tagGay MaleVoodoo, Too

Voodoo, Too


Hey everyone! Thanks to your wonderful comments, here's a continuation of Some Kind of Voodoo. I recommend you read that one first, so that you can fully appreciate our dear Doctor's little silver-haired problem.


"We call it a video camera," I explained, setting up the camera on a steady tripod, digging the feet into the forest floor. Makya frowned at the lens, leaning over to get a better look at it. He insisted on inspecting everything new we were bringing in now before he would permit it in his village. He may not have been the chief, but the silver-haired young man was certainly the spiritual leader, and he was leading me around now, quite literally at times, by the balls.

"No," he decided at last, standing up straight and folding his arms over his lithe chest. The snake tattooed there gaped its ever-open mouth, seeming to hiss in the same declaration with each breath he took. I debated for a moment trying to convince him by other means, but since the night of the festival he had been shunning and laughing off my every advance.

"Makya, please. It's of no danger to your people. And this way, everyone in the world will be able to see how noble and proud the Amon are," I coaxed, playing to his ego again.

He stepped forward, until he was standing right in front of me. It didn't seem to bother him that he had to look up to me, as he prodded my chest with one finger. "No. If the world wants to see, then they can come here for themselves. You can watch and you can hear, but if you do not be with the people, then you cannot learn anything. I know your people, too. Your men look with disdain. They say, "Barbarians", and "Savages."'

I could kill the other men that brought me here, that would bring me supplies and news from the outside world, for their mutterings and wary eyes. "I will help them understand," I begged, wondering if I could hide the camera somewhere and film in secret. And, if they would resort to torture and cannibalism if they found out what I was doing.

Makya, however, was no longer listening. He turned on his heel, and strutted away from the riverboats, back towards his village. My eyes immediately went down to the sway of his hips, and mostly the way his ass moved above each shapely thigh.

Fine, then. Almost savagely, trying to ignore my erection, I packed the camera away again, handling the delicate equipment too roughly, but it was back in its case and set to wait beside everything else the shaman had declared unfit for his village. Over the past few months, I had done everything I could to collect more information, but my concentration wasn't there. It was like the ritual had rid me of my senses, all but lust. Which had made my rejected advances all the more clumsy and juvenile. By now, most of the tribe knew what had happened, or could guess, and I could hear the women giggling at the bulge in my pants whenever the shaman pranced nearby.

"Bastard," I cursed, watching a howler monkey hanging in the canopy, staring at me with big brown eyes. "Well, fuck him and his gods! I'm a scientist, not a whipping boy to be strung around by the cock."

I had to admit, I felt better for venting to the primate, who only gave an ear-splitting hoot, and quickly scaled the tree again. I didn't think I had been that loud. I was still staring after where the animal had disappeared to when I felt a sting at side of my neck. I slapped at it, expecting one of the big biting insects that roamed the jungle, but my hand hit a small, feathered dart instead. "Oh…" I didn't realize I was laying on my side until I saw a bare foot stop in front of my face, and the butt of a spear prodded my ribs. Then, the world went black.


I woke to the sound of drums.

That was nothing unusual, but the rhythms were unfamiliar to me. I didn't realize how soothing the Amon's beats were to me until then, a grip of panic squeezing my heart. My head jerked up, and that was just about all I could move. My arms were tied behind my back around a young tree, and I was on my knees, my thighs bound to my calves, then the rope was looped around my ankles and tied to the tree as well. It was skillfully, and painfully done.

I knew I hadn't pissed off Makya this badly. But I had never heard mention of another tribe in the area. Surely if there were some strangers, they would be talked about? I squinted against the torches on either side of me, and saw at first nothing but bare, painted flesh. There were five young men closest to me, all completely nude, and all painted from head to toe in black paint, four white lines on their cheeks breaking the solid coat. Each of them carried a spear, and one still had the blowgun hooked around his wrist as well, and he smiled at me. His teeth had been dyed red. They were speaking to each other, but I couldn't recognize the language. It had the same rhythm, the same tones, but very few of the same or even similar words. And none of them seemed to care much that I was awake.

