Blue Sea, Green Earth, Red Sky

My boat paddled alongside me as the crews in the other canoes called out to the men in my boat. They were laughing. My escape was a joke. My dash to freedom was a source of merriment among these men of the forest and sea. My escape was blocked by several boats. I stopped and tread water while many of the men threw verbal jabs toward the leader from whom I'd escaped. Their taunting comments to my handler brought laughter from every boat. I was hemmed in by the six craft. Not only had my escape failed, but I was humiliated that my feeble escape efforts were found amusing by my captors. I was furious.

I dove underwater, swimming under the boats that blocked my escape to the island. I surfaced. As soon as I drew a breath, my captor's boat pulled beside me. I started to swim but was caught by a strong hand grabbing my shorts, gripping my waistband. I thrashed and kicked violently, intending to escape. I slipped out of my shorts, leaving them empty and in the hands of the disappointed hunter. I kept swimming for my life.

My pursuers were right next to me. Two pairs of arms reached over the side, seizing my legs and one arm. I was hauled back into the boat and pinned to the bottom. My captors were all laughing. The other boats had watched the spectacle and though I didn't know their language, there was no misinterpreting my recapture as a grand fish story that amused everyone. Only, in this story, the big one did not get away.

An oar was pushed hard to my chest, holding me on my back. I fought with my arms for a moment before my wrists were caught by powerful hands and twisted above my head to make me stop struggling. The boat's captain looked at me lying in his hull, his eyes flashing as he looked over my drenched form. He reached for me; I kicked, landing a blow on a knee, which knocked him off balance. The other canoes drifting close to us were watching my recapture with amusement. My defiant kick which made the captain stumble, brought more laughter from the fleet.

A swift motion of the captain's head was a silent order to get his crew to grab my legs. He again reached toward me, stripping my bright pink underwear, printed with tiny black butterflies, off my hips and all the way off my body. He gave the order to tie a rope around each ankle and pull my legs wide like a wishbone. I was spread into a V, each foot lifted and trussed to a supporting cross-piece, opening and exposing my private parts to his crew and all the world as I was left on my back, helpless with my feet shackled to the canoe's frame.

Taking possession of my pink panties was the captain's reward for the trouble my escape attempt had put him through. He proudly held up his prize for the rest of the raiding party to see, waving them in triumph. My panties were passed around among his crew; they being a seldom, if ever seen garment. Their color was unique and the butterfly imagery was appealing to the men. Some tried on my underwear as an armband or placed them over their head as a bright headband, eliciting fashion advice from the other boats. My nifty pink knickers were returned to the boat's leader. He slit the crotch with his knife, admiring the amazing properties of the elastic waistband as he placed them on his head as a treasured adornment. The show was over, the boats got underway in the fading light.

I fumed in silence; angry that I had failed to escape, angry that I thought I could escape. I was mad that I had gotten myself into a position where I was strung out, naked below my waist and was being carried across the sea, humiliated and exposed, presumably as punishment for a girl who dared to fight against these sea-faring bastards. As long as I was roped into this embarrassing, privates pointed-up position, I vowed to piss on the next man who came within range of my upturned pee-shooter portal.

The flotilla landed on a small island before sunset and a camp was set up at the top of the beach. The two Indonesian girls stolen from the village had been freed from their woven tube constraints soon after we paddled out of sight of their homes. They were submissive and were put to use cooking an evening meal over an open fire. I was not used to help prepare the food; either the men didn't think I was capable of cooking, or I was thought to still be an escape risk. If it was the latter, I was proud of myself; if it was the former, I was insulted.

I was hobbled with a short rope tied to both ankles, allowing me to take only tiny steps, but not walk or run. For good measure, I was tethered to a log with another rope wrapped around my neck like I was someone's goat. I sat on the log, casually guarded by a couple of tough guys. From my seat I watched the young women cook and serve the men. The chief priest ate first, then the colorfully robed leaders of the boat crews, last to eat were the girls. One of them brought a broth and some fish to me. I took my supper from her and nodded in thanks. She pulled off her blouse, dropping it in my lap to cover up my nakedness below. I was touched by her kindness.

