Jenni and the Indians

By

Aubrey Wylde

Chapter 1

The Captives

Jenni sat in the darkness in the teepee. She had no sense of how late it was. It had been a long day. One of those days so long that memories of what she’d done in the morning seemed to belong to another day altogether. She could hear the Indians whooping and beating their drums.  Raucous laughter, punctuated by squeals and shrieks, echoed in the darkness. And laughs. An awful lot of coarse laughter. They’d been going at it for hours and they didn’t seem to be slowing down. The red-yellow light of the bonfire shone faintly through the fabric cover of the teepee, constantly shifting, the shadows of people passing the fire flittering across the canvas.

Jenni was naked, sitting on a blanket, her legs spread wide, ankles tied to stakes driven into the ground. Her arms were spread out horizontally, tied to a pole that had been fastened to the supporting poles of the teepee. It was very uncomfortable, and getting more so by the minute.

She felt Brian shifting his weight from one butt cheek to the other. With only a blanket for a cushion, the ground was getting very hard. He was tied to the other side of the pole, in the same position, his back against hers.

“Damn!” he muttered. “I wish I had more fat on my ass. At least there’d be some padding.”

A wave of panic came over Jenni. She’d felt it building for a while now, but had tried to tamp it down.

“Omigod!” she whispered. “Brian! What…what if we’ve been set up?”

“What do you mean?”

“What…what if this isn’t just a game? What if we were tricked into coming here because these people are psychos or something?” Her breath started coming in short, shallow gasps as the horrible possibilities revealed themselves. “What if they really mean to torture us? Like the Indians did. What if they’re into thrill killings? What if they’re making a snuff film or something?”

“Jenni, Jenni. Stop. Take a deep breath. Calm down.”

“They could do it. It happens, you know. You heard what the Chief said. They own us now. They can do what they want to us, with us. They can make us disappear. Crap! We could be on the cover of the National Enquirer next year, after they find our bones!”

“Jenni! Calm down. That’s not going to happen.”

“How do you know? What do you really know about the Over the Edge Society? I don’t know shit about them, except what little I heard about them at the Club.”

Brian was silent for a while. “All I know is what I heard about them at the Club, too. They’re pretty secretive. I know they have a reputation for doing some extreme stuff. But snuff? Murdering people. No way. The Club would never stand for it.”

Jenni thought he didn’t sound very convinced of that.

The flap of the teepee opened and a light was directed at them.

“You two don’t need to be talking,” a woman’s voice said. “Put a sock in it, or we’ll tie you up with a cock in it.”

She laughed at her own humor, ducked and entered the teepee. A second woman came in behind her. They played a flashlight over Jenni’s body quickly, inspecting her. Then the one without the flashlight reached down to tease Jenni’s nipples, pulling and twisting them, while the other one inspected Brian.

“How ya doing there, Hung-Like-Horse?” she asked, using the mocking name they’d given him. “Still standing proud?”

Jenni felt the woman’s bare belly brush her arm as she leaned over the pole. Brian fidgeted and moaned softly as the woman stroked his genitals.

“Frustrating, isn’t it?” she asked him, with a nasty tone to her voice. “All cocked and loaded, as it were, but unable to pull the trigger.”

The woman who’d been playing with Jenni’s nipples moved her attention down to Jenni’s pussy, stroking the moist folds and plucking at her clitoris.

Then they stopped, passed out of the teepee and closed the flap.

“Oh, fuck!” Brian muttered when he was sure they were out of hearing. “Do women get the condition known as blue balls?”

“I don’t think so. We just get frustrated,” Jenni replied, thinking how much she’d love to get her hands on a vibrator right now.

“Well, if they’re not going to let me come,” he groaned, “I’d be happy if they just killed me.”

Sometime later, it seemed like hours but was probably much less, the women came back, this time accompanied by two men.

“Time for nighty-night,” one of the men said.

Jenni and Brian were untied and the pole removed. They were given a few minutes to stretch and massage their cramped limbs before they were ordered to sit down again, back to back, their legs stretched out in front of them. Jenni’s arms were brought back around Brian so that her wrists could be tied in front of his waist. Then Brian’s arms were similarly tied in front of Jenni.

Their captors left. They sat in silence for several long minutes.

Finally Brian whispered, “I guess they want us to sleep in this position.”

Jenni muttered a depressed acknowledgement.  As tired as she was, she doubted she’d get much sleep in such an uncomfortable position.

“Yeah, I’m not going to be able to sleep,” Brian continued. “Not in..uh..the state I’m in. I wonder if I could…if you could…”

“No problem,” Jenni replied. Her hands started searching for Brian’s cock. It was awkward, with her wrists cross and palms facing outward. She felt Brian shifting his position, trying to get his organ in the right place. “You’d do the same for me, right?”

“No question. There. Just a little more to your left. No, your right. Awwww.”

She brushed what she thought was his penis. She managed to wrap her thumb and fingers around it. She began stroking.

“Bless you…bless you,” Brian moaned.

It wasn’t long before she felt his body tense up, then jerk spasmodically. He sighed and his body went limp. She felt the warmth of his cum dripping down her hand.

“Sorry about the mess,” she whispered.

“Screw the mess,” he replied. “It just felt so damned good.”

She leaned her head back, letting it fall to the side to rest against Brian’s shoulder. It had been a long day and the next promised to be longer. She needed to sleep, but she was still so wound up she didn’t know if she could. She kept going over the events that had led her here, to this teepee in the middle of nowhere and at the mercy of a bunch of over-the-top pretend Indians. Not for the first time she asked herself, “What the fuck have I gotten myself into?”

Chapter 2

Castle Keep

She had been with Dan for about two years, living together for a little over one year. Their love life wasn’t bad. In fact Dan was the best lover, creative, sensitive to her needs, that she’d yet had. But they both knew, though neither one of them wanted to mention it, that things were cooling off. Their lovemaking was slipping into a pattern, losing the spontaneity, the sense of surprise and wonder.

Late one night, as they lay together, Dan asked, very hesitantly, “Have you ever wanted to make love while…have you ever wanted to be tied up?”

Jenni gasped, just slightly, and Dan was blushing. He really looked like he wished that he hadn’t said it, completely misreading Jenni’s reaction. Jenni was surprised, but not shocked. She wasn’t quite as innocent as Dan seemed to think she was. She’d read “The Story of O” in college, and a few other less well known and somewhat dirtier books since then. But she’d never actually thought of acting out anything like that in real life.  It would be a few more nights before she was ready to confess it, but she had long had some strange thoughts tucked away in the back of her mind, thoughts she’d only brought into the open in the privacy of her bed, alone, late at night.

They started out simply enough. Dan brought some rope home a few days later.  They tried various positions and cracked up laughing when Dan wanted to tie her breasts and the rope kept slipping off.  It wasn’t that there wasn’t enough boob.  Jenni had a well-developed 36D chest. Dan was just too tentative about hurting her to tie the rope tight enough to get it to hold.

She surprised Dan, and herself, one night. He’d tied her spread eagle on the bed. He had been playing with her, teasing and fondling her breasts, stroking her pussy. He had begun to spank her pussy, very lightly. 

“You can do that a little harder,” she had said. “You won’t break it.” She was surprised as he was.

So he slapped her pussy a little harder, and then still harder. Jenni responded with squeals, jerking and writhing, trying to close her legs, but after every blow she spread her knees again and offered herself up for another. Dan picked up his leather belt, doubled it and gave her a solid whack, square on her plump, red lips.

She let out a screech that made him drop the improvised strap. The intensity of the pain had taken her off guard. But more surprising was the strange sensation that came in behind the pain. Babbling like an idiot, she begged Dan to fuck her, hard.  And he did, giving her the most intense orgasm she’d experienced to that point.  

They had a game they invented, the Molested Housewife. He tied her to a chair in the kitchen. Sometimes she was stripped first, sometimes she wore a bathrobe, as if she’d been caught while dressing or coming out of the shower. Sometimes she dressed in old clothes or something she picked up at Goodwill, and he’d tie her to the chair and cut or rip away the clothes to expose her breasts and pussy. She’d plead for mercy as he squeezed her boobs and spread her lower lips to play with her clit. He learned to judge her arousal and when she wanted him to move from squeezing and fondling to slapping and pinching.

