Orinoco Captive
by Winston Regret 


The Mato Grosso was a green hell, and like every other hell on earth, the 
Mato Grosso hid many secrets in its jungle slime. Venetia Cabet sought to 
unravel one of these secrets: the location of a million dollars in uncut 
emeralds. She hired Patrick Galsworthy to help her in her desperate quest, 
and once in the jungle, each of them discovered far more than either had 
expected-about themselves, about each other, about lust and greed, and about 
the fires of hell, which destroy the weak and transmute the few who can 
survive into nearly unrecognizable forms. In this hard-hitting, red-blooded 
story of the extremes to which lust and greed can drive men and women, 
Winston Regret delves deep into the secrets of the human heart, and what he 
finds is more surprising than any secret of the Mato Grosso, and more 
enduring than the fires of hell which smolder in that jungle's darkness. 


I 

The naked Jivaro girl walked briskly in the early morning chill as she 
hurried through the brush in an effort to warm her blood. Her muscles, taut 
with youth, gave her thighs and breasts a rubbery pliability. A jungle 
insect, seeking warmth, landed on her buttock. She swatted it angrily, and 
the creature's blood streaked and blended with the dusty mound of flesh. 

Patrick Galsworthy watched intensely from a thicket. He had heard her 
approach and had hidden quickly, half suspecting that some hostile warrior 
was hot on his trail. As she passed his hiding place his reaction was more 
than one of surprise. His eyes gleamed with lust and appreciation for her 
full woman's form, nubile as an Indian fertility figure. Finding himself 
alone in the wild with her, he had the urge to pounce upon her and satisfy 
his animal lust, but his long years of experience with these people helped 
him to overcome the heady impulse. It had taken a long time for him to win 
the trust and friendship of the Jivaros. The girl might well agree to the 
suggestion he had in mind, but then again she might not, and more 
importantly, the males of the tribe might also object. Galsworthy grimaced. 
His thoughts had left his loins tingling, and he was forced to remind 
himself that he was here on more important business. Still, the girl 
presented a picture too pretty to ignore completely. He continued to watch 
the matched mounds of her posterior moving away from him. She paused at a 
small stream and stepped behind a tree. Galsworthy saw her head bob once as 
she crouched, and then he heard the soft sound of water striking the jungle 
floor as the girl relieved herself. 

Suddenly Galsworthy stiffened and became ill at ease. It was a trait he had 
developed over many years and long solitary hours and miles. The slight 
snapping of a twig had told him he was not alone with the girl, and the 
sound was that of man, not animal. His sharp eyes scanned the foliage in the 
area around the still concealed girl, finally settling on the brush beyond 
the narrow stream. 

Galsworthy could make out the man quite clearly, although he was obviously 
hidden from the girl's view. He was a young Jivaro buck, probably from a 
neighboring tribe. The youth studied the girl and desire began to alter his 
features, the skin of his face pulling tight with passion. Made brave by his 
own lust, the Indian stepped around a bush for a closer look at the girl. He 
leaned forward and braced his body against a tree. Galsworthy's interest was 
heightened as he watched the youth's thick penis begin to swell, raise its 
head, and then expand into a full erection. Rape was not uncommon among the 
tribes, although it often as not invited full retaliation, sometimes taking 
the form of a mass counter-ravishment accompanying actual warfare and 
killing. It depended on the general attitude of the tribe at the time, the 
weather, and the amount of honor involved. Indians were funny that way. The 
same thing that amused them one day might well incite them, on another, to 
return to the old custom for which they were most commonly known. It wasn't 
a time for humor, but Galsworthy couldn't help but think that, here, a man 
could truly lose his head over a piece of ass. 

He didn't like standing idly by while the buck ravished the girl, even 
though he himself had been entertaining a similar notion, but he actually 
felt quite helpless. He could not pick sides without angering one tribe or 
the other. Any interference from him would guarantee animosity from some 
quarter and might well mark him for sudden death by spear or blowgun. And he 
could think of no worse fate than to have his head become some warrior's 
tsantsa. 

His thoughts were interrupted as the girl stood and approached the stream. 
She knelt and cleansed herself, her breasts swaying heavily as she put water 
on her face. She then leaned back, resting on her haunches and rubbing the 
cool water on those dark mounds, then massaging the nipples which began to 
expand and extend through her moving fingers. It was more than the young 
Indian could take. Galsworthy saw him drop to a crouch. The heavy muscles of 
his powerful thighs bulged, and he sprang forward in a dry land swan dive. 
Galsworthy clinically noted the youth's prominent erection in mid-air. 
Momentarily, he found himself once again wanting to spring forward to defend 
the endangered girl. He restrained himself. Hell, every native girl on the 
verge of puberty knew what her cunt was for. If this one didn't, it was high 
time she found out. 

The boy's shoulder hit the girl just above the breast, bowling her over and 
knocking the wind from her. She had only time to emit the beginning of a 
squeal which ended in a punched-out gust of ragged breath. The boy was all 
over her at once, his hands racing from thighs to crotch; squeezing her 
breasts, leaving dark imprints; finding the lips of her cunt, invading 
briefly, and moving on to maul her full buttocks. The girl remained 
motionless on her back, staring at the youth through stunned eyes. 

He gripped her breasts again and she began to moan softly as he leaned 
forward and bit her mouth. Trying to twist away, the girl raised one knee, 
giving Galsworthy a tantalizing view of her most intimate crevice. The boy's 
hands were there, his finger first penetrating, then plunging furiously in 
an attempt to excite his victim before her senses returned. She opened her 
eyes fully and gave out a short shriek. Her attacker slapped her hard, 
bloodying her mouth and terminating the bothersome sound. Her thighs 
involuntarily closed on his ravishing hand and she tried to roll over on her 
stomach. He tried to throw his weight against her, but was too slow. She 
slashed him across the face with her elbow and managed to crawl forward a 
few inches before he fell upon her again. 

The girl cried out as the boy's hands captured her wrists. She strained to 
free herself from his grasp, but found his strength too much for her. 
Thwarted, she snapped her buttocks upward, catching him in the groin. He 
only grunted angrily and looked more closely at her struggling body. He 
wanted to release her wrists and grip her elsewhere, but he knew that she 
could be at him immediately, trying to pluck his eyes from their sockets. 

Galsworthy could hear their labored breathing as the girl's hands were drawn 
inexorably backward. When the boy had regained freedom of movement, he 
savagely jabbed the girl's ass with his stiff prick. She gave a small cry as 
she scooted away from the foreign object, eyes bulging. The boy repeated the 
degrading action with a combination of lust and anger, not really aiming his 
straining cock, but striking buttocks, crack and cunt over and over again, 
using pain and shock to subdue his captive. The girl twisted, jerked, and 
squealed, trying to escape. It was to no avail. 

Galsworthy noticed his own breathing had become heavier. He took a deep gulp 
of air and rubbed his uncomfortable crotch. The raw display of primeval 
sexuality had excited him. If he couldn't save the girl, couldn't have her 
for himself, he was damn well going to enjoy the sight of another male 
taking her. 

The girl had remained still for a few moments, taking the continuing 
punishment with an occasional whimper. After timing the thrusts of the 
marauding shaft, she rammed her buttocks backward and up again, hard, taking 
her assailant full in the balls. He cried out and rolled away, clutching his 
heavy sac, his dark face showing excruciating pain. The girl, still shocked 
by the force of the assault, pushed herself slowly to her knees. She had 
almost regained her feet when it dawned on the rapist that he was losing his 
prize. Pushing away his pain, he lashed out, gripping the girl's ankle just 
as she began to stagger forward. She fell heavily, too weak to make a verbal 
protest, but she instinctively cocked her legs and kicked out as she hit the 
ground. 

The boy grunted out his surprise as the girl's feet thumped against his 
chest. He directed a string of Jivaro expletives at the fighting girl as he 
found himself sprawled on his back. Pure anger was in the girl's heart now. 
She no longer wanted to escape. If possible, she wanted to kill. Panting, 
she rolled to her stomach, then gained her knees again, crawling forward 
with murder in her now fierce eyes. The boy had managed to return to a 
sitting position, and was staring dazedly at his failing erection, 
bewildered by the sudden turn of events. The girl's hand reached out, 
curling like a talon as it fastened on his now spongy prick. She snarled and 
snatched brutally at it, trying to tear it from his groin. The boy's eyes 
bulged with fear as he gave out a loud screech, and sent the girl sprawling 
with a desperate blow to the side of her head. She lay quietly, her rib cage 
heaving with exertion. 

The boy stood slowly, circling the girl once to make certain that she was 
truly exhausted from the fight. He rubbed his balls thoughtfully, no longer 
certain that he wanted to thrust his penis into a potential meat grinder. 
The girl continued to breathe heavily, beginning the series of small sobs 
and croonings of a tired animal of the jungle. 

They held their respective positions for long seconds, and the boy's eyes 
became sensual again as the sight of the lush body before him drove all 
thoughts of fear, pain or anger away. He knelt beside the girl and began to 
stroke her back tenderly. She continued to whimper, but Galsworthy could see 
her muscles relax noticeably. After stroking her back and caressing her hair 
for awhile, the boy took new heart and swung astride the girl's body. His 
knees surrounded her waist, and his buttocks rested lightly on hers. She was 
silent now, and the youth began to cup and gently, rhythmically squeeze a 
half-exposed breast. When the girl did not protest, the other hand crept 
rearward, molding her buttocks with a light touch, following the crevice 
until it was beneath the body. His fingers began to toy with her cunt 
already moistened with the uncontrolled violence of anger. The girl sobbed 
audibly, and her legs parted ever so slightly. As the boy realized that he 
had won the battle, he increased his stroking in both areas. 

Galsworthy was breathing so heavily that he thought he might be discovered, 
but he threw caution aside and unzipped his trousers, withdrawing his own 
massive erection. Fascinated by the lustful scene before him, he began to 
stroke his own rod with a slow, pumping motion, instantly cursing himself 
for being a masturbating ape. How long had it been since he had defiled 
himself with such a personal act of abuse? Ten years? Fifteen? 

The girl had lifted her buttocks now, and was aiding the boy's manipulation 
of her wet cunt and clitoris. One side of her face was pressed against the 
grass, her eyes staring but sightless. The boy leaned down and bit her neck 
several times, then licked her shoulders and one armpit until the girl 
moaned in helpless sexual anguish. He dismounted and knelt beside her head, 
holding his stiff cock as he directed it toward her mouth. He paused when 
the enflamed head of his penis was several inches away from her quivering 
lips. He wanted her willing submission, wanted to make love instead of rape. 

Galsworthy clutched his erection tightly, pulling against it until the 
foreskin sprang rubbery and strained from around the bloated glans. He well 
knew that he did not have a perverted bone in his body, but here he was, 
clutching his prick like an awakening twelve-year-old who had just recently 
discovered its presence and did not have the will power to let go for fear 
of losing all the wonderful sensations which came from it. An insane thought 
flitted through his head. Why not bash the lad's head in and take the girl, 
obtaining relief in the proper manner. No, dammit! He was too close to 
getting out of this endless jungle once and for all to louse it up. He gave 
his prick another vicious jerk and cursed his own pride. 

The girl was staring at the boy's angry red knob, hypnotized by its 
nearness. She made no move toward it, but simply let her breath rush in and 
out. The boy moved his instrument closer, not quite touching her full, 
Indian lips. The situation renamed static until the girl let out a long moan 
of desire and ultimate defeat. She raised her head and damped her mouth on 
the swollen knob, sucking almost at once with an insane fury. The boy threw 
his arms back and let them fall to his side. He had won the great sexual 
gift. The girl continued to suck with considerable vigor, reaching out to 
caress his ualls as she did so. He braced his hands on her body and withdrew 
his penis with a liquid pop. The girl's eyes were glazed with a newfound 
lust as she pulled her knees up, kneeling with butt high and face pressed 
into the grass. The boy moved behind her and presented his stiff organ at 
the base of her buttocks, resting it against the entrance to her vagina. She 
pressed backward, and he lodged the warhead of his cock into the depth of 
her hungry flesh with a short, decisive thrust. 

Galsworthy could not be sure of who did what, so swift was the agreement 
reached. Within the flickering of an eye, the bov's taut rod was plunged to 
the hilt, withdrawn with a wet flash in the early sun, then riveted home 
again and again in a noisy fashion. 

Galsworthy hammered his own flesh with a sort of panic. Somehow the action 
would not be at all proper unless he climaxed with the pair he was watching. 
He had no guilt now, only a deep longing for release. He saw the girl go 
into the frenzy of approaching climax, grinding her buttocks like a 
well-paid whore, twisting and churning at the plunging poker that strove to 
discharge inside her and drench her womanly parts. She began a string of 
short, girlish barks, and the boy closed his eyes, grimaced at the sky, and 
came voluptuously in gut-wrenching spasms. 

Galsworthy's own cock strained, then jerked and spurted satisfying jets of 
white fluid. Moments later he felt guilty again, but he consoled himself 
with the thought that he had saved both his hide and his future by the act. 
A man could always get a woman, but a fortune in gems did not turn up every 
day. Neither did a second head. 

Galsworthy returned to his camp, which adjoined the Jivaro village. He began 
to pack the few things he'd need to make the trip back to comparative 
civilization. From Jivaro country, he'd make his way across Colombia to the 
Negro River, and from there he'd head deeper into Venezuela to a place 
called Orinoco. There a woman by the name of Venetia Cabet waited for his 
coming. 

Venetia Cabet lay on her dingy bed, dressed only in sweat soaked panties. 
The weight of her soft white breasts pulled each slightly away from her 
body, and the red nipples pointed in opposite directions as she wiped a 
rivulet of sweat from the valley between. Despite the large, lazy fan 
revolving overhead, the heat continued to be oppressive, and she breathed in 
short pants. She stretched her long legs in an open position, so that her 
crotch would not overheat and cause more discomfort. A half fifth of gin sat 
on a battered nightstand. Some quinine water sat beside it. The alcohol 
didn't help the heat, but after the third drink she cared less about almost 
everything. 

She sipped the gin and smirked, pushing away a long, damp hank of her once 
attractive blonde hair. In a way she hated herself. She had voluntarily come 
to this hell hole of the world. She had looks, some breeding, and a 
not-so-bad background, but she'd always been too wild, taking chances, 
trying to live life like a thrill hungry jet-setter. For that personality 
trait she had paid the price in full. She had married Stanley Cabet, a man 
who had outwardly thought and acted as she had. They were quite sure that 
their marriage would be ideal, with each willing to take every challenge, to 
dare what others wouldn't and take a fitting reward. Except in Stanley's 
case it had been all talk. His courage lasted only as long as his bluster, 
and behind all his daring was a deep terror, a horrible fear of his own 
inadequacy. Venetia had stupidly bought the whole package. What had made her 
think that such a seemingly perfect match could ever be achieved? Only one 
last disastrous schoolgirl idea-and that had been enough to put her on the 
edge of the Mato Grosso jungle. It was possibly the most forbidding place on 
earth, and, she smiled ruefully, she deserved every bit of it. 

Stanley had tried one crazy scheme after another, each undertaken and 
executed with more desperation than the last, and each more horribly 
bungled. And, as he had plunged insanely onward, she had followed him to 
still another bitter defeat. She told herself that she had been too totally 
committed. If there was nothing for her with Stanley, there was nothing for 
her anywhere. To reject Stanley's hollow soldier-of-fortune posturings would 
have been a return to an even more dismal defeat for her. So she had come, 
drinking more, and trying not to notice that Stanley's newest venture was 
like all the others, marked for failure before it had begun. 

 II 

Galsworthy spat in the dust and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back 
of his hand. His waist was burning with heat, so he loosened his gun belt to 
let it ride lower. He stared at the three story building, built sometime in 
the 1920's and once meant to be an elegant restaurant and private club. 
Almost nothing had been changed since that time, including the paint. 

"Shit," he murmured. "The only game in town!" 

He scratched his balls and climbed the squeaking wooden stairs. Before he 
could reach the large porch, the door burst open and a heavy blonde woman of 
unique vintage held her arms out to him, yelling raucously, "Galsworthy, you 
son of a bitch. The girls haven't been the same since you've been gone. You 
ruined every one of them on your last visit." She dug a fat elbow into his 
ribs as he drew close. "Worth every cent you spent, right?" 

Galsworthy smiled and eyed the cracked wooden boards of the building. "As I 
recall, Gwen, I got my money's worth." 

"Why sure you did. I run an honest place!" 

"I've been in the jungle three months, Gwen. Right now I could do with a 
taste of something civilized." 

The old madam's eyes squinted. "Ah, you're not broke, are you son?" 

"I've enough for anything furnished here." 

"Then come inside," Gwen beamed. She took his arm and led him through the 
doorway. "We just got a new supply of really good whiskey, and a couple of 
new girls who can turn a man inside out. And they're practically virgins, 
too." 

"Like yourself, Duck, like yourself." 

Inside, the brothel took on a new look. The paint was fresh. The furniture, 
of mixed age, was well cared for and garishly plush. Fittingly, it showed a 
whore's taste, a voluptuary's appetite. Gwen seated Galsworthy on an 
overstuffed divan of maroon velvet. She clapped her hands and a semi-naked 
Indian girl, breasts bobbing, brought a tray with two glasses, ice, whiskey, 
and water. Gwen poured. "And that, my friend, is real Canadian Club, no 
phony bottle." 

Galsworthy stopped her from adding water to the whiskey and swallowed most 
of it. "That native girl is a looker," he said, "although a bit ludicrous in 
high heels." 

"You like her?" 

Galsworthy grinned. "I didn't come through half the jungles in South America 
to buy an Indian girl," he said. 

"Of course you didn't, dear," Gwen soothed. "Something European, perhaps? I 
know your taste, a little sophistication, and practically virgin." 

Galsworthy looked at her askance. "Actually, I was hoping to get away from 
these almost-virgins that seem to be all over the place these days. How 
about a couple of good old whores?" 

The painted woman looked at her customer for a moment, almost stupidly, then 
burst into a gravelly laughter. "Haw, haw, haw. You're a caution, Patrick 
Galsworthy. Pride of your mother's brood, I should think." She turned and 
bellowed at the top of one landing. "Lily, could you come down for a moment? 
We have a gentleman caller." 

Galsworthy rolled his eyes at Gwen's ghastly play-acting and poured more 
whiskey. The divan was comfortable and the liquid was having a settling 
effect on him. Gwen saw to it that the sizable fans in the house had 
sufficient power behind them and it helped. He looked up to see a giant 
black girl in a short nightgown descending the stairs. 

"God's blood," Galsworthy expostulated, "she's a Nubian!" 

"Nonsense," Gwen sniffed. "She's American." The girl came forward and 
curtsied. "Christ!" Galsworthy said. 

"A pleasure to have you here, sir," the giant Negress said, demure in spite 
of her size. Galsworthy could see her thumb-sized nipples poking the thin 
fabric of her garment, pointing at him. He was becoming aroused in spite of 
himself. 

"Look, Gwen," he started. "I've just come through a black jungle...." 

"Hush and pay attention for a moment," Gwen said. "I know what's best for 
you. Lily, I think Mr. Galsworthy would like to have a better look at you." 

"Yes, ma'am. Here or upstairs." 

"No, just right here, dear." The Negress whipped the white nightgown over 
her head and Galsworthy gasped. The giant girl was perfection, with one of 
the most beautifully proportioned bodies he'd ever seen. Her ponderous 
breasts were projectiles of muscles and flesh, swooping in an inverse arc 
that ended in perpetually erect nipples, dark brown studs that provoked a 
man's mouth. The rib cage was large, shrinking quickly to her waist, then 
flaring to big, child-bearing hips. Her dark skin shone, though she wasn't 
perspiring, and there was not the slightest crease to suggest extra weight 
on any part of her body. The mound of Venus, large as most men's hands, had 
been shaved, and the girl thrust her hips forward, her big black hands 
pushing at the ebony rounds of her basketball buttocks. The creased mound 
popped forward, presenting to Galsworthy a neatly divided chocolate kiss. 

Galsworthy stared. "Damnation, Gwen," he hissed. "She's a beautiful beast. 
Better than an African safari, all by herself." 

"From Alabama," Gwen said smugly. "I shouldn't have told you that, but you'd 
have found out anyway. Seems the boys left her alone a lot, because of her 
size. All the time she was just growing more flesh and getting hotter and 
hotter. Police chief picked her up one night and threw her in the can, just 
to be ornery. He came back to the jail drunk, with the idea of seducing 
another little black girl. Well, the poor little thing just fucked that man 
out of his head, making him the laughing stock of the other prisoners and a 
couple of deputies who were around. Had to run her out of town since she was 
such a blow to his human dignity. Anyway, one thing led to another. Some 
seaman on a tramp steamer smuggled her aboard so that the crew would have 
something to entertain them on the long voyage. She nearly sapped all the 
marrow from their bones by the time they had reached South America. The 
captain discovered her, and rather than lose his whole crew to dissipation 
on the return journey, he left Lily stranded. Somehow, she found her way 
here and I saw instantly that she was a jewel in the raw. I added a little 
culture and polish and came up with what you see here. Show him, Lily." 

Lily looked at Galsworthy, her eyes becoming lidded in open invitation. He 
was a big man, but lean. His angular face showed total masculinity, and a 
hint of cruelty. But Lily appeared undaunted and smiled as if he was one of 
the few white men she could actually like. 

She began to lean away from him, swaying slightly as her massive body curved 
in a backward bend. The big breasts pointed toward the ceiling, with nipples 
swelling from her own thoughts. She continued her stretch, and the Indian 
girl put a shooting, rhythmic record on the phonograph. Finally, Lily 
touched the floor behind her with the flat of her hands. Her cunt, which 
faced Galsworthy, had stretched wide, and the mound was tilted up, begging 
to be pierced by a stiff prick. Lily grunted lightly and her muscles began 
to work. The lips of her vagina fluttered and began to part, then close; 
part, then close; almost breathing. 

Galsworthy rubbed his erection, pushing it to one side of his trouser leg so 
that it would not ache so badly. "I'll come in my pants if she keeps this 
up," he whispered. 

Gwen chuckled. "Watch!" 

Galsworthy saw the huge black thighs strain once, and the plump vaginal lips 
parted in a vertical grin, exposing the curved inner contrast of pink. The 
lips fluttered at him once more, and he groaned. Lily straightened at the 
sound, the big whites of her eyes beckoning to Galsworthy. 

"Well," Gwen said smugly. 

"Look, old girl," Galsworthy gulped. "I appreciate the fact that she's your 
new star and all that, and you probably get a bundle for her when she works. 
But I told you, I just got out of the jungle and I...." 

"I understand, Patrick, and I'm not trying to force anything on you." Gwen 
patted him on the knee. "Something European. Something different. How about 
a sleek redhead from France, really haute couture. In the mood?" 

"Let's see her." Galsworthy's breathing was heavy and very audible. 

"Certainly," Gwen said in a condescending tone. She nodded to the Indian 
who'd been standing silently in one corner of the room. "But I think we 
should reward Lily for her efforts, don't you? The poor dear's got herself 
so worked up over you." 

"Uh, yes, yes," Galsworthy said, reaching for his wallet. 

"No, no, dearie. That's not necessary now. Lily," Gwen called to the Amazon, 
who had moved away. 

The black had a magnificent stride. "Yes, ma'am?" 

"Do you like our Mr. Galsworthy?" 

Lily's lips parted and the flash of her teeth was like the sun suddenly 
appearing over a dark ocean. "Oh, yes ma'am." 

"Would you like to take him upstairs, later maybe?" 

"Oh, I'd like him to lay me good, if that's his pleasure, ma'am." Still 
demure, Lily had lowered her eyes while making the almost whispered 
statement, and she only glanced at Galsworthy when she'd finished. 

"Poor dear," Gwen said in mock sympathy. "Did you get hot and bothered 
during your little show?" 

"I just like his looks, ma'am," Lily said. 

Galsworthy spoke. "Lily, you're a very beautiful girl." 

"Yes, sir. Thank you." She had the teeth of a cannibal. 

"Why do you like me, Lily?" Galsworthy was pleased that he had excited her. 

"You ... " The huge black body shuffled for a moment. "Your looks, I guess." 

"That's all?" Galsworthy was amused. 

"Well...." 

"Don't be shy," Gwen urged. "Answer the gentleman." 

Lily's eyes were pleading. "You ... you look like a man who really knows how 
to do a girl up right," she blurted. 

"Umf," Galsworthy said. 

"You may kiss Mr. Galsworthy goodbye for a few moments, Lily," Gwen 
instructed. 

Lily grinned as she fell on her knees before Galsworthy, her beautifully 
coiffured African hair still almost as high as his own. She unzipped him 
quickly and after a little fumbling, withdrew his massive erection. Its 
plum-red head twitched with excitement, and Galsworthy held his breath, not 
wanting to concede the game. Lily leaned down and pressed the swollen staff 
against first one cheek and then the other. All the while her great white 
and brown eyes held Galsworthy's in a lover's beckoning gaze. At last she 
bent and kissed the head, flicking at it just once with the warm, wet tip of 
her tongue. Galsworthy expelled his breath as she moved away again. He 
retired his penis from view and redid his trousers, but he unbuckled his gun 
belt and laid it to one side. 

"Lily," Gwen suggested, "why don't you lie down on the couch and relax 
yourself? I believe Mr. Galsworthy would like to watch while we talk to 
Odette. That's it, dear." 

Lily picked up her nightgown but didn't put it on. She first sat, then lay 
on her back on the opposite couch. She closed her eyes, let one leg dangle 
to the floor, and began to masturbate almost immediately. Her fingers moved 
in and out of her glowing crevice with tantalizing slowness. 

Galsworthy was thoughtful. Either Gwen had decided to stimulate business, or 
she was just trying to be kind to an old customer. In any event, his 
condition told him he must be having a good time, not to mention the real 
Canadian Club in this wilderness. He wondered what Odette would be like, but 
he could not keep his eyes from Lily's huge body and the starving cunt which 
sucked at her fingers. 

At a signal from Gwen, Odette came down the stairs. She was ready for 
instant business, wearing nothing but her high heeled shoes. She was a real 
redhead. She had the body of a model, with small, high breasts and a neat 
little red muff. Her legs were what every photographer longs for, and her 
carriage was queenly. Galsworthy was still admiring her studied entrance 
when Odette suddenly paused. Lily had begun to moan lightly as she neared 
her first clitoral climax, and Odette turned and watched as the mass of 
black flesh began to undulate. The effect was startling. The redhead 
stumbled, missed two steps, then staggered the rest of the way down the 
stairs, never taking her eyes from the erotic scene Lily presented. 

The redhead approached Gwen and Galsworthy in a flushed, unsure condition, 
apparently ready to come apart at the seams. She glanced repeatedly over her 
shoulder at the inflammatory action taking place on the other couch. 

"Odette," Gwen said, "this is Mr. Galsworthy." 

Odette nodded. 

"Hello," Galsworthy said, reaching out to fluff her lovely red-haired mound. 
"Your trick is beautifully trimmed." She turned slightly, still watching 
Lily, and Galsworthy patted her tight, white buttocks. They contracted 
beneath his touch. He grinned. "Is the color real," he asked, "or do you do 
it yourself?" 

Odette smiled stiffly. "It is real, monsieur." She moved closer to keep from 
offending Galsworthy, but her attention was still glued to the moaning Lily. 
Galsworthy didn't blame her. If that damned black didn't climax pretty soon 
he's have to go and fuck about twenty pounds off her. 

Gwen tried to gain Odette's attention. "Don't you find Mr. Galsworthy 
attractive, dear?" She was visibly irritated. 

"He's very nice, madam." 

"Then why don't you show him that you're pleased with him? He'll think we're 
very unfriendly here." 

"I'm sorry." Odette forced a smile and licked her lips seductively. She 
leaned over and kissed Galsworthy soundly, running her tongue around his 
lips and thrusting it in and out of his mouth in an imitation of 
intercourse. She offered him one compact breast, which he bit lightly and 
then kissed. It was like hard sponge. 

Lily interrupted everything as she experienced her first climax. "Ah, ah, ah 
... oooh," she cooed. 

Odette watched Lily, transfixed. Lily's huge black breasts rose and fell as 
she regained her breath. Her mouth was open and slack. Odette made a 
childish, whimpering sound. 

"Odette!" Gwen said sharply. 

The girl was pale as her head snapped around. "I ... I'm sorry, madam." 

"I can see that all this is upsetting you," Gwen said, "but you must realize 
that Mr. Galsworthy is your first consideration." 

"I ... can't help myself." 

Gwen shook her head and gave in. "Very well. If you feel you must, go and 
help Lily." 

"Oh, thank you, madam!" Without another look at Galsworthy, Odette crossed 
the room to the open and supine Lily. 

"Watch this," Gwen said to Galsworthy. "You're really going to see 
something." 

Galsworthy was confused as he watched the milk-white buttocks and red hair 
move away from him. "Is this something you've arranged? That skin is just 
about the right shade of white." 

"You mistrust me, Patrick. I wouldn't think of such a trick. It's just that 
Odette is such a sympathetic child." 

The redhead fell upon Lily's black mass with a whimper, like a lithe, white 
flower trying to cover an acre of black contoured earth. Lily's eyes popped 
open in surprise as the redhead kissed her hungrily, claiming the plush 
vaginal mound with her pale hand and fingers. 

"Ungh," Lily grunted at the new stimulus, as Odette bit and licked at the 
ripe, open mouth. She moved her body squarely astride the dark one and the 
girls were mound to mound. Odette then began to grind her lean labia against 
Lily's full one, presenting a bristling contrast of red hair against black 
skin. Galsworthy could almost see sparks bouncing from the grinding lips. 

"Duck," he said dryly to Gwen, "our redhead wouldn't be a confirmed Lesbian, 
would she?" 

"Oh," Gwen grimaced, "she has her weaknesses, and I must occasionally give 
in to them. She's been wanting Lily ever since she arrived, and seeing her 
like this was just too much. But she's a real professional with men. You 
name it and she'll give you a top-flight performance." 

"And Lily?" Galsworthy helped himself to another drink. This was just too 
much. 

"Oh, the poor thing is perfectly normal, except for being terribly over 
sexed. Really, she's managed to evade Odette quite well, up until now. 

"She-likes men, huh?" 

"Men like you, Patrick. like you." 

Odette was rubbing her mound frantically against Lily's, trying to achieve 
clitoral friction, and pinning Lily's shoulders with her hands. She sucked 
avidly at the big chocolate nipples, her eyes bulging with passion. 

Lily began to respond with her hips; her eyes were rolling and flashing 
white. She emitted a series of noises that were half grunts and half sobs. 
Odette had reached her clitoris, and the Negress came fully again. Her body 
was still jerking with the stunning effect the climax had had on her attuned 
sexuality, but she rolled her head sideways, away from Odette's hungry 
mound. Her eyes pleaded with Galsworthy to be a man and to allow her to be a 
woman, not a toy. 

"Bully!" Galsworthy roared, suddenly coming to his feet and reaching Lily in 
two bounds. He grasped Odette's flaming hair and threw her to the floor with 
a bump. "I'll give the big girl what she wants and needs!" He took Lily's 
hand and brought her to her feet. Her look of childish happiness almost 
embarrassed him. She gazed at him absolutely adoringly. 

"You're so demanding, Patrick," Gwen said from behind him. "Do help Odette 
to her feet. She can't help the way she is." 

Galsworthy withdrew a bill from his wallet and flung it at Odette, who 
scooped it up before rising. "Lily," he said huskily in his deep and 
somewhat nasal voice, "why don't you show me to your room?" 

He was mesmerized by the huge beauty of her buttocks, which swayed from side 
to side as it proceeded him up the stairs. He patted Lily several times; she 
giggled, casting backward glances at him, still showing that incongruously 
demure expression. 

"I'll not hold out more than thirty seconds with this one," he muttered to 
himself, "but she'll amply make up for the one I missed back there in the 
jungle." He had not yet forgiven himself for having masturbated so 
shamelessly while the young buck had ravished the Indian girl. 

