She realized later that she must have dozed off. The men had, after drinking and smoking and playing dominos all morning, retreated to their tents for
siestas
. The camp was quiet, the hot midday sun beating down on it, but for the small shaded area that covered her from the tree to which she was bound. A weariness had grown within the captive woman, drawn from the days of fear and abuse she had suffered while these men’s prisoner, the heat of the jungle and the effort to tolerate the straining of her muscles as she stood there stretched out as if frozen in the midst of a callisthenic exercise, naked but for her gag, her shiny brass collar and her cute, yellow ribboned, Italian sandals.
When she awoke, there was a man standing in front of her. He was about 5’7” tall, lean with dark brown skin. He was naked but for a string that circled his waist, a shiny, sharp
machete
dangling from it by a thong. His face was marred by fierce, ritualistic scars and his torso was covered with dark blue, crude tattoos of beasts of the forest and strange, hieroglyphic like designs. He had a ring of colorful beads and feathers strung around his neck with several sharp, animal’s teeth scattered amongst them. He was holding in his left hand a cluster of long, sharply pointed arrows and had a long bow wrapped over his shoulder, the taut string biting into his muscled chest. On his other shoulder hung a large, brown leather satchel. He had black, alert, inquisitive eyes that pierced Margie’s as she looked into them with horror and surprise.
“Ooooooooouu! Ooooooooouuuuu!” Margie screamed in panic. Her worst nightmare had become reality right before her. She pulled and tugged at her bonds desperately. The man just stood there impassively, no trace of emotion on his face. When the white men emerged from their tents, alerted by Margie’s screams from behind her gag, the lean, well built Indian turned and walked away from her. When he left, Margie saw four other similarly attired and decorated men crouching in a small semi-circle opposite the now extinguished fire.
Estaban and the fat man sat by their tent and spoke some kind of pigeon talk to the native men. Only one of the Indians spoke, the man who had confronted Margie when she awoke from her nap. The white men produced goods from the boxes, what appeared to be a 25 lb. bag of sugar, salt, a couple of large bags of unbleached flour, some corn meal, large, steel axes, some
machete
s and a pile of colorful beads. They brewed some coffee and the brown skinned men drank it from tin cups that the blond man had distributed. After a while, the bottle of brandy that the white men had been drinking circulated and everybody took a drink. For his part, the man who had expressed such an interest in the bound and naked blond woman produced a long, wooden pipe and, after filling it with some kind of vegetative substance, the pipe was lit and everybody took a toke.
Margie cried and wept as she watched the men and strained pitifully at her bonds. She knew that she was bound and displayed for the benefit of the strange, aboriginal men. It was like waiting for a jury to pronounce a death sentence, knowing full well that they would. At one point her panicked whining became so intense that the fat blond man came over and, taking hold of her bare nether lips and squeezing them hard, promised her a world of pain unless she, “shut the fuck up!” After that, she kept her noises of fright and protest to a minimum. When he turned to go sit back down, Margie saw the Indian man she had woken up to standing behind the fat man, staring at her expressionlessly.
The bargaining took a few hours. The Indians spread a swatch of black fur in front of them and tumbled out of a small leather pouch a pile of shiny, green stones. Emeralds. The eyes of the fat man and Estaban momentarily widened when they saw them, but they quickly suppressed their greed and got back to bargaining. Their excitement at seeing the stones was not lost on the Indians.
The bound, naked white woman had calmed somewhat as the proceeding progressed. So far nothing that had gone on amongst the men seemed to have involved her. Occasionally, one of the Indian men would cast a surreptitious, covetous glance at her and then quickly look back at the white men in front of them. The looks made Margie nervous as she detected the obvious desire in the men’s eyes. Except for the first brown skinned man she had seen. He alone was able to disguise whatever wonderment he had at the display of the naked and bound white woman. His looks were full of disdain and disinterest, a fact that heartened her.
