Safari Girl
by Jennifer Harrison

Author’s comment: This is based on, and is an homage to, the brilliant Safari Girl comic cover artwork by Acidtester. If you want to check out his original artwork, go to

I hope it is understood that I am a big fan of this artwork, I am not trying to rip off someone else’s ideas.
PS. If there are factual errors, blame Wikipedia. As always, please leave comments so I know if this is any good.

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 1 : Safari Girl

Rebecca Longale sat back in her airline seat, sipped her iced water, and reflected on a spectacularly successful academic year. She had worked full-time as an adjunct professor at the State University of New York’s College of Environmental Science and Forestry in Syracuse, NY, and she was virtually assured of the same next year – there was even vague talk of tenure. She had been published a couple of times – it wasn’t Nature, just fairly obscure magazines specialising in botany, but it still counted. And she had even begun a nascent media career, appearing on a number of discussion panels on satellite and cable channels, and the occasional ‘expert analysis’ appearance on news programmes. She liked to think it was due to her in-depth knowledge of the effects logging was having on the ecosystems of the Amazon, but she was realistic enough to know it probably had a lot more to do with her long, flowing, flame-red hair, open and innocent good looks, and her 34C breasts, which were never encumbered by the presence of a bra. At 27, she not only had youth on her side but was also very fit, with the lithe body to go with it.

She had also managed to secure the funding for a major expedition to her favourite part of the world, the remote Amazonian rainforest, on the hunt for undiscovered plant species. Teaching was really a means to this end. She had earned her schoolgirl nickname of ‘Safari Girl’ when, at the age of 16, she had trekked through the Rift Valley of East Africa on her own, bringing back specimens of rare plant species for her school. It had stuck, and her colleagues and students all referred to her as ‘Safari Girl’.

And now, here she was, on a flight from Rio de Janeiro to Cayenne, capital of French Guiana, and gateway to an almost totally unexplored area of the rainforest. Once there, it was a matter of trains, boats and automobiles to the remote province of Camopi, where she had an appointment with the local representative of the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) to sort out her permits for the Guiana Amazonian National Park, and then she’d be set for her two month expedition.

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 2 : Policia

Pierre Corbin looked out over the compound and could hardly believe his eyes. He had been stuck here in this godforsaken country for three months and had just about given up hope of ever getting laid. He had been sure the native women would provide him with a rich and varied diet of sex in all its many varieties, grateful for the attentions of a sophisticated and good-looking, not to say well-paid, Frenchman, but it had not quite worked out that way. It seemed that, out here, well away from the colonial seat of power, the French were resented rather than respected, and he had got no action whatsoever. Now, walking towards his office, was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He knew there was an American professor due to see him about permissions – a simple formality, which would take no more than a few minutes – but he had not expected this. He decided he would have to try and string this out, just so he could spend more time with this exotic creature.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, it is rare for us to entertain such beautiful academics here,” Pierre said smoothly. Rebecca smiled back at the young official, thinking how pleasant and attractive he was. She handed over the permits she had obtained in the capital and the letters of introduction from the university, and waited as he pored over them.

“Everything seems to be in order,” he said eventually, having spent as long as he felt he could pretending to read the documents while surreptitiously studying the body of the woman. “All I need to do now is to check that you are not bringing any foreign species into the nature reserve.” His palms moistened as he spoke the words, surprising himself that he would have the nerve to attempt to act out a recurring fantasy he enjoyed, one where his female visitor (usually a gorgeous French film actress in his imagination, but the American made a very acceptable substitute) would fall under his spell and submissively obey his every command. The words had flowed out of his mouth before he had realised he had spoken them, but now he was committed. was worth a try!

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Rebecca said earnestly, “I know the dangers of introducing alien species to any environment, let alone one as important as this.”

“I am sure I believe you, Mademoiselle,” Pierre smiled, feeling nervous excitement at the prospect of her compliance, “but you may have picked something up unknowingly. And I have the paperwork to complete…”

Rebecca understood, and was happy to turn out the contents of her rucksack – the young botanist liked to travel fast and light, so she carried everything in the one bag. She had two sets of spare clothing exactly the same as those she was wearing – white camisole and panties, khaki shirt and shorts – one to wear, one to wash and one for contingencies – curiously, she always seemed to lose one set of clothes at some point in her travels. Her sturdy boots and solar topee made up her standard explorer uniform, but she had one concession to luxury, a pair of silk pyjamas for the long jungle nights. She had a lightweight bedroll, mosquito net and various ropes to rig a shelter for herself. She carried NASA-style dried food for emergencies but tried to live off the land as much as possible – she was a trained and experienced survivalist. Her tools and utensils consisted of a satellite phone with solar power, hunting knife, spoon, small cooking pan and a flint to spark up a fire. Other than that, she had her secateurs, collecting jars, and that was it.

And now it was all laid out on the table in front of her. Pierre took his time, examining each item very closely, spending a lot of time inspecting the white panties for some reason. Rebecca, innocent that she was, didn’t even notice.

“No problem here,” Pierre smiled, “Just your person to check now, Mademoiselle.” This was it, he thought, as he tried to maintain a totally official demeanour to lend credence to his words.

“I’m sorry?” Rebecca asked in confusion.

“You may have picked up seeds on your clothing, or… on your body. I apologise, I have to do this, I’m sure you understand.” Suddenly Pierre heard how lame this sounded, and his heart sank as he was sure she would refuse such an outrageous request.

Rebecca had many qualities – she was fluent in French and Spanish, and had a working knowledge of Portuguese and Arawak, one of the main Amerindian languages of the Amazon basin. But reading people was not one of them – she had never found it important and had prioritised it behind getting a degree, getting a doctorate, getting a job and getting a career. So, rather than thinking ‘Why is this creep trying to get me naked?’, she was thinking ‘Wow, this guy is thorough!’ She began, without hesitation, to unbutton her shirt.

Luckily, Rebecca’s unconventional upbringing as the daughter of an oil company executive stationed in the hot climates of Borneo, Malaysia and Thailand, and a ‘new-age hippy’ mother had left her with no self-consciousness over her body, so she had no problem in removing each item of clothing – shirt, shorts, camisole, panties – and handing them to the man who thought all his ‘Joyeux Noels’ had come at once. He gave each item of clothing a cursory glance, while keeping his eyes mainly on the gorgeous and soon naked woman in front of him. Now she was bending over to unlace her boots and he watched, mesmerised, as her perfect breasts swung gently in front of him. He walked around behind her to see her firm buttocks and thighs framing her vagina wonderfully. His trousers were having difficulty holding in his painfully erect member.

“What now?” she asked as she straightened up and faced him, entirely unselfconscious about her nakedness. Pierre tried to unscramble his brain and focus on what to do next. His success so far in having the woman do exactly as he wished, he felt emboldened to go further.

“Er… open wide, please.”

Rebecca opened her mouth as wide as she could and waited for him to check her oral cavity.

“No, I’m sorry, Mademoiselle, I meant bend over and open wide.”


The naked professor wasn’t too sure about that, but did it anyway. As she stood with her feet apart, bent at the waist, and pulled her ass cheeks apart, Pierre thought he might cum right there, the view in front of him was so sensational.

“I just need to check for … anything concealed internally.” He rubbed his hand on his trouser leg, warming it up and approached the young woman as she presented her plump pussy ready for fingering.

At that precise moment, the door burst open and two men in the uniform of the local Policia stepped into the office and stopped dead in their tracks. They saw the official, they saw the naked woman, and they saw the two ‘eyes’ winking at them. Rebecca straightened and turned around, now giving the police officers a full frontal view of her pert breasts and her triangle of ginger pubic hair.

“Mr Corbin, what is going on here?” the senior officer asked, without taking his eyes from Rebecca’s body.

“Er…” Pierre was frightened now – the Policia in this area had a reputation, and he did not want to find out if it was justified. He put his hands innocently behind his back and tried to think of any vaguely plausible explanation for a woman naked and bending over in his office.

“It is an offence to be naked in public. So I ask again, what is going on here?”

“It was a shock, officer,” Pierre started babbling, “She just marched in here and took off all her clothes!”

Now it was Rebecca’s turn to be stunned. She looked at Pierre and wondered why he didn’t just tell the truth. Suddenly, she wanted her clothes back on, but the two policemen had moved between her and the pile on the desk.

“But, monsieur,” she protested, “you told me that you needed to check I wasn’t carrying alien spores!” She looked questioningly at Pierre, beseeching him to confirm her story – surely the policemen would understand? They managed to drag their gaze away from Rebecca to look at the Frenchman for his answer.

“Preposterous!” he exclaimed, breaking out in a sweat, “Why would I do that, there is no requirement for searches, all I needed to do was sign her paperwork.”

The naked woman looked at him in astonishment, unable to speak. Once again, it seemed, she had been rather too trusting.

“I’m afraid we must take you into custody, Mademoiselle. Sergeant.” The junior officer stepped forward and flourished his handcuffs. Rebecca raised her arm to just prompt him to wait while she dressed, but he grabbed her wrist, spun her round and pushed her down over the table. He trapped her arms behind her back and clicked the cuffs around her wrists.

“Resisting arrest as well, dear me, this does not look good, Mademoiselle. Put her in the car.”

She was hustled out of the office and into the main street, where about a dozen locals watched as she was bundled into the back of a police car. The two officers got into the front and the car sped off. Pierre looked out of his office and felt a mixture of relief, guilt and regret, wondering whether he would ever see the stunning redhead again.

“So, you’re an American professor, and you’re wandering around naked?” the desk sergeant asked.

“I wasn’t wandering around, I told you –” but the young woman couldn’t complete her explanation as she was hustled away to the cells by a short, stocky policewoman.

“You don’t understand, I need to get out of here and start my expedition,” Rebecca tried to explain.

“Court sits in four days,” the other woman explained as she roughly pushed Rebecca along the corridor and then down some stairs.

“Standard fine for public nudity, 500 Francs.”

She wasn’t sure where she would get the money, but she’d manage somehow, but four days’ lost on the expedition was far more serious…

“Standard sentence for resisting arrest, 30 days,” the policewoman went on.

“Thirty days!” Rebecca exclaimed in horror – that was half the time she was due to be here!

“Which cell do you want?”

They were standing between two large cells formed by three walls and a set of bars. One held three men – they looked like petty criminals – in the other were four women who, by the look of their clothes and make-up, were all prostitutes brought in off the streets. Rebecca indicated the women’s cell and was duly hustled inside.

“Could I get some clothes, or could you at least take these handcuffs off?”

“You wear what you arrived in. Violent offenders stay cuffed.” With that curt response, the woman was gone, and Rebecca felt all eyes, male and female, sizing her up.

“Hello, Pretty,” she heard, and turned to see the women in her cell all staring at her. The leader of this little gang was the one who had spoken, and she stood up and walked over to check out the newcomer. She had very dark skin, which contrasted starkly with the bright blonde hair, which Rebecca hoped was a wig. She was dressed in a boob tube and a microskirt made of some kind of shiny material, possibly PVC. She was also wearing six inch stilettos, so she towered over Rebecca. She put her hand up to the naked woman’s face and stroked her cheek.

“No need to be frightened, Pretty, we’re all friends here. My name’s Dolly.”

“Hello… Dolly,” Rebecca said unsurely, wondering what being ‘friends’ with her might entail.

“You look tired, Pretty. You! Help her lie down!” The academic suddenly realised just how tired she was – she had been travelling for 24 hours straight and the recent events had hardly been relaxing. Two women came over and guided her to the back of the cell, where she saw an iron-framed cot bed. The thin mattress was filthy, but what worried her more were the ropes tied to the frame at the head and foot of the bed. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so tired, but the two women insisted on her lying down, pushing her down onto the bed so that she was lying on her back, then holding her down when she tried to get up.

She was worried by this turn of events, but not nearly as worried as when they lifted her legs up and tied the ropes from the head of the bed to her ankles, so that she was held with her legs high, wide and leaving her totally exposed and vulnerable.

“Er, could you untie me? Please?” she asked nervously as Dolly stood over her, surveying the expanse of tight, smooth flesh exposed by the extreme position.

“Don’t worry, Pretty,” Dolly said as she ran her hand over Rebecca’s buttocks, letting her long, painted fingernails run across the young academic’s sex, making the bound woman jump – or at least raise herself off the mattress briefly.

“We’ll untie you just as soon as we’re done with you.” As she said this, Dolly unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it. Rebecca’s mouth formed a perfect O as she saw the large and semi-erect penis hanging between ‘her’ legs. She was too stunned to speak as what she now had to think of as ‘the man’ got on the bed and positioned himself. With no preliminaries or foreplay, he plunged his now fully erect member into her up to the hilt.

Now she finally found her voice, letting out a cry of pain as she was stretched to the point where she thought she would split. He pulled back and slammed into her again and again, unconcerned by her pitiful cries. Rebecca was not an experienced lover, and had certainly never been treated with such violent disregard, but to her surprise and shock, she found her body responding to the mistreatment. As each penetrating stroke thrust into her, she couldn’t stop herself trying to push back to make it a little deeper, despite the cuffs and ropes restricting her movement. Suddenly she let out a squeal as she climaxed, such a rare event in her life that it took her by surprise. ‘Dolly’ continued to pump into her until his own climax erupted. He pulled out of her and let his cum shoot across her stomach, even splashing up onto her breasts.

“Thank you, Pretty, that was wonderful,” Dolly said as ‘she’ picked up her skirt and dressed herself. Rebecca, her legs released, curled up into a ball, sobbing, and tried to get some sleep.

“Grub’s up.” Rebecca came to and saw that there was a guard at the bars of the cell handing out plates of what looked like stew, and realised she hadn’t eaten since the plane. She dragged herself up off the bed and went over to the guard knowing that, despite her hunger, she had more important things to deal with first.

“Please, sir,” she began, feeling a little humility might get a better reaction than righteous demands, “I really need to get my case dealt with and get out of here as soon as possible. Is there anything you can do to help me? Please?”

The guard, who had been checking her out since he’d got there, and wondering about the dried cum on her body, certainly had a few ideas about what she could do…

“I can maybe get you some time with the chief,” he replied, “of course, I’d be taking a risk there, I’m not sure, maybe you could give me an incentive…”

“What sort of incentive?” she asked blankly – such an innocent! The guard smiled a not-entirely-friendly smile.

“I love my wife, see, but she will just not do oral…”

“Oh.” Even Rebecca could get the implication of that remark. She didn’t ‘do’ oral either, but she had to get out of there…

Slowly she got down on her knees by the bars. The other women, and Dolly, who had been eating their dinner, looked around at this and saw the guard fumbling with his belt. The young lecturer was shocked at the size and girth of the member which sprung from its hiding place and pointed directly into her face. As she hesitated, the guard reached through the bars, and grabbed a handful of her red hair. He steered her forward and, as she opened her mouth, pulled her onto his shaft until she was gagging on it. Rebecca, unfamiliar with the techniques of the blowjob, spent her time fighting for breath and trying to stop herself from throwing up as the guard tried to force himself into her throat. He loved the way his cock glistened with her saliva, and he pulled it all the way out, until her soft lips were resting on the engorged head, before plunging it back in. He pulled her head forward until he felt the back of her throat squeezing down and her tongue was forced to slide down the full length of his erection.