One of my guards barked at her. Using the business-end of his spear, he plucked her blouse from between my bare thighs and thrust it back at its owner. She grabbed it and slipped it over her well-formed, youthful breasts before turning and running back to the cooking fire. It was a signal to me that I was to remain stripped of my shorts, panties and dignity. I downed my meager meal in a hurry, afraid it too would be taken from me.

My watchers watched me more closely after this attempted bit of kindness by the other captive woman. They looked me over, talking under their breath among themselves. I knew I was the topic of their discussion. I feared that since I was deemed useless at preparing meals for the men, in the minds of these stone age brutes there was only one other good use for a woman. I concluded that their talk was all about deciding which one would rape me first tonight.

One of them motioned to me to unbutton my white shirt. I hesitated, acting like I didn't understand his motions. He grew impatient, stepped toward me from the shadows, reaching for my breasts. I smacked his hands; his partner moved his spear in a threatening manner as he snickered.

With reluctance, I complied with their demands knowing I had no power among these men. I finished unbuttoning my shirt myself, avoiding giving them the pleasure of ripping off my bodice as a prelude to the rough sexual handling I was expecting to begin any moment. Once the shirt was loose on my shoulders, he came at me again, ripping it off my torso. I was left sitting with my legs tight together, tied to a log, dressed only in my white bra. I braced for the moment when my legs would be forced wide, and they would take their cruel male pleasure at my defenseless expense.

Taking my shirt, one guard held it to my unclothed lap, moving it down my legs and then up my body, comparing my white skin to the white fabric. The two seemed interested at how white my bare hips were and curious about the origin of my tan lines. I appeared to be a two-toned woman, having the varied coloration of a forest beast, not the uniform color of these bronze-skinned people of the forest and sea. I was a curiosity, an oddity; all the more fun to fuck I figured. I dreaded my fate.

The discussion of my skin tone ended when there was a shout and the men in camp became alarmed by something they heard. I listened too but heard nothing. The raiding party prepared their weapons, and all kept a sharp watch out on the water. After a few minutes I heard the puffing of a boat's engine and saw my captors preparing for a fight. A boat with its running lights on came into view. I hoped that this was my salvation, the Indonesian Coast Guard, if such a thing exists. I now know it does not - at least not where we were.

The boat dropped anchor, floating offshore. A man on the boat began calling to the men in camp.

Margaret yelled across the water, "Maribeth are you over there? Maribeth are you alright?"

I stood and answered. "I'm OK. They haven't done anything to me - yet."

Dr. Friday yelled to me, "We've come with a translator and we are going to get you back. Wait for us to work out these delicate negotiations and stay calm. We'll get you back, I promise. Maribeth, just don't do anything rash under these conditions. Just stay calm." Dr. Friday sounded nervous, more nervous than I was.

Two canoes with armed men launched from the beach and came back with Dr. Friday, Mr. Mahari and the new translator from the village who could communicate with my jungle dwelling captors. Margaret and the reluctant owner of the commandeered boat stayed offshore. The three men who had come to rescue me were escorted back to a lean-to where men of rank and the pagan priest sat. They welcomed their visitors to sit, as a group of menacing warriors stood behind my rescuers watching for any monkey business.

From my captive perch several yards away, I could overhear Dr. Friday asking questions. Mr. Mahari then translated Dr. Friday's words to the new translator, who then spoke to the chief. The chief's answers came back through the third man, then to Mr. Mahari and then into English for Dr. Friday. The process was tedious and slow as certain formal customs had to play out, rather than direct question and answer, cut-to-the-chase dialogue normal to Americans. The other two young women were soon off the negotiating table. Serious questions and negotiations revolved around my fate. It was difficult to get the pagan priest and his men to yield. The divine roll of bones and feathers has chosen me. It was hard for my rescuers to argue against divine will.

