Sacrifice to the Emerald God

by Paul Blades

  It would not be an exaggeration to say that by the morning of the fourth day, Margie did not care whether she lived or died. She continuously looked for an opportunity to throw herself into the river, but the men kept her either anchored in some way to the boat through one of the rings in her collar, or held firmly onto the leash that Armando had first placed on her.

  The river had gotten narrower and slower the further they traveled up it. The boat was forced to progress carefully as dense vegetation on either side provided a canopy that blocked out much of the light and caused dawn to come late and dusk early. They men did not travel at night for fear of bottoming out the boat on a rock or becoming irretrievably stuck on some sand bar. This far up the river, that would have been a death sentence for them all as there was no way to get back to Porto Vaca through the jungle and the river was too treacherous to get down it on a raft.

  Margie was surprised when she felt the boat slowing to a halt midmorning on the fourth day. She heard the engine cut out and the sound of the anchor being dropped in the water. She had been speculating wildly as to where the men were taking her, maybe to sell her to drug dealers on some remote plantation, or maybe to a mine owner or even some secret laboratory deep in the jungle for perverse medical experimentations. And then she asked herself, who else lives this deep in the jungle and the solution hit her like a brick. Indians lived in the jungle. Sometimes they traded jewels or the furs of leopards or pumas to the white men for food or utensils such as axes or knives. What would they pay to own a white woman? A wave of dread passed through her as she realized that this was her most likely destination. While she had been in the town where Armando had held her as his bondwoman, she had been in a place with at least a veneer of civilization, where word of his blond captive might make it back to her lover, Tom, and people who could save her. The Indian tribes lived in remote, virtually unexplored areas of the jungle. There would be no way that she would ever be found. And the remoteness of their villages were such that she would never be able to find her way back, even if she were somehow able to get free.

  The American anthropology professor had, ironically, studied South American native tribes for many years. She had read all of the literature on the subject that she had found, much of it in primary sources. She knew that they had a long tradition of hostility to outsiders and cruelty to captives. They sometimes raided remote outposts of settlers and hauled their prisoners deep into the jungle to visit ancient, horrifying tortures on them so as to placate the spirits which they believed ruled their lives. She shuddered as she envisioned herself tied to a spit and being roasted slowly over a hot fire. Or her skin peeled back layer by layer, her screams piercing the demon filled night. Or of tortures that she could not even imagine, her cries of agony sailing off into the dark jungle to the satisfaction of some soul greedy, primitive god.

  Lying helpless on the bunk, Margie could hear the men talking and shuffling cargo around on the deck above her. The quitting of the engines made the silence ominous. She shook with surprise when she heard the horn of the boat give out three, long, intense blasts as a signal to whoever the men were supposed to meet. Margie quivered in her bunk with the knowledge that her future would soon be revealed to her, hoping desperately that she was wrong.

  It was about an hour later that the fat, blond haired man came for her. He unfastened her ties to the bunk and, reaffixing her leash, led her up to the deck. The bank was high where they had stopped and the woman was able to step onto the land easily without having to immerse herself in the water. The blond man crossed over first, holding her leash and then gave the long, steel chain a tug and Margie obediently, but with deep, heartbreaking trepidation, leaped over the small gap of water between the shore and the boat and touched the land with her sandaled feet.

  The other man, the tall, lean one, who had been almost as cruel and callous to the young woman as the fat one, was setting up camp in the large clearing. He already had three one man tents set up and was assembling a fire in front of them. Several boxes had been unloaded and were piled not far from the tents with a brown tarp pulled over them. The fat blond man led Margie to a tree that sat near the middle of the otherwise clear patch of land and stood her next to it. Taking hold of her elbows, he turned her to face it and unlocked her wrists from behind her back.