When he finally came, it was explosive. Rebecca couldn’t believe the amount of cum spurting into her mouth and, despite her swallowing as much and as quickly as she could, it still escaped past her lips and dribbled down her chin. When the guard pulled her head back, he must have known he wasn’t finished and so the spurts onto her face were entirely deliberate. He always liked to see his cum on a woman’s face, especially when she was handcuffed and naked. Having satisfied himself, he pushed the woman away and fastened his uniform.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said gruffly, before leaving Rebecca where she lay. If she had been a cynic, she would have thought she had just been conned, but she was sure he really would try his best to help.

- o O o –

Her optimism was rewarded an hour later when the guard returned and took her out of the cell. They went upstairs and Rebecca found herself standing in front of the desk of the chief of police, still naked, still cuffed, still being stared at hungrily. She was getting used to it by now and, being a practical girl, stayed focused on getting out and on with her expedition.

“Please, sir,” she began, feeling a little humility had worked before so deciding to try it again, “I really need to get my case dealt with and get out of here as soon as possible. Is there anything you can do to help me? Please?”

The chief, who had been checking her out since she’d walked in, and wondering about the dried cum on her body and face, certainly had a few ideas about what she could do…

“I can maybe get you some time with the judge,” he replied, “of course, I’d be taking a risk there, I’m not sure, maybe you could give me an incentive…”

“What sort of incentive?” she asked, a little less blankly than before. The chief smiled a not-entirely-friendly smile.

“I love my wife, see, but she will just not do anal…”

“Oh.” Even Rebecca could get the implication of that remark. She didn’t ‘do’ anal either, but she had to get out of there…

Slowly she nodded her head, and the chief eagerly came around the desk, pushing her down across his papers, scattering pens and paper clips in all directions. She soon felt his bare thighs against her own, and the head of his penis pressing against her anus. She let out a cry as he forced her sphincter to open to accommodate the head of his cock, but he reached forward and pushed a dirty handkerchief deep into her mouth, stifling any further protests. She felt completely violated as he thrust deep inside her, whilst grabbing her long red hair and pulling her back onto his shaft. He loved the tightness of her rectum, the feel of her plump buttocks against his balls, and her muffled, anguished cries as he drove into her, hard and fast. It was mercifully quick, and suddenly she felt his hot seed pumping inside her. He collapsed onto her, suddenly wearied by his efforts. He was also suddenly weary of her, and called for the guard to return her to the cells.

Rebecca was in a daze as she was dragged back down and thrust back into the cell. It was only at that point she realised he had put her in the opposite cell, with the men.

“Er, excuse me, there seems to have been a mistake,” she said, but the guard just smiled at her through the bars, and watched as they grabbed and groped her. They quickly arranged her and themselves so that they could all fuck her at the same time. Rebecca could do nothing but fight for breath and hope it wouldn’t take too long before she was able to see the judge.

- o O o – “Is there anything your wife doesn’t do that I could help you with?”

The judge looked at the filthy, naked American woman in front of him and wondered what she was talking about. He was still struggling to believe that this very attractive, but apparently sex-mad woman was a professor at a genuine American university. Meanwhile, Rebecca was embarrassed, not by her nudity, but by the disgusting state of her body, with strings of cum hanging from her hair, and stinking brown liquid dribbling down her thighs.

“I am not married, Professor Longale. Now, as I read the charges and the evidence, you face a minimum of 30 days in prison – it seems an open and shut case, although I will keep an open mind until your hearing at the end of the week.”

“I can’t afford to spend all that time not getting on with my expedition, sir – that’s more than half my time in your country. Please, is there anything you can do?”

“Well, I suppose a custodial punishment could be replaced by a corporal one.”

“I’m sorry?”

“There is an old law from colonial rule, never repealed, that allows for corporal punishment to be used for certain misdemeanours. Such a sentence has not been passed for fifty years, but if you insist…”

“Oh.” Rebecca felt scared by the implication of that remark. She didn’t ‘do’ pain, but…

- o O o –

The midday sun was burning Professor Longale’s fair skin as she hung by her wrists from the whipping frame. She was embarrassed by her nudity now, because a large crowd had gathered to witness the execution of the ancient sentence of a public flogging. They appreciated the sight before them of the naked American academic, bound spread-eagled to the wooden frame mounted on the temporary platform erected in the market square.

Rebecca was wondering if she had made the wrong decision to opt to be flogged as she watched the man who would deliver the punishment mount the platform. He was masked but bare-chested, and his arms and torso rippled with muscles. He came up to Rebecca and jammed a piece of wood between her teeth, before tying it in place so she couldn’t spit it out. She thought it was to ensure she didn’t bite her tongue, but it could equally have just been to humiliate her further as, pretty soon, saliva was drooling out of her mouth and dripping onto her body.

The crowd cheered as the ‘executioner’ showed them, and Rebecca, the flogger he would use – a black handle with a dozen leather fronds, each ending in knots, just to ensure the maximum impact. Rebecca was certainly having second thoughts now, but it was rather more than too late. She suddenly realised she had no idea how long the flogging was going to last – there had been no mention that she had heard of a prescribed number of strokes, this could go on indefinitely. The man in the mask theatrically warmed up for his performance, probably the only flogging he would ever deliver, and he intended to make the most of it.

As the leather hit her skin, Rebecca screamed at the searing pain across her back. The second lash went back the other way, across her shoulders as had the first, and drew another heart-rending scream from her. The beating gradually moved down her body to her buttocks, but the agony was just as great. Rebecca writhed and struggled in her bonds as she screamed piteously, providing great entertainment for the crowd, who loved that they were seeing an American woman tortured in this way – they had been taught from an early age to resent American influence on their culture, and this seemed like a little payback.

Rebecca didn’t believe it could get any worse, but it did. Now he moved around to land blows on her front – across her breasts, on her stomach, and, finally, aimed at her pussy. She was in a world of pain, every part of her seemed to be screaming at her for relief, but the leather fronds kept seeking out her most sensitive parts and delivering pain in violent bursts.

Eventually, she hung limply from the ropes, no longer able to resist, without the energy to scream, until, at last, she was untied and slumped on to the platform, completely spent. She was dragged away and left in the shade to recover, her punishment served, and so she was of no further interest to the authorities. The crowd gradually dispersed, and Rebecca was finally able to drag herself to her feet and stagger back to the IUCN office. Pierre, having watched her very public suffering with unconcealed relish, had not expected to see her again.

“I believe you still have my expedition gear? And my clothes?” she managed to say without either collapsing or bursting into tears. The bureaucrat, seeing the ugly welts criss-crossing her body and stunned by her resilience, fetched her things from the back room where he had thrown them the previous day. The redhead pulled her clothes carefully over her bruised and reddened skin, and took her rucksack out into the road.

Ever the optimist, Professor Longale had already classified her experiences over the last 24 hours as ‘a little local difficulty’ and put it down to ‘experience’. After a refreshing cold shower and liberal application of a soothing balm to her wounds, ‘Safari Girl’ was finally ready to begin her expedition into the uncharted depths of the Amazon!

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 3 : Uncivilized

Professor Longale’s first task of the day was to interview and retain the services of a top-class local guide, who knew the terrain and the local tribes. She had been recommended to one particular man, and she could understand why.

Daniel Otago had eight languages – fluent in English, French and Spanish, he also knew five of the local tribal dialects – and knew the rainforest she would be exploring like the back of his hand. He also had certain physical qualities which the young academic could not ignore, although her interest was entirely practical, rather than sexual.

Descended from escaped slaves, Otago stood 6 foot 8 inches tall and was well-built, with toned muscles and a washboard-firm set of abs. His jet-black skin glistened, as if it had been oiled, and his eyes seemed to almost literally sparkle with suppressed laughter. He wore loose-fitting knee-length shorts when he met Rebecca, and she detected a distinct presence lying hidden – just – within them.

He was also extremely charming, which the earnest young botanist suspected would be very useful when negotiating passage from local tribes, who would be suspicious as well as superstitious. His charms, of course, would not work on her!

For his own part, Otago resented having to work for these academic dilettantes, glorified tourists, who were generally dull company, always got themselves into trouble and never paid very well. However, he found his prospective employer extremely attractive, and looked forward to fucking her pretty soon. He had not yet met the woman who could resist his patter – he could seduce a woman in any of his eight languages – and most women surrendered themselves before he’d even opened his mouth or exercised his silver tongue, using language or any of its other ‘skills’. He gave the American two days, three at most, before she was begging for it. And he had a few interesting ideas of what he would do with her once she was begging.

Rebecca spent the rest of the day buying essential supplies – bandages and sticking plaster for emergencies, shiny beads and whisky miniatures for bribing – and then checked into the town’s only hotel for one last night of luxury before two months in the ‘jungle’.

She said goodnight to the guide and went up to her room, intent on getting a good night’s sleep before a dawn start. She didn’t normally use sleeping pills, partly because she disapproved of the overuse of modern medicines, but mainly because of the very weird dreams they made her have. But needs must – she didn’t ‘do’ high-grade pharmaceuticals, but she needed her sleep…

- o O o –

She was sunbathing on a Caribbean beach in a very revealing bikini, so she knew it must be a dream – she didn’t ‘do’ sunbathing or beach holidays, she didn’t wear thongs or drink cocktails, but she was now. She was surrounded by lackeys, buffing her nails, massaging her feet, and rubbing tanning oil on her back. The dream seemed to be perfect, but into every dream a little nightmare must come…

Suddenly, the beach was covered with horses and riders, people running in every direction and screaming, beautiful semi-naked women being caught in nets and molested…

Rebecca was running too, trying to escape the white slavers. There was one horse chasing her, and on it sat Otago, lasso whirling above his head. He threw the lasso, she saw it sail over her head, then, with a jolt, the rope snapped tight around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides and bringing her crashing down onto the hot sand. In an instant, he was standing beside her, grabbing her hair and pulling her up onto her knees. With a flick of his wrist, the rope magically twisted around her, binding her from neck to thigh, and forming a crotch rope which dug painfully into her tender flesh.

“What do you want with me?” she asked fearfully, looking up into his smiling face.

“You tell me,” he replied, “it’s your dream. Maybe you want a piece of this?” As he said this, he pulled his loincloth to one side, like a curtain, to reveal…

If she hadn’t known before, Rebecca certainly knew it was a dream now – no-one could be that big in real life, surely? Suddenly, he was pulling her head forward, and down, down onto the impossibly long, thick shaft of his cock. She felt it part her lips, stretching her mouth wide, pushing to the back of her throat. She swallowed, and the stiff member was in her throat, pushing further and further into her…

Rebecca woke with a violent start, fighting for breath as her tongue blocked her airway. She was bathed in sweat, her wet hair plastered across her face, and the material of her silk pyjamas soaked and wedged up into her labia, displaying a perfect ‘cameltoe’.

She lay on the bed, trying to bring her heart rate down and work out what the hell that dream was supposed to mean. Eventually, she gave up, crawled out of bed, and got into the shower. For the first time in a very long time, she masturbated to an intense, but stifled, orgasm.

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 4 : In Harm’s Way

Day one of the true expedition, and the Professor was thrilled to start off with a major discovery. It didn’t come without a certain amount of struggle, but then she had always known she would have to fight to survive in the highly competitive world of academia.

They had spent the morning trekking into the interior, and Rebecca was surprised that only a couple of hours of hiking from their outpost of civilisation led them deep into untouched, unexplored rainforest. She was grateful for the presence of her guide, Otago, as otherwise she would be completely lost.

They had made camp and Otago had set out to find wood for a fire, while she had gone to collect edible roots and plants for a meal. However, she was a botanist, so she was going to take any opportunity for making new discoveries.

She was grubbing about at the base of a tree, in hot pursuit of what she suspected would be a rare but delicious truffle, when she spotted, a few feet away, a beautiful white flower which she was sure she didn’t recognise. Eagerly, she crawled over and examined it in more detail. Her excitement grew as she realised it was an entirely new species, and she leaned forward to smell its scent. Everything then seemed to happen very quickly.

As she reached out to cup it in her hands, there was a loud pop, a puff of dust, and a thin creeper sprang explosively from just below the bloom. The creeper coiled itself around her arms and contracted, effectively binding her wrists and dragging them down towards the ground and away from the petals she had been reaching out for. After her initial shock, Rebecca was delighted by her discovery of such an impressive defence mechanism. But things were about to get a lot more ‘interesting’.

The ground beneath and around her seemed to be shifting, and she was flipped onto her back. Suddenly, a mass of long, green tentacles erupted from the disturbed soil and began thrashing blindly about. One touched her leg, and immediately entwined itself around her ankle, pulling it away from her body in an unbreakable grip. The other leg had a second tentacle wrapped around its length and was being held up in the air. With each leg being pulled in completely different directions, her thighs were spread wide, making her hamstrings twang. With her arms still held by the creeper, she was effectively powerless to fight or escape the attack.

A curious mental compartmentalisation always overtook Rebecca when placed in an extreme stress position such as this. The emotional part of her brain dealt with panicking, involving screaming, crying and thrashing uselessly. Another portion dealt with the practicalities of survival – trying to get herself free, or at least to stay alive. The analytical area of her brain dispassionately viewed the events as if they were occurring to someone else, recalling what she might know about the current situation, and ‘logging’ new observations for later review and documentation.

So, emotionally, she was terrified. She was alternately screaming, and shouting for help, while tears ran down her cheeks.

Practically, she knew she was in real trouble. Her screams and cries were unlikely to reach Otago – the dense undergrowth deadened and soaked up any sound, so he would have had to be less than a hundred yards away to hear her – and the chances of anyone else being close by were vanishingly small. If her hands had been free, she would have been able to reach down to the hunting knife strapped to her boot, and give this monster a run for its money. But her hands were not free, and she was helpless.

Analytically, she had already managed to identify the creature attacking her. It was known colloquially as a ‘land octopus’ – badly named, as it happens, as it was not related to the true octopus, and had nine appendages, not eight – and was an ambush predator. What Rebecca realised was that she was observing for the first time – and at first hand –the symbiotic relationship between the plant she had been examining, and the animal which now held her in its vice-like grip. The plant attracted prey for the predator, while the animal supplied protection to the plant. This was a huge scientific breakthrough – if only she could live long enough to write it up!

The land octopus, having secured its prey, was now exploring it to find out exactly what it had caught. Rebecca remembered that it had virtually no senses other than touch, vibration- and heat-senses – as a largely subterranean dweller, it had no eyes or ears, and a very poor sense of smell. Rebecca felt the tentacles, which had strange little mouths filled with razor sharp teeth, ripping at her ‘flesh’, which, at least for now, was represented by her clothes. Her shorts were soon full of holes, her shirt had lost both sleeves, and her white camisole had literally been torn to shreds. Soon the tentacles were attacking her body, biting at her skin, grabbing hunks of her hair and ripping them out of her head. This was painful enough, but when she felt teeth sink into her buttock, she squealed in pain. Soon though, just pain was a pleasant memory, as one of the tentacles encircled her right breast and its mouth clamped onto her nipple. She felt the teeth sink into the skin around her areola, and, as she screamed in agony, she was sure it was about to bite off the entire nipple.

Suddenly, the nature of the attack changed. With her shorts now destroyed, and her panties having offered only token resistance, Rebecca’s eyes widened in horror as she felt a tentacle thrust, forcefully, into her anal passage. Moments later, this was followed by a similarly violent assault into her vagina, penetrating deep inside the helpless young woman. As she opened her mouth to scream, a third protuberance forced its way between her lips, making her gag as it too dived deep inside. She fought for breath as she waited to be eaten alive, from inside as well as out.

But that was not how things progressed. She realised that the three intrusive tentacles, while writhing and thrusting painfully inside her, were not tearing at her internal organs. Also, those roaming over her nearly naked body had stopped biting at her flesh, although she was held as tightly as before. She couldn’t understand what was now happening.

