Blue Sea, Green Earth, Red Sky

After our smooth pussy mounds were displayed before all of the women folk, our leg-spreading poles were removed and we were taken to a freshwater pool fed by a small stream at the end of the beach. We were forced to dip into the cool water where we were once again attended to by three washer girls. We came out of the stone-lined pool and were dried off and were brought into the big round, open structure at the center of camp. There, we were dressed in colorful, wraparound skirts and fitted with flowing vestments that cover our breasts and hanging to our waist with a tasseled hem. I felt honored by the attention and all dressed up. I was sure that I was dressed up for some special occasion, but the mystery remained. The mystery was adventurous and exciting to me with a healthy dose of nerves, kind of like before I'm about to perform one of my compositions for the first time in a recital.

As honored hostages, we were served a meticulously prepared meal featuring several bowls. Some dishes tasted better than others, very few were recognizable to my taste buds. A broth with chopped fish was distinguishable. The fire roasted seafood was good, especially after skimping on meals for the last couple of days. Other meats were cooked well, so I ate them and tried not to think about what they might have been doing yesterday. The mashed vegetable roots and pods were bland but not too bad. I was aware that all of this fare was prepared and served with a ceremonial flourish. The camp women watched us eat our meal. After we finished, the bowls were taken away. As a captive guest about to be sacrificed, I was not expected to do dishes.

I was surprised and very happy to see Margaret being escorted down the ridge trail. She came into the women's camp just as I finished my meal. She was allowed to sit next to me and she was very relieved to see my situation. We weren't sure who should open their mouth and unload first. I wanted to know if she was able to understand what was going on from talking with Mr. Mahari and the new translator. Margaret was worried about me and wanted to know what had happened to me and how I was being treated.

I prevailed, "Margaret let me ask you first; why have I been kidnapped? And what can I expect to come out of all of these theatrics?"

Margaret bit her lip and burst out, "Oh Maribeth! This wasn't supposed to happen. I am so sorry for bringing you into this. I should never have invited you to come along to help with my research. I feel so bad about this and I am worried sick." Overcome with emotion, my friend broke down and sobbed.

Not wanting to add to my friend's anxiety by telling her about this afternoon's pussy parade or the public pubic shaving episode. Using my odd sense of humor, I told Margaret, "Somehow, I don't know why my lucky number was picked, but I seem to have won the golden ticket for a special tropical spa day here. It's quite exotic, don't you agree?"

Margaret teared up again as she forced a fake smile. "Don't worry Margret, I'm sure you'll get your doctorate and become a famous anthropologist after this strange ceremony is over for me."

Margaret remained concerned; "Maribeth, I have to tell you that Dr. Friday has been working hard to find out what is happening on this island and why they've forced you into this situation. Oh Maribeth! It's all so very troubling and we really don't understand much of what is going on with you. Dr. Friday has been led to understand that the omens were all aligned to select you and the other two girls. We think that one of you three will be somehow chosen by a prime female deity of these people to speak as an oracle of future events. Whoever is chosen, she is supposed to forecast the fortunes for these people over sea, land and sky. All we can do right now is wait for this goddess to select someone and possess her and speak to the future. We're hoping it won't be you and then you'll be released."

Seeing the concern in Margaret's face, I changed the subject away from me and my unknown ceremonial purpose. I asked in a chipper voice, "So, how are your accommodations at this resort? Are you going to give it five stars? I do hope Dr. Friday is tipping the help well."

Margaret gave an uneasy laugh. "We're being treated as honored guests. I have my own hut, as does Dr. Friday. Mr. Mahari and the other man are staying together. We're fine, but they would only allow me as a woman to come see you. It is taboo for the men to come to this spot where you're being held."

The darkness of the tropics descended quickly and Margaret's escort came and got her to take her back to the main village. We said our goodbyes with Margret promising me that everything would be all right. I watched her being led back into the jungle, I was grateful for her brief visit and information. I was curious as to how and who would be selected to forecast the future. I was beginning to secretly hope that I would be the chosen one. It sounded adventurous.