  Margie gave out a sigh of relief as she felt the pressure on her shoulders relax. She was surprised when she felt the locks on her wrist bracelets undone. She had been wearing them for over a month and had almost gotten used to the idea that they were a part of her. For a moment, she considered the thought of breaking out into a run into the nearby rain forest. She had hands now, a decided advantage over her prior state. Maybe the man would catch her, maybe he wouldn’t. She would take her chances. But then she remembered the fierce beating the man had given her on her last attempt and the fact that while the blond man was fat and decidedly out of shape, the other man was lean and trim and would almost certainly catch her. Her legs were tired and unsteady from her long confinements and she would probably not be able to get up much of a head of steam. And there was the fact that her mouth was still gagged and she would have had to breathe through her nose. Her oxygen intake would become anaerobic quickly. Even if she got free, she would not be able to get it off and would die of thirst or starve to death. No, it was not worth it. Whatever was going to happen, was going to happen. She could only pray that, if it was what she supposed, that her death would come quickly.

  The man spun the passive, disconsolate woman around again and tied her wrists together in front of her with a rope. He tossed the other end up over a branch and then pulled the unhappy woman’s hands up high over her head. Margie realized that any chance of escape had now passed. She shivered with fear as the man’s gross body pressed against her while he tied off the end of the rope to her outstretched hands.

  He smiled at her in his evil way and, taking her heavy mounds in his hands, massaged them forcefully, not to bring her pleasure, but for his own. He licked and sucked at her fat nipples until they were stiff and, in spite of his callous indifference to the woman’s enjoyment, brought a sigh of unwanted pleasure from her.

  “You are a lusty cunt,” the man said to her laughing. He walked away, leaving Margie panting and frightened. She saw him enter the bush and then return with a six foot long, narrow log. When he tossed it to her feet, she knew what it was for.

  The man lashed first Margie’s right and then her left ankle to the log, as wide apart as he could force her legs. The spreading of her legs had lowered Margie’s height and her arms were now stretched out tautly above her. They began to ache immediately as did her delicate, pale thighs, which were already burning with the strain. She moaned and bit unhappily into the heinous wad of leather that filled her mouth so cruelly. “Make yourself comfy,” the man said, laughing as he teased her distended, hairless quim. “We’ll be here a while.”

  While Margie stood painfully stretched in the humid, sweltering, jungle heat, the men sat on the ground in front of the tents drinking and smoking cigarettes. One of their passions, besides tormenting helpless women, was dominos and they set up a game on one of the cartons they had brought over from the boat. Every once in a while, they would look up at their captive and Margie would issue a forlorn, silent plea to them with her eyes, begging for release from her cruel bindings. The men would just look away again indifferently.

  About every two hours, one of the men would return to the boat and issue three long, blaring blasts from the boat’s horn. At one point an argument ensued between the two men and the blond one got up and began beating the lean one with his fists. The men tumbled through the tropical grass cursing and swearing at each other until the blond man finally got in the blow that concluded the argument. While he went back to the fire and started to drink again, the lean man laid in the grass moaning. It took a little while, but he eventually returned to where the fat man sat and, apparently having made his peace, they resumed their seemingly interminable gam
e of dominos.

  It was just past dark when they finally freed the tired and aching woman from her perch. The blond man refastened her hands behind her back and dragged her over to the fire where he let her eat from a bowl on the ground and then let her have a long, soothing drink of tepid water. Afterwards, she was led a little distance away from the camping area and allowed to void herself while crouching in the grass. She was then taken to her tent where the men fucked her, one after the other, and, when they were finished with her, left her hogtied for the night.

  The next morning it was the same thing. The men let her eat a small breakfast from her bowl and then, after extracting blow jobs from her, the lean man, Margie thought that she had heard the other man had called him Estaban, took her to the bank of the river where he washed and brushed her unruly, tangled, dirty hair and shaved the small bristles of hair that had appeared on her pudenda and lower belly, something that he had done every day since she had been the men’s prisoner. He then tied her back off to her tree while the blond man went back to the boat and issued the three long blasts from its horn.

  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 machetes 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.