Ritual Abduction

"It would be best if you abducted Trixie next week. She is having her period now and should finish on Monday. You have prepared?"

The inquiring voice was not Mrs., but rather Mr., Mmmpho speaking, there on the stairs with Stuart. The big man talking, two steps down from him but still taller. Taller in stature, broader too, and longer and thicker in cock, apparently. Too large for Trixie...which did not bear thinking about. A father talking about his daughter's period.

"Do it well, Stuart, fuck her hard. Knock some backbone into her. Yeah, give her some spunk!"

Stuart stood there as Donald walked away past him and down the stairs. It was just such an amazing thing to hear. Remarkable from Mrs. Mmmpho, even more so from Trixie's father.

Things did not go according to plan on the Monday, however. Trixie stopped off at a friend's on the way home. Tuesday, however, saw the plan go into action, and it went like clockwork. Well-oiled clockwork, where the parts of the clock work tightly and closely in unison.

There she was, maroon uniform and all, coming up the stairs. In the shadows Stuart waited, as he had the day before, but this time he would pounce. As she passed his hiding place, Stuart leapt. Cloth bag up then down over her head; hands pulled behind her and wrists fastened by handcuffs--his police experience so useful; and he was dragging her backwards into his apartment in a trice; door left closed but on the latch opening behind him and then closing. Trixie only just starting to struggle, her fingers clawing but wrists bound; he could feel her fingers scrabbling at his trousers seeking purchase, touching, as it happens, his erection through the trousers' fabric--touching and scrabbling, but unable to close, unable to get a grip. Stuart had never been so erect; never been so sexually excited. This was not fantasy but reality. Those were real female fingers scrabbling.

Trixie pulled backwards, with him moving to the side, to overbalance over the edge of the waiting wicker laundry basket, falling back and headfirst into the basket, landing on soft cushions, her feet and legs waving wildly in the air out of the basket. No time for Stuart to gaze at the rucked-up pleated skirt or the suddenly revealed white panties. The wild legs and kicking shoes had to be subdued and tamed. A wide loop of rope, soft but strong hooked over both ankles and then was drawn tight, closing her flailing limbs, bringing ankles and therefore open thighs together. Those thighs would have to be opened again in due course; white panties would have to be removed, sex exposed and examined. Trixie would have to be inseminated. It was what Stuart had been asked to do. But that would be later. At the cabin in the woods.

A reaching under her arms, pulling Trixie to a sitting position. She had barely said anything, hardly yet called out, but within the cotton bag that would soon come unless stifled. A prepared cotton gag, knot in the centre for her mouth, quickly whipped around the bag and positioned; he could see the shape of her lips against the bag, knew he had caught the knot between open lips as she was about to scream. But all he heard was a muffled, 'Mmmph....'

Trixie was caught, well and truly caught! The work of seconds. More binding, soft rope around thighs. Stuart worked quickly. His planning had been meticulous. Arms then pinned to her sides and then the girl packed away, on her side, curled into a sleeping position to fit the laundry basket, comfortably on the cushions but utterly helpless and bound. The lid lowered and secured with leather straps.

Stuart leant back against the wall of his hallway, breathing hard. It had all taken such a short time. The planning, the positioning of gag and ropes to hand had all taken so long, yet the execution such a short time. Was he hard! He could actually have done the whole thing naked, and she would not have known, except perhaps for those scrabbling hands. Back-to-back, her hands could not really have held but they might have just about clasped. Trixie must know, must know a man's penis gets that big, but from what Mrs. Mmmpho had said, she had never held one. The thought, though, of those fingers scrabbling, touching his cock.... Well, she would be doing that. His cock and Miss Trixie Mmmpho were going to get acquainted!

Stuart stirred soon enough. No time for a breather. A shame about the lack of accomplices. He and two girls could have easily manhandled the wicker basket. He could certainly not do it on his own. A tap to the Mmmpho's door--and there was Donald, ready and able to assist. How awful, really, a father assisting with his daughter's abduction. An abduction not with a view to a ransom or a sale but with a view to ravishment. But Mr. Mmmpho was not assisting in that. Indeed, as the elder he would not have been the assistant but been the ravisher--as, according to Mrs. Mmmpho, he had been many times to other men's daughters. Stuart would like to hear more of those tales directly from Donald Mmmpho's lips--another time.

