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From: Andrew Roller <roller39@IDT.NET>
Subject: Private Places part 5 of 7 (NND)
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Andrew Roller Presents
NAUGHTY NAKED DREAMGIRLS
in
PRIVATE PLACES
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
Chapter Five
The lagoon was concealed from the sea. The water was like
glass, calm, its surface a mirror to the sky. Sam and Jill and I
snorkeled along its surface, enjoying the sun and the bathing water that
caressed itself over our backs, our legs, our upturned bottoms. Sam’s
stiff prong stuck down into the water, a promise of future pleasure for
us girls, though I know having such a hard-on must have been a
double-edged sword for him, for it seemed to throb painfully,
desperately, between his legs. My clitty buzzed just looking at it, yet
we were saving him for later.
Jill and I had blow-jobbed him on the beach, kneeling before
him, worshipping him, yet not letting him come. Then, relieving him
completely of his trunks, we’d taken off our own bikinis too. It was
our own private vacation together, just the three of us, a treat paid
for my Sam to celebrate Jill and me being tattooed.
We glided slowly through the water. I spotted two fish mating,
pointed them out to Jill. She caught Sam’s eye. We watched, silently,
as the fish did their business and then broke apart. Schools of pink
fish and yellow fish and striped fish flitted past, oblivious to us,
looking for food or to avoid being made food by some other species.
After a half-hour or so we paddled back toward shore. I admit
I’d peed in the silent lagoon, and Sam had too, Jill and I watching as
he did it. And Jill, feeling a little guilty, since she was a staunch
environmentalist, had pissed also. Wearing just our fin feet we flapped
up onto the beach. I gazed at our little teensy bikinis lying
carelessly on our beach towel. They were so small, yet we’d shucked
them off, preferring our birthday suits. Yet we were a little
apprehensive about coming back to shore, for we knew that there was
little tolerance in this province of Brazil for nude sunbathing. It had
all happened within the month, part of a ‘clean up Brazil’ morality
campaign, started by the Catholic church and signed-off on by several
powerful politicians, hoping people wouldn’t notice their own wrongdoing
with regard to the public treasury. Hostess herself had warned us about
the campaign. She’d been a little nervous about even our party at the
restaurant, I’d learnt. And now here we were, coming ashore, obviously
in violation of the new ordinance, but sure we couldn’t be caught, could
we? Did the jungle have eyes? We hoped not. There was nothing but
lush foliage for miles around. And Sam’s jeep was parked nearby.
Nonetheless it was with some haste that we pulled off our flippers and
hurried up the beach to get back into our swimsuits.
“Stop right there!” we heard suddenly. I turned, Jill turned,
Sam did also, all three of us looking over our shoulders, our white
bottoms betraying us. It was hostess! Or Ms. Lalique, as she preferred
to call herself, me bearing her own initial inside my puss. Four guards
stood with her, one of them much older, and I realized suddenly he was
no guard, but her husband.
“Yes, this is my husband,” hostess said to us, confirming my
worst fears, for the man had a menacing look about him, uncompromising.
And I knew at once he must have been one of the corrupt politicians
looking to free himself from blame by signing onto the ‘clean up Brazil’
campaign. Sam looked particularly worried. His cock was sticking
straight out in front of him, and he had not only been swimming naked,
he had been alone with hostess a week before our dinner party together!
I doubted the pain he’d felt on his ass after that meeting did little to
assuage her husband’s anger at having this man naked with his wife. And
now he was naked still, with Jill and I accompanying him. His eyes
darted to hostess, but hers only stared back coldly in response.
“I’m afraid I’m in a bit of trouble with my husband for having
that dinner party,” hostess told us, betraying not the least compassion
for us. “In return, I’ve offered to save myself by helping him ferret
out nudists who are wilfully violating our new law.” Her eyes admired
my figure, Jill’s. Yet she did not show any sign of helping us win a
reprieve from her husband.
“You are both in violation of the new law against indecent
exposure,” the governor told us. And I had no doubt that we were. We’d
all heard about the new law, just assumed we’d never be caught, that’s
all. But we’d chatted with hostess over the phone a few times since our
dinner together, Sam especially, still drawn to her somehow, and one of
us, obviously, had divulged our vacation plans to her. Well, it wasn’t
me, I knew that! Jill quietly took my hand. I could feel her squeeze
mine, knew she was desperately afraid. She was looking to me to comfort
her, but I was visibly shivering! “The penalty for indecent exposure is
whipping, in public,” the governor said, without the slightest trace of
emotion, except perhaps in his eyes, which gleaming like a wolf’s.
We were made to turn around and face away from our captors. I
squeezed my bottom cheeks, thinking I might get slapped there. I
couldn’t bear the thought of getting whipped! My arms were drawn
roughly behind me by one of the guards. He seemed to have no sympathy
for my beauty, or my youth. I dug my toes into the sand as he locked my
wrists into a pair of cold, iron handcuffs. They were heavy, not like
lightweight police handcuffs. Brazil couldn’t afford such things.
These were from many years ago, from the time of chain gangs. I
imagined a rebel Indian princess might have worn them once, fighting the
Spanish, losing finally, being taken prisoner, never to see her beloved
wild jungle lands again.
And beside me, struggling, was my prince, Sam. With such an
ordinary name, I should’ve known he wouldn’t save me. He was cuffed,
seemed to accept his fate at last, as Ms. Lalique ran her nailed finger
up the crack between his asscheeks. His chest bulged out in front of
him. His lance-like penis stood hugely erect. It seemed to gorge
itself upon the air, pumping, pulsing, as behind Ms. Lalique tickled
Sam’s hair in his asscrack. I looked at him, my muff rudely displayed,
my legs apart, casually, but stiff because I was scared now, no longer
just a little nudist playing on the beach. My titties were upturned and
jiggling heavily, obscenely, in front of me, pushed out by my woefully
cuffed hands. I glanced at Jill. Her own breasts jutted forward as she
was cuffed in turn.
“March!” Ms. Lalique ordered. I wanted to remain planted right
where I was, let me die here, but a sharp slap on my ass sent me
tearfully forward. On one side, Jill’s jiggling figure tromped along
beside me, on the other Sam manfully pressed forward, the governor
voicing obscene suggestions for Sam’s butthole while his cock pointed us
toward our captor’s waiting van.
At least, I’d hoped it would be a van. But as we passed from
the beach, through a leafy canopy, and finally onto a road, I found to
my gasping surprise that we were to be transported in a jeep! An
ordinary, top-down jeep, with no sides on it, like a young man might
drive. Except it was the governor’s jeep, I realized, as he climbed in,
his wife beside him, and myself, Jill, and Sam were ordered into the
back.
