Blue Sea, Green Earth, Red Sky

I was bathed in the freshwater pool, fed and dressed in a red skirt and fitted with a fabulous cape covered with colorful feathers. I was a tropical red bird, the spirit of the sky. I was curious that the men were still absent, usually by this time of day I was being prepared to be strung up and violated. Only women were in attendance, showering me with dances and songs. I began to think that maybe Smasher and Basher's brother wouldn't show up today, maybe I wouldn't have to perform sex acts hanging above the ground. Or maybe if the men weren't going to show, would today be an all-girl affair with the goddess inhabiting my body?

Going by past history, by mid-afternoon I was swinging from the rafters, moaning and screaming my soul out, taking the shaft of either Smasher or Basher as they fed my secret grotto with their sacrificial man meat. So far, today was different.

New to today's preparations, one of my attending maidens sat beside me with a vessel of viscous herbal liquid after I was placed on my back on a woven mat. She lifted my red skirt, moving her hand between my thighs as she worked the cool jell over my labia, fingering up inside my pussy as she applied the stuff deeper inside my worked-over opening. Afterward, attention was given to decorating my hair with feathers and massaging my skin. I was enjoying a return to a tropical spa day.

I knew what to expect if and when the men returned -- but I wasn't feeling ready for it. I wasn't nervous like the first day, nor was I excited like I was yesterday. My girl juices were just nowhere close to heating up, much less boiling. I could conjure up nothing when it came to a feeling of arousal and playtime with my sanctified vagina. I debated whether this was going to be the time to fake an orgasm. I gnawed on this concern as I was pampered by my girls, when I noticed a strange thing happening to me.

If my head was at first filled with worry and distracting ideas, I now was filled with a relaxed sense of peace and the distractions left my mind. Notes of smooth jazz flowed where once I had anxiety. It was more than mental, I was surprised to feel my sex parts had wandered onto the dance floor. I smiled to myself, that vessel of jell she'd rubbed over my clit and labia was laced with something from the cannabis family. I was having a buzzed high. I underestimated these primitive ladies. These women knew just how to make a girl come out and enjoy herself, even if she was thinking she couldn't make it and would have to fake it.

Late in the day, the witch doctor and his troupe of drummers and dancers arrived in girl's cove. Body, mind and libido had been prepared. I was ready for my close up. Two girls came to me as I stood at the center of the sacred space as the men watched me from the edge.

I waited to be handed the bowl of spirits to imbibe. Once empty, the inebriating effects of the bowls' contents mixed with the intoxicating lube permeating my absorptive tissues. The bowl was placed in front of me and broken to smithereens by the swift, clubbing stroke of a strong champion whom I decided to call 'Thrasher'. The destruction of the vessel signaled the start of the familiar rapid beat of the master drummers, impregnating the air with anticipation.

The priest came crawling across the sand, finishing his inspection of the splatter pattern with a pronouncement that brought in the naked boys. They danced with zeal in their iridescent bodies of blue, green and red. They produced a good show for everyone, warming up the audience for the main event, my deflowering and hypnotic recitation of the goddess's oracle.

Two girls removed my beautiful feathered cape, showing off my bare chest with my pair of enlarged nipples to all in attendance. I was prepared when a couple of robust guys entwined me with the rigging hanging from the rafters. I could see that today's ropes were rigged in a more complex form than the last two days. My curious and adventurous side got the better of me, wondering if I might find myself enjoying today's sex swing position as the embodiment of the sky goddess.

The red skirt was taken from my hips by an officiating matron. If today's prophetic ritual was to forecast fortunes from the sky, I was thinking that I should expect to be painted sky blue. The paint pots came in the hands of my regular attendants, dipping their fingers into the pots and coating me in persimmon red. The shaman looked through their colored fingers as they held their hands against the glowing sunset. The sky is not always blue; the shade of red-orange was a good match to this evening's fading orange-red light. It was a good omen.

I found my face, neck and right breast covered in a brilliant red. A red spot was painted over my clean-shaven pubic region, with extra attention given to finger painting my fancy pussy lips with a good slathering. I imagined I looked fabulous wearing nothing but red body paint.

