Sacrifice to the Emerald God Read online

  The feel of the large, forceful tongue in her mouth drove Margie deep into her lust. Her brain swam in the delightful, powerful sensations. She moaned with pleasure when his fingers pushed aside her lower lips and entered her, delving into her lush, moist canal and then sliding to the apex of her sex lips and caressing the stiffened button of pleasure that they found there. She could feel the man’s strong, muscular chest press against her breasts as he kissed her and she yearned to free her imprisoned hands to bring their bodies more close, to feel his full weight upon her.

  When the man slid his legs over her thigh, Margie was ready for him. She felt the head of his thick, stiff manhood beg entrance to her private place and she spread her legs wider and raised her hips to meet him. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his meat slid forwards, filling her. She groaned with passion as his heat mingled with hers.

  Margie felt like all of her life had brought her to this moment. Her fevered mind had a brief vision of just where she was and what was happening to her. It was like she was outside of her body looking down on the campsite, the scraggly men sitting by the fire, the bright red tent in which she lay, situated so strangely among the verdant green of the rain forest. Her outside self peered inside and she saw the broad, scarred back of her cruel, callous lover, her legs circled around his as she drew him inside her, even her gaily decorated ankles with the bright yellow ribbon wrapped around them, her stylish but clearly out of place, expensive, imported sandals that she had bought just for this trip.

  But suddenly, as the man began his motions along the burning walls of her lusting canal, she was brought back into herself. The pleasure of the cock coursing its way along her fevered canal refocused her on the moment, drove all other thoughts from her mind. The man put his large, powerful hands on either side of her head, holding it firmly in place as his lips forced her lips once more ajar and he entered her mouth with his agile, hot tongue. She moaned lustfully and her hips began to echo the slow, relentless thrust of the man’s hips. It was not long before she felt her passion building to its crest. For a moment, she revolted at her perversity at finding pleasure in her rape, cursed herself for her wantonness, but as her needs were driven higher and higher, she cast herself into the dark oblivion of lust and let it go.

  The woman’s whole body shuddered and shook as she came. She could feel her quim contract forcefully around the rigid pole that was scouring her inner place. She moaned and screamed into the mouth that had imprisoned her lips and her hands twisted and turned in her bindings above her head. Wave after wave of jolting, electrified pleasure shot through her. Margie loved to fuck, and her ten days with Tom on their honeymoon had been filled with ecstatic delight. But it was never like this. Overpowered, helpless to control her passions, some door had opened up and she had fallen right through it. As her pussy brought her intense shocks of pleasure each time it contracted and pulsed, she felt herself tumbling deeper and deeper into some dark place from which she knew there would be no return.

  As her cunt’s convulsions subsided, she realized that the man had not slowed his long, languid thrusts inside her. He was like some mindless animal intent on his pleasure. She tried to protest his continued ravishment of her electrified loins, but made only a garbled sound as his mouth smothered her communication. She felt her orgasm coming again, stronger and more intense than last time. She was yelling and moaning into the strong, callous man’s mouth as she came. He removed his lips from her, freeing her voice and she called out, “Oh, God! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhh!” as her pussy exploded. The man placed his lips by her ear and she could hear him whispering to her in his gruff, gravely voice, “That’s it, scream and yell, putita. Let it all out like the whore that you are.”

  To her dismay, the sawing of her now burning, electrified cunt by the man’s thick, stiff cock continued. His thrusts began to come a little faster, the collision of his hips against hers became a little harder. Slowly, but surely his energy built up until he was almost in a frenzy, hammering his pelvis against hers as he thrust himself deeply within her. She did not want to come, not again. She felt that she would not be able to stand it. She was being pushed past anything she had ever experienced. “Oh, God, please stop, please,” she whimpered even as her body wanted more and more of the devilish prick within her. Her eyes were welling up with tears at her utter helplessness to prevent the unwanted eruption of her senses once again. She had been kidnapped and whipped, insulted and deprived of all human attributes. The same man who was driving her past her mind’s ability to tolerate or comprehend her body’s vibrant, nuclear radiation of pleasure, would kill her if it suited him, she knew that. She was no more to him than a pussy, a cunt, a crica, a conche, put on this earth for him to despoil and ravish. When he was tired of her or when expediency demanded, he would discard her in a way that she would bring him no trouble.

