The Shaman Heals Larissa

For a long, delicious moment, he stayed still inside her; no motion but the throbs of his cock communicating to her stretched cunt walls. Then he slowly began to move. Nice and easy, in and out, packing her full with his hard, thick cock. All the way in, nearly all the way out.

Her cunt produced a lavish flow of slippery juice and the broad piston of his cock scooped it in and out with a slurping, suction sound, making it run down the insides of her legs like warm olive oil.

"Oh, yeah, baby," she cooed. "That's so good. So good."

Now they were moving in an intuitive rhythm. I could fuck like this all afternoon. Steam swirled up from the hot springs. Rays of setting sun probed the slot of the canyon to hold their swaying bodies in a golden spotlight.

Carlos, you speak Fuck real nice, the universal language. Long, deep strokes. All the way in, nearly all the way out. Her knees began to shake. "Oh, you're gonna make me come." He kept up the slow, delicious rhythm of his thrusts and her thighs stiffened and she began to buck up and down on his horse-heavy cock. The climax shook from her lungs a loud, sustained moan that echoed around the canyon walls. She dropped her head onto her forearms and panted as the orgasm passed.

Then the second climax began to build.

She squeezed her cunt around his huge cock and rocked her hips, pushing back into him, digging him deeper into her. "Fuck me, fuck me, Carlos, pump my cunt till I come"...she sucked in her breath..."again!" She threw back her head, opened her mouth wide like an opera star and screamed. Her aria bounced around the house of stone and came back to her ears, the howls of a wild woman.

Wow. Intense. She swallowed. Phew! Maybe she should stop.

Yeah, right.

The liquid from her cunt pooled around her bare feet.

Don't stop. Keep pumping, slow and steady. Ooh, Carlos, you're as big around as a goddamn stallion. You're gonna make me keep on coming as long as you drive that enormous cock up my cunt. "Oh, yes! Fuck me hombre, fuck me deep!" Her third orgasm drew away her breath in a high, trilling wail, like the ululations of a Yemenite woman. Must've pulled that sound from some ancestral memory.

Just keep doing me, Carlos. Just keep pounding my beautiful black ass. It's the rhythm that feels so good, when your balls slap my cunt with a thud. Hard. Hard. Hard. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Oh, baby, you're making me lose it again... "Ah ah ah—aaahhhhhhhh!"

She shook her head and fragrant liquid from the pool slung from her sopping gray dreadlocks. The whole world smelled like sweet, spicy cunt. To breathe in was to taste pussy.

Carlos began to chant in the Yona tongue in his beautiful baritone voice. He chanted in rhythm with his pumping cock; pumped to the beat of his sing-song voice. His balls thumped the swollen drum of her pussy with each deep thrust while his cock bumped her cervix. The words changed, but not the rhythm, which throbbed like a beating heart, full and passionate: OO-ma, oo-ma, HO-ya, oo-ma, GO-me, oo-ma, RA-ki, oo-ma.

The cadence was pure, hypnotic pleasure. Her mind was lost. It also had become a pulsing thing. Everything was rhythm. She'd lost count of her orgasms. Eight? Ten? They built and broke like waves, while she sank further into the primal depths of her own sexual emotion.

She became aware of the liquid nature of life. It was born to flow, to swirl around the hard places, smooth the rough places, to take the water course, with easy strength and staying power.

Liquid swam down her thighs as Carlos began to pound her cunt-drum faster, more urgently, grasping her hips and ramming and reaming her, picking up the pace of his hypnotic chant. Her ample breasts bounced with each thrust. She didn't understand the Yano words, but the beat throbbed inside the very home of her soul.

GOD you feel good, GOD you feel good, FUCK-me, fuck-me, FUCK-me, fuck-me, DIG me deeper, DIG me deeper, KEEP on pounding, KEEP on pounding...

She was no longer a solid thing, but a moving river of energy, a pulsing wellspring of creation. She'd been living her life protecting her self-image, as if that was most important, when all that really moved the world was this felt rhythm, this force at the base of her breath, the bottom of her heart, the core of her pussy, the depth of her womanhood.

She had forgotten the life-power. She wouldn't forget again.