Lily's room was large and sparsely furnished. On the bed stand was a basin, 
some towels, whiskey, and a small radio. She padded toward it, then paused 
to look at Galsworthy through large doe eyes. A small line of perspiration 
had formed on her upper lip. Galsworthy reached out and fondled the 
stimulated tips of her breasts for a moment, noting the exceptional 
springiness of the great globes. Then he spun her around and propelled her 
toward the bathroom. He adjusted the shower, stripped off his sweaty 
clothing, waited for Lily to climb in, and followed her quickly. He 
delighted in the rippling movements of her body as it gleamed under the 
water. When she turned, her breasts were compressed against his hairy chest, 
and the sensitive knob of his stiff prick slapped lightly against the curve 
of her abdomen. He laughed aloud and the big girl giggled like a child. 

"God's sake, Lily," he boomed in the small cubicle. "You must be the world's 
biggest fuck!" 

Lily lifted her chin and let the soft hissing spray hit her face and white 
teeth, grinning with the pleasure of it. "Yes sir. Miss Finian says I can 
move into a room with a big girl's shower if I get enough good gentlemen 
callers, like you. I was so scared you wouldn't come up with me." She 
snickered and grabbed at Galsworthy's twitching cock, slapping it against 
her stomach several times and pumping it slowly with her water-warmed hands. 

Galsworthy tried to think of something else. He picked up the soap and 
rubbed down the dark flesh. When he got to her breasts, they kept popping 
through his strong fingers, like trying to catch an eel in a barrel. The 
slippery feel of the soap and the touch of Galsworthy's masculine hands was 
too much for Lily. Her nipples received a pleasant buffeting and her huge 
tits swayed then broke out in goose bumps as he began to nibble on her 
blood-tightened nubs. She squeezed the pulsing prick again and Galsworthy 
groaned, pausing momentarily in his soaping. She leaned forward and licked 
the water from his face, French kissing him until he was salivating. His own 
control was not perfect, and while she masturbated him with added vigor, he 
used the soap to frig her cunt and clitoris. Never a cold girl, Lily's eyes 
grew large, making her look more like a frightened African than ever. 

"Oh, Mr. Galsworthy!" she cried, using his name for the first time as she 
sagged against his shoulder. Her cry, combined with the look of an impending 
climax, only made him frig her more avidly with the soap, allowing his 
fingers to slide in and out and along her fluttering gash of sex. She began 
to sob and bite at his shoulder. "Sir ... sir ... sir," she panted and 
whined, and Galsworthy knew her time was near. He forcefully jammed the bar 
of soap up her stretching cunt, concentrating on manipulating her clitoris, 
which was now as stiff as cartilage. 

Lily squealed like a dying rabbit, and the black bulk of her shook and 
shimmied against Galsworthy as though she were being jabbed with hot pokers. 
The firm, tremendous ass pumped up and down, and her pink heels thumped 
madly against the shower floor. Her high shriek rose and she came in copious 
floods of fluid. Galsworthy ran his hands along the inside of her thighs and 
felt smug as the rivers of slick moisture ran in greater quantity than the 
shower itself. Lily became still, her head resting on her lover's shoulder. 
Galsworthy experienced a last moment of satisfaction as the bar of soap 
slipped out of the relaxing pussy and fell into the stream of water flowing 
down the drain. 

She lifted her head and smiled gratefully at him, then turned as best she 
could in the cubicle, bending to retrieve the soap. Her tits dangled in 
perfect pointed domes, the swaying nipples almost scraping the floor from 
the extreme hang of her flesh. Galsworthy gripped his cock and slipped it 
just below the dark crevice of her stretched buttocks. Because of Lily's 
size, Galsworthy's contrasting white shaft passed along the crevice, along 
the bottom of her cunt, and emerged with inflamed and drooling glans on the 
other side of her body. Lily grinned up and caught the fleshy staff with one 
hand, rubbing it gently. With the other she brought up the soap, massaging 
the enlarged channel running along the underside of his rod. Galsworthy 
closed his eyes and enjoyed the excruciating sensation of her soft pink palm 
against the knob of his cock. The soap slid back and forth along its bottom 
in imitation of a woman's hot clit. 

"Lily," he croaked weakly, "you're going to fuck me before I'm ready." He 
said it without conviction. The sight of her massive female form, with its 
taut black buttocks, in a leap-frog position before him, happy to do his 
bidding, willing to cater to his wildest sexual dream, was too good to 
shatter, but the tingling in his balls told him he was weakening. 

"Oh, yes, Mr. Galsworthy," Lily called in a voice that seemed far away. "If 
you can crawl when Lily gets through with you, she'll get canned." She 
giggled and watched the big prick jump as she soaped more vigorously. She 
squeezed his puffed glans between two fingers and watched it swell angrily 
with each application of pressure. He would probably blow like a whale when 
he came, and she wanted to make sure that he asked for her on his next 
visit. 

Suddenly she stood, and Galsworthy thought she might give him some respite, 
perhaps allow him to let the first charge drag out a bit more. He was wrong. 
She backed up against him, as far as her buttocks would allow, and began to 
gyrate in a grinding motion. He could feel the sliding friction of her 
swollen lips along his extended penis, as her soapy hand held him tight 
against the length of her grasping crack. 

"Lily," he croaked. "Stop." 

"Oh, don't let me spoil a good time for you, Mr. Galsworthy. I just get 
these funny itches. Anytime Lily does something wrong, you just jam that big 
thing in my cunt or ass or something. I'll do you right, wherever you put 
it. You just let Lily know." She laughed and continued to rotate her 
buttocks furiously for a few seconds. It caused a flash of heat to rip 
through Galsworthy's body, and he almost sobbed out his pleasure. 

She stood and turned to face him. "I think Pat needs a good come now," she 
said flatly. 

"Uhh," Galsworthy groaned and leaned against the far wall, his violated 
erection bobbing its head in a begging motion. 

Lily used only the slowest movement of hand to masturbate the swollen prick, 
never carrying the motion farther than the rim of his knob. Watching him all 
the while, the whites of her eyes meeting his sex-dazed expression, she 
knelt down and began to lick one side of the red head, her big pink tongue 
causing a small patch of drum-tight skin to throb with fire. 

The tormented prick began to jump in her hand, the lower channel repeatedly 
flexing in anticipation of the jets of fluid to come, the gorged head 
bobbing and swelling to proportions Galsworthy didn't recall it being 
capable of. The wet heat, the warm hand, and the sight of the man-eating 
cannibal before him, begging with great servile eyes to be screwed, was too 
much. His cock tightened and his mouth dropped open. Lily watched with 
careful pleasure, and when the straining rod ripped open with come, she 
nibbled at one side of the head and slapped a warm, sopping washrag against 
his balls. 

"Arrgh!" Galsworthy shouted in agony. He thrust his hips forward, and Lily 
watched with obscene satisfaction as gut-wrenching jets of sperm splattered 
the far wall. Galsworthy shook and quivered mindlessly, free of all thought. 

After a cursory drying, Galsworthy threw his damp body on the bed, not 
bothering to see if Lily had followed. She stayed in the shower long enough 
for a good rinsing, then dried carefully. She approached Galsworthy with a 
dry towel. He was lying on his back in a greatly relaxed state, sipping a 
whiskey and water. She began to pat his body dry, while smiling and humming 
to herself. 

"Yes sir, Mr. Galsworthy," she said thoughtfully. "You looked like a man 
who'd been saving it up for a spell." 

"Right you are, girl," he said slowly, enjoying the touch of the towel 
against his hide. "And there's still quite a bit left in the old account." 

Lily nodded with enthusiasm. "Oh, I just gave you the shower job so you 
could really enjoy the rest of it. I hate to see a man bad-off nervous." She 
grinned broadly, put the towel down, and lifted his limp penis with two 
fingers, levering it like a piece of fat, warm putty. "Hmmmm," she said. "We 
just got to do something 'bout this." 

It was Galsworthy's turn to grin. "Sounds like you have some ideas of your 
own, you bloody sweet cannibal," he said. 

She cupped one heated, pink palm against his prick, and his temperature 
soared. The flaccid meat began to swell ever so slightly, until the skin 
covering was loosely stretched. Lily bent and took a part of the lumpy penis 
in her mouth, her lips rested just behind the fattening head. She used her 
tongue to softly friction the canal that ran along the bottom of his prick. 

Galsworthy sighed and closed his eyes, dreaming, while Lily let her head 
rise with the now unstoppable erection. Straight up it came, until the 
glowing head unsheathed itself and the first drop of tickling fluid appeared 
at the small orifice. 

"There now," Lily said, rising. "I think you're ready for something again." 
She took his glass from him and prepared another drink, placing it on the 
nightstand while he watched her splendid tits with quiet enjoyment; his 
erection occasionally jerked as the sight titillated it. 

"You know, Lily," he said, "the liquor up here is a bit different from the 
stuff downstairs. A little raw on the throat." 

She grinned. "You spoiled, Mr. Galsworthy. Once Lily had hold of you, you 
supposed to forget how good the whiskey is." She looked petulently at him. 
"Just how much you care about that stuff?" 

Galsworthy roared like a happy lion. "Not that much!" 

"Good," Lily said. Then, in an almost commanding tone: "You sit in the chair 
now, enjoy the whiskey. I made this one strong, for lasting strength." 

Galsworthy was bemused. "All right." He arose and spread his naked frame in 
a comfortable chair. 

Lily eased herself onto the bed while Galsworthy sipped his drink. With no 
sign of emotion on her face, she began to knead her massive, now slack 
breasts. She pushed the pounds of flesh back and forth, and Galsworthy was 
almost objective, in spite of his erection. He thought he could detect a 
certain rhythm in the way the fleshy teats were being manipulated. The soft, 
flowing motion of the huge loaves was almost soothing to a man, reassuring 
in fact. He drank more. With tits like that in the world, things couldn't be 
all bad. And right now they were damn near perfect. 

The motion began to slow a bit. No, Lily's hands were still kneading at the 
same rhythmic speed, but the flesh was moving less. The glistening globes 
were becoming firmer, fighting any flabby tendency. He could actually see 
the progress of their swelling, puffing like bread in an oven. Lily moaned 
and began to flick her nipples while the domes pointed like projectiles. 
They were like bits of chocolate candy, which, as she nipped them, gained 
erection in the manner of a man's penis. The sight inflamed his imagination. 
The woman was magnificent. She probably had puff glands on every part of her 
body. 

His erection strained again as he stared at the blood-filled breasts. The 
skin was taut and shiny, and the nipples were inch-high pyramids, almost too 
tight to flip. Lily spun her big body on the bed, pulling her knees up and 
presenting Galsworthy with an exciting view of her lower set of Nubian lips. 
She began to undulate her hips slowly, revolving her big ass simultaneously. 
The plump vaginal lips began to slip against one another, like a geologic 
fault. They ground on until the teasing action caused them to swell and turn 
outward, and some inner pink began to show. Galsworthy stared wide-eyed, his 
cock clutched in one hand. 

Lily groaned again, as a thin film of moisture appeared along her great 
divide. Her labia began to flutter, and Galsworthy noted that the lips of 
the well-trained cunt were beginning a motion that resembled a man chewing a 
piece of steak. But the morsel that hungry mouth wanted wasn't steak. It was 
too much. He was on his feet in a bound, placing the knob of his shaft 
against the grinding pussy. 

Lily boosted herself slightly and Galsworthy could have sworn he saw the 
black cunt lap, capture, and swallow the head of his erection. The slick 
heat engulfed him, and the woman flesh gobbled at his prick, the hot, strong 
muscles gnawing hungrily at his offering. He jammed his hard rod as far as 
he could and Lily whimpered happily, flexing her thighs to take in more of 
him. With a second lunge he rammed home, and, numb with exquisite sensation, 
he happily ground and rotated his pubic hairs into her smooth, slick love 
mound, feeling the hot flesh of her buttocks caressing his buffeting balls. 
Surprisingly, the fit was snug. He had originally thought the girl was too 
big to be really good with her titanic twat, but she apparently was able to 
make adjustments enabling her to fit herself perfectly onto whatever was 
offered. She shifted her ass and flexed her thighs again. Her cunt, like a 
hot, wet hand, tried to pull him onto the bed. The muscled cunt rippled 
again, and Galsworthy grunted, pulling his slick cock slowly from the vise 
which gripped it, and then rammed it home in a series of short, powerful 
fucking motions. 

"Ayee!" Lily cried, wrapping her legs around him and constricting her entire 
body, so that he had to fall toward her. Each hand grasped a breast at its 
base, and shook it hard as he fucked the big cunt. The intense heat built 
and the vaginal muscles permitted him only what he could take, exquisitely 
threatening to pull his manhood from his body and swallow it forever. 

"Take it, you bitch!" he swore, working all the harder. "Open that goddamn 
volcano and take my poker." He was showing more control now, pulling his 
penis out slowly, then jabbing it home in inch-gaining thrusts, sometimes 
retreating so that he could jab and caress parts of the sex canal he hadn't 
attended to. He kept this up until only a few inches of cock were left 
showing, and then he pum-meled Lily's mound, withdrawing the whole length 
quickly, then ramming it home in long, wet plunges. 

Lily's eyes rolled and her big ass churned furiously. "Oh, you are one of 
the best fuckers ever." She was panting in spite of herself. This man had 
given her too much of what she craved, and she was losing control. "Shit, 
you just a goat, Mr. Galsworthy. You're gonna fuck me useless!" Galsworthy 
shut her up with a tremendous burst of energy and raw muscle power. 

He smiled grimly as Lily fell back in a spread eagle position, her eyes 
closed. She was sweating, moaning, and loose. He had screwed her to the 
point he wanted her, and she could no longer contain herself. He raised 
himself and looked down the slack vagina, its pink, wet lips flabby and 
drooling around his white shaft, still hungry for his hard penis. 

He chuckled, pushing in and out with ease, wriggling his cock sideways, 
sensing the give of her flesh against his dominating erection. He eased his 
frame against the marvelous cushions of her black breasts and turned his 
head to chew on on a taut nipple. Lily sobbed and tried to turn herself 
inside out around his strongly screwing shaft. He felt the soft flesh of her 
entire gash open up and loosely caress the belly flesh around the base of 
his penis. 

"God!" he groaned in surprise. All of the wet, lax flesh had suddenly 
contracted like a wet hand against his balls, snapping shut and milking him 
with a terrific force. His eyes bulged with determination. The 
restrengthened cunt crawled along the length of him like a man-eating clam, 
sucking and squeezing for a greater purchase. "Lily," he cried. "You lovely, 
black bitch!" 

The long glove of wet flesh mauled and wrung his aching cock until he felt 
as if five vaginas were working at him. He was able to see her face dimly 
through the passion which clouded his brain, and he tried feebly to take 
command again. Her eyes were barely open and her mouth was starting to form 
a triumphant smile. "Oh, you going to throw one hell of a fuck into me," she 
said. Her pubis still sucked at him. 

Galsworthy wasn't listening to her murmurings. Wild-eyed, he felt the first 
tingling trickle leave his scrotum and travel along the length of his 
quivering cock. 

"Honey ... I ... " she gasped. "I'm gonna suck two loads at once from that 
big, wonderful thing." 

Galsworthy was helpless. He began an uncontrollable shuddering, bounding up 
and down against her writhing body without really fucking it. He was in the 
throes of a terrific climax. Lily's sweet vaginal lips went on sucking, 
kissing, and kneading his hard, abundant shaft. "Uhh ... Lily ... Lily...." 

"Lily ... here," she managed to smile up at him. 

"Fuck, Lily!" he croaked. 

She reached under him and ran the tips of her sharp fingernails along the 
seam of his violently churning scrotum. At the same instant she raised her 
head, clamping her cannibal mouth to one flat masculine nipple, sucking and 
biting at it as her nails scraped his balls. Her cunt gave him one last, 
powerful suck. 

"Ahhh, you bitch!" Galsworthy's eyes bulged and his face became a death mask 
in red. He shivered as though in a malarial fever. "Fuck!" he yelled, 
bucking hard at her as the scorching jets of semen leaped from his burning 
body and pumped into hers. 

She crooned, still sucking at his nipple, massaging his balls, and trying to 
devour his throbbing, fiery cock. 

He groaned in sweet misery. The climax carried on endlessly, for much longer 
than he could ever remember. The large head of his penis contracted madly, 
spitting out his semen into the strong inner muscles which held his knob in 
a death grip. His very sanity was threatened. 

In apparent victory, Lily was undone. This extended fuck had addled her 
mind, and she wept as she came in long hot gushes of sympathetic and 
appreciative sex. ' 

By now they were both rolling and tumbling, righting to free themselves of 
one another, yet never wanting it to stop. They sobbed and yelled together. 
Her hot fluids reached his balls and flowed around them, seeping through her 
still clutching fingers. With a final effort, Galsworthy's courageous penis 
gave one long, tearing spurt which seared even deeper within her. Her wild, 
sweat-drenched body just managed to answer it before they both collapsed in 
a passionate embrace. 

 III 

Venetia Cabet had downed just the amount of gin she needed to ignore the 
heat, or at least ignore the more unattractive effect it had on her body, 
although the general discomfort was still there. 

She wiped her flesh one last time and adjusted the vain trickle of the 
ancient shower. Her own perspiration ran faster, and even the water marked 
COLD, was tepid at best. Outside, the sun glared angrily like a hot demon, 
set on destroying her pore by pore. She could hear only the faint spatter of 
the shower, and the surrounding jungle was still and quiet. 

Venetia stepped into the shower, closed her eyes, and turned her face into 
the watery dribble. The vague dizziness prompted by the gin was even more 
pleasurable than the feeble stream offered by the shower. She turned her 
body about and let the salty sweat flow down the drain, her hands moving 
lazily over her anatomy. 

"Miss Cabet?" A Latin voice called to her from outside the bathroom door. 
"Are you there?" 

"Yes." 

"I must speak with you." 

Venetia's mouth pulled flat. It was the grubby Portuguese who ran this hovel 
he called a hotel. She supposed he didn't have more than two or three paying 
customers a month, but he insisted on harassing her about the rent. 

"One moment," she called drearily, wrapping a fresh towel around herself and 
stepping out of the shower. How she hated the little bastard! 

Moments later, Venetia appeared before Senor Delgado in a short robe which 
exposed most of her long legs. As the garment blotted against her wet body 
the flesh showed through only too clearly. The short, swarthy man before her 
was visibly impressed. "Ah, Miss Cabet...." 

"Mrs." she corrected. "I was married to Stanley Cabet, remember?" 

"Ah yes, of course," he said apologetically. "Forgive me, Mrs. Cabet." He 
smiled. "I can offer a multitude of apologies if it pleases you, but on the 
question of the money for the room...." 

"You'll get it." 

"You did promise that you would have it for me yesterday. I thought I would 
allow you the extra time. I would not hurry so lovely a lady, but I have 
expenses to meet, endless matters of upkeep...." 

I'll bet, Venetia thought sourly. It must take a couple of hundred rounds of 
ammo a week to keep the rats down. She looked at Delgado without expression. 
"I'm sorry. I thought the gentleman who was to bring the money would be here 
by now. Still, I know he'll be along shortly. Your money is as good as in 
the bank ... almost. As for the room ... " she waved her hand in a circular 
motion to indicate the whole hotel 

Delgado cut her off quickly with an upheld palm and a slippery smile. "Ah, 
but were it not for the demand of the room," he lied unashamedly, his 
mustache quivering above the smile. "For myself, the room would be yours 
indefinitely. But my partners, the co-owners of this hotel, they insist the 
guests pay their way day by day. I am in no position to refuse them, or the 
tourists who harry me constantly. There are not so many hotels in this part 
of the country." 

And damn few men, Venetia thought, just hordes of vermin. "I have nowhere to 
go until the person I'm meeting arrives with my funds," she said flatly. "Do 
you intend to put me out in the jungle?" 

The Portuguese threw up his hands and rolled his eyes, apparently horrified 
at the suggestion. "But Mrs. Cabet ... what are you saying? I am a man of 
honor, of reputation, of family and breeding. If you are temporarily 
embarrassed ... " Again the quivering smile and the spread of hands 
expressing beneficence. "You must accept the personal hospitality of 
Delgado. My own quarters are much too large for me ... too large for an 
entire family." His eyelids were glittering and he was speaking more 
quickly. "I will make no attempt to get in your way ... you would hardly 
notice me ... during working hours. It is really so little for me to do for 
one so fine." He ignored Venetia's cold expression. "And a magnificent lady 
such as yourself must have somewhere to turn, in the middle of nowhere-What 
if the expected gentleman does not appear? Whom would you have? These scum 
who hang about ... you know how much help you can expect from them." 

Venetia forced an artificial smile. "You ... would see to my comfort?" 

"Senorita!" Delgado became expansive. "Anything in my house! I will have 
fresh linen for you every day ... the best foods prepared. These things mean 
nothing to me, but ... " He ventured a dark palm to pat a wet spot on 
Venetia's shoulder. 

Venetia looked thoughtful. "I would have to do something to repay this 
courtesy. I shouldn't feel right if...." 

"Oh, Mrs. Cabet. A man such as myself, alone so often in this wilderness 
with nothing but the muttering of a few Indian women. I would ask nothing 
but your occasional, tender companionship." His voice trembled as he moved 
closer, and she could feel his breath. He was shorter than she and had to 
look up as he risked sliding a short arm behind her, his hand coming to rest 
on her hip. His fingers twitched nervously on her jut of hefty flesh. 

"A girl like you," he wheezed. "If only you will allow me to be kind to you. 
A woman can be very comfortable, very happy, in a place like this. I have 
money, and a bit of power, but what good is it if I have no one with whom to 
share it?" He brought up the other moist palm and began to pat her rounded 
stomach. "However, with someone like you," he continued excitedly. "I could 
make you a queen. Tell me the number of servants, the maids you require. One 
word from you and I ... " Delgado was overcome by passion. With a whimper he 
buried his head between her breasts, planting myriad kisses on her robe. 

She cringed at his touch. It was too much. "For God's sake, Delgado, stop 
your damned sniffling and get out! You make me sick to my stomach!" 

Delgado kept his head where it was for a moment, not wanting to believe that 
he had heard her words correctly. She put her hand under his chin and 
propelled him back several feet. "It is bad enough that I dislike you 
Delgado," she sighed, "but you are also a whiner and a beggar of crumbs." 
She reached under the bed and brought out a suitcase, put it on the bed, and 
began folding her few things. 

Delgado was crazed. He'd almost convinced himself of success, was already 
dreaming of having this pearl for his own, and now ... His own sexuality was 
negligible, but to have such a mistress would have given him the prestige he 
had long sought. He shuffled closer. "Mrs. Cabet ... Venetia, don't be 
foolish," he pleaded. "You can't go out there alone. A woman like you..so 
beautiful ... you would be ravished a dozen times before night falls again." 

"Better that I die in a gang rape by savages than to sleep in your bed," 
Venetia said. 

Delgado's head snapped back as if he had been slapped. "I am sorry you feel 
that way." 

"Just get out!" Venetia ordered. "If I have to look at your drooling face a 
minute longer, I'll be forced to deduct it from what I owe you. As for your 
tender sensibilities, I'm sure one of the older Indian matrons will be 
willing to shore them up for a consideration." She leaned over to get a 
garment from the far side of the bed, causing her robe to slip upward, 
exposing the beginning of her taut and rounded buttocks. 

The sight was too much for Delgado. He howled like a dog and threw himself 
upon her, knocking her flat for an instant. "Senorita," he panted, "please 
do not go. I was only joking about the room. It is yours for as long as you 
like ... even for an eternity." He was kissing her furiously, any part of 
her that presented itself. She twisted from his grip and sprang to her feet, 
tightening her robe and glaring at him in a rage. 

"You slimy worm!" she spat. "If you so much as touch me again, I'll rock you 
to sleep with this gin bottle." She turned her back on him, contemptuously, 
and began to pack her bags again. She tried to imagine that Delgado wasn't 
there, that he had never entered the room. She would leave before he became 
more violent. If Galsworthy came, he would find her. If he didn't ... well, 
nothing would matter then. 

"Senorita," Delgado hissed from behind her. 

Venetia turned, preparing to tongue lash the man, but cold fear stabbed at 
her heart. She now faced a different Delgado, a quiet, venomous little man 
who brandished a long, ugly stiletto in a practiced fashion. She shrank 
away. 

"I would rather have remained a gentleman," he said sullenly, "but you have 
left me no choice." He advanced slowly. "Now you will give me everything I 
want of you, or I will cut you badly. You will wish that you had been nice 
to me, because I am going to show you how a whore earns her money." 

She knew what he meant. "Please...." 

Sharp points of light glittered in his dark eyes, and the corners of his 
mouth twitched menacingly. His temper was barely in check, and he was 
managing to control it because he was thinking of the flesh rewards he would 
be enjoying within moments. He would make the blonde bitch crawl and beg. He 
would see that she became a victim to his virility, accommodating his every 
whim, however perverted it might be. When he was finished, she would be good 
for nothing, save perhaps Gwen Finian's house of pleasure, if her mind could 
take more of the same. 

Delgado stepped forward quickly, and Venetia responded by throwing herself 
back on the bed and springing up on the other side. Delgado held his knife 
before him and crawled after her. He was smiling, already enjoying the 
tingling sensation in his scrotum. The tart was finally afraid of him, and 
it was as it should be. God knows what had gotten into the crazy whore, 
making her reject his hospitality so rudely. It was American women, that was 
it. They never knew their place, never learned it, always held themselves a 
head above all others. His mustache quivered as he slid from the far side of 
the bed like a snake, his beady eyes bright as he watched Venetia back her 
way into the last available corner. He smirked openly. The foolish female's 
eyes were frantic, and her stomach quivered as if she were going to lose 
control of her kidneys and piss all over herself. Ah, what great 
satisfaction such an act of fear would give him! 

Venetia's eyes tried to keep track of Delgado's movement while she looked 
quickly around for a weapon, something heavy, preferably with some length to 
it. Nothing! Dammit, she should have made a grab for the gin bottle as she 
had spun across the bed. Delgado was too sure of himself with that knife. 
She'd seen practiced fighters before. Once they got close to you with their 
blade it was best to see things their way. A smooth knifer could change a 
person's entire appearance in a matter of seconds. Venetia shuddered. Her 
very perishable looks were one of the few assets she could still count on. 
Without them she would be the kind of woman that Delgado wanted her to be, 
except that no one would want her then. 

Delgado was directly before her now, and she could smell the tobacco on his 
breath. He eased forward ever so slowly, the knife reaching out and marking 
small circles in the air before him, as though the blade privately desired 
to prick her supple flesh and feel it. cringe from its own superior 
solidity. 

Inches away, Delgado suddenly stopped and grinned with magnanimity. "You are 
angry with me now, Senorita. I dare say that you would shoot me dead if you 
had a gun, but you will not feel so for long. Delgado is not unaccomplished 
with women. You will forget your anger, and then perhaps I will forget mine. 
I am the kind of lover who makes woman want more and more of what I have to 
give them. Now walk to me, slowly. It will be so much better if you come to 
me on your own." 

Venetia was as much disgusted as she was afraid. How had she got into such a 
situation ... as though she hadn't been around, and knew nothing of men, 
especially ones-likes Delgado? Ugh. Her stupidity made her deserve this 
flaccid slug advancing on her. Desperately, she lunged for a drawer in the 
old bureau beside her, yanking it open in desperation. Nothing. A cockroach 
scuttled away, seeking darker recesses. When she looked up, Delgado's knife 
point was at her throat. 

"Move," he grunted from between clenched teeth, his tension evenly divided 
between anger and lust. "To the bed." 

Venetia defied him with her eyes. She remained motionless, her back against 
the wall. She gasped suddenly. Delgado had allowed his wrist to twitch just 
once, and the point of the obedient knife had brought a single drop of 
blood, a red teardrop against Venetia's graceful white throat. She began to 
move reluctantly toward the bed, always feeling the shiny metal point at her 
jugular as Delgado moved after her. She paused as she felt the mattress at 
the back of her knees. Delgado's hand twitched again and she sat down. She 
tried to remain cool. Her mind was so filled with hatred for the Portuguese, 
that she could not come up with any effective plan of escape. She couldn't 
let him. She couldn't bear the thought of having his vulgar flesh inside 
her. There must be something ... something with which she could crush his 
grinning skull in one fell swoop. 

Delgado crouched before the helpless woman, grunting obscenely as he 
loosened the belt of her robe and proceeded to fish out a plump breast with 
his free hand. He plucked at its stringy nipple and went after the other 
globe. His motion caused the short robe to fall completely open, and he 
feasted his eyes upon the healthy outcropping of blonde muff which signaled 
the beginning rise of Venetia's prominent mound. He peered, his enraptured 
gaze fastened on the golden sex thatch. His free hand dropped from her 
breast and his fingers curled into the furred mound, then went quickly back 
to her breast. Impatient, he put the knife aside so that he might fondle 
both tit and cunt simultaneously. Venetia tensed one leg, intending to dig a 
knee into his groin, to splatter his forming erection against his balls. 
Delgado sensed the vague movement, and his knife was instantly in his hand, 
its tip pricking the soft flesh of her belly just below the navel. 

"Please, no, Senorita," he snarled. "I should hate to find myself fucking 
your dead body." 

Venetia gasped, and, as if by signal, the door swung open and a large, 
tanned figure strode easily into the room, speaking almost immediately. "I 
say," he said, spotting Delgado and Venetia and walking briskly toward them, 
"I looked all over for the manager chap and they told me I might find him in 
one of the upstairs rooms. Just happened to be coming down the hallway and 
heard your voices. I'm after a room, really, and should be in the vicinity 
for a couple of days before pushing on." 

Venetia had frozen, and only her eyes moved, following the stranger with a 
look of confusion at the mindless chatter coming from his strong, manly 
face. 

Delgado did not know how to take the man. He was either a fool, or-the man 
was looking him directly in the eye and still moving forward. His expression 
was pleasant, and so was his tone. Yes, perhaps the man was a fool after 
all. Only a mad Englishman would interrupt-his mind groped for the best 
word-lovers and continue to make a nuisance of himself. 

The look of congeniality never left the stranger's face as he stood over 
Delgado's still crouching form. The knife was still at Venetia's stomach and 
a small bit of red welled around its point. Delgado attempted a weak smile 
and began to rise, not knowing what else to do. There would be time for the 
woman after he sent this ass away without any trouble or fuss. He would 
explain it simply. A lover's quarrel ... his fianc' ... a fickle creature, 
as were all women. 

"Ah ... " was all Delgado got out before the lean man interrupted, 
apparently noticing the knife for the first time. 

"Easy sport," he said, appearing to be dancing away. "Easy, might get hurt 
with one of those." 

Delgado's mouth jerked open in surprised pain. His brain signaled red 
flashes as he felt a spear of pain driven through his wrist. He blinked back 
the tears that had formed instantly. The crazy Englishman had gripped his 
wrist with the speed of a mongoose. The man had incredible strength. The 
finger tips were crushing the nerves and blood vessels in his wrist. His 
eyes squinted with the excruciating pain. The feeling was rushing out of his 
hand as he saw the lunatic gingerly reach over and pluck the knife away by 
the blade. What was wrong with this one? He did not know Delgado. Delgado 
had no quarrel with him. And still the terrible pressure continued, and the 
pain was now creeping up his forearm. 

"Arrgghh," Delgado finally bellowed, unable to bear the torture being 
inflicted upon him. He tried to swing with his free hand, although he was 
badly off balance. 

The Englishman did not bother to ward off the feeble blow, but pulled 
forward on the wrist he had pinned. Delgado fell toward him, and he kicked 
out with one boot, catching the Portuguese squarely on the shins. Delgado 
belly-flopped on the floor with a gust of breath and a groan. 

The intruder stepped over him. He reached out to wipe the drop of blood from 
Venetia's pale throat, making sure that she had suffered no bad cuts. He 
peered closely at her flesh, clinically noting the small break of skin just 
below the navel. She gawked at him as he wiped at it, his hand just above 
the golden mound. 

Delgado began to curse in Portuguese, scrabbling about on the floor like a 
crab as he attempted to rise. The warmth in Venetia's belly turned cold, and 
she started to warn the stranger of Delgado's tricks, but he needed no 
reminder. The jungle boot swung in an arc toward the window, then retraced 
its movement, skimming along the floor as it gained speed. The heel of the 
boot lifted, catching Delgado's rising head at the temple. There was a 
bopping sound, like two large melons hitting. Delgado sighed and flopped 
again, unconscious. 