One night he took a zucchini from the refrigerator and threatened her with it. She begged him not to. He rubbed it against her pussy, made her lick it. He put it in her mouth and ordered her to lube it up good. He placed the end of the zucchini against the opening of her vagina and wiggled it around, pushing lightly. But he never pushed hard enough to enter her. Later that night, when they’d retreated to the bedroom and he was inside her, she had the strangest mental image. Dan, between her legs, but with a zucchini where his dick should be.

Dan was more daring than Jenni when it came to surfing the Internet. He told her about these social gatherings, called munches, where people into kink met. He’d located one in their town, noted the date and location. So, after some hesitation and last minute chickening out, they started attending local munches, meeting some people in the scene. By and large they were pretty much normal looking, which Jenni found reassuring. They made some contacts.  An attractive young couple, they were soon invited to some play parties.

But then something strange happened. It was a play party at Bill and Judy’s. They had a really nice set up, a large basement rec room that, now that the kids were out of the house, they’d converted to a dungeon.  Bill was a handy guy, with an enviable set of wood working tools, and also a clever designer. He built a nice collection of bondage furniture, whipping benches, torture chairs, wooden ponies. On this night the centerpiece was a free standing rectangular spread eagle frame, made of polished 4x4’s. It stood in the center of the room on a raised platform. Jenni watched two women and a man take their turns as the center of attention. Then she volunteered to be next.

She allowed herself to be stripped and led to the frame. Her arms were raised and wrists strapped into the leather cuffs. Her legs were spread, wide, and her ankles strapped in place. She felt more fully exposed, her lower lips spread so wide, felt more helpless, more vulnerable than ever before. She also felt more aroused than ever before.

People, some of whom she barely knew, began doing things to her. They played with her breasts and pussy, some gently and tenderly, but others harshly, pulling, pinching, slapping, stretching her nipples. Jenni felt the full array of slappers and floggers and short whips. An older man demonstrated what a nasty little thing a bamboo skewer could be when snapped again her nipples or her clit.

They put a blindfold on her and put foam plugs in her ears, and her arousal level went up several notches. She couldn’t see who was touching her or anticipate what they were going to do. It was as if she’d been cast into a world of pure sensation, her only contact with the outside world through the nerve endings in her skin, her nipples, her labia, her ass, her clit. Even the sounds of voices muted into a subtle background hum.

She came, violently, loudly, jerking against her bonds, the most powerful orgasm she’d ever experienced. She was released from her bonds, helped to a foam pad and came back to earth cradled in the arms of Janis and Isabelle, three naked women intertwined to form a giant blossom, scenting the air with their lust.

When they got home that evening Jenni had recovered and was eager for Dan to take her, to make love to her, to fuck her. He performed his duty but she could sense there was something wrong.

They went on like that for a month. Dan seemed to be going through the motions. The more she tried to get him hot and bothered the more robotic he seemed to become in their sex life. And when she tried to ask what was wrong he simply denied anything was wrong and withdrew even further. And then he left.

Jenni withdrew into herself for a time, asking herself over and over what she’d done wrong until one evening she decided she hadn’t done anything wrong. Dan’s problem was Dan’s problem and he was welcome to it. She picked herself up and went, alone, to the next munch.

It wasn’t long before she hooked up with Leslie and Paul. They made an interesting trio at a play party. Leslie, five foot nothing, 98 pounds, needing a little foam rubber assistance to fill out the cups of her leather bustier, leading the six foot, 200 pound Paul and busty, five-seven, redheaded Jenni on leashes.

Jenni was grateful that she’d met them. If Dan was the Christopher Columbus who showed her a new world, Leslie and Paul were the Lewis and Clark who showed her its possibilities. They were an experienced couple, in their forties. Paul was a submissive, Leslie a domme, and well versed in rope bondage and mild pain play.

They were married, but with their own peculiar twist.

“We’re not really into poly,” Leslie told Jenni. “We believe in monogamy. But we also recognize our needs. So, we came to an agreement. If we’re both fucking the same third party, neither of us is cheating.”

Their private play parties usually began with a variety of increasingly strenuous bandage positions spiced up with clamps and flagellation, and ending in variations of threesome sex. A bound, spread-eagled Paul being sucked off by Jenni while Leslie straddled his face. Jennie licking Leslie’s pussy while she sucked off Paul. Leslie licking Jenni while Paul fucked her from behind. Paul licking Jenni while Leslie used a strap-on on him.

Early on Jenni was still reluctant about another woman touching her. Leslie took care of that.

“Fingers and tongues are pretty much the same,” she said while expertly massaging a bound Jenni’s clitoris and labia. “This little clitty here doesn’t care if the fingers or tongue are connected to a pussy or a prick, just as long as they know what they’re doing.”

Leslie and Paul introduced Jenni to the Castle Keep Club, a BDSM club located in an old warehouse on the edge of the seedy industrial section of town. They often attended open play parties before returning home for their private games. After her first visit Jenni took out a membership. It was surprisingly affordable.

“We use a sliding scale,” Fred, the club manager, told her. “Those who can afford to pay, pay more. Those who can’t, pay less. We’re not a country club. We don’t believe in excluding people for lack of means.” 

Jenni’s membership in the club became more important when, after some months, the end came for the threesome of Leslie, Paul and Jenni, as Leslie had warned her it eventually would when they’d first gotten together.

“We’re a couple,” she said. “You’re an honored guest. But still, and always, a guest. The time will come when Paul and I, or you, will want to move on.”

They parted friends. Jenni had enjoyed the months they’d played together, but she also knew it was time for something different. Castle Keep became the center of Jenni’s kink life. She still saw Leslie and Paul, and after a month or so their new third, Melissa, and even played with them on occasion. But mostly she pulled back a bit, becoming more of a spectator and occasionally playing with some friends from the munch. But she didn’t make a connection with any of them like she’d had with Paul and Leslie. She had the sense that she was looking for something, something nebulous. Something she couldn’t quite define. Something more than she’d experienced already.

At the back of the club there was a stairway leading downwards. It went down half a flight to a landing, turned left and continued downwards. Jenni had seen it and at first assumed it simply went to the basement. It was probably nothing more than storage or utility access.

But several times she noticed small groups of members going down the stairs or coming up the stairs. Curious, one day she went down the stairs and found herself in a dimly lit vaulted passageway. At the end of the passageway there was a door, all heavy rough timbers and iron straps, looking like something that had been transplanted from a Scottish castle, lit by two dim red lanterns. A small brass plaque on the door bore the letters “OES” in gothic script. Beneath it another plaque in smaller letters read “Members Only.” She tried the door. It was locked.

Really curious now, at the first opportunity she approached Fred, the club manager.

“What’s OES stand for?” she asked.

“Someone’s been snooping,” Fred replied with a sly smile. “Well, OES stands for the Over the Edge Society. It’s a sort of club within the club. They have their own little playroom down in the understory.”

“It’s like a secret society or something? I’ve never heard anyone mention it.”

“Not really secret. More of an open secret. They just like to be very low key and we respect their desires. Do you know what ‘edge play’ means?” Jenni nodded. She’d heard the term and sort of knew what it meant. “As the name ‘Over the Edge Society’ implies, they like to push their play a little further than your ordinary recreational pervert.”

Jenni was intrigued. They sounds like they might be too serious for her tastes, but then the new, wilder Jenni felt compelled to ask. “So, how does one join the Over the Edge Society?”

“One doesn’t. One is invited to become a member. The Society watches the regular Castle Keep members and if they see someone who looks like a good fit they quietly offer them the opportunity to explore the possibilities.”

“Well, can one drop a hint that they’d like to be considered?”

“Of course. I’ll have a word with the appropriate people if you wish.”

“Thank you,” Jenni said, while wondering if she’d be saying “Oh, shit!” later.

A month passed without any word or sign from the Over the Edge Society. When at the club Jenni tried to watch surreptitiously for anyone who might be taking a particular interest in her. She was unable to spot any likely scouts.

Another two weeks passed and Jenni decided that she must not have lived up to the selection criteria. Then on a Monday evening Fred called her.

“So, any plans for the weekend?”

“No, nothing particular. Nothing that can’t wait for another weekend.”

“Good. Some of the members of the OES are having a play party and get together this weekend and have asked if you’d like to join them. It’s a weekend thing, at the ranch of one of our founding members and major benefactors. So pack like you’re going to a dude ranch. A car will be around to pick you up Friday afternoon. Is 5:30 too early? It’s a several hours drive.”

“No, I can do that. I’ll take off a little early from work.” And did she hear that right? “A car will pick me up?”

“Yes. A classic Bentley. The OES likes to do things up right.”