I found my bottom settling into wet leather. It had just
started drizzling, and the backseat of the jeep had already received a
sprinkling. At least the rainwater was cool against my slapped ass!
Jill sat down on one side of me, Sam on the other. The guards passed a
rope over our bellies. It was mercifully soft. The rope was tied off
on either side of the jeep so we wouldn’t fall out, sitting there with
our hands cuffed behind us, utterly helpless. I looked down, saw a
second rope lay coiled neatly at our feet.
“Step into the loops of the rope on the floor. It’s for your
own safety,” Miss Lalique advised, leaning over the back of her seat and
looking at us. “Don’t play the hero, Sam. I value your cock too much
to see you thrown out. Step in or you’ll be lost on the trip back.”
Reluctantly, Sam stepped into two loops provided for him, just as Jill
and I did. Two loops, for each of us, and the guard immediately pulled
the rope taut and bound us by our feet into the jeep.
The governor started the ignition as the guards retreated to a
jeep of their own, parked behind the governor’s. I pulled my knees up,
but they could barely move, my feet were so well tied. I squirmed in my
seat but the rope across my belly held me in place.
VRRROOMM! Suddenly the governor threw the jeep forward, and
immediately into a spin. I saw himself and his wife tossed about in
their seats, realized they were wearing seatbelts. No ordinary soul
could have survived the jeep’s turn-about otherwise. I looked up,
behind me. The jeep had a roll bar. I was thankful for that, but still
didn’t want to find myself upside down in a recked jeep! How terrible
to be hanging like that, and have to be cut down, perhaps by primitive
natives!
We rocketed off into the jungle. The governor drove like a
16-year-old with a new license. The dirt road was uncomfortable. I saw
him grinning at us in the rear-view mirror, leering at my titties as
they bounced up and down with wild abandon, along with Jill’s. Poor
Sam! Ms. Lalique had a salacious view of his penis in her own
side-mounted mirror as it waggled furiously up and down, totally loose,
utterly hard, with every ass-jouncing jolt of the jeep. We flew through
the foliage, a light rain sprinkling us. Colorful birds and parrots and
even monkeys went scampering out of our way, deeper into the trees, as
we flew in our 20th century vehicle through this pristine, primal
wilderness. Somewhere behind us the guards strove to keep up. I knew
now why we were so well tied. It wasn’t just for our safety. Without
the guards, Sam might have found a way to overpower the governor, except
he was too heavily bound to break free. I saw him working his wrists
though, hoping, but it was futile. He was no James Bond, just a stud
with a big prick, unable to control even it at the moment!
“Don’t lose your load, Sam,” Ms. Lalique screamed back at him,
grinning, turning to admire him face-to-face. Under Sam’s cock I saw
his balls slapping the seat, heavy and full, desperate to cum. I knew
this ride wasn’t helping any. Imagine having your testicles thudding
upon the seat like that! I suppose if he were empty it might not have
been so bad. But he was deliciously full, and watching his torment I
felt dew between my legs, in my gash, and knew it wasn’t from the
lightly falling rain.
“Will this make my breasts sag?” I asked Jill, turning to her.
My bosoms were flying about like water balloons.
“Oh, I hope not!” Jill answered. We both had hard nipples, but
our boobies, firm as they were, simply flew like flapjacks under the
torturous ride, hitting our chins, our ribs down below, making us look
ridiculous. Our heinies bounced upon the seat with punishing force.
Fortunately we girls both had nicely-fleshed bottoms, though mine was a
bit ‘underfatted,’ you might say, compared to Jill’s, me being still so
young. Poor Sam, with his angular man’s bottom, must have suffered
most, pounding up and down right on his hip bones.
I think we all breathed a sigh of relief, even hostess, as we
pulled up at last in front of a shrouded Incan temple. At first I
couldn’t believe that this was hostess and the governor’s house, but
natives ran out and drew back big wooden gates, letting us in, and I
realized there must be some kind of residence set up here, amidst the
ancient stones and foliage.
The jeep rolled slowly through a square inside the temple
walls. Turning this way and that, I saw giant stonework rising around
us, with friezes of Indian gods cut into the flat stone walls. Vines
grew up them, offering hope of escape, perhaps, if only Sam could get us
free. Behind us the gates remained open to admit the guards.
I felt eyes upon me. From wooden huts scattered about the
square people began to emerge. Not just those at the gates, but more,
just to look, just to watch us drive in. I felt a rising sense of shame
as clothed Indians stared at my nudity. Old men, old women, tut-tutting
to one another. And young men too, like those at the gate, evaluating
Sam and his penis, staring at me and Jill. There were pregnant Indian
women too, in fact most of the young women seemed pregnant. Not just
that, but often on the girl’s back I saw a papoose, even as another
child grew in her belly. Children, emerging from their huts, laughed at
us. One small boy, catching my eye, with a stick in his hand, whacked
his leg. He seemed to know what must happen to me, to Jill, to Sam, and
he hit his leg again. He did not seem to mind the slash of the thin
whippy branch upon his leg. I wondered if I could be as oblivious to
pain as he. But then, I doubted my leg would be hit. No, my leg would
be spared, I feared, for it meant a dearer part of me wouldn’t be.
With wet asses we rose up from the jeep, the guards arriving,
untying us. The natives watched from a respectful distance as we
dismounted. My blonde hair streamed wetly down over my shoulders,
matching the moist curls of my muff. Primitive eyes admired the
carriage of my breasts, so bare and white, and sized up the hind cheeks
of my ass, wiggling tensely atop my nervous legs. I stubbed my toe on a
rock. I cried out audibly, the natives laughed. I looked down, saw a
nick had been made in my red-painted toenail.
“Move, girls!” Ms. Lalique said remorselessly.
A wooden plantation house stood just behind the largest
rock-hewn pyramid in the temple complex, facing it, as if the pyramid
owned the house or, perhaps, the house owned the pyramid. A broad porch
encircled the house. It seemed to be an oasis of civilization, with its
white paint and its porch swing. We were hurried up onto the porch and
inside the house.
“Give them their bath, then put them into one of the rooms for
safekeeping!” Ms. Lalique ordered a native servant. He bowed,
worshipfully, and then ordered us up a broad, winding hardwood
staircase. Advancing up the steps I realized, hopefully, that dungeons
don’t often lie upstairs. Perhaps we would be better treated than I
thought. I glanced at Jill. She walked just a little behind me, biting
her lip. Sam marched ahead, gallant in his captivity, like a captured
officer turning in his sword but not his honor. Except, in this case,
he’d gotten to keep his sword, at least so far!