Then a long-forgotten factoid came swimming into her mind – the male land octopus was unique in the animal kingdom for having three ‘penises’ – false tentacles used to deliver packets of sperm into the female’s three vaginal openings. To her dismay, it dawned on her that the creature was no longer trying to eat her, but was trying to mate with her!

Again, there was a three-way split in her brain. Intellectually, she was fascinated by this ‘false coitus’ behaviour, knowing it was not unique in nature. Practically, she knew that, while she was no longer going to be eaten, she could easily be suffocated. Emotionally, she was completely freaked out by being fucked in all three holes by this monster from her worst nightmare.

As she fought to suck in air around the slime-covered intruder which was pressing against the back of her throat and threatening to choke her to death, Rebecca suddenly felt all three false tentacles begin to vibrate at high speed inside her. At the same moment, the teeth of one of the other tentacles grazed against her clitoris, exposed by the extreme stretch imposed on her body by the creature. Rebecca had always had an incredibly sensitive clit, and all of the strange, and disgusting, activity of the octopus seemed to combine to drive her to a screaming orgasm. Only moments later, the octopus began to ejaculate, squirting its packets of sperm into its ‘mate’ through all three orifices simultaneously.

Having already been deprived of oxygen for too long, Rebecca was sure she would now drown as she tried to breathe as the stinking slime was pumped into her throat. She was about to pass out when the tentacle withdrew just far enough for her to turn her head, cough violently, and vomit the contents of her stomach onto the ground beside her.

Its purpose now satisfied, the land octopus quickly withdrew all its appendages and melted back into the ground. The creeper around Professor Longale’s wrists also uncoiled and was repacked, ready for the next victim.

The young academic crawled away and lay there, panting, staring up at the canopy above her, and trying to come to terms with what had just happened. The terror and the adrenaline soon receded, to leave her with just a sense of wonder at the mysteries of nature, and of gratitude at having been a witness to it all.

All that remained was to retrieve the specimen bottles she had brought in the pockets of her now-ruined shorts, and very carefully collect samples of the creature’s semen and the plant’s seeds. Then she collected the remnants of her clothes, staggered back to camp, and wrote up her expedition log. What a start!

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 8 : Scrumptious

Rebecca was much more cautious for the next few days. She stayed close to the camp, and always within earshot of her guide. Now, she found his physical presence reassuring – he looked like he could wrestle a land octopus with one hand tied behind his back.

This didn’t reduce her work rate though, cataloguing all the rare species in the vicinity. After four days, she had completed her survey, so they broke camp and trekked further into the forest. Four hours later, they reached their destination, hot, sweaty, and exhausted.

They set up the camp and Otago flaked out on his camp bed, while Rebecca headed for the nearby stream to wash before she too would have a well-deserved nap. She knelt down by the bank, leaned forward, and splashed the cool refreshing water into her face and onto her neck. God, that felt good! She splashed herself liberally, not caring that her camisole was soaked, clinging, and semi-transparent – no-one was watching. She moved back and sat with her back against a very thick tree trunk, trying to drag a brush through her knotty hair.

As she leant forward to tie her bootlace, she felt something heavy fall onto her shoulders, and tried to brush it off. A second later, a huge coil fell around her neck and squeezed. Rebecca clawed at what she now knew was the giant reptile trying to choke the life out of her. As she fought for breath, the enormous snake dropped another three coils around her body, pinning her arms to her sides.

This was Eunectes murinus, her analytical brain told her – her emotional brain having run away in abject terror, and her practical brain having given up and accepted she was going to die – commonly known as the Anaconda. She wondered if it was just an average specimen of maybe 20 feet, or a giant at 40 feet – not that it mattered too much, she thought dispassionately, it would be easily capable of killing and devouring her.

Contrary to popular belief, it would not crush her to death, breaking her bones and her body, but constrict around her body to prevent her expanding her lungs to take on more air. If she breathed out, it would tighten further so the air couldn’t be replaced. She wondered how long it would take to die – not too long, she decided.

But what the snake did next awoke the terror once more. Her world suddenly became dark, and she realised it was not going to wait for her to expire. It had dislocated its jaw so that its head could fit over her own – it was going to swallow her whole, while she was still alive!

Now all she wanted to do was faint, to become unconscious, to stop experiencing this horror. As the monster adjusted its grip on her, she felt something brush against her numb fingers and, instinctively, she grabbed at it. With a last, faint flickering of hope, she realised it was the hilt of her hunting knife and, as the blackness started to overwhelm her, she lashed around frantically and blindly. Through a stroke of blind luck, the blade missed her own body and sank deep into the giant reptile’s flank. Its reaction to this totally unprecedented reversal was to loosen its grip slightly, allowing Rebecca to suck in a much-needed breath, albeit from inside the snake’s body, as it had already ‘swallowed’ her up to her waist.

She stabbed randomly again, and was rewarded with a shaft of sunlight and a breath of sweet air as the snake, in a state of confusion, retreated back into the forest to find some food which didn’t fight back.

Finally able to fill her lungs again, Rebecca took the opportunity to scream as loud and as long as she could, until Otago raced to her. He grabbed the hysterical woman and held her against him until her screams subsided to heaving sobs. She clutched at him, hanging on tightly every time he tried to extricate himself, pressing her body into him until he started to respond with a burgeoning erection.

She was traumatised, vulnerable, clinging and, apparently, covered in snake spit – the perfect time to hit on her! Otago smiled to himself – it had only been a matter of time before the dumb American had got herself into trouble and now here she was in his arms. Confident that she was his, he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, caressing her breast through the camisole. He was genuinely surprised when she didn’t kiss him back, but pulled away.

“I’m sorry, Daniel, I’m not that sort of girl,” she said primly.

What the hell? Was she gay? Was she frigid? Did she think she was too good for him? Otago couldn’t believe he had been rejected by the young academic, and spent the rest of the day wandering about in a daze. He was really starting to dislike this woman, seeing her rejection as a threat to his whole self-image. If she didn’t start to come around soon, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands…

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 15 : Suppertime

For the next week, her confidence shot by the snake attack, Rebecca would not let Otago out of her sight, scurrying after him every time he went to leave the clearing in which they were camping. This became embarrassing when he wanted a little privacy to go to the toilet, or to relieve the natural tension which built up when a red-blooded, heterosexual man spent time in close proximity with a very attractive woman. What really riled him was that, every time he tried to make a move on her, she politely refused. Disbelief had turned to dislike, and was slowly degenerating into hatred.

Eventually, Rebecca’s insatiable curiosity overcame her fear and she began exploring again, seeking out the unusual and the rare in the surrounding rainforest.

And there was so much to find! She was not an expert on insects, but she was sure she had seen many species unknown to science. There seemed to be a tendency towards gigantism in their current location – earwigs six inches long, ants the size of walnuts, centipedes two or three feet long! She wondered if it was something in the environment – more nutrients maybe, or a specific mineral content, perhaps even a greater concentration of oxygen in the atmosphere.

Of course, the professor was desperate to observe the same effect in the local flora, and, almost two weeks into the expedition, she got her wish. She had been crawling through the undergrowth, following a particularly promising creeper, when the ground started to fall away beneath her. She carefully proceeded down the steep slope on her hands and knees, but she started to slip and slide on the loose, wet earth. Suddenly the ground underneath her disappeared altogether and she was falling, falling into the abyss.

Thankfully, she came to a soft landing. When she had recovered from the shock and got her breath back, she saw that she was lying on what looked like the petals of some kind of lily pad, although there was no water around. The surface she was lying on was slightly sticky, although it was not a problem to move. Across the surface of the pad, she saw hair-like protuberances, and around the edge, longer tendrils fanned out in a beautiful display.

As she took all this in, she tried to identify the species of plant, but her conclusion seemed to be ridiculous – if she was right, this plant was at least a hundred times larger than the species known to science, Dionaea muscipula, better known as the Venus Flytrap. The Venus Flytrap was a carnivorous plant, which fed on insects and spiders. If this was the same genus, she realised it must feed on much larger animals – birds, forest pigs, monkeys … humans?

She knew she was in terrible danger, but if she kept still, she would be okay. The trap was triggered by its prey bending back one of the ‘hairs’ she could see across the surface of the leaf, and then hitting a second hair within 20 seconds. With care, she could get out of this.

She slowly sat up and examined her situation in more detail. She had fallen almost exactly in the middle of the ‘trap’ formed by two leaves, joined by a hinge, on which she was sitting. This had been very lucky, as there were no trigger hairs along the hinge, but she was disconcerted by the number of hairs around her – it was going to be very difficult to get off the plant without triggering the trap.

Looking up for some way off the pad, Rebecca saw a vine hanging above her and thought that, if she could reach it, maybe she could pull herself to safety. Cautiously, she got to her feet, making the plant below her sway alarmingly. The vine was still several feet above her. Very carefully, she began to ‘bounce’ on the leaf as you would on a trampoline, getting the thing to sway up and down. Feeling incredibly nervous, she screwed up her courage and, at the apogee of the swing, jumped up and grabbed the creeper. As the leaf swung down below her, she was left hanging about six feet above the trap. Now all she had to do was pull herself along the vine until she reached a place where she could drop safely to the ground.

As she swung herself away towards safety, she suddenly stopped, staring in front of her, along the creeper – except, by the size of the spider heading in her direction, it wasn’t a creeper, but spider silk.

Rebecca hated spiders. She knew it was irrational, she knew it was a cliché, but it was just a fact. And this one deserved her fear – its abdomen was nearly a foot across, and the legs would give it a three or four foot span. But what terrified the young botanist were the eyes – two large, black orbs, a row of four smaller ones, all glistening, oozing cold, unblinking menace. She risked taking a hand off the silk rope and grabbed the knife out of its scabbard strapped to her boot. She managed to get hold of the strand above her with the knife handle in her grasp, and stared at the arachnid as it approached.

The spider tried to grab at the hanging woman with its front two legs, keeping its head and body out of range as Rebecca slashed wildly to keep it back. The panic was not far below the surface, and when her arm was raked by the sharp claw at the end of the leg waving at her, she lost her grip on the knife hilt and watched in horror as her only weapon fell into the void. She saw it hit the leaf below her, bounce, skitter off the leathery surface, and disappear from sight. Her heart sank.

So now she faced a choice – almost certain death in the giant Venus Flytrap below her, or facing the spider in front of her. The spider might bite her, wrap her in silk, save her to be devoured later. It was not a fate she could contemplate, and she let go of the strand and dropped, aiming to land in the ‘safe’ zone of the plant from which she had started.

She almost made it. Her foot landed on one of the trigger hairs, but that didn’t cause the trap to close. She fought to keep her balance and stay on the hinge between the two leaves, but it was a fight she couldn’t win. She toppled to her side, sitting down heavily, and hitting the second hair.

The Venus Flytrap closes in approximately 0.1 seconds. This oversized relative wasn’t much slower, and Rebecca found herself sitting inside the green walls of the trap. Above her, the tendrils around the mouth of the opening meshed together to imprison her, and despite her attempts to keep them apart with her feet, they gradually pulled together, reducing the size of the gap.

The desperate woman still had one chance. If she could get up to the rapidly disappearing gap, she could prise the two leaves apart and escape. But as she struggled to get off her back, she felt something slide around her waist and pull her back. She looked down and saw that a long, green tendril had appeared and now held her tightly, preventing her from making one last bid for freedom – clearly this was an adaptation by the large plant to subdue its more aggressive prey. With a howl of despair, Rebecca watched the daylight disappear, and she was left in the green half-light inside the trap. She pulled at, and struggled against, the tendril holding her down, but could find no give or slack. All she could do now was sit and wait to be digested.

It wasn’t long before the walls of her prison began to secrete digestive juices, which oozed around her and dripped down onto her, until she was completely drenched in the slime. She buttoned her shirt tight, rolled down her shorts and pulled up her socks to try and protect as much of her skin for as long as possible from the corrosive effects of the enzymes in which she had been marinated, but she knew that, unless she got out of there, she was going to be eaten alive, the nutrients in her body leeched away to feed the plant. A standard Venus Flytrap would take up to ten days to fully digest its prey and, while she knew she would be dead long before that, she faced a slow and agonising death.

The key to her escape was the creeper holding her down – if she could free herself of that, she had a chance. She felt along the length of it, wrapped around her waist, and tried to think logically. The plant had, presumably, evolved to prey on animals other than humans – its most likely sources of food were the huge insects, spiders, small to medium-sized mammals, birds. So, she reasoned, it wouldn’t have any specific adaptations for dealing with, say, opposable thumbs. Struggling against, biting or ripping the tendril wouldn’t work, but maybe gradually prising it off her would…

She worked at it patiently and slowly, trying to ignore the slime running down her face and neck, between her breasts, gradually starting to make her skin itch as it ate at her. Inch by inch, hour by hour, she eased the thing from her, only to have it repeatedly snap back as tight as when she’d started. She felt the tears of frustration and fear on her face, but she fought to stay calm and keep working at it. It was incredibly hot and stuffy in the pocket, and she felt as if she might faint, but the trap was clearly not airtight. She struggled on, refusing to admit defeat.

The urge to scratch became overpowering as the hours went by, and the annoying itch became a burning pain all over her body, but she knew she had to resist the urge – once she started scratching, she wouldn’t be able to stop until she had scratched the skin off altogether.

At last she had the creeper off her body, and slowly, carefully, she eased her way away from it. Suddenly it snapped back, almost capturing her arm, before it curled up tight around itself, leaving her finally free to work on freeing herself from the claustrophobic confines of the plant’s ‘stomach’. She braced her feet against one leaf and her back against the other, straining every muscle and sinew. Slowly, the two leaves parted as the hinge grudgingly gave way, and Rebecca got her first breath of fresh air and sight of the forest for many hours. It was raining, and she drank in the sweet drops of clean water gratefully and greedily.

Gradually, she forced the trap open far enough to squeeze out of it and, as it snapped shut again beneath her, she was able to drop down to the ground and to freedom!

Her priority now was to get the burning sludge off her body, and the rain provided the ideal rinse aid. She ran back to the camp, pitched in a clearing formed by a fallen tree and tore off her clothes, which were already falling apart, until she stood naked in the deluge, rubbing herself all over as if she was in the shower. She grabbed the bottles of fresh water they had and poured it over herself, rinsing her hair, rubbing herself all over to wash away the painful slime. She concentrated on those sensitive areas where the pain was the most intense, particularly her armpits, under her breasts, and between her legs and buttocks. She stood, legs spread wide, washing out the folds of her vagina, desperate to get rid of the terrible burning along the slit of her pussy, especially around her clitoris. She couldn’t stop herself moaning and yelping as she did this, and she wasn’t entirely sure if it was in pain or pleasure.

Eventually, Rebecca slumped to the ground, exhausted by her ordeal, finally feeling the burning sensation over every part of her body ease. She looked at what was left of her clothes – they had been reduced to rags – and then heard a slow handclapping coming from the other side of the clearing.

“That was a mighty fine show, Professor, thanks!”

She turned in surprise and, for once, embarrassment, to see Otago, the guide, sitting with his back to a tree, a tent-pole in his shorts, and a very, very broad grin on his face.

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 16 : Betrayed

Daniel Otago had taken just about as much as he could stand. He had spent over two weeks in close proximity with a drop-dead gorgeous woman in not too many clothes. He had tried all his best lines, all his best moves, and it wasn’t just that she’d rejected him, or ignored him, it was that most of the time she didn’t even seem to notice.

