, her arms stretched high above her head, her legs parted as far as they would stretch, anchored securely to the base of each post. Mercifully, she thought, at least they let her wear her scraps of clothing for a semblance of dignity.
Before she could properly phrase this thought in her mind, she heard terrifying sound-R-I-P-her bit of protection was rudely torn from her quivering body, so that she now remained naked in her suspension. Fear welled up in her as she had never known, even in her earlier captivity, as she saw Mignak, eyes flashing, and yellow teeth protruding from his obscenely grinning mouth. She closed her eyes again tightly as if this would make the whole scene disappear.
SWISH! At the sound she opened her eyes to see the cruel Mignak swishing a thin whippy reed through the air, rejoicing at the sound and panting in anticipation of what was to come.
He circled the gallows menacingly, swishing the whipping reed through the air, building up to the moment of climax. Bess twisted and turned her head to watch him as he paced relentlessly around and around, waiting for the moment when he wished to strike, swishing the weapon with glee.
Then without warning, whack! The cane touched lightly, but blazingly hot against her milky white breasts jutting up so proudly against the onslaught. Swish! Again it touched the breasts, this time capturing both nipples in the lightening hot attack.
"Oooohhh, ohhhh, my titties, Aaagh...." cried the poor tormented girl. And again the hot cane smacked solidly against the tender glands.
Mignak stopped and surveyed the three lines evenly distributed across the white target, and brutally pinched one of the sore nipples.
Whistling through his teeth, Mignak turned agilely and "SWISH", the white snakey reed made its mark across the white buttocks. Swish, swish, swish, these strokes much harder and delivered with a more solid hand came harshly down across the girl's bouncing buttocks.
"My ass ... please ... my bottom. Oooohhhhh, aaaaahhh, mercy ... please..." begged the unfor-tunte Bess, but either he did not hear, did not understand, or did not wish to do either for the strokes continued relentlessly across her buttocks, each stroke leaving its pink line which rapidly turned to red until her entire bottom was a flaming red and burned as though the forest had suddenly erupted into a holocaust.
Bess tugged and squirmed, but there was to be no release from the searing pain in her bottom until Mignak had had his pleasure.
"Awwweee! She screamed as he brought the cane across her legs, swish, swish, across her thighs, her calves and right down to her ankles. Her legs were streaked with the kiss of the twig and her ankles ached from her escape efforts.
Suddenly he stopped. Bess sighed for she was sure her punishment was at an end, and she closed her eyes with relief that she might be spared this worse than death beating. But it was not to be so, for Mignak had come round to her front and aimed carefully at her grotto and SWISH, the tip seemed to barely touch, although painfully burn the very tip of her love button.
"Aaaawwwweeeee! Oooohh, my ... my ... cunty ... my cunty ... please ... aaaaaahhhh," she screamed between sobbs.
Again the thin whippy reed smacked up into her cunny, this time the target being the fleshy part of the mound. Bess struggled helplessly against this onslaught, the pain all but too much to bear, yet bringing a burning of another sort to her cunny borough ... a warm escape of juices mingling with the unbearable crack of the cane. She wiggled her bottom back and forth from side to side in an obscene dance in her effort to escape her punisher.
But again the reed rushed up kissing her love grotto painfully, the sensations mingling, the wretchedness from the bottom, the all encompassing warmth of a hurting passion descending from her yet untried womb.
"Ha ... Ah! Uh!" grunted the half crazed Mignak as he carefully aimed his strokes to hurt, yet not harm the deliciously juicy quim of his victim. His prick had swollen to magnificent proportions and his breath labored in his passion as he titillated the sadistic passions in his loins. He could see the rising passion in his victim, could almost see the aching in the girl's cunt, the aching for him to stop the beating, and the longing for a prick to be thrust up the twitching cunny hole.
"Grrrr ... ah!" he cried throwing the whip aside and motioning to one of his kind to get on with the show. Bess was breathing heavily, some with pain and much with a rising passion and a burning in her crotch that came largely from within. She could feel her sex deep within her and the gyrations of her buttocks and increased this feeling so that she was near to a faint.
Through the haze of her tear stained eyes she saw one of the native scouts come forward leading the largest wild dog she had ever seen. He stood as high as her waist, great fangs protruding from his snarling jaws, his snarl not unlike the lear of the cruel Mignak.
A gasp arose from the circle of watchers as the wild yellow beast approached hungrily, being brought to a sharp halt by a vicious tug of the rawhide leash, inches away from the unfortunate girl. The animal curled back his starved mouth into a frightening snarl and pulled forward, straining with all its might, to sniff at this quarry, stretching to the limit the taut leather bond which held him fast.
As if to prolong the agonizing wait for Bess, Mignak reached out and slapped the animal's rump. The wild dog was anxious to have at her, as was evidenced by the sight of his pencil thin cock throbbing towards full erection, but the savages intended to prolong Bess' agony and frustration. They had specific ritualistic plans by which they would bring Bess to the peak of physical arousal. Their twin devices for this arousal were unrelenting titillation of her erogenous areas-and adeptly applied vehicles of pain.
While the wild dog panted in wonder and anticipation, Mignak ordered forward two of his assistants. The pair bore thin, rough strips of rawhide.
At another signal from the angered and aroused medicine man, Bess was borne nude to the center of a ceremonial circle where she was strapped in an X to four posts. Two posts were higher than the others so that the distraught but stone-faced Bess was tied at a tilt; her head lower than her ankles and her ankles far apart. Her virgin cunt was thus thrust upward and was completely exposed, allowing the entire tribe to glare at the rosy lips of her quim, and perhaps even within her love-hole to the barrier of her hymen. Bess quickly noticed that the sun was just passing the top of the sky and burning the day into its most fiery afternoon hours.