We were escorted to a large marble bathtub. Someone had
already filled it. Without removing our handcuffs, the native servant
made us get into the tub. It was steaming hot. I winced as I sat my
bottom down in the water under the servant’s watchful eye. Sam
announced the submergence of his stiff prick beneath the water with a
hollar.
“This will kill all the sperm in my balls,” Sam complained.
“Then girls not so pregnant afterward,” our servant replied
happily. Perhaps that was native birth control, though I doubted it
worked. Jill and I had skipped our pills, loving the idea of swimming
naked, being one with nature. Now I wished we hadn’t. Steamed or not,
Sam’s balls bulged hugely beneath the clear water, ensuring us of
well-spermed cunts if he ever was permitted to screw us.
Two girls appeared, full with child. They unstrapped their
papooses. The male servant removed the babies to another room. The
girls undid their tops to let their bosoms hang free. They had large,
full native breasts, swollen with milk for their newborns. They stepped
into the tub. I saw that their clothes were newly-washed, made of plain
cotton, interwoven with tanned animal skins, a native hodge-podge,
bundling them against the elements, but pulled down now to bare their
mammaries. They motioned to Sam. They did not speak english. They got
him to stand, drew him close, kneeling before him in the hot water.
As I watched, the native girls held aloft their breasts and
espressed milk meant for their newborns onto Sam’s genitals. I gazed at
his huge swollen cock, eager to pump out its own male milk, and watched
spellbound as these two girls squirted female milk all up and down Sam’s
pulsing rod. Sam’s face lit up. His manhood quavered under the milky
assault, feeling, I’m sure, quite sexy as the girl’s breast milk spurted
onto him. It curliqued over his shaft, ran in trickles along the
underside of his thing, dripped off it or collected at the sensitive
tip, looking like white pee as it fell finally into the water.
Sam thrust himself toward one of the girl’s mouths. She wagged
her finger, made him hold still. Then she bade Jill and I to come
forward. We kneed our way through the tubwater until we were
face-to-face with Sam’s shaft, his purplish head bobbing between us.
Jill opened her mouth and caught possessively at Sam’s knob. I swore
under my breath. I’d wanted it! She began suckling him like a good
little acolyte girl, blow-jobbing her favorite priest. I ducked my head
close and lapped at Sam’s balls. I could taste the Indian female’s
breast milk upon them. It was sweet. I wished I could be pregnant and
give Sam a bath with my own tits.
The three of us handcuffed, captive, utterly nude, we pleasured
each other in the tub, Jill and I receiving Sam’s loins in our mouths.
The Indian females caressed my bottom, Jill’s. Kneeling, our legs as
straight from the knees up as our backs, the water came only halfway up
our thighs. The Indian maidens fondled our bottoms as if with a sense
of remorse, clucking to themselves, and I felt fright even as I happily
shared Sam’s organs with Jill. What would happen to us? Would we truly
be whipped? The maiden’s hands upon our fannies seemed to say we would
be.
Abruptly I was pulled back by my hair, Jill also. Sam’s rod
trembled before us, just short of cuming, needing only a final little
lick. He let out a woeful yell as he realized we must not give him his
final pleasure. He stabbed his thing at me, hopefully, I opened my
mouth to receive it but the Indian behind me drew me back farther.
“Sit down, Sam,” I heard a familiar voice command suddenly. I
turned my head as best I could and saw hostess there, watching, dressed
in Safari garb. There was a riding crop in her hand. Idly she slapped
her thigh with it. “Girls, please receive your dinner,” hostess told
Jill and I. We did not move, did not know what she meant. Then,
amazingly, one of the Indians turned me around and presented me with her
breast. She put her arm out, cradled Jill’s head, and pulled her to her
remaining bosom. I found myself suckling her, Jill beside me, while the
second Indian went to Sam and, making him sit, gave him both her breasts
to sup from.
Hot with lust, scared, I nursed myself upon the Indian mother’s
teat. She did not seem to mind feeding me. Jill supped beside me, and
I saw her throw her hips forward, wishing to be aroused. The Indian did
not accommodate her. Hands bound behind us, we took out our frustration
on her teats. She screamed as we sucked hard, harder, biting at her
nipples finally in our distress. Hostess watched over us, making sure
we didn’t hurt our Indian mother. She bent over us, tapped our bottoms
a few times, the stiff leather striking reprovingly upon our fulsome
cheeks, just enough to warn us.
When we’d fed on the Indian’s breasts they washed us down in
the tub. We shivered under their touch, nervous with sexual energy,
with uncertainty. When we were bathed and rinsed they made us step out
of the tub and, undressing completely, they toweled us down with soft
towels. They avoided our sexual parts mostly, letting them air dry,
knowing a wayward rub might send us jitteringly over the edge into
bliss. Sam especially they took care not to arouse. He was hard as a
post, and I could see that the slightest touch, in his state, might
result in a sperm shower for all of us. We knelt obediently, Jill and
I, on a fluffy bath mat, while Sam, stallion-like, stood over us,
wanting us, but forbidden by hostess.
Permitted at last to stand again, Jill and I rose up on our
feet and stretched. We could not get our hands free of the cuffs, but
we arched our backs and stuck out our titties. We laughed at our
indecency, gazing at each other’s tits, but our muscles were tired from
being so confined like this. Stand, kneel, sit, kneel again, all the
while with our arms pinned behind us. I stuck out my hips, brushed my
muff against hers. I would have made love to her, if we’d been allowed,
just to burst the bubble of pleasure that was swollen so desperately
within me.
Jill responded, rubbed her muff against my own. I ground my
hips, feeling myself press against her, clenching my fanny cheeks,
wishing...
“Now girls, let’s check your makeup, it’s all washed off I see,
here, sit down!” hostess ordered. I was made to sit on a soft velvet
covered stool in front of a lighted makeup mirror. Jill watched, still
standing, her hair lying tousled and wet over her frail shoulders,
blonde hair wetly draping white skin. One of the Indian girls plugged
in a blow drier and my mane was dried, and then my pussy hair, between
my hopefully spread legs. They checked my nails on my hands that were
so fruitlessly pinned behind me, touched them up with lacquer. Then
they did my toenails. My face was powdered, lipstick was applied, even
mascara was put upon my eyes, and I was perfumed in all the right places
so I would remain sweet-smelling.
Jill was then put into my seat, and I was forced to stand up
and watch as the same was done to her. Hostess, meanwhile, saw that Sam
got his share of toiletries. Finally all of us, still naked and bound
but smelling quite delicate, were ushered into a small bedroom.
