Sacrifice to the Emerald God (6 page)

      The man gave out a low, satisfied groan as his thrusts slowed and then came to a halt. Marjorie was crying dolefully even as she could feel the aftershocks of her climax twitch the muscles of her heated canal. She knew that the man would never let her go now. He had taken too much enjoyment from her body.

      Diego, very satisfied at the reactions of his new whore, let his shrinking cock slide from within the girl’s pussy. “You have a hot pussy,
conchita
,” he told her as he stroked her dripping slit with his hand. “We’ll have a lot of fun together.”

Chapter Four

A Sylvan Interlude

Margie lay despondently on the floor of the raft as it continued its journey upstream. The man had shoved her to her side when he was done with her and she was content to lie in the sloppy water wallowing in her misery. Diego, refreshed by his coitus with her, was singing some ribald Venezuelan drinking song as he went through her purse. He was pleased to find a large wad of bolivars, about 500,000 worth and a little over 500 dollars in American currency. He showed it to his boys and they all grinned with visions of the liquor and pussy they could buy with it. There was her passport, something that could be sold for a valuable return, lipstick, a wallet with her
Americano
identification. His eyes widened when she saw that she was a
professore
. Who would have thought? There was a golden compact case with some fine, pink powder in it, a hair brush, some tampons, a few bars of hotel soap, some perfume and a bunch of other stuff that he saw no value in. He took the soap, the compact, the hairbrush, the perfume and put them back in the pocketbook. He put the money and the passport in the pocket of his pants. He threw the rest overboard.

      It was about three hours after they had left the dock back in
Cotabaya
when the raft slowed and made a turn to the south. The Rio Ciora was fed by over a hundred jungle streams between it and the Brazilian border. Diego and his friends had been looking for a particular one. When they saw it, all their faces lit up. The
policia
, even if they did launch a pursuit of them, once they found another boat that is, would have to search each and every stream and river for three hundred miles in order to find them. While they were in the open, there was always the chance that a plane could spot their little craft and give away their location, but now that they were diverting from the main river, the thick canopy of growth that covered the small waterway would protect them.

      The raft chugged another five miles or so up stream before they came to a wide bend in it forming a little lagoon. The stream had left a sandy deposit there perfect for beaching the boat and there was a large clearing before the jungle became thick and overgrown again.

      Margie was lost in her reverie of misery but came to attention when she felt the raft bump against the shore. Wherever they were going, they were there.

      A good bandit always had more than one hideout. You never knew when and where you would need to duck away from pursuers and this was one of Diego’s. Pepe and Diego, respectfully referred to by his men as
el Jefe
, jumped from the raft and pulled it onto the beach while Manuelo lifted the outboard up and locked it in place. The clearing looked innocuous enough. Anyone coming by, and that would have been once in every ten years or so, would have seen no evidence that this was one of Diego’s camp sites, other than, perhaps, if they looked closely enough, the charred remains of a fire.

      While Manuelo pulled the boat further up on the shore, Pepe and Diego trotted off into the jungle to make sure that their stash had been undiscovered and remained unplundered. About a hundred yards in they found a tree that they had marked and then paced off ten steps due south. Using sticks they found on the ground, they pawed at the earth until they heard the distinct sound of hitting metal. They looked at each other joyfully. A few minutes later, they had uncovered a large, rusted, steel footlocker and dragged it from its hole. Diego opened it and smiled when he saw that their supplies were still there.

      Now bandits aren’t known for conserving resources or delaying gratification, but the clever Diego had insisted that they stock the footlocker with some of the necessities of life. Inside were cans of food, sleeping bags, two small, two man tents, a few bottles of brandy,
machete
s, a large, black pot with a burnt bottom, matches, a lantern and other useful miscellanea, even some cigarettes. They would be able to eat and sleep and plan for their next move in relative comfort.

      Margie had struggled to her knees so that she could see where they had landed. There was nothing that she saw that gave her any hope that her plight would soon be alleviated. She watched while Diego and Pepe emerged from the trees with the large footlocker dangling from its handles between them. They put it down and her captor barked some orders to his men who proceeded to break out the supplies and make camp. She trembled when she saw the large, cruel man come back to the raft. He unceremoniously pushed her over to her side and released her ankles from her wrists and then untied them.

      “Come on
conchita
,” he said. “Come and see your new home.”

      The unhappy woman trembled as he frog marched her to the middle of the camp site. He pushed her to her knees and then went on with the business of settling in. He opened one of the bottles of the local, 150 proof brandy and took a long swig. “Ahhhhhhh!” he exclaimed when he had swallowed it. It was great to be alive and on the game again. A day of rest and then, well, who knows? He had a score to settle with the
gringa
first. She had scratched his face and drawn blood. He would make sure in a moment that she would never do it again.

      While his
compadres
made up the tent and started a fire, he wandered over to the edge of the clearing looking for a suitable tree. He found one with a branch about seven feet off of the ground. This would do nicely. He went back to the unhappy woman and ordered her to her feet. Her free and naked breasts swayed enticingly as she struggled to stand. The hem of her skirt was still tucked into her waistband displaying her long, thin thighs and her furry, blond sex and his cock swelled at the thought of piercing her there. Well, that could wait.

      Marjorie was relieved when the man released her arms from behind her but was disconcerted when she learned that he was doing so only in order to tie them together again in front. The man took hold of the long, loose end of the fabric which bound her wrists together and began to lead her away from the campsite. When they reached the edge, next to a bushy tree, she whined miserably as the man tied her hands up over her head to one of the branches. It was high enough so that her arms were fully extended but her feet were still planted firmly on the ground. She whined again when the man unhooked the clasp to her skirt and, releasing it, let the bright, orange, red, green and blue fabric fall to the ground.

