Return to Panay Las Cruces
The hip-hugger denims she purchased in the Manila bazaar nearest the hotel fit
snuggly. The tightness made Marla feel sexy. The form accentuated her
femaleness. The cut followed the curve of her hips and nice ass.
She reflected on her determined transformation since last year's visit to Panay
Las Cruces. The many hours spent working out and the dieting paid off. She felt
stronger, fitter. There was, as the boxers say, the tale of the tape- her boob
job to a full D-cup compensated for the loss of 2 more percentage points of body
fat. Last year at this time, she wore clothes 1 size larger. Now she could do
many more push-ups, crunches and out-lap most men around a pool.
All work pointed to this mission, and the moment had almost arrived.
She reminded herself she had no regrets making this trip solo. It had been wise
to sell the company when she did-that was the last she saw of Michael and Ed.
Taking a sabbatical was very wise too, she thought, no longer would she need to
forge excuses to curious lovers about the scars. Plus, she had the freedom to
journey back to Panay Las Cruces, and this time on her own.
The tall American with the dirty blonde hair made her way through the sea of
black-haired citizens. She finally found a pay phone and placed the call.
Expecting to hear a familiar voice, she was told that Mr. Mahdavi-Kini, the one
that had arranged for her first visit, retired and then passed away.
His nephew answered and explained his uncle's absence. When the foreign woman
told him what she wanted, to meet up with the notorious gang called Los Muerte
Negros, he said she was stupid. Only after Marla insisted in Tagalog, "I yan ang
gusto ko" (That is what I want), did he grudgingly give her directions to meet
that night at ten under a stall on the west corner of Saolaman and Trinity.
Marla wiped her chin on the crop sleeve of the pale blue top she had purchased
when she bought the jeans. Even at night the place was humid, she shrugged, and
swatted away pesky mosquitoes as she waited at corner. Just to be sure she made
the appointment, she had made it a point to arrive ten minutes early.
She was about to leave some 30-minutes later when a tinny car horn honked. She
looked. Behind the dirty windshield was the first face she recognized since
arriving in this country.
Duarte's teeth looked worse than ever as she got in. His breath stunk just as
bad. His unruly hair looked about as she remembered, though, and when she told
him what she wanted, he agreed to pick her up early the next morning and take
her to the village church where her adventures had all started.
From there, she would be on her own.
Morning breeze from the open window stirred her hair as they jostled along the
back roads. Her driver hushed after she slapped his wayward hand from her knee.
Familiar fields passed by. Water buffalo grazed. Farmers worked fields of sugar
cane. The thatched roofs of villages grew fewer. Here and there kalachuchi and
sampaguita flowers brightened the way, but they were few. Mainly shades of brown
and green meeting the blue horizon colored the scene as the jungle approached.
Her excitement, like her hair stirred.
Marla grimly smiled as they rumbled passed the old church. She craned her neck
to see the alley where the mob took her, but Duarte did not slow down. He seemed
eager to turn around and head back.
"Dito ang daan"(This is the path), he said, bringing the jitney to a halt.
Clouds of dust surrounded them. Duarte muttered for the crazy American to get
out, and speedily turned around and sped away after she stepped from his car.
She had brought only what she wore. Marla knew from prior experience that she
had everything she needed. She took off her sun-glasses and looked around. The
edge of the small town looked deserted. Ahead was a small path leading into the
jungle. Summoning up another deep breath of courage, she walked toward its
entrance and stepped into the lush darkness of the tropical foliage.
With no wrist-watch to keep accurate time by, she estimated that she had climbed
the trail for an hour. Sweat poured from her. She should have had enough sense
to bring water, she thought, and held away the flimsy material of her new top.
Sweat darkened its light blue color, and the shirt itself was sticking to her.
Pushing away from the tree she leaned on, Marla figured it was time to continue
when the webbing dropped.
There looked to be five of them. All wore masks and pointed rifles at her. One
stepped forward and spoke. "You are far from where you should be, White woman."
The near-perfect English helped startled Marla. The tangle of netting was tossed
away. Marla looked at the one speaking and said, " I am looking for Los Muerte
Negros. If you can take me to them, then I will be in the right place." Her
voice sounded stronger than her own courage, but she remembered Cuervo and
Ernesto, the two leaders of the gang that tortured her and that Peace Corp
bitch, Danielle.
The guerrilla seemed to consider her words, spoke hurried speech to his comrades
in some tongue Marla did not comprehend, and then said, "We will take you,
Amerikana. Now the memory of your craziness last year returns. But, you must
first be blindfolded."