Her impromptu striptease the previous day had been the last straw. He hadn’t known that she had been coated in a very corrosive slime and needed to get it off her skin as quickly as possible – all he’d seen was her run into the clearing in front of him, rip her clothes off, and display her pussy to him in the most blatant way possible. When she had realised he was watching, she had been embarrassed for a few seconds, but then had not rushed to cover her naked body, seeming to take this as an opportunity to do away with the usual conventions and wander around in few, or no, clothes.

He wasn’t used to this – women tried to get him into bed, not the other way around. They would do anything, no matter how weird or kinky, if he’d just give them his sweet loving – even when it wasn’t that sweet. The truth was, he liked to treat his women mean, a little bondage (or a lot) never did anyone any harm, and he never had any shortage of volunteers for his little harem of slave girls.

Well, he wasn’t going to take it anymore. She obviously thought she was better than him, like some neo-colonial doling out the money. Well, he was going to get this stuck-up bitch to pay him some attention and play his little games, whether she wanted to or not. He came up with a plan – yes, it was cruel and sick, but now he felt she deserved it. After this, she would be desperate to please him any way she could, and for as long as he wanted.

Rebecca was just finishing up her morning routine when Otago ran back into the clearing in a state of excitement.

“Professor! You need to see this! I think I found a new type of orchid!”

The young academic dropped her hairbrush and jumped to her feet. She had a particular interest in orchids, so a new discovery would be tremendously exciting, and she followed her guide eagerly.

“Up there, in that tree,” Otago said, pointing up into the branches a few yards away. With her eyes fixed on the bloom ahead of her, Rebecca didn’t see where she was putting her feet. By the time she felt her boot sink into the ground up to her knee, it was already too late. She tried to plant her other foot and pull her leg out of the mire, but this just resulted in both her legs disappearing up to mid-thigh.

“Oh my God! Daniel, I’m stuck! Help me out, please! Daniel?”

As she turned to look at him, the smile told her everything. She realised that he had intended on her sinking there the whole time. She wondered how someone could be this horribly conniving.

“For God’s sake, Daniel! Please! Surely you’re not going to let me die here?!”

She begged for her life, but he seemed to just enjoy watching her struggle, even more so when she cried. He sat down on a rock and, as she sank up to her breasts, he started to tie knots in a rope.

“I’ll do anything, Daniel! Please, I don’t want to die here, like this! Just tell me what you want me to do!”

She was sure that he just meant to scare her and would eventually pull her out, but as the mud approached her face it seemed clear – he wanted her to drown.

He threw the end of the rope out across the quicksand, so that it landed near her hands. She struggled to twist around as the sucking ground reached her shoulders, and finally managed to grab the rope.

“Put the loops around your wrists,” Otago called over to her.

“What?!” Rebecca didn’t understand what he wanted.

“If you just hold the rope, your grip will not be strong enough to hold on when I pull you out,” he explained calmly, even coldly. “Put the nooses around your wrists and tighten them if you want to get out of there.”

Rebecca did as she had been told, even as her shoulders and upper arms disappeared from sight.

“So, things are going to be a little different if I pull you out,” Otago said, making no effort to pick up the rope. “You’re going to do everything I say, aren’t you, Professor?”

Rebecca couldn’t see him anymore, she was having to look up at the canopy to keep her chin above the surface.

“Yes! Yes! I’ll do whatever you want! Please!” As she said this, the mud closed over her head, and the only part of her still visible were her hands, clutching at thin air.

Satisfied that by now she must be scared out of her wits and convinced she was going to die, Otago threw the rope over a sturdy branch of the tree next to him and began to haul on it. Gradually, her mud-caked arms appeared above the surface, followed by the top of her head and, after about a minute or so of being submerged, her face. Otago smiled as he heard her gasping intake of breath, followed by hacking coughs, and he continued to pull on the rope until her whole body, covered in the slimy filth, had been extricated.

At last she was out of the mud pool, the muck dripping from her as she hung by her wrists, exhausted and traumatised. Otago tied off the rope to the tree trunk and examined his prize in more detail. He whipped her camisole up over her head, leaving it wrapped around her wrists, and caressed her impressively pert breasts, quickly bringing her nipples erect with his gentle touch. Once they were stiff, he grabbed them between thumb and forefinger, pinching hard.

“Ow! That hurts!” Rebecca complained. Having got the reaction he was looking for, Otago slapped her hard across the face.

“Okay, a few rules in our new ‘relationship’,” he said as he continued to fondle and squeeze her breasts. “First, you don’t speak unless I ask you a question or give you an order, understand?” Rebecca nodded, but this only earned her another slap across the face.

“Answer me, bitch!” Otago shouted as he pinched her nipples again.

“Yes! Yes I understand!” Rebecca replied desperately, squirming at the end of the rope trying to avoid his painful touch. But once again, he slapped her hard across the face, and she felt hot tears on her reddened cheek.

“You call me Master when you talk to me, understand?”

“Yes, Master!” she replied quickly as he raised his hand once more.

“Good!” Otago smiled as he caressed her cheek, enjoying the look of fear in her eyes as she flinched away from him, anticipating another slap. He was going to enjoy this one, as he realised how much more fun it was to subjugate the woman with fear than to have her offer herself to him willingly. His hands moved down across her mud-spattered waist to her belt, and he quickly stripped her of her shorts and panties. He wiped the mud away from her venus mound, savouring the soft curls of her ginger pubic hair. Unable to hold back any longer, he dropped his own shorts and revealed his very large and very stiff erection. Rebecca looked down in horror as he grabbed her thighs and spread them, ready to enter her.

“No! Please! It’s too big!” she whined. Otago took one hand off her leg and gripped her chin, pressing his fingers into her cheeks until she cried out in pain.

“You’re gonna take it, bitch, because your cunt is mine!” he hissed, flecks of spittle hitting her face as he literally spat the words at her. “And you’d better hope I think you’re a good fuck, ‘cause otherwise you’re going right back in the swamp and no-one’s gonna pull you out this time!” Rebecca saw the sparkle in his eyes and believed every word of the threat.

She screamed as he entered her, stretching her more than she thought possible. For his part, Otago loved the tightness of her hole squeezing down on his cock, and her cries of anguish and discomfort just added to his arousal. He bounced her up and down on his shaft, noting how her cries of pain gradually turned into moans of pleasure as she finally started to succumb to his handling. She had never been treated this roughly, and she had never responded as strongly as she was now. She cried out once more as he bent his head and bit her nipple, before sucking long and hard on her breast, ignoring the filth still smeared across her body. But now the pain seemed to only add to her arousal, and she realised that she was going to cum, whether she wanted to or not.

Otago thrust into her harder and faster as she danced on the end of the rope, screaming out her orgasm, throwing her whole body back until only the rope around her wrists and tied to the tree above her was preventing her from toppling backwards into the mire once more. Pleasure turned back to pain as she passed the point of climax, but he continued to bang her as hard as before. He knew he was hurting her, but he didn’t care – no, that wasn’t true, her discomfort and cries of pain were turning him on – as he approached his own orgasm. He grunted out a stifled cry as he spurted into her, filling her up with his milky cum, until he finally pulled out of her and collapsed on the ground. Rebecca hung limply from the rope, utterly spent, as his hot semen dribbled down her thigh, making tracks through the dirt on her smooth skin.

Yes, he thought as he watched the young woman swing gently before him, he was going to enjoy the Professor…

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 17 : For Her Life

Otago sat with his back to the tree, whittling away as he watched his slave work.

She was naked – of course – and still streaked with muck from her adventure in the quicksand the previous day – he liked her dirty, it seemed to be more humiliating. He also liked to see his dried semen on her body and in her hair, it marked her as his cum slut. Her wrists were tied behind her back and he had roped her ankles with a hobble of about 18 inches, so that she had to shuffle around and stretch awkwardly behind her as she carried out her chores. Her mouth was forced open by the two thick pieces of branch he had forced between her teeth and lashed together on either side of her tongue, trapping it and preventing her from talking intelligibly – yes, she was highly intelligent and a great conversationalist, but he didn’t want her for her linguistic skills, he’d rather see her drooling all down her front.

To prevent any ideas she might have of escape, and also to torture her further, Otago had picked out a good-sized rock and tied it to her waist, via a crotch rope, so that everywhere she went, she had to drag this weight with her, and every step pulled the rope painfully across the sensitive skin between her pussy lips.

Rebecca felt awful. Apart from the discomfort of the bondage in which she was held, she hated being dirty. Her hair, usually her pride and joy, with its long, lustrous, flowing auburn locks, was tangled and matted with dried mud and the results of Otago’s ejaculations over her the night before. She accepted that the price of her life had been to submit to his will and allow him to use her body as and when he desired, but this just seemed unnecessarily humiliating and painful. She could not really conceive that he was just sadistic and enjoyed watching her suffer, it didn’t fit into her experience or world view.

Somehow, she had to get free and get away from this madman. Her main problem was that, without him to guide her, she was completely lost in the rainforest and many, many miles from any possible help. Still, if she could get free, she could use her satellite phone to contact the outside world and organise her rescue.

Unfortunately, Otago also knew that all her hopes of rescue depended on the satellite phone. That’s why, later that morning, he took her back to the quagmire in which he had so nearly drowned her the day before. He could see the fear in her face as she thought he was going to push her in. He laughed as she shook her head and tried to talk around the splint in her mouth – he loved that she was now begging him to do what she had found so abhorrent the night before.

“Don’t worry, slut, I haven’t finished with your cunt yet,” he said mockingly, “but I think there are a few things we don’t need any more.”

He watched the look of horror on her face as he pulled the satellite phone and dish from her rucksack, let her shake her head, utter her wordless sounds, even shake her tits at him as some kind of offer of sex, then pitched them into the quicksand. Rebecca’s look of despair was accompanied by a pathetic howl as she watched her chances of survival sinking without trace.

But Otago wasn’t done. Rebecca felt sick to her stomach as he emptied her sample bottles and specimen jars and boxes on to the ground before her. The implication was clear, and it affected her even more than the loss of the phone – if she lost the specimens she had collected, as well as the ability to collect more, then the whole expedition was worthless, her place in the pantheon of scientific discovery lost. The prospect brought tears to her eyes, and she sank to her knees, trying to plead with the guide. Otago thought it might be amusing to hear what she had to say, so he released her tongue from its clamp and waited for her to work some life back into her jaw.

“Please…Master,” she said, swallowing her pride, “Don’t destroy those, I’ll do whatever do want, I’ll…I’ll suck your cock, Master.”

“Really?” Otago asked with a smile on his face, “The proud American professor, acting like a common whore? What would they say at SUNY? Have you ever given head before, slut?”

“No, Master,” she replied, ignoring the blowjob she’d been forced to give in prison – she wanted to forget that. “But tell me what you want me to do, I’m a quick learner.” He cupped her chin in his hand and looked into her dirty, tear-stained face.

“I’m sure you are, you filthy little slut. I like it down your throat, do you think you can manage that?”

“Yes, Master.” She watched as he dropped his shorts and his erection pointed directly at her face. Now that she saw it up close, it seemed frighteningly large, almost as big as she had dreamed when she had first met him. She couldn’t believe that her wet dream more than two weeks previously was about to come true. She felt his hand on her head, pulling her slowly but inexorably forward, until she parted her lips and took him into her mouth.

Otago had daydreamed about having her hot little mouth on his cock ever since he’d first met her, and he wasn’t disappointed by the reality. He let out an involuntary moan as her tongue moved over the head of his already-throbbing erection, and he rolled back his foreskin to maximise the sensation. He had to work hard at distracting himself so he didn’t cum too quickly, and he also gave himself a chance to calm down by pulling out of her mouth altogether for a few seconds, before sliding back in. He enjoyed the sight of her saliva on his cock, and a string joined the engorged head to her full lips. He was also impressed by the way she was straining forward against his hand to get him back into her mouth – she really was desperate to keep those stupid samples!

“Suck my balls,” he ordered, and Rebecca switched her attention to his testicles, taking each hairy appendage in turn into her mouth, licking and sucking in the hope that this was what he wanted. She need not have worried – her actions were exactly what he was looking for, and his scrotum tightened further in response.

“Lick it and tickle under the head with your tongue,” he breathed, struggling once again to control himself. As she did exactly what he’d told her, eager to please him, he let out a moan of appreciation. Now he pushed deep into her mouth, grateful to neutralise the exquisite torture of her tongue by trapping it beneath his shaft. He was rewarded by the sound and feeling of her gagging on his cock and retching as he pressed at the back of her throat. Now he pulled her onto him, forcing the head into her throat and closing her airway. He felt her starting to panic as she tried and failed to breathe, but he forced himself deeper, until his balls were against her chin and her nose was pressed into his pubic hair.

He couldn’t hold back any longer, and shot his load down her throat and into her mouth. She disliked the taste, but she’d had worse in some backstreet kitchens, and she endeavoured to swallow it all to please him. She even went so far as to lick his softening cock clean before letting it go.

“You’re pretty good at that, Professor,” he said as he fitted the clamp back into her mouth and around her tongue. She smiled gratefully as he scooped her equipment back into her rucksack, but then watched in horror and disbelief as he threw the bag into the mire, howling in protest as it slowly sank and disappeared.

“You won’t be needing those any more – you just passed the interview and qualified for the position of sex-toy and slave. It’s a full-time and permanent position…”

He watched as this sank in, and then laughed out loud at the look of shock on the American’s face. Then he dragged her to her feet and led her back to the camp.

- o O o -

The adjunct professor at the State University of New York’s College of Environmental Science and Forestry carried out her duties as sex-toy and slave over the next few days in a state of numb incomprehension. All realistic hope of escape or rescue had been squashed, and she was entirely dependent on Otago, her former guide and now her ‘Master’ – if he abandoned her out here, in this remote and uncharted territory, she would be utterly lost – and he showed no desire to return to civilisation or, if he did, to allow her to accompany him and risk prosecution.

So, she went about the menial tasks set her, which included fetching fresh water from the stream, collecting firewood, washing clothes, cooking meals and cleaning up. All of this had to be done with her wrists bound behind her back and dragging the rock around behind her. It also had to be fitted in around her main duty, which was to provide sexual relief to ‘Master’ whenever, wherever and however he chose. And he chose quite a lot, and quite a variety – Rebecca had never had so much sex in her life, and many of the positions were entirely new to her. She was getting used to giving head, and now had a much better control of her gag reflex. But she couldn’t cope with anal sex – every time Otago tried to take her there, she screamed in such agony that he would give up and settle for fucking her doggy-style.

She was also having a real problem with ‘normal’ sex. She had never been particularly interested in sex, either when she was going through puberty (she didn’t masturbate) or even with early boyfriends – apart from being labelled a nerd, she also got a reputation for being frigid. When she did do it, she didn’t get a lot out of it, as her lovers were not particularly adept, and she was happy to get it over with and go back to her homework.

But now, she was having orgasms every time she was being fucked, and in whatever position – Otago took a lot of pride in making his women squeal when they came, it stoked his ego. And she was developing a taste for it. She felt terribly guilty that she was beginning to look forward to being ‘raped’. She did seem to be, in her mind, becoming the slut that he kept calling her.

For Otago, everything was perfect. He’d always had to compromise on his treatment of women before – social conventions, the limits of the women, other calls on their time, even the laws of the land, all constrained just how far he could go in feeding his sadistic as well as sexual proclivities. Out here, there were no such constraints – his sex-toy had no option but to accede to his every whim and desire, and there was no society or police force to hold him back. He wasn’t in a rush – he had as long as he wanted to take to get everything he needed out of the American, and when she was spent or he became tired of her, he could dispose of her and move on to pastures new.