      The unhappy, now nude woman trembled in fear as the man crouched down before her and slipped her skirt past her feet. She stood there now clothed only in her yellow, Italian, cork heeled sandals. Her helpless hands were extended above her head and her long, blond, now unruly and tangled hair fell down over her shoulders. The fact of being now so fully nude made her tremble at her vulnerability and seemed incongruous in this rough, outdoor setting. Her heavy breasts swayed gently and their dark, pointed tips seemed to be an invitation to abuse. She rubbed her thighs together as if to hide her vulnerable sex. The man was looking at her, admiring her, taking pride in his newly acquired property.

      She wasn’t sure why he had brought her to this spot and posed her so, but she could take a good guess. He was going to whip her! She just knew it! Her tears had stopped not long after her ravishment, but now they renewed. The orange cloth was still wrapped around her face, gagging her mouth, trapping her reddish, blond hair against her head, and she was only able to utter a plaintive, low, whiney, ‘…..ease!” from her lips.

      The bandit smiled and turned away from her. While he strolled leisurely back to the camp site, Margie desperately struggled at her bonds. If she could get herself free, she could run off into the jungle, naked or not. At least she still had her shoes on. Maybe she would be eaten by a lion or a panther or something, maybe she would sink into quicksand or get irretrievably lost until she died of thirst and hunger. But it was better then being this heinous man’s prisoner.

      But Margie’s struggles were to no avail. Her hands were still fastened securely above her when the heavyset, blood stained man returned. His appearance was grotesque with the mangled straw hat on his head and her oversized, round sunglasses on. He was holding a
machete
in his one hand and the bottle of brandy in the other. He smiled an evil grin at her and took another long drink from the bottle and then placed it on the ground.

      The poor woman was beside herself. Was he going to chop her up, torture her with the long, wide, sharp blade? Was he some kind of sadistic bastard that would get off on cutting and sawing at her body while she screamed and cried in mortal agony? A large hole opened in her belly and she started to beg and plead with the man, dancing frantically in place. Her breasts jerked and heaved at her motions. “….eeeeeeease! eeeeeeease!’ she yelled at the top of her voice through the stifling cloth across her mouth. “….on’t ill eeeee! ….ooooooon’t, eeeeeeeeease!”

     Diego looked at the terrorized woman with satisfaction. She had a beautiful body and, as he knew, a delicious cunt. Her legs were long and graceful, her skin pale and soft. Her breasts flopped around appealingly as she struggled to pull her hands free of their tie and her lovely, blue eyes were widened with fright. He played with the razor sharp
machete
in his hand for just a moment, extending the woman’s terror for just a little while longer. Some day, when he was finished with her, unless he sold her off to some whorehouse or something, he knew that he would have to slice her throat. But, God willing, that was a long way off. He wanted to have a lot of fun first with the beautiful, shapely, blond
gringa
, especially now that he knew how hot her pussy was.

      Diego knew all about ransom and stuff like that. He often stole women from the villages and remote haciendas far outside the city and returned them, slightly used, in exchange for money or money’s worth. But there was no way he was going back to
Cotabaya
for a long time. The only reason to do so now was to cut the throat of that
pinga
Chief of Police and to fuck his daughters. But that could wait and, when he got around to it, he would slip in and out of the city before anyone knew that he was there. But kidnapping involved ransom and picking up the loot even if you dumped the body somewhere. No, urban kidnapping was for the professionals who had ties to the police who would look the other way in exchange for a cut. He was a bandit, a marauder of the river and its environs, and that he would remain.

      He decided that the frantic girl, now slumping miserably in her bonds and weeping disconsolately, had had enough of this particular worry at least. “Don’t be afraid,
putita
,” he told her soothingly. “I’m not going to cut you up today. You’re too much of a delicious morsel for that. But you do need to learn a lesson. You scratched me and drew blood. That was not very ladylike. I’m going to break you of that bad habit right here and now.”

      Margie, joyful at the news that she would not be sliced open like a ripe mango, watched as the man stepped into the nearby jungle and out of sight. She heard the sound of the
machete
at work and then he returned a moment later holding a long, thin branch in his hand. He was slicing off the leaves and subsidiary twigs and branches from it with the
machete
. Her heart sunk as she realized that her first guess had been correct. He was going to whip her, tear into her defenseless body with the instrument he was peeling. It would slash and cut at her body until she bled. And she would scream and cry, beg for surcease uselessly while she suffered its torment.

      Her moment of happiness at the news that she was going to live died away and her body began to tremble in anticipation of the pain that the man was going to bring her. She wanted to say that she was sorry for scratching him, that she would never do it again, that she would obey him in all things, suck his cock, fuck him, and his friends too if that was what he wanted. She would do anything rather than be whipped. But it was not her choice. Her voice was effectively silenced. And what good would it do anyway? She doubted that the man had an ounce of mercy in his body. But she couldn’t help whining and moaning in fear. Her mind reeled at the impossibility of her circumstances, unimaginable not less than three or four hours ago. Her little dance started all over again. “
Oh, God, help me! Help me!
” she thought frantically. “
Please! Please! Please!
”

      But God wasn’t present, or, if he was, he had decided that this should be the poor woman’s fate. Her body was shaking uncontrollably as the man swished the lash through the air, testing its resilience. She saw him give her an evil, broad toothed smile, his gold teeth gleaming in his mouth, the midday sun sparkling off of the incongruous sunglasses on his face. When she saw his right hand rear back, trailing the cruel switch behind it, she closed her eyes and tried to steel her trembling body from the blow.