Authors: Colette Gale
ENTANGLED © 2012 Colette Gale
All rights reserved.
Welcome to the third volume of Miss Jane Clemons’s adventures in the jungles of Africa.
If you have already read the first or second volumes, you need not continue with this introductory epistle, and can move directly forward to the first chapter. For those who have not read
, please feel free to read on below.
During the late 19th century, the British indulged in much exploration of Africa, searching not only for gold and gemstones, but also for knowledge of this fascinating Dark Continent.
Professor Everett Clemons, the famous lepidopterist, and his daughter Jane were two of the most famous British citizens to embark on these travels, and although Jane published a book of her drawings and notations about the butterflies her father studied during these trips, there remained little information about her own thoughts and adventures—until now.
Recently, I was fortunate enough to come across an old trunk filled with Professor Clemons’s journals and butterfly specimens, and there, within, I also found the treasure of Miss Jane Clemons’s personal journals.
Because there were so many volumes of her journals, I have chosen to publish a series of short segments over time in order to make them publicly available as quickly and efficiently as possible.
I do hope you’ll indulge my decision to follow the popular form of literature from this era and publish Jane’s journals as a serialized collection. And I must warn you: also in the tradition of the times, each episode ends on a cliffhanger.
The previous volume ended with a most unsettling event: the kidnapping of Jane and her fiancé Jonathan by members of a native tribe. They were taken to the tribe’s village, where Jane learnt the natives believe she is a fertility goddess.
I hope you find Jane’s adventures enlightening, exciting, and titillating as we follow her further adventures as a young woman in the Madagascar jungle.
— I —
The Jungle of Madagascar
Jane stood on a dais
above the small crowd of gawking tribal villagers. Unlike her naked self, they were all dressed in native clothing. Some wore feathers in their hair or on their revealing clothing, others had beads, woven bits of string, and what appeared to be small bones as decorations. The women wore short, shift-like dresses that ended just above their knees, while the men had fastened cloth around their waists. Some of them sported open, sleeveless waistcoat-like coverings over their torsos, decorated with stitching and feathers.
The color of the villagers’ skin varied from ebony to light coffee with cream. But all of them had dark eyes and black hair that appeared springy and soft. And they were all looking at her with avid, hungry eyes.
Using the long, curling curtain of her fiery hair, Jane tried to cover her nudity as much as possible as she clung to Jonathan.
“They believe I am a fertility goddess?” Jane whispered to Jonathan, repeating his shocking explanation for their abduction of her and her fiancé.
She wasn’t certain whether she was glad he could speak and understand the native language, or if she’d have preferred to remain ignorant of what was to befall her. No, that was foolish. Of course she needed to know. How else was she going to figure out how to escape? “What are they going to do to us?”
Jonathan was still clothed, but appeared no less a captive than she, for a spear was pointed at his chest, and another at his belly. His arm tightened around her. “I don’t know, but I think we must do whatever they ask. I’ll try to find out more information, Jane, but you must understand…they see you as a goddess. You are so different from them, they believe you must be divine. You must—”
“I must act like a goddess,” Jane interrupted, suddenly seized with a rush of strength. Pulling out of his grip, she straightened her spine and stood erect, fully aware of the array of eyes on her. They were heavy and avid, the pairs upon pairs of them. More than a dozen, perhaps two dozen.
But if she were a goddess, she would stand proud and confident, for goddesses wielded power, did they not? Goddesses could bestow grace upon the people.
And above all, goddesses must not be angered.
Thus, she stood as tall and proud as she could force herself to be, completely naked and—for the moment—at the mercy of this tribe. Jane looked around with as much boldness as she could muster. She met the hot, needy eyes of the men and the curious, apprehensive gazes of the women as if she had the power they believed. The heavy heat of the jungle seemed to press against her bare, unprotected body, and the faintest skitter of a breeze brushed over her flesh. The ends of her hair rippled slightly and she could taste a hint of salt on her upper lip as she moistened it, aware of the sheen of perspiration on her skin.
Jane could only imagine how she must appear to the natives: tall and ivory-skinned with green eyes and high, generous, pink-tipped breasts. Her curls fell nearly to her waist, thick with soft waves, and fiery red-gold in color. It was no wonder they thought her a goddess, with hair such as hers. It was like a blaze. Like a fire.
Jane felt a sharp, unexpected stab of pain in her belly.
The wild and passionate jungle man had been gentle and reverent as he reached to touch one of her long curls.
he’d said, his blue eyes wide and soft with awe.