Marla kept silent and allowed the rag to cover her eyes. Tied behind her head,
she could no longer see. Her wrists were placed one on top of the other and
bound.
Hours passed as they trudged through the jungle. Marla heard new voices as they
stopped. She stood still as the blind covering her eyes was removed. The glare
was harsh, but she could make out other men going around the small clearing
where they stood. Next to the hiking boots she wore sat a small tin box.
"You will get on your knees and wait in there."
The guerrilla gestured toward the low container with the barrel of his rifle.
Marla looked again at the box, and back at the one who had spoken in alarm.
"Yes, it is large enough to hold you, but only just..."
They kept her wrists bound and forced Marla to her knees. One end of the box
opened like a door. She could see small air holes punched in its sides. The
interior looked dark, but she wiggled to crawl in anyway. The small door swung
shut behind her soles. Marla heard a lock click on the outside.
The suffocating dark was stifling. Any move of head shoulders or hips would
touch the burning metal walls. Marla waited on her knees. She could only raise
to the height of her arms as her knuckles touched the ground. Fingers from roped
wrists dug into the earth, but it was no cooler. She tried crying out, but her
cries went unheeded and soon the energy that it took to call was sapped. Marla
softly whimpered as the confined space around her melted and struggled to
breathe.
Occasionally, someone would empty a bucket of water over the top of the metal
box with the White woman inside. Steam quickly rose as the water splashed. As
the afternoon wore on, interest in the captive waned. When evening turned to
night the air slowly cooled.
From the corners of her eyes she could barely make out the tiny holes near the
bottom of the box. It was through these holes that she was able to see the light
change into night. Sounds changed as well. Fewer male voices were heard, and the
noises in the jungle alter as nocturnal creatures made their rounds.
The hissing sound came sometime during the early morning hours.
Marla heard it, and then felt her pant leg rustle. Company had joined her
cramped space.
She tried shaking her leg free and then thought better of it. Marla bit her
lower lip as it slithered along her calf. She shed silent tears. The movement
stopped. Marla tried to convince herself that the snake only sought the warmth
of her calf, and really meant her no harm, but her silent tears continued and
her chest quaked.
The light of the new morning brought new sounds. The reptile was gone. Marla
tried to peek down at one tiny shaft of light when the small door creaked opened
at the soles of her boots, flooding brilliant sunshine.
She felt as bad as she looked. Her head swum dizzily, but it felt good to at
last stand. Disheveled strands of hair fell down her front. Lower, she could see
her navy sports bra in stark contrast to the pale blue top. Red rimmed her eyes.
A soldier poured fresh water over her lips. She gulped as much as she could.
"Your night was pleasant, I trust?"
Marla didn't speak, but wearily looked at the guerilla facing her.
"We understand that you have come all this way from your home in the United
States to submit to our leaders, correct?"
She nodded.
"Then, let us see what you have to show."
Marla sighed. At last...Hands undid the ropes tying her wrists. Her arms were
raised up, and the top lifted off. The bra came next.
More men gathered to see the loco White woman stripped. Foul grins leered as
freed breasts swung free.
"Ah, you have pretty nipples," the guerrilla said. He palmed one full breast and
tweaked the rose-colored nipple with his thumb until the flesh stiffened.
Sweat returned. Her face and neck felt flush. She gazed around. More of them had
gathered. Their lewd comments she could barely translate, but their meaning was
clear.
Hands undid her boots, and pulled off her socks. She stepped from her jeans as
they were pulled down and also from the bikini panties.
Marla looked up to the cloudless sky as her wrists were rebound. She tried to
ignore the catcalls, as she stood nude and looked up above. There were no
clouds.
"You will stand here and wait."
The day passed. Afternoon came. None came close to the nude as she stood, except
when ordered to lift her up from the dirt after she fainted from the heat and
fell to the ground. As dusk blacked the jungle around them, the only one who had
spoken to her approached. "I am afraid," he said. "The one you seek has not yet
arrived."
Marla's tired face questioned the young gangster.
"Yes, that means another night spent in there." He pointed to the tin box.
"No...No!" Marla stumbled away, but other hands grabbed her shoulders and held
tight. "No, please not there!" The horrors of the box burned in her mind and she
struggled as she was forced down on her knees and shoved inside.
Sobs wracked her body as she knelt hunched over as before. The heat was no
longer as bad as before, but now her nudity made conditions even worse. Her
sobbing finally dried as the night progressed. Buzzing mosquitoes swarmed and
fed.
Sometime, in the middle of the night she the buzzing seized and the hissing
return. It alone brought chills.