  The man gave out a loud, animalistic groan and his cock began to pulse and jerk inside her. Margie’s disobedient sex reveled in the feel of his hot discharge as it spread within. She screamed as her feverish contractions and convulsions began again, so loudly that the man placed his meaty hand over her face, across her lips to muzzle her. Her body rocked and twisted beneath the heavy body that was still pummeling her sex.

  Finally, thankfully, the man’s body came to rest and he collapsed on top of her.

  Chapter Five

  An Excursion

  They had fucked, it seemed for hours. After their first round, Diego rolled off of the exhausted, despondent woman and took a long pull off of the bottle of fiery liquor. He sat there, crossed legged, beside her, admiring her voluptuous flesh and wandering his hands along it, squeezing a breast, caressing her tummy, teasing the soft, flooded opening between her thighs. When his passions were aroused once again, he remounted her and drove her to another series of wrenching orgasms before depositing the product of his passions deep within her. Later, after giving her more of the potent brew to drink, he forced her up on her hands and knees and took her from behind. Her breasts swayed and jerked below her as he thrust into her madly, his hands firmly on her graceful, sensuous hips. At one point, to Margie’s dismay, he rubbed his large, coarse thumb along the small, brownish tinted entrance to her bowels and then plunged it inside her. Margie had never been pierced there before and the sensation of the teasing of her anal ring by the thick thumb coursing in and out of her felt strange and perversely delightful in spite of her revulsion at it. Her heart darkened when she heard the man say that maybe later he would stuff his cock in it and give her a ride she would never forget.

  Margie lost count of her intense, body wracking orgasms. She didn’t even remember falling asleep. But she awoke when the large man next to her stirred. It was after dark and it was disorienting not to have caught the passage of the light. The man wordlessly left the tent and left her to speculate at what would happen now.

  Darkness was the bandit’s friend. Most of his depredations had occurred after the sun had faded behind the hills. Pepe had readied the boat and el Jefe and the slender but well built man pushed off into the night.

  Margie panicked when she heard the boat’s engine spring to life and the unmistakable sound of the boat puttering away. Had the man left her here, bound to a stake, alone in the jungle, to die of hunger or thirst? Or maybe some animal would come into her tent and tear at her flesh. The man had re-gagged her at some point during their sexual acrobatics and she gave out a scream of terror as she lifted her head and tried to peer into the darkness outside of her tent. She was rewarded after a few moments by seeing the scraggly head of the skinny, bedraggled man, Manuelo, appearing at her feet.

  “Don’t worry, doňa,” he said grinning. El Jefe will be back later. He’s gone fishing.” He laughed at his own joke and then disappeared.

  Manuelo had been left behind to take care of the tents and to make sure that nothing untoward happened to the blonde puta. For a while, he sat contentedly at the fire, drinking from the brandy bottle, smoking cigarettes. He was a hard luck kind of a guy
. Nothing good ever seemed to happen to him. He was lucky to have been taken in by the great bandit, Diego Badoya. He had had his share of loot and pussy ever since. But he often bristled at the lack of respect that he got from the fearsome bandit. The man referred to him often as a “son of a whore”, a “snake’s asshole”, a “donkey’s cock” as he ordered him around.

  And now the greedy fucker had taken sole possession of the beautiful, blonde gringa, not willing to share her even a little bit. Tonight Diego and Pepe would enjoy first fruits of whatever treasure they found and he had to languish here, alone. The recollection of the languorous, naked body lying helpless in the nearby tent kept creeping into his mind. If he fucked her, how would el Jefe ever find out? The girl wouldn’t talk, he was sure of that. Diego hadn’t let her say a single word since that had captured her anyway. His cock stirred at the thought of her soft, pliant skin and the tender hole between her legs. Why should he have to choke his chicken when there was an amply suitable cunt not fifty feet from where he sat?