Its walls were covered with red damask. A Monet hung silently
on one wall, in the opposite wall a window was cut, from which the
jungle could be seen. But bars of iron ran up and down over the window,
blocking our view, still letting us see but obstructing the landscape
outside, making it a prison landscape, viewed by prisoners.
A bed with a down comforter, just big enough for two, sat along
the wall, under the window. Its pillows had been plumped by a maid,
who’d turned down the covers for us. Alongside the bed was a serving
table, long-legged, wheeled, upon which I instantly smelled orange
sconces. I spied a warming basket, smelled rich French Roast coffee,
saw the silver teapot which I guessed must hold it. Despite my hungry
sex, my shivering fear, I immediately felt a desire to eat.
“Sit on the bed and I’ll feed you,” hostess told me, told all
of us. We found our way quickly there, sat down with our naked,
soon-to-be whipped bottoms upon the immense softness of the bedcover, my
bottom upon the sheets, actually, while Jill sat jauntily on the fold of
the quilt and Sam sat with his cock dripping right upon the comforter,
sure to ruin it.
My eyes danced like a puppy’s as I watched hostess prepare our
meal. Besides the rolls there were steamed baby shrimp on watercress,
laid on a big plate in the middle, and bits of wet apricot and apple for
our dessert, plus tangy cubes of cheese, each one speared through with a
toothpick. My titties hung before me, nipples upraised, as I watched
hostess unwrap our sconces and butter them for us.
“You will be horribly whipped tomorrow, but that is no reason
to be ill-treated while you are waiting for it, is it?” hostess asked
us, her eyes dancing, as we sat on our bare fidgeting heinies upon the
bed. She fed us the rolls first, letting us bite into them, not giving
one to each of us but having us each share them, me biting first, then
the roll passing to Jill for her bite, and lastly to Sam. The shrimp
were dangled one at a time over our lips and we were made to leap up
from our bottoms, not standing, just hopping on our asses a little to
grab at the food. Hostess intermingled bits of cheese with the shrimp,
to add to their tangy taste, and made us eat the watercress too, for our
health, stressing the healing powers of vegetables. Lastly we were fed
the fruit. With hot coffee warming our bellies we were made to lie back
in the bed. Hostess put collars on us and made us lie flat, on our
backs, whilst affixing the collars by short ropes to the head of the
bed.
“Turn neither to the left or the right,” she warned. She stood
over us, gazing down at us lovingly. We were crowded, the three of us
on the bed made for just two, though, me being younger, there was a
little more room than there might have been, with three full-grown
adults sharing it.
Hostess left us like that, assigning the Indian maidens to
watch us. They stood beside the bed, one on either side, and she’d
given them a revolver, and told them not to hesitate to use it. One of
the maids took great pleasure in her newfound power, admiring the
revolver, spinning its chambers. She pointed its cold barrel directly
at Sam’s balls and, not satisfied with just that, she actually stuck the
gun right up against him, as if she were going to shoot his balls off!
Sam remained very obedient under the watchful maidens, despite our
imprecations for him to “do something!” (what I don’t know). His cock
stood up stiffly, stiff as our little nipples, and the day passed into
evening and into night. The window, open but with mosquito netting over
it, admitted the night sounds. I heard crickets, the flitting of
songbirds. Monkeys quarrelled somewhere off in the trees, over a mate
perhaps. A lion roared, once, sending shivers down our spines.
In the depths of the night someone came and uncollared me as I
lay drowsing. They removed my handcuffs. Sleepily I was led down a
hallway. As I came fully awake, I found myself in hostess’ bedroom, her
husband lying in a sumptuous bed beside her. Both were naked, him with
a huge erection and she with a lithe body I thought only a cat might
possess. She had undone her hair. Her legs were parted slightly,
showing her muff between, carelessly. She watched as my eyes darted to
her unprotected sex. Her bosoms lolled on her chest.
“Oh, mistress!” I cried suddenly, not calling her hostess
anymore, not remembering, just knowing she owned me and could do with me
as she pleased now. The dinner party was long gone. The formality of
the city had given way to the wild ways of the jungle, of master and
servant, of mistress and slave. “Please don’t whip me!” I implored. I
leapt upon her. I pressed my body against hers, hard, with abandon. I
felt her powdered skin beneath mine, so pretty. We were naked together,
she and I. I felt the rough hand of her husband fondle my bare ass.
“Ohhhh, dear, such a frightened kitten, but it must be done,”
she assured me, kissing me nonetheless, dragging my tremulous lower lip
between hers and sucking solicitously. I mouthed her mouth. I offered
my tongue as penance, hoping to please her. She drew in my tongue
between her teeth and bit it gently.
I felt a calloused hand palp my hind cheeks. Mistress pressed
her hands to my bare hips, as if to plump my bottom for him. “You
violated the law, sweet one,” mistress told me, still toying with my
tongue upon her teeth, as her husband gave my fanny a light slap. “Turn
around and make master happy. He likes seeing two girls give it to each
other,” she told me.
At once, eager to behave and show how very good I could be, I
turned about on the bed. Mistress lay underneath me, her legs spread,
waiting to receive my tongue in her pussy. With a workmanlike zeal I
bent my head down between her opened legs and began tonguing her. I
gulped as I felt her do the same to me. Her head placed comfortably
upon a pillow, she lifted my hips to her and darted her tongue into my
slit. My bottom heaved uncertainly. I was new at this. It was strange
to give and receive at the same time. She eased my thighs wider apart,
my knees outside her, trapping her a little, and dove into me again, her
tongue a Jacques Cousteau looking to conquer new depths. Fearfully I
let a little fart. I think it might have been the sconces, they were so
rich, but mistress simply laughed, wrinkled her nose a little, and
continued probing me with her tongue. Thankfully, my first gas attack
was my last.
It was odd, kneeling there on the bed, in a 69 position, my
vulnerable bottom upraised, yet with her tongue stabbing into me. I
licked her as avidly I could, hoping to win forgiveness. I prayed Jill
did not find out about this, but each girl to her own, I insisted to
myself. This was like love and war, where everything’s fair game, with
my bottom on the line instead of my heart. The governor watched,
stroking himself, and I realized he was old enough to need something
like this to make him hard.
Mistress and I went cumming at last over each other’s tongues.