Marla gasped in the cramped container. Along her calf it started, and then began
to slither up as it coiled around her thigh. She hardly breathed as she felt the
snake's flicking tongue touch her pussy. Her eyes grimaced as the head probed
more, and began to enter.
She trembled all night long, shivering as the snake slithered between her lips
and rested. It coiled inside, and she gagged as she felt herself accept its
mass.
"So, your are the Amerikana. We found you and those Peace Corp people last
year."
Marla lay inside the shanty. Blood-shot eyes looked about. Some feet from head
sat muddy boots. The voice was different, but one she remembered from her past.
She clenched her vagina. The snake was gone.
"Surely," the voice said. "You have not forgotten me?"
She cried out as her hair was yanked up. The boots belonged to Ernesto, the
stocky one. Her heart pounded as her head was pulled up to face his knees.
"Yes, yes. I know. You were hoping for the much younger and some would say
handsomer Cuervo." Ernesto leaned forward from where he sat and glared into the
woman's face as he held her strangled hair in his fist. "Unfortunately, Cuervo
is no longer with us." He twisted the hair around in his fist.
Tears welled in her eyes as her hair continued to be pulled.
"But, I am here, and since you have paid for the pleasure...you will be my
slave. Is that clear?" The brown-skinned leader enjoyed seeing the look of
fright cross the White woman's face. His free hand swung and cuffed her temple,
knocking her across the room. "IS IT?"
Marla cried out as she was hit and slid. Frantically, she sought an escape.
There seemed to be none. She gathered herself, wiped a hand across her lip and
rose to her knees.
"Very good," the bearded leader of Los Muerte Negros bellowed. "From now on,
slave, you are to call me master, and spread those knees apart!"
Strands of hair fell as she knelt and opened her thighs. "Yes...master."
"Get those hands behind your head. Close your eyes. Tilt your head up!"
"Y-y-yes master."
Ernesto smiled down at his willing slave. Despite the tiny pink bites from
mosquitoes covering her otherwise unblemished skin, her body remained fresh. He
especially enjoyed the full tits and the small triangle between her parted
thighs. Her obedience was clear as she dutifully followed his instructions and
presented before him. This one, he thought, he would enjoy. Such a pity it was
that Cuervo was not here he chuckled to himself.
"I shall test you, slave. Open your mouth."
Five more days passed as Marla served Ernesto. She cleaned his quarters, fed him
so that he would never need to use his hands, and frequently served as his
living foot-stool. There was also the sex. Marla worshipped his stubby, but
thick cock, submitted to his penchant for anal, and praised his looks, although
he was almost as ugly as Duarte. She always called him "master"
One day, while he was away from the camp, she gathered fronds and entwined them
around her hips.. The garland did not hide much, but gave some privacy from the
stares of the other men. When Ernesto returned, however, he was furious to see
that she had attempted to cover herself. He tore the leaves from her hips and
swore at his slave's self-indulgence.
"Tie the bitch up!"
Marla was grabbed by others and taken to under a branch. Wrists bound, her arms
were jerked up. Her feet dangled just off the ground.
Ernesto called all of his men around to watch. He unbuckled his belt and cursed
the hanging figure that dared to defy him. Old scars from last year were gray
lines as they crossed the sculpted back. He would add new ones, and they would
not be the same color.
The first smack hit with such force, she swung in response. Ernesto was waiting
for her body to swing back. He timed his second swing of the belt perfectly.
Marla's head snapped back and her mouth opened for a piercing scream to the sky.
Gathered jungle fighters watched as the female was hit again, and again by the
belt. Ernesto's face was red with rage. He reversed his hold and whistled the
belt's copper buckle through the air. More marks reddened, and then purpled as
the female swung. Ernesto was hitting the Amerikana's tits. They bounced with
each strike. She spun when the belt wrapped around a hip.
And then the screaming stopped. The slave limply hung from the branch. Strands
of darkened hair covered most of her lowered face.
Marla sputtered awake. She choked on the dust. Around she saw the boots of many
men. For the first time in days she felt clothed. Without moving her body, she
felt the top and jeans, socks and boots were back on.
Ernesto placed the sole of his boot behind her head and said, "Time for you to
go, for now." Holding her head down, he continued, "Until you come back next
year at this time, slave."
Marla winced at the pressure of the boot on the back of her neck and heard
Ernesto's voice behind her speaking.
"Just so you remember, until then, whose property you now are," he said and
reached for the corner of her shoulder. He tore apart a section of the light
material and withdrew his dagger. His lips twisted as he saw the pale flesh. It
yielded to the sharp point of the dagger. "I'm going to leave my
initials...E....V."