Venetia smiled a small smile, reassured amusement beginning to show in her 
wise blue eyes. "Mr. Galsworthy?" she queried. 

"Most certainly not Doctor Livingston," Galsworthy grinned. 

"Right now you look better than ten Livingstons," she said with obvious 
relief. She tried to smile again but it didn't quite come off. She took a 
step, faltered, and Galsworthy had to catch her body before she fell. It was 
only a mild form of shock from what she had thought was to be her fate, but 
it gave Galsworthy the opportunity to press his body close to her 
well-padded one. His gesture began without sexual overtones, but as he 
caught her to him her robe opened completely. Her large, pointed breasts 
warmed his chest as she tried to recover her breath. 

She tried to take a steadying step and only succeeded in pressing her 
profusion of blonde pubic pelt against Galsworthy's crotch. He heard the 
rasp of her crisp bush against the coarse material of his trousers. His 
penis jerked twice as blood began to pump into the swelling organ. She 
swayed once, and as he changed his grip on her body he found himself with a 
handful of bare female buttock. His breathing increased as he tried to bring 
her upright against him, creating more friction between their bodies. He 
looked down and saw the lovely swell of her perspiration-filmed breasts 
moving against him. 

"Oh ... " Venetia moaned as his movements stimulated her weak, quivering 
body. Her awakening sexual senses were actually helping to bring her around, 
racing blood through her body and to her brain. He felt her plump mound push 
out slightly in the beginning of a swell. Galsworthy had involuntarily begun 
small hunching movements, rubbing his growing penis against the pouting 
pussy denied him only by a layer of trouser material. 

"Oh, no," she whimpered in a small, helpless voice, and the subservient 
sound only served to inflame Galsworthy's growing lust. He slid one large 
hand between them and caressed a full tit, pulling at one nipple until it 
began to elongate and stiffen. 

Venetia helped to push the breast against the teasing hand, even while she 
made small sounds of protest. 

Breathing heavily, Galsworthy was anxious to push his advantage. He hadn't 
intended this, but the whole violent meeting had created a carnal 
atmosphere. They were going to be closely associated anyway, weren't they? 
Damned close, he snorted to himself, and then drove one hand behind her. He 
clutched each round white buttock in turn, bringing sensual moans from 
Venetia and prompting her to push her fast-heating snatch against his now 
pulsing erection. His hand moved below the fleshy overhang of her jutting 
ass, coming up from beneath her body to plunge two thick fingers into her 
already moistened cunt. 

"Unnhh," Venetia groaned while her violator frigged her sucking snatch, 
wetting her hairs and his hand. "Galsworthy," she whimpered, "don't do ... 
this ... You took ... unh ... advantage." 

Galsworthy quickly brought his hand to the front of her body. He massaged 
the fat mound until the full, pudgy lips parted of their own accord, 
allowing his knowledgeable fingers to slide warmly into the slick gash. He 
felt her breath now, coming in gasps against his neck and shoulder as he 
teased her wet, abundant flesh. 

"Galsworthy," she panted with growing emotion, "don't do it. I'll ... unh 
... call the whole thing off ... I'll...." 

Galsworthy decided that she was talking too much. He crammed three fingers 
in her at once, frigging her pussy until it made loud, sucking sounds and 
turned outward against his hand, inviting an even more marauding probe. 

She stopped talking. Her breath was raspy. She didn't help or hinder him, 
but she stood very still while the sweet melting sensations crept through 
her body. Galsworthy continued to bring her inflamed organ closer and closer 
to a climax with one hand while the other unzipped and withdrew his 
throbbing prick. He placed one of her delicate white hands upon the angry 
red knob of his cock, holding it there for a moment, inducing a fucking 
motion in her hand. She moaned and resisted for a moment, then clutched the 
pulsing knob with savage abandon; shaping it, squeezing it, learning the 
male member with her palm. 

The breath whistled from Galsworthy's nostrils as he pumped into her 
clutching hand. At this point Venetia wanted only one thing, and that was to 
be soundly screwed. The big son of a bitch had taken advantage of her, but 
this was past the point of discussion. Her hungry twat threatened to gulp in 
his hand to the wrist. She grasped his white sex stalk and luxuriated in the 
thick, meaty feel of it. She began to pump the big prick in slow, sensuous 
claspings, and the taut, shiny head became wet. 

"Over here," Galsworthy croaked, pushing her around the room, toward the bed 
and Delgado's unconscious body. 

"No, no," she protested feebly, but she allowed herself to be driven back, 
taking small, mincing steps so that her eager cunt would not lose contact 
with Galsworthy's madly manipulating hand. 

They avoided Delgado, and Venetia fell back onto the mattress, her white 
legs nipping in the air as she bounced, giving Galsworthy an intimate view 
of her loose, wet gash. He was out of his trousers instantly, presenting the 
knob of his long cudgel at the waiting entrance of Venetia's hot vagina. She 
lay on her back, her legs spread wide to facilitate his penetration. Her 
stretched cunt allowed the aching cockhead to pop in with the first thrust. 
She gasped, eyes closed, and tilted her pelvis so the whole stiff stalk 
might ream the dark tunnel of muscle. Galsworthy pressed forward, sliding 
his thick rod into the steam channel of building lust and hot sensation. 

"Ahh!" It was more of a yell than a moan as Venetia felt the whole prick 
pierce her. "Fuck me now! Oh, it's been so damned long!" She drove her 
pelvis at Galsworthy with wild, body-slapping abandon. She felt his body 
lift so that his driving penis rode high in her man-hungry cunt, stimulating 
the inflamed clitoris with every stroke. 

Venetia's eyes rolled unseeing in her head. She felt like a man-crazy whore. 
"You big fucker," she babbled, "I'm going to kill you for this. Oh! Oh, that 
cock." She reached under Galsworthy and found his large, swaying sac. Her 
fingers curled and she placed her manicured nails at a point just below his 
bobbing anus. She pressed in slightly, pricking his vulnerable flesh. 
Slowly, she dragged the nails downward, following the undercurve of his 
body, reaching the seam of his swinging scrotum and spreading her fingers so 
that each ball was stimulated by the lightly probing nails. Galsworthy 
grunted and went into a driving, frenzied, fucking movement. His eyes bulged 
in the middle of his effort, as 

Venetia's nails reached the base of his wet shaft. "Owwww!" He yelled loudly 
and pumped jerking charges of hot liquid into a cunt that flooded him with 
its own come. Venetia sobbed gratefully. 

After they'd claimed their second mutual orgasm, they lay on the bed, 
resting. Galsworthy had taken the time to bind Delgado and throw him into an 
empty room, still unconscious. Suddenly, Venetia sat up and searched about 
for a pair of panties. "I think it's time we got out of here," she said. She 
tried to sound unemotional, but her features were still beautifully flushed 
with the afterglow of sex. 

Galsworthy was silent for a moment. "I don't blame you for being angry," he 
said. "I don't know what got into me. You looked so beautiful ... and the 
excitement...." 

"Oh, don't apologize," she said. "Any man would have done the same thing, 
I'm sure." She stood to complete her dressing, keeping her eyes away from 
him. 

He shrugged. "Well, it was lucky I happened along at that moment." 

She faced him squarely. "Why?" 

Galsworthy's male ego smarted. "Look...." 

"No, you look, Mr. Galsworthy. My husband hid a fortune in emeralds 
somewhere in the Mato Grosso. You and I made a deal to find them and split 
them. I need you because I can't very well defend myself against gangsters 
like Karl Ulrich. Also, I don't know the jungle. But I do know my husband 
... did know him. If there is something hidden, I'm most likely to find it. 
Now, let's get this one thing straight. I don't need you for stud service. I 
have sexual appetites like everyone else, but I prefer to have something to 
say about when and where. If you think you're going to jump me any time the 
urge takes you, we can go our separate ways right now." 

"Take it easy." Galsworthy held his hand up. "Remember, I'm risking quite a 
bit by going against Ulrich. Not only is he a rough ex-Nazi, but he has an 
awful lot of influence in South America. And he doesn't mind emphasizing it 
occasionally with a dead body or two." 

"Well, force should be nothing new to you," she retorted. "The only 
difference between you and Delgado is one knife." 

"You didn't think so a few minutes ago," Galsworthy murmured arrogantly. 

Venetia blushed furiously. This egotistical gorilla was going to be 
impossible. "My husband and Karl Ulrich made a deal about a treasure in 
emeralds. They turned on each other, and now no one has the stones. Are we 
going to begin like they finished?" 

Galsworthy was amused by the girl's spunk. He sat up and reached for his 
shirt. "Let's see about the supplies," he said. 

 IV 

Days later, a very different Venetia Cabet sat in a long wooden boat which 
was propelled by an inconsequential outboard motor. Her long, blonde tresses 
were straight and stringy, yet very clean looking. Her eyes were clear and 
her skin was beginning to show what would soon be a coffee tan. She wore 
boots, breeches, and a gun belt around her waist. Her blouse was of heavy 
khaki, the short sleeves roughly cut and stitched. It had belonged to 
Galsworthy, who had insisted on outfitting her in a way that would, as he 
put it, "give you an outside chance of surviving the jungle for a day or 
two...." 

She sat in the back of the boat, going over some maps. To her they meant 
almost nothing, but Galsworthy acted as if they were the difference between 
life and death. He was at the front of the boat, checking over some of the 
new equipment he had purchased. A stoic Indian manned the small motor. 
Another boat, manned by an Indian, followed immediately behind them with 
more supplies. Venetia put down the maps and tilted her face to the sun for 
a moment. She squinted at the blue sky and smiled softly to herself, then 
she moved forward and spoke to a preoccupied Galsworthy, raising her voice 
to overcome the sound of the small outboard. 

"I don't care what you say, this is the closest thing I've had to a real 
vacation in years." 

Galsworthy glanced at the blonde woman's happy face, grunted, and turned 
back to his inventory. "All you've done so far is to take a few boat rides 
or short treks." 

"Stanley and I went everywhere." 

"Do you think that he took you where the real danger was? No. He left you 
behind at some fleabag hotel such as Delgado's." Galsworthy lifted his eyes 
to look ahead. "The smaller rivers can be meaner going, to say nothing of 
packing in when we have to. I told you this wouldn't be any picnic, and you 
might as well be bracing yourself for the coming hardships. In a few days, 
you'll remember this part of it as real civilization." 

"Galsworthy, you're a pessimist," she grinned, raking back her long blonde 
strands. "I know traipsing through all the greenery gets pretty miserable, 
but as long as we can use the boats occasionally, and I get some rest in 
between, I won't complain. Right now, I like it. I have a new tingle in my 
bloodstream." 

Galsworthy gave a short, harsh laugh. 

"Probably the first time in years you've been off gin and cigarettes for 
more than a few hours. Your grateful body is making you optimistic. Midday 
heat'll begin getting to you after another day or so. You'll start getting 
uncomfortable. After a little booze to forget about the heat and bugs, then 
more cigarettes to calm the nerves the booze brings back, you'll be your old 
self again, cursing the jungle, the emeralds, me, and your husband's ghost." 

Galsworthy fell silent and Venetia looked indignant. "Well, what a hell of a 
lot of faith you're showing all of a sudden!" she exclaimed. 

Galsworthy shrugged. "Until a few days ago, I didn't know you from Adam ... 
Eve. Why should I be brimming over with faith and trust?" 

"Well, you knew Stanley ... had heard of him," she corrected. 

"You're bloody right on that point," Galsworthy retorted. "Anybody who has 
been anywhere has heard of Stanley Cabet. You were his wife. How can I be 
sure this isn't some kind of a lark you've dreamed up?" 

Venetia frowned, knowing that her past association with Stanley gave 
Galsworthy plenty of reason for doubt. "Anyway, you're stuck with my company 
and you know it. I just wish you'd get used to having me around and try to 
act civilly. And any time you feel like running out on me, keep thinking of 
the emeralds." 

"Wherever they may lie," Galsworthy said wryly, without looking up. 

"That's right," Venetia fumed. "Wherever they may he. And maybe it's time 
you remembered there's only one of me, Mrs. Stanley Cabet. On the other 
hand, I think I could find a number of Patrick Galsworthys-men with guns and 
a greed for riches." 

Galsworthy chuckled. "You didn't send all the way to Jivaro country because 
help was so easy to find." 

"All right," Venetia said, her voice becoming extremely soft. "So I do need 
you more than you need me. I still feel good and would rather stay 
pleasant." 

"I don't mean to offend you," Galsworthy said quietly and without rancor. "I 
suppose I'm more used to traveling with men in the jungle. They're not so 
thin-skinned, and they don't anticipate aspersion quite so readily." He 
grinned openly at the tanning, healthy female face which glared at him. 
"Maybe I wanted to gauge your general attitude. Some people start getting 
jittery after they really get into the interior. Some can go to pieces and 
don't even know it's happening to them. I just wanted to find out what 
category you fall into." 

"You needn't worry," Venetia said flatly. "Whatever's in the jungle can't 
match what's already in the cities. I won't go to pieces, and I won't be 
extra trouble." She smiled at her own calm. "Who knows," she appraised the 
admiring twinkle in the Irishman's eyes. "I might even do something to keep 
the boredom away ... from both of us." 

"On this particular trek," Galsworthy said, tying up a canvas bag, "the 
possibility of boredom never occurred to me, although there may be times 
I'll wish for it as a preference." 

"Later, you'll be glad you have a woman along," she said. 

"Perhaps," he said dryly. 

That night they camped at the edge of the jungle, just back of the river 
bank. With dusk a certain quiet descended over the green vastness through 
which the Orinoco carried them. An occasional bird screeched self-admiring 
notes, and was usually answered by some disrespectful monkey. If the sound 
was the cough of a deep-chested jaguar, it was invariably followed by 
seconds of total silence. Even the irreverent monkey listened. 

A small fire crackled in the middle of the camp site the Indians had rigged 
for Galsworthy and Venetia. Galsworthy crouched over it, pouring himself a 
cup of coffee to round off a meal that came out of cans. 

I believe, Venetia thought to herself from where she sat on a log a few feet 
from the fire, that I would prefer boiled leaves and river water. She took 
another sip of the thick, man-killing brew Galsworthy had filled her cup 
with. She still wasn't quite sure of him, or just what kind of man he was 
under the surface. The manner in which he had played the mad Englishman for 
Delgado's benefit made him capable of deceiving anybody. She even wondered 
if the coffee was some sort of practical joke. She sipped at the hot 
concoction, screwed up her face, and swallowed. 

"A bad thought?" he asked. 

"No." She almost laughed. "It's so peaceful out here." She looked out over 
the broad, quiet river. It barely seemed to flow in the darkness. 

"It's always like this at night," he said. "And every time you think you can 
relax and enjoy the peace and solitude, the whole bloody jungle opens its 
jaws and tries to crunch your bones." 

"Ugh." Venetia felt an involuntary shudder. "You make it sound as if it has 
a personality all its own. like it was bent on destroying all intruders." 

"Oh, no," Galsworthy said, drinking more coffee with obvious pleasure. "The 
jungle isn't really evil. It's indifferent. If you're good at survival, then 
it'll let you survive. But if you forget for one second what you're good at 
... " He snapped his fingers. "A snake, an Indian, bad water, a tricky 
river. There's a wide variety of death waiting for the fool." 

"A fool like Stanley," Venetia said, almost coldly. 

"He may not have been that much of a fool," Galsworthy said flatly. 

Venetia showed new interest. "You've heard something?" 

Galsworthy shrugged. "The Indians didn't have much to say before we left, 
but when they get out here, alone, their tongues gradually loosen. There's a 
rumour that Ulrich's men are following some kind of trail. If they are, 
we'll find out about it before too much longer." 

Venetia turned and looked over her shoulder. She could make out some of the 
treetops against the sky, but below, the foliage looked like an impenetrable 
black mat. For a moment she felt the terror of one lost in the dense 
wilderness. She had to admit that if she ever became separated from 
Galsworthy or the guides, there would not be much chance for her survival. 
For an instant she allowed herself to think realistically about her 
so-called independence in this joint venture. This was nothing like getting 
along in the outside world. Here her beauty, her tact, her womanly wiles 
meant nothing, and her living or dying was of little consequence, save to a 
few hungry grubs and maggots. 

"Wishing won't make it so," Galsworthy said with amusement. 

"Are you laughing at me, Mr. Galsworthy." 

"Just curious as to what your thoughts are at the moment. Take it easy, 
don't be so tense. You're wearing a good .38 and so am I. And we have rifles 
if we need them." 

"Well, I'm not quaking in my boots, if that's what you mean," she said. "I'm 
quite capable with a pistol, but I don't think that weapons mean 
everything." 

"Almost everything," he yawned. "However, I think we can relax tonight. 
Things will be picking up shortly, I suspect, and I want you to keep one 
thing in mind. We'll be okay as long as we don't get surprised-by men or the 
jungle." 

Venetia leaned back on one elbow and the firelight caught the sharp thrust 
of her breasts, causing Galsworthy's breath to catch for a moment. Her 
blonde hair shone beautifully, and her face looked more delicate than ever. 
She stretched her long legs. "You didn't happen to include any tea among the 
supplies, did you?" she asked. 

He sputtered out his surprise. "Tea! What Ruddy, weak tea?" 

"All right, all right," she said quickly. "I just thought I'd ask." She 
feared she'd struck a sore spot with him and thought she was in for a 
lecture on coffee a la Mato Grosso, but Galsworthy had stopped talking. He 
eased his revolver from its holster and she heard the hammer cock. He 
allowed his head to turn slowly toward the trees. Then one of the guides 
called out, identifying himself and his companion. Moments later, both men 
walked out of the darkness and approached the fire. Galsworthy put his gun 
back into its holster and poured two cups of his specialty for the Indians. 
He began to speak to them in one of the more popular tribal dialects. 
Venetia arose and walked to the water's edge. 

She tossed a pebble into the broad, shimmering belt of dark water, and 
watched a fish jump in the reflection from the camp fire. Not having been 
able to understand a word, she wondered what the Indians were reporting. Had 
they really heard something about Ulrich? Obviously Galsworthy knew what he 
was talking about, and she was suddenly very glad that she had found him and 
not somebody else. She didn't really know much about him to begin with, and 
she had learned even less since their meeting, but it seemed that she had 
managed to tell him all there was to know about herself. He wasn't at all 
like he appeared in the letters they had exchanged. Chasing fantasies and 
fast dollars hardly fit his personality, which Venetia suspected sometimes 
became too much of a diamond in the rough. Either way, she needed him. 
Against Karl Ulrich, she needed the best man she could come up with. And she 
was certain that she had such a man in Galsworthy. 

When Galsworthy spoke to her from several feet away, she jumped, startled. 
"It seems that Stanley was playing out a game for himself, just in case he 
didn't make it," he said. 

Venetia spun around, facing her tall companion. "What did they hear, what 
did they say about Stanley?" 

"By the time Ulrich's men started after him, Stanley had been up and down 
the territory so much that he left them a dozen cold trails." Galsworthy 
paused thoughtfully. "And he apparently did it without too much trouble on 
his part." 

"You mean he was never really in danger?" Venetia asked. 

"Not quite," Galsworthy answered wryly. "It's hardly a sand box in there. 
But at least he learned it as well as anyone can, short of the Indians. 
Ulrich actually sent in several teams, and Stanley led them in circles, 
wearing them out. He knew where the good water was when they couldn't find a 
drop, and he knew by instinct which Indians he could trust, no matter how 
many miles he traveled." Galsworthy paused to light a cigarette and gaze out 
over the Orinoco, so jealous with its secrets. 

Venetia was perplexed. "But I thought Stanley didn't know what he was doing. 
He never got along that well anywhere. How did he do it?" 

"I don't know," Galsworthy exhaled. "Especially the trick with the Indians. 
Damn few who come in here get along that well." 

Venetia stepped closer, and the firelight reflected the growing excitement 
in her face. "The Indians could have been lying," she suggested. 

"No," Galsworthy said. "I can tell a lying Indian before he speaks a word." 
He shrugged. "Sometimes, rarely, it happens. A man the rest of the world 
considers an outcast comes to a green hell like this and finds a home. He 
gets along with the birds, the Indians, the land itself. No explanation for 
it really. Old Mato Grosso never laid out a welcome mat for anyone." 

Venetia was silent for a moment as they walked slowly back to the fire. "I 
hope it was like that for Stanley," she said softly. "I didn't love him, at 
the end, but I hope he found something friendly in this life before he left 
it." 

She turned to lift her face to the strong, masculine one. "But ... if 
Stanley was getting along that well, how could he have died as he did?" 

"The mamba, you mean?" Galsworthy asked. "A mistake of the moment, I 
suppose." 

"Another blunder," Venetia said. 

"Not necessarily. Such things just happen. He was on the run, no matter how 
confident he may have been. His haste could have been him careless. Maybe he 
thought Ulrich's men were on top of him. And then again, ironically, he 
could have been going on sheer luck, and the luck gave out." 

Venetia sounded bitter. "The story of his life." 

Galsworthy wanted to get away from the subject of Stanley for a moment. "It 
happens to a lot of men out here. Winners and losers alike. The jungle can't 
tell one from the other; nor can the Indians. Anyway, we may have other 
problems." 

"The guides told you something else?" 

He nodded. "It doesn't involve us directly, but an insulted Indian is worse 
than a woman scorned and all that rot. Seems the local tribe is claiming one 
of their maidens was callously raped by a warrior from another tribe. One of 
our guides belongs to the affronted tribe, and the other is distantly 
related to the wronged girl. They want both men to help out." 

"Well, how long are they going to need them, for heaven's sake?" Venetia 
asked. 

"Oh," Galsworthy said, rubbing his chin, "until they pull their planned raid 
against the accused tribe." 

Venetia was aghast. "You mean they'll actually fight over the girl?" 

"Probably, but I guess that most of them would settle for a couple of good 
retributive rapes, just enough to let the other village know who they're 
messing around with." 

"It's so childish," Venetia exclaimed. "How can anyone regain honor by 
counter-rape? They must have the mentality of a Delgado!" 

Galsworthy shook his head. "Not Delgado, but you described part of the 
Indian mentality. I suppose that they're all really part children. They know 
about civilization, but only a few ever let it interfere with old customs. 
They know about Cara-ca, but few wish to travel there to see if what they've 
heard about the great city is true. Within tribes and between tribes the 
rules are pretty much the same. A simple wrong is rectified when the injured 
party commits a similar wrong as an act of revenge." 

"Stupid!" Venetia spat, a look of repugnance contorting her features. "How 
could they have survived for centuries with such laws?" 

Galsworthy was patient. "Actually, it's worked rather well for them. Killing 
is not uncommon, but their traditions keep it from becoming wholesale 
slaughter, except occasionally. For instance, if a woman has some punishment 
coming, the husband may dish it out, quite severely in some instances. But 
he knows the woman's brothers are watching, to see that the beating is equal 
to the crime committed. If it is too severe for the offense, he may find 
himself the target of a bloody vendetta. Oh, a few of them buy the farm once 
in awhile, but for the most part, there's a hell of a lot of Indians running 
around." 

Venetia threw a piece of wood into the fire with some force, creating a few 
sparks. "If there are so many Indians about," she huffed, "why don't we get 
a couple others? I don't want to be in this damned jungle all year." 

Galsworthy chided her. "I thought you considered old Orinoco the best 
vacation spot this side of the beaches at Sydney. Are you really in that 
much of a hurry?" He smirked. "I doubt that the price of emeralds will go 
down." 

Venetia rolled her eyes and folded her arms, a gesture which only lifted her 
large breasts and caused the nipples to become more prominent against her 
blouse. She had discarded her bra the first day out and had not bothered to 
put it back on. Out here, comfort was the thing. She shook her head. "You do 
pick the damndest times to show a sense of humor, if I may risk calling it 
such. Well, I like it here just fine. like you said, it's a real lark. But I 
would also like to get the damned stuff we're after and get out. If these 
two boys of ours want to chase a couple of fishy-smelling women around, then 
let's find a couple who have already had their sexual adventures for the 
month. I don't see why we should let a little pussy get in the way of our 
own interests, which happens to be a bit more important than some Indians 
with hot pants." 

Venetia had spoken the last with some heat, but colored slightly when she 
saw Galsworthy look strangely at her after the casual allusions to sex. 
"Well, it's true," she said weakly. She sat on a log again and tried to make 
a careless throwaway gesture with one hand. It came out very awkward. "You 
know what I mean." She was suddenly acutely aware of the sweat and tobacco 
smell emanating from Galsworthy. 

He had noticed the darker color suffusing her face, and the flickering fire 
only made her more desirable looking. A girl in a place like this was bound 
to feel intimidated, no matter how tough she tried to sound. 

He made an elaborate ritual out of fishing for a cigarette, giving Venetia 
an opportunity to regain her composure. She was right, he thought. Her 
references to "pussy" and things sexual had served to make him more aware of 
her lush femininity. It wasn't that he couldn't get along without women for 
extended periods of time, it was just that he didn't like to if he didn't 
have to. And Venetia Cabet was certainly no boy-like female. He puffed on 
the now lighted cigarette, still musing. He supposed she didn't really care 
for his type. They didn't actually have too much in common. Not that it 
mattered to a knock-about like himself, but sometimes it felt damned good to 
be with someone you hadn't paid for, or someone who could actually talk to 
you about what they were thinking. Something more than hot, quick sex and 
the spreading of the sperm. He tried to remember someone like that. It had 
been so long, so very long. At any rate, they'd better get on with their 
search for a while before he allowed himself to entertain such thoughts 
about her. Hell, she'd probably damned near prefer an Indian to him. Damned 
near. 

"I was just thinking it would be best if we didn't get bogged down early," 
she said in a much reduced tone, echoing his thoughts. "I was just 
thinking...." 

He looked up from his cigarette and grinned openly at her. "So was I," he 
said, almost maliciously. He didn't know why he kept trying to irritate her. 
She was uncomfortable again. She flushed furiously, one hand nervously 
pulling at the top buttons of her blouse, with the action serving to draw 
the material tighter over her breasts. The globes moved voluptuously under 
the material, and Galsworthy let his glance rove brazenly. 

"Mr. Galsworthy...." 

"Yes?" 

"I believe you are purposely teasing me." 

"Perhaps I am." 

"Well, I'm not some virginal school girl who becomes all hot and bothered at 
the mention of sex." 

Galsworthy's face became more cagey. "On the other hand, I think maybe 
you're taking the local Indian trouble too lightly. These raids and counter 
raids can be quite serious. They don't all end with a final stolen chicken 
or a last tumble in the grass. We could get sucked into one hell of a bloody 
mess against our wills." 

"I didn't really mean to appear to be taking it lightly," she said, 
scratching at the ground with a stick. "But we are here for something other 
than the Indian problem. And we can get new guides with enough knowledge of 
the jungle to get us in and out." 

"Oh, at least that, Duck," Galsworthy reassured her with a kind of wryness. 
"Now whether the next two would want to get us out or not is something else 
again." 

She shrugged and her breast bobbed. "A guide is a guide." 

"You couldn't be more wrong," Galsworthy said, trying not to show his 
irritation. "I know these two, having worked with them many times in the 
past. They even like me, in their own way. They almost treat me as an equal 
sometimes. But two new ones ... you can't tell. A lot of the Indians have 
worked for Ulrich, too. He's done all right by some, by their standards 
anyway, and they wouldn't mind doing him an added favor, like signing on 
with us as soon as they learned we were in the market for guides. I've 
always avoided Ulrich when it was convenient to do so, and he's certainly 
given me no trouble. You might say that we have a mutual respect for one 
another, but he'd cut my throat at the drop of a hat. Needless to say, I'd 
do the same for him if forced into it. No, I don't think we can consider new 
guides. Not if we want to be moderately sure of keeping our skins." 

Venetia shrugged in her dejection. "I suppose you think I'm a prime example 
of woman's stupidity?" 

"You'll learn." 

"Perhaps too late," she said. "I suppose I should be concentrating on 
survival first and the treasure second." 

Galsworthy grinned stiffly. "That's a good start." 

Venetia sighed. "But that still means that we're stuck indefinitely." 

"If you want, I'll speak to the guides again," Galsworthy said soothingly, 
noting her deep concern, "but I doubt that it will help. The tribes aren't 
going to interrupt their flesh party so we can be on our merry way. For now, 
though, let's try to get some rest." He pointed to a small tent which had 
been erected a short distance from the fire. "You sleep in there. I'll be 
just outside," he nodded to a nearby sleeping bag, "if you need anything." 

"You mean like a pair of strong masculine arms?" Venetia smiled, toying with 
some pebbles with a small coquettishness. "I think I'll probably need some 
decent plumbing even more. Men aren't the only things in demand." 

Galsworthy bowed with mock seriousness and gestured regally toward the 
river. "The mighty Orinoco is more fortunate than mere men. It waits to 
serve your needs, at least as far as plumbing. It's guaranteed silent and 
sure." Venetia blushed at the personal intimacy of his words. Galsworthy 
grinned and turned on his heels, making his way toward the Indians. 

Venetia felt a hot flash of unwarranted rage toward him. Why were her 
moments of dislike so powerful? After all, in the last analysis, he was 
better than most men. Perhaps that was it. He was a damned sight better, and 
sexier too. Trouble was, he was too damned sure of himself. How could a 
woman acclimate herself to a wall of male arrogance? 

Without thinking about it, Venetia squeezed her thighs together, and in the 
discreet darkness began to massage her breasts. First they ached, and then 
the tips began to tingle, the good healthy feeling spreading into her body 
as her knowing hands plied the rubbery flesh. When she became aware of what 
she was doing, she dashed down to the river. Almost bitterly, she splashed 
the cool water on to her body, shifting only one piece of clothing at a 
time. 

Back in the tent, she closed her eyes and tried to think herself into a 
relaxed, sleep-inducing state. Her thoughts remained on Galsworthy and his 
animal magnetism. Her blood tingled and her skin itched under her loosened 
clothing. She twitched and turned, beginning to perspire. Finally, in 
exasperation, she stripped nude and lay spread-eagled on her back, praying 
for sleep to calm her tormented nerves. When sleep came, it came on the 
wings of a dream. 

She sat on the edge of a huge sunken bathtub in a large, luxurious bathroom. 
The tub was pink, and the water was warm and scented. She turned her head 
first to one side and then the other, as a quiet, tender Galsworthy wiped 
the perspiration from her face with a soft, soothing washcloth. She felt the 
wet warmth on her breasts and nipples, and looked down to see the dark hair 
on the back of Galsworthy's hands as they moved inside her open jungle 
blouse. She could feel the scented cloth circle her nipples and lift her 
breasts. He knelt and began to remove her boots, and it did not seem at all 
odd that they both still wore their jungle outfits. Even as he toyed with 
the boots, she could feel the cloth moving over her body, across her 
abdomen, along the insides of her thighs. She loved the feeling and 
appreciated his gentleness. This was the way she had wanted it to be with 
him. 

She was naked now, her buttocks perched on the warm, pink tile tub, her legs 
thrust before her in a wide V as Galsworthy delicately attended to her 
tingling mound of Venus with his tantalizing cloth. Venetia sensed that her 
breathing was heavier. She strained to push her pussy closer to Galsworthy's 
clever hands, and more and more she felt the sensual ticklings that led to 
that most glorious of meltings. Her breasts had tautened, swelling and 
sensitive for a man's mouth. When was Galsworthy going to take off his 
clothes? Now she wanted to see the large, veined erection she knew he could 
manifest. He wanted her, probably more than anyone else, and when he was 
like this she wanted him. She had any healthy woman's need for a strong 
fuck, but she wanted the initial taking to be gentle. And Galsworthy was 
gentle now, still stroking her naked thighs with his warm cloth. 

Everything was so funny, so fuzzy, and then the heat suddenly exploded in 
her loins. She groaned as she felt her cunt flame. Oh, God, it was so good! 
She looked down ever so slowly, her excitement growing as she saw 
Galsworthy's dark head pressed into her crotch. She moaned again and pushed 
her mound at his head. It was ... too good. If he stopped, she wouldn't be 
able to stand it. He knew so much, he was so good at this. 

