Ritual Abduction

Trixie glared at Stuart. Yes, she knew! He could see it in her big chestnut eyes...she knew. She had seen the belt. Had worked out this was her parents' doing in some way. Maybe she had refused before to fit in with some old custom of theirs. It happens. Some children of immigrant communities reject the 'old ways' and long to be like 'everybody else', 'fit in', and be 'normal,' but still others can go right the other way.

How much did Trixie know of what was to befall her? How much had her mother told her? Might some of her friends have already been made 'women'--perhaps even by Trixie's father? What would that be like, having sexual connection with some of your daughter's young friends, perhaps knowing the young women sitting at your dinner table and giggling with your daughter would, in a few days' time, be naked beneath you and receiving your cum? It was, perhaps, something many dads did like to imagine, and perhaps later privately in their study, garden shed, or alone in bed take their thoughts rather further, stroking their erections, and cumming as they imagined. How much semen did get 'manually' extracted at thoughts of friends of daughters? Was it awful to be pretty sure your friend was, not that he would ever admit it, lusting over your daughter and imagining doing all sorts of things to her--most certainly imagining his penis in her pretty mouth and his cum sliding down her throat? After all, have you not imagined just the same thing about his young daughter, her lips around your knob having pleaded to suck your juice?

Two men, two good friends, neither of whom would admit it, but both having repeatedly wanked thinking about the other's daughter. Imagining her naked, perhaps, even when talking to the girl when she visited, imagining her with their cum upon her face, or their cock going between her lips or her hands holding and stroking. Might they both have been erect, hidden in trousers of course, in the same room as the friend's daughter?...

...Stuart smiled at Trixie. Did she know hidden within the gourd he was so hard and pointing at her? He turned and walked from her to the cabin, his buttocks naked. What, though, would she think of his tail? Not his buttocks, but a tail indeed. Meant to symbolize the tail of a lion, showing his manly prowess. Stuart did not think it was a real lion's tail, and the wooden plug in his anus was certainly just that--a wooden plug. He had almost baulked at wearing it; had said to Mrs. Mmmpho he had never pushed anything up his bum nor had anyone else, and he did not plan to start now. She had smiled and said he should have been a woman and married to Mr. Mmmpho, then he would have known what it was like!

Indeed, Stuart was learning more about Donald Mmmpho and Mrs. Mmmpho, too. He had admired her prominent and generous bottom. Might she even...he had agreed to wear the lion's tail after all. It was strange being 'bunged.' He was pleased the 'bung' had been neither too large nor too penile--but it had helped that it was rounded!

From the hut Stuart watched Trixie. Not close to the window. He did not want her to think she was being watched. It was her chance to escape--sort of--just as in Africa the girl would make her bid for freedom...and fail.

The gourd prevented a pleasant stroking as he watched Trixie struggling to her feet. Not easy when bound ankles and thighs, and with wrists lashed behind. The penis gag did not make the action more difficult, but it certainly added to his pleasure.

Perfect! Trixie was making her escape by hopping. What a sight! Stuart regretted not removing the uniform blouse, or at least freeing her breasts. They were plenty large enough to bounce as she hopped. Not as much as her mother's would! She was doing well, starting to cover ground quite well in a regular but tiring motion. Her thighs would be stiff from the work, though perhaps not as stiff as the penis that would eventually poke between them when her binding was released. Stuart watched her go, watching through a crack in the cabin's side, Trixie making her way slightly downhill, hopping like a bunny rabbit, her breasts barely moving in the restraint of her brassiere, but her head and therefore her penis gag bounding.

The gag! It was wonderful. He had seen pictures, had very much enjoyed pictures of penis gags worn by women, but had never seen for real. He had fantasised--and his cum had then poured out onto his stomach--about a party scene in which the gentlemen were all very formally dressed and the women likewise only, only... there was no sound of female voices because all were standing penis-gagged, various shapes and colours of erect cocks rising up from or pointing out from their mouths. The men talking, the women only able to nod or shake their heads, moving those mock penises.