It was odd, tasting a woman. She rolled me over and pushed my knees off
the bed and insisted on licking my heinie. Feeling her tongue on my
soft fanny I begged her anew not to whip me. But she just licked,
laving my skin and coating it with her saliva. After a little bit her
husband introduced his prick to my mouth. I didn’t want it. I tried to
expel it. Then, realizing he would have the final say about my bottom,
I took him greedily. I sucked him in as deep as I could, gagging on
him. He came quickly. At once I was dismissed. The Indian maid who
had brough me took me back to my bedroom, where the others lay. My
cuffs were reattached. She gave me a quick bath in the bathroom and
then returned me to the bed. I found my sleepy friends eager to have me
back, making a space for me, asking quiet questions. I did not tell
them any details of my stay in mistress’ bedroom. They were still both
vibrating with passion, Jill’s cunny buzzing and Sam’s rod stiffer than
the governor’s could ever hope to be.
Morning. The sunlight filtered through a hazy mist, bringing
warmth, brightness. Our window had no curtain. We were at the sun’s
mercy, protected only by the rising mist. The night had been cool, but
not excessively so. I found the sun’s rays slashing across my skin,
threatening to tan my pubis, where my swimsuit usually protected me.
Oh, if only I’d kept my swimsuit on at the beach!
We were summoned. Our collars were unbuckled, left to lie upon
the bed. Naked but for our handcuffs we were taken downstairs.
Stepping out onto the front porch, barefoot, I saw a long line of native
men decked out in feathers and beads. They held long spears in their
fists. They had shields made of wood to protect themselves from us.
Sam’s handcuffs were unlocked, then Jill’s, then mine. We glanced at
each other. There was no hope of escape. Quietly, with my head bowed,
I let myself be pushed forward down the porchsteps and into the
Indians. I passed down between the two rows of natives, visibly
shaking, one hand behind me, caressing my bottom, the other uplifted,
toying with the locks of my hair. I tried to be calm, yet betrayed my
fears. Jill followed, both her hands clapped to her ass. Sam came
last, striding confidently as he could, his cock painfully erect, making
the native men laugh at him.
I felt the wetness of the dew-moistened dirt beneath my feet.
My blonde hair, sugary-white, tumbled over my slim suntanned shoulders.
My fanny wiggled atop my legs, the skin creamy, delicate in its
whiteness. At the far end of the native lineup I emerged to see a
post. It was a simple affair, set in the dirt, three chains hanging
from its uppermost point, where wrists might be strung up for a
beating. Beside the post stood a husky native, wearing gloves, boots,
and a tribal headdress. He gazed at me as a cook might at a turkey
about to be stuffed. Next to him stood a small, spry Indian, a whip in
his hand. To my heartbeating surprise I realized it was a bullwhip!
“Nooo,” I cried. My knees turned to jello. I did not want to
go forward to that terrible stark post! It was nothing but old wood,
splintery, yet thick as a young Redwood, and standing straight up,
jutting into the sky. Jill moaned when she saw it, woefully. We
clasped hands. Sam started, seeing our torture was real. He would not
want to jab his penis tip against that horrid post, I knew that!
Our Indian captive from the night before appeared, the maiden,
still bearing her revolver. Her breasts were nude now as they’d been
through the night. She stuck the barrel of the revolver into my belly,
right into my belly button. I gazed down at it. My softly swelling
tummy might blow apart at the slightest touch of her finger upon that
hair trigger. Jill lifted her chin and, seeing we had absolutely no
choice, she urged me past the maiden. I felt the revolver brushing
along my tummy, falling away finally, as I took a slow, fateful step
forward. Our bottoms wobbling, we proceeded up to the post and stood
with our knees knocking in front of it. The crowd surged behind us,
drawing close. Sam came up to the post and regarded it as one might a
competitor.
“Lift up your hands,” Jill said in a quavery voice to me.
“Huh?” I asked, but my wrists were so limp with fright that she
had no trouble raising them up. She pinioned me into the cuffs which
dangled down from the top of the post. I watched, my thighs trembling,
my bosoms high on my chest and jiggling hopelessly. I heard a snap and
knew myself to be bound. Jill kissed my cheek. Then she lofted her
wrists up to her own waiting cuffs and slipped one inside. She clicked
it shut, trapping herself, but she had no way to lock up her other
wrist.
Graciously Sam buckled Jill into her other cuff. Then he
kissed the tip of each of her nipples. He turned to our captors.
“Let me fuck my wife before you do us,” Sam said with
gentlemanly reserve to the governor. The man reached for Sam’s penis
and caught it between his fingers. Sam’s penis looked massive within
the governor’s fingers, as if he might break them off simply by wiggling
his cock.
“Up the ass, then,” the governor answered.
“Sam!” Jill cried. Her bottom was tense with fright. Sam
asked for some vaseline. Mistress came forward, offered him hers. Sam
greased his own dick while mistress, sharing the jar with him, lubed her
pointing finger in the goo and touched it to Jill’s anus. Jill
trembled. Mistress insinuated her finger just within Jill’s hole,
making her buck.
“She is ready,” mistress said. I glanced at Jill’s heinie. It
was squeezed tight as a drum. She was so frightened, despite her
bravery moments ago in locking me up and then herself.
Sam got behind his wife. Roughly he took her hips and drew her
fanny to him. I heard Jill gasp. Sam worked himself ruthlessly into
her. He was hungry, he was as afraid as she. But he hoped their mutual
sacrifice, humiliating themselves like this, might win them forgiveness.
“Sam, I -” Jill began.
“Just relax as best you can,” Sam replied with a whisper,
kissing her shoulder. She bleated as he forced himself in deeper. I
offered my own hind cheeks, watching, unconscious of myself. I so
wished to have Sam, yet, had I thought about it, I would not want to
suffer such a cock being put up my bottom! And definitely not in front
of all these natives!
Sam worked himself up Jill’s hineyhole, making her shudder,
urging her to unbunch her cheeks and take him as if they both were at
home. Helpfully mistress knelt beside them and began licking at their
conjoined parts, tickling Jill’s muff with her fingers. I saw mistress
tear open her blouse, so aroused was she at the spectacle.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you, mistress!” Jill said happily,
tears coming to her eyes, as she found herself suddenly able to take her
husband more freely. Sam urged himself in and out now, eager to have
his pleasure. Suddenly he grunted. Jill squeaked as he pushed himself
deeper than he’d yet gone. I saw them kiss, and he emptied himself into
her bowels.
Sam removed his limpening shaft. “Alright, do your worst,” he
said, raising up his arms so that mistress herself could buckle his
wrists into the handcuffs.
“I’ll tend to your bottom afterward,” mistress told him. “Bear
up and take it like a man.” She motioned for a soft wool cloth to be
wrapped round the post. “It’s for the girls, but you’ll benefit too, I
imagine,” she smirked at Sam. His cock still had not lost all its
hardness. He could have gone a second time, I realised, and wished I
might have taken him.