Marla screamed as the knife seared, but with her head held down, she could
hardly move her upper body. She shrieked as the wounds were cauterized.
"Get the bitch to her feet and take her from her, but," and he twisted Marla's
head in his hands, don't ever come here wearing under-wear, slave." He grabbed
one free tit. Were it not for the dirt smudge covering it, it would show through
like its sister. He slapped the fullness from his hand.
Marla staggered away from Ernesto as she was slapped, and would have fallen had
not the guerilla she had met long ago held her up. He blindfolded her and then
other men joined to lead her away.
One of them looped rope around her sore wrists and bound them tightly. They
walked in silence for some time. Marla stumbled along as best she could. Not
being able to see and having her hands tied was nothing new: Suffering the pains
from the whipping was.
"We have gone enough. Put this in your mouth."
Marla started at the whispered words of the guerilla. She opened her mouth and
felt another rag tied around her head. She then felt herself lowered to the
jungle floor. Hands removed her shoes and socks and her jeans. They left on the
torn top.
She struggled and shook her head from side to side. Strong hands held her tied
ones behind her head. Other hands lifted her top and pawed her breasts. She
arched her back as the first cock penetrated.
More came. She stopped struggling. One after the other pawed her chest and
fucked. Some lifted her legs. Others did not. Only human grunts could be heard
in the jungle.
She regained consciousness as hands pulled her back to her feet. She wobbled as
they began hiking again. Marla no longer cared that she was now barefoot and
bottomless. A familiar voice whispered in her ear. "I see what Ernesto likes in
you, but consider yourself now diminished. I too shall await your return."
The bedraggled naked female with the grimed top and group of banditos made their
way back to the village. At the jungle's edge, Marla's gag and blind were
removed. Without showing themselves, the men shoved her into the perimeter of
the clearing.
Marla staggered a few steps, and then fell. The enlarged flap of the torn top
laid bare Ernesto's mark and also showed recent and past welts crossing ribs.
She crawled closer to what appeared to be the old church. Exhaustion
overwhelmed. Under half-lidded eyes, she saw the approach of dirty sandals.
Barely able to raise her head off of the dirt, Marla saw they belonged to old
women from the village.
Had she cared, she might have recalled her treatment from the same women last
year. Now she only wanted rescue.
Marla felt herself being lifted. Two of the women were not so old. Each held
Marla up under her thighs and carried her as if she was sitting. She wrapped an
arm behind each neck and held on as she was carried like a queen. Another held
up a water bag. Marla gulped. She didn't mind splashing some of it over her
chin; the top it dripped on was already wet. Scratches gouged in the sides of
her breasts and the small circle on top each globe was visible through the
soaked cloth. Her nipples stood out.
Some of them spoke in rapid tongue. Marla was brought between two wooden carts
with rails on their sides. Rope caught each of her ankles and they were tied to
the rails. Marla looked confused at the two that had carried her as her ankles
were secured. Their blank faces did not answer back. Even their hands under her
pulled away.
She grabbed at the rails as the support left. Her shoulders strained. She used
them to keep from falling head-first to the ground bellow. Training in the gym
was nothing like this, but she was glad she had worked with the weights. Biceps
and triceps further defined. The top rode up, exposing a sweaty navel and
muscled stomach. Tight skin covering hip bones glistened brightly, the cropped
patch of curls glimmered.
Marla saw that bones weren't the only things glistening under the hot sun. Given
her taxed position, her pussy parted. Inner pink folds blossomed forth with
innocent vulnerability, oblivious to the threatening circumstances.
Between the two carts her legs formed a "V" whose shallowness was determined by
the closeness of the two carts. The carts parked side-by-side formed a sort of
booth with an entrance at one end, and her at the other. Between her legs, Marla
saw the first native woman enter. In her hand she held a sugar cane.
Her shuddering arms gave out just as Marla realized that the approaching female
was not that old. Her torso fell and head hit hard. Only her long legs, tied to
the rails, rose high. Between them stood the other woman. She seemed to smile at
Marla as she looked down.
Her sore green eyes followed the reed as it was placed atop one of the cart
rails. One eye stared at it while the other saw the young woman pull up her long
peasant dress. Sturdy brown legs appeared. They led to a black patch of hair.
She grazed her pubic hairs across Marla's. Delicate fingertips flitted over the
White woman's mound, then down to her navel. Rough nails lightly clawed.
Marla clamped her eyes shut at the other woman's touch. Muscles twitched a light
kiss as it landed on her lower belly. Sweat drained down and pooled around the
base of her neck. She felt her top slowly pulled back. Sun baked her abused
tits.