Stuart had no worry of Trixie really escaping. It was miles to the nearest road and, actually, she was heading the wrong way. Nor was he worried about losing her, for whilst he was not an expert tracker, unlike probably Donald and his forebears as elders, he had cheated. Trixie was not to know that attached to the back of her skirt was a small radio device emitting a location signal. He could follow that to her no matter where she went or hid. So, he did not need to run. He was not the wiry, long-legged, African of the savannahs who could steadily run for hours and hours. He doubted even Donald Mmmpho could do that. He himself certainly could not!

So, then, a spot of supper, and then on the track of Trixie. It was mid-summer; the light would not go for hours and hours....

...A refreshed and keen Stuart set off from the cabin. Did he feel a little strange dressed as he was, complete with the reinserted lion's tail (difficult to sit down with that!); 'somewhat undressed' might be a better description, if not for the gourd. Not quite how he would want to be seen by his best friend. or really anyone, save Trixie or perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Mmmpho. He was tracking Trixie not so much with spear in hand as electronic device. She would not see it of course; he had a pouch at his side for storage, and it would be hidden in there. He had never set out from his cabin so devoid of clothing before. It was a different experience. Stuart had not seen himself as a nudist.

Trixie had hopped a long way. What would someone have thought seeing a schoolgirl in maroon uniform hopping along, fully bound and with a penis bounding before her from her mouth? It rather depends upon who the person was.

Indeed, a long way. And she was not just hopping. Stuart found the ropes in a pile. The wrist ropes sawn through on a jagged rock, the rest untied. Mr. Mmmpho would be delighted at Trixie's resourcefulness. It was so much what her father had hoped. It made it more difficult for Stuart, but perhaps the more exciting. There is a thrill to the chase and the hunt, perhaps the more so if the sexual is thrown into the mix.

She was still moving on his screen. It would have been a problem had Trixie divested herself of her clothes and moved on naked, or in just brassiere and panties--but why would or should she do that? The tracking device on her skirt continued to send its signal. She was moving slowly, despite no longer hopping, and not going straight. Disorientated, tired, and lost, probably. The spirit that had fuelled her escape and the freeing herself of her bonds was leaving her. She might now be easy to recapture or, maybe, she would fight like a she-lion. Stuart had the lion's tail and maybe the lion's prick, but he was not a young African man--well, he was one of the three: he was a man.

The dildo gag when he found it had been thrown some distance. The smaller penis part was still warm and wet from Trixie's mouth. Stuart liked that; it made him feel like a real hunter, gaining knowledge from broken twigs and fresh tracks and the like. And then son after he found Trixie's discarded knickers. They were very wet. It had probably happened in the basket, or maybe on the trail. Difficult to squat and relieve yourself in that feminine way, with your thighs bound together. She had perhaps just had to 'go', the wee finding its own way out between her closely pressed thighs. But clearly, she had discarded her wet knickers and gone on 'commando.' A pleasing thought. The knickers were still warm. Stuart squeezed them in his hand and the warm wee trickled to the forest floor. She must have been very wet and uncomfortable with them.

He was pleased at his deductions, a regular Sherlock Holmes...or would it be Buffalo Bill? Real hunters have many methods of tracking, a broken twig here or hoof or footprints in the dust or mud. The finding of 'spoor' another sign; its freshness indicating how close the hunted was. And when Stuart found Trixie's spoor, like a true hunter, and poked it with a stick, it was fresh and still steaming. It had not been long exuded. She was close.

And a little while later he found her.

Stuart had the advantage, for Trixie did not see him coming. He pounced immediately. He had found her huddled, with knees to her chin, just sitting on the ground under a tree. So exciting to creep up on her. Perhaps it was the birdsong that distracted her, or maybe she could not hear him over the sound of the water running in the nearby stream.

When Stuart pounced his goal was clear, to pull Trixie's arms behind her and lash those wrists. He was quick. To be fair to Trixie, though, he cheated. Long years of practice in the police enabled him to handcuff her in seconds, but that did not deal with lashing legs or biting teeth--or for that matter head butts with her forehead. Overpowering was not easy. The whole struggle so arousing. So, just what Stuart had fantasised about again and again...and again. Fighting with and subduing a strong and able black girl. Apparently, men sometimes become aroused when wrestling or fighting each other. Less surprisingly, Stuart became strongly erect as he struggled with Trixie. The gourd became detached during the fight, and surely she must have felt his hardness against her again and again as they rolled around.