Stuart had an awful thought: he was not sure Donald was not as erect as he--presumably the result of association of his daughter's abduction with his own happy recollections. Not a word said as the two men manhandled the heavy basket out of Stuart's apartment. No doubt it swinging and bumping against both of their cocks. Mrs. Mmmpho watching, from the doorway with a happy smile to her face. She even waved with a handkerchief as Stuart and Trixie's father began the 'bump, bump, bump' of manoeuvring the basket down the stairs.

From apartment block to waiting van. A lift of basket into the back, a slamming of doors, and then a quick handshake. Trixie handed without a word into the safe-keeping of a friend.

The drive was uneventful. Stuart could hear the bump of the basket against the van's sides as it slid when he rounded a tight corner. What must the bound and gagged Trixie be thinking? Would she know this was a tribal ritual? Had her mother prepared her with oblique suggestions, or had she given a fairly detailed account of life back home--'home' to her mother and father, but not at all Trixie, who had been born and bred in quite a different place. Would Trixie have made the connection? Would she have realized old customs die hard and, even in a modern Western city, the same would happen to her--or had she thought that was something from her mother's experience long, long ago, with no relevance to her?

The track to the cabin so bumpy, the bouncing of the basket in the back more than audible. Stuart could feel it. Trixie would be quite shaken.

Finally, the cabin and, as the motor died, came the sound of silence. Stuart stepped out onto the bare ground and looked about him. All was as it should be. Trees all around, a view out over a distant valley, but not a hint of habitation. They could have travelled back in time. A white van time machine into a primaeval forest....

What to wear on an abduction? There was no guide. A black balaclava and little else? Not the black balaclava, then, but something not much different and tribal--lent by Donald. No doubt worn by him at previous deflowerings. A leather belt with brass buckle. Not at all tribal, but also from Donald. Trixie would recognize her father's belt, would instantly know Stuart was 'authorised,' that he had permission to...well... rape her. Would that permission stand up in a court of law? It might be customary where the Mmmphos came from, but was it a permission parents could give?

Anything else? A pair of leather boots. Not thigh-length ones, that was not his kink, though he would not be averse if a particular woman wanted such apparel! Sensible boots, though, because of the rough ground. Back in Africa Donald had no doubt gone barefoot as a boy, feet hard and leathery, but for a Western man always in shoes and socks his feet were tender. He could move the faster if Trixie escaped. Could pursue her through the trees whilst the soft pink soles of her feet slowed her progress. It was a long way to habitation. Nakedness would not be a problem. It would be good to hunt and then almost ravish when he caught her. The thrill of the chase--and the reward.

Again, how an assistant or two would help. Even another man--at a pinch. The idea of carrying back their 'sport' slung below a pole carried between them on shoulders. Leather thongs tied around Trixie's ankles and wrists to the pole; her body swinging as they walked, and from her helplessly exposed sex the cum dripping. Stuart grinned at the fantasy: they had had to use both barrels on her! It a was pleasing image; only, whilst many men would prefer the idea of two male hunters and a pair of used penises swinging as they carried the captured girl, Stuart was none too keen on sharing--with a man. Not so keen on both barrels, either--the two penises--firing at her. He much preferred the idea of a tall blond girl carrying the other end of the pole, maybe sporting a strap-on--still wet from Trixie! Chloë perhaps.

The van's door now open, Stuart tugged at the basket. It came over the edge of the sill and landed with a thump upon the ground. From the inside of the basket came an expected sound, "Mmmph!!"

Mr. Mmmpho had talked. Had described the old tribal rituals to Stuart, who had sat there with cock erect inside his trousers as Donald described what had been handed down the generations. He was sure that his neighbour had been as hard as he was. Of course, it was quite a different matter when Donald described the rituals of manhood. One thing to be circumcised at birth, quite another when being welcomed as a man. Not good, the terrifying ordeal of the lonely hunt. Better to be a woman, thought Stuart, though he realized it was not exactly a manly thought. He realized what a privilege it was being treated as an elder--the 'elder of the apartment block'--when he had not been through that ordeal as a boy becoming a man.

Mrs. Mmmpho had described some of the old rituals from her own experience; how she had been deflowered by the tribal elder, but it was her husband who had filled in much of the detail, complete with some of his own experiences. Unbelievable, really, that friends of his would be complicit in the abduction and, to put it nicely, enforced deflowering of their daughters. How enjoyable for Donald. All those girls....

The girl, as he had been told, should have no idea, though her parents would. It was they who chose the time for her to become a woman. They would not expect her return from fetching water, gathering food, or washing clothes in the stream that evening. The elder would be absent from the village for a time. The girl surprised from behind, a cloth over her head, and then bound tightly before being carried off. The village elder being chosen by the people not just for wisdom and having a big cock, but physical strength. Though, suggested Donald, not all insisted on carrying the girl themselves, certainly as they aged. Other men more than happy to help. The elder's penis needed to be first, but there was no rule against other penises following on!