To be continued….

The Standard Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults. If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy please leave. Any resemblance to real persons or events is entirely coincidental. No offense towards Native Americans is intended.

Jenni and the Indians

By

Aubrey Wylde

Chapter 3

The Ranch

On Friday Jenni took off a little early from work, just to be sure she was ready.  The car came for her precisely at 5:30, and she was floored when she saw it. A vintage Bentley, as Fred had told her, complete with liveried driver.  She’d expected something from perhaps the 1960’s, but this car could have come straight from the set of some BBC historical drama. She wondered what the neighbors were thinking, watching her get into it.

The car took her north for nearly two hours, then turned off the freeway and rolled smoothly through a small, sleepy agricultural town.  Soon they were following a winding road into hills covered with oak and pine and fir. Just when Jenni thought they had gone well beyond the middle of nowhere the car turned off the road and stopped in front of a wrought iron gate between two stone pillars.  The driver tapped a small control box and the gate swung open for them. 

The Bentley continued up a gravel road, climbing through a grove of massive oaks.  Then it broke out into the open, onto a hilltop. Sprawling along the crest stood a one story, Spanish mission style building, almost lost among walls and gardens. The car passed through an ornate arched gateway and slowed to a stop in a cobblestoned courtyard.

The driver got out, opened the door for Jenni, then helped her out of the car. Mr. Hillsman, the owner of the ranch, was waiting for her. He was an older, rather corpulent man with a trim, gray beard. He sat upon a small electric scooter and reminded Jenni of that actor who played the wheelchair bound detective in the old “Ironsides” TV series.

“Welcome to the ranch,” he said, smiling. “You have excellent timing.  Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, so I can give you a quick tour of the place en route to your room. Don’t worry about your things. Edward will see to them. Follow me, please.”

Jenni walked alongside as he steered the scooter.

“We’ll take the scenic route,” he said, the scooter humming along.  “On your right is the main building, of course.”  They passed through an arch connecting the building to a tall, adobe block fence. On the other side was an extensive garden. The numerous rose bushes particularly caught Jenni’s eye. Paved paths ran through and around the flower beds.

“I’m not sure how much you were told about me. Since you’re not surprised by my means of locomotion, I assume you were told that I was crippled. After the accident, when it became apparent that everything below the waist was a loss, I went through a period of depression, and then decided to adjust my world to suit my circumstances.  Thus, I had the grounds of the ranch house reordered to allow me to zip around wherever I want on my scooter. The house is fully wired for a high speed internet connection, so I’m in touch with the outside world. And, I’m fortunate to be adequately well off to hire other hands and feet to do what I can’t. Still, I miss being able to dig in my garden as I used to. That, and other things I used to do.”

They came to a small patio, with chairs and tables. The downhill side was delineated by a low stone wall. It looked out over a panorama of rolling hills, trees and grass.

“The ranch is 20,000 acres. Most of it my great-grandfather acquired more than a hundred years ago. My grandfather added a bit more and then my father rounded it out back in the ‘50’s. Fortunately for me. Very few people could afford to assemble a ranch like this these days.”

They continued around the cluster of buildings and passed through another arching wall to a swimming pool. There a man was climbing the ladder out of the pool. He was of medium height, with the sleek, toned body of a swimmer, smooth, but not overly sculpted  His black hair was slicked back. Jenni wondered if he was a racer, since he didn’t seem to have any body hair.

“Brian,” Mr. Hillsman said, “meet Jenni. Jenni, this is Brian. He’s another guest for the weekend.”

“My pleasure,” Brian said, extending a hand, but then pausing to wipe it on his towel.

The pleasure’s mine, Jenni thought. Then she chided herself for taking too long a look at his well filled out Speedo. The material was amazing in its stretchability.

“I’m afraid the other guests, who had planned on coming this evening, have been delayed, and won’t arrive until tomorrow.  Still, we have satellite TV here, as well as a connection to the club.”

Jenni wondered what he meant by that. She almost asked about it, but decided Mr. Hillsman would explain in due time.  He led her around the pool, past the main building again, to a detached building with a row of doors. The first one was open.

“These are the guest quarters. Your room is the first one, here.  I’ll leave you to settle in. Come along to the dining room when you’re ready, though I shouldn’t wait too long.  My cook, George, had planned on serving in,” he glanced at his watch, “another ten minutes or so. We’ll be having a Mexican themed menu, which suits the décor. Until then.” He made a small waving motion with one hand and backed the scooter away from the door.

Jenni’s bags were sitting at the foot of the bed. She looked around. The room was small, but nicely furnished. The theme, logically enough, was southwestern. She stretched out on the bed for a minute or two and thought about it. What was she doing, coming out here to the middle of nowhere to spend a weekend with a bunch of kinky people she didn’t know? Oh, well. She was here now, and what’s life without a little excitement?

She got up, checked her makeup, ran a comb through her hair, and went out to find the dining room.  It wasn’t difficult. A middle aged Hispanic woman intercepted her on the way to the main house and guided her. Brian was already seated, giving his attention to a glass of red wine. Mr. Hillsman rolled in a few moments after Jenni.

The dining room, in keeping with everything else, was decorated in Spanish colonial style, with a massive dark oak dinner table. There were chairs for nine around the table, with one end left open.  Mr. Hillsman had switched to a wheelchair, which fit conveniently in the place of the missing chair. 

Dinner was impressive.  Green salad and a corn and squash soup.  “We have quite an extensive garden here,” Mr. Hillsman mentioned.  “I hope you’ll take as much as you can carry with you when you leave.  We produce much more than we can use.”  Carne asada, Mexican style rice, home-made pico de gallo, and freshly made tortillas.  “Dolores, George’s wife, makes the tortillas by hand.”

Afterwards, they moved out to the patio, which provided a striking view of the sunset as Maria served coffee and flan. Then they retired to what Mr. Hillsman referred to as the entertainment room. It was large and windowless, with about a dozen comfy armchairs arranged facing a large screen TV.

Mr. Hillsman wheeled into an area that had been intentionally left clear but for a small stand holding a remote..

“And this is our connection to the club.”  He flicked a button on the remote. The screen changed to a view that Jenni recognized as the main room of Castle Keep. She gasped. Hillsman noticed the surprised, concerned look on her face.

“You weren’t aware that the club has closed circuit TV cameras?  I thought it was common knowledge. I’m sorry. You must think me a horrible voyeur. Which, I suppose, I am, though in self-defense may I point out that before the accident I was quite an active member and, if it doesn’t sound too self-promoting, one of the main financial benefactors of Castle Keep.”

Jenni had, of course, been told that the entire club space was covered by surveillance cameras. It was part of the orientation briefing. It was presented as a safety measure. It had never occurred to her that someone might be watching the goings on at the club for reasons other than security. Had he watched the scenes she’d participated in? Scenes where she was nude or nearly nude, bound in helpless, exposed positions, everything on display. Scenes where people did things to her.

Her first instinct was to go straight to her room, pack her bags, and get the hell out of there. But without her own car it was going to be awkward to leave. While pondering this problem she calmed down a bit and thought about it. Was it really so bad for him to be watching the club members from afar. It’s not like the club didn’t have a lot of members with voyeuristic tendencies. Every scene, except those explicitly signed as private, had an audience. And she certainly had some exhibitionist tendencies. That was part of the turn on for her, knowing that people, strangers were watching her, maybe getting turned on by watching her. She’d even toyed with the idea of becoming an amateur bondage model. But if she did put her bare ass, and other parts, on the internet she wanted it to be her choice.

“This isn’t going anywhere, is it?” she asked. “Like, being put on the ‘net or recorded or anything?”

“Oh, no no no,” Mr. Hillsman replied. “That was part of the agreement with the board when they approved this. The only recordings are kept on the club premises and only preserved for security purposes. I get a live feed, but it’s a sort of virtual presence for me. No recordings. No playback. Only played here, for myself and guests who are members of the club.”

It was still a little bit creepy, but Jenni decided she could live with that. They watched the goings on at the club for about half an hour. Jenni picked out several people she knew. She wondered what they’d think if they knew she was watching them from afar. On the other hand, they’d all seen her nude or nearly nude and bound in revealing positions before, so did it really matter?

She glanced at Mr. Hillsman and felt a wave of sympathy for him. What must it be like, knowing that this was the best it could be, that he would never actively participate again?