Any one of us three forcibly removed females had the potential to become the embodied prophetic voice for a goddess, as such, we were pampered every day. Our attendants bathed us in the sea and then in the freshwater pool. Our skin was rubbed and oiled frequently and we were given our choice of prepared foods. Our hair was combed out and treated with some fragrant extract. We relaxed and enjoyed our beauty treatments in the nude, before we were dressed for our meals and then undressed out of our ceremonial garb to be bathed again. Margaret came every evening, visiting my 'beauty camp', as we began calling this all-girl cove. Every evening we talked about home and girl stuff mostly, avoiding the hanging question of what was going to happen to us, especially to me.

The morning of my third day in 'beauty camp', I noticed some cramping coming on. I was worried how an island girl was supposed to care for herself under these conditions. When I was inspected later in the morning by one of the watchful matrons, she discovered that my period had started. It caused a great stir in the camp. I was whisked away to a waterfall upstream where I was washed and purified by bathing in a blue pool lined with green fern and red stones.

The onset of my cycle was interpreted as the sign of my sanctification by their female deity. I was the chosen one - for better or worse. My periods are never pleasant, but this time my period appeared to possibly put me in peril.

Each morning, just as the sun began to rise, I was stripped naked and made to sit inside a smoky hut for several hours for spiritual cleansing. Outside of my menstrual hut, prayers were chanted on my behalf. I was brought out and given sweet juices, bathed and my skin was oiled for the entire time I was going through my period. To tell the truth, I felt pretty special. It was an ongoing party and I was the special lady guest of these hidden people. The women in the 'beauty camp' worked to make me supple and beautiful. I did wonder if this was like the pig being fattened up for slaughter, but I concentrated on the feasting and pampering.

After five days of ritual cleansing, I emerged from an incense-smoked menstrual hut to see that a canoe had landed on the beach. Several men were busy inside the central pagoda tying a web of ropes made of twisted vines to the log rafters. I had a strange feeling that these vines and I were somehow going to become intimately acquainted during the coming ritual. I had no idea just how intimately these ropes and I were going to be used. The men left after they'd finished stringing up the ropes.

Alone again without a male presence, I was dressed and my hair and garments were ornamented with shells, flowers and feathers. I was crowned like a beauty queen. It was like I was Miss America, only I was really Miss Tiny-Remote-Indonesian-Jungle-Island. All of the women gathered around me once I was outfitted and they began to dance and sing on the sand under the thatched roof of the circular temple. It was a merry party, made all the more festive by frequent breaks in the dancing to sip what tasted like the fermented juice of some local root. We all danced. I was serenaded; it was a joyous girls-night-out atmosphere, enhanced by the intoxicating fermented drink. The party wound down that night and I found my bed on an unfurled mat in the middle of the sacred shrine.

I was awakened before the sun was up and given a meal of fish, fruits and a skewer of something that tasted like chicken (I know - but it really did). I knew this was going to be the Big Day. I had been treated royally up to this point, so I convinced myself that the Big Day wouldn't be a terrible day. Getting drunk on the root juice last night let me sleep; otherwise, I would have fretted all night. I truly wanted to be a good oracle girl for this tribe, but I had my doubts that I could ever live up to their expectations; whatever those expectations might be.

Following my breakfast, I was undressed and led into the sea. My attendants washed me, dried me and oiled my skin. I was wrapped in a new skirt dyed with a vibrant blue, matching the morning sea. My attendants draped me in a cape that was covered in an ornate pattern of seashells sewn onto the back, with the same vibrant blue cloth as my skirt lining the interior. The blue of the fabric and the cape of seashells represented the realm of the ocean. I was being prepared to prophesy as to the coming bounty or the coming hard times for these people from the sea. I was supposed to predict for them either seaborn fortune or disaster; how was I to know? I had no training as an oracle.

Since I was all dressed up pretty fancy, I thought I must have somewhere to go. I was right. They led me to the center of the towering temple. The medicine man was waiting at the far edge of the circle, along with his young men and a few others. The old shaman's young men were naked, their bodies painted in blue, green and red like they were the day I'd been stolen away from Margaret and Dr. Friday. I was given a bowl of the same fermented juice that induced last night's feeling of euphoria. I drank all that was in the bowl.