She reached down and clutched at the sides of his head, purposely grinding 
her loosening gash at his fiercely sucking mouth. "Pat, Pat, Pat," she 
groaned in ecstasy, writhing as he ran his thick tongue along each puffy 
cunt lip in turn. Venetia felt her body shudder in pleasure. She would most 
surely die of happiness at that moment. 

Galsworthy fucked her hole meticulously with !s tongue, stretching it as he 
did so. "Uh, uh, uh," 

Venetia sobbed happily, feeling the beginning trickle of her own hot fluids. 
He snapped once, clamping his mouth on her clitoris like a vise and whipping 
it rapidly with his tongue, creating a flogging and a suction at the same 
time. She came in deep, grinding spasms, her whole pelvic region jerking 
deliriously. 

The hot juices spilled out of her. She could feel Galsworthy's dear mouth, 
clamped all over her vagina, like a bulldog. It was one of the finest 
mo-mets she had ever known. She felt fuzzy and sexy and dirty all at the 
same time. She gasped loudly, suddenly frightened. She was awake. Awake? 
Awake and fucking. Oh, God, no. She was fucking Galsworthy's mouth and he 
wouldn't let go. He just kept sucking, even though he knew she was awake. 
And ... oh, she was going to come again. She could feel it building ... 
building ... "No, Pat, noooo," she moaned. 

But Galsworthy pursued his advantage, taking her whole cunt into his mouth, 
and working wildly with his tongue. He felt her shudder again, and he was 
triumphant. He knew this woman. She was headstrong, but had the tendency to 
forget she was a woman sometimes. There were several keys to such a 
personality, and he was sure this was one of them. If he could show her 
enough sex, she would begin to see herself in a different light, and perhaps 
him too. But he had to take firm action. 

Venetia had her eyes closed and her head back. She could hear the male 
animal down there, between her legs, and right now she loved that beast. 

Nothing could feel like this. She whimpered, arched her back, and 
discharged, but the building resumed almost immediately. One coming almost 
on top of another. God. Would it never stop? She couldn't get enough, she 
was crazv with desire. Galsworthy was moving, shifting his body around on 
the floor of the tent. She let her head flop over to one side, watching his 
body's progress. She opened her crotch wide, hoping that Galsworthy's grip 
would not slip while he licked her vagina toward another frenzied orgasm. 
She was aware of a auick feeling of panic and the tremors of a dark lust 
forming simultaneously. Galsworthy had stripped naked, and his stiff prick 
was jabbing her neck now, the hot, red knob searching for the warm, wet 
harbor of her gasping mouth, even as he sucked and flogged her trembling 
gash from a reverse position. 

"Unnhhh," she half moaned and half whimpered, tossing her head from side to 
side, away from but always back to the stiff cudgel of flesh that begged 
entrance to her salivating mouth. "No, no, noooo," she crooned to herself, 
helplessly hypnotized with lust. 

Galsworthy continued to perform acrobatic twists and turns within the 
quivering folds of her cunt. His tongue teased the snapping nether mouth 
with quick, lizard-like motions, causing her hot crotch to push itself at 
his punishing mouth, begging his administering head with small, fleshy, 
bumping motions. All the while he ran his stiff prick along Venetia's cheek, 
beneath her chin, and beside one ear. It bumped and teased her face, begged 
at her mouth as it touched a wet corner of her loose lips. He did not try to 
forcefully gain entrance; she had to take him of her own free will. He 
realized that her breathing was becoming more ragged, that she was thinking 
about how his erupting stalk of sex would be inside her nursing mouth. 

When he felt a strong shuddering take command of her body, Galsworthy jammed 
his large nose into the crevice of her buttocks and fucked her vagina with a 
hard tongue. Her buttocks made a flopping sound on the tent floor, and she 
cried out as another orgasm softened her mind. "Ohhh!" The cry was long and 
drawn-out. Taking advantage of it, Galsworthy shifted his body and slipped 
his pulsating but disciplined cock into her open mouth, a simple but 
delicate maneuver which Venetia had expected. 

"Unh," she exclaimed quietly at the fleshy invasion. Both participants froze 
in place, with Galsworthy's throbbing organ resting on the cushion of 
Venetia's tense tongue. 

As her lips closed on the jerking stalk, Galsworthy immediately fucked 
gently into the soft mouth. The change in Venetia was spontaneous. She 
opened her mouth to take more of the moving prick inside, to suck as much of 
its great length as she could. She chewed the tense rod, caressing the 
sensitive glans with her now greedy tongue, salivating over the hot flesh 
with such relish that Galsworthy was forced to stop his happy task and rest 
his face on the floor between her stretched legs. 

Now it was Galsworthy's turn to groan, and even sob deliriously as Venetia 
became a cannibal, running her lips along the fat cock, using them to feel 
and measure, to flutter along the ridges and full veins of the agonized 
penis. Once she tried to run her entire head upon it, pulling tightly on 
Galsworthy's flexing buttocks, but the rod was too much for her. She felt 
the twitching cockhead at the back of her throat, and still a handful of 
prick remained outside her stretching, lapping lips. 

Her head flopped back, away from the quivering knob of velvet, until her 
sensuous lips surrounded the area directly behind the glans. Their trembling 
almost drove Galsworthy insane as she opened her mouth to talk around the 
pulsing knob. "Galsworthy, oh, Patrick Galsworthy," she chanted mindlessly, 
the lips clamping and releasing the head as she spoke. 

"Ah, suck me, girl," Galsworthy hissed impatiently, interrupting his own 
ragged breathing. 

His words, combined with the erotic feel of the swelling prick inside her 
mouth, served to turn Venetia into a completely wanton bitch. More fluid 
trickled from her tingling cunt. She cried out in a banshee wail, sucking, 
chewing, and muttering around the straining penis. She slobbered savagely, 
actually trying to swallow the bursting knob. i 

Galsworthy jumped and cried out at this unpre-dicted attack. Her voracious 
mouth and flashing tongue assaulted his vibrating prick from every 
direction, its head, its shaft, even the dangling sac which held his fiery 
balls. His eyes rolled in his head and his face banged weakly against the 
tent floor. Saliva ran from his lips and his breathing almost ceased as he 
tasted dirt in his mouth. 

He heard himself calling out something, he thought it was her name, and then 
he screamed as the initial charge of racing semen rippled through his stiff 
penis like a white-hot bullet. The splash of warm sperm in her mouth drove 
Venetia to the summit of her now whorish passion. She used her tongue to 
rasp against the furiously pumping cock, causing more and more jets to bolt 
from Galsworthy's trembling body. She swallowed deeply, still using her 
magic mouth to coax an even greater amount of come from the thrashing man. 
For a time, after Galsworthy's orgasm subsided, he lay like a beached whale. 
Venetia kept his flesh in her friendly mouth, nursing it tenderly, as though 
it were a soft, warm bird. 

 V 

When Venetia finally curled up and closed her eyes, she found that she was a 
good deal more tired than she had suspected. She was worried about the 
guides, and was beginning to have premonitions about the miles and miles of 
green wall that stood only a few feet away from the wide, dark river. The 
Orinoco was calm now, a black scarf slipping quietly through her mind. 
Strong, quiet, almost seductive. It was better now. Better than it had been 
with Stanley. Her search was an honest effort to acquire a moment of peace 
in an unpeaceful life. She felt so alive, more so each day. The sun felt 
good, and she could breathe. At night, the peaceful river was always there, 
and she could sleep. 

Venetia came slowly to consciousness, thinking, surprisingly enough, of 
Galsworthy. She did not open her eyes right away, letting her senses return 
to her body one by one. She felt pressure at the back of her arms and legs 
and around her rib cage, like a man embracing her from behind. The almost 
cool air had the promise of heat in it. It couldn't be much later than dawn. 

She could smell the river, and something else. The fire crackled and the 
heavy smell of coffee came wafting across her nostrils. Her first thought 
was a pleasant one, but then she remembered Galsworthy's coffee. Ugh! 
Galsworthy and the Orinoco. How could she have dreamed of him for even a 
moment? He was a giant ego, forever talking her down. She opened her eyes 
and sought civilized thought. She imagined that her mushy thinking was 
typical of the thing the wilderness did to men when they ran off with native 
women smeared with coconut oil or goose grease. 

She sat up abruptly, suddenly happy at the thought of another day on the 
river. And then she remembered, no more river for a while. Only the jungle. 

"Hello." Galsworthy's voice greeted her from just the other side of the tent 
flap. He was startlingly close, and the sight of his strong face pushing 
through the canvas was more than reassuring. "Hurry and attend to your 
needs," he said. "The coffee is waiting, but it won't be long. You know how 
nuts everybody is about my coffee." 

Venetia grinned in spite of herself. Even Galsworthy's specialty could not 
spoil this day for her. On the contrary, she found herself looking forward 
to breakfast, whatever it might be. She pulled on her boots and dashed 
through the bushes toward the river, giggling for fear that Galsworthy would 
see the way she looked at this time of morning. 

Venetia sipped nervously on Galsworthy's strong, black brew, looking at him 
in perplexed disbelief. He had just finished bringing her up to date on the 
Indians. "Let me get this straight," she said. "The Indians will speed 
things up for us, and let us have our guides again, if we go with them on 
their raid." 

"That's it." Galsworthy had been annoyed at the prospect himself, but was 
amused because Venetia was treating it as a thing she'd prefer to sweep 
under the rug. 

"I can't think of a good reason why they should want our help," she argued. 
"You gave me the impression that they thought of themselves as superior to 
the-likes of us. I can't imagine what a couple of white, civilized inferiors 
could do to help them." 

Galsworthy turned away to prevent her seeing his large grin. "Well, of 
course, they do think of me as being a little different from most white men 
who come here." 

Venetia rolled her eyes. "Oh, I'm sure. I certainly didn't mean to suggest 
that they didn't think of you as god-like, as all who know you do, but with 
such an unworthy being as myself along...." 

Galsworthy turned back just in time to see her salaaming from a kneeling 
position. "Great Galsworthy, great Galsworthy," she mumbled into the earth, 
and the rawboned Irishman laughed aloud. 

"I think I really am that worthy," he said finally, "but that's not the 
entire picture as far as they're concerned. They respect our guns, our 
firepower." 

"They want you to shoot their enemies?" 

"If they did, I wouldn't go along with it," Galsworthy assured her. "No, my 
presence with the guns will give their band a funny sort of prestige. A lot 
of their honor in warfare consists of sham ferociousness, rather than 
literal devastation. Not that they can't be damned bloody, man-eating 
savages. Make no mistake, they can. But if they can terrify their enemy by 
the discharging of guns, they'll be able to celebrate the drama-charged coup 
for a long time. The superficial effect of the attack is generally worth 
more than individual deeds. That is, unless the 'trick' is about to be 
played." 

"Oh, fine," Venetia said. "I can imagine what sort of tricks these cretins 
like to play. Something good and bloody, I suppose." 

"Good and bloody," Galsworthy replied with intentional calm. "I've never 
been along on one of these, but I've heard that it begins with some gross 
affrontery, generally the avenging of a number of deaths. The tribe seeking 
vengeance enlists the aid of a neighboring tribe, who invites the victims to 
a general feasting and party time. This is quite common during the dry 
season. The buggers are actually sociable in their own way. Anyway, the 
visitors are supposed to lie down in hammocks shortly after they display 
their finery, while their hosts prepare the food. At this point the hosts 
descend with spears, sticks, stones, and whatever else they can lay their 
hands on. Those guests who aren't killed immediately flee the camp area, 
only to run into the instigators of the whole thing. They, in turn, make pin 
cushions of the would-be escapees. Surprisingly enough, the whole thing is 
usually pretty effective, no matter how many times it's been pulled off." 

"It sounds horrible," Venetia said, squirming. "I want to have as little to 
do with those brutes as possible." 

Galsworthy raised his eyebrows. "It depends on how much we want those 
emeralds." 

"I don't want to kill, or die, for them," she said flatly. 

"We may have to." 

Venetia's expression was torn with frustration. "I mean that I don't want to 
take part in some wholesale slaughter." 

"It's not toolikely," Galsworthy reassured her. "I was just explaining the 
'trick' to you. All they want us to do is go along on this so-called raid. 
It'll probably end up in a lot of face-saving bluster. That's all." 
Secretly, Galsworthy hoped that he was right. He'd hate to subject the woman 
to a gory suicide mission, as badly as they both wanted the emeralds. 

"All right," Venetia said, hooking her thumbs behind her belt like a man and 
throwing her shoulders to the rear. Her large breasts sprang outward and 
Galsworthy thought they would pop free of the straining shirt. "I'll go 
along with this mad scheme, because I have no other choice. But are you sure 
you've given it sufficient thought? 

"Meaning?" 

She smiled knowingly. "Have you considered that you'll be making new enemies 
as well as new friends?" 

He nodded, a bit pleased with the wisdom of her words. She was learning 
fast. "I have," he said, "and I'd never have risked it a month ago. But I 
don't intend to come back this way again-I don't intend to set foot in any 
bloody jungle again, once we get the emeralds." 

"You're that confident of success?" she asked. 

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't have come," he said strongly. 

"God bugger the bug god," Venetia cursed, pausing to flatten a gelatinous 
green blob which had landed on her arm as she marched through the steaming 
jungle alongside Galsworthy. 

Galsworthy grunted, wiping the perspiration from his forehead. "You say 
something? 

"Oh, how much longer before these damned savages get to where they're 
going?" 

"Tonight," Galsworthy replied testily. "I told you." He looked up at the 
short stretch of sky which peered through the giant green foliage that had 
housed them for most of the two-day journey. "And don't speak so loudly. 
Some of the Indians do understand odd bits of English. like children, they 
pick up the worst parts first." 

Venetia looked ahead of her. There seemed to be about thirty-five Indians 
with them. She'd had to sit through several sickening rituals the first 
night, while they prepared for combat. There had been some loud shouting and 
some weird testimonials. Each night an effigy of the enemy was erected for 
target practice. This was followed by more chanting and dancing. She'd about 
had it with this crazy bunch of aborigines. Them and their stupid looking 
haircuts, done with a bowl on the head, apparently. She had to admit that 
the younger warriors looked powerful. Lots of muscle in the torso and thigh, 
but not at all appealing to her feminine soul, especially with their nightly 
mumbo jumbo, face painting, and the chewing of charcoal. Brainy bastards, 
they were. Did everything but play with dolls. However, being in their 
presence gave her a bit of fright. The strong bodies and ten-foot spears 
made them quite formidable, and she had no doubt that they were naturally 
bloodthirsty. 

Well, warriors or no, they were a dirty bunch of monkeys. They picked lice 
from one another, and blew some narcotic smoke up one another's nostrils 
through a long tube. Galsworthy said he had tried it once. A bit of a lark, 
but not his cup of tea. He said he preferred to have a shot of whiskey or a 
woman. He probably traded the smoke in on some squaw, knowing him. There 
were some rare beauties among the native girls. Ha! you couldn't tell one 
from another. But she did have to admit they had their points. There were 
some really outstanding breasts on the younger ones. She involuntarily 
glanced down at her own structure as she marched, at once aware of the bob 
of her well-sprung breasts. She was no fourteen-year-old, but not bad for an 
ancient inferior. She sniffed and inhaled deeply, feeling the satisfying 
stretch of her pectoral muscles. She was aware of twin rivulets of sweat 
streaking down the valley between her mounds to quickly meet at her gun 
belt. Her womanly mound blushed, tingling with blood. Her face flushed, 
making her all the hotter. She tried to turn each thigh slightly inward as 
she walked, wanting to rub the congested area without being noticed. God! 
How long could she put up with this damned heat? And insects. Her whole body 
was one continual itch. 

She let her mind grow numb, losing track of time. One foot before the other, 
keeping the last Indians in sight. She could smell Galsworthy beside her. 
Put him out of mind. Big ego Galsworthy. Suddenly, dusk was upon them. It 
had seemed that the trees overhead were crowding more closely together, when 
actually it had been night coming on. The Indians stopped to eat, and 
Venetia and Galsworthy kept their respective positions, with Galsworthy 
attending to their own food. 

An Indian came dashing into camp to bring word to the Irishman. They 
expected to make contact as planned. It was always better to engage the 
enemy at night if possible. Darkness favored the ambusher, and aided greatly 
in a speedy withdrawal. The Indians held a final short ritual that night, 
and they were off in their usual blustering form. However, as they drew 
close to their objective, a quiet tenseness overtook their bravado and 
buried it behind them. They were too close to actual combat to enjoy 
pretending. 

They moved forward with purpose. Although still not comfortable, Venetia was 
grateful for the cooler night air. They came to a large area of open ground, 
the only approach to a fringe of jungle that surrounded the enemy village. 
The party split into two units which were only slightly separated. They 
moved forward again, this time in a loose-knit pincer movement. Coming to 
the very edge of the open area they squatted down on their haunches and 
discussed the situation in very muted mumblings. 

To the rear, Galsworthy explained things to Venetia with little loss of 
words. "They're afraid to make an open attack. They'd rather pull off an 
easy ambush." 

"All this fuss and sweaty marching," Venetia hissed waspishly, "and they 
decide they're not really mad!" 

"Sometimes you manage to sound as bloodthirsty as one of those heathens," 
Galsworthy whispered back. 

"That's not what I mean," she muttered, wiping the hair away from her face, 
"but, God, this is a miserable expedition." 

"Even for the emeralds?" He glimpsed her angry look in the darkness and 
became silent. 

Venetia finally broke the silence. "How much longer do we wait here?" 

"Until some poor devil wanders out of the village and stirs up a hornet's 
nest," he said. "Our group seems to have lost a hit of stomach. I think 
they'd be willing to rape one old woman and call it even. No cause for 
bloodshed there." 

Galsworthy grinned evilly and Venetia understood the flash of his large 
teeth in the darkness. She turned away abruptly and strode to a tree a few 
feet away. She sat and leaned against it, trying to close her eyes but 
unable to do so. Galsworthy found his own tree and sat, a small smile 
playing on his lips as he looked toward her. "If something drops out of that 
tree on you, try not to scream," he said. 

"Will you shut up?" she spat, still refusing to look at him, but a few 
moments later she arose, walked toward him, and cautiously seated herself 
beside him. Their bodies did not touch until a monkey screamed from the 
pungle directly behind them. Venetia shivered then, pressing against 
Galsworthy's strong frame to seek warmth and reassurance. He held her to 
him, trying nothing, but seemingly glad of the soft presence of her body. 

The victims came early the next morning, when only a few of the myriad birds 
had awakened. The two women were moderately young, even by Indian standards, 
and their breasts were like sun-swollen gourds. Their tits bobbed and swayed 
as they made their way across the clearing. They moved flat-footedly, their 
bodies lax and slow with sleep. A small male child ran ahead of one of the 
women. Two other children apparently belonged to the second. One was a 
toddler. The other she held by the hand, and his progress was accomplished 
mostly by the half-dragging motion supplied by his mother. 

Venetia and Galsworthy were aware of the nervous, hoarse muttering from the 
band of Indians, and then one of their original guides came back to tell 
them of the new development. He also told them to make ready to move. The 
Indians had calculated that the two women were headed for a medium-large 
stream not far behind them. It was quiet and private, and a fair distance 
from the village. 

When the guide had gone, Venetia touched Galsworthy's arm. "Isn't there 
something we can do?" 

"Do?" Galsworthy looked at her like a naming lunatic. "What did you expect? 
You'd better be thankful they didn't find someone to stick full of holes." 

"I hate you and I hate your kind," she said, although her words lacked true 
venom. 

"Oh, great," Galsworthy exclaimed. "I should have left you behind to tend 
the nursery while I came on for the gems." He checked the ammunition in his 
rifle and slung if over his shoulder. Venetia cursed under her breath as she 
prepared to follow him back to the stream where the quarry would be 
entrapped. 

The actual capture could only be called anti-climatic. For an instant, dark 
eyes blinked fully in the women's flat Indian faces. The surrounding men had 
jumped into the open as a body. One of the children squeaked and was cuffed 
for his trouble. One mother swept up her youngest toddler and clutched him 
to her fecund body without a sound. The second emitted a short shriek and 
made a formal show of trying to escape. She turned almost immediately, 
reaching for her young son. 

From back in the trees Venetia clutched Galsworthy and buried her face in 
his shoulder. Her trembling voice was muffled, and his masculine scent was 
comforting to her. "It's very common," he said, patting her shoulder. 

"That doesn't make it right!" 

"Our being along doesn't make any difference. They would have taken the 
women anyway." 

"What about the children?" She was more tearful now. "They wouldn't 
hurt...." 

"Furtherest thing from their minds," Galsworthy assured her. "Children are 
very valuable in this part of the world. It's imperative that each village 
acquire as many as possible, by any method. The women know this, that's why 
they take the kids wherever they go. If they're kidnapped by themselves, no 
one can look after the children. This way ... they'll manage to form a happy 
home in another place." 

Venetia calmed herself, looked up at him, and brushed away her tears. "Are 
they going to ... I mean ... the women ... ? " 

"Yes," Galsworthy said bluntly, "but not here. Too close to the village 
yet." 

In minutes the long column was moving through the jungle again, farther away 
from the village. Venetia was still disturbed. She didn't want Galsworthy to 
think her squeamishness was anything but temporary. She did want to-had 
to-keep a stiff upper lip, but this was all too horrible. Those women and 
children. What kind of life was this, living like some two-legged animal? 
Still, she did have to consider the emeralds. She had come from her own 
jungle, and she was not inclined to go back to one of the same kind. She had 
to see this through. She was as tough as Galsworthy any dav. These native 
women grew up with things like this happening all the time, and it wasn't as 
if they were being killed. One village must be like another, with each 
smelly buck much like his brother. She made a firm resolution. She wouldn't 
give Galsworthy any more feminine nonsense. And her conscience had better 
damned well leave her alone, or she'd jettison it into some Mata Grosso 
marsh. 

For his part, Galsworthy felt pretty relaxed toward the outcome of the whole 
raid. Things could have been worse. He was happy that some useless slaughter 
had not occurred. Venetia would have aroused the whole jungle with her 
screaming and crying. He couldn't really blame her for becoming emotional 
back there, seeing her own sex captured like soft cattle, along with their 
young. It was the sort of thing that seemed to effect women most. A couple 
men shot through with arrows might have bothered her less. Women were a 
strange breed, but soft, and cushy, and nice to have around. Oh, hell, if he 
kept thinking about her, he'd find himself with a bothersome hard-on. He 
certainly wasn't going to take part in the rape of the Indian women, not 
with Venetia looking on, and he was certain that she was in no mood to help 
him relieve himself. He cursed as he switched his rifle to the other 
shoulder, slinging it in a more relaxed position. 

When they had put a good distance between themselves and the enemy village, 
the Indians quickly became restless for the women. If they intended to 
violate them before reaching home territory, they had to act soon. The 
column crinkled along like a jointed serpent, then folded into a mass as 
they spotted a small, armed band of white men. The warriors moved as a 
group, brandishing spears and forgetting the two outsiders who brought up 
the tail of their column. 

Venetia, from her position on a slight decline, was squinting down the 
slope, trying to determine the nature of the interruption. Galsworthy 
gripped her arm so tightly that she grimaced with pain. She began to 
complain loudly, but one of his big hands clamped over her mouth and drew 
her soundlessly into the protecting jungle a few feet away. The Indians 
moved on, and it was as though Galsworthy and Venetia had never existed. 

 VI 

The Indians sat in a large circle, sniffing narcotic smoke and drinking the 
beer the white men had given them. Its presence had been explained amply by 
the white men. They had brought the beer up river and inland, seeking them. 
They wanted the warriors to enjoy it. And they had also given them shiny new 
machetes. For what? So that they might enjoy the women for a while. How 
foolish these foreigners were. With their arms they could take women any 
time. True, the warriors had intended to take the women almost immediately, 
but what did it matter that the white men played with them first. They could 
have all they wanted of them when they returned to the village. Perhaps 
watching the white men take the women would provide more entertainment than 
the women alone. It would be quite a show, watching the bungling men as they 
attempted to take the quicker women. 

A heavily muscled, bald man called Turk goosed one of the women cowering 
before him and she shrieked with fear. 

"Go, Turk, go," one of his companions called from where he sat with the 
Indians. "That's what they understand best. Only use your prick the next 
time. Or can't you get it hard? Haw!" 

Turk grinned broadly from beneath his walrus mustache, took a swallow of 
beer from a can, crushed it in his hand, and lurched toward the cringing 
women again. It had been a long time since he'd had a woman, and his rod was 
stiff and painful in his sweaty pants. He had drawn straws with his 
companions to see who went first with the women, and he'd won. They'd 
protested, for his huge organ usually ruined the women for those who 
followed, but a deal was a deal. Ulrich had driven them until they were half 
mad, refusing to let them tarry in one of the towns along the way. But he 
couldn't stop them from taking a little fun out here in the wilderness. At 
least, Turk hoped not. 

Panting, he grasped one of the plump-bodied women by her full breast. She 
cried out and beat at his violating hand with her small fists. He threw her 
to the ground and fell upon her, salivating in anxiety. 

Her companion stood back and watched in fear. Her turn would come, she knew, 
and she hoped they would not be so rough with her. These white men were 
worse than the pigs who had taken her. They hurt for pleasure alone. 

The woman on the ground writhed beneath Turk's dead weight. He plucked one 
of her big teats like a piece of fruit and stuffed it into his mouth far 
past the nipple spike and aureole. He sucked vigorously to the applause of 
his companions and to the laughter of some of the Indians. The Indians 
wondered at the sheer madness of the foreigners, who seemed to be creatures 
of whim and little else. 

Turk began to chew on the rubbery breast, enjoying the touch of the erect 
nipple against his tongue. His groping hand found and invaded the woman's 
fat cunt. It was dry, but he was sure he could change that. 

The woman struggled feebly. She was no longer as intent upon escaping as she 
was in trying to insure living and being raped with no broken bones thrown 
in. Suddenly she felt free. The monster had released her. Perhaps he didn't 
want her. Crazy foreigner. She turned on her hands and knees and began to 
crawl toward her companion, who was just beginning to watch the rape with 
some interest. 

Turk, on his knees in the dust, watched the woman's progress with a large 
smirk. His friends were cheering him on, and a few of the Indians had joined 
in the drunken chorus. Turk bellowed at the sky and threw himself at the 
large, feminine buttocks as they wobbled away from him. He aimed his big 
nose at the dividing line between the dusty rounds of flesh, almost posing 
as he flew through the air. When it appeared that his face would bash into 
the retreating ass, Turk reversed his big frame and fell with a thump 
between her legs. He grasped her wriggling hips and lifted his bear-like 
mouth to engulf the almost hairless Indian cunt. Using his tongue like a 
lash, he stroked the musky gash rapidly, making the pouting lips relax with 
the heat and moisture. 

Another great cheer went up from the crowd as the woman stopped crawling. 
She was at first stunned, then began to moan and blink her eyes as Turk's 
heated ministrations awakened the healthy nerves in the soft organ she liked 
to use as often as possible. She could hear the wet sucking sounds the 
monster was making, and she remembered the strong phallus of her husband. 
Actually, the white monster's approach did not suffer by comparison. Her 
knees slipped outward, widening her crotch so that Turk's ravenous mouth 
could eat more of her. She whimpered. The fear was leaving her, in spite of 
herself. Her vagina was beginning to drool into the monster's mouth, and he 
seemed to like it. 

Turk, always one to enjoy an audience, relished each second. This fat, 
odoriferous cunt was like a little sex animal within itself. The springy 
lips followed his tongue, and when he jammed it into the woman's hole, he 
thought her box was about to suck back at his mouth. He opened wider and 
took in all of her, the throbbing clitoris, gash, and full outer lips. He 
bit hungrily at the whole sexy pouch, then hard-tongued her hole rapidly, 
banging his bowling-ball head at her crotch as he did so. 

"Aiieee," the woman screamed, staring into the sun with sightless eyes, even 
as she spread her legs to their widest degree and fell with her pelvis atop 
Turk's face. With Turk's head on the ground beneath her freely running cunt, 
she swam like a fish out of water, fucking his face in the mindless motion 
of an agonizing orgasm. The fear she had felt moments before had only served 
to heighten the climax she now experienced. Turk, overcome with happiness, 
pulled his head away from the heavily flowing slit so that his companions 
could get a better view of an expert at work. Then he began again sucking 
tirelessly at the bountiful brown vagina that continued to undulate and 
bleed prolific fluids into his waiting mouth. 

Turk lifted his head and got to his knees, wiping at his evilly glistening 
mouth as he acknowledged the raves of his fellow henchmen. He turned his 
globular head back to the woman, who lay sprawled on her stomach in the 
dust. Her rib cage contracted and expanded with her deep, satisfied 
breathing. 

She had never had anything like the white devil before. Although her mind 
was repelled by him, her body was only too aware that something deeply 
gratifying had taken place. She tried to push the treacherous thought into a 
dark corner of her conscience, but was forced to admit that no Indian had 
ever felt as good. If a woman had to be taken by force, she could think of 
no better way for it to happen. 

Turk had turned back to his captive. The large, fleshy buttocks still rose 
and fell ever so slightly against the ground. He grinned in anticipation. By 
God, this one was appreciative. He liked that in his women. He chuckled 
deeply as he reached out and spread the large cheeks at their lowest 
curvature. The tender folds of dusty cunt opened easily and his eyes went 
mad with lust as the woman scent emanated from her wet lower lips. The woman 
moaned and scooted the frontal lips of her vagina along the ground. Turk 
heard a sharp intake of breath and looked up into the frightened face of the 
second captive. 

She was as young and full-bodied as the first. She had tried to back away 
from the spectacle of raw sex, never dreaming that such a thing existed, but 
the Indians had cursed her and thrown empty beer cans until she had edged 
closer to the bald giant who was going crazy for the intimate parts of her 
companion. Shortly, the sexuality of the scene had mesmerized her, and she 
had become a willing spectator, if not participant. Now Turk was staring 
wildly at her, and she was suddenly frightened once more. She was afraid 
that he was going to perform the same act upon her, and she was not at all 
certain how she would respond to it. 

However, this was not the case. Turk liked his girl of the moment. He was 
now going to screw her so well that her companion would realize she had 
missed something when his comrades raped her. Those half-men couldn't really 
do a woman up proper. He reached down and grasped his partner's thighs, 
rolling her like a log until she flopped lightly on her back, her now 
fathomless eyes searching his face in anticipation. 

Turk straightened up but remained in the kneeling position. The shouting 
from the men had become a noisy rumble as they sensed he was going to give 
another sensational demonstration. He moved a big hand to his belt, grinning 
wolfishly as his victim's flat eyes followed it. She could not keep her gaze 
from the horrendous bulge at his crotch as he slowly opened his fly. The 
taut material peeled away from his straightening erection like skin from a 
huge banana. He popped the buttons on his boxer shorts and rolled both 
shorts and pants down in a single motion. 

The woman's eyes rounded in wonderment, and she actually raised her head 
from the ground, trying to get a better look at the largest penis she had 
ever seen. The engorged branch of masculine flesh seemed to breathe, pause, 
then stretch like an elephant's trunk. The woman's awed expression aroused 
Turk all the more. She shuddered in fear and anticipation. The great 
cylinder of erectile tissue was beginning to shine with tension, making 
ready to probe her helpless, twitching hole. She whimpered with a mixture of 
horror and lust. The terrible cock would be merciless, but it would also be 
... it would be.... 

Turk laughed, and the men behind him began taking bets as to how long it 
would take for him to achieve full penetration. He gripped his frightening 
penis with both hands, waving it over the woman's head. He squeezed the 
grotesquely thick length in his hands, and blood filled the apple-like head 
as it glistened in the sun. He bellowed with amusement and rolled away for a 
moment to kick off his boots. Standing over the waiting woman, his hairy, 
naked body resembled that of a gorilla. He knelt at the woman's side and 
pushed his aching shaft to the nipple of one breast. The nipple twitched and 
the breast bobbed as he teased and jabbed with his knob. The nipple became 
erect under his attack, and the entire globe grew taut. The woman had closed 
her eyes as though in death. Her lips were parted and her breathing was 
quick and shallow. A heavy beading of perspiration had formed on her upper 
lip and forehead. 