They watched the goings-on at the club for about three-quarters of an hour, then switched to an on-demand movie. By the time it was over Jenni was ready for bed. She went off to her room, at Mr. Hillsman’s invitation selecting a book from his extensive library.

So far the weekend had not exactly been what she’d been expecting. Mr. Hillsman was a pleasant and hospitable host and it was nice to get away from routine for a weekend, but she was actually a little bored. Maybe Saturday would be more interesting. She settled into bed with the book, a novel she’d wanted to read for a long time, and found it even better than expected. She was still awake, reading, an hour later when there came a knock on the door.

Jenni said, “yes? Come in.”

The door opened and Brian padded in softly, closing the door behind him.  Jenni was surprised, not because it was Brian, but because Brian was completely naked and carrying a riding crop. Since he wasn’t wearing a Speedo anymore, Jenni decided that etiquette gave her permission to take a good look at him. There had been no padding in the Speedo. It was all Brian, and there was a lot of Brian. And it appeared he was happy to see her. Very happy indeed. All the zucchinis on the ranch weren’t in Mr. Hillsman’s garden.

He took a few steps into the room, then he went down on his knees and elbows in front of the bed, head down, holding the riding crop out on the palms of both hands like an offering.

“I am yours to do with as you please, madam. Please use me as you wish.”

Jenni was completely taken aback.  She sputtered a few times before she was able to get out a suitable reply.

“Ummm. Thank you, but, ah, I think we have some confusion here. I’m really more of a bottom type than a domme.  Actually, I’m not a domme at all.”

Brian looked up at her sheepishly, his face flushed with red. He slowly got up, dangling the riding crop from one hand as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it.

“Um, well, I, ah, guess this would be considered an awkward moment, wouldn’t it?  I’m pretty much a bottom, too. Actually, I’m a pretty shameless pain slut, when you get right down to it. Show me a riding crop and Mister Happy stands right up and salutes.

“When there were just the two of us here, I kinda assumed this was a set up. Like you were a domme from the Over the Edge Society and I was, ah, you were supposed to put me through my paces, as it were. Set the tone for the weekend. I was told I was coming here to meet some of the Over the Edge people. Like an interview to see if they wanted to let me join the club. So, well, ah, I guess I should be getting back to my room.”

He turned towards the door. Jenni noticed that his embarrassment had done nothing to deflate his erection.

“Oh, well, what the hell,” she thought. “I’m here for a wanton weekend of sex and depravity. And a good hard-on is a terrible thing to waste.”

She called out to Brian as he put his hand on the door knob. “You don’t have to go just yet. We haven’t really had a chance to get to know each other.” She scooted over to the side of the bed and patted the extra space she’d made. “Come and sit and let’s talk. I was brought up here to meet the Over the Edge Society, too. Funny none of them are here yet.”

Then, to make the invitation perfectly clear, she pulled her negligee up over her head and let it drop beside the bed. “Are you strictly kinky, or do you do vanilla too.”

“Vanilla, chocolate, strawberry, rocky road,” he replied. “Whatever flavor you want.”

“I don’t suppose you have a condom hidden on you?”

Brian pulled out the drawer of the night stand and picked up a handful of small packets. “El Rancho Hillsman is fully equipped.” He selected one and tore the wrapper open, setting the contents on the night stand ready for use.

Jenni thought to herself, “So, you like dominant women, eh. I can play that game.”

She rolled back to the other side of the bed, closer to Brian, reached out her hand and wrapped it around his cock. She gently tugged him onto the bed.

“OK, big boy,” she said, trying to sound authoritative, “you’re going to make love to me right now and you’d better do it good or I’m going to take that crop to your ass.”

“Well, sure, I’d love to,” Brian replied, “but you realize that threat is a negative incentive.”

Jenni looked at him questioningly.

“I like having my ass cropped,” Brian explained.

He placed his hands on her shoulders and pushed her own, flat on her back. He arranged her arms and her legs as if he were going to tie her in a spread eagle on the bed. She slipped into her role, holding herself in position as if fastened in place. Brian knelt between her legs, leaning forward and placing his hands on her biceps. He lowered his head, mashing is lips against her mouth and giving her along, almost brutal kiss, forcing his tongue between her not very resisting lips.

He moved down, kissing her chin, neck and upper chest as he did so. He spent quite a bit of time attending to her nipples before continuing southward. Jenni felt herself becoming aroused, but somehow not really excited. Brian’s technique was excellent and once upon a time she would have been thrilled to be ministered to by someone as skilled. When she came it was pleasant and relaxing, a sort of “Now I can fall asleep” climax, but somewhat anti-climactic.

Brian lay next to her for a while, Jenni resting her head against his shoulder, before he excused himself and returned to his room.

She wondered, after he left, how long had it been since she’d had just ordinary, off the shelf, plain vanilla sex? Had her diet of kink ruined her for just plain fare?

Chapter 4

Captured

Mr. Hillsman wheeled into the dining room as Jenni and Brian were finishing breakfast.

“I understand you both ride,” he said as the maid brought him a cup of coffee.  “There’s a splendid little waterfall on the property. Not running at full blast, as it does during the winter, of course. But it’s on a dependable little stream that flows all summer long. A lovely little spot for a picnic with a very nice little swimming hole below it. If you like, Maria can pack you a lunch and you can make a picnic out of it.”

“How will we find it?” Brian asked. “Will one of the ranch hands guide us?”

“No need,” Mr. Hillsman replied. “It’s not far off one of the ranch roads and I’ve had sign posts put up and had a map made for the convenience of my guests. You can’t miss it.”

“What about the others?” Jenni asked.

“The latest word is they won’t be arriving before noon. The usual thing. This one is riding with that one, and that one can’t get out before 10. And so and so has to wait for the in-laws to come to babysit. Life is just so complicated anymore. So I see no point in your waiting around here for them. Go. Have fun. Explore the ranch. There’ll be time enough for social activities this evening.”

Jenni returned to her room and put on jeans, a western style shirt and her riding boots. She met Brian as he came out of his room, looking very cowboy with boots and hat. George met them in the courtyard and led them downhill to the barn. He carried a pair of saddle bags with the lunch packed in softsided coolers.

They set off, following the map George had given them. He’d marked off a route to give them the scenic tour of the ranch, winding through groves of trees and grassy meadows spotted with red and white Hereford cattle. They should, George said, reach the falls just about lunch time, with time for a swim first.

They discovered just how big twenty thousand acres was. Even with the map it would have been easy to get lost, but they found the waterfall with no real trouble, thanks to the numerous signs identifying the roads and trails. As Mr. Hillsman had said, there was a signpost by the side of a ranch road and a well used trail leading down into the canyon. The waterfall itself was really more of a cascade, a massive jumble of boulders with small streamlets pouring from pool to pool between them.

They tied their horses under the shade of an oak tree, then went to explore the pool at the bottom. Brian immediately stripped down. Jenni wasn’t far behind him. Even though they’d just met the night before, she felt very comfortable with him, and she was also reveling in the freedom of being out in literally the middle of nowhere.

They frolicked in the cool water. Jenni considered the possibilities of a replay of the previous night’s games. Standing crotch deep in the pool she came up behind Brian, pressed her breasts against his back, reached around and brazenly began to fondle his cock and balls. He began to respond immediately, or at least his organs did.

“Thanks for the invitation,” Brian said said, gently disengaging her hands from his junk, “but we have a meet, greet and who knows what when we get back. I think maybe we should save a little energy for then.”

Jenni was a little disappointed, but couldn’t argue with his logic. Who knew what was on the schedule once the rest arrived.

They stretched out on a large rock to dry in the sun and then had lunch. Tortilla wraps using last night’s leftover carne asada and fruit salad marinated in spiced wine. Afterwards they clambered around the rocks around the waterfall, went for another swim, and then lazed like seals in the sun again.

“Wow! It’s coming up on one-thirty already,” Brian said, picking up his watch. “We should probably get back and see if the rest of the guests have arrived.”

They packed up the remains of the lunch, then led the horses down to water them before starting off. When they had reached the ranch road again Brian pulled out the map and studied it for a minute. He pointed off to their left.

“I think this is probably the most direct way back to the ranch house.” He urged his horse forward and Jenni followed.

They’d ridden for about ten minutes when Jenni happened to look back. To her surprise she had a brief glimpse of another horseman just disappearing behind a tree.

“Brian,” Jenni said softly, pulling up alongside him, “this might sound a bit paranoid, but I think someone’s following us.”