Finally he subdued her and began to fully bind and gag his captive prey. She was lying face down on the forest floor, occasionally raising her head to protest and plead. Saying she was a virgin and 'saving herself' did nothing to cool Stuart's lust. Pressing her down with his body she could more than feel that lust. His erection was pressing down upon her hands -- hard. He could feel them and was sure her fingers could feel him. He needed to be so careful. Good to feel the fluttering movements of helpless fingers on his cock, but his balls too were there--his delicate yet so manly testes in their sack--and he must not allow them to 'fall into her hands' or the tables might be reversed.

A cotton gag this time, Trixie caught with the knot as she raised her head, right between her lips. "Let me--mmmnnngggph!!"

It was then quieter in the forest. Stuart finished his binding in peace, apart from a gentle whimper from behind the gag. Not, as in the laundry basket, a binding to ankles and thighs, but this time a mere hobbling. Trixie would be able to walk--just. The rope tied to both ankles only permitting a shuffling gait.

Stuart stood and looked down at his handiwork and grinned. That had been so good. Soaring over the bound and defeated girl, face down in the earth, hands behind her back: his erection! He was tempted to wank, to cum and, in effect, mark her as his. To come over her as he had come over her mother's breasts. In some primitive societies might that all form part of a man's way of securing a woman--or women, if polygamous? Stealing from other tribes. The thrill of the hunt with the quarry a young woman. Marking her as his property with a burst, a spurted stream of his own semen. Easy to see from wall paintings and artefacts from prehistorical times or primitive people just how important the male penis was to them. A source of awe, perhaps--and how much more the ejaculate, the seed of life. What rituals and customs might have been practiced around that?

He felt like a hunter with his trophy. The big game hunter with his foot upon the tiger and rifle in hand, or the modern hunter with stag or moose. Gently he placed one foot upon Trixie's back and stood for a few moments as if posing for a photograph. The hunted schoolgirl brought down by the brave huntsman, him with his weapon upright, well-oiled and shiny; and, actually, still very much loaded! The excitement of standing there, foot on Trixie, with his penis straining and so full, posing with the defeated girl face down beneath him. He wanted to cum. He desperately wanted to wank until the semen fell upon the girl. But it was not yet time.

Trixie would walk or hobble later, but for now, gourd recovered and him 'redressed,' Stuart chose to carry her over his shoulder: the escaped but re-captured Trixie being returned to Stuart's 'lair.' Not to sleep; rather, the ritual of sexualisation would begin....

...The young, almost-a-woman, black girl hobbled into the camp. It looked nothing like Africa, the trees all wrong, but it might just as well have been. Stuart's van perhaps not impossible in Africa but rather less so in the jungle. Trixie's school uniform again not impossible, still worn in some schools as a relic of often more peaceful, sometimes happier, colonial days. Stuart's get up certainly African, but not worn by someone obviously African in the popular sense, though it all depends where in Africa you might be!

She stood there still looking defiant if weary, her uniform dishevelled and rucked up here and there by the binding and struggle. Her uniform tie askew, yet all intact but for the missing knickers. In Africa Trixie would be wearing so much less but, less or more, it all needed to come off now. And undressing mature schoolgirls was certainly something Stuart had imagined before.

How is it best for an older schoolgirl to undress or be undressed? How would most men like it to be done--by the girl or by the man? Would most men enjoy watching the girl nervously divesting herself of her uniform right down to nothing at all, as if for some sort of examination, perhaps medical with a pretend and thorough examination; perhaps preparatory to a spanking, but that is perhaps a different fetish after all; perhaps for a fitting of knickers or brassiere; perhaps for an examination preparatory to not so much a sex lesson as a 'sex practical'; perhaps for a detailed internal examination to establish whether she really had been up to something particularly naughty with one of the boys behind the bike sheds. She would be in real trouble if semen were found.

Stuart wished to undress Trixie--had thought of that quite a few times before that unexpected interview with Mrs. Mmmpho and that request for him to perform certain ritual acts with and upon Trixie Mmmpho. Not easy to remove blazer, blouse, and brassiere from a girl whose hands are tied behind her back. She could be fully exposed, her sexual attributes brought out into the open, but still she would have clothing upon her arms.