The attendants baring the rawhide strips moved directly towards Bess' upraised cunt, but this Bess could not see for her head was thrust down and away from her precious intimacy. The two savages worked as a team. While the one stood directly between her legs and held the rawhide, the other drew the strand towards Bess' head. This strand stretched from her exposed cunt to her shoulder. Another strip was then lain from her intimate part to the other shoulder and the straps thus formed a V of rawhide, and the V merged at her nether love lips. Two others were draped from her shoulders close to her neck and pulled between the dusky crack of her butt. Fourth and fifth straps were draped across her breasts. Bess was thoroughly puzzled; she had no notion of what fate awaited her. But she expected the very worst and was determined to meet this indignation with unflagging dignity. She had no idea that her vigilant composure pleased Mignak and the tribe. It so pleased Mignak that his already turgid prick throbbed and twitched in a perversely erotic salute.
Mignak moved forward, followed by attendants baring basins of salted water. He was handed a ladle formed from a freshly picked (virgin) gourd and dipped into the first basin presented to him.
Slowly and with great ceremony, as he mumbled prayers of thanksgiving and expectation, he thoroughly soaked each inch of rawhide with the salt water. This done, and poor Bess more bewildered than ever, the strips were then tied at a common point on her upper back. The attendants took care to see that the straps were variously routed through the slit of her pink, unviolated cunt, the crack of her butt, and across either edge of her tender nipples.
Bess began to suspect the intent of the rawhide design on her body and shuddered inwardly. But she could not help but be aroused by the now gently rasping of the leather across her most erotically vulnerable parts.
She occasionally found her body undulating in order to draw the strips lightly across her parts. When she caught herself she decided that this strange arousal at least drew her mind from the indignity of being so openly exposed to wild, staring eyes. But she soon-likewise found, as she had feared, that the strips were growing tighter. The blazing afternoon sun was performing its task of shrinking the rawhide. In her growing concern and discomfort Bess muttered, "The sun has no conscience."
The strips slowly began to tighten and they moved Bess' awareness from peculiar arousal to the edge of discomfort. It was at this point that the wild yellow dog was released. The dog had, of course, no understanding of the poor girl's state, but he did possess an unusual attraction to the feminine mound of desire. The dog had, in fact, been properly, not to say happily, trained to find his sexual release in human females. Specially chosen squaw concubines had been chosen to participate in this training, and they had come to participate with passion mainly because they were kept from all other forms of sexual arousal.
In any case, the dog knew and sought it with animal passion. Hung as she was with her cunt upraised, the panting dog soon discovered that he could not engage his dripping prick with Bess' pink slit. Instead, he was resigned to lift himself on his hind legs, dig the claws of his forepaws into her upper thighs and madly lap the rawhide distended lips of her cunt with his rough, rasping tongue. The dog was mad with passion for release. He at first dug his nose madly at her cunt, seeking to thrust it into Bess' vagina. But on discovering that the taught rawhide prevented this, the now mad dog bared his teeth. The inhibiting rawhide was the object of his fangs, but for the most part his wild fangs nipped at Bess' tender cunt lips. Where the growing pain had at first originated generally from her cunt, arsehole and nipples, it was now alarmingly centered in the entrance to her quim. She intended to maintain her composure, and her face evidenced this intent. But her body writhed wildly at the dog's increasingly vicious nips and she vividly portrayed her pain. The members of the tribe smiled and continued to glare. Her face showed little. By the standards of the tribe this increased her desirability and status.
As if by instinctive calculation, Mignak had the sex-crazed dog dragged away only a moment before Bess might have released a shriek from her very soul. The pain and indignity were beginning to overwhelm her staunchest efforts at composure in the face of these cruel savages. She barely comprehended that the dog had been taken away as the rawhide strips grew tighter. The lips of her quim were all but unbloodied by the dog's attack and the rough leather cut ever deeper into this tender spot. Her arsehole was being torn by the strips and her breasts were cruelly flattened by the ever shrinking bonds. Her nipples were thrust up and out as if by erotic arousal, but in fact by the biting rawhide.
Again at the instant before the pain became unbearable, Mignak signalled. Attendants moved forward and again dampened the rawhide strips. The release from pain was instant, but discomfort continued. Bess writhed and the strips again began to contract. The shrinking became increasingly painful and was again relieved by dampening. And so the tortures alternation of shrinking and dampening continued until the sun relented in the late evening. And by this time Bess was all but unconscious, though still dramatically composed and stone-faced. However, she was only, and painfully, aware of four parts of her body-her glaringly raw cunt, her obscenely distended arsehole and her two raw, throbbing nipples. She nearly fainted when she was released.
She was but slightly aware that her wrist and ankles were being unbound and that her body was being lowered from the posts of torture and humiliation. Bess was carried to a mat beneath a shade tree. There several of the squaws ministered to her pain ridden body. Their ministrations were gently employed, but their intentions were diabolical. The thirst quenching fluid they poured down her throat contained a positive stimulant and aphrodisiac, the gobs of thick stuff the squaws rubbed on her breasts and virgin mound of love was salve, but the salve they carefully massaged into her arsehole contained, again, an erotic stimulant. What had seemed a relief to Bess' poor throbbing body soon transformed her into a throbbing erotic device.
Bess' awful trials of the afternoon had been ritualistic, but mainly intended fo rthe entertainment of the Saracees tribe. The evening's ceremonies, though viewed by all the tribe, were intended mainly for the tribal gods. They would be only a preparation for the main ceremony of the following night, but would be rich with ritualistic meaning-and innocent Bess would be the center of both ceremonies.
At precisely the moment that the sun disappeared behind the mountains, Bess was carried, still in somewhat of a swoon, to a campfire. There, she was strapped with ornamented leather to an angled bench. Bound face down and still nude on the bench, with her thighs extending over the edge, her taut, perfectly rounded buttocks was thrust upward. Her knees were spread and bound and it was evident that this was an animal position for love. But Bess was not fated to be loved in the purely animal way, but in a way more perverse-and for the tribe poignantly ritualistic.
Bess' breasts were crushed against the bench and her reddened, raw nipples were on display on either side. She was slightly aware of the rasping of her breasts against the board, but this discomfort was all but offset by the extremely sensual tingling she felt mostly at her rosy arsehole and generally across her entire body. Her arsehole, in fact, quivered with desire. Bess was not, of course, aware of that aphrodisiacs had been applied to her body and so she muttered in her passionate stupor, "Is my body without conscience?" At this moment of wondering, the yellow, sexually starved dog was brought to the ceremonial circle, and at the same instant, an apron of beaded leather was tied over Bess' exposed cunt.