After many circuitous attempts at gaining my freedom, an agreement was reached. Assurances were made that my life was not in danger. Their deity was consulted and a promise was given that I would be released. Dr. Friday had rescued me - or so it seemed. Once my release was promised to Dr. Friday I was relieved that negotiations had finished so well. Then there came a huge sticking point that got intense.

Yes, I would be released - but not right now. My freedom would come only after some time in their custody. Their deity would have the final say, and she wasn't speaking right now. I had to remain in captivity until the proper rites of their pagan ritual had played out. What this important ritual involved was unclear, but as I listened in, I got the impression that Mr. Mahari and the other man were not revealing all that they knew about my fate, keeping Dr. Friday in the dark.

Dr. Friday told them that he, his pair of translators, along with Margaret, would not abandon me. He insisted on this point and was soon accommodated. It was agreed that Dr. Friday's party would be guests among these people, but they were not to interfere with the coming ritual. Afterwards, I would be released back to my friends. The negotiations were finished and the deal was sealed with solemn words and the traditional solemn act of Dr. Friday allowing the chief to hold his testicles while in turn Dr. Friday held the testicles of the chief as a mutual, man-to-man oath was sworn. There was no altering the agreement now. These men had made a sacred pledge and I was left in the testicle-fondling hands of this chief, his shaman priest and their band of fighters.

It was a huge relief to know that Dr. Friday had pledged his two nuts to guarantee that I would be released. My greatest fears were set aside.

"I hope you won't judge me Marco, but after this negotiating session I felt a lot better. In fact, I was kicked into high gear thinking about this as an adventure. I never really dwelt on it too much, but in retrospect, I had always had a fantasy about being captured by pirates or bad men and made to perform nasty acts for them. I hope you're not shocked to hear this about me? I warned you that I'm a sensuous and needy performing arts, musician-type. At the time I didn't dare to let myself think it, but in hindsight Marco, I've had this idea that my secret sexual fantasy of being forcibly taken by bad men might be lived out in real life."

I was stunned to hear the depth and detail of my friend's experience, especially her revelations about her sexual fantasies. Not that I'd admit it, but I indulge in websites and reading material where women share their real sexual fantasies. It turns me on to get a glimpse into what women think about sex.

I bit back the urge to make her continue her narration, I played it cool. I topped off her beer. "Maribeth, I bet you were still pretty scared since you were not going to be released right away? And you still were going to have to face an unknown primitive ritual of some sort?"

"No actually, I took some comfort in the fact that my great friend Margaret and three trusted men had negotiated to be nearby during this adventurous trial by fire. I liked that these men were in control of my situation now with a safe ending for me guaranteed by a solemn pledge. It was kind of sensually kinky to be handed over to a group of men in loincloths where I had no control. It kind of fit my latent fantasies. Still, I was nervous. Nervous, excited, but not really scared. You won't judge me will you Marco? I hope you can try and understand this sensual side of me."

I reached across the table, tapped her on the wrist as I listened; "No risk of an unloved numbers guy passing judgment on you for what you couldn't even control. No, your story and your secrets are safe with me. Go on if you feel comfortable."

Maribeth smiled in appreciation of my sentiments and took a small sip of beer.

Dr. Friday's rescue party spent the night on the boat, while I slept between four guards -- or stayed awake all night while my guards slept around me. In the morning, Dr. Friday, Mr. Mahari and the third translator, along with Margaret, transferred into a couple of the long canoes for the final leg of the voyage. But they were separated from me and the other two Indonesian girls. The chase boat and its owner returned to the island port at the hamlet from whence we came. It was a half day of paddling across choppy seas as we journeyed with reluctance into the primitive past on our surprising and forced anthropological expedition.

We were greeted with song by a throng of bare-breasted women lining the banks as our boats entered a small river. Besides the expected captured Indonesian girls, the sight of three pale-skinned oddities plus two Indonesian male strangers was a source of obvious excitement among the welcoming women; it was apparent even to us, even though we had no understanding of their language. Our colorful and feather-clad priest gave instructions before we landed, dispatching some of the women to prepare for the arrival of four unexpected captive guests. Preparations had already been made for us three female sacrificial victims, selected by some unknown deity to play a role in an ancient rite of great importance to these people.

