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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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