Finally, the girl placed down, and her bindings rearranged. There she would be on the ground, ankles tied, wrists tied behind her, blindfolded and gagged. After the long trek the elder would sleep or pretend to sleep, leaving the no-doubt disorientated and perhaps terrified girl to roll around on the ground trying to escape. Probable that she would be able to wriggle the blindfold off and look wildly around her. In the darkness of a hastily-built shelter some two or three feet high she would see the figure of a man seemingly or perhaps actually asleep. His face masked, she would not know who it was. The accoutrements upon his body--bracelets and the like--seemingly of another tribe entirely. Had she been stolen?

As carefully as she could, she would get to her feet. Not easy with ankles and wrists bound. She would then hop away, seeking to escape--but to where? She would have no idea where she was. Hopping through the jungle making her supposed escape. Women should be resourceful. Most girls managed to free themselves of their bonds and gag after a time. And then, in the morning, the elder would hunt her down to begin the ritual of sexualization.

It was not possible to follow all the old customs exactly. Mr. and Mrs. Mmmpho had separately asked him to 'try his best.' Now, looking at Trixie bound in the van, Stuart did not really think there was much need to wait until the next day to start. There was time enough for the first part that day. First, he prepared himself. Off with his shirt, off with his jeans, off with his pants. His penis half-erect with the excitement of the situation. It would be fully hard later, he was sure! Naked outside in the open. Trixie would be naked later. For now, inside the basket, she would still be in her school uniform--dishevelled but still covering all her young charms.

From the van he retrieved the bag of accoutrements. Bangles for his wrists and arms (and ankles), the significance he knew not; a penis-ring that he carefully threaded his penis and balls through so it nestled behind his testes, giving the whole set-up additional prominence, bringing his balls forward; a penis-shaped gourd to be worn with leather strap around his waist, hiding his real penis for a time; a feathered cloak and a headdress, something like a balaclava, Stuart thought, holes for eyes and mouth but covering head and face--black but not actually wool and, again, with feathers. Feathers seemed an important part of the ritual, as Trixie would find out. And then there was the tail. Lastly, of course, Mr. Mmmpho's belt. Incongruous, as clearly not of African origin, but a reassurance insisted on by kind Mrs. Mmmpho. Donald had provided it. Had taken it from his trousers with its bright brass buckle, but it had been Mrs. Mmmpho who had really insisted Stuart wear it.

"Be gentle. Stuart," she had said. "Donald has always been firm with Trixie, and perhaps he's right. A regular spanking makes a young person, he says. But don't be too rough. I know it's tradition; I know how hard Donald was on those other girls. Their mothers have told me. But be gentle, Stuart, a little like a woman."

And there in his flat she had knelt before him and just unzipped him, reached inside and pulled out his cock and immediately sucked it, not even half-hard, between her lovely. thick, so black and so soft (and mobile) lips, and had just manipulated his cock with lips and tongue until....

"You have very tasty cum, Stuart. Any time you want...just ask. Donald won't mind."

Inside the gourd Stuart was now fully erect. A now-hidden erection out in the open air, beside van, shack and, importantly, laundry basket. A ritual gourd handed down to Mr. Mmmpho, a gourd in which Donald would have erected many times and, no doubt, others before him. How many proud black men had stood within that gourd, their long, strong black penises hidden from a girl, the gourd itself frightening her with its size, the reality of the real flesh penis hidden within. Stuart's no doubt the first white penis to be inside the gourd. He did not doubt his own firmness or masculine stand, but its size would not impress.

Mrs. Mmmpho had been concerned at the size of Donald's cock. Stuart had no wish to see that, but how big was it? Mrs. Mmmpho had not wanted her husband to perform the ritual as custom seemed to demand--even upon his own daughter. Properly, the penis that had begat Trixie should have been the one pushing first into her own body. To Stuart that would have been such a wrongness. But customs and traditions vary. Was it right for him to criticise another culture and its normal usage? Well, yes, he supposed...on some things. If the Mmmphos' tribe enslaved captured members of another tribe in the past that would be very wrong, per se. Enslaving the captured warriors to do work and their daughters and wives as sexual playthings.