Zaren. A little quiver caught her by surprise, and then was gone, replaced by despair. She would never see him again. She couldn’t, for even if—no,
wasn’t even a possibility—she and Jonathan escaped from this situation, she would marry her fiancé and they would return to England.
Jane blinked hard and jolted back to the present when one of the presumed tribal leaders shoved Jonathan away and came to stand next to her. Her heart began to beat harder and her throat went dry as he gestured for another man to stand on the other side.
They spoke to each other, to Jonathan, and to her—though she couldn’t understand anything they said—and then to the group of twenty-some people standing in front of the dais. The man in front of her had cold, dark eyes and he wore a woven red band around his throat.
Jane did not like the way he looked at her, and it took every bit of composure to remain silent, maintaining her haughty look even when he reached out to cup her breast. His dark, hot hand curved under it and he hefted it lightly, speaking and gesturing all the while. Jane couldn’t understand his words, but the meaning was all too clear—particularly from his low, liquid laugh and the similar response from the audience. Her areola tightened, its nipple thrusting in response to the attention being given to it.
When Cold Eyes shifted his thumb to rub over the sensitive tip, Jane couldn’t help but rear back a little, trying to put herself away from the unwelcome but erotic sensation. He made a sharp sound, and the next thing she knew, Jane’s wrists were grasped by two strong hands from behind.
The man standing at her back forced her arms straight out from her sides, his fingers tight around her narrow wrists. He now stood so close behind her, she could feel the heat of his body…and the gentle brush of his loincloth, for it had lifted with his obvious erection. She swallowed hard and focused on a hanging vine in the distance, above the rapt crowd. Her guard’s breath was warm and moist against her temple, and she could smell the man’s essence—not unpleasant, simply unfamiliar and strange.
Those in the audience made a noise of satisfaction as she was spread out in front of them, her arms wide and helpless, extended from each side.
This gave Cold Eyes the opportunity to fondle each breast in turn as Jane stood still, trying to keep her breathing steady and herself from shrinking or trembling.
For Jonathan. And yourself. You are a goddess. They want from you. They want to please you.
If only she could speak their language or otherwise communicate with them—to tell them if they didn’t do what she wished, she would bring the wrath of all her powers down on them. How could she demonstrate this?
Then all coherent thought scattered as Cold Eyes slid his hand down the gentle swell of her belly and lower. Jane couldn’t help but tense, unable to keep from twisting away as he approached her mound. Cold Eyes stepped back abruptly and made a sharp gesture to someone on the ground, and a tall, sleek, ebony-skinned man vaulted up onto the dais in a flutter of loincloth and a flash of muscular flank.
She might have admired his long, lean muscles and broad shoulders if she were anywhere but here. He flashed her a devilish white smile, and before Jane knew what was happening, Devilish Man knelt in front of her.
As Guard One held her arms spread wide, the sleek newcomer forced her ankles apart…and apart…and apart. She fought to keep her knees together, but he was there—just in front of her belly. She felt the heat of his breath on her skin, and the strong, dark hands as they slid down her pale thighs to her knees, forcing them to move. The man behind her pulled Jane back so she was tilted off balance, making it easier for Devilish Man to have his way.
When her legs were open and her ankles spread to nearly shoulder width, Cold Eyes brought a spear forward. Jane tensed again, bracing herself for a blow or a stab or something…but instead, Devilish Man tied one end of the spear to one ankle and the other end to her second ankle, thus ensuring she couldn’t bring her legs together again.
She felt the fresh, warm air on her quim, open and bare to whoever chose to look…or feel. And Devilish Man did just that as he finished tying the second bond, sliding both hands up along her outer thighs to the bush of fiery red hair, then bringing his face right into her pussy.
Jane jolted, gasping as he pressed his full lips against her labia, and she felt his tongue flicker out against the deep, hot folds of her. Cold Eyes made a sharp, angry noise, but Devilish Man took his time easing back and standing. He flashed her a hot smile as he rose and Jane’s lungs felt as if they’d been constricted. The man’s entire persona bespoke of devil-may-care insouciance as he turned, taking a second spear from one of the other tribal members.
Jane had no choice but to stand immobile as her wrists were lashed to the wooden pole, which rested over the back of her neck and along her shoulders. When they were finished, she stood in the familiar pose that appeared in Leonardo da Vinci’s drawings, arms and legs spread-eagled in a large X-shape.
And then, just when she thought her current humiliation was enough, two poles were brought forward and arranged on either side of her. Stronger and thicker than the spears, each was tied vertically from ankle to wrist, so Jane was in effect boxed into position.