This time I didn't turn red with shock as Thrasher's cock came out from behind his tiny crotch covering cloth and was swallowed with eagerness by a kneeling maiden. I watched as Thrasher's long, thin penis was swabbed in and out of her lips. She hummed as she sucked him hard, taking him in with healthy gulps administered with enthusiasm. I watched in fascination as her tongue circled his skyward pointing pole. I could tell her fingers enjoyed caressing his balls while she stroked him slowly with loose fingers at first, then gripped his cock in her fist as she shucked him with rapid strokes. She worked him quite well and I thought that this was not the first time these two had explored one another. Perhaps they knew ahead of time that they'd be selected for today's ritual and had decided to practice together. But there was more chemistry with the pair than merely performing a preparatory oral engagement. They were lovers. I wondered if she had any qualms about provoking his prick, only to have him come and fuck me, the pale-skinned foreign girl chosen through a sacred rite to be plowed by her boyfriend's aroused tool tonight.

The sun sat low over the calm waters, the equatorial sky was lit in brilliant hues; flaming reds, yellows and oranges. I watched the shaman as he watched the setting sun. The dark-skinned girl continued to play with Thrasher's long dong as the sun sank below the horizon at his back.

When the last of the day's rays shot across the tops of the sea's small waves, a command was given and the naked painted boys spread out to light dozens of torches placed in a circle around my vine harness. The long shadows were about to fall fast in my jungle sacred enclosure.

The torch light danced in synchronous rhythm with the drums. The play of the light and sound excited me as I stood red-faced, naked and strapped in for a carnal exercise that would transcend into the spiritual and sublime. That is, if I let Her spirit come into me as I was penetrated by Thrasher's decorated dick. My tissue had absorbed the giddy-up gel that had been put inside me this afternoon, coaxing me into an animalistic mood. Aroused, rough and ready, I wanted to dance upon Thrasher's cock, roll my hips and hide him deep and full into my steamy cavern. I wanted to hold him captive far inside me with my sex muscles, squeezing and palpating him until he came in me, flooding my slit with his seed, hot and sticky. Tonight looked to be my last, holy fucking - I wanted to make it a good show, shouting out grunts, screams and moans from the secret goddess abiding within my sex and showering these people with blessings from above. I wanted to be a great white fucking oracle. I aimed to be a perfect embodiment of their goddess who came to them from across the waters and left them with a prophecy to remember for generations to come.

The ropes around my arms and ankles were pulled tight, hoisting me into an uncomfortable L-shape. A mesh swing was shifted under my bottom; my body was lowered into the sling. A horizontal wooden pole hung in front of my titties like a trapeze in a sex circus. My legs were stretched wide, exposing my red vulva to Thrasher's stiff cock. The ropes around my wrists were left slack; I grabbed hold of the wooden bar as I was raised in a sitting position facing Mister Thrasher. I was held at a height where Thrasher could wrap his hands around my ass and swing me onto his waiting erection. I braced for impact.

With a lustful grunt, Thrasher threw his hips at the red target between my open legs. The pagan priest was busy throwing his bones and feathers at the mystic circles when I let out a whoop as his spear landed in the depths of my creamy cervix. I gave up a small convulsion as he hit the target. Thrasher held his ground, his knees flexed, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of my butt as he drew me toward him for a second ramming. An exquisite moan floated from my depths as I felt him push far inside my melting pussy. Holding the stick in front of me for support, I leaned back, pointed my toes while my legs remained tied back to hold them open for this man to easily access my hidden sanctuary.

His task was to unlock the future with his anointed key, twisting his rigid key inside my receptive feminine lock. My task was to let fall from my lips sounds that gave utterance to the spirited sensations that were to come rippling out from my uterus.

I didn't intend to hold back, knowing that my moans had hidden meanings of great import. I released the intimate tensions that we girls sometimes hold tight inside of us; I flooded the torch-lit night air with screams of the sacred voice. I flooded his probing shaft with my womanly nectar. I was hot, wet and possessed.