God damn it. I should have been afraid, at least apprehensive. But no, I was just mad. Forgetting all the Boy Scout training on knots, I just began to struggle, chafing my bare skin against the bark of the tree, the leaves trembling above my head and startling a pair of bright blue birds that took off with a whistle. And that was about the only reaction I received.

The young men fell silent, each dropping to one knee and lowering their weapons. It was a woman of all things that came forward. She was oddly obese for the people, with full, large breasts, pulled low by pierced nipples, the ends weighted and resting on her swollen stomach. It was hard to tell at first, but she was definitely pregnant aside from merely round. There was muscle beneath her thick thighs, and each heavy step somehow still held a hunter's grace. She sat directly in front of me, but gave me no more than a glance, the men relaxing when she did. From behind her came an older man as well, his black hair streaked with gray and fashioned into long dreadlocks, shells and beads and all sorts of bangles woven into the thick tangle. A shaman, like Makya? He must be, but he was not at all like my silver temptation.

There was something dark in his eyes and his smile, his lower lip scarred down the center. He lowered himself at the woman's feet, resting in a low crouch facing me, his arms laying on the ground and his chin nearly touching a feathery fern. "You have been tainted by the Amon." His voice was a raspy whisper, but I recognized the dialect now.

"Why have you brought me here?" I demanded, still more angry than frightened, though now that I was starting to calm, I couldn't help be intrigued by the odd display. Behind the old shaman, the young men were moving now, their spears stuck in the damp earth, bringing the woman bits of fruit and a cup of water, their hands stroking her skin, the only one of them that remained unpainted. She seemed a massive statue among those nimble boys, a queen bee in a low-humming hive. Her eyes were on me, now, large and unblinking, thick lashes hiding her intent. It sickened me, and I wasn't sure why.

The shaman chuckled, lifting his chin from the dirt and crossing over to me on all fours. Always his head was kept lower than the woman's. "Makya thinks that he can claim you, Doctor, for their heathen gods. We will cleanse you, and you and your people shall be turned over to the Allmother for judgment on whether you are still fit to feed her glory."

Allmother. Many people used that to refer to the earth. Did this woman represent their god, their earth? The idea of judgment wasn't entirely appealing when it came from that woman's dark eyes. I felt my fingertips trembling, and I clenched them to fists. Where was Makya, and the Amon? Rarely had they left me alone for so long. Or did they fear these black-painted people too much to save me?

"What do you mean by cleanse?" I asked finally, wanting to at least know what I was being forced into.

The man grinned lopsidedly, and stood at last, but only after the woman had risen laboriously again. The shaman returned to his native tongue, and the young men leapt eagerly forward. My ropes were cut, but my limbs were so numbed by then I could barely stand even as they hoisted me up. The business end of a few spears dispelled any notion of escape. A cloth came down over my eyes next, and only the sound of their breaths and the whistle of the wind gave me any indication of how long they dragged me along.

When I was finally set down, it was on a reed mat. They pushed me onto my stomach, and the blindfold came off, but all was dark. My forearms were lashed together behind my back with the cord once more, and a bare foot pressed to my lower back to hold me down. I could see nothing, but breath fluttered against my ear, and the keen edge of a knife slit away my clothing. Off in the temple somewhere, for that was all I could assume where I was, came the sound of chanting, voices male and female, the sound reminding me again of the low buzz of a hive yet again.

My skin tingled now as it became bare to the warm air, and the body still lingering over top of me. My legs were kicked apart, the stranger sliding now to rest between them, his hands on my back.

This could not be happening.

More movement, in front of me, that I couldn't see but I could feel, and my head was jerked up. I opened my mouth to protest, and then felt some warm, coppery liquid poured into my throat. Thick, and…oh, god, was that blood? I coughed and sputtered and started to thrash, but already my jaw was forced shut and my nose pinched shut. I could go nowhere, and only after I swallowed out of reflex alone did the abusive hands let me go.

My stomach turned, and I could still taste the thick liquid on my tongue. I didn't know what God to pray to just then—my own, or the Amon. Could any of them save me here?

