Lavina drifted with the waves

onto the beach, where she lay,

seaweed intertwined with her hair,

laying on her body in odd patterns

that made her skin seem oddly speckled,

distorted, bulbous, torn.  The waves

carried her further and further,

inch by inch up the beach,

until the tide ebbed and left her,

face down in damp sand.

When Hawemoke found her, he knew she was a woman

but had never seen a white before.

He wore grass and leaves, woven around his waist,

and little else.  His nipples were pierced,

and on them hung large metal rings.

He turned her over and marveled at her alabaster chest,

then felt it, mostly to see if she was breathing.

She was, and so he wiped the seaweed

from her face and slapped it.

She stirred, and he suddenly realized

that she must be thirsty and hungry.

He ran off into the jungle, where he found a coconut

that he chopped down with his knife,

then sliced it in two and poured the juice

into her open, sandy, barely conscious mouth.

He then began scooping out the meat

and feeding it from his dark brown hands

direct into her limp pouch of a mouth.

She had never seen a black before,

but she thanked this stranger, asking,

“What – who are you?  Where am I?”

He looked at her askance, then spoke

in guttural sounds she could not understand.

She replied, but again he looked strangely

upon her.  He pointed to himself

and said “Hawemoke.”  She understood

and repeated, “Haaa-weee-nok-eee.”

He nodded, and spoke again

those unintelligible sounds.  She hoped

he was asking her name, and so pointed

to her own nude chest.  “Lavina,”

she voiced slowly, and he repeated,

“Laaa-fin-aaa.”  She nodded ascent.

They tried vainly to speak a bit more,

and then he reached down to her legs.

She resisted, pushing herself back

with her feet against the sand.  But he

put his hands into the air, as if to say

he wouldn’t hurt her, then slowly reached down again

while maintaining eye contact.  He grabbed a hold of her

and lifted her into the air, then stood

and began to carry her.

She held tight, her arms swung around his neck,

as he carried her off into the jungle.

The leaves were larger than any

Lavina had ever seen, the vines more copious,

and the strange sounds of unseen animal horrified her.

But, after some walking, they emerged upon a clearing

where others were gathered in straw huts.

Hawemoke’s return with a white woman

caused some commotion, and all the men

gathered around her

to prod with their fingers

and stare

and talk with one another in strange clucking tones

that often sounded more like squawks than syllables.

Lavina was frightened, but heard

Hawemoke respond to one of them,

“Laaa-fin-aaa,” and this reassured her.

But as she looked around, she noticed

she could find no women.

As Lavina looked around, she recognized the king

of the tribe:  a tall man, his body decorated

with feathers, whom all the other men

dared not stare in the eye.

As he approached, the squabbling, poking men around her

fell silent.  The chief stood before her

as Hawemoke held her aloft,

staring away from his master’s eyes.

The king squawked the others’ strange sound,

then reached to her face

and stroked it softly.

Then he reached to her leg

and began to part it from her other.

Lavina resisted, and he squawked again,

loudly this time.  Hawemoke dropped

her to the ground, and she fell

hard against her side.  Lavina’s hip ached,

but quickly Hawemoke, her protector,

was spreading her legs.

Lavina let him, fearing retribution,

and the king kneeled to inspect her pink vagina

up close, then pointed at it and squawked again.

The others laughed.

He grunted and clucked, and quickly some men

clad in leaves

brought some water, held in half a shell.

Into it, they dipped an herb

of tiny leaves running down a vegetative shaft,

then stirred the water well.

One handed it to Lavina,

who stared at it, her hip hurting.

The chief smiled

and made a drinking motion,

and Lavina drank.

The fluid refreshed her,

but there was something

in the king’s smile

as she emptied the shell

that alarmed her.

He then began to remove his feathers

as the assembled men spoke in whispered clicks.

When he slid down his garment of leaves

and she saw his genitals,

she knew she was in trouble.

He could rape her, she knew,

and no one here would defend her,

not even Hawemoke, who stood

silent.  But the king

did not approach her.

She suddenly felt strongly drunk,

more than she had ever been,

as if her stomach had fallen through the ground.

Her head was dizzy, and though she was naked,

she suddenly felt hot,

as if burning with fever.

She stroked her brow

and found it dripping with sweat.

It was then she noticed

that her vagina was getting wet,

wetter seemingly by the second.

Some powerful drug was in her,

and she knew there could be no escape,

that her body had been poisoned

and that this would worsen before it calmed.

She sat on the ground, trying

to calm her head, to control

what was happening to her body.

But she felt her nipples swelling,

becoming so sensitive that they burned slightly.

Her breasts felt aflame, and she realized

that they were swelling,

enlarging, and dripping with sweat.

Her pussy throbbed for the first time,

and she felt the lubrication

running already down her thighs

and onto the dirt below.

It was too much for her to handle,

and she cried out, but the men

simply stood around her

and their naked king,

laughing.

Her pussy throbbed inside again,

and she reached down to feel her vulva:

her clit was enormous, inflamed,

and touching it felt fantastic.