More than Smasher or Basher, Thrasher was enjoying his preordained efforts. He grunted with low, heavy and impassioned noises every time he entered me. I loved his dedication to enticing my own moans and groans; I rewarded him with strong vaginal contractions that I am sure he noticed enveloping his penis. My internal muscular flexes only made my pussy tighter; Thrasher enjoyed pushing hard into my tunnel, forcing my wet walls apart. My participation brought on involuntary responses of shaking legs and hot waves of desire sloshing through my insides. My eyes rolled back in their sockets bringing a burst of tingling joy that rose to my nipples, jaw and face. We were in synch, Thrasher hammering my vibrating pussy with his long, deep blows followed by his hungry grunts; I returned his manful action with my own girly yelps and lifts of my loins to meet him at each and every turn. I yelled, "Yes! Come get me you dirty old Thrasher. Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Dig deep and take it from my sloppy pussy. Make me cum! Make me scream!"

The old priest didn't seem fazed that his prime goddess was speaking in English; or screaming obscenities in English. He seemed to be enjoying the show.

Thrasher was slamming into me as I flew through the air with the greatest of ease. I was the darling young girl on the flying trapeze. In a real sense, I had the sensation of floating and flying to the heavens while I was being driven crazy by Thrashers incessant pounding of my personal parts. He gripped my hips, delivering a hard humping that threw me into jittery convulsions. I craved an explosive Krakatau orgasm. There was a violent volcano building in the depths between my legs. I was filled with hot lava bubbling below the surface. I felt its heat and steam gurgling through my veins. I was destined to explode and then collapse in sweet anguish.

The urge to be blown away grew hotter and tighter with every stroke. I lurched forward in my swing, letting go of the wooden bar and wrapping my arms around Thrasher's shoulders. I curled my body over his incoming missile, I took control and made sure his searing cock entered my pussy and ground hard along the top. I needed him to poke my G-spot, bringing me to the point of no return. I wasn't going to lose this orgasm. I wanted him deep. I embraced him tight as he came at me, grinding and humping my wild woman parts all over his knob, trying to get all the stimulation I could. I wanted to melt into him and be devoured by his mighty manhood.

We fell into a tumultuous rhythm, his thrusts parried by my engulfing reposts. I hugged his broad shoulders while his rapier plunged in and out of me in an exhaustive staccato fury. I pressed tight, letting his balls slap at the dripping wet base of my gaping hole. The sloppy, liquid chorus of our fanatical mating made a croaking sound come out of my pulsating pussy. Our rapid breaths mixed in the fire-lit stage as we strained to reach our peaks of intensity together. I grunted over his head with every burning spark of passion that ignited the tight-strung fuses that ran from my core to the tips of my toes and the tender tops of my burning nipples. Thrasher growled as I grunted, back and forth we simpered and sang.

It hit me, not as a surprise, but with an unexpected ferocity. I screamed. He howled as he held himself far inside of me. I caught enough air to match his howl. We shook the dark jungle beyond our circle of lights with the fearsome and dying howls of great jungle cats. We were entwined pussy and cock, goddess spirit and mortal man, transformed into jungle love cats. Our duet, a mutual orgasmic cacophony echoing through the dark. My plentiful sex fluids mixed with his exploded jizz, dripping out of me like hot lava pouring off the peak of a violent volcano. Our male and female fluids flowed together, combined with our sweat and the red pigment of the sky realm, making a glorious mess at the end.

The medicine man had gotten his answer from above and sealed the prophecy with the sweep of a preserved bird's wing to obliterate the symbols in the sand.

All my sensitive pink parts were rumbling and seething in exhaustion. I had never imagined being abducted and fucked like that. I was a trembling puddle of spent goddess material, a sexually drained piano composition and performing arts student. It had been a holy fucking performance like no other.

The jubilant throng of villagers, who had just witnessed my public sexual performance, gathered the torches and carried them over to me where I sat suspended from the rafters. The fluttering in my weakened body had only just begun to die down when I was plucked from my naughty swing set and dressed in my ceremonial red skirt and covered with the feathered cape. I was paraded by torch light to the boats as the entire cove emptied of celebrants and went to join the rest of the people in the main village.

I was greeted with song and dance by a welcoming mob of topless women and briefly clad men as the boats came up the small river to the cluster of straw and mud houses. I was also greeted by tears and sobs by Margaret and a very serious and concerned look on Dr. Friday's face.