  Manuelo decided that it wouldn’t hurt anything to take another look at her. It was his job to make sure that she was all right, wasn’t it? He put the bottle aside, tossed his burning fag end into the fire and walked lazily over to the tent. There was a new moon out and the little clearing was brightly lit. He left the flap to the tent open as he entered it so that the pale light would penetrate it. The girl looked up at him with frightened, suspicious eyes. Her hands twisted in her ties above her head and she drew her legs together. He didn’t mind. He knelt down next to her and ran his hands over her soft, pale skin. “Oooooooouuu, putita,” he said to her, “you’re skin is so soft I’d like to eat you up.” He teased the points of flesh at the tips of her breasts until they stood up at attention. The girl whined and her body shuddered as he stroked her. Maybe he would fuck her, he thought. But then the vision of the fierce bandit came into his mind. He had seen el Jefe do some pretty mean things. He wouldn’t want to be at the brunt of the man’s ire. It was foolish to risk his life for a little bit of pussy. In a few days, perhaps, they would move south to the border town where the gringa’s money would buy him a proper whore for a week. He patted the bound female on her tummy and left the tent.

  The scrawny bandit sat at the campfire morosely cogitating on his lowly status, the unfairness of his leader and the soft, pleasant flesh of the woman in the tent for a couple of hours. Once or twice he started his way back to the tent with a determination to sink his cock into her pussy, Diego or no Diego, but lost his courage and returned to the fire. The third time, he mustered enough grit to go back inside. The woman was asleep and she jumped and screamed behind her gag when he touched her. This time, he forced her thighs apart and coddled her little treasure in his boney hand until it was damp and then pushed a long, stiff finger inside. The girl whined and moaned as he did it, but he paid that no mind. What did she matter, anyway? It was her own fault that she had been stupid enough to let herself be captured by Diego in the first place. Why didn’t these Norte Americanos stay where they belonged? They came down with their money and their whorish women and marched around as if they were something special. He had driven a cab for a while in Caracas, before he had been caught stealing and thrown into prison for three years, and he resentfully recalled the umbrage that his Yanqui passengers expressed when they discovered that he didn’t understand English. They would shout the strange words at him slowly as if he were some kind of retard that could be made to understand only if the words were said loudly and slowly enough. No, the whorish blond woman deserved all she got.

  But yet, once again, the vision of Diego slitting his throat came into his head and he abandoned his purpose. It was a few hours later, once he had reached the bottom of the bottle of local, harsh brandy, that he had finally got the courage to act on his desires. It was the recollection of the screaming and moaning that he had heard from the putita as Diego fucked her that did it. He and Pepe had looked at each other and grinned as the woman’s impassioned cries emanated from the small tent again and again. He wanted to hear them this time up close.

  Bravely, drunkenly, Manuelo staggered over to the small tent. The woman was awake when he came in and the moonlight glinted off of her fearful eyes. He knelt at her feet and, taking her ankles in his hands, spread her legs apart. The frightened woman did not resist, but only whined through her orange mask.

  The fuzzy, blond treasure was revealed to him in all its glory. Its soft folds called to him and he yearned to taste of its ambrosia. Manuelo liked sucking cunts. The whores back in Caracas had called him el hormiguero, the anteater, because of his proclivities and his long, agile tongue. He took off his battered, floppy hat and cast it aside and leaned over to supp at the woman’s heavenly gate.

  Margie had been fearful that the skinny man would rape her while the head bandit, the one they called el Jefe, was away. She was unaware of his Christian name since neither of the other men had used it. When the one that he had called Manuelo came into her tent, she had tensed her body and prepared for the worst. She had been surprised, but relieved, each time when he left. But this time, she knew, he had mustered the determination to violate her.

  She whined as she felt the man lift her ankles and bring them back towards her body. In the faint light she saw the man licking his thin lips as he came forwards to insinuate himself between her thighs. She knew what he was after and the thought of him putting his scrofulous tongue inside her made her skin crawl. She shuddered when she felt its warm, firm pressure on her love lips and then as it traced the gap between them until it rested on her bud of pleasure. The man’s arms had encircled her thighs, pulling them wide apart and she knew that she had no chance of denying him his pleasure.