I and the other two females were handed into the care of a group of older women and their younger girl servants. We were separated from Margaret and Dr. Friday and the men who inhabited this island. I wore my bra and tied my shirt around my waist as my only accessory. We were marched through a clearing filled with twenty or thirty habitations built of tree limbs and grasses and mud. We followed a trail over a muddy ridge and down to a pristine inlet with a dark sand beach and a sea of brilliant blue. There were a handful of straw huts tucked in the trees above the beach, facing a large, round open structure draped with beautiful fabric for its walls. Sturdy timber poles supported this open-air building, its thatched roof resting on spokes of log beams.

Our matron handlers stopped us after setting foot in this small settlement, we three hostage girls were stripped of our clothing. Naked, we were led into the sea where we were washed and scrubbed by the younger women of this remote clan. Three attendants were assigned to each prisoner and used pieces of pumice to gently scrape our skin as warm sea water was sponged over our bodies.

I was an immediate favorite for attention, the young chaperons all vied to be assigned to me. My light skin and brownish blonde hair made me an object of intense curiosity. Everyone in this exclusively female camp took the opportunity to come over and caress my skin and run their fingers through my unique hair. I had been brought into their midst against my will, but I was being treated with deference as if I was a princess.

My tan lines were inspected and with a sense of awe as others lifted my breasts and explored the texture of my nipples and skin. There was a lot of chatter and giggling while we captive females were washed. Particular attention was given to handling and discussing the configuration of our labia.

We were led out of the water and onto a shaded part of the beach, having been bathed and cleaned for an expected sacrificial role. We were instructed to lie on a large woven mat face down. Our legs were spread and a pole with ropes threaded through the ends was looped over each ankle, making walking near impossible, much less running away. The young attendants knelt beside us three ceremonially purified prisoners and began to rub our backs with fragrant oil, working our skin into a supple sheen. They rolled their lady prisoners over on our backs, tits up and oiled us from our face to our tootsies. If I hadn't been overpowered and hustled to this secluded location under force by a gang of muscled bronzed raiders, this would have looked like a tropical spa day for me.

With our bodies glistening, tits to tummy to toes, it became apparent that the leg-spreading pole attached to our ankles were not put in place to prevent our escape -- since there was nowhere to which we could escape; but it was for display purposes. Our private girly parts were put on display with our legs spread wide. A matron began to chant as she approached us three naked girls with a knife. I was the first to undergo her ceremonial shave. With plenty of oil drenching my muff, she scraped away my curly hairs until I was slick and smooth with nary a nick while the camp of women offered a song of supplication.

Our pubic hair was collected and thrown into a smoldering vessel shaped like a vulva, flames leapt out of the earthen pussy pot as each offering of our private fuzz was tossed onto the embers within. We were kept on our backs as the camp filed past us, offering hushed comments as they viewed our bald pussies with a reverent interest.

I had been stripped, bound and spread wide open, subjected to group inspection and hushed comments of the camp's women. There was nothing that I could do about it but wonder what this was all about. I was raw-boned naked. I was powerless under my captor's gaze. I was pampered and admired. I was conflicted. I found myself enjoying the attention and the idea that I was a ritual guest of honor. I was scared that something dangerous might happen to me. The idea of being naked and in a dangerous position kind of excited me. I was conflicted -- did I already say that, Marco?

"Marco, do you think that I'm a bad and sullied girl? I told you that I'm a sensual artisan with a craving for audiences and approval, it gives me that sense of aliveness that makes me feel connected. I was feeling so alive, so adventurous and so very bad for enjoying the exposure and the unknown ritual. I was conflicted -- I think I already told you that. I thought, maybe this will help Margaret and science. I was nervous and I was excited by the kinky kindness that was being shown to me. In a way, I wanted to please Margaret and every one of those women."