The gasping dog was marched slowly towards virgin Bess' upraised buttocks. The wild yellow dog was followed closely by Mignak. The medicine man was in an obviously aroused drugged state. Naked but for a pure white cotton belt, he marched behind the bog with penis fully turgid. The dog was foaming with anticipation, Mignak was savage with lust for sexual release. And the madly lusting pair moved towards Bess.
The dog was unleashed just inches from the girl's buttocks and it lunged with its jowls at her cunt. But her cunt was guarded and the dog was muzzled, and though the animal thrust and dug wildly with his nose, he could not lap the girl's intimate parts with his tongue, nor nip them with his teeth. Instinct nudged the animals head upward and he began to sniff knowingly at Bess' fully exposed butt-hole. His forepaws scratched at her bottom-cheeks and frantically clawed up her back. Bess was only aware that some creature was intimately toying with her highly aroused amber arsehole, and she was only aware that she needed consummation of the arousal that was centered there. She heaved her butt backwards towards the dog's prick. Mignak squatted behind the dog, barely aware of the ritual and mainly aware of his throbbing cock.
The dog clawed upward and Bess thrust back to meet the onslaught. The crazed animals thin penis grazed her arsehole and then lodged at its opening. It pushed forward, and Bess' salve covered bottom aided the entry of the animal prick. The yellow dog's thrust was wild and entered at a painful angle, but Bess pushed backwards wanting to grab the entire organ with her rectum. As the dog thrust fully into her behind, Mignak oiled his organ and thrust it at the haunches of the dog. The animal's hole was quite small and the medicine man dug frantically with his huge cock. Finally, the wild dog was fully engaged in Bess' arsehole, and Mignak in the dog's, and the pair beat a crazed rhythm to sexual fulfillment while the virgin girl cried for consummation, but was left unfulfilled.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Two weeks had passed since the Saracees had abducted the new bride of Henri Dufoe and he was desolate. His beauteous virgin girl-child spouse, perhaps gone forever to the land of her forefathers, raped and tortured by half-human savages. Still Dufoe did not despair, for he knew that Bess' golden hair would serve as some protection since the Saracees believed in a white goddess who would bring them good fortune in their hunting and fishing. This year, he knew, had been shaping up to be a lean and hungry one; his own luck in hunting had not looked to be a plenteous one.
"Sure, sure," he muttered to himself as he tramped through the deepest forest searching for a clew to the whereabouts of the Saracee encampment, "Mebbe dey not hurt Bass. Mebbe dey try to mak her to be a goddess for dem like dat odder gold har lady. Uh? Dufoe keep looking for Bess if it tak da rest of da winter. No good to live alone wit out fuck ... ha ... ha . . .ha..."
Relentlessly Dufoe searched out every sign and followed each and every one, some leading no where, yet others leading ever onward, and perhaps ending in success.
One such sign ended at the billowing river, rushing through a deep canyon, reeds bent and broken to show that a water craft had made its way into this turbulence not many days before. This could be the way the Sarcees had taken Bess. Dufoe would follow.
It took him nearly half a day to construct a simple, but sturdy raft, using logs which were strewn along the embankment, he tied them firmly with strips of rawhide he always carried on his body for just such purposes. Then, with complete confidence, armed with a steering pole, Dufoe pushed his craft into the swirling rapids of the river. He had cheated these selfsame rapids before and would do so again because now he had more reason than ever to laugh at nature and her cruel little tricks she played on mere humans.
Waves of seething water swept over the raft and for a moment it seemed to stop in mid air, about to turn over carrying with it, its human cargo. But with all the expertise of a seasoned hunter and trapper, Dufoe righted the flat raft and then, rising on the crest, it shot forward like an arrow to fall smartly on the boiling surface beneath.
Enormous rocks and stray logs seemed to leap up from nowhere to provide death-trap obstacles but Dufoe deftly maneuvered in and out and around these enemies, his pole one side then the other fighting off these aliens. He swore softly at his adversaries and laughed aloud as each one was left behind to aggravate the next invader. Further along the rapids turned into purposeful currents carrying Dufoe and his worthy raft with incredible speed to yet another perilous adventure. Scream and shout at the river as he might, his tremulous voice was overcome by the warning rush of water ahead falling with a crashing sound to the bottom of a terrifying falls.
Inhuman strength, encouraged only by the prize at the end of his journey, enabled Dufoe to steer the unwieldy craft to a resting place, lodged between two large boulders jutting up ominously from the boiling, seething waters. He was drenched, and the thunderous waterfall deafened him for a moment. Laboriously he pulled himself upon one of the boulders and struggling, his arms and legs flailing the uncontrollable currents, he made his way to the nearby shore where he could see more reeds bent and broken, and in the distance, grass that had been trampled. Yes, this was the route someone had taken, and most-likely it was the offending Saracees.
As he threw himself flat down on the calming meadow, he laughed aloud, mocking the river, the falls and all the dangers he had so barely escaped. His eyes sparkled with the excitement of a battle won, and he turned over on his back to look at the bright blue sky, with its white clouds peering down at him.
He shook his fist in the direction of the swirling waters and cried, "You tink you can beat DufoePfue! Dufoe he ees beegest and best son of a beetch in da nord." Then whipping down his pants, to display a huge cock leaping up from his balls, aroused by the nearness of danger, and the dare-devil escape from it.
"See my beeg preek! See der you sky, you river! Him stand up straight and him laugh at you. Ha ... ha ... ha..."
He pulled and pushed on the foreskin, slowly at first, then furiously as his copious spunk fought to find its way out of its hardened prison of cock. Pulling and pushing, up and down, back and forth, suddenly he stopped, his buttocks writhing in the soft grass beneath him, as the white, sticky liquid spurted upward in a seminal fountain, falling back down into his hair and drenching his balls with its perfume.
"Aaahhhhhh! Hhhuuuuuuughh," moaned Dufoe and his hands rubbed the gluey spunk into his belly and over his balls, for Dufoe believed with all his heart that it would make him even more virile to have his own come rubbed into his genitals. Even as he performed his strange ablution, he allowed that he would agree to let Bess wash his balls and cock before he fucked her since she seemed to like him clean and odorless. Yes, she would be arousal enough for him to keep his virility.