Everything was perfect, that is, except anal. He liked anal – physically, he liked the tightness, psychologically it broke a taboo and degraded the woman further, especially when he made them lick his cock clean afterwards. The problem was, while he didn’t worry about hurting Rebecca – he enjoyed that – he was worried he might rip her, she might get an infection and die, depriving him of his fuck toy and camp slave. What she needed was some stretching exercises.

Rebecca had no idea what it was when he showed her the results of his whittling. It looked like a series of balls on a stick, each one bigger than the one above it. He had tied her in a strappado, her arms pulled up behind her, forcing her to bend double, and her legs wide apart, ankles lashed to a branch he had broken off and was using as a spreader bar.

He went around behind her, and she felt him part her pussy lips and push the end of the strange stick into her. She let out a whine as the progressively larger balls were slid inside her until, as the fourth and final sphere went in, she cried out more forcefully at the discomfort – this was larger than his cock, and that was fat enough to cause her pain if she was not fully lubricated. She felt him pull it out and then insert it again, slowly, ensuring she felt every undulation in the rounded surfaces. In and out he pushed and pulled, until she was well-lubricated and becoming distinctly aroused. It seemed an oddly shaped dildo, and she couldn’t see what pleasure he was deriving from this, but she was definitely responding to it.

“No, Master! Please! No!!” she tried to cry out around the gag clamped on her tongue as she felt the dildo pulled from her dripping pussy and pressing against her anus. He had used her pussy merely to lubricate the thing and now its true purpose was clear. She shook her head and tried to pull away, but there was no mercy as Otago forced the first ball into her rectum. Her sphincter, having stretched to accommodate the diameter of the ball, now clamped down on the stick between the first two balls. Rebecca cried out as the second ball was now thrust in. The diameter of this one was slightly smaller than the diameter of his cock, but was much larger than anything she had taken up there before. Once again, her sphincter gratefully contracted around the stick between balls two and three, but Otago pulled the thing out until the second ball was exactly half way out, stretching her sphincter to the max again. He rocked the stick backwards and forwards between these two positions, making tears run down Rebecca’s face as she suffered the repeated agonies. Eventually, he got bored with this torture and left her there with her hole stretched out as he went off for an afternoon nap. It was a particularly uncomfortable two hours, as the ache in her shoulders and thighs joined the ache in her rectum to make her life miserable.

When he woke up, Otago let her out of her strappado, but kept the butt plug in place, pulling her wrists up her back so she couldn’t reach it. As she stood in front of him, he gave the stick another shove, making her squeal as the third ball was forced into her, briefly stretching her even more painfully, before it was clamped inside her. He smiled as he watched her waddle uncomfortably away.

Rebecca had to endure the butt plug for the next few days, gradually increasing the stretch of her sphincter muscle until she could take all four balls inside her – not comfortably, but at least without screaming. She was only free of it for the brief period during which she evacuated her bowels. Eventually, Otago decided she was now loose enough to take his cock and, much to her dismay, he tied her down across the fallen tree trunk in the clearing in preparation for her anal rape.

He lubricated his cock using her pussy juices, produced using the butt plug to get her going, then eased himself into her anal passage, enjoying the tightness as well as the protests coming from the tightly bound woman. Although she was by now able to cope physically with the penetration, it had exactly the psychological effect Otago wanted, which was to make her feel dirty and degraded. It was a thoroughly uncomfortable experience, made worse by him pumping his semen into her, then making her clean him afterwards, resulting in her being physically sick. Otago smiled to himself – the humiliation of the American bitch was proceeding well.

- o O o -

Having satisfied his anal fixation, the sadistic guide decided to increase his slave’s torment. He cut himself a good, flexible sapling as a switch, to whip her into shape and get her working harder. He lashed her on the buttocks, across the front of her thighs, and on the breasts, until Rebecca was constantly nervous and jumpy in case he was going to beat her again. It didn’t seem to matter how hard she worked or how much she did, he was never satisfied – which was not quite true. Once he had reduced her to a nervous wreck, he was satisfied. He didn’t care what she did, the punishment and her reaction to it were the end, not the means.

Building on the theme started with the clamp on her tongue, Otago next fashioned a clamp for her breasts – two pieces of wood, above and below her breasts, tied together at either side and between her breasts so that they squeezed them hard, squashing them and trapping the blood, turning them a violent shade of purple.

He found that thorns about three inches long, tied together with cotton, made perfectly functional nipple clamps and even a clit clamp. Thus adorned, the professor made an impressive sight as she struggled around the campsite, shoulders hunched and head bowed as she was forced to submit abjectly to her Master’s will.

All thoughts of escape had been driven from Rebecca’s mind – her constant bondage, day and night, the pain of the beatings, and her tiredness from too much work, not enough sleep and not enough food had reduced her to concentrating solely on survival.

So it came as a complete surprise when, about ten days into this phase of the expedition, she found herself freed of her bondage and handed her clothes.

“We’re moving camp,” Otago explained, “we’ve been in one place for too long. Now, get dressed – I don’t want you getting a scratch or standing on a rock and getting sick.”

Rebecca quickly pulled on her shorts, camisole, shirt, socks and boots, grateful to be covered for the first time in nearly two weeks. She even had her solar topee, which made her feel more like the intrepid explorer who had set out, rather than the pathetic slave to which she had been reduced.

Her pleasure was tempered by the knowledge that she was now dressed in all her worldly possessions – her spare clothes had already been destroyed, and her pyjamas and bedroll had joined her botanical equipment at the bottom of the quicksand pit. Now Otago tied a rope around her neck as a lead and a restraint to dissuade her from any attempt to escape as they trudged through the rainforest.

Otago led them into even more dense and remote areas, and Rebecca felt them climbing up into the hills. It was hard work and soon they were both bathed in sweat as they hacked their way through the thick undergrowth. After a couple of hours, the guide called a halt, and Rebecca flopped down on the ground, swigging from the proffered water bottle thirstily. Otago remained standing and looked nervously around, quickly ordering the tired woman back to her feet so they could carry on. She was about to get up when they were suddenly surrounded by a ring of spears, all pointing threateningly at them.

What Otago had feared had come to pass – one of the local tribes had discovered their camp and had then sent a hunting party to track them as they tried to escape across the tribal lands. There was some discussion among the warriors in their native language, which Rebecca didn’t understand, but the guide seemed to be following closely.

“They’re not sure what to do with us,” he explained, “it looks like they’re going to take us back to their village so the holy men can decide.”

A few minutes later, they were being carried through the thick jungle, swinging beneath poles to which they were tied at wrists and ankles. Rebecca wondered what fate awaited them when they arrived at the village…

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 28 : Delicacy

The captives were left sitting on the ground, their wrists and ankles tied to a pole in front of them, while the village elders discussed their fate in urgent whispers, with frequent glances at the huge black man and petite white woman. The discussion went on for a good thirty minutes before they finally came over and explained their decision to Otago. Rebecca felt very vulnerable at this point – she had no idea how the guide had described her to them, or what they were now saying to him. She hated to still be dependent on him, given the cruel way he had been treating her for the last ten days, but she had no choice other than to wait until he enlightened her.

She was encouraged when they were untied and helped to their feet.

“What’s the news?” she asked, rubbing her wrists.

“Well, there’s good news and bad news,” Otago said with a big grin on his face, giving Rebecca a sick feeling – if he was happy, it probably was bad news for her.

“The good news is that they’re not cannibals.”

“What’s the bad news?”

“They’ve decided you’re not human, so you’re going in the pot.”

“What?!” Rebecca exclaimed in disbelief. As she said this, two of the warriors grabbed her arms and bound her wrists together in front of her, with a rope made from creepers.

“It’s quite ironic, really,” Otago went on, still smiling broadly, “In the same way your white ancestors classified indigenous peoples as ‘sub-human’ so they could enslave or slaughter them, these fine people have never seen a white person before and they’ve come to the same conclusion as the conquistadors did when they arrived here – if you’re not one of us, we can do what we like to you. And what they want to do, it seems, is find out how you taste.”

“Oh my God!” Rebecca exclaimed in shock, then something struck her. “What about you?” The smile got a little broader.

“Apparently, they think I’m some kind of demi-god! Mind you, I can see where they might think that…”

Rebecca was being hustled across the village towards what she now saw was a gigantic pot, with steam rising from it.

“You have to tell them! Tell them I AM human! Daniel, please! …Master! What about your sex toy?!” Rebecca was struggling as she was dragged away, becoming more and more hysterical in her pleas.

“Well, I don’t want to jeopardise my position as demi-god,” Otago replied, “anyway, I’d be quite interested to see this.”

Rebecca was stunned – he wanted to see her boiled alive?! She’d realised he was sick, but not that sick.

She was forced down onto her knees and her ankles were tied to her thighs. Then the rope tying her wrists was thrown over the frame holding the giant cauldron and she was hauled up into the air. She continued to call out to Otago, begging him to intercede on her behalf, but he already had his arms around two native women, naked but for loin cloths and beads – he had moved on to his next conquests, so she was no longer important to him.

She hung over the steaming pot, thrashing and squirming to get free, but there was nothing she could do as she was lowered towards the bubbling broth. She looked down helplessly at the pot, seeing that it had already been stocked with vegetables and the local potatoes, all it needed now was the meat…

Her knees touched the surface first, and she let out a hideous scream as the piping hot water scalded her bare skin. Her screams seemed to become louder and ever more piteous as she sank into the bubbling liquid. Thankfully, as the water rose around her waist, she lost consciousness. Her suffering was over…

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 28 : Inhuman Nature

Consciousness seemed to return from a long way away for Rebecca, and she struggled to remember where she was or what was happening, all she could be sure of was that she hadn’t died. Then the searing pain of the cooking pot came back to her and she cried out in her semi-conscious state. What was confusing her now was that, although her legs were sore, she seemed to be getting much more pain from her wrists and arms. Carefully, she opened her eyes.

She was hanging by her wrists from a wooden frame, which explained the pains. Her feet were on the floor, but her legs had obviously not taken any of her weight while she was unconscious. She tried to stand now, but her ankles were tied to the posts of the frame, spreading her legs wide, preventing her from taking the strain off her arms, so she continued to hang there.

She was naked once more, a state she was getting quite used to. As she looked down at her body, she could see a lobster-red band of skin from about mid-thigh down to mid-calf, and she realised this corresponded to the areas of bare skin which had been immersed in the near-boiling water. Her boots had obviously protected her lower legs and, to a lesser extent, her clothes had shielded her body, although she could feel an itchy tingling all the way up her body to her shoulders. She guessed she must have been pulled out before her head had gone under, otherwise she would have either drowned or her brain would have boiled. She wondered why she had been saved.

A beautiful young woman was on her knees before her, gently massaging her reddened skin with some kind of oil, which seemed to be easing the pain significantly. The woman was wearing bangles around her wrists and ankles, beads around her neck, and a loincloth just about covering her pussy, but apart from that she was naked. Rebecca admired her dark complexion, her flawless skin and the jet black hair streaming down her back, which seemed to shine with health and vitality. She felt embarrassed by her own ratty, tangled, filthy mess of hair, and longed to wash it.

Another, equally young and beautiful woman was behind her, and was also applying the oil, starting with her arms and working her way down. She worked the knots of tension out of the bound woman’s shoulders and felt her start to relax. Rebecca let out a moan of appreciation as the supple fingers worked their magic, then sucked in a deep breath as she felt them move down to her breasts, gently massaging them, working the oil into the soft flesh. Her moans became a little more vocal as her breasts were cupped and the fingers pinched and pulled her nipples until they were standing erect. She always enjoyed having her breasts toyed with, and the fact that it was another woman doing it, something she had never experienced, did not change the arousing effect.

She was rather startled to notice that the young woman kneeling in front of her was not stopping at the red line across her thigh, but was working the oil into her skin at the tops of her thighs and between her legs. Her slender fingers slid between Rebecca’s buttocks, smoothing the slick unguent into every nook and cranny. The academic became rather disconcerted as her body started to respond in the most primitive way to the sensuous touches it was receiving, especially as the questing fingers slid around the front to explore the folds of her already sensitive pussy.

Maybe it was that her body had become expectant of such stimulation over the past few days, or maybe it was the persistence with which the young native women ensured that every last inch of her should be coated with the healing balm, but the effect on Rebecca was electric. As she felt her pussy lips being parted, her breathing became shallow and she writhed in her bondage, unable to keep still. When the girl touched her clitoris, it was like star shells bursting in her head, and she couldn’t suppress a louder, gasping moan.

The girl must have known the effect she was having on the white woman, but she didn’t stop, massaging the swollen bud as Rebecca panted in the first throes of an orgasm. She didn’t want it to happen, not here, not now, but there was nothing she could do to stop it. She tried to pull away from those massaging fingers, but suddenly they were inside her, two, three fingers thrust up into her hot, wet vagina, seeking out and finding her G-spot, massaging, always massaging. Rebecca came hard, crying out in pain and intense pleasure, it was so strong. She was juddering as wave after wave came over her, dancing in the bondage, the noises coming from her animalistic in their raw intensity. As it finally subsided, she hung from the frame, spent and barely conscious.

From all around, there came a murmur of conversation. Wearily, the young professor raised her head and saw that the entire village – men, women and children – had just witnessed her orgasm, and were now discussing it with wives, friends or colleagues. She also saw Otago, still with a semi-naked young woman on each arm.

“Bravo, Professor!” he called out jovially, “I’m glad to see you are none the worse for your cooking experience.”

“Otago! What happened? Who rescued me?”

“You are looking at your saviour, right here!”

“You?!” Rebecca was astonished. “But you were happy to see me boiled alive!”

“Yes, but once you fainted, it became boring. So I used my status as god incarnate and had them haul you out. You’re so much more fun alive – as you’ve just proved!”

“But how? I thought they said I wasn’t human?”

“It turns out I’m kind of a fertility god, so I told them you were, okay, not human, but a sprite, kind of a fertility faerie, and cooking you would be very bad luck.”

“Well…thanks, I suppose.” She was rather nonplussed by this turn of events, but she had other questions.

“So, how come I’m being kept tied up? Didn’t you tell them that was bad luck too?”

“You’re a sprite,” the guide said jovially, as if this was an explanation, “I told them you might run away, being a fickle will-o-the-wisp creature and all. They must have decided they needed to keep you tied up so they don’t lose you. Anyway, I’ll leave you to bring luck to their hunting endeavours, I need to get on with my own godly duties.”

“What are you talking about?” Rebecca asked, completely lost.

“Okay,” Otago replied, as if explaining something to a child, “you ensure the fertility of their crops and the success of their hunters, which requires you to perform certain… duties, which will become apparent. I have to ensure the fertility of the tribe, which requires me to educate their women in certain… techniques.”

As he said this, he turned to one of the young women in his arms and bent his head to suck on her nipple, bringing a look of ecstasy to her face. He then got up and left the clearing, heading towards a hut with his women in tow. Rebecca called after him, hoping for more information, but he ignored her and disappeared inside.