“Girls, this will hurt. You’ve broken the law and you must pay
for it,” mistress declared. “Yell as freely as you like. There’s no
one to hear but the natives. We’re far from civilization, and its just
you hear, in your birthday suits, with nothing to save or protect you
from the whip. Dance about, beg, plead, it doesn’t matter. All 39
lashes will be applied, all of them on your pretty bottoms.” She drew
back from us. She nodded to the Indian with the bullwhip. I turned my
head, frightened, hastily sizing up my attacker. I saw him raise the
whip. The end was frayed, tasseled from age, as if many tourist girls
had been brought here before me.
And then it fell. My bottom rebounded, smarting horribly. I
trilled out a cry of regret and he struck Jill next. She wiggled like a
fish even as I churned my cheeks to try to throw off the sting. Sam was
next. He hollared like the Indians in films, the real Indians laughing
at us.
With butt-whacking certainty the whip fell again and again.
There was no pity in the Indian. We were just objects to him, to be
strung up and whipped as his master wished, for a few beads perhaps, or
merely to impress his fellow Indians with the thoroughness of his
strokes.
I bit my lip, found my reserve gone in no time. I began
sobbing. My breasts heaved on my chest. My ass felt aflame. Jill
wailed beside me. Sam, somehow, remained stoic, only yelling now and
then when a particularly nasty cut caught him off guard.
The sun rose over the trees. Its hot rays fell upon my so
recently white bottom, now all red, smarting furiously. The Indian took
his time, savoring our cries, our hip waggling antics. He made the
frayed end of the whip lick up between my legs. I shouted as the whip
touched my cunny, hurting it, making me wish I was still at home, and in
a one-piece, no less, doing my summerschool homework. I strove to keep
my legs together but the blasting of the whip was too much for me,
making me dance about, showing my all to the Indians, who relished my
torment.
The whipmaster taunted Sam, striking close to his balls, yet
never, in the end, quite touching them. Sam tried to stand with his
legs together but found the whip’s blows yanked them apart, so basic and
all-encompassing was the pain from them, striking him right on his
fundament, making him dance as Jill and I danced.
Suddenly, it was over. I had not counted the blows. Had we
gotten all 39? I did not know. A bucket of water was drawn from an
animal drinking trough and splashed in turn on each of our fannies. We
were unshackled by mistress. Immediately my hands flew to my bottom. I
could barely touch it, yet I tried, to assuage the hurt. I viewed the
world through teary eyes. Jill clapped her own hands to her heinie,
found she could do little to help it, her hands stinging it anew. Sam
let his wrists be taken down and stood holding his balls. He was scared
for them. The whip had come so close, yet missed every time, but only
deliberately so. The Indian was a true marksman.
Our blonde hair falling over our eyes, Jill and I were escorted
back into the house. Our bosoms wobbled with every one of our gasping
sobs. I felt the dirt under my feet. Otherwise I was so sensuously
clean, wet with my own sweat, but otherwise fresh as the morning. It
was strange, being surrounded by natives, some of them unbathed from the
smell of them, yet all white and clean myself, but with my bottom
howling at me like a sharp-biting frost.
At the door to the plantation house we were made to stop and
splash in a foot trough. I saw the water become sullied with the red
dirt from the jungle floor as I stood in the trough, holding my hands
over my ass protectively. Jill was next, Sam last. Then, our feet
clean, we padded back into the sumptuous interior of the house.
Mistress led us into the parlor. Amidst family photographs,
with a hutch of decorative china displayed behind us, she lined us up
three abreast. She took a little box from a table. I gulped when I saw
what it contained. Nipple clamps! Mistress stroked my own nipples,
still rigid from my ordeal, and affixed the clamps to them. I’d never
worn nipple clamps before. I shouted as the first was put on, then
watched with trepidation as the second was attached to me. They hurt!
For a moment I forgot all about my bottom, though the entire time I
stood rubbing it, or trying to. Jill was next. She accepted hers with
less complaint. Sam had put her in such things before, I guessed.
Lastly Sam himself was made to wear the clips. He did not like them,
yelled with surprise as he felt them attached for the first time in his
life.
A girl entered. She was white, no more than 8 or 9, with
little breast buds just beginning to pop from her chest. She wore
panties. They were creased in back, as if she’d just pulled them up,
and I thought I saw a blush of red upon her bottom, mostly concealed by
the cotton panties. Had she just been spanked? She seemed spoilt, as
if always a little recalcitrant at any chores she might be assigned,
perhaps for nothing more than a little attention. Now I saw she had a
job to do. She held three ropes in her small hands, and I guessed they
were for us.
“Start with Sam,” mistress told the girl. “Do it just as you
would in girl scouts.” Girl Scouts? She looked to be still a Brownie
to me, though perhaps they graduated more quickly here. “Sam, this is
Beth. She’s going to tie your wrists so well that even you won’t be
able to break free.” Sam snorted his disapproval, but let the girl draw
his hands behind him. Beth stroked the long, powerful muscles of his
forearms. Mistress caressed the girl’s soft blonde hair, neatly tied
off into two ponytails.
“What happened? You look like you just pulled up your
panties,” mistress said to Beth.
“Gov’nor spanked me,” Beth sniffled. With nimble fingers she
began tying Sam’s wrists. I think he was still too shocked by the
clamps on his nipples to think of flight. Beyond the drawn curtains of
the parlor, made of the finest lace, we could see the shifting shadows
of the restless natives. They were shouting something. I prayed it was
not a request for an encore.
I turned to Jill. She was disconsolate. She held the cheeks
of her bottom apart, biting her lip, letting air into the little hole in
back which brimmed with her husband’s sperm. She fell against me. I
almost fell over. I caught her, let her press her overheated body to
mine. We panted together, our bottoms making us feel like naughty,
reproved gradeschool children. If only we hadn’t slipped off our
bikinis to go swimming! Jill’s breasts pressed heavily alongside mine.
Four gourds, they seemed, our titties with their admonitory clamps
biting off the tips within scissorlike jaws, making them hurt so. Jill
flicked one of my clamps. It wiggled upon the tip of my teat.
“Don’t,” I breathed, shivering. She stroked my belly.
“Next time, we’ll keep our bikinis on, no matter what Sam
says,” Jill confessed to me.
“Yes, I replied.” I poked my finger into her bellybutton. She
dropped her hand to my fleecy muff and tangled her fingernails within
it. Somehow I knew that next time, when Sam made us, we’d slip out of
our bikinis just as quickly, the waves washing the nearby beach. And
we’d watch wide-eyed as Sam lowered his own trunks, letting his massive
prick and balls swing freely before us.