Turk gloated. like so many other sluts, she wanted the greatest cock in 
South American inside her, warming her guts with slick friction. He would 
not keep her waiting. With a bound he was between her muscular legs. He 
stuck a thick finger into her cunt and fucked her rapidly, purposely rolling 
the finger around the walls of the already loosening vagina to prepare the 
way for the world's champion. 

A great cheer went up as Turk placed the awful knob at the woman's vaginal 
entrance and pushed. His throbbing stalk was of such length that it kept him 
a foot away from the prone body beneath him. Although he had given some 
force to his thrust, his cock had managed to get through only the outer 
lips. He took careful aim and shoved again. The woman grunted and her eyes 
flew open. His painfully bloated knob was but partially into the wet cunt, 
and his movement had actually slid the woman along the ground. The 
spectators howled. Some of them had seen Turk in this same situation in the 
vilest whorehouses in the world, and even those practiced cunts had been 
surprised. 

Turk grasped the woman's fleshy hips, so tightly that he brought a grimace 
to her face. She was too far along now; she had to have the giant white 
cock, but it would be impossible. He would kill her. A short sob escaped 
her. 

Turk twisted her like a wing nut, left and right, always pulling her toward 
him, trying to screw her cunt onto his immortal axle. The woman bit her lip 
and tears sprang into her eyes. Sympathetic juices were pouring from her 
organ, but to no avail. No lubricant in the world could ease the passage of 
this man spear. The thing felt like a crocodile trying to crawl into her 
tortured slit. 

Never ceasing the pressure, Turk stopped the twisting motion and pulled the 
cunt straight against his cock. The battered woman dangled like a rag doll, 
her legs flopping helplessly as he continued to ram her. The men were 
howling. Old Turk liked to brag, but he always had trouble. 

The woman was sobbing with pain, although Turk had managed to lodge but half 
his glans inside her agonized aperture. Her arms flailed the ground and her 
head tossed from side to side. She drew her knees up, trying to ease the 
pain by stretching her cunt to its widest. The raw lips peeled back, and she 
thrust her gaping maw against the pulsating apple. 

Encouraged by her assistance, Turk lurched forward again. His knob gained 
another inch. Fluids ran strongly from a cunt that seemed destined to tear, 
bathing the head and the forepart of his shaft. This wet trickle of desire 
infuriated Turk and he called for help. 

Two of the men got lazily to their feet and rambled over. "Whatsa matter, 
champ?" they asked in unison. 

"Wipe the smile off and give me a hand," Turk growled, "else I'll put you 
where the cunt is." 

"Yeah, yeah," one of them said. "We've heard that one before." 

"Unghh," Turk whined in sensual agony, hunching his ass in an attempt to 
gain a bit more space for his tortured penis. 

The woman's mouth pulled wide, her teeth showing in a smile of death. Turk 
lunged, and her back arched spasmodically, the curvature so extreme that the 
top of her head rested on the ground, far below her straining buttocks. 

"Shit," one of the men said. "Just like old times. C'mon Rollie, let's give 
old Turk a hand. like that time in Morocco." 

Rollie was still sipping from a can of beer, and he set it down carefully, 
ignoring the growing moans of the painfully impaled Indian. She twisted once 
in desperation, giving Turk another half-inch of her body, but she was still 
millimeters away from getting her agonized female orifice over the widest 
part of the mammoth cockhead. She cried out and her cunt flexed powerfully, 
pinching Turk and prompting him to angrily curse the men to faster action. 
Rollie locked his strong hands around one of the woman's ankles and his 
companion took the other. Wordlessly, they straightened her legs, jerking 
without mercy as they attempted to pull the reluctant cunt, like a tight, 
wet rubber glove, onto the blood-engorged pole. 

"Aaeeii," the woman screamed hysterically, her eyes bulging with pain. It 
felt as if the two men were trying to force a giant tree into her womanly 
crevice. 

The men ignored her screams, and Turk closed his eyes in bliss, pleading for 
them to keep it up. He had felt her tortured chasm give a bit more around 
his sensitive knob and it brought him great pleasure. 

The men continued to tug at the woman's legs until she was almost suspended 
above the ground. The awful tension in her vagina seemed to spread 
throughout her stomach. She babbled in the Indian tongue, her words running 
into each other as saliva ran freely from the corner of her mouth. Even her 
big teats were almost pulled flat from the strain. 

"That's it!" Turk yelled. "Oh, God! That's it. I feel it giving. I'm going 
in. It's good, it's hot. Oh, fuck I'm going to make it." 

The cunt had finally stretched over the largest part of his awesome red knob 
and was now traveling slowly along the shank of the stupendous prick, like a 
fat brown caterpillar, its angry, red mouth hungrily devouring a succulent 
giant cucumber. 

The woman's arms fell limply to her sides and she went into a partial coma, 
her eyes open and staring. Turk gripped her large, brown buttocks and 
pulled. The gobbling vagina turned inward as it was force fed the veined 
pole. Aided by his friends, Turk's progress was steady. 

Finally, the last five inches of cock shot home, bringing the woman to 
babbling, drooling consciousness. She twisted wildly, insane with sexual 
feeling, hoping she would die happily on the spliting shaft of the 
man-spear. 

Turk leaned back on his haunches, an expression of unequaled ecstasy on his 
face. "Oh, thanks, babe. You're the best. He lifted her buttocks again and 
simply pushed and pulled her along the length like a yo-yo. 

Her fluids poured out and around the marauding penis. She felt as hollow as 
when she had given birth, but that sensation would never match this. She 
knew her body would be deformed forever. Nothing could close her up after 
this, but all she wanted now was the man's penis plunging in and out. 

Turk grinned like a coyote and moved the woman faster, using her easily, 
like a ripe, plump, masturbating machine. As he moved her like a toy, she 
began to contract her stomach muscles. The glide and flow of her hot flesh 
around his stalk was glorious. The pain had gone and she could feel only the 
sensation of a near orgasm on every stroke. 

She contracted her muscles again, and her body swung up so that she actually 
rode the stiff prick while Turk supported her from a crouching position. 
Seeing the madness of hot sex in her eyes, he put his hands behind him and 
threw his legs forward, keeping his body suspended to give the woman all of 
his bayoneting cock. 

She screamed in glory as she tried to commit suicide on the too-thick penis, 
her hair flying in all directions, her eyes squeezed closed, and her pelvis 
jamming itself down against the big man's hairy crotch. She then began to 
use her thighs to help her hungry cunt convulse against the man-tool, 
squeezing, milking, strangling it. 

"Arrggh, fuck." Turk said, staring at the contorted face and madly jiggling 
black melons of flesh before him. The warning tingle had begun at the bottom 
of his sac, and the Indian woman's eyes popped open as she stared at him 
with stupid incredulity. Her mouth opened, and her tongue shot out so 
extremely that Turk could see her tonsils. She screamed loudly and eerily, 
like a gut-shot female panther. Her lips quivered and dripped saliva while 
she continued to shriek. 

Turk's groin was bathed in gushes of hot fluid that rippled over his balls 
in copious waves of unending orgasm. The female quivered deliciously while 
her ruined nerves cried out their demand for a mind-bending climax of 
endless cycles. 

The shrieks and the expression on the woman's face prompted Turk's ready 
stalk. "Unghh," he managed to grunt, as the monster prick fired a salvo of 
jigger-sized sperm loads into the hot and fecund Indian body. He no sooner 
drew his breath when his driving cock caused him to arch upward, driving the 
last half-inch into the woman's body. She responded with great trembling and 
a massive orgasm. 

The white men and Indians had become quiet as they watched the unequaled 
spectacle come to a climax. They saw the joined bodies go through a final 
shuddering, with the wash of sex fluid running in rivulets from the meshed 
crotches and thighs, and then collapse in a mound of contorted, panting, 
agonized flesh. 

 VII 

Galsworthy and Venetia had watched Turk's handiwork from beyond the thick 
foliage which concealed their presence. Venetia did not know whether to be 
awed, inspired, or just plain disgusted by the ape's performance. She had 
been a woman of the world, but this had been her first opportunity to watch 
another couple engage in sexual intercourse. Clinically, she had to admit 
that Turk probably had the largest penis on the entire continent, although 
she herself did not have the experience to be considered an expert. She had 
been most discreet in her affairs before meeting and marrying Stanley Cabet. 
Their love had been passionate at first, but as they had slowly drawn apart, 
sex had gradually become only a need to be periodically satisfied. But 
regardless of her opinion of the rape she had just seen, her healthy woman's 
body had been excited. The hair on her warm mound almost bristled and there 
had been a slight, hot discharge from her vagina. 

Galsworthy, not having the natural finesse of his companion, was unable to 
conceal his throbbing erection. His prick bulged hard and strong against his 
pants, like an arrow about to be shot from a cross bow. 

"Achhm," he said, clearing his throat as he noticed that Venetia's eyes had 
fallen to his tremendous hard-on. 

Venetia smiled, getting a kick out of the big Irishman's obvious 
embarrassment. Men weren't the unemotional sex machines they thought 
themselves to be. "Why don't you just go out there and get in line," she 
whispered, wanting to push the barb deeper into his thick hide and gain a 
bit of revenge for the way he had treated her the other night in camp. 

Galsworthy countered as best he could in his precarious position. At a other 
time and place he would have thrown her to the ground and had his way with 
her. Since this was impossible, he did the next best thing, moving his hand 
swiftly to her crotch and gripping her cunt through the tight breeches she 
wore. Venetia dared not scream out, but there was a sharp intake of breath. 
She tried to move his hand, but his grasp was so secure that the pubic hair 
threatened to come aws" with it. "Please, not now, Patrick," she said 
softly, calling him by his first name, a thing she had done very 
infrequently since their journey had begun. 

"Later?" he croaked. 

"I can't promise,'" she said, turning her eyes away as if she was trying to 
hide her true feelings. Galsworthy relaxed his grip as a wild roar went up 
from Ulrich's henchmen. At first he feared they had been discovered, but 
quickly saw that the men had gathered around the remaining Indian woman. 
Together, they were tearing the clothing from their bodies like a group 
readying for a quick community bath. 

"Oh hell, Patrick," Venetia said. "Stop them. I can't stand to watch another 
orgy." 

"Afraid of the effect it might have on you?" Galsworthy grinned. 

"I'm no angel," she said, "but this brutality is too much for any 
self-respecting woman." 

Galsworthy grunted. "I'm man enough in my own right," he said, "but I'm not 
crazy. To go up against their automatic weapons would be suicide. Besides, 
the Indian woman appears scared, but she's actually relishing the thing 
that's going to happen to her." 

"You have a pat excuse for everything," Venetia said. "To hear you talk, one 
would think that every woman has an endless desire to be constantly and 
thoroughly raped during her every waking hour." 

"It's a bloody shame they don't, Duck," Galsworthy said, grinning. "I recall 
that you've liked it well enough at times." Before she could retort, he 
tuned his attention back to the Indian woman, who was now being firmly 
wrestled to the ground by two of the men. 

The woman continued her struggled, even as her legs and arms were pinned. 
"Damn it, spread her legs wider," the man called Rollie said, falling to his 
knees and scurrying between the woman's dark thighs. Although his organ was 
dwarfed by Turk's, it was a hard lance of flesh that would do any normal 
woman justice, being a good eight inches in length with the forefinger and 
thumb just meeting as he gripped it and shoved forward. 

"Eeeyaah!" The woman's mouth opened widely as her scream rent the jungle. 
Rollie had slammed his prick at the center of the dark mass of pubic hair, 
tearing into her only slightly moist cunt until his balls were flush with 
her quivering buttocks. The woman would have cried out her misery again, but 
Rollie had freed her from the wracking pain almost immediately. He sprang to 
his feet and leaped around the clearing like a man possessed, cuddling his 
mangled cock with both hands, hurting too badly to be embarrassed by his 
antics. 

"Goddamn! I think I busted it," he said, and a solitary tear trickled down a 
grizzled cheek. 

A slender, raw-boned man laughed heartily and back-handed Rollie's buttocks. 
"You silly son of a bitch, you ain't following a hole reamed out by Turk. 
Any damned fool knows you can't just crawl a cunt and give it all you got 
without any preliminaries. It's a wonder you didn't tear the damned thing 
plumb off." 

"I guess you can do better, Tad," Rollie gasped, adding a few more tears to 
the one that had already fallen. His throbbing erection drooped its head 
with the overwhelming pain. "You were always such a perfect bastard." 

Tad grinned broadly. "I can't hold a candle to the Turk when it comes to 
size," he grunted, "but I know how to use what I got. If you're going to 
give a woman a good fuck, it ain't necessary to tear her insides out doing 
it." 

Several of the men had kept the woman pinned into position, and Tad motioned 
them away as he approached. She did not try to rise as she was released, but 
she quickly drew her thighs together and intertwined her feet, hoping to 
lock out the next battering man-thing. 

A puzzled expression crossed her dusky features as Tad leaned and kissed her 
full on the mouth, plunging his tongue deep inside her. The woman squirmed 
slightly beneath him as his mouth went to her left breast and began a gentle 
sucking. Her legs were still locked together as his hand went to her mound, 
a finger forcing itself between the outer lips in search of her clitoris. A 
new sensation began to creep through her injured canal, and she drew her 
legs up high, keeping her knees together until her heels rested flesh 
against her quivering buttocks. 

Sitting beside her, and having sucked both nipples into a fully erect state, 
Tad turned slightly over so that his hard prick lay across the woman's 
stomach, the hot knob directly against her heaving navel. The maligned 
Indian's hands remained free and they came down to grip the virile shaft. 
She had intended to push it away, but was instantly mesmerized by the feel 
of the shiny, bloated flesh burning against her palms. Her grip persisted, 
but it was almost gentle now. 

The woman squeezed her eyelids together, making small animal sounds as Tad 
continued to massage her ever swelling clitoris. Slowly, the dark knees 
parted, allowing the man's hand to move in her rift with complete freedom. A 
vigorous manipulation took place and the woman's thighs continued to move 
until her cunt was completely exposed to the onlookers. It was a shimmering 
red line against a darker background, the clitoris standing out like a wet, 
glowing ruby. Having turned resistance into anticipation, Tad moved quickly 
into the saddle and pushed his shaft slowly into the hot, mushy orifice. The 
dark buttocks snapped together, then parted, and the Indian shuddered 
deliriously as the hard prick slithered between the vaginal lips until only 
the body behind it remained outside her. 

Her aroused passageway was now slick with juices, and all sign of hurt had 
gone from her organs. She whimpered softly and smiled her appreciation for 
the hot cock buried deeply within her belly. She shoved her pelvis high into 
the air, dropped it, and lifted it again. The rapidly frictioning vagina, 
combined with his long period of forced abstinence, proved too much for Tad. 
He felt his balls contract once, twice, and the hot jets leaped the length 
of his penis before he could counteract the too quick orgasm. Tremors ran 
along his flanks, and his toes dug into the jungle floor like the hooves of 
a mad bull. The wildly contracting vagina milked him for his final drop of 
sperm, and was still continuing its vigorous manipulations as he withdrew 
the withered stalk of manhood from her burning hole. 

"Haw!" one of the men exclaimed as Tad arose on weakened knees and staggered 
backward. "Technique may be a bloody good thing, but it don't leave much 
time for screwing." With this bit of ridicule, the man lunged between the 
woman's waiting thighs. She accepted his offering easily and most 
appreciatively, beginning to milk it down the moment she felt the knob 
pushing into her hungry vagina. 

Rollie, who watched the ensuing gang-bang with some interest, felt his own 
pain vanish and was now relishing the thought of another erection. The sight 
of the woman's current lover driving his shaft into her engulfing red slit 
caused Rollie's erection to achieve more enormous proportions than before, 
and he found himself seeking instant relief. His eyes fell on the prostrate 
woman who had been amply ravished by Turk, and he found himself between her 
thighs almost immediately. He grinned out his relief as her slippery cunt 
accepted his hard offering. There would be no injury here, Turk had seen to 
that. Rollie thrust himself forward, burying himself to the hilt. 

The woman moaned slightly and her eyes opened, showing a bit of 
disappointment at this latest bit of male flesh which violated her crevice. 
Rollie quickened his thrust, and the vaginal lips flapped hotly against his 
sac as he drove to deep center with every movement. Turk's reaming had been 
so thorough that the disillusioned woman's vagina refused to respond, and 
her slippery folds were loose and without friction as Rollie continued to 
pound her. Rollie was disgusted. He had gone from one extreme to the other-a 
tight cunt which had almost torn away his knob, to a loose rift that seemed 
capable of devouring his entire lower torso. Given a choice, he preferred 
the tighter slit which now housed the shaft of a comrade. Crazed by the 
hotly lubricated mass of flesh protruding from his groin, Rollie took 
instant action to relieve the congestion. As he tried to roll the woman over 
on her stomach, she resisted, but was no match for his strength. His hands 
pried at the dark mounds of her buttocks, forcing them apart. 

Chattering in her own tongue, the woman tried to reach behind her and push 
away the man's clawing fingers. The nails were digging deeply into her 
tender flesh, and she cried out and tried to rise on her hands and knees. 
Rollie's weight forced her down again. Before she could renew her effort, 
his flaming knob was flush against her hole. Her buttocks clenched against 
the violating tip, but the intense pressure persisted. She groaned loudly, 
biting at her lower lip as the pain suddenly centered in her stretching 
ass-hole. 

"Arrggh!" Rollie thrust forward. The woman gasped as the unwanted knob 
popped through. 

"Ahhh." Rollie moaned, relishing the gravelly tightness of this improper 
orifice. He'd never felt anything quite like it. He rotated his shaft 
vigorously, ignoring the pain which lanced through its entire length. The 
sensations issuing from his knob and culminating in his balls were more than 
enough to override the small discomfort. He drove in another inch. 

The woman whimpered and tried to wriggle forward on her belly, hoping to 
escape the lance which impaled her from behind. The hurting thing followed 
her. threatening to tear deeper into her bowels. She collapsed, closing her 
eyes, then reopening them as pleasurable sensations began to creep into the 
newly assaulted area. A single thought dominated her mind. What he was doing 
to her was good. Maybe even better than the big man in front. Her ass 
trembled and she lifted it ever so slowly toward the pile-driving prick. 
Rollie grasped her hips like a drowning man grabbing a floating raft. The 
ring-like bit of tortured flesh gripped his knob in a spasm of lust, and the 
woman was hunching madly at his stalk of flesh, trying to gather more of it 
in. He obliged as best he could, driving his hard penis into the woman's 
tight canal until she screamed in perverted pain. The crawling, clasping 
sensation against his knob was too much. Rollie came profusely and the 
fluids of another orgasm overflowed its bounds and saturated the twitching 
slit beneath his still pounding cock. 

Turk, meanwhile, had regained his strength and was watching the final man 
back from between the thighs of the other Indian. The woman lay prostrate, 
her parts saturated with the spendings of a half-dozen men. Her eyes were 
limpid pools of spent passion. One leg lay straight out from her body and 
the other was crooked at the knee. Turk eyed the plump buttocks and the 
spreading wet gash which separated the woman's thighs. Excited to still 
another erection, Turk mounted her without flourish, spreading the flabby 
vaginal lips with his fingers and tucking his huge knob into the opening. He 
roared and pressed forward. Aided by the bountiful juices already present, 
he plowed without assistance. She gasped for relief as the huge cock 
stretched her cunt and probed deeply into her bruised belly. It was as if 
she had never had a man, as if she were virginal again. She came profusely 
at the thought of being entered by such as unbelievable penis, then closed 
her eyes in a trance near death as Turk finished with her. 

Venetia took Galsworthy's hand and urged him deeper into the jungle. "I've 
seen all I want to see," she said. "I didn't know that such men existed. The 
women ... they...." 

"Yes?" Galsworthy said. 

"They ... actually liked it." A bit of disillusionment showed in Venetia's 
face. 

"Being subjected to it, they made themselves enjoy it," Galsworthy said. 

Venetia registered horror. "If they caught us, they'd do the same to me," 
she said. "I ... don't think I could stand it." 

Galsworthy grimaced, becoming serious at her words. "While I'm alive, they 
won't touch a hair on your pretty cunt ... head," he said. "That's a 
promise." 

She gripped his hand more tightly at the words of reassurance. "Maybe we'd 
better forget about the emeralds." 

"Are you getting a weak stomach?" 

"No," Venetia answered quietly, "but I didn't expect anything like this." 

"This is the part I warned you about," he said. "I told you it wouldn't be a 
picnic." 

"All this rape!" she exclaimed. "You'd think that nothing existed out here 
except raw sex." 

"It's part of the life." Galsworthy grunted and held her back. "This is far 
enough." 

"Not for me, it isn't," Venetia told him. "I can't put enough distance 
between us and those ... those creatures. The emeralds be hanged." 

"I've come too far to turn back," Galsworthy said with conviction. 

"I don't intend to die out here!" 

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Stop it!" he hissed. "This hysteria 
is exactly what they want. Stanley was probably in just such a state of mind 
when the mamba sank its fangs in him. Well, I don't crack, Mrs. Cabet. No 
man can say that Patrick Galsworthy ever went to pieces." 

Venetia's features went stern as she braced herself. "I'm sorry," she said. 
"That little emotional scene was really out of character for me." 

"Yeah," Galsworthy said dryly. He was almost beginning to regret coming on 
such a mission with a woman, and thought of flinging his dreams of riches to 
the winds. He wasn't afraid of dying, and had never come close to doing so 
in the many perilous situations he had faced during his thirty-five years. 
But this wasn't the same. He'd never teamed with a woman before-except in 
sexual combat-and he knew that Venetia's presence jeopardized both his 
success and his life. He frowned deeply. The thought wasn't sheer fantasy. 
She could damned well get him killed. Hell. He couldn't turn his back on the 
emeralds and run. He'd never ran before, from anything. And he wasn't 
getting any younger. This knocking about the four corners of the earth was 
getting a bit tiring. Well, maybe thirty-five wasn't a decrepit age, but, in 
this business, a man could fail to reach forty by several seasons. He 
suddenly felt hard inside again, much as he had felt when he had decided to 
go up against Karl Ulrich. 

"Patrick." Venetia touched his arm lightly with her fingertips. "I didn't 
mean what I said." 

"About what?" 

She sighed. "About backing out of the search. Stanley would have wanted me 
to go on." 

Galsworthy's usually complacent features stiffened. "Are you doing this for 
yourself, for Stanley, or for us?" 

"Us?" Venetia was startled. 

"Us," Galsworthy repeated, feeling slightly chagrined. "I signed on at 
fifty-fifty. Just how far does the contract go?" 

"You mean, does it include part of me?" 

Venetia was both amused and frightened. During the days and nights she had 
been with him in the jungle and on the river, she had never seen such a 
demanding expression on his face. This, taking into account that she had 
made love to him several times. His eyes almost burned through her clothing, 
stripping her, and caressing her hot skin. She felt more than uncomfortable. 
The growing congestion in her genitals could not be ignored. "I hardly think 
this is the time and place for such a discussion, Mr. Galsworthy," she said. 

"One minute I'm Patrick and the next I'm Mister Galsworthy," he growled 
impatiently. 

"When you try to become too personal, then you are Mister Galsworthy to me," 
Venetia said, almost coldly. Still, the tingling in her crotch did not go 
away. like it or not, she was physically excited by the man. "You're trying 
to talk me into bed again, and Stanley's body is hardly cold." 

"It's a helluva lot colder than it was the first time I...." 

"Will you shut up?" Venetia snapped. "I don't know why I let you before. 
Gratitude, I suppose. But I don't intend to let it happen again. I owe 
Stanley that much." 

"Your love for Stanley Cabet died long months before he did," Galsworthy 
reminded her. "Admit it." 

"Yes," she said wistfully, "but the memory...." 

"What kind of memories, Venetia?" he asked. "Good ones?" 

"In the beginning, yes," she said, looking away from the Irishman's probing 
eyes. She stared off into a bush for a moment, then turned suddenly, her 
arms folded under her breasts. "Will you give me an honest answer, Patrick?" 

"Yes," he said gruffly, "to an honest question." 

"Are you talking to me in this manner because of the sexual fantasv you 
witnessed back there in the clearing?" she asked directly. "If I compromise 
and give you my body anytime you want it, will it mean anything to you 
except hot sex?" 

"I don't know," he replied. "I hope it will become more. I've never had a 
woman I could truly call my own." 

"That bit of prose doesn't sound at all like you," she taunted. "It's too 
gushy and sentimental. No, thank you, Mister Galsworthy. If you'll forgive 
the expression, I don't intend to become another quick piece of pussy." 

"Okay," he growled, more than matching her dainty bit of vulgarity. "If you 
want to keep your cunt zipped for the rest of your days, it's okay with me." 
He turned his back, pouting like an overgrown child. 

Damn, he thought. She was right. This wasn't like Patrick Galsworthy. He 
turned without warning and pulled her to him, crushing her mouth with his 
own. 

"No," she murmured, but he drowned out her protest with his lips. Her 
breasts squirmed against his chest, unrestrained beneath the fabric of her 
Shirt; strong, yet teasingly soft and yielding. He kept his mouth glued to 
hers until she began to respond, returning his passionate kiss. When he felt 
all resistance crumbling, he ran his fingers around her waist, removing the 
shirt tail, then running one hand up her torso to the contour of her large 
left tit. He kneaded the bulging nipple until it he came hard and pointed 
between his thumb and forefinger. 

"Please," she panted, but his hand was moving back to her waist, trying to 
undo the belt of her breeches. She gripped his strong wrist with both hands, 
exerting a force she did not know she possessed, and so hampering him that 
he gave up for the moment and slid his hand under the band and along the 
curvature of her trembling belly. Still tugging at his arm, Venetia felt the 
crawling fingers persist in their downward travel. She gasped as she felt 
the tips resting at the edge of her pubic hair. Her mound was aglow but she 
could not fully appreciate the sensation. The crushing pressure of his big 
hand and wrist resting between her soft abdomen and the band of her 
breeches, was forcing the breath from her. "No," she moaned, but quivered 
deliriously as a finger plunged inward and made contact with her engorged 
clitoris. 

"I beg you, Patrick, not now." She leaned weakly against him, whimpering, 
and his hot, bulging erection pressed against her upper thigh. Oh, why 
didn't he hurry and get it over with, as long as it had to happen. God! He'd 
been so good before.... 

Galsworthy's expression changed and he sprang away from her without warning. 
Thinking she had offended him, Venetia extended her hands, her eyes 
imploring him to proceed where he had left off. "Back," he hissed, shoving 
her roughly into the bushes while his other hand reached for his rifle. 

"What...." 

"Quiet," he warned, and if his face had ever contained any lust for her 
body, it did not show now. From all appearances, he had been suddenly and 
crudely castrated with a dull knife. "Someone's coming." 

Venetia strained her ears as she tucked the shirt back into her breeches. 
She could hear little except for the fluttering of wings as an occasional 
bird took flight. Long minutes passed before she could detect the crackling 
of twigs beneath the feet of the oncoming intruder. And then the rapist 
called Rollie could be seen, blindly staggering through the brush, a bottle 
of whiskey raised to his lips. She turned her eyes away from the sight. The 
man was clothed now, but his flabby penis hung from his Opened fly, its 
purplish head bruised and bleeding where the foreskin had been brutally 
ripped away from the knob. 

Rollie paused directly before their hiding place, taking the bottle from his 
lips and staring down at his mangled organ. He shook his head and brushed 
the angry tears of pain from his blood-shot eyes. True, he had been weeks 
without a woman, but how could he have been so foolish as to try and fuck a 
dry cunt? If this wasn't a fool's folly, he had stupidly followed by trying 
on a tight ass-hole for size. God, how it throbbed and hurt. He raised his 
head, looking to his right, and his eyes bulged with fright. He opened his 
mouth to scream, but the sound was cut off as brutal fingers closed off his 
windpipe. 

Galsworthy's grip on the man's throat tightened, and he did not release it 
until Rollie had sunk helplessly to his knees. 

VIII 

When Rollie was released, he struggled to his feet, still clutching his 
throat. The big son of a bitch had almost made him black out. He would have 
yelled to his friends, but the rifle cradled in the Irishman's hand brought 
wisdom to his dulled senses. He looked down at the spilled bottle of 
whiskey, then gave it a vicious kick, sending it into the tangled 
undergrowth. 

"You damned near killed me, mister," he croaked as he found his breath. 

Galsworthy spoke softly. "You're one of Ulrich's men?" 

"Hell, yes," Rollie answered without hesitation, "and I take it that you're 
Patrick Galsworthy. Well, let me give you some advice, you bloody Irishman. 
You'd better be moving your ass out of this territory. You don't have a 
chance in hell with three groups of men on your tail." 

Galsworthy's eyes dropped to Rollie's still dangling penis. "Get that poor 
example of manhood back in your pants," he growled. "A lady is present." 

Rollie handled his battered shaft gingerly, wincing as he zipped himself up 
and felt the coarse fabric of his pants against his throbbing knob. 

"Speaking of the lady," he said between gritted teeth, "she's another good 
reason for getting the hell out of here. If that horny bunch back there 
doesn't get her now, they'll get her later. When they do, she won't last the 
night out. The Indians will hear her ghost screaming for years." 

Galsworthy grunted. "I'm not asking for advice, just information." 

"I got nothing to tell you." 

Galsworthy nudged him at the beltline with the rifle. "Have you ever noticed 
what a nasty hole one of these things can leave in a man's guts?" 

Rollie felt fear creeping more deeply into his numbed mind, and he became 
almost sober. He'd kicked around the continent for more than a few years, 
and had only joined Karl Ulrich recently, but the name of Galsworthy was not 
new to him. It was a byword in every Indian village, in every bar, and in 
every whorehouse he'd ever been in. And he'd never heard of the man being 
shamed or bested. He was, according to the legend, the most drinking, 
brawling, fucking man ever to come within a hundred miles of the Mato 
Grosso. He was insatiable when loving, of never-ending thirst when drinking, 
and a savage brute when fighting. Rollie looked into his adversary's serious 
face, and he needed no proof of the man's ability. The stories he had heard 
were enough. 

Rollie took a deep, steadying breath. "Okay, Galsworthy. What do you want to 
know?" 

"I'd like to know what you expect to find out here," Galsworthy said. 

Rollie managed a sickly grin. "Two things we've already found. You and the 
Cabet woman." 

"Anything else." 

"Like?" 

"Like the emeralds." 

"Hell, no," Rollie croaked. "Would we still be here drinking hot beer and 
screwing captured Indian women if we had?" 

Galsworthy jabbed him again with the rifle for emphasis. "Were you only 
following us, or do you have a line on Stanley Cabet's movements? Was he 
through this area?" 

Rollie almost laughed. "Mister, let me tell you something-Stanley Cabet's 
been over every foot of the whole fucking country. Every cold campfire you 
see was made by Stanley. Every damned Indian you speak to has managed to see 
him a few days before he died. It's almost like he split himself into a 
hundred different pieces, each going in a different direction. If we had 
everything we've paid the natives for false information, we wouldn't need 
the emeralds. And it's the same with every one of the outfits trying to find 
Stanley's true trail." 

"Then why don't you turn back?" 

"Mister, you don't run out on Karl Ulrich. And he won't give up." 

"Why not? Stanley Cabet is dead. There's nothing Ulrich can do to hurt him." 

"A matter of pride, I guess," Rollie grunted. "He has to have the emeralds 
for his own ego, to prove that he's never been bested, not even by a dead 
man. And he wants the woman. He intends to make her suffer for the raw deal 
Cabet gave him." 

Galsworthy's eyes grew hard, and a deadly sound came into his voice. "Ulrich 
may get the emeralds," he said, "but he'll wish he had been bitten by a 
mamba if he or any of his men touch Venetia." 

Rollie swallowed hard. "Don't tell me, mister. Tell Ulrich. Me-I wouldn't 
touch her with a twenty foot pole." He glanced toward Venetia. "And I don't 
mean to be uncomplimentary, ma'am. You're pretty enough for any man." 