But enough dallying, he was on a mission and could not be detained for long. He took time to tie the raft securely to a tree, lest he and Bess should hap this way and need to escape quickly. Then, to hide his method of escape, he cut several large branches from a nearby pine tree and spread them over the entire area of the raft making it look as if a storm had ravaged the trees on the riverbank and thrown the refuse into the swirling waters. Surveying his work for a brief moment, he nodded,, satisfied that no casual passerby would learn this secret. It would take careful investigation to find the raft.
His ears straining to hear any hint of roaming wild beasts of the forest, his eyes pointed directly and unfailingly at the nearly imperceptible trail left by the now careless Saracees, Dufoe slowly and painfully made his way toward the Indian encampment. Although his heart sang in anticipation of finding his bride, Dufoe did not let his guard down for a moment. He knew that one moment of inattention could mean his death and the end of his search. Scouts might be out waiting for his possible arrival; a hungry grizzly might be waiting for his dinner. His inner joy would have to be subdued for now.
Toward dusk, Dufoe noted animal bones and unhidden tracks that told him the Saracees camp was close at hand. He would wait until nightfall to make his next move.
The cry of the loon could be heard from a nearby lake, and owls had just begun their nightly hooting when Dufoe cautiously crept through the brush with only the stars and a half concealed moon to give him light. But familiar with night, its perils and its safety, Dufoe had little difficulty finding his way toward the Saracee camp which boasted a monstrous bonfire in the middle of the clearing, and several torches posted around the buildings to provide a good view for the interloper. This was a festive occasion, clearly; the entire community was gathered together for some kind of celebration and therefore even the usual scouts and guards were in the midst of the camp. Perhaps Dufoe was in luck, but he would wait and see what transpired. When the camp was in darkness he would creep up closer and then maybe he would find his Bess.
Crawling on his belly to the very edge of the clearing, not a stones throw from a group of small buildings, he lay in wait. It was not long before he understood the meaning of this celebration, of this festive occasion and Bess was to be the guest of honor, if indeed it could be so termed. He strained to keep from rushing headlong into the camp, knowing that he would be killed without question if he interfered. But even so, it was all but impossible for him to indulge in such folly for he could see Bess clearly; could see the gross indignities visited upon her tender, unused body.
Bess was bound securely, spread eagled upon a bed of reeds, elevated about three feet from the ground. Harsh rawhide cut into her wrists as they were stretched high above her head. She looked up into the star flecked night sky moving her head from side to side, as though this might offer some relief from the onslaught. The lower portion of her torso rested at the very edge of the bottom of the which caused her body to be lifted up from the bed apart and tied securely at the knees to stirrups and left her cunt hole gaping wide open. Her only apparel consisted of a brief doe skin tunic reaching just below the waist, two circles cut out to expose her pointed, rosy titties, this being the required ceremonial dress for the ritual of defloration. Bonds of rawhide were drawn tightly across her body just above and below her breasts cutting harshly through the doeskin costume and pushed her rack bed, so that her ass cheeks actually protruded slightly beyond the end. Both legs were pulled wide breasts obscenely through the circular cut outs. Torches were placed around the ceremonial table so that the entire community could watch the proceedings, and the bonfire brightly lit up her crotch which was so mercilessly exposed for all to view.
The ritual began with the hunters, headed by Wanawaki, the chief hunter dancing around the sexual pyre performing a heathen fertility dance. They wore only vests, and anklets and bracelets which were highly decorated.
Their bodies were painted hideously with phallic designs and their cocks jounced and bounced saucily as they danced around. As the dance took on a more frenzied note, as if in unison, pricks began to harden and jutted out from their bodies.
Mignak then came forward and as each warrior passed he handed him a small clump of stinging nettles. Bess, turning her head, shuddered as she saw what was happening.
With a wild whoop, Wanawaki descended upon her and SWISH!, smacked the nettle smartly across her unprotected nipples.
"AAAAEEEEE," she cried in pain. "OOhhhh, God help me ... Ooohhhh, uuuuuuahh!"
The stinging had begun and felt like hot burning coals being thrust on her breasts. Then another hunter pounced and SMACK! down came another spray of nettles and more burning. Her nipples rose in swollen majesty, bright red and angry, the little portion of white skin around the tips had already begun to show an unpleasant series of white hives topped by ruby pits so that as each savage smacked his nettled down, the entire area of tit was turning an agonizing deep pink going to red.
The chief stood a few feet from the girl's crotch watching the ritual with satisfaction and some protuberance judging from the lump showing through his ceremonial robes. Mignak, after the hunters had finished their parade of pain, signalled for a cessation and came forward to pour a cool, soothing ointment over the tortured breasts. Bess, who had screamed and pleaded throughout her suffering, sighed and gave Mignak a grateful look, but not for long. The soothing moment was to come to an end sharply as the hunters handed the glove clad Mignak their nettles and each he rubbed cruelly into the already tormented titties, so that now Bess felt the stinging even more strongly, for mixed with the unbearable sting, was the rough handling of her tender glands.
There was a moment of respite though Bess was barely aware of it. The hunters took up their dance again and Mignak, the Chief and the silent audience observed the writhing girl who tried in vain to squirm out of her horrendous bed of pain.
The next phase was a calculated arousal of the victim. As the hunters danced their way to form a larger circle, the women of the camp were to perform their duties; some were mere children, perhaps in their 10th year or even younger. It was believed among the Saracees that the gods would send them fertility if they ate of the nectar from the font of a white gold princess; and indeed fertility was a blessed gift that enabled them to increase the hunters and warriors of their tribe.
The first squaw bowed down and sucked avidly at Bess' gaping cunt, swallowing and sucking until the squaw behind jealously pushed her aside for her turn of the nectar. Even the hunters stopped their dancing to watch the licentious scene, their poles standing upright, pointing obscenely at the altar. All that could be heard was sucking and slurping sounds as the women fought their way to the cunt each for a lick, a suck, a taste of the sweetly, sour nectar of the white princess.