  To her dismay, in spite of being fucked roundly by el Jefe hours ago, Margie felt her passions awakened by the skillful and insistent tongue that lashed at her crevasse. He took his time, burying his stiffened tongue deeply within her and then lashing it up its length again and again. He seized her love bud with his lips and sucked on it long and hard, flicking the tip of his tongue across it until the unhappy, young woman could deny her passions no more.

  Margie’s chest began heaving with the results of her enflamed lust. Her thighs quivered each time the tongue flitted across her rigid, engorged clit. Her breasts ached with need. When her climax came, she groaned and shook, pulling futilely at the bindings that locked her hands to the post above her, squeezing her thighs tightly against the head that owned the tongue that was tormenting her.

  She was still in the middle of her orgasm when she heard some noise at the end of the tent and the man’s head was violently and suddenly pulled away from her. There was a scream, a piteous plea in high pitched Spanish and then a dull thud and then another and another.

  Diego and Pepe had cruised the Rio Cioro for hours. The police raft had come equipped with a little box that had policeman type supplies in it, a first aid kit, flares, some nylon rope, notebooks and pens, a small book containing some of the statutes that regulated activities on the river and a large, powerful flashlight. They had used the flashlight to help them navigate down the stream in the dark and then to guide themselves as they cruised up and down the Cioro, looking for victims. Perhaps the news of Diego’s dramatic escape had warned off the river traffic, but they had had no luck. When they came into the lagoon on their return, Diego noticed that Manuelo was nowhere to be seen. He knew right away where he was and as soon as he got out of the boat, he drew his machete from his belt.

  Manuelo had been too engaged in his favorite sport to hear the putt putt of the boat’s engine as it arrived on the sandy beach. The sound of the girl’s energetic moaning and the fact that her thighs had closed tightly around his ears had deafened him to the sound of his approaching doom. It was with great surprise and terror that he felt a vice-like grip on his ankle and his body being dragged out of the tent. He hadn’t expected el Jefe and Pepe back for another hour at least. When he looked up, he saw the shiny blade of the machete hig
h in the air. He let out a blood curdling scream. “Mi Dios!” was all he had time to exclaim and the blade came down and plunged deeply into his throat. On the third chop, his scraggly head with its contorted face finally separated from his body.

  Margie was leaning up as far as her bound hands would allow to see what was going on. She could just see a little bit outside the tent. When she saw the bloody head of her assailant rolling along the grass, she screamed with terror. Her captor in chief came crawling in, the red stained machete still in his hand. New, dark maroon splatters covered his shirt and pants. His face was a mask of rage.

  “You fucking whore!” he yelled at her as she cringed and tried to withdraw her body from his reach. “You let that son of a pestilent whore suck at your cunt!” Margie tried to tell the man that she had had no choice, that it was forced upon her as she felt him untie her hands from the stake. But her muffled protestations were not heard. The heavyset man dragged her from the tent and across the clearing back to the scene of her earlier torment. The distraught woman pulled at the bindings that held her wrists so firmly together and tried to dig the heels of her sandals in the earth to prevent what she knew was coming. The angered bandit just dragged her along effortlessly.

  Margie cried and sobbed as her hands were tied again to the branch above her head. The day had just broken and sunlight was beginning to brighten their little encampment. It was just about 24 hours ago that she had stood at the window of her hotel room exposing her body to the day’s beginning rays, oblivious to the eyes of the world outside, reveling in the post orgasmic bliss of her tryst with her lover and husband. Now she was standing in this clearing waiting for the cruel man to vent his rage on her, her new, vicious lover enraged because another man had touched her. This was so unfair that she had a hard time believing that it was really happening. The man had raped her with his mouth and she was to blame? The injustice of everything that had happened to her came down on her all at once. “Why! Why is this happening to me! Why! Why!” she thought desperately.