The empty bowl was taken and placed on a smooth stone in front of me. A large man strode up and smashed the bowl with a violent swing of a club. The shattered pieces flew off in all directions. After his destructive stroke, the sound of pounding drums punctuated the air with an excited, rapid rhythm. The pagan priest marched around the circle once and then crawled across the sand to inspect the pattern of the shattered pieces of the bowl. The pattern was an omen to be interpreted. I couldn't tell if he liked what he saw, or not.

He stood, made a pronouncement and then gave a command. The naked, painted boys surrounded me, chanting as the drumming changed to an upbeat cadence that swelled and then subsided in a percussive pattern.

The bowl of jungle juice that I'd just chugged was affecting my mind and body. I got the sensation of swaying and bobbing on the ocean's surface. My body swayed to the beat as the painted bodies of the young men circled and sang to me, or over me. The medicine bowl, the hypnotic dancing around me and the heavy drum beats echoing inside my body had me feeling like I was slipping into a trance.

Two of my usual female attendants danced toward me and took the shell cape from my shoulders, exposing my breasts as the pagan priest watched them. Two men slipped up behind me, grabbed my wrists, threading them through a pair of knotted loops in the ropes that were hanging above my head. The ropes were pulled through their rigging, lifting my arms over my head. I was stretched upward, it hurt my shoulders some, yet I could stand on the ground. When I raised my head to look up at the ropes on my wrists, the two men slipped more looped ropes around my ankles, drawing them tight. I was roped securely, standing front and center of the ceremonial house, all eyes were on me.

My blue skirt was unwrapped from my hips and taken away by one of the overseeing matrons. Though I was standing, I had no freedom of movement with either my arms or legs. My two attendants knelt, one in front of me, the other behind. Using blue pigment, they painted my buttocks, pelvic region and my legs. Their hands, loaded with goopy, cool pigment, worked between my spread open legs, painting my soft, personal parts, gliding over the bare and sensitive skin that had recently been shaved clean. Lithe fingers trailed down my inner thighs, around my calves and back up to my hips. My pussy lips were worked with delicate fingers, up and down as she painted me, covering all of my frilly folds. The idea of being tied up tight, naked in front of these people as they watched me get covered in body paint excited me. I was surprised at my reaction. My only covering was blue paint from the waist down. In my exposed predicament I was feeling woozy and a little bit wild. I felt that my body was actually being possessed by their sought after goddess. The mysterious goddess spirit filled me and primed me for this sacred ritual.

My two attending girls finished their body painting, withdrawing to the edge of the circular temple. The third of my usual attendants walked in front of me, kneeling in the sand, facing the muscular warrior who had started the festivities by smashing the empty liquor bowl. My name for him was 'Smasher'.

Smasher disrobed, handing his loincloth to the young woman kneeling in front of him. Smasher stood naked, his brown skin glistening with oil after his ceremonial preparation. I had no choice but to watch, strung up by all four limbs, naked and vulnerable.

I had been taken against my will. Then pampered and then forcibly stripped naked. And now I was the headlining performer for these people's sacred ceremony. I grew apprehensive seeing a nude man standing in a trance before me. It didn't take much imagination to think that in this position I was soon to be forced to yield to him. I was shocked when the maiden kneeling in front of Smasher took his penis into her mouth. She performed a sucking fellatio on Smasher's erection, intermittently rinsing her mouth with the fermented juice before returning to sucking him. Smasher grew large and hard with the attention while the drumming added a feeling of expectation to the air.

Thoughts were racing through my mind like drunken squirrels, making a scattered mess of my emotions. On the surface, I felt I should be repulsed by the performance going on in front of me. I was witness to an inappropriate spectacle that mixed with fear-tinged worries about my part in the coming ritual. On another level, I was fascinated and thrilled by my voyeuristic view of a muscular young man getting sexually aroused by one of my ladies-in-waiting. I tried to push my messy, complex emotions out of the way, telling myself that I had to take good mental notes of this sex festival for Margaret's research.

Staring at the couple as the drum beats filled the air, the bowl's intoxicating contents worked into my system, washing a strange mellowness over me. My inhibitions drained from my mind.