Stones would be proffered in consideration of one or another thing pointed at by Estaban or the blond man. Sometimes a stone would be exchanged for a package, sometimes for a package, the return of a stone and the delivery of a bigger one. Finally, the exchange of goods and stones seemed to be at an end. The liquor bottle and the pipe made another round. And then the fat white man, pointing clearly at the body of the naked white woman, smiled, and then pointed to several stones down on the fur cloth.
This was the signal for Margie to resume her frantic whining. Despite her knowledge that it would be fruitless, she wanted to beg and plead with the blond man not to sell her to the Indians, tell him that she would do anything that he wanted, would serve and pleasure him, be his whore forever. But her piteous pleas emerged only as grotesque sounds of panic from her gagged mouth. Instead of coming over and silencing her, the fat man seemed to be pleased at the ruckus that she was creating. All of the Indian men turned to look at her.
Margie took desperate hope as she saw that the Indian men appeared to be reticent to part with any more emeralds. She cried and sobbed, straining at her bonds when the fat man led the apparent leader of the group over to her and, caressing her breasts and belly, tried to impress him with her charms. They went back to the group and there were more discussions. The pipe was passed around again as was the brandy, and the Indian men, at a signal from their leader, got up as if to walk away. Margie was suffused with happiness and relief at their apparent lack of interest in her. The fat man, however, leapt up from his seat and, taking the hand of the Indian leader and inviting the other four men to come along, led them to where the distraught woman hung helplessly.
The fat man was apparently a shrewd and knowledgeable salesman. He rubbed Margie’s heavy breasts and belly and invited the men to do the same. Strong, brown hands seized her orbs, squeezing them, and passed over her hips and shoulders while her body tremored and shivered in fright. It was Margie’s first chance to see the other brown skinned men up close and she discerned that they were all a little younger, just a little bit less gaudily decorated than their leader. She also could not help to notice, unhappily, as they manhandled her, that the bare, exposed manhoods of some of the young men seemed to rise and thicken as they felt and tested her flesh.
The fat man, leering lustfully at the Indian leader, offered the
piece de la resistance
. He intruded himself in front of the admiring brown skinned men and began to gently rub and tease Margie’s already fear hardened teats. Margie stiffened as she realized the cruel man’s intent. He placed his lips on her left breast, sucking soothingly at her fat, stiff nipple and, while he caressed the other, let his right hand dip over her taut, flat belly and then delve between her outstretched thighs.
Margie moaned in fear and shame as she felt the man’s fingers begin to play with her naked and hairless nether lips. Her eyes darted frantically at the brown skinned men who all seemed to have taken a keen interest in the fat man’s activities. When one of his thick fingers traced a line between her widening and softening labia, Margie knew that she was lost.
The finger found the little bud at the top of her sex and, spreading her moisture over it, began to stroke and play with it. His lips had left her breast and he was standing back, his arm extended so that the Indian men could get a good view of what was happening. Margie shook and gyrated her hips to avoid the tortuous caresses to her clit. Her breasts swung invitingly, to the apparent delight of the Indian men, and she groaned in frustration and despair. It did not take long for her rebellious cunt to begin to tingle with the incipience of her crisis. She tried futilely to press her imprisoned thighs together to deny the man access to her oozing font. She began to beg the man, “…eeeeease! …on’t! …eeeeease!”
When Margie’s pussy began to quake and throb with pleasure, the fat man redoubled his ministrations to it. He was smiling with coarse satisfaction as she moaned and her body shook, the convulsions of her quim reverberating throughout her body. The circle of brown skinned cocks around her were now stiff at attention and she could see the lust in the Indian men’s eyes. She moaned, “Oooooooooou! Ooooooooouu! Ooooooooooooouu!” as the ecstasy of her pussy’s explosion overwhelmed her.
After that, the bargaining began anew, but the fat man knew that he had them. After they returned to the bargaining circle, he pointed to five large, shiny green stones and the leader pointed to three smaller ones. The pipe and bottle went around again and the leader upped it to four. He and the fat man came over to the distraught, feverishly panicked woman and the fat man loosened her gag and pulled her mouth open so that he could see her teeth. Margie, once her mouth had been emptied of its awful, sound smothering instrument, began to beg and plead with him.