Venetia was amused by the gruff man's forced politeness. He was plenty 
scared. She suddenly felt more secure. Patrick Galsworthy was evidently even 
more of a man that she had thought him to be. And he wasn't all hot air and 
ego. She ventured a question of her own. "Did Stanley leave anything behind, 
any notes, or anything?" 

Rollie nodded, almost impatient to answer questions now. "Notes, maps, 
everything you can imagine to lead us down another false trail. All we've 
ever found is booby traps and bad water holes. Oh, your late husband was 
really a joker, ma'am!" 

Galsworthy felt that the man had been truthful with them, and that they 
could learn nothing more from him. He stared into Rollie's face, his own 
features resuming their complacency. "Sorry, old chap," he said, abruptly 
swinging the rifle around and sending the butt crashing against Rollie's 
skull. 

"Why did you do that?" Venetia gasped, looking down at the fallen figure. 

"Do you think I enjoyed it?" Galsworthy asked sharply. 

"Couldn't you have just let him go?" Venetia snapped. 

"And let him warn the camp?" Galsworthy shook his head. "They'd have been 
after us in two minutes flat." He forced a sour grin, irritated that she was 
inclined to argue with his every decision. "Or perhaps you'd like to try the 
Turk on for size?" 

Venetia looked shocked. "Oh, all right. I was wrong. You should have crushed 
his skull." 

"He'll be all right," Galsworthy assured her. "I've never needlessly killed 
a man." He touched her shoulder and steered her in the opposite direction. 
"Back to camp," he said, "to start all over again." 

Venetia tried to hang back for a moment. "What about the guides?" As much as 
she trusted Galsworthy, she didn't appreciate the idea of being guideless in 
this green hell. 

"They must have left the war party as soon as we spotted Ulrich's men," 
Galsworthy said. 

"They're just Indians, like the rest of the group," Venetia suggested. "Why 
didn't they participate in the drinking and rape?" 

"Professional integrity," Galsworthy told her, "believe it or not. They're 
still working for me, and therefore they wouldn't needlessly become involved 
in something I didn't approve of." 

"But they insisted on going on the raid," she reminded him. 

"A different matter altogether," he said. "Tribal honor and all that rot. 
Even then, they asked for leave of absence." 

"Of course." 

Venetia nodded understanding, but she realized that nothing made sense to 
her. The Indians, Ulrich, Stanley's death, even the emeralds; nothing was 
worth the misery she had already undergone, and only God knew what still lay 
in store for her. She shuddered at the thought of being forcefully mounted 
by the Turk, of having his horrendous penis shoved into her belly. No 
civilized woman could face it and live. 

They pushed through the seemingly endless jungle. Galsworthy tramped 
steadily ahead, like a man on a simple hike, never tiring, but glancing over 
his shoulder ever so often to see that she stayed close at his heels. 
Venetia was worried. She could no longer see the sun through the treetops, 
and she was gripped by hysteria at the thought of the coming night. She 
managed to keep her fears to herself, not wanting to be ridiculed by the 
Irishman again, but she felt cold all over. Even that usually warm spot 
between her moving thighs was like a moss-covered crypt. 

Venetia could hardly restrain her joy as they broke into the clearing and 
she caught sight of the river. "We made it," she said softly. 

Galsworthy chuckled. "Did you ever doubt it?" 

"I've doubted everything, even my sanity, since our last night in camp," she 
admitted. "Oh, it's good to be back." She breathed a sigh of relief. They 
had barely made it. It seemed that someone had abruptly shut off the sun as 
they had stepped from the jungle's edge. The Indian guides were sitting by 
the fire, staring stonily at the perking pot of coffee they had prepared, 
half expecting it to explode at any moment. When they caught sight of 
Galsworthy and Venetia, they retired to the far corner of the camp. 

Galsworthy stripped off his shirt, exposing his hairy chest, and followed by 
kicking off his heavy boots. He poured coffee, handed a cup to Venetia, and 
scowled as he sipped his portion. "The guides will never succeed as 
coffee-makers," he grunted. 

Venetia giggled her disapproval of the Irishman's comment. The coffee was 
delicious. Mild and fragrant. A far cry from the gut-buster he had prepared. 

"Are you hungry?" he asked. 

"I don't think I'll ever be hungry again-at least not until we get back to 
civilization. 

"That's some time away," he said. "I doubt that you can do without food for 
such a long period." 

She finished her coffee and stood. "I'm tired. I could use a good night's 
rest." Venetia vanished into the tent and reappeared a few moments later, 
carrying toiletry items. 

Galsworthy stopped her. "Where do you think you're going?" 

"To take a bath," she said. "I , 's been a miserable, hot day and I can't 
sleep when I'm smelling of my own perspiration." 

"You brainless female!" Galsworthy exploded. "You don't go bathing in the 
Orinoco at night. There's a good chance you won't be coming back!" 

She tossed her head and jerked away from his restraining hand. "Well, I'm 
going, even if I get eaten alive by some river monster." 

He watched her retreating figure for a moment, then threw several sticks of 
wood onto the fire in order to obtain more light. When she stopped at the 
river's edge, he was standing directly behind her. She turned. "Surely, you 
don't expect me to...." 

"Duck, there are worse things than modesty," Galsworthy said simply. 

He was indeed relishing the thought of seeing her totally nude again. Damn. 
Could a man and woman fiver really understand one another? A man could see a 
woman over and over, and become hard every time she undressed. A woman, no 
matter how many times she was fucked, still managed to retain her modesty. 

"I absolutely refuse," Venetia stormed. His eyes were laughing at her. "If 
you think that the things that have happened between us previously...." 

"I don't think anything," he said calmly. "I only know that I have to watch 
out for you if you insist upon bathing in the river tonight." 

"Watch out for me, or watch me?" Her words were pure acid. 

"In this damned ink, I'm not going to see too much of anything," he growled, 
"and it's not as if I haven't seen it all before. No, if you're going to 
bathe, get with it." 

Venetia flashed him a despicable stare as she stepped close to the water's 
edge. Looking out over the dark river, she realized that he actually had her 
safety in mind. Anything could happen here. Slowly, she undid the buttons of 
her shirt, removing it with her back to him, almost like a strip teaser 
without music. 

Galsworthy shuffled uncomfortably. The mere sight of her back excited him, 
and he didn't need to guess at the beauty of the large white globes which 
were hidden from his view. He grinned stiffly. Well, at least she could not 
conceal both her ass and her breasts from him simultaneously. One or the 
other had to be exposed. His penis stirred against his thigh, its head 
beginning a slow swell. Venetia was tugging at her belt, pausing, then 
sitting to remove her boots. She stood again, fumbled with the waistband of 
the breeches, then jerked them abruptly over her hips and down her thighs. 
Galsworthy watched the uncontrollable quivering of her pale buttocks, 
thinking he had never seen such a lovely cleft between two equally beautiful 
mounds. Her thighs were firm and supple as she raised first one foot and 
then the other to step from the breeches. 

"I hope you're happy," Venetia said, trying to sound angry. 

"A man is no happier than the woman he escorts," Galsworthy told her. 

"Well," Venetia spat, "if you think I'm getting some obscene thrill out of 
being an exhibitionist...." 

"You are damned beautiful tonight," he chuckled. "At least, what I've seen." 

"That's all you're going to see now." 

She crouched at the water's edge, not daring to leap into the black danger 
it presented. She shivered as she used her hands to splash the cool wetness 
against her breasts and stomach, soaping and rinsing quickly so that he 
would not get a prolonged view of her nudity. Already she had done damage 
enough, for, when she had last glanced over her shoulder, his penis had 
grown to a bulging knot against his pants. When she had thoroughly bathed 
her frontal parts, Venetia pushed the soap at Galsworthy over one shoulder. 
"Can you wash my back and still remain a gentleman?" she asked. 

"No fine lady can say that Patrick Galsworthy isn't always a gentleman." He 
took the soap and crouched at the water's edge with her. She turned, hopping 
like a princess who had turned into a frog, and covering her bobbing breasts 
with her hands. 

"Behind me," she said. "Behind me." 

Galsworthy moved as she moved, and the arrangement was achieved without any 
undue exposure of Venetia's charms. Well, he thought, she hadn't quite 
succeeded in concealing all. He'd seen the upper swell of her breasts, and 
the faint rim of the golden moss where it almost forcefully tucked itself 
between her squeezing thighs. His prick was now an elongated mass of hard 
flesh along his inner thigh, and his lips were bloodless as he splashed 
water on her back and followed with the soap. His groin contracted. This was 
a far cry from the huge black female he had soaped down at Gwen's place. 
What was her name? Hell, he couldn't even remember. The cry of a strange 
woman's hot flesh was loud and long, but it ended abruptly and was soon 
forgotten. It had never been that way with Venetia, and more each day he 
thought it would never be.... 

His hand moved to the small of her back and proceeded downward. "Far 
enough," she warned, when she could feel his hand at the cleft of her 
buttocks. 

"Damn." He tried to laugh but was unable to make it come out as such. "Do 
you have to take the fun out of everything?" 

Venetia giggled, suddenly feeling wanton and gay. "You might put something 
else where your hand is. You'll have to admit that I'm in a precarious 
position, with you perched behind me like his." 

The laugh finally came out of Galsworthy, but there was no real amusement in 
it. It was a throaty thing, deep and filled with passion. God, how his balls 
ached. "For a moralist," he said, "you have a filthy little mind." 

Venetia felt even more evil. "And what were you thinking, Mr. Galsworthy?" 

His laughter was genuine this time. "The same as you, Duck. The same as 
you." 

He rinsed her back and she stood, pulling a large towel around her body as a 
kind of sarong, thereby hiding everything but her shapely legs from his 
view. Where in hell she had come up with such an object, he did not know. 
From some of the things she had packed, there was no doubt that she had 
really thought of the trip as a holiday. 

"Can I safely go back to my tent dressed like this?" she asked thoughtfully. 

Galsworthy glanced toward the camp. "The guides are out of sight; probably a 
ways into the jungle. Anyway, they won't be lusting after you. They think 
you're my woman." 

Venetia changed the subject abruptly. "Are you going to bathe, Patrick?" 

"I thought I would," he grunted. "I don't intend to be the only dirty 
bastard in camp." He undid his belt and unzipped, pausing as he stared at 
the thin line of hair which proceeded from his navel and vanished at the 
edge of his shorts. 

She laughed. "Well, what are you waiting for?" 

"Goddamn it all, woman," Galsworthy sputtered. "A man-likes a little 
privacy." 

"Now look who's being the prude, and after all we've been through together," 
she said, still laughing. "Is there a difference between a man seeing a 
woman and a woman seeing a man?" 

"Oh, hell yes, my dear," he almost shouted. "A woman is a thing of art and 
beauty. A man is nothing but a gross, hairy beast." He scowled. Her laughter 
irritated him to no end. He suddenly leered at her. "And you're forgetting 
another thing, my lovely Venetia. Down below is a huge charm which I won't 
be at all adept in concealing. But that's okay. Seeing it might break down 
that damned barrier you've thrown up between us." 

Venetia turned and dashed toward the camp with Galsworthy's victorious 
laughter ringing in her ears. 

Ignoring his own warning, Galsworthy stepped into the river and waded out 
several yards. His roaring blood needed something besides a few dashes of 
water to cool it down. His balls dangled along the river's surface, and the 
moving water felt similar to a woman's caressing fingers. He bent his knees, 
sinking a few inches deeper and letting the cooling liquid swirl around his 
hot and aching sac. His hard prick bobbed for a second, then sank out of 
sight. He soaped himself vigorously and bathed quickly. A man could lose a 
leg out here, or something more valuable. When he stepped back onto the 
shore, his erection had fallen, but the discomfort still persisted deep 
within his flesh. For all its softness, his organ was still lightly bloated 
with desire. 

Oh, but this trip was turning out to be just ducky. Danger behind every 
tree, death over every hill, and a beautiful woman who obviously had lost 
all desire for a good fuck. Well, if worse came to worse, he could always 
relieve himself as he had done when he watched the Jivaro maid get hers. He 
returned to camp and zipped himself into his sleeping bag. His rifle was 
lying close, within hand's reach. A loud gush of air came from his lungs. It 
was going to be a long night. 

Venetia tossed and turned within the confines of her tent. She was 
exhausted, but she could not sleep. She slept nude, and the sheet had been 
cast aside in favor of nothing at all. Her flesh burned with heat, although 
there was a definite nip in the air, and the congestion in her loins had 
grown since leaving Galsworthy at the river's edge. Oh, why hadn't she gone 
ahead and given herself to him, with no one to see them make love except the 
dark, silent waters of the Orinoco? Why did she persist in being so 
childishly gauche about this affair? Stanley was dead, and she could not 
make love to his ghost. A woman needed something she could feel, with her 
hands, with her body, with her inner recesses. She whimpered softly with 
desire, then sprang abruptly to a sitting position as the front flap of the 
tent unfolded. 

"Patrick," she whispered. 

"I had to come," he said thickly, his face hard with wanting her. He bent 
lower and stepped inside, the light from the campfire pushing between his 
muscular thighs and bathing his testicles with a hot light. His prick 
protruded from his hairy groin, a beseeching mass of masculinity. 

"Patrick," Venetia said again, more softly than before, and he sank beside 
her, stroking her hair until it appeared as burnished gold. The light from 
the fire crept through the half-opened flap, bathing the interior of the 
tent with a dancing, almost erotic light. Shadows flickered on her 
full-bodied beauty as she ran her hands around his waist and pressed her hot 
mounds against his heaving chest. The large, spreading nipples firmed and 
dug into his flesh. She buried her face against his shoulder, kissing him 
there, and letting her fingers play up and down his spine. "Oh, Patrick," 
she said, her voice almost inaudible. "I was afraid you wouldn't come." 

"You wanted me," he asked huskily, "regardless of what you said." 

"Yes, oh yes, Patrick!" 

She sank back, and he half sat, half lay beside her. One hand rested across 
her body, with a white globe of flesh relaxing against his wrist and arm. 
Such lovely tits, he thought, not at all vulgar, with milk-white background 
for the roses of her nipples. The blueness of her eyes was deep and 
sensitive, and when he leaned to kiss her, her full lips opened to meet him, 
her pink tongue darting out like the hungry probing of a honey bee. It was 
inside his mouth, exploring; a sweet, moving thing which he finally grasped 
and held in a tender embrace. The kiss was a lasting one, and when their 
lips parted his penis was a firm lance against her right hip. She squirmed 
against it, wanting to feel its hard heat against her sensitive skin. 

Galsworthy kissed her neck, dropped his face between her breasts, and moved 
the tip of his tongue along the crevice. She gasped as he kissed one mound, 
went to the aureole, and finished by sucking an already firm nipple into his 
mouth. It was large and hot against his tongue, and its size made him hunger 
all the more for it. 

Venetia moaned softly as the sucking grew stronger, and then she pushed 
against his head, urging him downward. Blind with wanting her, Galsworthy 
did as bidded, kissing the generous curvature of her stomach and digging his 
tongue into the belly button. His big hand engulfed her vaginal mound, 
clutching at the soft yellow mat. She squeezed her thighs tightly together, 
then opened them almost immediately. His finger probed, forcing its way into 
her heated labia and finding her love-flesh. It was a wet mass of erectile 
tissue, and, as he manipulated it, a wanton expression flitted across her 
face. Her mouth opened slowly, her breasts heaved, and she whined out her 
sexual agony. The final barrier of modesty dropped away, and she grasped his 
stiff cock and began a vigorous, uncontrollable pumping. 

Galsworthy gnashed his teeth as the tantalizing sensations gripped him. God, 
he'd come before he even got it in her. He threw one leg across her thighs 
and tried to mount her. Her fingers were still strong around his prick, 
jerking, refusing to release him. She had to stop. He wanted her to ... no, 
he didn't want ... She hammered at his stiff organ, and its knob was fired 
with blood. Her beautiful face was twisted with a perverted passion. It 
seemed to him that she was obsessed with forcing him to an orgasm before he 
could enter her precious hole. Did she fear pregnancy? She wanted him, yet 
did not want him to have her. Oh, hell, he'd never make it. She was hunching 
against his leg. He pressed his knee into the cleft of her buttocks, and her 
slippery cunt rode up and down his outer thigh like a pulley on a fleshy 
rope of sex. "G'worthy...." 

The sound came from the back of his mind, from the shadows, and was blotted 
out by his thoughts of hot female flesh. He couldn't ... the feel of her 
fingers around his stiff stalk, still pumping.... 

"G'worthy...." 

There it was again. A pleading sound. A small, weakening voice calling his 
name. Why did he always have to be disturbed? Why? Through the sexual 
fantasy which filled his mind, he heard it again, more faintly. If he 
ignored it, it would surely go away. He was between her thighs now, 
spreading them, trying to release his thick penis from her grasp and drive 
it into her hungry slit. His balls contracted. Once, twice, his knob jerked 
like the head of a angry red demon. 

"G'worthy!" 

It was more of a scream. He tried to rise to his knees, even as Venetia's 
grip tightened on his aching prick, even as the hot jets ran down his canal 
and splattered onto her quivering white stomach. 

His passion spent, Galsworthy was suddenly intensely aware of the jungle 
around him, where catastrophe lurked at every turn. Venetia had released his 
cock and was gripping his upper thigh, pushing her cunt up and down the 
greased pole his leg formed against the slippery inner lips of her cunt. She 
strained for an orgasm that would not come, her eyes pleading for his 
assistance. "Give it to me, Patrick, now." 

"G'worthy." 

The sound of his name was almost non-existent, but it was there, low and 
muted. He sprang away from the woman, ignoring the hands which still reached 
for him. Leaping through the flap of the tent, his eyes instantly attuned to 
the surrounding night. The fire had burned low, and was not much more than 
embers, but he could make out the body of the dying guide, crawling slowly 
toward his sleeping bag, his fingers digging desperately into the dirt, 
searching for another inch of leverage. The Indian's chest was bathed in 
blood, his features already forming a death mask, and still he tried to pull 
forward, his lips moving in silent sound. 

Galsworthy cursed under his breath as he made a mad dive for his rifle. like 
a fool he had left it beside the sleeping bag, forgetting one of the first 
rules of survival. It had happened, just as he had feared it would. A woman 
was sure death out here. The smell of one, the taste of her mouth, the 
unholy alliance between cunt and prick, made a man accident prone. He.... 

It was already too late. Even as he gripped the rifle with one hand, trying 
to rise with it, Ulrich's men burst into the clearing, their weapons leveled 
at his head. He could get one or two of them. maybe three, but the remainder 
would shoot him full of holes. And then what would happen to Venetia? He 
dropped the rifle and faced the grinning Turk, who was the first to reach 
him. 

 IX 

Turk motioned for Galsworthy to move further away from his weapon. He then 
burst into laughter as he surveyed his enemy's nudity. "Did we interrupt 
something, sport?" 

The Irishman grimaced. "Do you mind if a man gets dressed?" he asked, 
looking around for his clothing. 

"By all means," Turk grinned. "I don't get a damned bit of pleasure out of 
looking at your hard ass. The woman now ... that's different." 

Galsworthy glared at Turk as he jerked his pants around his waist. "You 
leave the woman out of this, you bald bastard." 

Turk's face darkened. "I can't rightly see that you got a say so about that, 
sport." 

"If you do to her what you did to the Indian women, I'll cut your balls out 
and use them for fish bait," Galsworthy warned. He was weaponless, but he 
felt that he could kill the grinning monster with his bare hands if need be. 

"You seen us take the Indian women, huh? Quite a cunt-splitting contest, 
huh?" 

"Just don't try it on Mrs. Cabet," Galsworthy warned again. It was his final 
word on the subject and he glanced toward the fallen guide, who had died 
where he lay. "The other one?" he asked. 

Turk spat. "Dead, out there in the jungle. Luckily for us, this one lasted a 
bit longer, and we were able to follow him back to your camp." 

"Now that you've got us, what do you intend to do?" Galsworthy asked. 

"Well, personally, I'd like to give the blonde a good fucking, and put you 
out like the Indian there." With this, Turk strolled toward the tent and 
disappeared inside. Venetia screamed as he dragged her out. She had almost 
finished dressing, and had been in the process of buttoning her shirt when 
Turk grabbed her. His big hand managed to unloose one white globe. He 
massaged it brutally as he tried to hold her with one hand and still 
maintain possession of his rifle. "Now, that is what I call a tit," he 
guffawed. 

Seeing Venetia's soft flesh being mangled by the obscene Turk, Galsworthy 
forgot the other guns. He flung his entire weight at the Turk, striking him 
at the waist and sending the much bigger man sprawling. Venetia was 
momentarily freed, and the Turk's weapon went harmlessly in the other 
direction. 

Turk was quick and supple for a huge man, and he was on his feet and facing 
the equally quick Irishman in a matter of seconds. They glared at one 
another, two angry gladiators set on a fight to the finish, with only their 
bare hands for weapons. Several of the men raised their guns, but the man 
known as Tad restrained them. "Let them fight," he said. "Turk will break 
every bone in the stubborn Irishman's body. Maybe it'll keep him quiet and 
out of our hair for awhile." 

"Hell," grumbled one man. "Let me shoot the bastard and get it over with." 

Tad turned on him. "You're a blood crazy son of a bitch, Charlie. Do you 
want Ulrich to have you skinned alive? He wants to see the girl and 
Galsworthy in one piece." 

"Shit!" Charlie sulked and let his weapon drop. 

Turk leaped high into the air, fighting Oriental style, and his feet crashed 
against Galsworthy's chest. Galsworthy was unhurt, but the unexpected move 
sent him sprawling and the Turk was on him instantly. The giant's leering 
face was directly above him, and Galsworthy sent an elbow whipping across 
the man's mouth. The leer turned to a bloody gurgle, and Turk sprang back, 
trumpeting like a wounded bull elephant. 

Turk ran his forearm across his mouth, staring in amazement at the wet 
streak of red left behind. He swung wildly at the advancing Irishman, 
missed, and swung again with the other hand. This blow connected and 
Galsworthy felt as if he had been pole-axed. He could hardly feel the pain 
for the numbness which engulfed his brain, threatening to spread to all his 
limbs before he could defend himself. Venetia! The single thought saved him. 
From the corner of his almost glazed eyes, he caught sight of her. Another 
man was struggling with her, having completely unbuttoned her shirt. The 
pale globes of her breasts jerked back and forth as he tried to hold her and 
get his mouth at them. 

"Patrick!" she screamed, and the pleas gave him added strength. Turk, 
thinking his victim helpless, had advanced too quickly. For his haste he 
received a smashing blow to the solar plexus. Turk tried to scream, but no 
sound came forth. He attempted to breathe with a set of lungs that no longer 
seemed to function. He held his hands before his face, and the Irishman 
swung through them, chopping blows to his head. Each blow was a punishing 
thing, like the gore of a bull, and Turk staggered backward as Galsworthy's 
arms continued to swing like heavy pendulums. As the big man succeeded in 
covering his face, his adversary whipped blows into his rib cage, each one 
leaving an angry welt behind it. And when the hands dropped to thwart this 
opening, the vicious assault on Turk's bald head resumed. 

"Fight, you rapist bastard!" Galsworthy challenged as he advanced. He sank a 
hard fist into Turk's gut and the man almost fell. Another in the same spot 
sent him to his knees. Turk's eyes looked imploringly into the dark sky as 
he lifted his head, and the Irishman put him away with a solid right to the 
jaw. Turk fell face forward, blubbering into the sand and dirt which filled 
his mouth. 

Galsworthy started to turn, hoping to help Venetia, and half expecting to be 
shot down in his tracks. A crushing blow to the base of his skull eased all 
worry. The campfire shimmered before his eyes, then went black. 

Rollie stood over Galsworthy's prostrate form. He glanced at the rifle he 
had used as a club, hoping that the Irishman's hard skull had not ruined its 
stock. "Sorry, old chap," he said. 

When Galsworthy came to his senses, his head was a throbbing, unwanted thing 
upon his shoulders. He tried to move his hands and arms, but found them 
secured by a large length of rough roping. They'd trussed him up like some 
wild jungle animal who threatened to devour the entire group. His next 
thoughts were of Venetia, and he spotted her next to the campfire. She still 
appeared unmolested and had been wise enough to seek the safety offered by 
the fire. Alone in her tent, she would have probably been visited by more 
than several of the men during the night, each after the same thing. It 
wasn't that any of them had scruples about taking her in public, but hot 
desire for her simmered in the loins of every man present, and there was 
considerable jealousy as to who would be the first to claim the beautiful 
blonde when the opportunity presented itself. Turk, of course, could be 
controlled by no man, but Galsworthy had stopped his play for the present. 
As for the man who had been molesting her at the time Galsworthy had been 
clubbed, Tad, the mental leader of the group, had come to her assistance. 
Ulrich did not want the woman hurt. And, if she were to be sexually violated 
by any man, Ulrich himself preferred to do it. After all, it was he whom 
Stanley had not settled with. It was only fair that his wife make some token 
payment in his stead. 

When Venetia saw that Galsworthy was conscious, she left the fire and 
ventured to his side, kneeling. Tad, who trusted only himself to remain 
guard while the others slept, spoke to her from a short distance away. 
"Don't try to release him, Mrs. Cabet. You'll only get him killed." 

Venetia examined the large bump on Galsworthy's head. "The skin is slightly 
broken," she said. "I'll get some water from the river and bathe it." 

"And have one of these goons drag you into the bushes?" Galsworthy asked. 
"Forget it." He managed a grin. "It'll be okay. Most children are born with 
a soft spot on their head. Me, I had an exceptionally hard one instead." 

"You want to smoke?" she asked, trying to ease his discomfort in some way. 
He nodded and she left long enough to obtain a package of cigarettes from 
his gear. Her hands trembled slightly as she placed one between his lips and 
lit it. 

"The Turk?" he asked, puffing and talking from the side of his mouth. 

She smiled. "His feelings are hurt more than anything else. I don't think 
he'd ever been beaten before. I do know one thing, though. He'll be out to 
kill you the minute Ulrich has his say." She took the cigarette from his 
lips and allowed him a breath of fresh air. 

"We're safe 'til we see Ulrich, eh?" 

She nodded. "I've sifted that much from their drunken conversation. It 
appears that Ulrich thinks Stanley may have left me information on the 
actual whereabouts of the emeralds, and that I've merely hired you to guide 
me to them." 

"He's in for a big disappointment," Galsworthy grunted. His head was feeling 
better now, and his mind was beginning to clear. 

"What about us?" Venetia asked. 

"Ulrich won't kill us until he's certain that we don't know where the gems 
are cached. We'll try to keep him guessing as long as possible. Sooner or 
later, we'll get an opportunity to escape. How long until we get to Ulrich?" 

"He's waiting at one of his plantations, run by a man named Garman." 

"I know the place," Galsworthy said. "A rundown cotton outfit, merely 
another front for Ulrich's illegal activities. Garman's an ex-con supposedly 
going straight. Lives there alone with his daughter and a handful of 
natives. About a day, possibly two day's march from here." 

Venetia appeared more disturbed. "Can we ... can I survive for another 
night? These men...." 

"Tad's keeping an eye out for you," Galsworthy explained, trying to ease her 
concern, but feeling far from confident himself. Tad, for all his apparent 
control over the men, could do nothing to save Venetia once they decided to 
draw straws for her. He would be swept aside like a gnat in a whirlwind, and 
would probably end up enjoying a bit of her himself, once the sexual revolt 
started. Galsworthy was hoping that the beating he had given Turk would 
offer a bit of a deterrent. As long as he was alive, they had someone to 
fear besides Ulrich. The Irishman's warning to Turk had been more than jest. 
He swore that he'd leave the balls of every mother's son floating in the 
Orinoco if they subjected Venetia to the final humiliation of gang rape. 

"Sometimes I wish I had forgotten all about the emeralds," Venetia said 
wistfully. "It wouldn't have helped." 

"Why not?" 

"Ulrich was simply biding his time, waiting for you to make a move," 
Galsworthy said. "If you hadn't done it, he'd have come after you. He's 
firmly convinced that you know something, else he wouldn't want us alive. A 
human life means nothing to him unless he can use it." 

Venetia stroked his cheek, now rough with a thick growth of stubble. "What 
happened in the tent tonight...." 

"Forget it." He looked away, a bit embarrassed by the memory of it. A 
beautiful woman, holding his engorged prick, masturbating him like a 
common.... 

"...I wouldn't have done that to any other man," Venetia said, still wanting 
to explain. "I felt that...." 

"...that you owed me something." Seeing the shock in her face, Galsworthy 
was immediately sorry that he had said it. Damn his tough hide, he'd have to 
remember that he was dealing with a lady, not some slut at Gwen's place. 

"Yes," she said, hurt but not really angry. After all, she had done what she 
had done. "But it was more, too. I had a feeling tonight. A premonition that 
you and I were more than a man and a woman in the jungle. Something more 
than two greedy, selfish people hunting for Utopia." 

"Do you expect me to believe that?" 

"I let you make love to me, didn't I?" 

"But you were holding out the final gift," he said, "protecting your 
cherished domain with all the faculties you possessed. Why?" 

"Still thinking of Stanley," she said softly. "Perhaps I wasn't sure about 
us. Funny, isn't it? Thinking of Stanley and wanting you." 

"Not so damned funny," he said gruffly. 

She leaned forward, touched his lips briefly, and pulled away. "I ... don't 
want our lust to become a common thing," she said, her face flushed with 
remembering. "Do you imagine that I enjoyed having you spill your seed upon 
my belly. Don't you think that I wanted you inside me?" She flipped a bit of 
blonde hair from her forehead. "Oh, I feel guilty in more ways than one. 
Guilty because I allowed you to make love to me. before. Guilty tonight 
because we didn't do it properly. And, most of all, because I caused you to 
drop your guard and allow us to be captured by Ulrich's men." 

"It probably happened for the best," Galsworthy mused. "Us getting captured, 
I mean. I'm no superman. I couldn't have stood up against them alone. They'd 
have killed us. This way, at least, we live a while longer." 

Venetia sighed. "What do we do now?" 

"We sleep," he said, "as best we can. I want all the strength I can muster 
when the time comes to use it." 

Galsworthy was awakened by a brutal kick in the ribs. He cursed and opened 
his eyes to see Turk glaring down at him. The big man's face was a mass of 
bruises and cuts, and his lips were swollen out of proportion to the rest of 
his face. "Get up, you stinking Irishman," he growled. "There might be a 
scrap or two left from breakfast. I want you hale and hardy when I get my 
next chance at you. I want to hear some loud, strong screaming when you 
die." 

Venetia came over to feed Galsworthy from a tin plate. Ullrich's men seemed 
reluctant to release him for even a short period of time. She tried to 
ignore 

Turk's presence, but his lustful eyes ran over her body, caressing every 
curve. A partial erection stirred against his leg, and he turned and strode 
angrily away, almost insane with wanting her and knowing that he couldn't 
have her. 

To Venetia, the ensuing day's march was much like the trek they had make to 
the Indian village when the two women had been captured. The heat, the bugs, 
the endless walking were the same. Only the men in the party differed, and 
she was certain that she had preferred the Indians over Ulrich's band of 
cutthroats. While it remained light, she felt no deep fear. Thieves and 
killers they were, but they were also professional jungle men, and they 
assaulted the green hell as such, always alert with no sign of drinking. 
However, when night came, she knew it would be another story. The strong 
drink would reappear and their minds would turn to her woman's body and the 
comfort it could give them. 

Galsworthy marched close to her, offering some reassurance by his very 
presence. They had removed some of the rope which bound him, but his hands 
were still tied securely behind his back. But really, what help could he 
give her now? What could he do but scream and curse while they had their way 
with her? 

Tad glanced up at the sky through an opening in the trees. "We'll never make 
it to the plantation, even if we march half the night," he said. "We might 
as well make camp." 

The column broke impatiently into the next clearing and began to set up for 
the night. A fire was built and Venetia was forced to prepare a meal from 
their dwindling supplies. Turk untied Galsworthy's hands and marched him a 
distance into the thicket so that he might attend to his needs. Galsworthy 
knelt by a small stream, rubbing his chafed wrists with cool water. Turk 
stood directly behind him, the rifle pointed at his head. 