“Well why would your governor spank you?” mistress asked with
feigned curiosity. Together we glanced at Sam. I think I’d heard
mistress ask the question before, the girl had not answered. Now
mistress asked again.
“Because I didn’t want to come inside!” Beth exclaimed.
Intently she kept tying Sam. He flexed his powerful arms. He was
bound, his chest huge and taut, his cock dangling down, like a snake
waiting for the strength to strike again. “Why must I come inside?”
Beth asked. “And why can’t I play anymore as the Indians do, without
any clothes on?”
“Because you’re growing up, dear,” mistress answered. “You’re
becoming a young lady. We do not run around naked as the primitive
natives do. We’re civilized.” Mistress looked up at me, at Jill.
“There is cream in the top drawer of that dresser,” mistress
told Jill. “Get it and put it on your bottoms. I can see you need it.”
Quickly Jill broke away from me and went trippingly to the
dresser, her wounded hiney cheeks wobbling behind her as she walked,
utterly naked, across the parlor floor. She opened the dresser, poked
around. Finding the cream, she returned to where we stood. At once she
opened the jar, tossed aside the lid, and stepped over to her husband
and began to lave handfuls of cream on his injured ass.
Sam ground his hairy thighs together, loving the attention from
his wife, even as Beth put the final touches on his bindings. His cock
stood up, thrust at the air.
“Flurry next,” mistress said to Beth. The small girl came over
to me, got behind me, pulled my arms back even as I speculated about
kneeling before Sam and praying to his Godlike phallus. I wiggled my
toes into the deep impressing softness of the rug. Even now I wished to
serve Sam in whatever way I could, despite what he’d gotten us into.
Finishing with her husband, Jill came to me next, and assuaged
my hurt asscheeks as Beth bound my wrists tightly. I could do nothing
but stand and receive their attention. Mistress watched me. My titties
jiggled as they worked. I glanced beyond at Sam, he stood barefoot,
naked from tip to toes, watching us, watching the figures dancing and
hollaring outside our parlor windows. Inside, all was safe and secure,
prim and proper, despite our impoliteness at being nude in such a haven
of Puritan tradition. I glanced at the piano in the corner of the room,
a small one, imported from Europe. I remembered my lessons as a girl.
If I was home now mom would probably have me sitting at ours, plinking
out my lessons, with my stereo headphones surreptitiously plugged into
my ears and Rat blasting away into them.
Jill was last to be tied. Sam and I drew close to her,
watching her, waiting for whatever might befall us next.
“Yes, you’ll be good in here,” mistress said to us, her voice
almost soothing. It was a proper English voice, her tone formal, yet
consoling. “Do you know what the traditional fate is for those bound to
the post and whipped is? Why, it is to be eaten. That is what the
natives are asking for now. They have a pot boiling out there, just for
you, big enough for all three of you to fit into. The ultimate jacuzzi,
I’d say, wouldn’t you?” she laughed as she saw all three of us shiver.
“Please obey me in all things, and the governor too, and we’ll let you
stay for dinner.” She placed a hand on Sam’s newly creamed bottom,
seemed to size up his buttocks as if they were shanks of beef in a
store. With her other hand she sized up the length of his cock. Yes,
even that would feed five native children, I thought with a shiver. The
tongue, our eyes, my titties, Sam’s dick, nothing would be left to
waste.
“I’m done!” Beth announced.
“You may go now,” mistress told the girl.
“Why is his so much bigger than Ishmael’s?” the girl asked,
pointing at Sam’s penis, perhaps comparing it to the wieners of her
Indian playmates.
“You may go now, Beth!” mistress replied. The girl clapped her
hands to the seat of her bottom, suddenly fearful, and scurried from the
room. I watched her blonde hair as she retreated. It was loose,
flowing, like mine, like Jill’s. All she lacked was a little height and
adipose tissue to join us. How long before the governor found her to be
more useful to him than just as a spanking toy? She was gone. Too
short to be noticed by men, even by our lecherous governor, even by the
randy native men, she could play in the trees still, catlike, watching;
she could enter or leave without drawing attention, attending parties as
she chose, uninvited sometimes, and unseen. Yet in just a few years she
would lose her anonymity. Entering a room then, tall and willowy,
perhaps still in her p.j.’s thinking herself a child still, she’d find
she could not escape. Ten perhaps, eleven, twelve at the most, she’d
see how the men watched her then. When she turned to leave they would
not let her. She’d be stopped at the door.
“Who is this, mistress?” they’d ask. “You did not tell us you
had such a lovely girl staying with you.”
“Why--” perhaps mistress herself would be caught off guard.
Especially if the girl was her daughter. “I had not thought to mention
her. She was sent to bed early. She is too young for such things...”
And the men, gathering round her now, admiring her thin frame with its
developing breasts, would declare she must not be put to bed... not yet,
not yet. They must each have a dance with her, one at least. May she
dance at least one dance? And she would stay the night, her tresses
flying, her ponytails untied as the dancing continued. Still in her
p.j.’s perhaps, her teddy bear placed on a chair by the wall, Beth would
dance at the grownup party, with the wicked men who wanted more, much
more, than just one dance with her.
With the chanting of the natives reaching new heights of
passion, mistress passed her finger beneath each of our chins and made
us stand up straight. Our arms were held tightly behind us. My titties
wobbled nakedly on my chest, my tit clamps the only attire I wore,
covering my stiff-stemmed nipples. My puss was bare. I felt terribly
exposed standing there, the natives screeching just outside the parlor
walls. Only the presence of my two best friends, similarly shorn,
equally pinioned and hurting, kept me from collapsing into a nervous
ball of flesh upon the floor. Yet we were not to remain upright any
longer. The governor was to have his parting inspection of us, we were
told.
Mistress made us kneel down and abjectly bend over right there
in the parlor, our bottoms high, our faces pressed deep into the soft
shag rug. It smelled new. Had it been laid, or cleaned, just for us?
Sam did not want to present himself this way, especially as the governor
strode in just as we were being ordered down. But mistress, ever his
master, grabbed his nuts and made him comply with compressing squeezes.
Soon he was showing his bottom to the governor just as openly as Jill
and I did, our thighs apart, our sex available to him. With a grunt of
dissatisfaction at our display he toed each of us between our buns with
his boot. He made us rear up even more, stretch our legs even wider
apart. I think he nudged Sam’s dangling nutsack a little to force his
compliance, pushing it upward, as one might poke at the base of a
waterballoon.