“I know,” he replied. “More than one, I think. I first spotted them while we were at lunch.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I wasn’t sure at first. Then I thought, maybe it was just a couple ranch hands being voyeurs. Or maybe some hikers. I’ve been keeping an eye out for them since.”

“They’ve been watching us all this time?”

“I think so. I’ve caught a glimpse of them every now and then.”

“What…what should we do?”

“Since I can’t think of anything else to do, and they haven’t done anything but watch us, my best guess is we keep riding along until we get to the ranch house. But you might just be ready to ride like hell. Just in case.”

They continued down the ranch road for a few minutes, frequently looking around and behind them. After about five minutes Jenni turned and almost fell off her horse.  Riding up fast behind them were three Indians. After a second look she was certain they weren’t real Indians, just men dressed like B movie Indians. 

Jenni didn’t have time to say “What the f…” before Brian saw them and spurred his horse, shouting “Let’s get out of here!”

Things then happened too quickly for Jenni to think out what this was about. Four more Indians came riding out of the trees in front of them. They were quickly surrounded, the faux Indians brandishing lances and old muzzle loading carbines and yelling at the top of their voices. One of them, who appeared to be the leader, was yelling at Jenni and Brian to get off their horses. Jenni followed Brian’s lead and complied.

“Hey, what the fuck?” Brian was yelling back at them. “What the hell do you think…”

The leader rode over and stuck his carbine in Brian’s face. “Shut up, paleface, and put your hands in the air. Both of you.” He waved the gun at Jenni.

They both did as ordered. One of the Indians dismounted, taking a rope from his saddle. He pulled Brian’s arms down and tied his wrists together in front of him, then handed the end of the rope to one of the mounted Indians.  He was handed a second rope and did the same to Jenni.

With their captives secured, the band of Indians started off. Two Indians led Brian and Jenni’s horses while two led Brian and Jenni, the rest going ahead. They followed the road for a short distance, then turned down a side trail, away from the ranch house and into the forest.

Chapter 5

The Village

They walked for about ten minutes.  The pace was fast, but not so fast they were in danger of falling and being dragged. The trail led up and over a low, tree covered rise.  When they emerged from the trees on the other side they found a small valley with scattered trees and a small stream winding through it. And in a bend of the creek an Indian village.

Jenni didn’t know that much about Indians, but she could tell this wasn’t terribly authentic.  There were a number of teepees, like the plains Indians used. But then, in the middle of them a long, bark covered structure that she took to be a longhouse, something that would have been found in the woodlands of the Northeast. Then there were a number of small, dome-like brush covered wikiups. And off to one side, barely hidden by trees and camouflage nets, the tale-tell blue and white plastic of a row of porta-potties.

The Indians led them down the gentle slope towards the village, but before they reached it they turned off the road towards a large oak tree with stout, overhanging branches, the lowest eight or nine feet off the ground.  Several dozen Indians had gathered under the tree and more were coming from the village.

Brian and Jenni’s captors dismounted under the tree.  As the horses were being led away two of the Indians uncoiled ropes and threw them over one of the branches.  This looked ominous to Jenni. Were they going to be lynched?  

Indians crowded around Brian and Jenni. They pushed and dragged them to the ropes. First Brian was forced to lie down on his back. His boots and socks were removed.  One of the Indians brought out a shorter length of rope and began tying Brian’s ankles. As Jenni watched she realized he wasn’t just tying them together. The man was an expert rigger. She’d seen similar rope work at the club. He was tying them in an elaborate manner that would spread his weight. She wasn’t surprised when the free end of the rope was fastened to the rope dangling from the branch. A horse was used to pull the rope and raise Brian up until he was dangling upside down with his head two feet above the ground.

Then it was Jenni’s turn.  A brave ordered her to get on her back beneath the free rope. Her boots were removed and her ankles tied as Brian’s had been, the suspension rope fastened, and she was hoisted into the air. Jenni had seen suspension at the club before, but had never been the subject of one, and certainly not an inverted suspension. As her feet started skyward she couldn’t help but mutter “Oh, shit!”

One of the braves held her head until she was clear of the ground. When she was all the way up and left dangling she had to admit the guy who tied her ankles was a real expert. The strain of holding her weight was distributed enough that she actually felt rather comfortable, like one of those inversion table devices. She let her arms, writs still bound together, dangle and tried to adjust to looking at things upside down.

By this time more Indians had arrived from the village, men and women. Jenni took the opportunity to get a good, although inverted, look at them. They looked like a group of extras from a really bad B movie western.  Most were about middle aged and not exactly the model of a fit and trim Indian warrior. The younger, more in shape men seemed to be flaunting it more and going either bare-chested or wearing minimal leather vests. The rest wore buckskin or decorated calico shirts. A few wore buckskin trousers, but most wore breechclouts, rather skimpy ones at that. The black wigs, with twin braids, that most of them had covering their fair European hair looked a little ridiculous.

About a third of the group was female. Some wore long buckskin dresses, though many had opted for much shorter dresses or short skirts, or even what amounted to nothing more than a sort of narrow leather apron front and back, with leather bras or halters or just a strip of cloth wrapped bandeau style around their breasts. Some wore breechclouts like the men, and a few had opted to cover their loins and wear nothing on top. Like the men, the trimmer, more shapely women seemed to be opting for the skimpiest clothing.

The group moved in on Jenni and Brian, catcalling and making rude remarks, and were taking liberties, slapping them and feeling them up. Brian’s fly had been undone and his cock pulled out. Hands were reaching inside Jenni’s shirt, fumbling with her belt.

An older man came through the crowd. He was dressed for the role of a chief, with a full headdress and decorated buckskin suit. He motioned everyone to back off, then stood where both Jenni and Brian could see him.  He looked at them gravely.

“I am Chief Whack-a-Poosy, the leader of this tribe,” he said gravely.

Jenni started to laugh.  It was getting a little too corny. The Chief stepped over to her, bent slightly, and grabbed a breast through her clothing.  He gave it a good squeeze.

“You find this amusing?” he asked. “Remember who’s the chief squeezing this boob and who’s hanging by her heels from a tree.” He stepped back.

“We are the Whap-a-hoe tribe,” he continued, somehow managing to keep a straight face, “or as you paleface scum would call us, the Over the Edge Society. You have trespassed on our land. You must be punished for this trespass.”  He turned to where a group of braves were standing. “Strip them.”

Two braves came to Jenni. Her shirt was unbuttoned and pulled down until it was hanging from her wrists.  A brave brandished a hunting knife. Four quick slices and her jogbra was on the ground. Her pants were undone and shoved up above her knees, to be joined immediately by her panties. She was left hanging, exposed. The Chief gave a “go” motion with his arm and the crowd surged forwards.  Jenni was surrounded by bodies, hands feeling her up, squeezing her breasts, slapping her bottom and belly, pinching her lower lips and poking into her private recesses. It was a strange sensation, surrounded by strangers, totally helpless against the assault.  Frightening, yet also strangely stimulating.

The Chief called them off again and the crowd moved back. “You will be punished.  And you will be tested. We will subject you to trials, to severe ordeals. We will see if, at the end, you are worthy to be adopted into our tribe. I suggest you pass these trials, or else.”  He made a knife across the throat motion, turned, and started walking away. Most of the crowd followed him. A half dozen braves remained behind.

When the crowd had disappeared down the path to the village Brian and Jenni were lowered to the ground and helped to their feet. Two braves supported then while their ankles and wrists were unfastened. Their clothing was removed and collected in a plastic bag and their wrists retied in front of them. Short rope leashes were tied loosely around their necks and they were led down the path taken by the rest of the tribe. The path went a short distance, through a small grove of trees and down a gentle slope, to a sandy terrace near the creek.  Here an area about eight feet on a side had been cleared of twigs and rocks. Two pairs of solid looking stakes had been pounded into the ground at the edges of the cleared area.

They first led Brian into the cleared patch between one pair of stakes. The leather leash was untied from around his neck, his wrists undone.

“Now we’re going to show you what we think of you paleface scum. Lie down on your backs,” the Chief ordered, “between the stakes. Then put your hands over your heads.”

Brian did as instructed. One of the braves grabbed his wrists and pulled him closer to the stake, then bound his wrists to the stake with a leather thong. Another brave tied a leather rope around Brian’s ankles. With another brave he pulled on the rope, stretching Brian out, and tied the rope to the other stake.

“Nice and snug, paleface?” the Chief asked. He poked at Brian’s cock and balls with a mocassined toe. “We want you to be comfortable, you know. Don’t want anything to detract from the experience.”

