Ritual Abduction

Will she need lubricating, is some suitable 'lube' to hand? Trixie, though, would not need any artificial or vegetable lubrication at all. Her earlier ordeal had certainly seen to that. Stuart could see she remained wonderfully 'wet.'

She was still asleep or passed out, he could see that. He needed release, he more than felt that. Stuart knew he was going to do it.

Miss Trixie Mmmpho was lying curled up on the bed, one ankle shacked. It was not difficult to move her into 'position.' She did not stir. By 'position' Stuart was not being fancy. On her back with him on top well suited him. His poor rather aching cock bounded into erection once more but, he vowed to himself, it would only go down this time because it had released its load.

So, asleep, tired or simply unconscious, Trixie did not so much as stir as Stuart touched and manipulated her breasts; did not move as he widened her thighs and felt to see if she was still wet. Of course she was. No way she could not be after all that sexual stimulation with the feathers. Sopping, hot, and clearly capable of taking a cock, possibly, as Stuart stuffed more fingers in--even Donald Mmmpho's organ. But that would not be, not here. Stuart was going to act as a surrogate. Strangely, to his morality so much more appropriate and moral than Donald Mmmpho's knob parting his daughter's folds. Stuart, at his age, doing the 'right' thing by having non-consensual sexual intercourse with this teenage girl! It was all rather peculiar--and yes, just so exciting. His cock was rigid and dripping. It was soon going to spurt, hard and long.

He climbed aboard. It was a bit like that, getting himself on top of the sleeping girl, his cock hanging ready between her thighs, knob pointing at her entrance. He lay there, supporting himself a little on his elbows allowing her to breathe easily, her breasts coming up and just touching his own chest with each breath. He could feel both hard points.

Ready? The question in his head to himself. He certainly was! Below him no movement other than that rising and falling of Trixie's chest. Stuart edged his knob forward and touched -- wetness. If she awoke there would be a struggle. He would have to subdue her to carry on, clamp his hand over her dark mouth, use his body to hold her down. But there was not a murmur, not a movement, as slowly, so deliciously slowly, the first inch of his erection pushed onwards and entered her body--for the first time. If course, there would be another.

So hot, so wet, so smooth, so virginal. A pause, a withdrawal, a wallowing in the moment--the pleasure, the excitement. Another application of his penis, the inch of entry regained, but not this time to draw backwards, rather he pushed on, opening the girl, feeling the soft sliding all the way down his cock. On and on until he could go no further. Pubic hair mingling. His full balls resting against her. Almost time to empty them. He did not need to do that. The ritual only required the first insertion to be unknown to the girl. But whilst he was there, deeply in (which, again, was not required) why not come?

Why not, indeed?! Especially when your balls felt that heavy, that in need of ease. Stuart began to slide. His pale organ pushing in and out of Trixie's so dark lips. Not that he could see in the half-darkness. But he knew. His lips upon her face and upon her lips, so generous and soft. Trixie's sweet breath. Her limp and helpless body. The steady movement of his cock.

Of course, it was one of his best ever cums. How could it not be, with him having been so worked up for so long that day; how could it not be with this young virgin beneath him, just so dark and desirable? The release when it came so pleasurable--and a relief. Did he 'explode'--it felt something like that! The cum spurting out as he moaned and gasped. The feeling ecstatic as his cum filled Trixie Mmmpho.

It was best Trixie did not notice in the morning. A bit of a 'clean-up' operation. Not simply a matter of tossing a tissue into a bin having been 'tossing.' This was rather different...but not actually a chore!

Morning came and Stuart awoke to the sound of birdsong. For a moment he had forgotten Trixie, just knew he was at his cabin, not his apartment. And then he remembered. A delightful memory flooding back. He was the substitute 'elder' of an African tribe tasked with making a young girl into a woman. Perhaps that happened rather younger back in Africa. He had not asked. Trixie Mmmpho was eighteen. A coming of age in his country. Becoming a woman, not a girl.

Stuart remembered back to the night before. Was she already a woman? Certainly not a virgin--not that she would know that. Stuart looked down at his penis, the 'morning wood' had come. It had done well the night before. It would need to perform again. He stood and walked outside, still firm, and let loose his morning stream out into the sunshine. With Trixie chained and shackled to her bed, she would not see. He was alone at his morning ritual. It was what he did at his cabin.