Even in his horror at such a vision of carnage, Dufoe from his distance could not help getting a stirring in his loins, his tent pole getting harder and more unmanageable. He would have to pull away the spunk soon or he might not be able to keep completely silent. His one hand reached into his pants and began pulling and pushing at his cock, simulating a long awaited fuck. In a few moment he felt the hot, bloodless cream shoot down his legs, and into his pants. Rearranging himself, he once again began his watch of the ceremony of defloration. He fervently hoped they would hot fuck her, for he would not want Bess to become impregnated by a savage, but he feared it was too late for such a hope; enough that he should be given the luck and the courage to rescue her, whatever happened at this moment.
The women and young girls completed their fertility ritual and stood around or squatted on their haunches diddling themselves, so great was their arousal.
The men, young and old felt their cock sticks harden and longed greedily for cunts to take away the passionate swelling. They leered at the women, and the girls, waiting for the time when this might be done.
Now the chief came forward and stood inches away from Bess' hot, throbbing cunt, for the previous ritual had managed to turn her thoughts away from her hurting, stinging breasts and center them around her hot furnace that needed tending badly. He called for a torch and held it close to her pussy which was wet with spittle and love juices. Handing the torch to his aide, he spread the already gaping lips of her grotto and peered right up the moist cavern of womanhood. With his other hand, he reached in a finger as far as it would go and was satisfied that indeed Bess was still a virgin. Twisting and turning his finger in her hole, he caused Bess to sigh and writhe not in anguish, but in anticipation. Her cunt felt warm and hungry for something more, for relief from her building sexuality, yet he kept rubbing and turning and twisting his finger; now his thumb manipulated her sensitive clitoris and her juices, far from having run out, began to run freely. She wriggled her bummy on the reeds as much as her bonds would allow and her breath came in short, fast pants as she grew more and more excited.
"Ooohhhhh," she moaned aloud, and to herself said, "Ooohh Fuck me! Stick your rod right up my hot hole ... I want to fuck...." Then unaware she cried aloud, "Ooohh, fuck my hole! Fuck me!"
This brought a smile of satisfaction to the Chief and he knew she was more than ready for what was to follow. On a signal his aide produced a series of strange shaped objects, which on closer inspection were found to be smoothed animal bones, possibly from the caribou, ranging from pencil thin with dulled points at the ends, to knobby ended bones two inches across. Though racked with passion, Bess gasped in terror at the sight of these crude instruments having already guessed her fate.
The Chief, standing close and flanked on either side by Mignak and Wanawaki, passion having loosed their mouths so that they were near slobbering in their ecstasy, took in hand the thinnest of the instruments and slowly and deliberately plunged it into Bess' quivering little quim. As it pushed against her yet unruptured hymen, she screamed at this unfamiliar pain. True she had been fucked in her ass and in her mouth, and had achieved orgasm by having a mouth orally fuck her most adept cunt, but she had never known the passionate pain of defloration. She scarcely knew now whether it was a pleasurable or unbearable experience.
Pushing harder the Chief grunted in anguish, for he was himself in the throes of unsated passion, until, finally the tip tore violently through the protective wall of the wretched girl's virgin cunt. The bone was covered with a thin layer of blood as the Chief withdrew it from it's battlefield. Then he took a bone only slightly larger than the first and inserted it deep into the venus grotto, twisting and turning it to stretch the newly opened passage.
Several times he repeated this insertion and gyration of bone, each time with one larger than the last until he had buried the largest one with the knobby end, fully into the violated cunt. By now much of the pain had subsided and Bess was again writhing as best she could against the bonds, less in hurt than in sexual agitation. Fully expecting to next feel the human bone of the Chief within her very womb, she was much surprised when she felt a strong hand rubbing pungent grease around her little arsehole and a finger pushing a portion right inside it.
The Chief then stepped up on a log stump and unveiled his cock stick in all its majestic glory. Even those of his tribe who had witnessed a defloration before gasped at its incredible size and gasped in sympathy for the poor girl who was obviously going to receive the full bounty of his prick into her tight little arsehole.
The bone was still lodged firmly into the writhing cunt and as the Chief mover forward and upward it pushed harshly into the furthest wall of the girl's love pot.
With one powerful lunge Bess was painfully impaled on this stallion like pole; screaming as her butt muscles stretched beyond endurance. The Chief then began his ride, bucking and grunting as he rutted his charge up the ass, his belly pushing the ensconced bone further into her front hole, while he rode his muscle bound bone into her back one.
Soon the ass pain eased and Bess could feel only mounting passion as she reared, near to bursting her bonds, in an unprecedented orgasm. Still the Chief rode and rode, still unwilling to unload his spunk.
At the finish of her lengthy orgasm, Mignak on one side and Wanawaki on the other, moved forward and each grasped a tender little titty and massaged, tweaking her nipples until she felt her arousal once more. And still the Chief continued in his seemingly never ending rape. It was not until Bess had experienced even another orgasm, perhaps not one of such magnitude as the first, did her rider give in to his passions, shooting his prick jelly far up into her bowels.
As he removed his tool from her well-fucked butt, a wild whoop arose from the onlookers, a signal that their own merriment was to begin. So aroused were all, the men, the women and the girl-children that they gave little thought to the objects of their lust. The men grabbed at the women or girls nearest and threw them to the ground, burying their cocks deep into the waiting women. One youngster of perhaps a dozen years having been left out of the festivities backed into a couple who fucked with great pleasure nearby, and pushed her little cuntie into the woman's face. The woman hungrily licked and sucked this young girl's hole as the man, noting the added fillip, licked wildly at her little arsehole until all three rocked in passion, dissolving finally in a trio of climax.
The orgy went on well into the night; Bess for the moment forgotten was left on her pallet of shame to watch the goings on.
Sated, the tribal members one by one, or rather two by two retired to their beds, and two old crones freed Bess and helped her to a small simple hut.
Dufoe had watched the entire ritual with some awe and now settled back to plan a means of rescuing his unvirgin, though yet unfucked bride.
