Something in the Snare

Orgasm flared through her. She had not seen it coming, and it slowed her, but did not stop her. For a moment, she had to hold onto his head to keep from falling over.

His cock trembled inside of her.

"You are on the edge," she said.

"I know," he wheezed.

"Would it make you burst if I took you in one more time?" She bucked, and his cock pushed into her, deep and slow. "Or one more?" She took him in again.

"Ya-augh!" He turned his head up wailed. Inside of her, he tightened, the muscles worked on the bottom of his cock, and his seed washed into her. She felt the force of it, thick and sticky. Her forehead fell against his. Their breaths mingled in the air between them. She was aware of nothing in the world except her body, and his, inside of it, and the life-giving tide that passed from him into her.

She squatted over him, stiff and hot, and stayed there for a long time—she didn't know how long—as the shadows crawled over them. She fell back on his thighs, and the next time she looked down, his cock was straight again. She pinched it, and it resisted her; he was ready again. A heavy, airy laugh issued from her lungs. "I knew it," she said.

"What?"

She pressed her body against his, folding his cock up against his belly. She raised herself until his tip pressed into the lips of her sex.

"Get off! I've done what you asked!" he blathered. "I gave you my seed!"

"Not all of it," said Itzel. She fingered the head, teasing it against her lips. "You're ready to give me more. Do you expect me to believe you don't want this?"

He took a deep breath, stretched his arms, and looked up at her with a sudden steeliness. "I'm ready."

She took his challenge. She descended on him again, slower this time, watching his chest rise and fall to the rhythm she set. She accelerated a little, and he huffed through puckered lips, warm breath breaking over her breasts.

"Are you ready to burst?" she asked.

"I'm just..." he managed a smile. "I'm just getting warmed up."

"Oh, yes?" She reached down, past her body, and found the soft, frail sacs beneath his cock. "I think you're ready." She slid her fingers under them and watched with pure delight as he tried to keep a straight face. First his brow creased. Then his lips curled. Then they parted, and she saw his teeth gnashing under the effort.

He grunted at the top of his voice, soft and strained. It gained force in his throat, gained gravel, and she felt him clench beneath her fingers. With a heavy, masculine sigh, he released again. More seed pushed through his cock, pushed into her body to mix with the warmth and pressure within her.

His cock shrank from her, taking its well-earned rest. He leaned back against the tree, trying admirably not to crumble. Itzel draped herself over him, taking in his musky scent and the softness of his warmed-up muscles.

Finally, Itzel reached around him, found the space between his wrists, found the knot and pulled. She freed his hands. She dismounted him.

His shoulders rolled forward. Like a bird opening its wings, he unfolded his arms carefully, stretched them and gazed at his hands as if he had never seen them before.

"Now," said Itzel, "now you have given me your seed." She waited for him to stagger to his feet, then she put a finger on chest where his ribs met. "I freed you from a snare, and I fed you. And in return, I took your body." She kissed him on the lips. "Now we're even." She backed away and stood tall, naked and satisfied, bathing in the muggy air.

Shmucánay took up the strings of his loincloth and took a long time to retie the knot. Then he regained his feet.

Itzel picked her clothes from the pile in the sand, rinsed them in the water and pulled them back on. The coldness soaked her, chilled her fading lust. Shmucánay did the same, but spent a long time picking through the sand. "Where is my ankle belt?" he asked.

"Your what?" asked Itzel, the picture of innocence.

He looked at her, and comprehension dawned on his face. Either he knew she had taken it, or he was naive enough to think she did not know what an ankle best was, but either way, he knew she wasn't giving it back. He dressed without complaint, and when he finished, he looked at her with a face that said, 'what now?'

"Well?" said Itzel. "You're free. Don't you have a message to deliver? You'd better get moving." She leaned forward coquettishly. "Unless you've changed your mind about staying with me."

"A message," he said distantly. He patted the pouch slung over his shoulder, and his 'message' gave a metallic jingle. "A message. Yes. I have to..." he looked at her and swallowed, regret in his eyes. "I must go."

He turned his back and was off.

Itzel watched him until he was out of sight, then she ambled back to her camp. She had worked herself hard on him; a rest was in order before she checked the other traps.

Seated in the cozy sandpit between the fire and the pots, she looked down at her belly. Shmucánay's seed might just quicken life inside her. In nine months' time, she might be blessed with a child. The other huntresses would help her raise it, at least until she secured a husband. For the first time, she wondered seriously whether her first child would be a boy or a girl. 'If it's a son,' she thought wryly, 'and he's anything like Shmucánay, then we'll have to stop the girls from fighting over him. I'll have more grandchildren than I can handle.'

Even if he did not leave a living memory behind, Itzel had the axolotl belt. A man's belt. She laughed, imagining the reactions of the other huntresses when she showed it to them at gathering time. 'Did you catch something in your snares, Itzel?' they'd ask. Yes, she'd caught something. She had certainly caught something.

* * *

Wet season had ended, then dry season, then wet and dry again. Two years. The band would migrate at the end of this season.

Itzel was at her old haunt. She still wore Shmucánay's anklet, a memory of her favorite lover. His seed had come to nothing, and as none of the huntress' sons appealed to her, she had resigned herself to remaining alone for a little while longer. 'At the end of this wet season,' she told herself. 'When the season ends, I'm going north, I'm going to find a powerful man, and I'm going to seduce him, bring him back here. If anyone can do it, I can.' She had resolved to do that last year, but this year, she meant it. She'd raise money and buy a slave if she had to—anything to not end the year empty-handed.

She thought of Shmucánay, not for the first time that day. Most likely, he was back on the shore, back on his wooden rafts, catching more of those open-ocean fish. When he was not at sea, the shoreline girls were probably fucking him for his last drop. Itzel hoped they were, anyway. It would be a terrible waste of a man otherwise.

Itzel put the finishing touches on the carved totem she had set up to her favorite gods, thanking them for the good luck she'd had and humbly asking for more. She was coming to appreciate the importance of luck and how the gods manipulated it. She would never neglect these totems again.

Having set the totems, she made the rounds, checking the traps and watching for changes in the jungle, changes that told stories. At the trap up the hill, the one nearest to the trail to the mountains, she saw the snare has been sprung. She loped up to it, full of success. Another catch! It was a good year, better than a third year in the same place had any right to be.

As soon as she saw what was in the snare, her mouth fell open.

"Itzel, did you miss me?"

It was the first time Itzel had caught the same prey twice.