They were fucking now like primeval lovers: Adam and Eve perfuming Eden with the Original Fuck, the pleasure that completed paradise. A tidal wave of orgasm drowned her world, but she no longer recognized her voice when she cried out; it had loosened beyond words, become animal music.

She came back to self-awareness when the giant rock clitoris she straddled began to tremble. She felt pressure vibrating up through the ground under the soles of her bare feet. Carlos sang faster, pounding the tom-tom of her pussy. The rock beneath her buzzed with pent-up life-force. She realized his singing had not been for her, not exclusively; he'd been calling to the Earth Mother whose spirit saturated this feminine place.

Her final climax built from deep inside the core of her cunt, her heart, her soul—all of these were the same one—and deep down within the earth itself. It took a long, delicious time for the irresistible orgasm to rise up and up and up until it erupted to the surface and she howled and squirted a mighty gush of clear liquid onto the rock she straddled; and Carlos came, bellowing and bucking his hips without control, shooting hot jets of come inside the clutching walls of her cunt; and Nature herself came, and the rocks and canyon trembled and shuddered from the muscular spasms of the quaking Earth.

Still panting and trembling, Larissa collapsed to the curved shelf of rock and she and Carlos hugged and cried softly, as people do who've experienced a miracle.

Back at the river village, Larissa slept in her woven hammock off and on all day after returning from the mountaintop. She couldn't remember all of her experiences on the tepui. She recalled everything leading up to the earthquake, but only flashes from the rest of the night with young Carlos at the hot springs, and of climbing down the stairway path, dazed, with the old white-haired shaman in the morning.

She kept to herself, not asking Carlos about any of it. She was not embarrassed by what had happened, but utterly mystified. And humbled. Her rational mind had always been able to get a firm grip on just about anything, but not this. This didn't have a handhold.

How much of what she'd experienced was real and how much was a figment of her drug-stimulated imagination? Had Carlos even led her down to the secret valley at all? Or had the entire event taken place in her mind—back at the shelter in the rocks where she'd first drunk the yonamayi tea?

She marveled at the wrinkled old shaman, who looked to be eighty, but climbed mountains like he was twenty, and fucked with the stamina of a teen-ager.

But had the old trickster really had sex with her? She smirked at her doubting, logical mind. The shaman had, after all, introduced her to a fertility rite. How could she not believe, when she'd had the best fuck of her entire, and exceptionally horny, life? She hadn't known she could have that many orgasms. And the chant! She would never forget the fuck-chant that had melted away her mind and freed her body for pure pleasure.

Most importantly, she remembered her epiphany about the life-power. The life power moves like liquid. It always flows. It breaks around the hard spots, smooths the sharp corners, follows the water course, never stands still and never dries up.

Larissa thought of some of her lovable, neurotic girlfriends back in the States and seriously wondered about bringing them down to the Amazon with her next season. Adventure-travel at its finest. They all could use a fuck like that. A summer vacation to meet the female creative power, in her secret place up on the mountain. She also thought of the yonamayi tea, of analyzing its extraordinarily powerful active ingredients back in her laboratory at UC Berkeley. Somehow, neither thought motivated her just now. She needed longer to digest her own experience.

The following day, when the boat arrived to pick her up, she climbed aboard without saying thank-you or good-bye to Carlos. Thank you, Carlos, for the greatest mystery of my over-educated life. I was a goddess, you were a god, and we fucked until the earth quaked. Let that be, without dimming it with words.

The boat pulled away from shore, steering upstream in the muddy current. Its diesel engine belched out sooty smoke that hung in the dank, tropical air. Larissa wrinkled her nose, remembering the stink of traffic jams she'd soon be breathing again.

The throbbing beat of a tom-tom called out and followed the boat upriver. Larissa ran to the rail at the stern and looked downstream. Carlos, old and white-haired, sat cross-legged on the riverbank, playing a handheld drum. He was already shrinking into the distance, but the rhythm seemed amazingly loud. OO-ma, oo-ma, HO-ya, oo-ma... She felt it through her body. It echoed off the sides of the mountain called Yona-tepui.

He was a half-mile distant now, but she imagined she could see him smile; no, she actually sensed his smile. Carlos disappeared around a river bend, but she knew that he sensed her smile, too. She remembered their lovemaking on the mountaintop. Just thinking about it got her so wet she was going to have to wring out her panties.

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