She was now glistening from head to foot, every inch of her body covered in the oil, which seemed to have not only eased the pain of her burns, but also relaxed her – although that may have had more to do with the orgasm she had just enjoyed. The two young women, who seemed to have been detailed to look after Rebecca, untied her from the frame and led her into the clearing in the centre of the village. Here she saw that a large cage had been constructed from sturdy bamboo canes, large enough to hold a person, and it was clear that they intended to force her inside it. She tried to pull away from them but, despite being oiled up, their grip was surprisingly strong, and they had no trouble subduing her, before pushing her into the cage and locking it with a simple piece of bamboo through a loop of rope – simple but effective, as she couldn’t reach it from inside. The two women walked away and Rebecca was imprisoned – so much for the benefits of being regarded as a supernatural being by these people. Otago had made sure she would not be allowed freedom in her new role. She sat down on the ground and counted her blessings – at least she was still alive.

The two women – her acolytes, she decided cynically – returned with water, fruit and other marvellous things to eat, which they passed through the bars of her ‘mini-jail’. Rebecca ate greedily, realising just how hungry she was. She was a little disconcerted by the audience of villagers, young and old, who gathered to stare at the heavenly being who would be the source of success or failure of the tribe’s crops and the hunt, but she gradually got used to it. The worst thing was having to go to the toilet, as she had no way of asking them to let her out, and they seemed quite happy to watch her. The cage was quite large – big enough for her to lie down on the mattress of leaves they had provided down one side – and in one corner a hole had been dug. She assumed this was a latrine, and she ‘did her business’ there. As soon as she was finished, one of her ‘acolytes’ came across and cleaned it out, taking the mess away, presumably to wherever everyone else went – unless, she thought, her poo was somehow magical as well!

As well as a mattress – which told Rebecca she would be spending her nights here as well as her days – an area of shade had been provided, and she sat there as the afternoon sun blazed down on her. When the clouds burst and the rain came down hard, she moved onto the mattress, which was sheltered. While she was a curiosity for the children and passing adults to come and stare at, she was able to observe the comings and goings of the tribe, which kept her from becoming too bored. There were certainly a lot of comings and goings around the hut where Otago had taken up residence – a constant stream of young and stunningly attractive native women entered the hut and, sometimes hours later, emerged. As they went past Rebecca, she saw rope burns and cane stripes across their smooth skin, and occasionally gobbets of cum in shiny black hair or at the corner of a mouth. It seemed Otago’s godly duties coincided quite neatly with his own personal preferences. But universally, the girls who left the hut were all smiling broadly as they went past – clearly the sex must have been divine!

Night fell quickly in the forest, and torches and a large fire were lit around the clearing. Rebecca was relieved to see that, while the large cooking pot was placed on the fire, there was no move to put her, or anyone else, in it. Instead, a goat provided the meat in the stew, which she found very tasty, as she sat and ate with the villagers sitting around her cage eating ‘with’ her. It felt odd to be separate but included in the tribal activities, but not unpleasant. She regretted her inability to communicate with these good people, and cursed Otago for having given them such erroneous information about her. She was wasting expedition time sitting in this cage! She was sure that, if she could just get out and get the people to help her, she could get this expedition back on track and still meet her ultimate objective of bringing evidence of new plant species back to the outside world.

After the meal, there was an impressive display of tribal dancing, ten men and ten women, in scary masks, jewellery, feathers and not much else, performing a highly erotic routine in front of her and the rest of the tribe, accompanied by a driving beat and whoops and chants from the audience. Rebecca found herself clapping along and enjoying the spectacle.

She was surprised when the cage door was opened by her ‘handmaidens’ and she was pulled outside. She started to struggle and cry out, trying to attract her guide and translator, as her arms were pulled behind her back and bound together at the wrists and elbows. She was dragged, still protesting, into the circle of light and expectant faces, where she was forced to her knees and her legs frogtied, each ankle bound to its corresponding thigh, making it impossible for her to get up.

“What’s the problem, professor?” Otago had dragged himself from his own ‘duties’ to see what all the commotion was about.

“What’s going on?” Rebecca asked, an edge of panic in her voice. “Are they going to kill me?”

“Don’t worry, prof, this is just the ritual to ensure tomorrow’s hunt goes well. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it!” With that enigmatic comment, he retreated to his hut.

The ten tribal warriors, in their scary masks and shaking their spears, danced around the bound woman, singing and chanting. Suddenly, one of the men got down on his knees behind Rebecca and, without any preliminaries, thrust his hard erection deep into her. She let out a cry of pain and screwed up her face in anguish as he forced himself into her dry pussy, her breasts rubbing in the dirt as he humped her hard and fast. Thankfully, her own natural lubrication quickly kicked in, and she was soon crying out for other reasons. She felt him spurt inside her, and a moment later, he had withdrawn and got up off the ground.

Rebecca looked up at the men around her, half-fearing further assault, but also wantonly needing it, as she felt herself fully aroused but completely unsatisfied. She need not have worried as, moments later, she was crying out as she was once more filled. A second warrior buried himself up to the hilt in her now-eager pussy. Once again, the native managed to climax before she could reach her own orgasm, and the professor had to wait for the third of the group to penetrate her before she finally came. Of course, her own satisfaction did not halt the ritual, in which it was becoming clear that each of the men was going to take his turn with her.

Rebecca came to another panting climax with the fifth hunter, but from then on the whole thing became a painful assault rather than a pleasurable experience. By the end of it, she was lying in the dirt, exhausted and sore. She was untied and helped back into the cage, where her girls cleaned her up and applied the soothing ointment to her scuffs and bruises. Afterwards, she curled up into a ball on the leaf mattress, wondering if this was going to happen every night and, if so, whether she thought it was a good thing or not. She fell asleep before she reached any firm conclusion.

- o O o -

The hunting party set off before dawn the next morning. Rebecca hadn’t realised it, but she had to ‘wish them luck’ before they went. This involved her being dragged, only half-awake, from the cage by her minders, her arms being tied behind her as they had been the night before, and then she had to give each hunter a big, wet kiss on his penis as he thrust it in her face, whether limp, semi-erect or standing to attention, as several of them were. After this bewildering experience, she was allowed to go back to sleep for a couple of hours before the day started.

During the morning, the women of the tribe brought the food they were preparing for the meals that day to Rebecca in her cage. Through sign language and guesswork, she worked out they were looking for her blessing on the ingredients, and she duly obliged, with as much solemnity as she could muster. She took the opportunity to examine the fruits, vegetables and other plants they brought to see if there were any new species (disappointingly, there weren’t), and to weed out any which were less than perfect – she didn’t want to find out what they might do to her if the tribe went down with food poisoning.

After a pleasant lunch, eaten with her cage surrounded by children laughing and chatting away, Rebecca was once again tied to the frame and her body oiled by the two young women who doubled as masseuse and bodyguard. As before, this was keenly watched by a crowd of villagers, including the elders. Despite her best efforts to keep calm and detached, Rebecca was forced to orgasm by their exploring fingers, and was embarrassed by her passionate cries ringing around the clearing. When she finally came down from her orgasmic high, she saw the look of pride on the faces of the two women, and the approval shown by the elders for their work and her response.

The hunting party returned to the village in mid-afternoon, and there was much celebrating as they showed the results of a very successful hunting trip – it was clear to Rebecca that the tribe would eat well, and that they attributed their success to her. Although she couldn’t understand what they were saying to her, their pleasure and gratitude were obvious.

All through the meal that night, Rebecca became more and more nervous as she wondered whether she was going to be sexually assaulted as she had been the previous evening – did the hunting party go out every day, or would the success today mean they did not need to hunt for a while? As the wild, erotic dancing began, she was shocked to realise that what she was feeling was not nervous dread at the prospect of a repeat of the previous night, but nervous excitement – she was becoming aroused at the thought!

As she was dragged out into the circle of villagers and felt the ropes pulled tight around her wrists and elbows, her breathing became ragged and shallow as she anticipated what was about to happen. The hunters circled around her, the fierce masks concealing their lustful stares, although Rebecca’s own barely concealed lustful stare was at the parade of stiff male members in front her.

As the first of the hunters dropped down behind her and unceremoniously thrust himself into her, she let out a cry of passion rather than pain – she was already aroused enough to be almost dripping. Although she didn’t cum with the first of her partners for the evening, the second brought her to a screaming climax coincident with his own. She had another orgasm with the fourth man and then again with number six. Everything from that point on became a blur as exhaustion overtook her, until she felt herself being lifted up and carried back to the cage. By the time they had laid her down and untied her, she was fast asleep.

- o O o -

For the next week, Rebecca’s days followed the same pattern – being brought to orgasm in front of the villagers by her female guards during the afternoon, then being bound and fucked repeatedly before them again as a bizarre kind of after-dinner entertainment.

She saw very little of her former guide, although she and everyone else in the village frequently heard screams coming from his hut – clearly he was exercising his sadistic tendencies to the full with the young women of the tribe.

There was never an opportunity for Rebecca to escape – whenever she was outside the cage, she was held in bondage and under the watchful gaze of her guards. In the cage, even if her guards were not present, everyone in the village kept an eye on her. The only time she was alone and able to attempt to get the cage unlocked was at night, and she was usually too exhausted to even stay awake, let alone try to free herself.

So, as time went by, she found herself thinking less and less about getting free and resuming her expedition, as the hope of achieving this receded, and more and more thinking about sex – how it had felt the last time she came and, more importantly, when was she going to get it again! She had to consciously remind herself that she was a professor at an important university, dammit, not just some horny sex-toy for these primitive people to play with whenever they felt like it. But it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on that…

Her complacency was abruptly shattered when the hunters returned one day in a state of deep depression. Rebecca could see the glum looks and slumped shoulders as they trudged into the clearing and, as they explained themselves to the village elders, it was obvious that the hunt had not been a success. As the discussion went on, there were furtive glances towards the cage, and Rebecca became nervous.

One of the hunters went to Otago’s hut, and he was brought out to join the discussion. More looks in her direction made Rebecca even more nervous. Finally, a decision having been reached, they all walked over to the cage.

“It seems you haven’t been doing your job right, professor,” Otago said in an angry voice. “You have failed to bring good fortune and the hunt has been unsuccessful.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rebecca protested. “They can’t blame me! You know that mumbo jumbo is superstitious nonsense! Tell them!”

“I’m sorry, prof,” he went on, ignoring her outburst, “but they feel they need to refocus your attention – apparently you’ve been enjoying yourself too much, instead of concentrating on the serious job of ensuring the hunters return with a kill.”

With that, he turned and walked away, ignoring Rebecca’s shouted pleas for his help, and disappeared into his hut to resume the torture of some poor young woman.

As she watched, helpless, the villagers erected two posts in the middle of the clearing. The young academic backed away as her female guards opened the cage and grabbed her arms, dragging her, kicking and screaming, to the posts. They tied her between them at her wrists and ankles so that she was held, spread-eagled, then left her there. The daily routine of the tribe continued around her naked and spread body, ignoring her struggles and her begging to be set free, until eventually, one of the elders who was clearly tired of listening to her crying and pleading, stuffed a rag into her mouth and tied another around her face to hold it in place, finally silencing her. As night fell, the people gathered around her in a wide circle and sat down to their evening meal, but tonight it was only fruit and vegetables, no meat. Rebecca was not offered any food.

After the meal, the hunters gathered around her and began to dance, but it was very different from the usual happy, erotic dance. Each man carried a burning torch in one hand and, in the other, what looked like a multi-stranded whip made from some form of creeper. Rebecca’s eyes widened and she struggled uselessly against her bonds, as they danced to a powerful drumbeat, flicking the whips in unison against the ground. Suddenly, one of the whips snaked in her direction, and she screamed into the gag, a line of fire burning across her stomach where it struck. This seemed to act as a signal, as all the hunters began to direct their whips at her. The air was filled with the snap of the fronds against her bare flesh, each blow making the tortured woman writhe and scream as she was hit time after time. They worked systematically, whipping her body from her shoulders down to her knees, covering her in thin red lines as the strands marked her skin. Each strike was painful, but they skilfully targeted her most sensitive areas – her nipples, the soft flesh of her inner thighs, and between legs, directly onto her vagina.

The hunters kept up a constant barrage of blows, taking it in turns, landing one every few seconds, which was driving their victim out of her mind as the pain never relented but flared up on a new area of her body. Before the beating had started, Rebecca’s body seemed to have anticipated the usual sexual gratification it received at this time each day, and as a consequence, her pussy was already wet and her labia swollen when they were whipped, intensifying the pain to an almost unimaginable level. She desperately wanted to black out, to somehow let her consciousness escape this terrible torture, but it just wouldn’t happen – she had to endure the intolerable agony.

When they finally relented, Rebecca hung from the ropes, her head bowed, chest rising and falling as she sucked in air, her shoulders rocked by her desperate sobs. Every part of her skin was burning from the lashing she had received, but her pussy lips seemed to throb with the pain inflicted by the cruel beating. Now, perhaps, she would pass out and gain some respite.

But it was not to be. She felt hands grabbing at her breasts, squeezing them painfully, pinching nipples that were already sore from being caught repeatedly by the fronds of the whips. More hands clutched her buttocks, and she realised there was a body pressed against hers, front and back, sandwiching her between them. Suddenly she felt something forcing its way between her labia and into her vagina, while simultaneously her buttocks were pulled apart and a hard cock stretched her sphincter open. The ropes around her ankles pulled tight as she was lifted up and doubly impaled, both shafts driven in as deep as they could go. She screamed into the gag and, to her utter astonishment, climaxed immediately – somehow, being whipped had brought her to an intense level of arousal, where just the slightest additional stimulation had been enough to force her over the edge.

She felt almost delirious, and hardly registered what was happening to her over the next – how long? An hour? More? Less? She had no idea. All she knew was pain, lingering from the earlier abuse, as well as freshly inflicted by the repeated violations of her rectum, interspersed with desperately intense orgasms racking her body, driving all rational thought from her brain.

At last it ended, and she hung by her wrists, too exhausted to support herself. Finally, she managed to raise her head to look for her guards, to see when they would take her back to the cage. The clearing was deserted, and she realised that everyone had retired to bed for the night. It seemed she was not to be released, her punishment for failing to ensure the hunt’s success included being left her all night, tied, stretched and in pain.

She dreaded to think what the morning might bring…

Longale Expedition 2011 : Day 45 : Arise

“Hey, professor, I’ve got some good news for you.”

Rebecca looked up at Otago as she sat in her cage, her face showing her scepticism at the possibility of ‘good news’. It was ten days since she had been so horribly beaten for the failure of the tribe’s hunting party and, every day, she shook with fear as the moment when the hunters would return approached, terrified that they would return empty-handed and subject her to the same, or worse, torture.

Luckily that hadn’t happened, and her relief at her reprieve for another 24 hours was swiftly followed by her excitement at the ‘reward’ she would receive that night for their success. Since her capture and imprisonment, the previously celibate academic had enjoyed multiple orgasms every day, even when she had been punished, and now she not only wanted more, but seemed to need it, in a very primitive way. She had been turned from an intellectual into an animal, her day filled only with thoughts of her base needs – food, water, and sex.

Very little had changed in her world since she had arrived over two weeks ago, except that she had finally been given her clothes back – at least that’s what she’d thought. One of her guards had turned up one morning and handed over her boots, socks and solar topee. Rebecca assumed the other woman was bringing her shorts and shirt, but they never turned up. So, with a shrug, she put on the clothes she had been given. She knew she probably looked ridiculous, naked except for boots and a hat, but she didn’t care – she felt slightly more like her old self, and that was what mattered. She rationalised to herself that, even if she’d been given her other clothes, she would either had to be taking them off all the time for her ‘massage’ and the after-dinner sexathon, or someone would have ripped them off anyway.