Tempting to struggle again with her, forcibly pulling jacket and blouse off, pulling up her brassiere to expose her not inconsiderable breasts for the inevitable sucking. Nipples are made for sucking, and Stuart very much looked forward to sucking Trixie's young nubs. But Mrs. Mmmpho had been keen he should neither lose nor damage her school uniform. It was an expensive suit of clothing, and with Trixie nearly finished school she did not wish to buy new again. So care would need to be taken with those pearl buttons down Trixie's blouse, and most certainly the arms of the blazer were not to be ripped or cut away.

Spreadeagled--yes! Not yet upon the ground but upright. Trixie's arms outstretched and tied to two saplings; her feet drawn apart by two other ropes attached to the saplings lower down. Attached to the saplings first and then the hobble removed. Stuart did not want flying feet or a knee in the groin--that might break the gourd!

He so wanted to 'pop' those buttons, and perhaps Mrs. Mmmpho, with her knowledge of men and her large chest, has somewhat known that and had cautioned Stuart. She had repeated she did not want Trixie's clothes ripped. Maybe, if Mrs. Mmmpho was as true as her word, he might buy her a nice blouse and play ripping that from her chest. She had, after all, knelt before him and sucked him dry with her mouth; she had allowed him to come between her oiled breasts; might there not be other times? She had, after all, said 'We are not terribly monogamous,' so might she let him dress her in a large white blouse, crisp and cotton, and let him rip it open? He could see himself doing it. Standing with exposed erection as his hands reached to grasp and 'pop' those buttons and then to slide his knob under the cross piece of her brassiere and 'tit fuck' those heavy brown globes.

But Trixie's buttons needed to be carefully undone, one by one. His excitement at being about to undo the buttons was considerable. His erection hard inside his gourd, possibly leaking--there would be more than a bit of leaking by the end of the ordeal involved in her becoming a woman.

Button by button, Stuart's fingers descended until the white blouse was hanging open and Trixie's brassiere was exposed. It was not a training brassiere--one, that is, with little point except to be a brassiere, there being nothing much yet to support. No, Trixie had long outgrown such a thing. Her breasts were womanly though nothing yet like her mother's. Stuart had been intimate with Trixie's mother's breasts. He would be intimate with her own, for sure.

Trixie's mounded breasts were rising and falling with her exaggerated breathing. Was it fear or excitement? It would be excitement, he felt. Her body would betray her. Her pussy would dampen and then run with moisture, with lubricant. Her nether lips would thicken, and her clitoris distend. A young woman in heat and ready for sexual intercourse. The insertion of a tumescent penis. So easily it could have been her father's. Such a wrongness to Stuart, used to different cultural mores. Not seen as wrong by Mrs. Mmmpho, her worry instead about the size of Mr. Mmmpho's cock!

Stuart walked around the girl and brought his hands up inside her blouse at the back. The brassiere strap needed to be undone.

Rather more difficulty in removing blouse and brassiere. A hand untied, one at a time. A bit of a struggle but not easy for a girl to fight off a man with just the one arm--particularly when he is behind her. Stuart relished the struggle. So good to see a boob pop out of the brassiere without him even making it do so. A young female breast, perky and taut, with utterly delightful outward jutting black nip and areola. The nipple was not yet extended. It would be--like his penis, hard and elongated. Might they later make contact, become intimate, hard nipple to hard cock?

The first stage of the undressing complete. Trixie Mmmpho in just a skirt looking much more the traditional African girl by being bare-chested. Her upturned dark breasts looking so fine. Stuart stood watching, relishing the experience. It was as if it had all just walked out of his fantasies.

Trixie was not wearing knickers. She had discarded the pee-soaked material in the forest. An unwise removal of any defence to her sex. Beneath her maroon skirt she was now entirely unprotected. The way to her vagina open. With her legs splayed towards the saplings there was nothing to stop a man--any man with an erection--attempting penetration. Removing the gourd and revealing his hard, pale cock might cause renewed struggle, but there would be nothing Trixie could do to prevent Stuart approaching her from front or rear, dipping his cock and then thrusting upwards. Sexual intercourse and insemination could be attempted--there was nothing to stop that except a dry pussy. Stuart, of course, had the lubrication, plenty of it.