"There's nothing I'd like better than to kill you with your own gun, 
Irishman," he said, laughing harshly. "And then you know what old Turk would 
do? He'd go back to camp and give your woman enough prick to last her a 
lifetime!" 

Galsworthy turned, crouching to spring at his tormentor. "You bloody, 
cunt-licking bastard...." 

"Come on, Irishman," Turk urged. "Make your move." His finger tightened 
visibly on the trigger. Shaking with rage, Galsworthy turned back to the 
stream and dashed a handful of water into his burning face. 

Bound again, Galsworthy sat at the edge of the clearing, watching as Venetia 
repacked the utensils. The men had already taken to drinking, and several of 
them had fallen into deep stupors. The remaining men nursed their whiskey 
and watched Venetia while she worked. Rollie and Turk sat closest to her, 
and Turk reached out to almost touch her leg. 

Rollie slapped playfully at his hand. "No touch," he said. "Remember what 
Tad said." 

Turk guffawed, staring straight up at Venetia's well-shaped buttocks. "Now, 
tell me, friend Rollie, would you not face hell and the devil himself to get 
a bit of that sweet ass?" 

"Indeed I would," Rollie said, stroking the half-erection which lay along 
his thigh. 

"And Tad ain't half as mean as the devil, is he?" Turk's tongue flicked 
along his already drooling mouth. "The Indian women, they were fine, but 
this ... I tell you, Rollie, we won't ever get another chance like this." 

"The Irishman ... " Rollie said, looking toward Galsworthy. 

"Fuck the Irishman," Turk spat. "I'm gonna kill him, anyway." 

"And Ulrich?" 

"The way I see it, Rollie," Turk said, taking another drink from the bottle 
they shared between them, "I can get another job. Hell, there's an Ulrich 
around every corner. But a sweet blonde cunt like this ... God, I got to 
have her, Rollie!" 

Turk finished the bottle, rubbed his bald head, and got unsteadily to his 
feet. He made a great flourish behind the unsuspecting Venetia, then reached 
for her, wrapping his big arms around her waist and lifting her high into 
the air. She screamed and Galsworthy sprang toward them, dashing across the 
clearing and trying to slam his head against Turk's back. Turk shoved a hand 
into his face, and Galsworthy was unable to keep his feet, although he 
fought to free his hands as he fell. 

"Keep the son of a bitch out of my way, Rollie," Turk growled, and Rollie 
pressed the barrel of his weapon against Galsworthy's temple. 

Venetia cried out and clawed at Turk's face as he tore the shirt from her 
body. "Oh, God, no ... don't let it happen...." 

Turk lifted her again, with the strength of two men, burying his sweaty face 
between her breasts and making a blowing sound with his wet mouth. His 
tongue lapped hungrily at her swelling globes, running over them in much the 
same manner as a dog. She pushed against him, and his mouth searched blindly 
for her white mounds as they juggled about her chest. Finding one, he 
latched on, sucking almost a third of the entire tit into his mouth. When he 
released it, the breast was bruised far beyond the flushed nipple and 
aureole. 

Tad was stunned momentarily by this turn of events, and he rushed to Turk's 
side after the first sexual flurry. Turk had Venetia on the ground, and was 
struggling to remove the breeches from her resisting hips and thighs. 
"Turk!" 

"Damn you, Tad! I'm gonna fuck her!" Turk stood, rising a full head above 
his would-be boss. He drove a hard right to the smaller man's jaw and sent 
him sliding across the jungle floor. Tad did not move, and Turk turned to 
fall upon Venetia as she attempted to rise. Galsworthy tried to move forward 
again, but Rollie neatly reversed his weapon and gave the Irishman another 
blunt taste of the butt. For an instant before blackness closed it, 
Galsworthy caught sight of Venetia's completely naked body, writhing in 
Turk's arms, while his fingers clawed voraciously at the blonde mound 
between her thighs. 

The other men had been aroused by the struggle and gathered in a circle to 
watch the Turk perform. "Eat her, Turk! Eat her like you did the Indian!" 

"You boys can read my mind," Turk whooped. 

He forced Venetia's pressing thighs apart and ducked his face between them, 
his tongue pushing a full inch from his mouth. Venetia drew her legs up, as 
if to give Turk more room to get at her slit, then lashed out to send her 
bare feet crashing into his smirking face. Turk cursed and wiped a bit of 
blood from his split lip. "Damn you, Rollie, get off your ass and help me 
with her," he bellowed. 

"Ulrich will kill you for this!" Venetia was cold with fear, yet was 
fighting mad because this unbelievable thing was happening to her. 

Rollie pinned her arms, admiring her heaving breasts as he did so. "Turk 
seems to think you're worth dying for, and I'm inclined to agree with him." 

"You ... said you wouldn't touch me" she panted. 

"That was when the Irishman had a gun in my guts," Rollie leered. "Now, 
there ain't much you can do about it, Mrs. Cabet. I'd advise you to spread 
your legs and try to make yourself as comfortable as possible. It's going to 
be a long night, but it won't be so bad after the Turk gets through. The 
rest of us will come easy. After him, it'll be just like you ain't got one 
in you." 

"Oh, please ... " Venetia's eyes widened as Turk pushed a ringer into her 
anus up to the first knuckle, rotating it vigorously around the resisting 
gristle. What ungodly methods would they use to violate her? She closed her 
eyes to the thought. Turk's tongue was lapping against her inner thighs, 
then actually caressing the thin line of golden moss between, flicking 
gently against her labia. She'd never allowed ... never thought ... never 
dreamed ... his tongue was pushing into her orifice violating the sanctuary, 
his lips sucking hungrily at her clitoris. She tried to bring her legs up 
again, but Turk held them securely in place. 

Venetia was both revolted and aroused. Oh, no, she was getting wet. His 
mouth was capped over her cunt, trying to devour the entire organ. The 
tongue still working, moving, then pushing like a soft penis against her 
vagina. She gasped. She couldn't stand it. 

"Patrick!" She looked to the fallen Irishman. "Oh, damn," she said loudly, 
"you promised me this wouldn't happen." 

Rollie was trying to hold her arms, kiss her mouth, and free his bulging 
erection. It was an awkward task but he somehow managed it. Venetia managed 
to keep her face away from him, but the now freed penis was pressing beneath 
the fold of her left breast, making a slight screwing motion against the 
soft tissue. 

"You vulgar, miserable beast!" she cried, and Rollie answered by hunching 
faster. She lifted her eyes to see Turk rising to his knees. She almost 
fainted at the sight of his enormous prick. It was a good twelve inches, and 
its circumference was such that a man's hand could only partially encompass 
it. The glowing apple on its tip had appeared monstrous when he had attacked 
the Indian women, but it appeared even twice as large now that it was to be 
used in violating her own crevice. 

"Oh, God, I beg you, don't ... " She squeezed her eyelids together and the 
lashes were flecked with tears. The awful knob was at her outer lips, 
pushing, hurting. The assaulted parts stretched, forming a giant pink oval 
around the pain-producing object which banged at her. Still no admittance, 
no yielding ... only deep hurt. 

"Please." She could not think. It was all a mad dream. If they helped him 
into her as they had with the Indian woman, she should surely die upon his 
terrible stake of flesh. 

Turk's hot knob was like a baseball grinding against her spread labia. Even 
her clitoris was being pressed flat by the enormity of the punishing glans. 
"Uhhhh ... " Venetia grunted. The giant penis was pulverizing the bones of 
her saddle, tearing her entire crotch asunder. God, how it hurt! Her vaginal 
lips were spread as far as they could possibly go, and yet she had accepted 
only half of the terrible head. Could she bear up under the constant pain, 
could she absorb the magnificent ... no, horrible thing he was forcing into 
her? 

"You tight-assed blonde whore!" Turk bellowed, thrusting forward with such 
force that Venetia's buttocks were lifted from the ground. 

"Patrick, save me! Oh, God, save me!" Venetia felt as if the thin partition 
between cunt and anus had been torn completely away. There was a hot gushing 
from deep within the organ, and she feared that she was bleeding to death. 
She could not conceal her own amazement as the lymphatic fluids flowed 
around Turk's embedded knob. Her buttocks snapped together, followed by a 
spasmodic trembling, and she found herself enjoying an unwished for orgasm. 

"Fuck ... " she gasped, then forced further exclamations of enjoyment down 
her throat, hoping the rapist had not heard. 

But Turk had heard the sound of delight. He grunted like a boar as he gave 
another hard thrust, succeeding in getting half of his thick shaft into 
Venetia's strained vagina. He saw her face become pallid, saw her lips 
stretch tightly across her teeth, and felt the minute pulsations of her 
canal against his knob. He pushed forward again. She cried out as her ass 
was shoved along the ground. Stopped momentarily, Turk rotated his stalk in 
her slit, trying to loosen the walls of her hot, seeping vagina. Pearly 
fluids gathered around his pile-driving penis, making a wet, slapping sound, 
yet the pink oval of her cunt gripped his organ like a steel band. 

The pain and disgust Venetia experienced was mixed with a heady, 
never-before-felt pleasure. Her vagina began to contract rhythmically 
against the stiff prick through no conscious effort of her own. Her cunt was 
no longer controlled by her mind, but was a thing within itself, a 
flesh-eating blossom devouring a hefty and struggling victim. 

"Arrgghh ... " Turk growled as the contractions got to him. Rollie, who was 
still pumping his erection beneath Venetia's breast, was shoved rudely aside 
as Turk found him a handicap to the business at hand. Rollie retreated a few 
yards away, resisting the temptation to masturbate himself in hope that he 
could have the blonde woman after Turk had finished with her. This wasn't 
saying much, following in Turk's footsteps, but a loose, wetly mangled cunt 
was to be preferred over a man's hand. 

Turk could still feel the growing contractions of the vaginal sleeve which 
gripped his shaft. He pushed Venetia's knees almost against her breasts, so 
that her orifice was at its most receptive position. 

"Ahhhh ... " She felt him grinding deeper into her tearing flesh and was 
beginning to relish what he was doing to her. She was minutely embarrassed 
by the sudden escape of intestinal gas as his awful prick tore away all 
muscular restraint. The big man's huge testicles came to a slapping halt 
against her buttocks. She realized that all of his organ had entered, that 
no more could possibly follow. It filled her like an enormous, red-hot 
rivet, thrusting in and out of her folds and leaving voluptuous sensations 
in its wake. She tried to squirm away, but instead, found herself lifting 
her buttocks to meet the driving rod. From the waist down, her body seemed 
to be one huge sex gland. She closed her eyes and allowed the Turk to have 
his will anticipating the hot glow which spread throughout her stomach and 
buttocks. When she came, even her womb poured its fluids onto the hot, 
churning shaft. Turk groaned as if dying when her cunt gripped his prick in 
a final spasm of ecstasy. His knob jerked wildly and he shot his hot jets 
into the clasping hole. 

A shot rang out in the deadly silence of the jungle night, and the pain was 
suddenly withdrawn from between Venetia's tortured thighs. She was almost 
afraid to open her eyes again. When she did, Karl Ulrich's face was peering 
down at her. "Ohhh," she gasped before fainting. 

Ulrich turned to the stunned Turk, a sinister smile on his thin, handsome 
face. He tugged at his left earlobe, screwed up his mouth, and chuckled. 

"Take another good look at the beautiful lady, my dear Turk," he said, 
almost seeming to jest. "I promise that you shall never, never forget her." 

X 

Karl Ulrich was a rangy man in his early forties. A bit of gray showed at 
his temples, but his face was extremely youthful. His lips were thin beneath 
a Roman nose, and, had it not been for the sinister gleam in his grayish 
eyes, his soft-spoken voice would have made him seem most generous and kind. 
When Venetia reopened her eyes to see his smiling face above her, she was 
much relieved. He was holding a damp cloth to her forehead, comforting her, 
and in no way resembled the ogre she had expected to meet. 

"Mr. Ulrich?" she asked. 

He nodded. "Take it very easy, Mrs. Cabet," he said. "You've been through a 
terrible ordeal. I hope that Turk...." 

"He...." 

Ulrich appeared almost depressed by what had taken place. "I give you my 
solemn promise that he shall pay for what he has done to you, Mrs. Cabet." 

"It is for myself also, Mrs. Cabet," Ulrich said with conviction. "Turk 
violated a direct order from me, and no man does that to Karl Ulrich. Many 
of the men who work for me are the scum of the earth 

-what else can one find in this wilderness-but I demand discipline and 
obedience." 

"Stanley ... " she said. 

Ulrich smiled. "We shall talk of your husband later, Mrs. Cabet. For now, 
rest. We will be breaking camp soon." He left her side and walked toward 
Galsworthy. 

"Patrick, how are you?" 

"Karl." Galsworthy nodded. The two had met face to face but once, years ago, 
at a poker game in Rio, but neither had ever forgotten. They had both been 
heavy winners, and had ended up fighting their way out of a den of thieves 
and cutthroats. Back to back, enemies forever, but brothers for a moment. 

Ulrich took a knife from his belt and kneeled to cut the bonds from 
Galsworthy's wrists. "I see no reason for you to remain tied like an 
animal," he said. "And I apologize for the discomfort and humiliation 
suffered by your woman." 

"I'm afraid she isn't my woman." 

Ulrich chuckled. "Please, Patrick. Give me credit for some intelligence. You 
are too much of a man to remain in the jungle with one so beautiful without 
tasting the fruit she had to offer." 

Galsworthy stood and rubbed his wrists to bring back the circulation. The 
last blow on the head by Rollie had been a short one, causing only slight 
discomfort. "All I can say is that I'm grateful you arrived in time to save 
Mr. Cabet from more of the same," he said. 

"I suspected that such a thing might happen," Ulrich explained. "A runner 
was sent out the same night they captured your camp. He told me what had 
happened-that there was some trouble over the woman, and that you and Turk 
had fought. Frankly, Patrick, I wish you had killed the dumb bastard. He's 
been more of a thorn in my side than my enemies. Anyway, when I received 
word you had been taken, I immediately moved out with several of my natives, 
being almost certain that my men would spend the night in this general area 
before coming on to the plantation. I knew the situation would be most 
critical at this point, in regards to the woman. My men ... I know they've 
had hell out here, following Cabet's trail for weeks, with no women except 
the Indians. A white woman ... well ... " He shrugged. "I just didn't want 
Mrs. Cabet harmed." Ulrich turned and snapped orders to his men. "All right. 
Pack up. We're moving out immediately!" 

The party arrived at the plantation slightly after dawn. Galsworthy and 
Venetia were fed, allowed to bathe, and permitted to retire for the day. 
Both were refreshed and in considerably improved condition when their guards 
came to take them to dine with Ulrich that evening. Garman and his daughter 
were also present, but neither had much to say as they ate a bountiful meal. 

Garman was as Galsworthy remembered him, a tall, skinny man with a nervous 
disposition and eyes filled with distrust for everyone around him. The 
daughter, Anita, was new to him, but he had met the girl-dark eyes with hair 
to match, and an almost olive complexion with the fullest, most sensitive 
red mouth he had ever seen. Garman had not been good to her, according to 
the wife, and she had left him before the girl was half-grown. She had run 
off with another man, who had in turn left her stranded, which forced her to 
go to work in a house of ill repute. It was there that Galsworthy had met 
her. She'd spent the night with him, telling him a short, sad story of her 
life between bouts of sex. He couldn't remember much else about her, except 
that she had fucked like a mink. 

The girl, Anita, remained very demure throughout the meal, and excused 
herself before it was over. The curve of her olive breasts showed above her 
low-cut white blouse as she leaned to push her chair away from the table. 
Galsworthy noticed that the flaring, flowery skirt she wore struck her below 
the knees as she left the room, but the looseness of the material could not 
conceal her tiny waist, nor the large hips and rounded buttocks below. 
Ulrich's eyes also watched her movements, and he could not very well conceal 
his hunger for the girl. 

"Your daughter is a most exquisite creature, Garman," Ulrich said, smiling. 

"Thank you, Mr. Ulrich," Garman said in subdued tones. "I have been most 
careful with her ... " his eyes hardened, "hoping that she would not turn 
out like her mother." 

"It is most doubtful that you can protect one so beautiful forever, my dear 
man," Ulrich said. Garman seemed to take the words as a warning, excused 
himself, and quickly left the room. "Very, very nice," Ulrich said, folding 
his hands together. "Do you know that I have been to this plantation many 
times, but this is the first time I've seen the girl. A lovely example of 
womanhood in early bloom." He turned to smile at Venetia. "And I mean it as 
no affront to you, Mrs. Cabet, for a beauty such as yours cannot be 
overshadowed by any woman." 

Venetia flushed. "Thank you." 

"And now," Ulrich said, finishing his wine, "shall we get on with the 
business? A little matter of the emeralds?" 

"I'm afraid we haven't found them, Karl," Galsworthy said. 

Ulrich wiped at his mouth with a cloth napkin. "But you know where they 
are?" 

"We were hoping you did," Galsworthy told him. 

Ulrich looked severely disappointed. "I have scoured ever inch of this 
jungle. My men have left no stone unturned." He held up his palms. 
"Nothing." He leaned toward Venetia. "Surely, Mrs. Cabet, Stanley left you 
some word, some note?" 

"Nothing, I'm afraid." Venetia shrugged. "Oh, he did correspond with me 
several times while he hunted the emeralds, and before he ran away. The 
messages didn't make much sense. They were almost cryptic. I sometimes 
suspected that the heat and the loneliness had gotten to him." 

"What did they say, Mrs. Cabet?" Ulrich almost hissed, then caught himself. 
"If we find them, half the gems are yours, Venetia. Stanley and I were 
partners in this venture, and I am not one to forget that, even though 
Stanley's personal greed proved to be his undoing." 

"Let me think ... " Venetia put her fingers to her forehead. "Something 
about a trail to the north...." 

"Ahh." Ulrich's small eyes brightened. 

"No." Venetia shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mr. 

Ulrich. I just can't seem to think. Perhaps tomorrow, when my mind is more 
clear. The ordeal I've been through...." 

"Of course," Ulrich said quickly. "You do need more rest, my dear. It will 
all come back to you. If not, I'm sure you still have the letters in your 
possession." 

"Yes, of course, at my hotel," Venetia said. She excused herself and asked 
to be taken back to her room. 

"Go at your own pleasure," Ulrich said soothingly. 

"No guard tonight?" Galsworthy asked. 

Ulrich poured himself a final sip of wine. "Guards, yes, but not so close as 
to be bothersome." His eyes trailed after Venetia's swaying hips as he left 
the room. "The guards are stationed all around the plantation, so many that 
they are almost within arms reach of one another. Knowing you, Patrick, I 
should not risk it if you were alone, for you would find some way to get 
through. However, I doubt that you will leave the woman, or the emeralds, 
and try to escape." 

"On that one point I must agree with you, Karl," the Irishman said gruffly. 

A terrible scream ripped through the night and Galsworthy sprang to his 
feet. Ulrich motioned with his hand. "Don't be alarmed, Patrick. It is only 
Turk." There was another scream, more horrible than the first one, followed 
by the deep, broken sobbing of a man. 

"What in hell are you doing to him?" Galsworthy asked, feeling his blood 
grow cold. 

"A simple castration," Ulrich said. 

"God!" Galsworthy breathed. "Cut like a hog!" 

Ulrich shrugged. "The man needs a lesson. He needs to know that authority is 
to be respected, that a man's mind should not be entirely between his legs. 
But I am not without some mercy. Only one of his testes is being removed. 
Now he shall continually think about the blonde woman, and his violation of 
her against my orders. Every time he scratches his scrotum he shall be 
reminded of her. And he shall live in constant fear of having the other ball 
removed, thereby becoming a complete eunuch." Ulrich chuckled, not at all 
affected by the pitiful cries that still came to his ears. "Don't look at me 
so, Patrick. I've heard you're quite hard yourself." 

"Like yourself," Galsworthy grunted. "Like yourself." And his eyes told 
Ulrich that the words were not said in jest. 

Venetia stared at the ceiling, not really trying to sleep. The room was 
small and without windows, making it hot and uncomfortable. She lay nude on 
the bed, feeling much as she had felt that day at the hotel when Galsworthy 
had appeared to save her from the filthy Delgado. Her body was bathed with 
perspiration, and time seemed without end. Tomorrow. What would she do 
tomorrow? There were no letters from Stanley in regards to the hiding of the 
emeralds, there never had been. How many days would Ulrich believe her? How 
long before he demanded that she return to the hotel and show them to him? 
No matter. Given enough time, Galsworthy would find their freedom. 

She heard the lock on the door click and she sat up. A tall figure loomed 
between her and the hallway. "Patrick," she said. A faint light showed 
behind the man, and then the door closed, bringing total darkness again. 
Footsteps. Growing closer. He was beside her bed now. 

"Patrick." 

A hand touched her breast. Smooth skin, slender fingers, caressing first one 
mound and then the other, moving like spiders along her stomach to trail 
along her pubic hair. The breathing was more pronounced. Not deep, but slow 
and prolonged, filled with lust. The mouth came close, then moved against 
her own, wet and demanding. Not Patrick, her mind moaned. He was on the bed 
now, pressing his chest to her breasts. The man was wearing a robe, and it 
parted in front as he squirmed against her. His skin against her skin. 
Slippery and hot, like an eel on fire. His hand patted her cunt and pressed 
between her sweaty thighs. She held her legs tightly together, trying to 
prevent further intimacy, but the lubricating action of her perspiration 
made it almost impossible. The violating hand proceeded to probe, inspecting 
her labia and every exterior fold. 

"Ulrich," she whispered in horror. 

"Don't scream, my dear," he panted. "Or Mr. Galsworthy will be dead before 
he gets halfway to you." His hands continued to move, generously rubbing her 
crotch. "I had to come," he said. "You must understand. Lying there awake, 
thinking of you ... thinking of how you looked as Turk left you. Your 
lovely, lovely ass, straining away from his horrible penis." 

"You're no better," Venetia sobbed, pushing against his chest. It was 
hairless and boyish, but the heart beyond it was pounding and masculine. 

He threw one leg across her stomach and sat. His organ was hot and long 
against her skin, of much greater proportions than she had thought it would 
be. "You ... mustn't compare me with one so crude and animal as Turk," 
Ulrich gushed. "I understand women. I know that they are delicate, sensual 
creatures, that they must be loved gently, titillated until desire is a 
naming coal in their female loins." He raised himself higher, almost to her 
chest, so that his engorged prick lay in the valley of her breasts. "And 
perverted. Yes, my dear, a woman must be perverted to fully enjoy all that 
the male has to offer her. But surely a woman so worldly as yourself knows 
this, Venetia." 

His hot knob touched her chin, and she jerked her face to one side. She 
shuddered uncontrollably, filled with both disgust and fear. She almost 
cried out for Galsworthy, but bit quickly at her lower lip to stifle the 
sound. He was her only chance at freedom. If he died trying to save her 
honor-an honor which really no longer existed-it would be the end. Better 
she be violated one more time than to lie in an unmarked grave at the edge 
of the Mato Grosso. 

Ulrich's voice was tight. "Kiss it, my sweet one, gently. You'll like it. 
You'll find yourself wanting to suck it. The taste of man-flesh is much like 
the cunt of a woman. Not so moist, but deliciously sweet. If you do right by 
me, I shall reciprocate in kind." 

"No!" Venetia became hysterical as he gripped her face between his hands and 
tried to force her reluctant mouth closer to his throbbing glans. She 
grasped his shaft with both hands and pushed it high against his stomach. 
Ulrich grunted under the intense pain and moved away, further down her body. 
And then he tore at her thighs, trying to part them. 

"You filthy bastard!" Venetia was fighting mad, and somehow managed to roll 
over on her stomach. 

Ulrich giggled obscenely as he rode the back of her thighs, his hands 
clasping her buttocks, forcing them apart. She could feel his hot knob 
stabbing at her crevice, trying to penetrate either proper or improper 
channel. Her anus contracted at the thought of being thus defiled, and she 
tried to slither from beneath him. 

"Uh ... ooohh!" Her protest was muffled against the mattress. His knob had 
struck squarely against her ass-hole, and although he had achieved no actual 
penetration, a dull throbbing was left behind. In desperation she drew her 
knees up and shoved her buttocks out at him. Caught by the unexpected show 
of force, Ulrich rolled from the bed onto the floor, grunting out an 
exclamation as he landed solidly. 

"You bitch!" He arose in the darkness as she jumped from the bed and tried 
for the door. His arms looped around her waist, and she struggled helplessly 
against his lean body. He was strong, too strong. Still clutching her to 
him, now belly to belly, Ulrich made repeated stabs at her mound, obtaining 
not the slightest penetration, but madly dry-fucking her. To Venetia this 
was more repulsive than the real thing and she beat at his slashing prick 
with both hands. 

"Damn you!" Ulrich flung her away from him, and she went limp as she slammed 
against the far wall. "I'll fuck you if it takes the night!" 

Venetia sank helplessly to the floor, stunned by the impact, and waiting for 
Ulrich to have his way with her. She no longer had the strength to resist 
his advances. He loomed above her, and she could almost make out the stiff 
penis which bobbed menacingly from his groin. 

"Go on," she breathed, "take me, but Patrick Galsworthy will see that you 
die for it!" This reminder was her final weapon, but it had the desired 
effect. Ulrich paused in his assault. 

"Do you think that I fear him?" The passion was not quite so strong in his 
voice. 

"I only know that you shall answer to him if you rape me," Venetia said 
hopefully. "As long as he lives...." 

"That is correct, my dear Venetia ... as long as he lives." Ulrich's 
laughter filled the small room. "Be sensible. What do you profit by keeping 
your thighs closed to me, if you lose your life in the process?" 

Venetia tried to rise and Ulrich forced her back to her knees. In the 
darkness she could smell his hot sex, close to her face. She could almost 
taste him, and ... oh, God, she could! Gripping her hair, he had yanked her 
head back with a vicious, jerking motion. When she'd opened her mouth to cry 
out, he'd popped his knob neatly into her mouth. It slid along the surface 
of her curling tongue, throbbing and warm, threatening to spill its sperm at 
any moment. When it began to jerk against the roof of her mouth she spat the 
revulsive thing free, almost gagging as she did so. 

Ulrich made small, animal-like whimpers as he fought the coming orgasm. 
Quickly, he flung Venetia to the floor and mounted her, his wild passion 
giving him the needed strength to overpower her. He dug his fingers into the 
vaginal lips, spreading them, then rammed his fiery cock deeply into the 
slightly moist slit. He managed to bury himself before his straining 
testicles pushed their hot jets through his twitching shaft. Venetia cried 
softly as she felt his scalding fluids spurting up her canal. 

Ulrich arose and tightened the belt of his robe. "You could be excellent, my 
dear, if you'd put forth a small effort." 

"Patrick will kill you for this," she spat angrily. 

He chuckled weakly, his lust spent. "I'd advise you not to mention this to 
Galsworthy," he said. "It would only hasten his death." He stepped quickly 
through the door and closed it behind him. 

Venetia arose and threw herself across the bed, her tortured cries 
disappearing into the pillow. She hated herself for being a woman-despised 
the hot, female object between her thighs, an object which seemed to become 
more prominent as the days progressed. She wanted to go to Galsworthy, to 
tell him and to cry, perhaps to have him make love to her, but she dared 
not. 

XI 

Venetia said nothing to Galsworthy of the rape by Ulrich. No great harm had 
been done, and Patrick would surely be at Ulrich's throat if he learned of 
the incident. Such an action could only end in catastrophe. According to the 
plan the Irishman had discussed with Venetia, they would bide their time 
before trying to escape. When the attempt did come, he did not mean for it 
to take place at the plantation. The number of Ulrich's men and the 
automatic weapons they possessed would put their chance of success at zero. 
It was best to wait until they were on the trail, traveling in small 
numbers. 

Galsworthy had not yet given up on the emeralds, and it worked to their 
advantage to be open with Ulrich about this. He readily accepted the bits of 
memory which seemed to be returning to Venetia concerning the messages from 
Stanley. The entire week and part of the next was spent following false 
leads to nearby villages and commonly used trails. The ruse was aided by the 
fact that Stanley Cabet had indeed shown himself at almost every place the 
party visited. 

"I doubt," Ulrich commented bitterly, as they returned to the plantation 
after another day's search, "that your husband was man enough to be honest 
with you, Venetia." 

"Then why don't you forget about the emeralds?" Venetia suggested. "Patrick 
and I are most willing. For all we know, they are lost for an eternity. I 
could use the money they would bring, most certainly, but a man with your 
wealth has no actual need of them." 

Ulrich lit up one of the thin wood-tipped cigars which he habitually smoked. 
"I would think that my pride is strongly evident by now," he said. "By 
taking the emeralds from me, Stanley achieved a victory-a hollow victory as 
it turned out, but a victory nevertheless. Up to this point in my life, he's 
the only man who can say that." 

"Dead men tell no tales," Galsworthy said, a bit of irony in his voice. By 
now the Irishman was almost ready for a change of plans. Even on the trail 
he and Venetia had been watched too closely for an escape attempt. Alone, he 
might have succeeded, but Ulrich always managed to keep Galsworthy and 
Venetia separated by the body of men. As for the emeralds, he was almost 
willing to forsake them in exchange for their lives, but Ulrich's malice and 
distrust would permit no such compromise. To Galsworthy's knowledge, the 
German had shown no bitterness or efforts at retaliation against Venetia, 
but he had no doubts that such thoughts existed in Ulrich's scheming mind. 

The man was tricky, but the Irishman had not been fooled by the display of 
hospitality. Ulrich was waiting for something, but what? Galsworthy had seen 
the growing lust in Ulrich's face as he watched Venetia, and it was becoming 
hard to control. If he wanted her so badly, he only had to take her, killing 
her solitary protector in the process. This, perhaps, was the key. Ulrich 
did not need him. Venetia was the only one necessary to lead him to the 
emeralds. And yet he waited. Did the man possess a drop of human kindness in 
his otherwise rotten character? Was he waiting for an actual escape attempt 
before gunning him down, being unable to do it in cold blood because of that 
single incident in Rio years ago? 

Another thing Galsworthy noticed was that Ulrich seemed to be making an 
attempt to transfer some of his thwarted admiration for Venetia to Garman's 
daughter, Anita. Garman had tried to keep her from Ulrich's presence as much 
as possible, and had succeeded admirably, with two or three exceptions. This 
obvious sexual plot of Ulrich's had little to do with the welfare of Venetia 
and the Irishman, but Galsworthy was interested for several reasons. He had 
known the girl's mother, and thereby felt concern for her. But even more 
prominent was the thought that Garman was obviously worried about Anita 
becoming a victim of Ulrich's animal lust. If he became concerned enough, 
Garman could always offer a possible means of escape. 

An incident on the trail the following day led to the near end. Ulrich was 
at the head of the column with Venetia. Only moments before they had 
unsuspectingly come upon two Indian youths engaged in frantic copulation at 
the edge of a stream. The boy had fled in fright, and the party of gruff men 
had mocked the girl to tears. None of them had shown a deep sexual interest 
in her, for the girl was not a day over thirteen. Several had gone so far as 
to tweak her childish breasts and pat her almost hairless cunt. 

Ulrich, however, had been aroused by the sight of the youths making love, 
for he began to make slight advances toward Venetia as they moved deeper 
into the jungle. A touch of his hand against her buttocks, a slight pressure 
against her breasts as he reached across her under the pretense of pushing a 
viny growth aside, his thigh brushing intimately against hers as they 
walked. Venetia marched with eyes straight ahead, ignoring the all too 
obvious advances of Ulrich and hoping that Galsworthy would not see them. 

All the while, Galsworthy had been slipping up through the column, almost 
unnoticed, so subtly did he move, and was at Ulrich's back when the man 
grasped Venetia's cunt through the coarse fabric of her breeches. The 
Irishman moved like a striking snake, relieving the nearest thug of his 
knife and pressing the point against Ulrich's twitching throat. 

"Are you crazy?" Ulrich tried to remain cool while his eyes searced for the 
unseen blade. "My men will cut you to ribbons at a word from me." 

"But you won't see it," Galsworthy gritted. "Stay away from Venetia, Karl. 
This is my final warning." 

"You're in no position to make demands," Ulrich snapped. 

