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 Goodheart and the Pagan Princess, an erotic novel by Dern Goode

   GOODHEART AND THE PAGAN PRINCESS

   by

   DERN GOODE

   Copyright (C) 2002 by Dern Goode

   CHAPTER EIGHT

   I AM MISTAKEN FOR A GOD

   Robin and Cynthia departed the vessel early the next morning, and I last
saw the two lusty tennis partners plowing their way into the jungle on the
back of an elephant accompanied by a swarm of naked black savages.

   Some time later, Essie and I debarked in a less noble manner.  The boat
merely slowed at a bend in the river, and natives in canoes took us and our
supplies ashore.  The captain shouted after us, warning that his return
trip four days hence would be our last chance to leave the jungle before
the rains set in.

   I paid only cursory notice to the warning, my attention riveted on a
pair of crocodiles that eyed our canoe hungrily as it plied the river.

   Our guide awaited us on the shore, a stocky, German fellow with a
vinegary disposition who seemed to take delight in pouring out his wrath on
our native bearers.  He was accompanied by his wife--a petite, but
well-built woman, with full breasts and muscular limbs, short-cut hair, and
wearing what looked to be one of her husband's T-shirts along with a short
skirt that barely covered her thighs.  Sparkling eyes and full red lips
completed the picture.

   As we moved into the rain forest, it turned cooler and the sounds of the
outside world faded.  The treetops formed a canopy high above our heads
that filtered the sunlight into a perpetual green twilight.

   Essie was in her glory, marching into battle at the head of the line,
matching the steps of our guide, stride for stride.  Our porters followed,
their black cocks swinging freely from side to side as they walked.  I
brought up the rear of the column with the man's wife.

   It was humid, and moisture from the morning rain dripped from the plants
and clung to the forest floor.  The leaders got the worst of it, being the
first to brush against the wet, leafy vegetation.  It had a cumulative
effect on those of us behind.  While the drops of water simply ran off the
bare skin of our porters, Juanita and I gradually turned soggy as our
clothing retained the moisture.

   Becoming acquainted with the pretty woman, I learned that she was the
daughter of a Texas oilman and had met and fallen in love with her husband
on a safari, later developing a tolerance, if not a love, for the
simplicities of uncivilized life.  I also learned that Juanita's
temperament was every bit as fiery as her husband's in this manner:
Grasping her waist to keep her from falling as we both stumbled over a
hidden root, I found our mouths suddenly pressed together in a kiss.

   I confirmed my suspicions during that quick embrace that she wasn't
wearing a stitch of underwear.  Before we had fully separated, her tongue
slipped between my lips to tickle my teeth.

   "Reverend Philip!" she scolded, smoothing her skirt back down.  "You are
a rascal!  I can see it'll be all Martin can do to keep you from creeping
into my tent and sharing by bed."

   I muttered an apology.  But, in actual fact, the offense had been
entirely her own.  I had the distinct feeling of being a pawn in a game of
the woman's own choosing.

   "I suppose I'll just have to keep my guard up," said Juanita with a
laugh.

   "Never fear, my lady . . .  if I do mount an attack, the delight will be
more in the losing than in the winning," I replied, allowing my eyes to
sweep her body suggestively.

   She smiled, delighted at my response, and gave my hand a squeeze.  I was
acutely aware of how scant was her apparel.  With the damp T-shirt pulled
tight around her breasts, I could clearly see the dark circles of her
nipples--their peaks jutting in response to our brief contact.

   Already warm from the tropical heat, my temperature began to rise even
more.  I decided to change places with Essie and let her charm the lady
with her tales of the joy of living the Good Life while I queried her
husband about the nature of the dangers we might encounter.

   The savages we sought were a crazed tribe, the gruff German informed me,
whose whole existence seemed to be characterized by sexual excess.  They
were led by a cunning witch doctor who played on their carnal desires to
keep them in submission.  When I asked him the extent of their perversions,
he only grunted, as if to indicate a knowledge too terrible for words.

   All in all, it sounded like the type of challenge the good Lord, in all
his wisdom, had been preparing me for all my life.

   As dusk began to descend, we stopped to set up camp for the night. 
Martin drove his black servants mercilessly, his sharp tongue as biting as
any whip, while they went about putting up tents and starting a fire for
cooking.  They behaved docilely enough, but one could not help but notice
the murderous glances they gave him when his back was turned.