Then he dressed, not in shorts and shirt, not in trousers and shirt, but in the gourd and his beads, the tribal balaclava, feathered cloak, his lion's tail and Donald's leather belt. What would his friends, indeed his best friend, think of him dressed like that?!

Trixie was awake. Her delightful naked body lying upon her bed. Probably she had been up earlier trying to escape, but her shackle had held firm. Her eyes were wide and white as he came to her. Within the gourd he felt his penis swelling again as, without speaking, he lashed her wrists behind her. She was docile at this point. He hoped she would not be later when the ritual reached its climax--the forcible penetration of the girl and the insemination. Technically the second time, but she did not know that. How strange these rituals from other customs and other countries. Each to their own, of course. Not really appropriate to criticize or make tut-tutting noises unless the ritual is so clearly wrong by any civilized standard.

He hoped for something of a fight. The idea of overpowering Trixie as strong as the day before. A risk to him. Trixie was a strong girl with fine thighs; smooth, shapely, and dark. His testes in their wrinkled pink sack were vulnerable. At the moment. they along with his penis were tucked into the gourd; a dried vegetable shell protecting their delicate nature. To achieve the entrance to Trixie's body, to push into her almost virginal vagina, he would need to remove the gourd. The ritual required that, in any case--the exposure of the erect penis to the girl, 'the great staff of man' was how both Mr. and Mrs. Mmmpho had separately described it. He was not so sure about the 'great', even if Donald Mmmpho's cock perhaps deserved that appellation--Stuart did not know quite how 'great' that was and, really, did not want to know. What if the ritual had required two men at a time? Undoubtedly better to ensure the virgin girl was secured; or perhaps even double penetration being the ritual--one in each hole, back and front, working together, totally filling the young girl.

But that was not it. Indeed Mr. Mmmpho had been quite clear. Whilst he might put a finger in Trixie's back passage he was not, very definitely not, to ease his penis in. The hot passage, so suitable for the insertion of a thermometer to take the body's temperature, was not for his--Stuart's-- cock. That was for Trixie's eventual husband. Stuart shook his head at the memory of the conversation. Different customs indeed! Why was the anal passage reserved but the vaginal to be ritually taken? Other customs, other cultures--indeed!

Trixie began to speak, and Stuart immediately clamped his hand over her full, dark lips. She would need to be gagged again. No one would hear her, however loud she became, but he did not want to hear the noise or her pointless protests. Might she know of the full ritual and say something rude about her parents and their traditions? Might she have recognized him? It would do no good. Whatever Stuart thought of the oddness of the rituals, indeed the absurdity of his own 'get-up,' he was not going to miss the pleasure of taking Trixie a second time.

He led the Unshackled Trixie to the small latrine--the outside 'convenience'--and closed the door on her. Whilst he might well like to see her urinating: defecating was a rather different matter! He waited patiently.

Of course, with hands tied behind her back there were certain things Trixie could not do for herself. It all added--could not fail to add--to her feeling of helplessness. Even more so when he fed her a breakfast with a spoon and held the coffee to her lips. She could have refused it and spat it at him, requiring the gag be replaced. But she sat in silence, chewing, eating, and swallowing.

Stuart enjoyed feeding her. Part of the ritual later demanded he feed her with his semen. Important, apparently, that semen should be placed in both vagina and stomach--ritually. As he fed Trixie with a spoon, seeing it go in between her so full and dark lips, he imagined his cock going between them either to be sucked until the semen came, or for him to manually ensure a copious flow onto her tongue and down her throat. Within his gourd his penis was hard once more--his 'great staff of man.'

A second washing of Trixie, a second spreading of her between the saplings, a second binding of wrists and ankles, a second fetching of the pitcher of water--even made hot this time with water from a kettle. A bar of soap, the pleasure of building up the lather on the helpless girl's body; feeling her flesh so slippery under the soap; enjoying the feel of his erection inside the gourd. A thorough washing, Stuart paid especial attention to her breasts, sex and bottom; his fingers taking great care as he had before.