CHAPTER NINE
The two kindly, though rough squaws who had prepared Bess for her ordeal, once again entered the rude hut where she was kept prisoner, awaiting preparation for her next ordeal which she now understood was to be the sex receptacle for the chief hunter, Wanawaki. He would fuck her in her poor ravaged cuntie whenever his prick got hard; or up her bummy or her mouth. His lechery was written in the painted face and she knew there would be little respite from his demands. Little consolation that he would spend much time in hunting and fishing, for while he was away there was always Mignak whose desires knew no bounds and even for a medicine man it is good to receive favors from the creature of good fortune.
The two squaws went about their task wordlessly and seemingly without feeling. One carried a wooden basin filled with warm water; the other a leather sack containing a sweet smelling ointment. Thoroughly, they washed every portion of the girl's ravaged body, rubbing vigorously into the bleeding cunt hole. The older of the two inserted two fingers and manipulated the inner recesses of the love port. The other meanwhile, washed the girl's little butt and inserted one of her fingers into this hole, shoving and pulling, then washing her hand and again repeated the insertion. Before long, despite the rigorous ceremony she had just been subjected to, Bess could feel stirrings in her belly right down to her rapidly warming cunty. She moaned softly and squirmed her backside so that it rubbed sensuously against the fur rug upon which she was laid, her breath coming in short gasps, her nipples protruding naughtily.
The two squaws next rubbed the ointment over her entire body, spending much time on her breasts, each taking one, kneading, rubbing and tweaking until Bess could hardly contain herself.
The older squaw then, without warning moved quickly between the girl's legs, raised her buttocks slightly and dove into her crotch; her mouth glued itself to the clean little cunt hole as she sucked hungrily at the newly forming juices. Her tongue played with the pink lips, darting from side to side, then plunged deeply inside so that Bess screamed weakly.
Her scream was muffled instantly as the other squaw crouched over her head and she shoved her own steaming, watering cunt into Bess' open mouth. She tried to turn her head away, but found it was wedged tightly between the squattting woman's thighs and as if to encourage her to perform, the woman reached down and grasped a nipple between her thumb and forefinger and cruelly pulled it until Bess gasped and sucked as she had never done before. She continued her mouth manipulations conscientiously for when there was a lull in her ministrations, the squaw quickly reminded her of her task by a pull to the tender nipples.
Bess gagged as she sucked and tongue-fucked the squaw on her face, whose stretched cunt smelled of old spunk from perhaps the males and beasts of the community. The woman rubbed her cunt relentlessly into the girl's face until her quim juices dribbled obscenely out the sides of mouth and chin.
With hardly a break in the rhythm of the girl fucking, the older squaw who sucked with such fervor at the young girl's cunt, turned around until her ass pointed in the direction of the younger woman's face. The meaning was clear and the recipient of this enormous butt fell with her mouth on the holes presented to her for attention. Her mouth licked the quivering butt hole as with effort she inserted it into this aperture. Then as the ass rose higher, the tongue flicked into the wet, waiting cunt of the woman who sucked so greedily at Bess' young, so recently violated honey hole. Three tongues flicked in and out of cunts, three mouths sucked and swallowed the love dew which now so copiously escaped from three crotches; all three rendered equal in their desire now to mouth fuck and be mouth fucked, until as though on a signal, Bess, then her tongue lover and the third, in that order, reared up and groaned in gigantic orgasms. The two squaws fell, spent and sated on gentle Bess, whose own orgasm, after the trials and tribulations of the evening left her in a near faint.
Collecting themselves, the two women disengaged themselves, and righting their apparel, again washed the sweat and love juices from Bess, who had fallen into a dead sleep even before they had finished. They roused her only to slip an ornate ceremonial doeskin frock over her head to protect her from the cool night air.
Satisfied that the girl would be safely asleep for a good many hours, they gently covered her with a fur and moved silently out of the hut.
It was then that Dufoe, who had crept up to the back of the small building decided to make his move. He had watched the girl fucking with fascination through a crack in the wall and despite the grave dangers that were ahead of him, his prick was hard and unwieldy as it pushed against his pants. He rubbed and slapped it, hoping to ease the pressure of his arousal at least for the time being and prepared his plan of action.
He noted that the buildings were made of sticks tied on to a firm log at the bottom and top of the wall. If he cut through the rawhide holding these sticks together, and removed a few of them, he would perhaps be able to get into the hut and to his beloved Bess without detection. His soul cried out for his young bride, and now he would not rest until he could do all the things to her, and more, that he had seen done to her body this night. He secretly believed the Saracees' belief that his hunting and fishing would find good fortune if he could possess this white-haired goddess, though he knew that she was but a girl and not a magic being. Nonetheless, it wouldn't hurt to be on the safe side, for did one truly know what spirits governed the supply of wild animals in the forests, or the fish suitable for food and fuel which inhabited the rivers and lakes of this uncivilized north country. Apart from this, Dufoe wanted his bride for himself. Had he not paid for her-and though he had not the words to express his affection, there was that as well.
With the silence of the Saracees themselves, Dufoe set about his work to cut surely and noiselessly through the rawhide to gain entrance to the hut. He would have to work fast, since come daybreak, he and Bess must be a good distance away from the camp if they hoped to escape alive. They would not forgive such an intrusion from a white man, even though he might be French.
The task was a painfully slow one, for even the smallest sound would rouse the dogs in the encampment if not the over-excited members of the community. It seemed a lifetime till Dufoe cut his way through the barrier, but there was still some time before day break. Bess stirred in her dead sleep as he entered so Dufoe clapped his hand over her mouth lest she cry out. She struggled against this new onslaught, but he held her fast as he whispered into her ear, "Don you worry Bess. Thees is Dufoe. You wanna come home?"
She fell back, limp with relief and gratefulness that she might now escape her fate with Wanawaki and Mignak and perhaps the yellow dog.
"Ssslit," cautioned Henri Dufoe before she could utter her thanks. He motioned for her to follow him as he guided her through the slender opening at the back of the hut. Dufoe had to slip out sideways, but he executed this move with the grace of a dancer and soon they were creeping away from the Saracee camp, and hopefully to safety and home. Once away from the immediate area, Dufoe prodded Bess to hurry and practically dragged her through the brush until her legs were scratched and torn from the briars, and she had little energy to spare for the escape. But she knew they had to keep running or the Saracees would soon be on their trail; and so she tried her very best to make the best speed possible.