“You have all three received your judicial punishment from me
for going naked in my province,” the governor proclaimed to us. “We are
white people. We do not go naked as the primitives do. And they do not
go naked except here, in the jungle, on their traditional tribal lands,
lest they wish to feel my wrath for their indecency, however natural it
may be for them. You will not flaunt my laws again, do you understand?”
We mouthed our answers into the carpet. None of us
misunderstood.
He left. We were allowed to stand. It was hard, standing up
with our wrists tied. Mistress helped us. We were led upstairs by her,
put back into the bedroom reserved for us. “Dress quickly,” she said,
cutting us loose from our bonds with a small, sharp knife. I saw simple
clothes laid out for us on our bed. Thin t-shirts, through which our
nipples might show. Cutoffs, deliberately shortened for Jill and I so
that our asscheeks looked like they would not be entirely covered by
them. Jeans for Sam that went down to his knees. Sneakers, new, but
without socks to go with them.
Mistress looked at Sam’s cock. It was stiff as a board. “Do
not pleasure your females here,” she told him. “You must leave now.
Any hesitation, any quick pleasures, will cost you. Wait until you are
home to play. Someone will come for you in a few minutes. Be ready.”
She left us then, her skirt swirling around her ankles, shutting the
door to our bedroom behind her and locking it, not for our privacy, but
so we could not escape.
Jill tiptoed to the window, still feeling captive, looked
outside with her finger placed upon the stiff cold window-bars. “They
do have a pot!” she breathed. I ran to look, as did Sam. We stood
watching a moment. Outside natives danced about a pot, thrusting their
spears at the sky, hollaring. It boiled, empty, but with spices being
thrown in, as if in preparation for a feast.
Jill withdrew from the window, taking my hand, leading me
away. She reached up and plucked my clamps from my nipples. I breathed
a sigh of relief. She bent and sucked each of my nipples with quick
compassion. Then she offered me her breasts and I took hers off. With
sisterly affection I gave her teats a nurturing, soothing suckle.
“We must dress!” Jill said, lifting my head from her sore
nipples. We kissed, once, on the lips, then got into our clothes.
“Hurry, Sam!” Jill told her husband.
Sam went to the bed, got into his jeans. He had not been given
underpants, just as Jill and I had no panties to wear. With difficulty
he managed to stuff his hard cock into his jeans. Carefully he zipped
them up. Jill rushed to help him so that he would not injure himself.
When his fly was up she pressed a hand to his bulging crotch. There
eyes met. It was a glance only a husband and wife can share. And then
only newlyweds, I think, or the recently married. A look of promised
fertility and shared awareness of each other. I saw Jill’s nipples
poking excitedly through her t-shirt, making the fabric stand up. I
glanced down at myself. My own boobs had their little tit-tents. I
tugged on my shirt to make it taut, hoping to make the tents go away,
but they only stood out more.
A key in the door. “Are you ready?” a voice squeaked.
Mouselike. How strange, after our ordeal here, that the person come to
release us should be none other than Beth, the bottomgirl, so recently
spanked. She was properly dressed now in jeans of her own, a t-shirt on
her, and a little denim vest over it, to hide her budding breasts. In
her hand she held a wet lollipop, large, made of swirled colors. A
stain of it was upon her cheeks. “Come on, governor is driving back to
the city. Our stay here is done, for now. I think he’s going to let
you off at your car. You met him or something, I guess, at a beach?”
Her eyes were curious. She did not know.
“Shhh, we’re coming, right now,” Jill said, bending slightly,
her ass bulging, hanging out of her too-short shorts. She did not wish
to explain to the girl all the adventures adults might have. She would
learn soon enough, in her own way, in just a few years time at most...
“Why are your pants so SHORT?” Beth asked as Jill slipped by
her to leave. Jill said nothing. She pulled on her jeans in back,
hoping to cover herself better, but could not. There was not enough
fabric to do it, it was as simple as that.
We went outside. The governor and mistress waited. The back
seat of their jeep was empty. We would sit there. Beth, I saw, would
ride up front, sitting on mistress’ lap. The second car, filled with
guards as before, would follow us.
“I want pants like they have,” Beth said to mistress, pointing
to Jill and me.
“Get in the car, dear,” mistress replied. “Drive slowly,
dear,” she said to her husband. “We must not let Beth fall out. And I
prefer to keep the, ah, jiggling in back to a minimum, since you
wouldn’t provide bras to the girls.”
The governor harrumphed, but I saw he would obey. Mistress was
in charge now. Sam and Jill and I clambored into the back of the jeep.
All around us the natives stared, disappointed. They would not get to
eat us today.
A chieftain ran up to the jeep as we settled into the back. He
gesticulated to the governor, angrily, like a child deprived of his
prize.
The governor tossed the chieftain a large brass key ring. Upon
it was a single key. “DEA,” I thought I heard the governor say. The
chieftain scrabbled in the dirt, picked up the ring from where it had
fallen. The chieftain smiled. Then he grinned, broadly. Our jeep
lurched forward.
I glanced back at the chieftain. Amidst the dust from our jeep
he was hollaring to his people. As I watched, they surged into the
plantation house.
“I wish you’d have reminded them to wipe their feet,” mistress
said to the governor.
“We will have three less Americans in our country by
nightfall,” the governor smirked. I shivered a moment, then realized he
was not speaking of us. There must have been other Americans in the
house, I thought, prisoners like ourselves, but DEA agents? Sam
turned. I saw he was thinking of being a hero somehow. Jill put a hand
softly to his groin, held him. There was nothing we could do. Their
fate was sealed, whoever they were, with the guards following us, the
governor in front, a pistol strapped on. This was no movie. No heroics
on Sam’s part could save our fellow prisoners back there, in the
plantation house, from their fate. Sam’s muscles slackened. He turned
and faced forward again. I could see he was dejected. He did not like
seeing badness triumph over good. I dropped my face to his stomach. It
was hard, uncompromising, heroic. I joined my hand to Jill’s in
caressing his bulging jeans.
“Please, please,” I begged him. He let us win him over. He
did nothing, sitting forlornly as we travelled into the depths of the
jungle, the temple complex soon gone in the foliage behind us,
unfindable even, if you did not know the way. As the general chose
between rutted roads in the jungle I breathed easier. Now Sam would not
even be able to find the temple, I realized. We became lost in the
Amazon forest, the governor our only hope of ever escaping, and we (even
Sam) were forced to accept his sardonic mastery over us. I sat up at
last, Jill too, and we endured the governor’s frequent glances at our
bouncing boobies in our thin little shirts.
30
----------------------- Dreamgirls! -----------------------
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