Dried, Trixie was now ready. Time to dress her in the ritual clothing--if it could be called clothing. Made by Mrs. Mmmpho, the items would be better described as ribbons. Firstly, a blindfold in the red cloth, causing protests from Trixie soon silenced by a gag of the same red material, but one with something of an acorn sewed into it. Something of an acorn indeed, but rather larger--it was effectively a ball gag, only the ball was very much in the shape of a man's knob, the finial to his erect penis. It was not hand-carved; it was not modelled from life, like the dildo gag of the day before. It was apparently the dried seed pod of a particular tree, hollowed out and fretted so not only was it easy to breathe through but could contain the resin of yet another plant. A most interesting resin that, as it slowly melted in the warmth of a mouth--Trixie's mouth--released a certain hallucinogenic substance both heightening Trixie's sexual response and rendering the whole experience sexually weird.

"At one moment I thought I was being coupled with a lion, Stuart," Mrs. Mmmpho had said. "Another, I thought a snake was within me, and then that my friends were teasing me with a wooden penis. I remember them then carrying me shoulder-high, unable to escape, to this giant man, twelve feet tall and offering me, legs pulled apart and him with such an enormous thing. Yet it went in. Of course it did. It was the village elder, not a giant! All the things mostly in my head."

Stuart got the tree seed into Trixie's mouth, and the gag tied tight. Trixie went into convulsions, clearly unhappy at the thing in her mouth. The ritual, though, would culminate in her taking his manly knob into her mouth and her swallowing his semen. She would do it. It would be a voluntary act.

It did not completely silence her but that did not matter in the emptiness of the forest. There was nobody to hear -- anything.

A strip of red cloth around her body beneath her dark breasts, a strip around her waist, and one strip tight into each thigh just where stocking tops might be. Mrs. Mmmpho assured him it was not some representation of stockings. Her people seemed to have happened on the idea quite independently, recognizing the sexuality of a band at that very point upon feminine thighs. And lastly, strips of red cloth around her ankles.

Stuart stood admiring the sight. Trixie looked so sexual, the sinuous movement of her body adding to the attraction. Inside the gourd his penis was so hard. If only he had semen to fuck or do other things to Trixie again and again. If only he was required to do this every week! But he was just a man, and not a young man at that. His erection came easily, but not easily again for some time, and certainly not immediately after ejaculation. He could not bounce up again after a few minutes and start all over again--more the pity.

The gourd was not needed with Trixie blindfolded. Good to untie and free himself and stand with his cock out in the open, legs apart, feeling very manly. A little stroking whilst he admired the girl.

Why the hallucinogenic drug? Perhaps this made it easier for Donald Mmmpho; perhaps for other elders who were fathers--the daughter not knowing who her ritual ravisher was. But Donald would know. And ultimately the woman would know. Would know it was the village elder. It was difficult for Stuart to understand. He was only an honorary elder, not a member of the tribe.

He walked around Trixie, admiring once again. Such beautiful skin. What was it that attracted him about dark skin? Some men went for big boobs, others for redheads; he just liked the ebony and the exotic. It was his thing. Such fine young buttocks. Spanking and caning were not his thing. Not corporal punishment nor BDSM, but would it not be pleasing whilst he had the opportunity. Not hard and vicious strokes but a little paddling, a little application of a switch to Trixie's bum. Not difficult finding a suitable long shoot and peeling the bark. The switch ivory white. With its very tip, its thin flexible tip, he slipped it between her cheeks and tickled her bottom hole. What a clenching. He actually had to tug to release it! So white against the darkness of her skin. The contrast striking.

And to Stuart's mind came another erotic thought, even before he applied the switch to Trixie's buttocks. The thought of tentacles--not so much the limbs of an octopus or some other creature, but of vines--creeping, incessant white vines, slithering forward towards unsuspecting girls, wrapping themselves around and around their limbs; so good to see, especially encircling dark limbs. Then, as the girls struggled, a particularly slender vine seeking to worm between their bottom cheeks and in. And then of course the flowering; the big, bulbous flower buds at the ends of thick, snaking stems. Of course penile in shape. Of course! Phallic flower buds, lots of them, waving and flowing towards the girls, full but not yet ready to burst into their white flowers. Inevitably penetrating the girls, pushing into their sexual orifices--large but so insistent; pushing into their mouths as well, the girls strangely hungering for sweet nectar.

And perhaps he as the gardener, skilled in horticulture, knowing how to both tend and control the vines. Perhaps a symbiotic relationship, he tending and watering, they letting him enjoy the girls....