   He told me we were less than an hour away from the native village. 
Although we were expecting a peaceful reception, one could never be too
careful in the jungle, and so he and I would each spend half the night on
watch with shotgun in hand.

   "Excuse me, Reverend," Juanita's eyes twinkled, "but would you accompany
me into the bushes?"

   "I beg your pardon?"

   "I have to tinkle, and I'd hate for one of these black savages to catch
me with my panties down.  They go absolutely wild over a white woman."

   Amused by such a transparent ploy, I played along, adopting the stance
of a chimpanzee to follow her through the low-hanging foliage while she
sought out a suitable bush.  Finding one, she went about her business while
I stood by protectively, my eyes averted.

   A cozy world of green enveloped us, separating us from the others, the
eerie silence sometimes broken by the sound of crickets, parrots, monkeys,
or the occasional distant shouts of the natives.  And then the sound of
piss sizzling onto the ground from between a pair of pussy lips, the sight
of which I could only imagine.

   "Come," she said, "let's sit and rest awhile.  The others will never
miss us."

   We sat together facing each other on the cushiony jungle undergrowth. 
The hem of Juanita's skirt pulled up to the juncture of her thighs.

   "What a handsome man you are, Philip!  Robust . . .  such big, strong
legs...so much like my husband--at least, like he used to be." She let out
a heavy sigh.  "Poor man, he is nothing more than a shadow of his former
self . . .  half a man . . .  "

   "Half a man?" I scoffed.  "He looks virile enough to me!"

   With that slight encouragement, she poured forth a tale of woe so
chilling it made my blood run cold.

   Alcohol had been her husband's downfall, alcohol and a stiff prick with
which he had ravaged the charms of a native chief's queen while in a
drunken state.  The punishment had been severe.  They had cut it right
off--in much the same manner as the American Indians used to scalp their
victims--but leaving him alive, a mere shell of a man with only a scar to
mark his once-potent manhood as a perpetual punishment for his impetuous
misdeed.

   I placed a hand on Juanita's shapely limb.  "My poor dear," I murmured
consolingly, "the punishment is as much yours as it is his." My cock had
already begun to rise, throbbing sympathetically.

   Appreciative of my understanding, she turned and gave me a hug and her
short skirt pulled up to her waist.  I was treated to a perfect view of the
dark thicket that covered the bottom of her belly.  She took her time
tucking the garment back in place.

   "As you can see," she said, her good humor returning once again, "with
no laundry facilities, underwear is a luxury in the jungle.  I envy the
natives, running around with their black butts bare."

   I chuckled.  "It's well you cover yours.  The sight of your shapely
thighs would drive the natives wild with frenzy."

   The brash women reached over and brushed her hand against my covered
balls.  "I believe you have the advantage on me, sir--"

   "I suppose I do owe you at least a peek . . .  "

   She fumbled with my trousers and pulled out the staff of my prick with
quivering fingers.  Taking advantage of her distraction, I ran my hand up
under her skirt and over her thigh, finding the lips of her quim with my
finger.  With a lascivious smile, she extracted the bulky mass of my balls.

   "You're well hung," she remarked, gently stroking me into a raging
erection.  "The native women are so used to the sight of pricks that it
takes a really big one to turn them on.  You'd best keep this one covered;
it'll only get you in trouble."

   "Four days," I sighed, thinking of all the naked flesh I'd be seeing. 
"I suppose I'll just have to handle things myself."

   Juanita gave me a warm smile.  "I'm sure I can be of some help without
interfering with my diminished wifely duties.  Perhaps if we drained you a
bit now, it would be easier for you later."

   I am endlessly amazed at the way the Lord provides Good Samaritans in
the most unlikely places.  But who was the Samaritan--she or me?  Juanita
leaned into me and began kissing me while at the same time fondling my
prick, alternating between squeezing my balls and stroking my shaft.

   "Ah," she sighed, her pent-up lust evident, "I've never in my life had
my fingers around such a pole."

   "But it's you, Juanita dear, who brings out the best in it."

   "Reverend, you are a rascal!" She tittered demurely.  "I do believe that
you affect a mask of piety simply to seduce unwary young ladies like
myself."

   "Certainly not!" I said indignantly.  "God would not have given man a
prick had he not wanted him to use it.  The joy of fucking is one of God's
greatest gifts to mankind--despite the proclamations of some of my
self-righteous colleagues."