Stuart neither approved of enslaving nor of fathers taking daughter's virginities, however customary. But he was pleased to be of help, to prevent a wrongness and provide his own cock and cum for the rituals, even if his cock apparently did not at all measure up to Donald's. Mrs. Mmmpho seemed to have found nothing wrong with it. She had, after all, tried it out a few times! Seemingly, too, he would have further and full access to her body.

But for the present--Trixie!

Ceremonially dressed, Stuart opened the basket. There was the girl, still curled within the basket. She would be stiff from the cramped ordeal--not as stiff as his penis, maybe--and so keen to stretch. A risk to his back to try and pull her up and out. Backs do not work best as cantilevers. Instead, Stuart tipped the basket up and over on its side, and out tumbled Trixie. Delightful wrigglings, her skirt somewhat rucked-up showing thigh and white knickers; the soft ropes securely binding her, the bag over her head moving as she stretched, her back arching and her legs going rigidly straight--yes, like a large penis!

He watched Trixie roll and stretch, enjoying the sight of her bound young body seeking to free itself. And of course, Trixie would eventually free herself...but not yet. Would taste freedom, too...but only for a time. That was the ritual. A young woman, apparently, should know her freedom was circumscribed by the tribe and her man. More customs, more ideas not necessarily or at all in tune with modern Western thinking.

Stuart realised that Trixie had always seemed a good and obedient girl. He had not heard her voice raised in crossness at her parents. Seemingly she did not so much need fire and independence shaken from her, but rather some of that inserted into her! Did the ritual somehow have both effects, cooling the feisty headstrong girl by the repeated insertion of the penis, yet putting something more than cum into the quiet and docile maiden?

It was time to reveal to Trixie something of what was in store for her; to realise it was not some random abduction, perhaps made, though unlikely, for a ransom or worse; to be carried off by 'white slavers' to some Middle-eastern harem for the pleasure of some randy old Arab gentleman in a 'blanket and tea towel' as Stuart might somewhat culturally rudely described traditional Arab dress. Trixie would, of course, make a very attractive addition to any man's harem, but better a fantasy harem in a man's mind, like Stuart's, than a real one!

The bright light as Stuart ungagged Trixie and lifted the bag from her head blinded her for a moment or two. Helpless anyway, so it was not difficult to apply yet another of the ritual accoutrements to the girl. Billy Connolly famously said, 'Never trust a man who, when left alone in a room with a tea cosy, doesn't try it on.' This was something different indeed. A penis-gag with long upwards curving penis and a smaller penis at the other end to go in the mouth--all to be tied on with straps. Stuart had not attached the straps to his head but had certainly 'tried it on,' just like the tea cosy. He had placed the smaller penis in his mouth and looked at himself in the mirror and shaken his head at the six-inch or more black, ebony, so accurately carved cock curving up beyond his nose and between his eyes. Stuart, therefore, was a man you could trust!

Much better to see the penis-gag on Trixie. Much better. She opened her mouth perhaps to protest, perhaps to ask a question, perhaps to shout, but in went the smaller penis shape--"Mmmph" came from her as Stuart tied the straps securely behind her head. Was his cock hard as he stepped back to admire, her eyes at last, blinking and watering still at the light, able to see her captor. Does a girl look good, a pretty girl, indeed, with a shiny well-carved wooden erection rising up from her mouth, her lips--and Trixie had very generous lips--very clearly encircling the penile shaft. So very like what men like to imagine with their penises clasped by feminine lips (and being pleasingly sucked)--but with a penis going into, not out of, the mouth. This penis, or rather a carving of an erect penis, going the other way--up and out. It looked...wonderful! Very--if strangely--erotic. The penis' head, smooth and shiny, being waggled around, the small movements of her head amplified. The penis dark as her skin. It really did look almost real. A girl with a penis for a tongue! When flaccid, likely able, perhaps, to be used normally as a tongue for speaking, licking lips, and her mouth able to be used for eating and drinking, but when sexually aroused it would extend out of her mouth just like a man's penis. Stuart could not help imagining a lesbian coupling. Trixie's fair-headed friend he had seen once or twice on the stairs perhaps being 'treated' by Trixie. The two girls delightfully naked or maybe with their uniforms only partially removed, and Trixie applying her 'penis-tongue' into the other girl's mouth or maybe her sex--inserting it all the way so Trixie's lips were up against the girl's labia, her penis-tongue six inches up into the other girl's vagina. Was that the best image? Or imagining Trixie drawing her six-inch penis-tongue up and out of the other girl's throat after a long and seemingly normal--if a lesbian French kiss is entirely 'normal'--mouth-to-mouth kiss.