But what was he doing engaging in fantasy when he had a real girl to play with--and with the remarkable approval of her parents? Still, the idea of stepping through the vines, pulling an almost bursting flower bulb from a dark and captured girl and plunging his own 'bud' in its place, as the girl turned wide-eyed to him with a bud in her wide-open mouth, did rather please! He returned to the moment, to the pleasure of Trixie's smooth bottom. Would he like to wank hard and come all over Trixie's bare buttocks? Just a bit! But cumming would have to wait. He had a ritual to perform, and his semen needed to be inside Trixie, not across her dark buttocks or perhaps up her back.

And so it was not his erection in his hand but the switch, and he used it across Trixie's bottom. Once, twice--his erection swung with the movement. Should he use that to spank her? Why not!?

Hard flesh hit a soft buttock, not once but twice. He was not meant to be doing that. It was not part of the ritual. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Mmmpho had mentioned penile spanking. The feather needed to return. A fresh feather. Her body would already know the drill--but would her mind? Mrs. Mmmpho had thought of a lion and perhaps quite a lot more. He wanted to know. What would the feather seem to her? Perhaps ungagged, Trixie might speak. Should he ungag her for a time? The resin would have melted.

A deft untying of the knot and the red gag in his hand, Stuart began using the feather.

Spreadeagled, her ankles and hands together with her limbs forming an 'X' shape, Trixie writhed under the fresh assault of the feather to her so-exposed clitoris. Out of its hood and undefended, the tickling end of the feather caressing and exciting.

"Oh, the tongue, the forked tongue...." mumbled Trixie.

Hardly a lion? And then it came to Stuart: Trixie was imagining a snake! Such a classic representation of the penis--and snakes had wriggling, darting forked tongues. So good to play the feather across her, knowing she was imagining the forked tongue of a snake, perhaps a very penile snake. Had Trixie some inkling of the next stage of the ritual--the beautifully carved, ebony dildo.

Mr. Mmmpho had shown it to Stuart. Had opened a box, a similarly carved old box clearly made years and years before, and displayed the wooden phallus. Donald had picked it up from the box and displayed it at an appropriate angle. A little embarrassing seeing it there in Donald's hand, a little as if he was showing his own erect cock to Stuart. The wood dark and polished--perhaps like Donald's organ but, from how that had been described by Mrs. Mmmpho, the dildo not as long. The revelation that it had been used at Mrs. Mmmpho's 'womaning', and her mother before her, and her.... Donald did not know how far back the shiny wooden phallus went. So carefully carved, the head bulbous, and was that perhaps semen issuing from the slit at the top? Around the erect penis veins grew sinuous but in the form of snakes--the snake penis of the Mmmpho's people?

"You want me to...?"

And Donald had said yes.

And so it was there now, hanging from a cord around Stuart's waist, ready to use. As ready as his own penis though, actually, the wooden representation was pointing down as it hung, his own fleshy cock was pointing up! He did not want to push the wooden cock into Trixie anything like as much as he wanted to push his own erection. It was not yet time, though. Not yet time to inseminate for the second time again. But dare he, just a little? Did he dare putting his own touches to the ritual? Mr. and Mrs. Mmmpho were not there watching--or at least he hoped not.

Stuart glanced around him. Had they crept up, hiding behind trees? Proud parents coming to see their daughter's coming of age ceremony; watching him perform with feather and dildo, perhaps nodding in approval at the sight of his upright penis--so pleased to see his organ capable of performing the womanizing. Mrs. Mmmpho had already seen his cock, had indeed tasted it and drunk his cum. He was not going to forget her words: "Stuart, any time you want...just ask. Donald won't mind."

He was not anywhere as keen at Donald seeing it, full and hard. Not at all his fantasy for a naked Mrs. Mmmpho to hold his cock in one hand and Donald's in the other before she sucked them both. He shuddered. Some men might like the idea. Lovely Mrs. Mmmpho's mouth might well be wide and accommodating enough, but he did not want to be sucked in tandem with Donald, Mrs. Mmmpho's tongue slipping over two shiny knobs. No sir! He wanted to be sucked and fucked by Mrs. Mmmpho on her own.

Did he dare just a little poking into Trixie, a little easing in like he had the night before? His 'cobra' head somewhat softer than the antique ebony dildo. A little softening up before the solid hardness of the ebony made its way up Trixie's channel. No way Trixie could prevent it in her bondage. Her thrust-forward pubis, dark curls gleaming with moisture, seemed almost to be inviting it. What a mound!