Margaret was allowed to rush to me, hug me as she wept hard on my shoulder. Dr. Friday was uncomfortable and he wasn't sure if he had a role in comforting me or whether he should just leave this situation up to Margaret for a woman-to-woman emotional letdown and landing. The decision was made for him as I was whisked away and paraded as a celebrity priestess who had spoken to the fate of these people.

It was an all-night affair; there was dancing, song and plenty of jungle juice passed around. Even Dr. Friday and Margaret got to partake. Which I think was a good thing, since it helped them both come off the edge of so much worry and concern for me over the last several days. I looked messy, but must have otherwise looked better than their worst fears had led them to believe. I learned a few dance steps and was admired and cheered by all of the adoring natives. The night was long and I was ready to get some rest once the sun rose and the festivities ground to a halt.

In the afternoon I washed up and was the guest of honor at a communal feast. Dr. Friday and Margaret along with Mr. Mahari and the other translator were included as prominent guests. I was honored with the presentation of the feathered cape, a sacred gift. The other two captive girls were given a cape, one embroidered with seashells and one with flowers. The next morning, we foreign guests were escorted to three canoes and set out across the water for a day and a half journey back to the hamlet from which I was abducted.

I sailed with Margaret and tried to keep her from crying inconsolably for most of the first day. Dr. Friday was in another boat, but he could see us two women locked in deep conversation and again, wasn't sure how he should deal with me. I was thinking he was wishing he didn't have to find out what actually happened to me. By the looks of Margaret, he must have figured it was pretty bad. I'm sure he was already worried about his academic future once the details of an abducted and abused coed under his watch reached his superiors.

For my part, I wasn't all that eager to tell Dr. Friday all of the private details either. Especially the thrilling, intimate fantasy part of being an innocent girl tied up by dark, jungle natives and used by Smasher, Basher and Thrasher in a timeless sexual ritual as a way of predicting the events of the coming days for these people hidden deep in the forest. Sex is powerful - sometimes for good, sometimes for evil. I left that island thinking that I had been a powerful, sexual force for good. I just don't feel like sharing that with Dr. Friday.

Dr. Friday of course cut short Margaret's research work in Indonesia. We flew out of Jakarta, everyone wanting to avoid the topic of my experience. Once we got back to town, I got a note from Dr. Friday asking me to meet him and 'sort things out.' He asked me to keep it on the down low and bring the original notes with me so he could get them back and destroy them. He said, 'He knew I'd understand the delicate nature of our conversation and that he could not afford to have any unsubstantiated evidence getting out without his consent.' At least not until he'd fixed up any confusion that I might still have after what I'd gone through. For the record, I am not confused. Of course I detected his bullshit, it wasn't me he was concerned about.

***

My beer had grown warm. I'd forgotten to take even a sip while listening to Maribeth's erotic tale of abduction and entrapped domination, while she embodied the spiritual form of a pagan, female deity. I was drawn deep into this hidden world of sex, spirit and prophetic voice by her bold willingness to share her lurid descriptions of her encounters. I found myself imagining Maribeth tied by strong jungle vines, nude and vulnerable as she moaned in exquisite anguish, swinging like a pendulum, propelled by sexual thrusts of her heathen captors. I found myself imagining I was the wildman tasked with breaking her bowl of intoxicating drink and coming into her pussy with my smashing, bashing, thrashing erection; making her moan and sing out with sounds from the realm of the divine. I sat and listened to Maribeth with wrenched balls, aroused by her unabashed tale of gang rape.

I groped for words but found none that I felt appropriate to use once she'd finished her story. Her graphic words painted a complicated picture. She sensed that I was at a loss and didn't know what to say. Maribeth helped me out, "I warned you at the beginning, I'm pretty needy right now. Sorry if I unloaded too much personal information." I just smiled, afraid that I'd say the wrong thing at this moment.

"Marco, thanks for being my non-judgmental audience. I really needed to tell someone the whole story; I am glad I found you this afternoon. I think you were the perfect guy to listen to me. Oh, thanks for buying the beer." She giggled and wiped her lips, "Looks like I drank most of it."