Hands caressed over the back of my thighs. I wasn't sure if it was from one man or two, and then oiled fingers suddenly pressed against my ass, sliding down to my entrance. Gods, no! I started thrashing again then, but there seemed to be strangers everywhere, chanting and whispering, and such strong hands to keep me down. The liquid was doing something to me, my head beginning to go into a slow, hazy spin, the darkness bursting into colors in front of my eyes, but I could still see nothing.

"No…no…no…" Was that desperate moan my voice? It seemed far away and fading, and more hands touched my skin, a cooler, thicker liquid soothing over it. Paint? My skin tingled, sensitive now to every light touch, and there seemed to be fingers everywhere, painting, caressing, probing, and I felt my head lifted again. Warm, hard flesh slid over my wet lips, and I knew the taste of precum and the feel of a cock well enough. I sealed my mouth shut, even as I felt the same sensation against my rear, a hard erection thrusting slowly in the crack of my ass. And all over, those hands still, the buzzing chant becoming numbing.

"No…" There it was again, that pleading groan, but it opened my mouth to the probing cock, and it slipped in between my lips. What resistance I had was gone, and I seemed to be floating somewhere above myself. It must have been hallucinogens in that first draught, for it seemed that the room was suddenly lit. In the corner sat the Allmother, watching from a stone bench, young men flitting around her, mouths and hands intent on pleasing her, though she remained expressionless. In front of me was one of the older hunters, his hands tangled into my hair as he pushed himself deeper into my mouth, but my gag reflex was gone even if I had the urge to choke, his balls resting against my chin. From behind was a younger warrior, unable to contain himself any longer. He thrust, found resistance from too many months unused, and then forced himself inside of me with a harder buck of his hips. I heard myself cry out, but didn't really feel the pain of the stretch as he sank to the hilt inside of me, pulling my hips up and back. All around me still danced the rest of the tribe, painting my flesh and setting my nerves afire.

It was…too much. I closed my eyes, but it seemed to me I could still see bodies moving all around me, I could still see the old hunter cupping my head and feeding me his throbbing erection. I could see myself, tied and writhing but now sucking against the hot flesh, if only to ease the burn in my throat. I could see the younger man pulling my knees up underneath me and thrusting into me harder, his low moan flitting breath across my back. I could feel each little twitch of his cock inside of me as he mounted me with a near animalistic need. Another slid beneath me, this a young woman—I could feel her soft breasts brushing against my stomach for a moment, before a warm mouth took my own length into her. I didn't realize I was hard until I felt the lap of her tongue against the slit, as if she was trying to milk an orgasm out of me. That is, until her fingers clamped around the base, keeping me erect and wanting.


Behind me, the hunter's fingers bruised my hips as he thrust into me with abandon, his cry singing to the chant all around me as he bucked through his orgasm. As soon as he pulled out, I felt another man take his place. A calloused hand soothed over the curve of my rear, spreading the paint further down, before going to ease his erection into me as well. He was thicker, longer than the last, and I couldn't help but groan around the cock still thrusting in and out of my mouth.

I lost track of time, my mind spinning on color and sound and the thrust of men. Instead, I could only count cocks, and my growing fatigue. As one came, in my mouth or my ass, another replaced it, and always that horrible woman watched. I could see her even with eyes closed, though she never made a sound. I passed out eventually, and when I came to again, I was on my back, my arms still tied. A young hunter had my legs pressed to my chest, and was almost lazily thrusting in and out, looking down at me with wide dark eyes, some of the black paint dripping from his chin to land on my chest. I stared back at him, well aware of a deep ache now that the drugs had worn off. The temple was lit all around by torches now, and the chanters were gone, only half a dozen men and women sitting around on the stone benches and rush mats.

Above me, the warrior murmured something, but I still knew nothing of their tongue. When I gave no response, his eyes narrowed, and he thrust harder, scraping against already torn and abused flesh.

"S-stop." That hoarse, weak plea couldn't have been mine. But who else here had a throat scraped as raw as his ass, and felt so exhausted and nauseated?