Then it was Jenni’s turn. She was led to the other pair of stakes, the leash and wrist bindings removed. She was ordered to lie down in the opposite direction of Brian, her head near his feet. Her wrists were bound to one stake. Rope was tied around her ankles. She gasped a little as the braves gave a hard tug on it before tying her off.

The Chief came to stand between Brian and Jenni. “Like I said, you paleface scum, we’re going to show you what we really think of you.”  He pulled his breechclout aside and pulled his cock out. He displayed it to Jenni, wiggling it over her face, and then he began to pee. Pale yellow liquid arced down to splash between her breasts. She closed her eyes and mouth and turned her head away. She felt the warm liquid splashing on a line down her chest and belly to her crotch.

“Don’t worry, limpdick,” the Chief said to Brian, “I saved some for you.”

Jenni turned her head to watch. The Chief had moved over to Brian. He was peeing on Brian in the same manner as Jenni, starting at the center of his chest and moving down to his genitals.

She looked around. The rest of the tribe, forty or more individuals, were gathered around. The men, and also the women who wore them, were removing their breechclouts.  The women wearing leather or cloth skirts were hiking them up and tucking them under their belts. They weren’t wearing underwear.

One of the women came to Jenni. She stood straddling Jenni’s chest, facing her. She looked down with a wicked, devilish look on her face. She reached between her thighs and spread her lower lips with two fingers. Jenni looked up, weirdly fascinated by the sight of a woman displaying the inner recesses of her sex. So strange to see them displayed like that, knowing what she was about to do. She closed her eyes and clenched her lips together when she saw the yellow stream falling towards her. She felt the warm liquid splashing over her face. She knew some people were into this kind of thing, but right then she couldn’t see the appeal of it.

Several more women and six or seven men came to pee on her. From the corner of her eye, when she dared open them, she could see more people doing the same to Brian.

Then a man came to stand straddling her waist, breechclout pushed aside and cock in hand. She thought he was going to pee on her but instead he began stroking his member.  He was half erect already so it didn’t take him long to have his pecker standing proud and hard. Some of the bystanders started cheering him on. He stroked faster and faster, his face screwed up in concentration. He thrust his hips backwards slightlyand started a rhythmic humping motion. 

How bizarre, Jenny thought. What was it about the sight of a naked woman covered with pee that would turn a man on? Yet he was clearly very turned on and about to get off. Jenni turned her face aside as the little white globs of cum arced down towards her.  The watchers were laughing and cheering now.

Several more men and women took turns emptying their bladders over the captives before walking out of sight in the direction of the village. Then they were left for what seemed like hours, baking in the sun, pee drying on them, the smell of piss hanging around them.  Flies buzzed them. Jenni had never felt so utterly filthy and disgusting in her life.

Finally, half a dozen braves came to join the two who had been left to watch over them. Jenni and Brian were untied, then helped to their feet. They were led the dozen yards to the stream, where there was a thigh deep pool. Jenni gratefully plunged in and dunked her head under repeatedly, scrubbing furiously at her hair and skin.  She wished she had body wash or a scrub brush, or anything that would help her feel clean again.

“It could have been worse,” Brian said, coming up from his eighth or ninth full submergence. “The real Indians didn’t just piss on their captives.”

“You don’t mean…”Jenni started to reply, disgusted at the thought.

“Yep,” Brian said, “it was a pretty common thing among a lot of the Indian tribes to shit on their captives.”

“God, but that’s disgusting!”

“That was the idea. They wanted to humiliate their captives, show them who was in charge and who was helpless.”

“How did you know that.  Or maybe, what’s more disturbing, why would you know that?”

“Oh, I used to read up on Indians, specifically looking for how they tortured people. Even as a kid I was an incipient pain slut. And who was among the best at torture? Indians.”

“So what can we expect if these guys are really playing Indian? Like, seriously. The real thing.”

“Well, it varied a lot. All the tribes were different.  Some didn’t practice any torture. Others made it almost a religious thing.  Some used it as psychological warfare, to terrorize their enemies. Burning was always popular. The Iroquois would burn captives at the stake. And their enemies would do the same. I read of one case where an early French explorer watched his Indians allies torture a captured Iroquois by burning his fingers and his dick.”

“In that case I’m glad I’m not a man.”

“Women didn’t get off so easy. Sometimes they’d have hot coals shoved up their vaginas. And of course breasts and nipples were favorite targets. They would cut off nipples, then come back and cut off the rest of the breast without killing the victim.”

“Of course. God, you men are such pigs.”

“It wasn’t just the men. Indian women did a lot of the torturing. They could be as nasty as the men, or even worse. They were really nasty to captured men, because they were the enemy’s warriors who were trying to kill their husbands. And if the men of the tribe were paying too much attention to a captured woman, they could get really jealous and if they got the chance they’d really do terrible things to her.”

Four braves had remained, watching them. One of them spoke. “Ok, paleface scum, that’s clean enough.”

Jenni and Brian stepped out of the stream. No one offered them a towel, but it was a warm day. They shook and brushed the water off and let the rest evaporate.  One of the braves then handed each of them a pair of moccasins.

“We’re going to be kind and let you wear these. We should make you run around barefoot, but your feet would be torn to ribbons in no time and there isn’t time to let them  harden up. And we’ve got lot’s more fun things planned for you.”

To be continued………

Copyright is claimed by the author. Permission to copy is granted for personal, non-commercial use only.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction with content suitable only for adults (and stable ones at that). If you are prohibited from reading such material by the laws or standards of your community please depart immediately. Likewise, if you can’t tell the difference between reality and fantasy, please leave. Do not attempt to replicate any of the actions depicted here. Injury may occur. Again, this is fantasy. 

Various parts of this narrative began years ago. I’m now attempting to link them into a  coherent work as inspiration strikes. 

Jenni and the Indians

Chapter 6

The Gauntlet

After they’d put on the moccasins, the braves tied their wrists behind their backs and tied the leather leashes around their necks. They were led up the path, away from the creek and back towards the village. They could see that the tribe had assembled on the wide path leading into the village. Their escorts stopped them twenty or thirty yards from the group.  The chief came forward. He struck a classic pose, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Black Snake, prepare them to run the gauntlet,” he ordered.

The braves started with Brian. A rope was tied around his waist and his wrists tied to it at the small of his back. One of the braves, a rather brawny one, remained behind Brian, hands on his shoulders. Another of the braves produced several leather thongs from a pouch at his waist, which he handed to the man Jenni thought the chief had called Black Snake. He was a bit taller than average, probably early middle aged, and obviously spent his time at the gym, as his bare chest revealed. He wore leather leggings and a comparatively modest breechclout. Jenni guessed his tribal name referred to the type of whip rather than a physical attribute.

Black Snake fondled Brian’s cock and balls for a few moments. To Jenni’s surprise, Brian quickly came erect. Black Snake wrapped one of the thongs tightly around the base of Brian’s genitals. He took a second thong and wrapped this one around Brian’s ball sack, stretching the skin tight and forcing the balls downward. A third thong, a long one, Black Snake tied around the head of Brian’s cock. He then looped the rest around Brian’s neck and back down to also be tied off to Brian’s cock. The thong was tight enough that if Brian stood up straight he’d be pulling hard on his cock. 

 

Once Brian was secured, Black Snake turned his attention to Jenni. A waist rope was tied around her. Instead of tying her wrists to it, her arms were raised over her head and her wrists tied together behind her neck. A long leather thong was tied to the front of the waist rope, taken through her slit and up the crack of her ass and tied to her wrists. It was uncomfortably snug, and if she moved her arms the wrong way it dug in viciously. Black Snake gave it several good tugs to make sure it was tight enough. Two more long thongs were handed to Black Snake.  He wrapped one around the base of each of her breasts, making the globes bulge out.

While the victims were being prepared, the tribe had arranged itself into two parallel lines. And each member was holding a willow switch or short leather strap. The Chief stood at the entrance to the lane. He appraised Brian and Jenni, a severe look on his face.

“Your first ordeal is an old, old tradition. You’ve probably heard of it. Running the gauntlet. This is where we’ll see if you’re even worthy of entering our village.”

Jenni had heard of running the gauntlet, of course. It was a classic Indian torture. But now, faced with the prospect of actually having to do it, it seemed like a much more fearsome challenge.

Brian spoke up, quietly.  “Ed, uh, I mean Chief, we haven’t been given safe words.”