A moan escaped.
Forgetting all about the cane she first was so intent upon, Marla moaned more as
her head rolled. She felt fingers gently part her vaginal lips, and then slide
up to tease her clitoris. Other fingers slid along her slick inner thighs. One
hand lightly squeezed a boob. A thumb swayed a growing nipple from side to side.
Marla came when fingers entered her. She cried out in ecstasy for the first time
in a week. Thunderous waves of passion released. Lying in the dirt tied nearly
upside-down between two carts in a foreign land at the hands of another woman
following all sorts of horrors produced the most powerful orgasm of her life.
Marla tried to sit up, and fell back down as wave, upon wave folded over her.
Arms stretched far behind her as she lay panting in the warm dirt. Marla was
racked with sobs of pleasure. She felt the first light slide of the sugar cane
across her yawning pussy.
It slid again, and then slowly slipped inside. Marla felt the reed slowly pull
out, and then felt nothing, empty.
Her eyes opened. Marla did not want it to leave. She saw the other had lowered
her dress and stood between her parted legs holding the cane. The brown eyes now
held a malicious gleam and the hand holding the cane slowly swung.
The first hard hits were devastating. There was a whooshing sound as the rod
swung and then a splat as it tortured wet lips. Marla's shiny belly beat faster.
Naked boobs slapped as she was hit. The blows seemed to rain down harder. Spots
began to form in her eyes. The woman was dragging her nails down Marla's inner
thighs, and this time being none too gentle. Marla screamed in pain.
An older villager replaced the first between the carts. She swung the twig she
held hard across the cut and sweating tits, striking their undersides as Marla's
position forced them to point in opposite directions from normal. She also swung
at the open raw pussy. Her twig broke. It was replaced, and she swung again.
A sea change occurred as the fresh twig was rammed in and out of Marla. She felt
waves of another orgasm approaching. Marla closed her eyes. Her fingers clutched
at and tore at the ground. The beatings continued, but then, so did more
orgasms.
They untied the unconscious woman's ankles and let her legs fall flat. Two women
grabbed an ankle and pulled Marla across the village clearing.
The new movement awakened Marla. The dragging stopped. She saw two of them kneel
next to her. Hands lifted under her bottom while others bent her legs and placed
her feet flat on the warm soil.
She shook hair from her face and blinked. Villagers formed a tight circle above.
Marla tried to move her arms, but they were held behind her. She started to ask
what now? when the first bites came.
Marla shrieked and writhed. Her ass lifted and pounded down. Hips twisted. The
fire ants only got angrier as her gyrations disturbed their sandy hill. Bites
increased in ferocity.
Duarte drove back to the village late that afternoon. It was deserted, as
before, but lying inert near a perimeter he spotted the Amerikana. He swung the
wheel of his jitney over and got out just as the car stopped.
He rushed over with a bag of fresh water. The crazy woman was still alive, she
groaned as he rolled her onto her back. He wiped a wet cloth over her forehead
and wet her lips more.
Marla didn't know if she was in heaven, or not, but Duarte's ugly face above her
looked like an angel's. She sipped more of the water. Her head rested back in
the crook of his arm.
Duarte used the wet cloth to clean as best he could more of the White woman. It
was then that he saw her pussy. Little brown curls were made even smaller by the
swollen lips. Bite marks were all over her, but especially there. He dabbed the
area and pulled off the dirty top. He lifted the nude and carried her back to
his car. Inside, he had thought to bring a fresh change. He propped Marla up on
the side of his jitney and slipped the peasant dress over her head and let it
drop to the middle of her lower legs. Duarte then set Marla in the passenger
seat and went around to the driver's door. He got in, and they drove off.
Marla didn't know how long she had slept in Duarte's car, but did remember being
placed up front. She was now in the back seat. Duarte's bulk filled the open
door as he entered. Putting a finger to his lips in a gesture Marla knew meant
for her to be quiet, she watched mutely as Duarte rolled up the new dress she
wore.
Being naked again, even with an ugly person, no longer seemed of importance.
Marla submitted as Duarte fucked her. Her head rolled to one side and she saw
terraced fields outside of the dirty window. His grunts and body odor no longer
disturbed. Her body moved once or twice as Duarte came inside of her, and then
he pulled out, adjusted his pants and got behind the wheel. They drove once more
toward the city.
Marla laid her head back and rested. The air blowing across her face from the
open window felt refreshing. She pushed the dress down to cover her legs and
closed them. This year, she reminisced, she had done much to prepare. Next year
she would have to do more.
The End