“Please don’t sell me to them, please!” she urged the blond man desperately. “I’ll do any….” He interrupted her by giving her a sharp blow across her face.
“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled at her. He grabbed her nipples and twisted them harshly. “Shut...the…fuck…up!” he repeated slowly, his voice full of ominous portent.
Margie whined at the pain and the not quite veiled threat and obediently terminated her entreaties. Tears fell down her face as the Indian leader peered into her mouth while the fat man distended it with his fist on her chin. He didn’t bother to re-gag her when they returned to bargaining. Before the Indian leader left, he took a strand of Margie’s reddish blond hair and ran his long, calloused fingers through it while staring deeply into her frightened eyes.
The men finally agreed on two of the little stones and two of the big ones. The deal was made. The bottle and pipe were passed around one more time in celebration of a successful trading day.
Margie sobbed and cried as she saw that she had been sold. Her body shook and her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. She watched disconsolately as the white men broke their camp. She wanted to renew her pleas not to be left behind with the strange, ominous looking, native men, but she was too afraid of the fat man’s cruelties and too certain that it would avail her nothing but a painful remonstrance. When the fat man came over and made to remove the ropes that bound Margie’s feet, the Indian man gave a protest. The fat man shrewdly explained through gestures that the Indians had bought the girl and not her ropes. The Indian became red in the face at the realization that he had been cheated. His hand nervously fingered his
machete
as the white man remained intransigent. Finally, the Indian relented and he called one of the other men over, took a small sliver of a gem from the little pouch and disgustedly handed it to the fat white man. The white man shrugged, gave Margie a victorious little smile and headed for the boat.
It was all that the beautiful, unfortunate, blond haired, white woman could take. She gave out a loud, piteous wail and began to yell and plead with the departing white men. “Pleeeeeease, don’t leave me here, pleeeeeease!” she shouted as loud as her warbling, distressed voice could go. “For God’s sake, don’t leave me here, pleeeeease! I’m begging you, pleeeeeease! Pleeeeeeease!” It was the most words that she had spoken since she had been kidnapped. Her body shook and convulsed as if she had been stricken with St. Vitus’s Dance.
The Indian leader was startled and annoyed at her outburst. He grabbed a handful of the broad, thick blades of grass from the ground and, after balling them up, shoved them deep into Margie’s extended, frantic mouth while she was in mid cry. As she sputtered and whined in reaction, he reached into his satchel and withdrew a length of leather thong. He tied it around her head trapping the vegetation inside her mouth. Her cries of pitiful entreaty lowered to a murmur and, then, were replaced with hopeless, bitter, forlorn sobs.
Chapter Nine
A Walk In The Forest
All hope of a return to her former life passed from the unhappy woman when she heard the boats engine’s grumble to life. She watched forlornly as Estaban gave the bow of the boat a push with a long pole. The boat swung out into the water and began to turn downstream. The fat, blond man was piloting it and, after Estaban hopped on the stern as it started to float away from the riverbank, he turned and gave her a happy wave of his hand. Within moments, the boat had disappeared from sight.
Margie listened despondently and tearfully as the sound of the boat’s engines faded. She had surrendered to her fate and her body sagged in her bonds. She chewed unhappily on the offensive, green vegetation that the Indian leader had stuffed in her mouth. She desperately wanted to tell him that if he removed it she would remain silent. But he and the other men were paying her no mind. They had crouched down on the riverbank to watch the white men’s boat leave and remained there until there was no longer any visual or aural evidence of its former presence. The leader spoke to one of the other men, the youngest and strongest looking of them, and the man nodded and headed down stream through the bush. He would make sure that the white men had truly left. Although few men on this earth were strong enough and possessed enough endurance to keep pace with them as they made their way back to their village, many miles distant, it made sense not to take any chances.