The sun was high in the sky when they stopped at a brook for a cooling drink and some food from the leather bag which Dufoe carried over his shoulder. The dried fetid beef tasted like a banquet for the gods to the two weary travelers.
Though they had not slept, they continued their escape after a brief rest. Bess had blisters on her feet from wearing Dufoe's boots, and his feet hardened as they were, bled from cuts sustained on the rocky trail. It was nightfall before they stopped, sure that the Saracees could no longer overtake them having traveled many miles during the day and half the night. Too, they were in an entirely different territory that the Saracees did not populate.
Henri Dufoe, who had waited so long for his wedding night with his bride was once again to be cheated. This time by sheer exhaustion. Both he and his now unvirginal bride, threw themselves down on a bed of pine needles, covered with Dufoe's coat and fell into a deep sleep, lying close and holding each other in their new found freedom.
It was barely dawn when Henri Dufoe awoke with a start at the unfamiliar stirring of a soft, sleep-quieted body next to him. He smiled and looked down at the sweet face peering out from matted white gold hair and carefully disengaged himself from her unknowing embrace. He took great pains to go about his morning ablutions in silence aware that Bess needed as much sleep as she could get. Those who knew Dufoe would not have believed his behavior. He walked down to the edge of the water nearby and splashed water on his face. Then he took off his pants and washed himself, scouring and scrubbing furiously at his cock, his belly and all the way down to his knees. Then drying himself on his shirt tails, he returned to the wedding bower, carrying his pants over one arm.
When he returned, Bess was lying on her side, nestled into his jacket serving as a blanket. He threw the covers aside and smacked her playfully on the ripest part of her plump bottom.
She sat up trembling, fear in her eyes until she saw the object of this attack and recognized the gentleness in the face of her husband. Then her eyes moved down to his cock, which at the thought of fucking such a lovely bride, was already hard and throbbing.
Dufoe threw up her skirts and gazed at the loveliness of this quim, his quim to do with as he chose and whenever he chose. He bent down reverently and attached his mouth to the gaping love hole, biting at the lips, sucking and pushing his tongue into the grotto, his hands holding the cheeks of her smooth bottom until she squirmed and sobbed with delight.
"Oooohh, fuck me, fuck me, my husband. Put your big shaft into my burning little cunty. Stretch me and fuck me." she cried.
"Yes, yes, Dufoe gonna fuck you plenty, you see, my pretty leetle wife. See dis beeg preeck. Him gonna go right into you hole." And with that he lunged into the waiting love muff till she could feel the end of the pole deep inside her, and the sides rubbing the walls of her cunt. Her legs flew up and around her lover who lunged and plunged into her with a passion neither had ever known. And so Henri Dufoe rode his bride with such force that her bounding buttocks could scarcely keep him aloft. No bridegroom had ever ridden a bride so hard, nor so well as she cried and sobbed in two unbelievable orgasms. He unloaded his spunk at precisely the moment she was into her second climax.
Dufoe dismounted and lay beside Bess, out of breath from his incredible effort. She too lay back, thoroughly sated and for the moment, weak with pleasure.
Together, hand in hand, they walked down to the water to wash the love stains from their bodies, laughing and splashing like children on a picnic.
After a meagre breakfast of dried beef and water and a few late berries still on bushes along the waters edge, they talked. They would have to decide where to go from here. It was impossible to think they could return to Dufoe's shack for the Saracees would be lying in wait for them.
Bess knew not the ways of the wilds, so Dufoe decided for them that they would go further east and try to find perhaps a small settlement, or even build a new shack where they could live away from the dangers of their adversaries. The morning sun was still on them as they finished dressing and headed east, where the hunting and fishing was not as plentiful, but at least life might be possible.
CHAPTER TEN
And that is how I, Pierre le due, came to meet Bess and Henri Dufoe, a most unlikely couple of the north. For two years I had inhabited a two room shack only a days travel from Fort Bethel where supplies could be purchased for the pelts of the area. I, myself lived in the wilds to forget my own unfortunate past for I had killed a man in civilization and was now living in exile to escape the hangman's noose. I was the progeny of a French father and a Huron Indian mother, a half-breed, as we are called and though I had no doubt about my heritage, the dead man had cast aspersion on what he called my questionable birth.
But back to the real story, that of Bess and Henri. It was nearing nightfall when my two dogs set up a howl to waken the dead, and as I went to the doorway to see the reason for this uproar, I saw two bedraggled figures, holding each other up, vainly trying to enter the clearing in the face of the two yowling animals. I called off the dogs and rushed out.
Bess' hair, though still a white gold, was matted with burs and mud, blood from cuts stained her arms and legs and she looked more dead than alive. Henri was little better, but he did his best to guide his bride along.
I drew water for them from the creek and lit a fire in the hearth for warmth and to cook a supper for these unfortunates. With very little help from either of them, for they were completely exhausted, I was able to wash them down and barely slip rough shirts over their weary bodies.
A broth was in a pot hung over the fire awaiting the boiling point and as I gently lathed the young body of Bess, even now I felt a stirring in my loins as I surveyed her wondrous body. Her small but firmly shaped breasts, scarred temporarily by the debauchery of which I was to hear, were like hot coals to my fingers so unfamiliar these two years with womanhood. In her unconscious state, she stirred as I caressed these sacred mounds of woman's milk. She sighed softly and wriggled in her sleep. As I washed down from her breasts, over the unbelievably slender waist and down to her belly flat and hard between sharp hip bones, I could feel my breath coming in short spurts as I tried vainly to control my rising passion for this lovely piece. Rubbing gently the soft, furry pubic mound, my eyes glazed with wonderment and love itch, I desperately wanted to poke a finger into the hot love hole below.
Shaking my head free of passion cob-webs, I staunchly resumed my task. How could I, an honorable man, violate these people who came to my cabin for help?
At that moment I noticed Henri Dufoe, watching, wondering whether I would take unfair advantage of this pretty, winking cunt before me. To my amazement, he smiled and said, "Hey you, wat you name?"