“So what’s this ‘good news’ then, oh mighty one?” she asked sarcastically.

“Release is at hand!” the former guide and now tribal demi-god smiled. “After much hard work on my part, I have trained your replacement.”

He indicated the young woman standing next to him, and Rebecca looked at her for the first time. She was just as young and beautiful as all the other women who frequented Otago’s hut – long, black, shiny hair, prominent cheekbones, full lips, slender body, prominent, pert breasts, wide hips, long legs – but her eyes gave the truer story. They were a wonderful emerald green, but they were scared – terrified, even – glancing at Otago when she could, but cast down whenever he looked at her. Rebecca could see the suffering there, and when she came a little closer, the ugly welts on her thighs, buttocks and breasts backed up the judgement. But there was more – she had clearly suffered horribly herself, but when she looked in the cage, she saw what she was to become, and that also filled her with fear. In a sudden flash of insight, Rebecca realised she was not the first occupant of this cage, and she would not be the last. She felt for the young woman, but realised this was her chance to escape the fate she thought was hers for life, and she knew she had to take it.

“So, what happens to me?” she asked warily.

“Well, there’s some ritual to do with ensuring crop fertility for the next year, but once that’s over, they won’t need you anymore, and you’ll be freed.”

“Really?” Rebecca asked doubtfully. “What does this ritual entail?”

“No idea,” Otago replied breezily, “but would you rather stay in there for the rest of your life?”

When he put it like that, it seemed like a no-brainer – however painful or humiliating the ritual was, she felt like she was living under a sentence here anyway, just a couple of bad days away from an even worse beating.

Just then, her two minders came along and opened the cage door to lead the new girl in. Rebecca just had time to grab her hat before they led her out and locked the cage behind them.

“Good luck, professor,” Otago called out, “I’ll see you later!”

The professor started to wonder exactly what was going to happen to her when she was pushed down onto the ground and her wrists and ankles tied to a long pole, in the same way as when she and Otago had originally been captured. The two young women lifted her off the ground and she was carried to the edge of the village, where the tribal elders had gathered. They trooped off into the forest in silence, Rebecca swinging gently below the pole, anxiously trying to guess where they were going. They were moving uphill and, maybe twenty minutes later, the line came to a halt before a rocky outcrop. Rebecca was released, but her guards held her tightly as they dragged her towards the cliff face. She saw that there was a low opening in the rock, and she was taken through the crack into a hidden cave.

The cave was dark and damp, with stalactites and stalagmites littering the cave roof and floor. She saw that there were also small pools dotted around on the floor, and it was to one of these that the struggling academic was now dragged. She saw that iron rings had been set into the rock floor, and her guards bent to tie her ankles to these. With a swift kick to the stomach of one of her guards and a shoulder barge on the other, Rebecca broke free and ran for the mouth of the cave. She saw that more guards had been positioned there, male guards, and her chances of escape were zero. She looked around desperately for any means of escape as the women she had broken away from ran towards her and the men at the cave mouth stepped across to block her path. She ran back into the cave, but fell to the ground and, moments later, was recaptured.

She came up with fists swinging, but was dragged back to the rings and her ankles tied with strong vines, so that she was straddling the pool. Similar rings had been attached to the ceiling, and her wrists were now tied, so that she was held, spread-eagled, above the strangely glowing liquid. She pulled and strained against the bonds, face twisted and fists clenched, but they held her fast.

The tribal elders solemnly lined up in front of her, and the man she took to be the witch doctor or shaman began chanting, while shaking some kind of holy water over her naked body. As he sprayed a few droplets in her face, she tasted it on her lips – it tasted like a weird mix of aniseed and tabasco, not really what she was expecting. Having sprinkled the pungent liquid on every part of her body, he made an incantation and emptied the rest of the liquid from the container he held into the water below her. He then returned to the others, a few feet away from her, and stared intently at the iridescent pool. Rebecca also stared down, with a growing trepidation and feeling of dread.

After a few minutes, the smooth surface of the water began to ripple. As she watched with a combination of fascination and fear, several shoots emerged from the water and began to grow taller as she watched. She was mesmerised by the sight – the fastest growing plants, such as bamboo, managed to grow maybe 10 metres in 24 hours, but this seemed to be growing even faster. Four stems were growing up between her legs, and she had a bad feeling about where they were going. They were waving around like ivy, trying to find something to latch onto in their climb, and as soon as they touched her legs, they began to entwine her. She tried to twist and turn her body out of the way but it was no use, she was now well and truly caught. She saw the look of quiet satisfaction on the faces of the elders in front of her, and knew this was progressing exactly as they had anticipated.

Gradually, the shoots crept up her legs, over her knees and onto her thighs. As the daylight from the cave entrance faded, the villagers lit torches and watched in silence as the professor struggled to escape the rapidly rising vegetation, but to no avail.

After an hour or so, the shoots reached the top of her thighs. Again, Rebecca fought to prevent what she knew was coming, but slowly, inexorably, she felt one of the shoots pushing its tip between her labia, inch by inch working its way inside her. At the same time, another shoot was pressing against her sphincter, gradually opening her up and forcing it way into her rectum. The other two shoots, now having nowhere to bury themselves, continued to creep up her body.

Rebecca assumed the shoots would continue to grow, ripping her body apart from the inside, but this was not the case. The two ‘free’ shoots stopped just short of her waist and the two inside her did likewise, leaving her uncomfortable but unharmed. Then the next phase of development began.

She watched as a white ovoid shape formed at the end of the shoots in front of her, slowly expanding to the size of a chicken’s egg. She could now feel a similar process taking place inside her, adding significantly to her discomfort. The white blob continued to expand, and Rebecca realised these were the plant’s seeds. As the seeds grew further, she cried out as discomfort turned to pain, particularly in her rectum, reminding her unpleasantly of Otago and his butt plug. Whatever stimulation she might have enjoyed by the growing intrusion into her, admittedly wet, pussy was more than offset by the agony being caused as her back passage was stretched further than it had ever been before.

Just when she was sure she would split apart, the seeds stopped growing, although the unfortunate American continued to moan in pain. The shaman now stepped forward and took one of the seeds still out in the open in his hands and, with a slight twist and flick of the wrist, removed it from the stem. He approached Rebecca and raised the seed, bringing it towards her face. Realising what he intended, she twisted her head to the side and clamped her jaws shut.

The shaman signalled to the female guards and they approached. One grabbed Rebecca’s head in a vice-like grip, forcing her to face the shaman as he pressed the giant seed against her lips. The other tried to prise her jaws apart, but when that failed, she changed tactics. Reaching down, she took the woman’s swollen labia between her fingers and dug her nails viciously into the tender flesh. Rebecca couldn’t stop herself screaming, and the instant her mouth was open, the shaman forced the seed in, stifling her nascent cry and preventing her expelling the intruder as he pushed it deeper.

She thought her jaw might dislocate before the widest part of the seed passed her teeth and clamped down on the hard exterior of the thing. It completely filled her mouth, not quite causing her to gag but flattening her tongue to the floor of her palate. Maybe a quarter of it still protruded beyond her lips, stretched tight around its wide girth.

As she looked down, she saw the stems withering, their job obviously done. The fourth stem, with its seed unplanted, wilted back into the pool, presumably to be reabsorbed by the plant. It appeared the job of the elders had also been completed, as they stood and started to leave the cave. The shaman gave her one last look, checking that everything was in order, and smiled. He knew what was about to happen, and so did Rebecca – the seeds would germinate. Some kind of flower would bloom at the end of the seed poking out of her mouth, pussy and anus. Meanwhile, roots would be put down at the other end – into her uterus, colon and throat. She would choke to death, hopefully before the pain became too intense. As the people filed out, the torchlight faded, until Rebecca was left alone in the pitch dark.

She had one chance. When she had fallen to the floor during her failed escape bid, she had grabbed a small flint she had spotted and concealed it in her fist. Carefully, she now moved it from her palm to her fingers, and began sawing at the vine that held her wrist.

Despite the cool air in the cave, she felt beads of sweat form on her brow and run into her eyes. At the rate this plant grew, she knew she probably only had minutes before the roots started to grow and she was suffocated. She could see nothing, all she could do was frantically work to cut the bonds on her wrist and ignore the rising tide of panic inside her.

The panic rose even further as she felt something move inside her vagina, pressing against the sensitive flesh beyond the body of the seed. A few moments later, a similar feeling assaulted her rectum as roots started to sprout there as well. She redoubled her efforts with the flint and tugged desperately at the binding to see if it would come free. It didn’t.

And then she started to feel a tickle at the back of her throat. She thought it was her imagination at first, but then she retched as her gag reflex was triggered. It was like a waking nightmare as she felt the tendrils, just thin strands at first, starting to work their way down. When they reached the point where they could go either into her lungs or on into her stomach, Rebecca had no choice but to swallow, blocking off her air supply. Meanwhile, inside her body, the roots were pushing against her cervix and sliding deeper into her colon. All sane thought now gone, she thrashed desperately in her bondage, dropping the flint, no longer able to cut at the rope-like tendril holding her.

The panicked woman began to struggle even more violently when suddenly the vine snapped, and her arm was free. Regaining sufficient composure to think more clearly, Rebecca pulled at the seed wedged tight in her mouth. For agonising seconds, it would not move. She dug her long nails into the firm flesh and pulled for all she was worth, pressing with her tongue in an effort to dislodge the intruder. At last, as the bile rose from her stomach, the thing came free and she threw it across the cave as far as she could. A flood of saliva flew out of her mouth, swiftly followed by the contents of her stomach.

The two remaining seeds were equally difficult to remove, but eventually she pulled them out and felt a huge wave of relief and exhaustion wash over her. She had to work on the knots around her other wrist, which took even longer than freeing her first wrist, but at last she had it undone. She sat down on the ground while she untied her ankles and then, finally free, she lay back on the cold stone, utterly spent.

She lay there, recovering, for several minutes, but she knew that they would be coming back, probably at first light, to check that her dead body was providing suitable compost for the homicidal plant. Slowly, she crawled towards the cave opening and into the forest night.

She had survived, and she was free. All she had to do now was evade the tribal hunters, who would surely try to track her down and bring her back, and make her way through uncharted rainforest, with no guide, no map and no compass, back to civilisation. All while naked and unarmed. Simple!

- o O o -

Luis took his eyes off the road as he reached for the cigarette lighter. When he looked back, what he saw made him stamp hard on the brakes, and he fought to keep the logging truck on the loose gravel surface of the forest road as it slewed to a halt. By the time he finally came to halt, the truck had skidded maybe fifty yards, and the vision which had so startled him had vanished.

Had he imagined it? He decided to get out and investigate. Taking his gun and torch, he climbed down from the cab and peered into the darkness. At first he didn’t see anything, just the green of the undergrowth by the side of the dirt track. Then the vision appeared again.

She rose from the foliage like a latter-day Venus emerging from the waves. She was stunningly beautiful, her long red locks flowing over her shoulders, and she was naked. Okay, the hat and the boots looked a little weird, but Luis had never seen a more beautiful creature in his life, and he just stood there, slack-jawed, as she walked towards him.

“Hello,” she said in Spanish, but with an American accent, “could you give me a lift?”

“What?” Luis came back, his brain not really up to conversation at this stage – most of his blood flow seemed to have been diverted to his pants.

“I’m afraid I don’t have any money to pay you,” the goddess said, “would you like to fuck me instead?”

“What?!” Luis stammered, totally thrown. The woman walked past him, bent over and grabbed the bull bars on the front of the truck, the headlights illuminating her body perfectly. He stared at her perfect buttocks, and the glistening slit between and below them. She looked back at him over her shoulder, a look of desperate hunger on her face.

“Fuck me, please. Now?”

Luis finally came out of his trance and moved forward so that he was behind her. He dropped his trousers, releasing his achingly hard erection and, guessing from her tone of voice that she wasn’t too interested in foreplay, plunged into her until his thighs slapped against the back of hers. She let out a noise, a combination of a moan, a cry and a scream, which sounded like an animal caught in a bear trap, alarming the trucker, until he realised it was a cry of pleasure. As he thrust into her, he felt her pushing herself back against him, pulling him into her deeper and faster.

Luis had no illusions that he was a great lover, so he was taken completely by surprise when he realised the woman was having an orgasm before he was even close to cumming. She was pretty damn noisy about it too, and the night air was full of her cries and squeals, urging him to fuck her ‘harder, Harder, HARDER!’ and appealing to a range of deities he wasn’t familiar with. As her muscles clamped down on his cock, he felt himself spurting into her, and his grunts joined hers in disturbing the local wildlife.

He leaned on the hood of the truck, catching his breath, when she suddenly spun him round and pushed him back against the radiator grille. He was sure he must be dreaming when she got down on her knees and he felt her tongue licking his limp dick clean. Her hot, wet mouth closed around it, and he felt life returning where he least expected it, not for a good twenty minutes anyway. When she had restored it to its full glory, she stood up and grabbed him around the neck, stood on the bull bars, and lowered her cunt onto his rampant cock. She then, basically, fucked him as he clung on to the radiator for dear life. She threw her head back and actually howled to the moon as they climaxed together.

He watched as the vision walked around the side of the cab and climbed into the passenger side. He did his jeans up and got into the driver’s side. As he looked over, the woman curled up on the bench seat and seemed to be instantly asleep. Luis shook his head in bewilderment – he still couldn’t really believe this was happening. He had no idea who she was, or where she’d come from, he just hoped she might want to fuck him again later.

- o O o -

After escaping the cave, Rebecca had run as far and as fast as she could away from the village, certain she would be hunted down and killed, either there and then, or sacrificed in another horrible ritual. She ran through the night, heading downhill, until she came across a stream. She decided to follow this, on the basis that it would prevent her going in circles or heading back the way she came, and eventually it would become a river and lead her out of the forest.

Her survival skills and knowledge of the flora of the forest came to the fore now, and she managed to fend for herself quite well. She travelled during the day and climbed into the branches to ‘nest’, hopefully safely, at night.

She trekked through the forest, nervously watching for any sign of danger, whether from human or animal hunters. The stream became a river, the river widened, and then, almost two weeks since her dramatic escape, she saw the forest road. She followed this for a day, figuring one way would probably lead to a logging camp, the other to a town, so she couldn’t lose.

When she was nearly run down by the truck, she had dived into the undergrowth. When she saw Luis, she was overcome by an overwhelming desire for sex – she had been so conditioned by her time in captivity, she was now ravenous for his body, and threw herself at him wantonly.

Finally satisfied and feeling safe in the cab, she had her first decent sleep in weeks.

- o O o -

Luis pulled the truck into the parking area and switched off. Rebecca stirred and stretched, sending shivers down the trucker’s back and up his erect shaft. She looked around and saw the gas pump, toilet and diner, housed in a tin shack, which made up the truck stop. For the first time in a long time, she became aware of her nakedness.

“Please sir, may I have your shirt? I’ll let you fuck me for it.”

Luis, ever the gentleman, couldn’t refuse.

Afterwards, they went into the diner, Luis topless and Rebecca in lumberjack shirt, solar topee and boots – quite a sight for Enrique, the corpulent owner of the greasy spoon restaurant. He had been here for four months, seeing no-one but truckers, and then this fox walks in…

“What can I get you, little lady?” he asked, staring at the front of the shirt, unbuttoned to the waist and shirttails flapping at mid-thigh. Rebecca looked at the grossly overweight man sweating profusely in front of her, then at the array of heart attack-inducing fatty food, and felt the saliva running in her mouth – she had never wanted bacon so much in her life!