"Only in the position to kill you," Galsworthy said. 

Ulrich forced an unfelt laugh. "It was only a little fun, Patrick. Surely, a 
man like you can appreciate...." 

"She doesn't appreciate it," Galsworthy said, looking at the extremely pale 
Venetia. 

The entire group had stopped, anticipating the climax and solution of the 
present problem. Ulrich's henchmen readied their guns, preparing to shoot 
the Irishman dead at a signal from their employer. "You have made a very 
foolish move, Patrick" Ulrich said, his composure unbelievable. "Have you 
ever stopped to think what will happen when you take that knife away from my 
throat? I could have you killed instantly." 

"But you won't." 

"I don't need you, Patrick. You must know that by now." 

"But you do," Venetia said bluntly. "Having me isn't enough. If you kill 
Patrick, Stanley's secret dies with me. I won't talk regardless of what you 
do to me." 

Ulrich smiled and nipped his hand. "So we have a stalemate on our hands, but 
even that will be taken care of shortly. Perhaps tonight." He shrugged and 
Galsworthy took the knife away. It was promptly reclaimed by its owner, and 
the still angry Irishman was forced back to the rear of the column. 

Galsworthy wondered at Ulrich's reference to that night, but he was too 
incensed to give it much thought. Looking past the men who walked before 
him, he could see that Ulrich was once again caressing the more intimate 
parts of Venetia's anatomy. This time he could not relieve the situation. 
The solitary man behind him had his rifle centered squarely on the 
Irishman's spine. 

Upon their return to the plantation that night, Ulrich acted as if nothing 
had changed. He was almost too civil as they dined, and Galsworthy thought 
it strange that both Garman and his daughter were present for the meal. It 
had not been so since the first day of their arrival. 

"A command performance," Ulrich explained, answering Galsworthy's unasked 
question. His eyes looked past Venetia and feasted on the maidenly charms of 
the uneasy Anita. "Would you not say, Patrick, that such a lovely creature 
is worthy of my attentions, and that she should indeed put on quite a 
performance?" 

"I don't think I have to ask what kind of performance," Galsworthy said, 
suddenly having lost his appetite and pushing away from the table. 

Ulrich put up a restraining hand, and nodded to the armed guard who stood at 
the double doors which led to the dining area. "Stay, Patrick. I insist that 
you do. Both you and your valued lady. I want you to see how well I account 
for myself with the women, and the dear Venetia must get a taste of the 
delightful things that are in store for her in the near future." Ulrich 
laughed. "Don't look so undone, Patrick. A man who has frequented the 
world's most outstanding brothels shouldn't be astounded by anything." 

"There are places for whore-house ways," Galsworthy spat. "This isn't one of 
them." 

Garman stood suddenly, his gaunt features darkly outlined as he extended his 
hands. "Senor Ulrich, I beg you. Reconsider the thing you are about to do." 

"What is there to reconsider?" Ulrich asked. "I want the girl, and I am 
willing to pay for her." 

"I cannot sell my own daughter," Garman insisted. He was quivering with 
fear, but was forcing himself to be a man. "She is barely eighteen, a 
virgin, untouched by a man until this time." 

"Anita," Ulrich asked sharply, "are you truly a virgin?" 

Anita stared at the tablecloth, her hands folded in her lap. "Please, Senor, 
do not ask me such personal questions." 

"Answer me!" 

"Only ... once have I let a boy ... " The girl's voice faded away. 

Ulrich's laughter was mocking. "You see, Garman, your eyes are not as sharp 
as you think them to be. The girl has admitted to sleeping with one boy. 
Who, in truth, can swear that she has not enjoyed coitus with half the 
native boys on the plantation?" 

"She would not ... " Garman's voice was choked with emotion at the 
revelation by his supposedly innocent daughter. Disillusionment showed in 
his face as he condemned her with his eyes. "Anita." She refused to look at 
him and he strode angrily from the room, leaving her to the fate that Ulrich 
had chosen for her. 

"Mr. Ulrich ... Karl," Venetia implored. "Don't do this to the girl." 

"Why should you be concerned, Mrs. Cabet?" 

Ulrich snapped. "After all, it is you who are responsible." 

"I?" 

"Yes, you." Ulrich arose and goose-stepped around the room. "You have preyed 
upon my sexual ego ever since your arrival. You have dared me to prove 
myself a man, yet you have not allowed me to do so. I must vent my erotic 
frustrations upon one female or another." 

"Does it have to be the girl?" 

Ulrich smiled. "Are you willing to act as her stand-in, to be the 
sacrificial lamb?" 

Venetia's genitals contracted at the thought, but Galsworthy was moving 
around the table, heading for Ulrich. The guard was instantly between them, 
his weapon aimed at the Irishman's middle. 

Ulrich's face was dark with anger as he spoke. "Patrick, you have proved 
yourself to be a problem in more ways than one. Try to take this bit of 
pleasure from me and I promise that neither you nor Mrs. Cabet will live to 
see the light of another day." Ulrich took Anita by the hand and motioned 
for the others to follow them outside. "Come! I want all of you to see that 
Karl Ulrich is a good and capable man." 

Why Ulrich insisted upon performing before his entire crew, Galsworthy did 
not know, unless the man had doubts about his own manhood and felt that he 
had to prove it to the world by making an exhibitionist of himself. 
Galsworthy surveyed the eager group gathered in a circle by the huge 
bonfire. Many of the men were already drunk, and several were making love to 
native women in the shadows. He recognized Tad, Rollie, and the man called 
Charlie. There were others he did not know, had never seen, but his 
attention was drawn mainly to the Turk. Turk sat back from the group, his 
eyes glazed with drink and hate, his faint movements visibly nursing the 
deep hurt at his crotch. From the expression on his face as he looked at 
Galsworthy, it was evident that the big man blamed him more than Ulrich for 
the partial castration. 

A plan played in the Irishman's mind. Perhaps he and Venetia could escape 
during the orgy of sex and drink. What better time? He thought of Garman. If 
he could save Anita from the ravishing Ulrich, Garman would become an ally. 
The idea was quickly discarded. Garman had turned his back on the girl upon 
discovering that she had already lost her virginity to some unknown lad. He 
had left her to follow in the footsteps of her hated mother. 

Ulrich paraded around the fire, barefooted and stripped to the waist. The 
flames glinted on his bronzed but hairless chest. Slowly, his hand came to 
his belt, and he stripped away his trousers and shorts. He was a well 
proportioned man, not too muscular, but lithe and supple on his feet. His 
stomach, like his chest, was almost free of hair, but the substance grew in 
a profuse mass around his genitals. His penis was softly bloated, not yet 
showing the desire which simmered in his loins. He walked toward the 
trembling Anita with a funny smile playing on his thin lips. 

"Senor," she said. 

Taking one of her hands, he guided it to his organ, forcing her to cuddle it 
until a strong erection occurred. When the shaft sprang from his groin in a 
hard mass of flesh, he began to finger the girl's blouse, and did not stop 
until he had stripped her to the waist. She stood silently before him, 
trying to partially conceal the medium mounds of femininity which sat firmly 
on her chest. The girlish tits were perfection against the glowing light of 
the fire, with small nipples that pointed upward toward the dark heavens. 

Ulrich held a breast in each hand, gently caressing them. He kneaded the 
tiny nipples until they were hard, rubbery knots of red against his thumbs. 
Anita's face paled beneath her olive skin, and her white, even teeth showed 
as her lips parted with sporatic breathing. "Dance!" Ulrich commanded. 
"Dance for us, my pretty one." 

Anita danced to silent music, her skirts swirling high around her slender 
thighs as she moved in a circle, shaking her hips with a tantalizing jerk as 
she passed Ulrich on each turn. She raised the hem of the shirt, swishing it 
back and forth, and Galsworthy could see the crotch of her plain cotton 
panties. They were white, of such thickness that the shadow of her pubic 
hair did not show through, but the shape of the exquisite and youthful mound 
was revealed strongly. 

"Enough!" Ulrich grabbed at the swirling skirt as she passed again, ripping 
it from her in a swift movement. She leaned, her back to him, while he ran 
his hand beneath her panties and played with her furry little cunt. The hair 
was like silk beneath his fingers, warm and slightly moist where it ducked 
between her hot thighs. Still standing behind her, his tumbs looped over the 
panties and edged them over her hips. He stooped, then kneeled, kissing the 
small of her back, and biting each exposed buttock with sharp, fine teeth. 
Anita moaned softly, her body fully erect as she lifted first one foot and 
then the other from the panties. A groan went up from the crowd as Ulrich 
tossed the intimate article into the fire. The panties were consumed almost 
immediately, turning first black, and then a fiery red before disintegrating 
completely. 

"As hot as her little pussy," someone said. 

Ulrich's penis had now reached its ultimate length and thickness, and he 
gripped the girl's hips as he advanced from behind her. He slipped his prick 
between her buttocks and between her thighs, laughingly parading her around 
the fire in this position so that all eyes might see. His blood engorged 
knob did indeed protrude from beyond the girl's pubic hair, like an enlarged 
clitoris springing from between her vaginal lips. The girl's shapely body 
was thin, not having reached the full-blown maturity of womanhood, but this 
took nothing away from the size of Ulrich's organ. Any staff which could 
travel such distance was ample, and no man in the crowd could proclaim a 
finer weapon, except the Turk, who could not be considered human. 

Embarrassed by the display, Anita tried to push the hard rod from between 
her thighs. His face a chalky mass by now, Ulrich withdrew slightly, pumping 
his shaft in and out, and feeling the soft, giving lips of her cunt become 
slightly open and moist. He grabbed her roughly and forced her to her knees, 
facing him. The girl registered ignorance, staring in amazement as the huge 
knob came ever closer to her mouth. 

Ulrich shoved his hips forward. "Kiss it, my dear." 

Anita shook her head vigorously. Grasping her hair, Ulrich placed his knob 
against her violently trembling lips. "Now!" he said viciously. 

The girl closed her eyes, hoping that the hot, foreign thing would go away. 
When it continued to push against her reluctant lips, she opened her mouth 
and took it in. The huge knob was choking. She pushed at it with her tongue, 
unable to free her head from Ulrich's firm grip. He hunched his stiff cock 
further into her mouth, moaning as her tongue rolled wetly around his 
flushed glans. 

"Senor ... " she choked. The tongue rolled again. 

"Oh ... good!" Ulrich said excitedly. "Ah, suck it now." 

Knowing no way out, Anita did as bidded, applying first a gentle suction, 
then, in an effort to finish it, a more vigorous one. His flesh seemed to 
expand in her mouth, and each time she tried to withdraw, the maddened 
Ulrich countered by probing more deeply. 

"Ahhh. That's it." A delicious tingling ran along Ulrich's shaft and 
culminated in his balls. Oh, damn. She was sucking harder now, seeming to 
like it. He'd like to come right in her mouth. No. He couldn't. He had to 
show the men. Had to make them respect their leader. He jerked his knob free 
and the girl's teeth clicked loudly together at the sudden removal. 

Anita kneeled, her face against the ground to hide her shame. Her spreading 
buttocks jutted into the air, unprotected from a rear assault. Ulrich was 
instantly behind her, wanting to show his worth at each and every position. 
He was on his knees, shoving his inflamed knob at the small, puckering anus. 
The girl's face snapped upward and she tried to scamper away from him. 
Ulrich ran his hands around her thighs, holding her in position. The mounds 
of her ass clenched, then relaxed. He probed the soft flesh with his shaft 
until his knob rested flush against the tightly contracting ass-hole. He 
pushed forward and she closed the orifice to him entirely. His glans tingled 
against the rough, sucking movement. "Uhhh." He gave a powerful surge 
forward. 

"Eeeeiii!" Anita's scream was loud and long, as the cock tore through the 
rubbery tissue with a single thrust. She'd never felt such pain, such 
bursting pressure in any part of her body. She couldn't stand it ... not a 
moment longer. 

Ulrich's shaft buckled as he tried to shove it deeper. Anita cried out 
again. Oh, God, how it hurt! She should never have allowed him ... she 
should have fought like a wildcat. Ahhh. That strange tingling in her loins. 
What was it? The hurt didn't seem so bad now. In fact, the grinding penis 
was beginning to feel most pleasurable. 

"Senor! Senor!" she cried, suddenly going into a rapid spasm, so that 
Ulrich's embedded knob was almost wrenched from his shaft. 

"Gaaa ... " Ulrich snorted, his eyes bulging as her jerking anus held him in 
a grip of death. Damn, he was going to come if he didn't free himself. It 
was all going to be over ... if ... "Senor!" 

The girl pushed her quivering ass at him. Ulrich groaned, righting the 
impending climax. He rammed forward as he lost the battle and the hot jets 
of sperm gushed into her bowels. 

"Oh, Senor!" Anita sank to the ground, dragging Ulrich's battered cock with 
her. The lips of her cunt twitched as she experienced a full and complete 
orgasm of her own. 

Ulrich was more than pleased with his performance, and was satisfied 
temporarily. However, the cries of the men urged him to proceed, and he had 
no choice but to continue to show his sexual prowess although the lust in 
his body burned at a low ebb. The girl's stomach still squirmed against the 
ground, her buttocks contracting periodically, as if she were still 
straining to come. Her eyes were glazed with dark passion when Ulrich took 
her shoulders and rolled her over. 

Anita stared up at the hovering Ulrich, her firm breasts rising and falling 
with her deep breathing. Exhausted as she was, she appeared willing to have 
it all happen again, and she made no protest as Ulrich fell beside her and 
began to suck one dainty teat and then the other. She experienced a crawling 
sensation around the nipples, which quickly expanded to the entire globes, 
then bathed the remainder of her body in a warm glow, even in the expended 
area of her cunt. 

Ulrich's penis hung quite limp between his legs, but he continued to fondle 
her breasts until minor sensations could be felt moving into his genitals 
once more. His mouth suckled and smacked at her breasts as if they were new 
and exotic fruits, sometimes engulfing half the spongy globes in an effort 
to devour their sweetness completely. As for Anita, she had never really 
suspected that these thoroughly titillated mounds were such a prominent part 
of her sexual make-up. She would have gladly allowed his mouth to remain 
there until the nipples became raw with irritation. 

The German sat to inspect his penis, which had not yet strengthened itself 
enough for actual penetration. Anita's thighs were spread wide, her small 
slit pink and swelling beneath the damp black muff. She sighed brokenly as 
Ulrich licked each inner thigh, running his tongue along her labia, then 
ducking inward at the last moment. 

Anita started as the tip of Ulrich's tongue touched her inflamed clitoris. 
He flicked at it until it was a small, slippery mass against his lips. She 
raised her buttocks into the air, purposely widening her thighs. Ulrich was 
made heady with the sexual perfume of the youthful slit, and his mouth 
worked feverishly into the inner lips, sucking hungrily at the entire 
channel. 

"Oh, Senor," Anita whined. "Eat me!" She hunched at his face until the lower 
portion was wet with her fluids, and still Ulrich licked at her until his 
fleshly appetite was satiated. When he did lean back his cock was a bulging 
mass of blue-veined flesh, bobbing and searching for a crevice in which to 
relieve itself. 

Ulrich scooted between the girl's thighs. She tried to move away from him as 
his large knob strained against her hot vulva. He shoved again and she 
backed off like a crab. His drive was blunted by some unseen obstacle for a 
second time, and he gripped her hips to try again. Bracing his shaft, he 
drove steadily forward. The girl's straining cunt opened to engulf his 
glans. She cried out and pushed herself to a half-sitting position, her eyes 
staring pensively at the hard cock which sought entrance. 

"No, Senor, I can't!" 

"You can't?" Ulrich croaked. 

"Please do not make me," she pleaded. 

"But you've enjoyed the rest of it," Ulrich growled, unable to understand 
her sudden reluctance. 

"The other, yes," she said quickly, looking away from him. "This, no. I 
can't." 

"Why not?" Ulrich roared. 

"Because I am pure," she said softly, her dark eyes still brimming with 
passion. "Pure?" 

"I am still a virgin." 

Ulrich slapped her, snapping her head around. "You are a lying little whore. 
You have tasted half the cocks in the territory." 

Anita clasped her hands to her face. "No, it is true. A boy ... a man has 
never done this thing to me." 

"But you told your father ... " Ulrich saw no reason to discuss the matter 
with her, but he continued to be dismayed by her refusal to conduct coitus 
in the prescribed manner. He liked perversion in a woman as well as any man, 
perhaps more so, but he also enjoyed topping it off with a proper fuck. 

"Only to protect him," Anita said, putting her hands to her breasts. "If he 
had known I was truly virgin, he would have fought you for my honor, and you 
would have killed him." 

Ulrich looked impressed, almost sympathetic. "It is good to see a child so 
devoted, so sacrificing." he said, and then, with a laugh, he pushed her to 
her back and remounted her. She struggled beneath him, but his knob was 
firmly entrenched between her thighs. She tried to close them against him, 
but he respread them with a vicious surge of strength. 

"Senor ... don't." 

Ulrich watched his glowing knob as it pushed beneath the dark powder puff, 
relishing the sight of the tight pink slit straining to either repulse or 
admit his charging cock. Her vagina pushed out at him, then contracted in a 
sucking motion. Grasping her ass and lifting her, he drove steadily forward. 

"Oohh!" Anita felt her hymen sag, then split as Ulrich bored a good two 
inches into her vagina. "Don't ... " Her mouth froze in an opened position 
as she felt the hard prick plowing deeper into her tight canal. It tore 
brutally at her insides, each inch bringing more pain. "Oh, please ... 
you're killing me!" 

"Sweet, tight little pussy," Ulrich moaned, giving a final mighty thrust 
which sent him to the hilt. His sac was flush with her tensed buttocks, and 
his pubic hair mingled with her virgin muff. She groaned and shifted, trying 
to adjust her tortured parts to the bulging shaft which threatened to split 
them. The lips of her cunt formed a tight band around the embedded prick, 
and Ulrich took short strokes in and out of her, savoring the extreme 
tightness of her passageway. Her vagina was a burning sheath against his 
cock, tightening excruciatingly, relaxing slightly, then pouring forth its 
hotly lubricating fluids. He withdrew his shaft completely, then slammed it 
into her again, groaning out his enjoyment as the female's flesh rippled 
against his own. 

Her virginity torn completely away, Anita concentrated on the hot, stiff 
penis which rammed her hole. It was better than anything he had done so far, 
and she felt that she should die if he did not continue forever. He was 
withdrawing the huge knob, then putting it in her again, and it slid up and 
down her belly like a hot poker of flesh. "Fuck, oh fuck, Senor!" she cried, 
her nails digging into his back. Her head rolled back and forth and a bit of 
spittle gathered at one corner of her mouth as he continued to pummel her 
with that filling monster. Her cunt was alive, all-feeling; grasping, 
sucking, crawling along the stiff, hot penis. She wanted it. More and more 
of it. The sweet, agonizing building began, flowing through her loins, 
creeping through her buttocks, bathing her slit with a warm, wet glow of 
sex. Hurry! Hurry! Hurry! 

Ulrich pumped madly into her, his battering cock slick with her virgin 
fluids. Grasping her thighs, he stood, raising her lower body with him so 
that her head was on the ground, her eyes looking up at him. 

"Uh, uh, uh." Anita's face was a twitching mask of passion as she watched 
the wonderful thing tear out of sight beneath her furry mound. It was almost 
over, and her fluids strained upward. The hard cock disappeared again into 
the sweat-drenched muff. It reached more deeply than ever before, throbbing 
and jerking as the swollen knob spat its hot semen against her vaginal 
walls. 

"Arrggh!" Ulrich's balls jerked convulsively, and he shuddered as the girl 
replied. Her buttocks undulated, clenched, and the pearly white fluids 
pumped from her cunt in spasmodic gushes of heat. 

"At least," Galsworthy commented as he watched the two lovers collapse, "I'm 
glad the girl enjoyed it." He was amazed to find that his own penis was a 
bulging erection against his thigh. He was even more surprised to find 
Venetia's hand resting on it, squeezing it tightly. Another moment and she'd 
have had it out of his pants. 

 XII 

Ulrich raised his hands to put down the chants and cries of his men. 
"Later," he said. "Later." He knew that they wanted to share the girl with 
him, but he had decided that such a sharing was some time off. It was not 
often that a man was fortunate enough to find a complete virgin, and only a 
fool would be tempted to share such a jewel before he had tired of it. He 
slipped back into his trousers while Anita dressed. "Back to the house, my 
lovely," Ulrich said, squeezing her cunt through her skirt as a parting 
gesture of his affection. She smiled appreciatively. 

Someone was coming up the trail from the left of the clearing, and 
Galsworthy could hear a man's protesting voice. Venetia, who was still 
sitting beside Galsworthy, felt her face go pale as Senor Delgado was pushed 
closer to the gathering by several of Ulrich's henchmen. "Senor Ulrich," the 
little Portuguese panted, falling to his knees and clasping his hands in 
mock prayer. "I swear to the...." 

"Shut up!" Ulrich snapped. He turned to look at Venetia and Galsworthy, a 
grim smile forming. "This is the thing of which I spoke today," he said. 
"Senor Delgado, the owner of the most exclusive rat hole on the Orinoco. I 
sent my men for him the moment you mentioned the letters from Stanley." 

"Why?" Try as she might, Venetia could not prevent her composure from 
falling completely apart. 

"To insure that the letters existed, that you weren't stringing me along." 
He turned to Delgado, who was still cringing on his knees, his small, bright 
eyes pleading for mercy. 

"Your men, Senor, they beat me, tried to make me tell a truth I did not 
know," Delgado whined miserably. 

"You mean there are no letters?" 

"I swear to it on my dying bed, Senor Ulrich. No letters." The sweat of fear 
trickled down Delgado's quivering cheeks. "Many times I searched her room, 
even before she left with the Irishman, when she would leave the hotel room 
for awhile. I'd heard about her husband, about the emeralds. But always I 
found nothing! Nothing!" 

"Could she have had them with her?" 

"No, Senor." Delgado shook his head vigorously. "I even found the 
opportunity to check her handbag while she bathed." 

Ulrich exhaled in a long gush. "So you see, Mrs. Cabet, you have been lying 
to me all along." He shrugged. "Well, so a fortune is lost." 

"You won't need us any longer, I take it," Galsworthy said, rising. 

"Precisely, Patrick, precisely," Ulrich said coldly. "However," he mused, "I 
find that I cannot bring myself to free you and the woman." 

"What harm has been done?" Galsworthy braced himself for the worst. 

"None, so far, Patrick," Ulrich said meticulously. "However, I keep 
remembering that you put a knife at my throat on the trail today ... because 
of a woman." 

Galsworthy grunted. "A thing of the moment." 

"A triviality, I agree," Ulrich said, "but you would have killed me for it?" 
He grinned broadly. "Mrs. Cabet has been wise enough not to tell you about 
it, but I now confess that I made a small sexual excursion to her room while 
you slept. She fought hard, but I won. Sooner or later she would have felt 
compelled to tell you about it, and you'd have come after me. I have no 
desire to lie awake nights, wondering when and where you will appear. 
Therefore, it is best for me that you both die. Here, in the jungle, where I 
can see your graves with my own eyes." 

Galsworthy surveyed the mob about him. There were too many. Too many. Even 
if he had an automatic weapon. He wanted to die fighting, but he wanted to 
wait until all hope was gone before doing it. "Give us a chance," he 
croaked. "At least, turn us into the jungle and hunt us down like animals." 

"There is nothing I'd like better, being something of a sportsman," Ulrich 
said, almost sincerely. "However, you have a long and illustrious history of 
succeeding with all the odds against you. I can't risk it." 

Venetia leaned against Galsworthy's strong shoulder, her knees weak, her 
heart beating madly in her breast at the thought of dying. 

Ulrich came close, keeping just beyond the Irishman's reach. "And you, dear 
Venetia," he said, "shall be the last to die. Of course, I shall first make 
sure that Patrick is thoroughly disposed of, but I have every intention of 
making you pay for your snobbery." 

"You can have the emeralds ... " Venetia began. 

"The emeralds were never yours to share," Ulrich snapped. "They weren't even 
Stanley's to share with you. I hate to disillusion you, Mrs. Cabet, but 
Stanley was but a common thief, hired by me to carry off one of the greatest 
jewelry robberies in South America's history. All of the stories Stanley 
told you were lies, fantasies he manufactured to conceal the fact that he 
was forever to be an unsuccessful bungler. However, he surprised me by being 
most successful on the Rio job. But he made even this a failure for himself 
when he tried to flee with the entire take." 

"Let Venetia go," Galsworthy spoke up. "She can't hurt you." 

"Ah, but she has already hurt me, Patrick, by refusing my love," Ulrich said 
quickly. "But I promise that she will plead with me to take her in any 
manner that pleases me, even as she digs her own grave. And after you are 
dead, Patrick, I shall oblige her. Up until the moment she dies, your lovely 
Venetia shall practice every perversion known to woman upon my body, hoping 
to save her miserable life. And she will do it, knowing that I am going to 
kill her the moment my lust for her has been fully fed." 

"You black-hearted bastard ... " An armed guard leaped between Galsworthy 
and Ulrich. Another man brought shovels, and Venetia and Galsworthy began to 
dig their own graves under the watchful eyes of Ulrich and his men. 

Galsworthy, stripped to the waist and sweating profusely, climbed out of the 
rectangular hole he had dug and tossed his shovel aside. Venetia was crying 
softly as she spaded the hard earth, having achieved a poor showing for all 
her effort. Ulrich had added to her humiliation by forcing her to work in 
the nude. Sweat dripped lazily from her swinging breasts, and her blonde 
mound was an almost muddy mass of sweat and dirt. 

"I'll be damned if I'll do any more," Galsworthy gritted. He was trying to 
move close to Ulrich, hoping to get his hands at the man's throat before the 
end came. If he could possibly kill Ulrich, Venetia would have an excellent 
chance at survival. The thugs, he knew, would rape her unmercifully, but she 
would live. Anything was better than dying. 

Ulrich reached out to take a weapon from the man nearest him. He smiled as 
he pointed it at Galsworthy's chest. "I well know what you have in mind, 
Patrick" he said, "and I'd rather have a mamba within striking distance." 

"Damn you! Fight me like a man!" the Irishman bellowed. 

"I would, but ... " Ulrich spun around abruptly as an angry spitting sound 
erupted at the jungle's edge. Ulrich fell, cursing as his guts were ripped 
out by the chattering sub-machine gun. Galsworthy sprang for the freshly-dug 
grave, taking Venetia with him as he went in head first. Peering over the 
edge, he could see Ulrich's men milling around like confused sheep. Some 
were firing back at the death which spat at them from the darkness, but 
their numbers were being rapidly reduced. The few Indians present had fled 
upon seeing Ulrich die, and the dwindling white men were left to fight 
alone. 

One man leaped across the open pit, gun in hand, only to die in mid-air. 
Realizing that the grave offered immediate safety, the several remaining men 
were making a mad dash for it. Galsworthy stooped to pick up the fallen 
man's rifle, then stood quickly to fire at the closest two men. They fell 
almost simultaneously, and only Turk and the man called Rollie were left 
behind. Screaming like a demon, Turk raised his own weapon to return 
Galsworthy's fire. The Irishman squeezed the trigger and emptied the 
semi-automatic into the giant's chest. Turk fell with his eyes already 
glazing as his head thumped over the edge of the pit. 

Rollie jumped into the hole with Galsworthy and Venetia, cursing as he tried 
to turn and steady his own weapon. Galsworthy slapped the muzzle aside and 
his hands fastened on the screaming man's throat. This time there was no 
reprieve for Rollie. The Irishman meted out death with his bare hands. 

A half dozen men walked into the clearing. Two of them were supporting one 
of their number who had been critically wounded during the battle. 
Galsworthy and Venetia greeted them with smiles which quickly turned to 
consternation as the dying man raised his head. 

"Stanley," Venetia gasped. 

"Hello, Venetia ... " Stanley Cabet forced a smile through his blood-flecked 
lips. Already his eyes had begun to take on a faraway expression. He coughed 
loudly. 

"Stanley ... the mamba," Venetia said softly. 

"There was no ... mamba," Stanley said. "At least not for me. One of my men 
was snake-bitten and died on the trail. There ... was some resemblance ... 
and I figured, with the decomposition of the body and all, that Ulrich would 
be fooled. He was." Venetia moved close, hoping to comfort him, and he 
motioned her away with a weak effort. "It's all over, Venetia. Another 
failure." And Stanley Cabet died with an ironic smile on his face. 


XIII 

Venetia walked down the hallway, humming softly to herself. She was 
refreshed, and her body felt youthful and exciting beneath the first truly 
feminine clothing she had worn in weeks. Tomorrow, she and Galsworthy would 
be leaving the plantation, heading back to civilization. They had decided to 
return the jewelry Stanley had in his possession. The remaining men had 
agreed to it, provided that they be allowed to vanish inconspicuously into 
the jungle. Afterward, who knew what would happen? Patrick had mentioned the 
fifty-fifty proposition to her again, and a possible honeymoon to Paris. A 
smile played on her lips, then quickly vanished as she heard muffled sounds 
coming from the door nearest her. She paused and pushed the door gently 
open. 

Galsworthy and the girl, Anita, were lying on the bed. The Irishman had his 
mouth capped over one of the girl's firm teats, and her mouth was opening 
and closing with the suction he applied. "Oh, Senor Pat ... " she gasped, 
her thighs wiggling back and forth as he ran a ringer through her pink slit, 
manipulating the tiny crimson clitoris and stirring up an abundance of 
creamy fluids in her hot little slit. 

Venetia started to protest, then thought better of it. Galsworthy was 
willing to forget what Ulrich and the Turk had done to her. Why should she 
not also overlook this small indiscretion on his part? 

As Galsworthy continued to rub her crotch, Anita's thighs opened wide. Her 
inflamed, pulsating clitoris sprang from her labia, a small female penis, 
fully erect and waiting. Galsworthy titillated it until the shimmering 
fluids had gathered prolifically at its base, and then he mounted her. His 
cock was being mutually admired by both Anita and Venetia. It was an 
enormous organ, yet was not so outlandish as to make him some kind of freak. 
The shaft was milky-white against his tanned body, and the blue veins 
pulsated along its surface like tiny, passionate snakes. The glowing, 
purplish-red knob was placed below the girl's delicate black muff, then 
eased slowly forward. Anita oh'd and ah'd as the hard cock crept inch by 
inch into her quivering stomach, her slender buttocks coming tightly 
together as she felt his balls come against them. 

Galsworthy gave the girl time to fully appreciate the presence of his entire 
shaft in her vagina, and, as the thankful sleeve of flesh began to express 
its gratitude with a violent series of contortions, he began a rapid 
pumping, his prick coming out to the knob, then zipping back into the girl's 
smoldering cunt with gusto. 

For the second time in her life, Venetia was seeing two other people engage 
in intercourse, and it was in itself an education. Her view was perfect as 
she watched the stiff penis slide in and out of Anita's clasping pink slit. 
Her vaginal lips were frictioning against the pummeling cock, showing a 
sucking action as he withdrew, then seeming to disappear entirely as he 
drove to the hilt. Venetia's eyes were almost admiring as she watched the 
Irishman increase the girl's excitement. He was prodding her with a smooth, 
even motion now, and her fluids had not only bathed his shaft well, but were 
gathering in the indented oval formed by her cunt. 

"Sweet ... ah, Senor Pat, fuck!" Anita cried out as the final spasm began to 
form in her loins. She whipped her small ass at Galsworthy's prick in an 
almost violent fashion, and did not cease until she had achieved a hot, 
lasting orgasm which wet the sheets beneath her. "Come ... come ... she 
pleaded, still quivering beneath the pounding cock. 

Venetia cleared her throat, and Galsworthy looked over his shoulder as he 
drove madly into the juicy, clutching gash beneath him. His balls melted in 
a tingling heat, and his semen shot hotly into Anita's belly, followed by a 
second and a third jet. "Uhhh ... just having one last fling, Duck," the 
Irishman explained as a fourth jet drained him. 

Venetia turned away to hide her smile, not at all surprised to find her own 
slit moist and warm. She was, after all, getting quite a guy, and it would 
indeed be a pleasure to bed him down again. 


THE END