The hunter above me smiled, reaching down to dip his fingers into a bowl of red paint, and drawing a thin line of it down the center of my chest. Still thrusting with low grunts of pleasure, he leaned forward more, and when his hand came up from the ground beside us again, he was holding a slender dagger. He smiled, putting the tip against the line he had made, and I felt a sharp sting of pain as the keen edge split through layers of skin and muscle, hitting against my sternum. And I had worried about the Amon making a sacrifice out of me?

I'm not sure when I started crying, but suddenly my vision was blurred and horrible, strained sobs lifted my chest up into the knife as he started to drag it down along the line, blood overflowing onto the swirls of paint that had my body completely covered by then. The hunter smirked, the only thing I could see through the haze of tears.

Then, the pain, the thrusts, everything stopped. Or, rather, only the man on top of me did, pitching forward to land on top of me, completely limp, three small darts sticking from the side of his neck. A snake slid over his left shoulder, some thin red and black creature. Its tongue flicked against my cheek, before it slithered on.

That heavy weight was pushed off of me, and familiar fingers pressed against my cheek, turning my face so that I was looking up to him. Makya crouched beside me, his usual paint replaced by spatters of blood, a staff in his free hand and a blowgun hanging from his wrist.

"You are most fortunate, Doctor. Not for many would we have attacked the Others."

I had no idea what he was talking about, and at the moment I didn't care. All I cared about were his hands easing me to one side and slitting the ropes that still bound my numb arms. He leaned forward, pouring warm water over my face to wash away some of the paint, and then his lips touched my brow, murmuring a prayer. I must have passed out again, because next I knew I was wrapped in a warm fur and being carried by one of the larger of the Amon's warriors. All of them were walking around me, carrying spears and painted with blood, but instead of solemn they appeared pleased, speaking in low voices. In front of me, I saw that mop of silver hair swaying back and forth, clinking with all the various bangles embedded within. That was all I needed to see. I slept again, contentedly this time, curled up against the warm chest of the warrior. When I came to again, I recognized the inner walls of the temple, carved and lit by a few low, sweet-smelling torches. Makya sat on the floor nearby, cross-legged and with his hands resting on his knees, completely still. For a moment, I wondered if he was asleep, shifting enough that I could study the curve of his back.

I felt...much better. The paint and cum had been washed from my body, most of the stiffness and soreness gone, but without sight of the sun I had no idea just how long I had slept there. It may have been a full day, all I knew was that I was hungry again, and that haze of the drugs was completely gone. It was a relief, the same as the faint sound of the Amon's drums from outside the thick stone walls.

It felt like I was...home.


The shaman jerked as if woken from his mediation, before looking back to me. He, too, had been washed free of blood, and for once was without paint as well, just his smooth, dark skin bared to me. He was naked, and so was I. Wordlessly, he padded to my side, sitting on the edge of the covered ledge. Reaching down, he touched my cheek with just a light brush of his fingers.

"The Gods have been merciful to you. For that, I am thankful," he said, his voice low.

"I'm thankful to you, Makya. You rescued me."

He shook his head, and cuffed the side of my face lightly. "Thank the Gods for alerting me! Were it not for them, you would be no more than a goat or tapir on their plates."

The idea, at least, sobered me. I forced myself to sit up, reaching out to just cup his jaw in my hand. "How do I thank them?"

His mouth was on mine suddenly, lips so warm and welcoming I felt a groan rise up in my chest. He pressed me down onto the bed again, his tongue swiping over my lower lip. His upper body draped against mine, and I could feel his heartbeat just below the arching snake tattoo. He wrapped his lithe arms around my neck, his hair hanging on either side of my face as he stared down at me. "You are a fool."

I frowned, breathless from the kiss and not sure what I did wrong this time. "Makya--"

He laughed, kissing me again to shut me up. "Xiuh loves the fools, you lucky ghost. Go to the tribe and eat, rest, be with them. The Gods have accepted you, they will not forsake you. Live, that will be thanks enough." He stood, coming away from me, and I couldn't help but sit up again, as if there was a string between his body and mine. "When evening comes, you may come into the temple again instead of your tent."

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