“Everything please. But I don’t have any money. If you let me eat, I’ll let you fuck me afterwards.”

Enrique spit out the bread he had been munching in a spray and looked at Luis, who simply shrugged and nodded his head. Rebecca had a plate of piping hot greasy food in seconds.

Rebecca ate like an animal, using her bare hands, ripping at the meat and shovelling down the rest, until her face was covered in grease, egg yolk and baked bean juice. Then she got up, handed the plate to the owner, lay across the table and flicked up the shirt, legs wide apart. Enrique stared at the woman’s cunt, wide open and moist, right in front of him. Moments later, he was between her thighs and banging her hard, making quite a sight – and a lot of noise. Luis felt himself harden once again as he watched the woman writhing on the table and beseeching the fat cook to ‘really give it to her’. On an impulse, he went around the table and dropped his jeans in front of her face. Before he could do any more, she reached out and pulled him towards her by the balls, until his cock was all in her mouth. It was the most amazing blowjob he’d ever had, and when he came, she drank down every last drop as if it were a delicious slurpy. The cook now came as well, while Rebecca was just reaching her second climax.

“Anyone for dessert?” Rebecca asked hungrily.

- o O o -

A week later, Professor Longale was finally sitting in an airline seat heading for La Guardia and home. She had arrived at the American consulate in Cayenne with no money, no passport, no airline ticket, and wearing only boots, hat and a rather stained logger’s shirt. But she had learned to become very persuasive. She had worked her way through the red tape until she reached the consul, and what she had done for him had earned her a first class ticket and a friend for life.

Now all she had to do was explain herself to the University Finance committee…

Longale Expedition 2011 : Praise Jah

From a scientific point of view, the expedition was, of course, an unmitigated failure. With no evidence to back up her claims of new species and novel forms of behaviour, she could not publish in any scientific journal, and she was the laughing stock of the faculty for her incompetence, as they saw it, in ‘losing’ her specimens.

Worse still, she was now under investigation by the university’s Finance Committee for misappropriation of funds and obtaining sponsorship money under false pretences. She faced being fired, and possibly prosecution.

A series of hearings were convened, and Rebecca was shocked by the number of people on the investigating committee – it seemed everyone on the faculty and even in the administration who could come up with any vague excuse for being there had turned up to hear her describe, in embarrassingly intimate detail, the events of her expedition. They even had to move the hearings from a small committee room to one of the larger lecture halls. As she faced the ten ‘interrogators’ arranged at a table in the well of the lecture theatre, she felt the eyes of the masked ranks of administrators and academics boring into her, making her blush an even deeper red.

“So, Professor Longale,” the vice-president of Finance asked, looking down at his notes and then up at the nervous woman in front of him, “you say you were tied naked to a frame and these native women ‘oiled’ you?”

“Yes, sir,” Rebecca replied, feeling a thin sheen of sweat form on her brow.

“They applied the oil to every part of your naked…bound…body,” he said, the image of the beautiful Professor vivid in his imagination, and making him lose track momentarily of his train of thought. With some difficulty, he snapped out of it.

“How did that make you feel?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Was the sensation of being touched and massaged in the most intimate places pleasurable for you?”

“Er…yes, sir,” Rebecca replied, squirming in her seat.

“How pleasurable? Did you cum?”

“Is that relevant to the enquiry, sir?” she asked desperately.

“Just answer the question, Professor,” the VP said sternly, but a slight smirk played at the corner of his mouth. Rebecca looked along the line of faces, seeing the mixture of lust and amusement there, and swallowed hard. This didn’t seem right, but she had no choice but to answer.

“Yes, sir,” she murmured.

“Let the record show, Professor Longale admitted that she achieved orgasm during the native rituals.” This was directed at the stenographer, who took down every word.

“Excuse me, Mr Chairman,” said the woman from Human Resources, “but I’m more interested in the punishment the professor received. You say you were beaten pretty badly, Professor, do the marks still show? Could we see them?”

“No!” Rebecca exclaimed, shocked at the idea. The woman looked disappointed, and made a note.

“Okay. Maybe you could describe to us the feeling of being whipped on your breasts and vagina – I’m sure the committee would like to hear.” The row of heads nodded, and Rebecca felt her face redden a little more...

The hearings dragged on for weeks, the excruciating questioning of every last detail of her captivity, torture and sexual exploitation being pored over. Rebecca was sure it was just for their titillation and her humiliation. At last the committee retired to consider their verdict, which would be delivered at the start of January, and she was sure the verdict would be dismissal.

In the meantime, rumours of her depositions spread across campus like wildfire. Her lectures were suddenly packed out, and she was always fielding questions about her summer trip – questions like ‘did you prefer the guide or the natives fucking you?’, ‘are you now a lesbian?’ and ‘were the native’s dicks bigger or smaller than ours?’ It was a nightmare.

Somehow, a local reporter got hold of the story, and it was splashed across the front page of the Syracuse Post Standard under the headline ‘Local Professor in Jungle Scandal’. There were details that could only have come from a transcript of the hearings, and Rebecca guessed a bribe had loosened the stenographer’s tongue.

The next morning, she found herself doorstepped by a camera crew from Channel 3, the local station, and her image, walking to the university and trying to hide her face, was on the main nightly news bulletin. Rebecca knew she needed help, and contacted Diana Durban, a local ‘PR and image consultant’.

“Darling,” Diana said as they sat in her plush office, “you need to exploit this opportunity and get your side of the story out there. If the university are going to can you, you’re gonna need another source of income.”

Reluctantly, Rebecca agreed to let Diana take control of the media relations.

Suddenly, everything went crazy. The story hit the nation with the National Enquirer, and the headline ‘Safari Girl Eaten by Snake – And Lives!!’ With her head in a whirl, she found herself being interviewed by Leno, Letterman and Stewart on national television. They insisted she wear her full explorer’s outfit while being interviewed, and kept referring to her as Safari Girl. She tried to push the scientific merits and discoveries of the expedition, but all they wanted to hear about was her being tied up and held naked, then ‘ravished’.

A book of her exploits, entitled ‘Safari Girl in Trouble’, ghost-written and rushed out for the holiday market, hit the bestsellers list at number one and stayed there for weeks. She was even immortalised in a series of comic books based on her adventures, which seemed utterly surreal to her.

Rebecca knew the Playboy shoot was a bad idea, even before she went into it, but she naively listened to her advisor.

“Sugar, everyone does Playboy! It’ll make you a fortune!”

It started off tastefully, with her in her ‘Safari Girl’ outfit, smiling and posing against the ‘jungle’ backdrop of the local botanical gardens. She was disconcerted to learn that the whole thing was being filmed for the Playboy TV channel as well, but she went along with it. The shoot moved on to shirt open, no camisole, then a nipple exposed, then shorts unfastened but nothing on show. Then it went a little awry.

“Rebecca, darling,” the photographer said, “we’d like to do some ‘damsel in distress’ shots, nothing extreme, you’ll just look so hot!” His female assistant produced some rope and walked towards the semi-naked academic.

“I really don’t think…” she started out, looking across at Diana, standing in the background.

“Nonsense, honey,” the PR said breezily, “it’ll be wonderful, and you know Playboy only does tasteful shots.” Reluctantly, Rebecca let the assistant lead her over to a tree and push her back against the trunk. She started to get even more nervous and short of breath as she felt her wrists, and then her elbows, tied behind the tree, giving her flashbacks to her time in the forest.

“Hey, that’s pretty tight!” she complained as the young assistant wound the rope around her body across her stomach.

“Gotta make it realistic, sweetie,” the assistant said with a wicked grin, pulling the rope even tighter before knotting it securely.

“Oh, I’m loving that concerned look, honey, gimme more!” the photographer exclaimed as he shot more and more pictures. Rebecca struggled, but she was tied very well. Then she saw the assistant coming back to her, and she had a ballgag in her hand.

“No way!” she squealed, turning her head away. “No-one even gagged me!”

“Artistic licence,” the woman said as she forced the red ball into Rebecca’s mouth and fastened the strap. The professor looked desperately at the PR, but Diana had her head down and her cell phone glued to her ear. To Rebecca’s dismay, she turned her back and walked away into the further reaches of the gardens, ignoring the muffled cries from the reluctant bondage model.

“Wonderful! Now could we have a little more flesh please, Naomi!” The assistant pulled Rebecca’s shirt open, revealing both bare breasts to the camera, her nipples standing erect. The bound woman struggled even harder, shaking her head and screaming her muffled, inarticulate cries into the ball. The film camera pulled in for a close-up of her anguished expression, and the photographer was on his knees for a better angle. This was the best shoot they’d been on for a while!

“Okay, bring in the other models,” the photographers called out. Two women walked over towards the set. They were clearly meant to represent Rebecca’s guards from the village, but there were a few crucial differences – the blonde hair, the make-up, the stilettos, the silver G-strings and, most significantly, the pneumatically enhanced breasts. They sashayed over to the struggling academic and started caressing her bare flesh, running their highly polished nails across her stomach and over her breasts. One leaned in and licked the ballgag, moistening Rebecca’s lips as she did so, while the other bent to take an exposed nipple into her mouth.

Rebecca started to moan as her body reacted to their touches – she had gone ‘cold turkey’ since she’d got back into the country, denying herself any kind of sexual outlet to try and wean herself off her alarming need for constant and repeated pleasure. Now, as both women sucked on her nipples and their hands wandered down into her shorts, all those feelings of desperate need for sexual release returned and, despite knowing she was being photographed and filmed, she couldn’t stop herself reacting, spreading her thighs and thrusting her hips forward.

When she felt hot breath, soft lips, and an exploring tongue seeking out and finding her clitoris, it took Rebecca a matter of seconds to explode in a thunderous climax. The tight bondage and the gag just seemed to make it that more intense, as she writhed and pulled against the ropes, and shouted uselessly into the gag, causing saliva to bubble out from around the ball and drool down her chin and onto her breasts. The film cameraman thought he might spontaneously cum himself as he watched this performance, so much more powerful than the faked orgasms he watched every day. He zoomed in to capture the pained expression on those tightly shut eyes, then the moment they shot open with a look of shock and surprise when she felt the head of the wand vibrator replace Alexa’s mouth on her clitoris, and begin to drive her to another climax, then another and another. As far as the stills photographer was concerned, the sweat glistening on her skin made for such a great image, he couldn’t get enough of it.

When they finally relented, took away the magic wand and untied her, Rebecca sank to her knees in exhaustion. She was immensely grateful when they removed the ballgag, as her jaw had started to ache painfully, but then she was dimly aware that the ropes were being retied around her, not as tight as before, but still pinning her arms to her side and her torso to the tree trunk. Her reaction was not to struggle or protest, but to look around, with a distinct eagerness, to find out what was going to happen next.

What was happening was that a guy with dreadlocks, a raster hat, bare chest and jeans was strolling her way. She licked her lips and exercised her jaw in anticipation – any rational thought of propriety and decorum had long since left the building – she just wanted him in her mouth!

She got her wish. As she worked her tongue around the massive head of his enormous cock – clearly this guy was a professional porn star, his dick was ludicrously large – her thoughts went back to Otago in the Amazon, and she wondered if he was still in the village, having his wicked way with the native girls, or had he returned to ‘civilisation’ and begun wreaking sexual havoc amongst the western ladies once more. Her mind was brought back to the present forcibly, as he slid his cock to the back of her throat and she gagged and choked on the unfeasibly large phallus.

Rebecca realised the ropes holding her really weren’t holding her, and slipped out of them easily. She pulled back from the raster man, and the camera crew thought she was about to make a break for it and end their fun. Instead, they were astounded when she rolled over onto her hands and knees and, in a voice husky with pent-up lust, told him to ‘fuck me hard, please?’ This was a new experience for the professional ‘dick for hire’, and he went at her with unprecedented vigour and enthusiasm.

When Diana returned to the room, Rebecca was just putting her clothes back on, her hands still shaking somewhat.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Rebecca exclaimed, feeling – rather hypocritically – righteous outrage at being abandoned.

“Oh, you’ll never believe who I just got off of the phone with!” the PR enthused. “The president of the Discovery Channel wants you to present a series called ‘Myths and Monsters’, where you investigate rumours of lost tribes and strange beasts! It’ll be immense!”

“Meanwhile, I’ve been tied up and forced to cum over and over – and it’s all on film!” Rebecca complained.

“Hmm, sounds like we’ve both had an excellent morning, then!”

- o O o -

At last the morning of the verdict arrived. Rebecca headed off to the administrative building in her best, soberest, least sexy outfit, although she had no illusions it was going to make a difference. She was gone, fired, out of there – Playboy had made sure of that. The magazine had only published the tasteful shots, and the TV channel only shown the milder scenes. But the Playboy website had a pay-per-view section which had the whole, sordid shoot, even the bit where she’d licked out one porn model while the other fucked her arse with a strap-on, and ‘raster man’ lay underneath her with his giant cock in her pussy – she was particularly ashamed of that, as it had been her idea. The web was soon awash with screen grabs and stills, in blogs, on free porn sites, it was even on Wikipedia for about twenty minutes. Diana had advised against suing Playboy for breach of contract, because for one, she was clearly a willing participant, and for two, it would just bring her more publicity and notoriety, if that were possible.

She had to fight her way through the crowds of students, press and TV to get into the building. As the door closed behind her, she heard someone shout ‘Hey, Safari Girl – just fuck ‘em!’ It seemed like the only way she was going to keep her job…

She took her seat and watched the committee members file in. When the VP of Finance was ready to deliver his verdict, she stood to receive the bad news.

“Professor Longale,” he began, “this has been an extraordinary case to determine and has not been helped by the media circus which has accompanied your every move. I don’t know how details of this enquiry leaked out” – he gave the stenographer a hard stare at this point, who gave a little smirk – “but newspaper headlines such as ‘Safari Stunner Rocks Playboy’ and ‘Raunchy Rebecca Reveals All’ have not helped.” Rebecca hung her head and blushed deeply.

“It is clear that you failed to deliver the expected results from this expedition but, as you have so graphically described, there were extenuating circumstances, and the committee has accepted that there was no intention to defraud. We have not received any complaints from your sponsors – indeed, a number of the companies backing the expedition have contacted us to congratulate you for all the publicity.

“As for your behaviour, both during and since the expedition, I understand you are receiving counselling for sex addiction, which seems appropriate, and we wish you luck with that.

“We have received 127 written complaints regarding this matter from parents of students and ‘concerned citizens’. However, this should be offset against the over 3,000 messages of support and $2 million in additional funding which have been received, directly quoting your… exploits.

“In conclusion, while the committee finds you guilty of misuse of funds, it has decided not to take further disciplinary action. In a related matter, the University President has asked me to inform you that, in recognition of your fund-raising potential, the University has decided to offer you a tenured position. With a number of offers to fund your next expedition already received, it seems your future here is assured.

“Congratulations, Professor. This committee is adjourned permanently.”

Rebecca let out a huge sigh of relief and turned to leave.

“One last thing, Professor. The committee feels it would be appropriate if you stripped naked, got down on this table, and did every member of the committee, right here, right now.”

Rebecca glanced back, blushed and tried to still her pounding heart as she realised that that had only happened in her head – she really needed another therapy session!

As she stepped out into the bright January morning, with flashbulbs popping and students cheering, she knew that 2012 was going to be a great year!

The End

Copyright© 2011 by Jennifer Harrison. All rights reserved. I welcome your comments. Email me at bongopop63{at}btopenworld{dot}com