The girl did a marvelous blow job on Smasher. He was stiff and magnificent. She licked his dick as she tilted her head back, letting him come out of her enveloping mouth like a curved scimitar being pulled from its scabbard. Displayed at the height of his glory, she took a pot of blue pigment, dipping her fingers into the goop, painting his cock and balls in the same blue that covered my legs and naughty bits.

The exciting, sensual entanglement of the young warrior and his alluring maiden had me entranced. The vibrating sound of the drums and the sight of a sexually stimulated naked warrior standing in front of me captured my wild emotions. I fixated on Smasher's long erection, marveling at his blue cock and blue balls; a color-coordinated match for my own painted female folds. I immersed myself in the erotic moment, watching the couple while I felt the heavy drum beats overcome me and sink into my core. This primeval foreplay had brought on a spontaneous trickle of girly juice; lubricating myself between my spread open thighs. I guess I should have been wearing a G-string that said, 'Caution - Wet Paint'.

Enthralled by all of the sensual activity and my inward response, I had forgotten about my precarious and vulnerable position. That is until it all came crashing back to me in an instant; the drumming quit and the ropes around my ankles were pulled, lifting me off the ground. I yelped in surprise and pain as my nude body was jerked in suspension, tits down, gravity pulling uncomfortably on my shoulder and knee joints as I hung facing the ground.

The pagan priest, resplendent in colorful feathers and animal skins, sat in the sand in front of me, drawing lines and circles in the sand beneath my hanging breasts. Men carrying a wooden plank tied it to a couple of free ropes, threading it under my stomach and lifting it to support my prone body. I was a marionette, dangling loose, waiting to be manipulated by my puppet masters. The plank on which I was lying was lowered, tilting my head down at a slight angle while my ass pointed up. The ropes attached to my feet were pulled, opening my legs wide. The shaman crouched on his haunches, chanting to himself and watching me like a spider sizing up its helpless prey, tangled in its web.

The heathen officiant cast his bones and feathers onto the patterned sand looking for a sign to read. Smasher embraced me from behind, wrapping his hands around my airborne hips. I rocked backward in my sex swing as Smasher pulled me to himself with a lusty heave. His blue spear wedged into my inner thighs. His rigid shaft penetrated me. He launched into my opening with a quick, expansive thrust, impaling me on his pointed, painted penis. Smasher grunted as he entered me, his powerful thumbs pressing deep into the soft, rounded flesh of my ass.

I sang out in both surprise at the sudden shock of his entrance and at that first initial spark of ecstasy a girl sometimes gets when she is taken by a man and feels her vaginal walls yielding to his heated intrusion. Smasher held me in his grip, his primitive sex-bone resting solid inside me, filling me full with his plundering, masculine rod. My pussy's wet walls reacted with spasms of excitement. The intensity of my contractions made me moan in the way girls automatically do when their tight, pink parts are forced apart by the intrusion of a man's plunging sex-stroke.

Smasher held me tight, holding me skewered on his powerful spear. He stood motionless, collecting his masculine energy from my engulfing vaginal walls. I felt his stiffness twitch inside me as he focused on his ceremonial duty to fill my pussy. Taking a breath, he began ramming me from behind. With each powerful thrust into me, I would swing through the air until I was pulled back for another shocking thump, deep into my throbbing interior. Each hammering jab of his cock fanned a shower of sparks that flickered and flashed through my innards, traveling to my toes. The intensity of his percussive fucking made me moan loud with each and every blow.

Bones and feathers were tossed by the shaman in unison with my moans. My involuntary vocalizations were the channeled shouts, whispers and incantations of the invisible, yet present goddess speaking through me. My moans, borne of intense ecstasy, were her divine revelations of the future. As the oracle, the sex sounds that came out of me while I was being ritually fucked were influencing the roll of the prophetic elements being thrown by the shaman. The goddess spoke through me while I was man-mauled into a state of delirium, my involuntary sex sounds directed the bones and feathers around the lines and circles. Their placement were omens to be interpreted by the holy man squatting in front of me as Smasher induced me to speak as he probed and pounded me from behind.