Her pussy was throbbing frequently now,

and she found herself stroking herself,

mad with sensation.  She gripped her breasts,

and arched her back with pleasure.

She could no longer control herself.

Her pussy was flowing with lubrication

more freely than after Isabel’s most tender

licks and caresses.  She felt mad,

lost.  Her body

squirmed.

Her pussy pulsed,

a creature no longer under her control.

She could think of nothing but cock –

any cock, random cock, a thousand cocks.

She longed for a cock to stroke her inside

as a drowning man longs for air

or a burning one for escape.

She arched, stroked, grasped,

rolled, moaned, shivered.

Her limbs dripped with sweat.

She thought of cock and began to cry,

utterly frustrated, utterly mad with desperate desire.

She would have sold her soul to the Devil himself

if he had but revealed himself, in his foulest, ugliest, smelling form,

and promised to penetrate her.

The king’s men kept pointing and laughing,

but the king had stopped.

Lavina saw him standing,

his member fully erect

and aimed in her direction.

She stared at him and swung her legs up

into the air, submitting herself upon the ground.

But still he made no move.

She moaned, gestured, begged him,

but still he only stood and smiled.

She needed cock.  She felt her pussy throbbing,

unattended, needing to be touched

deep inside, needing.

She kneeled and crawled to him,

placing his dick in her mouth.

She had never tasted anything so good,

and thrust it deep within her gorge.

Her arms reached up and felt his body frenetically,

as if she were having a seizure, uncontrolled,

then reached between his legs and felt his testicles,

curled up tight against his body,

his scrotum a rigid ball ready to fire.

It felt like she was touching God.

She craved it so much, and sucked, and sucked.

At last the king responded

and pushed her down to the ground.

She lay there, staring up,

her eyes telling him all he needed to know.

He had only to touch her legs to lift them

than she moved them up, faster than his hands

could push.  She reached down

and held his cock to her vagina,

readying it to push into her.

Her upper legs and buttocks were covered with lubrication,

but still he hovered over her,

her hand holding him in place.

She moaned, begging “please!  please!”

in a language she knew he could not understand.

And then he pushed himself inside.

She had never felt anything in her life

that had felt a tenth as pleasurable.

But to say pleasure is imprecise:  it was more

like satisfaction, like fresh water guzzled after being parched,

the mouth so sore it’s ached like death,

only multiplied a thousandfold.

She felt him all the way inside

but grasped his ass, pulling him yet deeper,

yearning for that extra quarter inch, that extra tenth,

hundredth, thousandth of an inch.

As he began to slide back and forth,

she felt her pussy pulsating,

squeezing tight again and again

against her will.  She wanted him to fuck her

for a million years, but soon

she felt him come deep inside her.

He pulled out, and she began to cry,

whining and writhing

as the king walked off,

leaving his garments and his men.

She kneeled and stared at them,

her eyes wide, her face desperate.

Her pussy was still pulsating,

now faster than ever.

Her breasts felt enormous, inflamed with fever.

She began to beg them to take her,

but she didn’t have to beg for long.

One of the men surprised her from behind,

pushing her back down

and lifting her ass into the air.

He held his cock as he steered inside.

This wet, foreign pussy thrilled him,

and when he first pushed all the way in,

he felt her pussy squeeze and release

a dozen times in a second.

She felt him inside her and,

as her pussy pulsed,

it felt superior to any heaven.

She craved more, needed it:

all thinking was gone in her.

He pushed back and forth inside her,

slid in and out, but quickly came.

She felt it inside her and knew then

that she would need much, much more

before her lust could feel satiated

and she could sleep.

The next man stepped forward quickly,

and when he was through the next.

They took turns civilly, the rest laughing and joking

as if this were some great sport,

but they formed no line, no queue.

One after another took this novelty,

each in his preferred position, but still

her pussy flowed and throbbed,

though her body ached and barely had

enough energy to move.

Even Hawemoke took his turn,

though he seemed a bit reluctant

and took longer than the others;

she was happy when he finished

and a less distracted man could scratch her itch.

And there were many –

even the teenage boys partook,

though they went last.

A few stragglers stood around

to observe the boys, and when the last one was done,

they grabbed Lavina

and began to pull her away

by her arms and hair.

She resisted, wanting more

though her pussy burned in pain,

kissed the arm that pulled her hair,

and, when they would pause

to step over some rock or somesuch,

she would strain with arms too weak for life

and reach to caress their organs.

But they’d had their fun,

and pulled her through the jungle

to a guarded hut built around a tall tree,

then inside.

There, Lavina saw a hundred women,

all lounging on the ground.

The men drug her to the tree at the hut’s center,

and there they used some cord of twisted vines

to bind her, all across her body,

to that mighty tree.

The women watched as the men did this,

then left, saying not a word.

Lavina writhed against the bark,

not knowing where she found the energy.

Her pussy felt split apart from use,

but still it poured

against the once-dry earth.

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