The Chief spat at Brian’s feet. “Safe words? There are no safe words in the Over the Edge Society.”

“But that’s not, ah, safe. You can’t do that. It’s in the club bylaws.”

“Screw the club bylaws. Safe word? We don’t got to give you no stinkin’ safe words!” About half the tribe tried hard to stifle laughs. Jenni wasn’t finding it so amusing. “You are our captives. We can do what the hell we want with you. We can disappear you if we want. In fact, we’ve got crews disguised as cleaning ladies going over your apartments, looking for anything you might have left that would connect you to us. Sanitizing them, if you will, just in case something unfortunate happens. We don’t want any clues left behind about where you went. No way you can be traced back to us.” He grabbed Brian’s cock and squeezed. At the same time he stuck his free hand in Jenni’s crotch and worked a finger inside her. “Your prick and your cunt are ours. Play the game and we’ll see how it works out. Remember, there’s lots and lots of room out here in case we need to dispose of…anything. Now, let’s get on with it.”

He released them. Two of the braves grabbed Brian by the shoulders. They walked him to the end of the open lane. One of them kept hold of Brian while the other walked down the lane. When he was in position at the other end of the gauntlet, the other brave slapped Brian’s ass and yelled “Run for it, Hung-Like-Horse.”

Brian took off, not at a run but more like a fast walk. The Indians swung their switches and straps at his legs and buttocks. When he reached the far end the brave posted there turned him around and sent him back through again. When he reached the starting point he was turned once more. A few swung at his vulnerable cock and balls. He flinched noticeably when one made contact, but kept moving. How many times would he, they, have to run the gauntlet? Jenni wondered. She was relieved when, on the third time through the brave stopped Brian and undid the bindings.

“OK,” the Chief called out. “Time for Pale-Assed bitch. Oh, by the way, that’s the tribal name we’ve given you. Pale-Assed Bitch. It was either that or Boobs-Like-Melons.”

The two braves came to Jenni. Each took an arm. They walked her to the end of the gauntlet, where Brian had started. She saw the two lines of mock Indians, grinning at her and leering at her, some swinging their willow switches lazily back and forth. She felt a slap on her rump and started running.

Jenni took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. The first several blows were only glancing. Her running seemed to throw them off a little. But then someone got in a nasty, stinging swipe at her breasts and she faltered briefly. That was enough for several solid hits to her butt and thighs before she got going again and it spurred her into a serious sprint. She made it to the end of the double lines without sustaining too many hard blows.

The two waiting braves grasped her by the shoulders, turned her around and gave her a solid swat on the rump to get her started again. Knowing what to expect, she leaned forward and charged ahead. She tried to shrug off the stinging blows in the hopes of getting through as fast as possible. It seemed to work. A few stinging blows caught her breasts, but most landed on her rump and many were merely glancing. She made it to the end without suffering too much. Again se was turned around and charged ahead. The Indians had changed their tactics now. Some continued to aim for her increasingly sore butt. Most of them, though, were now swinging for her breasts and belly and many of them were connecting solidly. By the end she was beginning to stagger and worrying that she might trip, but fear of the consequences kept her on her feet and moving until the brave caught her.

Her third passage through the gauntlet complete, the two lines dissolved and the tribe began moving towards the center of the village. Brian and Jenni were led along a short distance behind them, stopping near the center of the village, by a large fire pit.

Chapter 7

The Example

The Chief came to stand in front of Brian and Jenni.

“How’d ya like the gauntlet?” he asked, grinning. “Got your attention, didn’t it? And a lotta fun, too. We’re a fun loving tribe here.”

He stepped off to the side.

“Just so you know what kind of tribe you might be invited to join, if you survive, we’re going to give you a couple examples of the kind of fun and games we get up to.” He turned to the tribe members. “Moose Nuts, get out here.”

A middle aged man clad only in breechclout and moccasins jogged out of the crowd. He was of medium height and barrel-chested, with a bit of a beer belly. He stopped near the Chief, facing Jenni and Brian. His hand went to the thong around his waist and undid the knot. His breechclout dropped to the ground. He crossed his arms across his chest, put on a serious face and stared past them.

Why moose nuts? Jenni wondered, taking a good look at the man’s equipment. Even though his cock was at half-mast she could tell he was as well-endowed as Brian, if not more so. So, why not moose dick?

“Girls, c’mon out,” the Chief commanded.

Two of the younger women came out to join the Chief and Moose Nuts. Like Moose Nuts they wore only breechclouts and moccasins. One was slender, her classic champagne glass breasts making her nipples look large in contrast. The other was of medium height and somewhat over weight. Her unrestrained boobs bobbled provocatively as she walked.

The slender girl immediately knelt in front of Moose Nuts and began massaging his cock. She grasped his balls with one hand. With the other she stroked his member, stopping after every dozen or so strokes to take it in her mouth.  When she had him standing fully erect the other girl handed her a leather thong. The slender girl wrapped it around the base of Moose Nut’s cock and then tightly around his scrotum, tying it off but leaving two long ends dangling.

The heavy girl went to the fire ring and returned with chunk of firewood a foot and a half long and five or six inches thick. She pulled out another leather thong that had been hung under the thin rope that held her breechclout. She put the stick of firewood on the ground and tied the thong around it, then picked it up and held it between Moose Nut’s legs. The slender girl tied it to the thongs that dangled from his scrotum.

Jenni involuntarily winced in sympathy when the girl released it and the full weight was stretching the man’s nut sack. She realized that she was reacting more than he was. As far as she could tell, he paid it no mind, maintaining his stoic faux Indian pose.

“Now watch this, paleface scum,” The Chief said.

He clapped his hands and Moose Nuts started a slow jog around the fire ring. With each step the firewood bounced and swung. Three times he circled the fire ring, then he returned to the two girls. To Jenni’s surprise his cock was still hard, curving out and slightly upwards despite the weight of the log.

Now the slender girl pulled the cloth strip from between her legs. She turned away from Moose Nuts, leaned forward, putting her hands on her knees and sticking her ass out. Moose Nuts stepped up behind her, guided his cock into her pussy, placed his hands on her hips and started thrusting vigorously. With each thrust the firewood swung violently back and forth.

Damn! He’s going to rip his nuts off, Jenni thought. But in only a minute or so he pulled out of the girl, gave his slick shaft a few hard jerks and globs of white spurted over the girl’s ass.

Moose Nuts waddled backwards away from the girl. The other girl knelt in front of him and untied the log, recovered his breechclout and slipped it into place. The Chief came over to Brian and stood beside him. He placed one arm over Brian’s shoulder. With the other hand he grabbed Brian’s cock.

“So, Hung-Like-Horse,” he said with a smirk. “That’s what we’ve decided to call you. We all have tribal names based on physical characteristics or other notable things. Your tribal name, until something better comes along, will be Man-Called-Hung-Like-Horse. Or just Hung-Like-Horse for short. Now, you think you’re up to a performance like that?” He squeezed Brian’s cock, hard, and gave it a twist, before releasing him, walking over to Jenni and slapping her on the rump.

“You we’re going to call Pale-Assed-Bitch.” He stroked her pussy. “How tough do you think you are? Think you’re tough enough, and horny enough, to join the tribe? Now we’re going to show you what you have to measure up to.” He walked back to his original position and faced the watching crowd. “Princess Whitethorn,” he called out. “You’re up.”

A striking young woman strode boldly out from the crowd. She was above average height, lean and toned. She wore her hair in two long braids, falling down in front to frame her small, perky bare breasts. Unlike some of the others who wore wigs it was clearly her own hair, long and naturally black.  There was a feline quality to the way she moved as well as a feline insouciance. As she walked she undid the ties that held the narrow buckskin aprons, fore and aft, that were her only clothing, and let them fall, revealing her shaven sex.  She stopped about a dozen feet from the chief, standing at an angle so that she was facing both the Chief and the captives.

“Assume the position, princess,” the chief ordered.

Princess Whitethorn spread her legs about a shoulder’s width apart, raised her arms above her head and crossed her wrists as if they’d been bound and tied to a suspension rope. The position presented her body enticingly. Jenni had to admire her toned, taut abdomen and her small, firm breasts, uplifted and thrust forward. Her face remained neutral, impassive.

“Bull Dick, Whip Hand,” the Chief said, “you’re up.”