"Le due, sir. Pierre le due. My apologies for looking so shamelessly upon your woman. God has not given me the strength to look away from such impossible temptation. But you can trust me, I can at least control my actions, though not my passions." I reassured him, somewhat embarrassed at having been so observed.
"Ya, dat my woman. She ees vary pretty, no? dat cunt ees most sweet like honey and wet like spring sap from de maples. Hey! Tak a look at her cunt good, and at her pretty leetle shit hole-so peenk and sweet too. Not lak dirty whores at da post, huh?" he bragged sincerely of the most evident virtues of his woman.
Honor or no, having been given permission, I carefully washed the lips of the quivering quim, my mouth watering for a taste of this delicious little honey pot. Her little butt hole was indeed all that Dufoe had said, and more. I was beside myself, fire burning through my guts, for wanting this dainty morsel. My cock pushed hard against my pants as I rubbed my thighs together in an effort to abate this heaven sent sensation.
"Hey, le Due! You are a good kind man, no? Bess and I would die if you not find us and help us. I 'ave no monee to pay. You want a leetle bit of cunt?" he smiled. I wheeled round in surprise, "But Dufoe,. . . " I began.
"No, no. I do not mean you fuck her. You wan to suck at dat leetle well, huh? Wan to put you mout roun' dat ant heel an poke you tongue eenside and lick da honey?"
At this Bess stirred, this time knowingly, for her eyes opened and she wriggled her bottom so that the furry mound under my hand was unconsciously caressed. A little smile played on her lips as she seemed to look forward to having her gateway to paradise entered by my hungry tongue; her succulent juices sucked and swallowed by my starving mouth.
"Le Due! Tak off you clothes, den we all be lak leetle babies in da bare." He threw back his head and roared in good natured laughter.
In a tryst I was naked and ready to dive into that fur encircled grotto for an appetizer that would outdo the main course by any standards. Dufoe motioned for me to take a position over Bess as she whispered;
"That is a very large cock, M. le Due. I hope you will not choke me."
Again, I was taken aback. This young beautiful woman was offering to suck my cock and her eyes told me it was not going to be a distasteful task. I did as I was bid and instantly my mouth glued itself to that wet, hot little grotto, overflowing with sex soup that was so beckoning to my palate. I sucked greedily and noisily, nipped at her lower lips and grasped her by her two bottom cheeks, daring to insert one little finger into her quivering pink arsehole, reaming the orifice with passion and delight. I could feel her soft cool lips around my penis as her sharp fingernails cut into my behind pulling me forward down on her face so that I indeed feared I might choke her. My knob shoved deep into her mouth reached the very throat.
Then I felt another sensation. So engrossed in my activity was I that I could not see of course, but I could feel Dufoe slapping a gob of bear grease around my butt hole, and with a monstrous finger plunged another portion right up my arsehole. It contracted involuntarily at this unfamiliar direction of use and the next moment I could feel the knob of Dufoe's gigantic cock pressing against me. His shaft was hard and sure. I started as his prick made its way into my ass-hole, but nothing on earth would have kept me from my dinner which was served in so delicious a bowl.
The pain in my bowels was great as Dufoe pushed the entire length of his stick into my innards, but the bear grease offered much comfort as it lubricated the rectal walls, and soon my muscles gave way to the buggering tool. Dufoe held my haunches in place so that Bess did not lose her target of attack as he fucked my back hole relentlessly and with animal lust.
I could feel my cock ready to burst and in that moment Bess wailed, "Suck ... suck ... Oooohhhh, I am burning ... ooohhh ... Aaaahhhh...." Unable to extricate myself from this position I came full force down Bess' throat, thrusting my cock into her mouth violently so that I perhaps did nearly choke her with the copious flow of semen, and the sizeable length of my meat.
In the midst of our orgasms, I felt the hot load leave Dufoe's prick as it shot up my rectum, into my guts, causing another very strange shivering sensation.
As Dufoe pulled his now much shrunken stick from it's sheath, his charge trickled down from my butt and down on Bess' face so that she in fact had tasted of the spunk of both men and slurped at it voraciously, savoring every drop.
Totally spent and sated, at least for the moment, we washed ourselves and clothed only in rudely made shirts sat cross legged about the hearth as we consumed our next course consisting of hard bread and a most nutritious broth. While perhaps more necessary to the maintenance of the body, it nonetheless did not have the same spice as had the first course.
After supper we joined in joyful camaraderie and it was then Bess began to unfold her incredible story, which is how it came about that I have been able to write this report.
I too, was able to add some to her history, for it was I who told her what had become of her mother, Hiilka. She, like Bess, had been abducted by Indians, but unlike her daughter was not rescued. However, it was not a totally unhappy report I had to give, for Hiilka, even now, lived amongst her people, the Indians, as White Princess, most revered concubine of the Chief Hunter with servants to minister to her every need. She lived in comparative luxury, her only responsibility to provide love offerings to the gods so that her people might have good hunting and fishing.
"Oh, my poor mother," murmured Bess, but she smiled with satisfaction for perhaps she understood that her mother was more suited to her present role than to that of cleaning and cooking and the hard life at Danby's Post.
It was decided that Bess and Henri Dufoe would remain at my cabin and come Spring I would leave to go back to civilization to face, perhaps the gallows, or perhaps reprieve in view of just provocation for homicide. But that was in the future and we had a long hard winter before us, that was made more bearably by our community spirit and compatibility.
When I left the following year, Bess was with child and Dufoe was the proudest of all men.
"We 'ave a leetle Henri, huh Bess? Dufoe gonna show heem to fish, to hunt and whan he ees a beeg boy, Dufoe gonna show leetle Henri how to fuck..."
It was with some dismay that I left this cabin that had given me so much love, friendship and joy, promising to return as soon as I could.
Life is hard in the north, but as I waved my last goodbye to Bess and Henri Dufoe, seeing their smiling faces I knew that it would not be so hard for these two people who had tamed the wilds with their own violent passions. Both had been orphaned by humanity and I cannot help but feel grateful to fate for having brought these two people together, despite the hardships they had to endure. They were now complete in each other, and at peace with the world.