   "Then, Philip, let's get on with God's plan . . .  "

   "It simply remains for you to lie back and spread your legs," I informed
her.

   "Oh!" said Juanita with a wink.  "You are a rascal indeed!"

   Dallying no longer, she tore off her clothes.  A magnificent pair of
large-nippled boobs jiggled and her firm bottom flexed as she wiggled into
position on her back on the jungle floor, whispering happily, "This is sure
to be a heavenly fuck."

   I left my shirt in place, but I stripped away my trousers to completely
free my prick.  The woman gasped as I advanced toward her, my eyes locked
on the dark slash of curly hair that wrapped around between the sweeping
spread of her thighs.

   Excitement flashed in her eyes.  "Despite your calling, Rev.  Philip, I
can see that you are in fact a worldly man--a horny bastard with the most
monstrous cock this simple Texas girl has ever laid eyes on.  If I quiver
like a bride, it is only because I am truly a virgin to such an immense
instrument of delight."

   "Then the experience will be a double delight," I said gallantly, "for I
have never had the pleasure of riding a wild Texas bronco."

   I dropped into the saddle formed by her thighs and fitted my cock to
her. She gasped a "dear God" as her interior surfaces stretched to clasp me
tight.  Her cunt had either shrunken from disuse or her husband had been
quite a small man, because she had the tightest confines I had ever
encountered in a married woman.

   Despite the closeness of the fit, our mixed juices lubricated the union
like magic, and I was soon ramming my hard cock into her with enthusiastic
abandon.

   "Don't hold back!" she shouted, kicking her heels into my back to spur
me onward.  "Fuck me!  My cunt cries with thirst for your sperm!  Fill me
to overflowing with your lovely spunk!"

   I doubled my efforts, pistoning my cock in and out of Juanita's clinging
love hole as I strove with all my heart to satisfy her cravings.

   "What a beautiful sensation . . .  feeling that big cock sliding in and
out of me," gasped Juanita, twisting her crotch around and around my
stroking pole.  "Don't ever stop . . .  fuck me harder!"

   My balls slapped against the cheeks of her ass as her cunt sucked
noisily on my glistening cock.  Juanita spread her legs and began bucking
against me, banging our crotches together like a pair of wild animals
rutting in the jungle.  I felt like an animal--a lion!--and cursed the
tight shirt that wrapped around my sweaty chest, my lone remaining link to
civilization and refined behavior.

   And then it was too much--the impassioned excitement, the gasps and the
moans and the obscene sucking sound of our union, the smell of cock and
cunt and arousal all intertwined--and I erupted, spewing my hot juices into
the gaping mouth of her lust-greedy cunt.  Her arms and legs embraced me
tightly and I clasped her ass, holding myself motionless within while my
prick pumped unassisted deep into her womb.

   Convulsions rocked the sex-starved woman, and her cunt walls began
spasming around me.  Her own fine juices blended with my creamy discharge
and began to leak from her hole.  The passionate heat brought renewed
strength to my fading cock.

   "My God, Philip, it's going to go again!  I don't know how I can stand
another . . .  oh, my! . . .  oh . . .  oh . . .  ooh!

   Her head fell back, and she began to gurgle incoherently as her fleshy
body shook convulsively.  I held tight to her ass and pounded into her
excited vagina, over and over again, trying to make up in one fell swoop
for all her missed delights.

   "Thank you, Philip," she murmured a long time later, curling up in my
embrace.  "I needed that." I kissed her lightly, wordlessly expressing my
own gratitude.

   Returning, we approached the camp cautiously, not wanting to attract
undue attention to our long absence.  But we needn't have worried.

   "Oh, my God!" Juanita exclaimed.  "We've been raided.  They've taken
everything!"

   It was true; the camp was bare.  Only the dying flames of the campfire
indicated that a thriving encampment had been started there less than an
hour ago.

   I turned at the sound of a struggle and a muffled scream to see the
jungle close around a pair of black asses.  They were carrying away
Juanita! I shouted threats and hurried behind, but I was hopelessly lost
after only a few steps into the trackless green forest.  It took me a
half-hour just to find my way back to the clearing that had once held the
encampment.

   I was shattered.  Survival was the most I could hope for, now; the
successful completion of my mission was a clear impossibility.  I looked
around sadly and shook my head.  Not even a single Bible remained.

   They had even taken Essie. 
___________________________________________________________________________
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   Chapter Nine at
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