Two braves came out of the crowd. Both were of the minimalist school of clothing, wearing only breechcloths. Jenni could guess which one was Bull Dick by the pronounced bulge in his. He took up position several steps behind Princess Whitethorn. Whip Hand took up position facing her, carefully adjusting the distance. He uncoiled a long, slender whip and worked it back and forth to one side.

The whip changed it path to horizontal, swinging from right to left at the level of the girl’s breasts. Jenni flinched as the tip grazed both of the girl’s nipples. The girl herself stood as unblinking an impassive as if nothing had happened.

The whip returned in the opposite direction, catching her along the lower curve of her breasts. Whatever else he might be, Whip Hand was a man with a remarkable eye for judging distance and putting the tip of the whip exactly where he wanted it. He came back for the next stroke just below the previous one, and then another just below that. Princess Whitethorn held her position like a statue, showing only the slightest quiver as the whip grazed her.

Whip Hand continued working his way down her torso, leaving a pattern of faint red lines to mark his progress.  Bull Dick had dropped his breechcloth, releasing an impressively large, rigidly red cock. He stepped behind Princess Whitethorn, pressing against her and reaching around to cup her breasts. He began to pull and twist her nipples.

Whip hand was working on Princess Whitethorn’s belly now. He was angling his strikes now to follow the curve of her belly down to her mons as well as across the tops of her thighs. Bull Dick was seriously mauling her breasts now, squeezing, pulling, twisting. Still the Princess’s face remained impassive. The only reaction Jenni noticed was that her breath was coming faster, deeper. She was beginning to arch her back, even as the whip began to move upwards again.

As the whip continued retracing its path back towards the princess’s breasts Bull Dick moved his hand down towards her crotch. He backed off slightly and reached one hand for his red, rigid member, guiding it between the princess’s butt cheeks.

Is he going to butt-fuck her? Jenni wondered. Studying the angle of Whitethorn’s hips she decided no, he was going for her pussy. He began humping the girl manfully, hands on her hips, she thrusting back at him even as the whip began to again punish her breasts. Her stoic posture finally broke as she threw her head back and issued feral sound, half scream, half moan and trembling collapsed back into Bull Dick’s arms.

Whip Hand recovered and coiled his whip. Bull Dick held Princess Whitethorn for a minute or so, until she resumed her self-control and stood on her own. Bull Dick withdrew his slick, slowly shrinking member. The Princess retrieved her meager clothing and rejoined the crowd, cum slowly trickling down her inner thigh.

Chapter 8

An Afternoon’s Torment

“So, that’s how we roll in the Whap-A-Hoes. You paleface sissies think you can measure up to the tribe?” the Chief asked. “Well, your testing starts now. We’ll start out with some just sort of nasty stuff. Then we’ll get tough.”

He motioned to the crowd. Half a dozen braves came forward and seized Brian and Jenni. They were hustled around the fire ring to the center of the village. Two of the braves took Jenni off to the side, keeping a hold on her. Two others made sure Brian wouldn’t be able to resist.

Many of the women had gathered around Brian. One of them came forward and tied a rope around his waist. Then his wrists were tied to this rope, about halfway from his sides to the small of his back. This made him hold his elbows out, like small wings.

Two braves grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him to bend forward, thrusting his butt backwards. The woman who’d tied the waist rope grabbed his cock and balls and pulled them further back. Two other women came forward, carrying two stout sticks, the bark removed and the surface sanded down, and leather thongs. One stick was placed beneath Brian’s genitals, the other above them, right at the root. The sticks were bound together with the leather thongs.

When they were finished, Brian was wearing what amounted to a humbler. Jenni had seen humblers used at Castle keep, fancier things with bolts and polished wood, but this one was just as effective and maybe even a little nastier for its lack of finish. With the sticks bearing against the backs of his thighs, any effort to straighten up would cause him to pull viciously against his male organs.

The braves backed off and the women closed in. Jenni saw that they’d armed themselves with willow switches. One woman, Jenni thought it was the one who’d handled Brians’s cock and balls, gave him a sharp cut with her switch and yelled, “Run, chicken, run.”

Brian didn’t need any more urging. He took off, looking very much to Jenni like a startled chicken. The women, brandishing their willow switches, set off in pursuit of him. The braves who’d been handling Brian came over to Jenni.

“Oh, shit,” she thought, “what are they planning for me?”

The leader of the braves, she thought he was called Black Snake, stopped just in front of her. “I bet you’re wondering what we have in store for you, aren’t you?”

Jenni nodded feebly.

“Well, we’re going to show you. Nothing too bad. Just enough to keep you from getting bored. We’ll get to the heavier stuff later.”

A peeled wooden pole, six or seven inches in diameter and standing eight feet tall, had been planted in the ground to one side of the fire pit. Two braves led Jenni to the pole and stood her with her back to it. They bound her legs to the post at ankle and knee, wrapped rope around her waist and tied her wrists behind the post. More wraps went above and below her breasts, holding her firmly in place. She noted that they’d tied her in such a way that her legs were firmly together, her slit relatively inaccessible. She wondered what that meant.

About two dozen men and women formed a ring around Jenni. Someone unseen began beating a drum, the old clichéd B movie rhythm of TUM-tum-tum-tum, TUM-tum-tum-tum. The circle began to move around her, some doing a sort of dance, others just shuffling along. Then one of the dancers darted in towards Jenni, gave her left breast a hard slap and darted back out to rejoin the circle. Immediately after he did someone else came up behind her and slapped her exposed left butt cheek.

This became the pattern for the next half hour or so. The Indians took turns, front and back, slapping and pinching her, pulling on her nipples, a few aiming light kicks at  her crotch. It wasn’t a particularly painful ordeal. At first it was actually a bit exciting. She found herself becoming aroused, her nipples particularly responding to the attention. But like foreplay carried on too long it then started to become annoying, really, and after a while a bit boring. Her nipples were starting to get sore, but they weren’t really doing enough to get her endorphins flowing. Jenni actually started wishing they’d get on with the heavier stuff.

Maybe Black Snake was a mind reader, because he called a halt to the activity. The drum stopped. He signaled to the one they’d called Porcupine Prick. He approached, carrying a length of thin rope. Taking a closer look at Porcupine Prick Jenni thought she recognized him. She was almost certain she had seen him teaching a class in suspension at Castle Keep. He began wrapping the rope around her breasts, figure of eight fashion as first, then wrapping the loose ends around the rope between her breasts, tightening up the loops.

Two ropes were brought down from high branches to her left and right. They were both tied off to the rope between her breasts. Two braves grabbed the ends and tugged, pulling Jenni up. Still bound to the pole they only raised her a few inches, but most of that was from her breasts. The strain was terrific.

Then they made it worse. Two women approached her, each carrying a bamboo skewer in each hand. The drum began beating again. The women, one taking each breast, began tapping, very lightly, on the taut skin, like they were beating tiny drums in time. At first Jenni thought, this is nothing. After a minute she was squirming, as much as the ropes would allow. After two minutes she was moaning like a stricken animal, tears running down her cheeks.

Black Snake again called a halt. To Jenni’s great relief the ropes were undone, both the suspension ropes and the binding ropes. The two women began gently massaging her sore boobs.

“I know you were enjoying the heck out of that,” Black Snake said with a nasty tone to his voice, “but I wanted to save some of the fun for later. We’ve got little introductory torments to apply.”

Jenni was released from the post, but only for a five minute break. Once she’d had a chance to stretch and massage her wrists and breasts she was placed against the pole again, this time facing it. Ropes bound her to the pole at ankle, knee and waist. Her arms were raised, crossed on the opposite side of the pole and bound.

“Oh, my poor butt,” Jenni thought, as the crowd circled her again, this time many of them holding switches or short leather straps.

The drum started and the crowd began its shuffling half-dance around the circle. Again, as they passed behind her, members of the tribe darted in to apply a switch or strap to her ass, or to just give a butt cheek a good slap. Others aimed for the backs of her thighs. Something Jenni hadn’t counted on was the exposure the pole gave to her breasts. With her arms raised and the pole up tight against her chest her breasts were pushed off to either side. Some of the Indians took advantage of her vulnerability to give sharp blow to her side boobs.

Again the tactile sensations were just on the borderline of arousing her, but not quite enough. Where are those endorphins when you need them, she thought, bracing herself between each blow. A few also took advantage of her immobility to goose her, shoving fingers, or something, between her butt cheeks, feeling for her pussy.

She was grateful when the Chief reappeared and announced, “Time for dinner, folks.”

To be continued…

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