Devi's Paradise (8 page)

It was like walking through a dim, cool cathedral, the trees forming a canopy over their heads, hung with exotic orchids and purple blossoms. Parrots flew up on rainbow-hued wings, and giant butterflies perched on the flowers, extracting the nectar. It was a colourful, wild, overwhelming place.

‘Eden must have resembled this, before the fall,’ Romilly whispered to Alvina. ‘How beautiful it is, and how alien.’

‘Thieving bastards, they’ve taken my jewels. Do you think they’ll make us their queens?’ Alvina muttered, limping along beside her. The forest floor was rough and prickly, though their captors didn’t seem to notice, but George and Jamie were winching and complaining.

‘Who knows?’ Romilly answered.

‘Perhaps they’ll eat us,’ Alvina suggested wryly.

‘Cannibals?’

‘There’s a distinct possibility.’

Jamie and George weren’t much help, grim-faced and pale, the situation beyond their comprehension. They were dandies who had done nothing more violent than follow the hunt, pursuing deer or foxes. Though wearing swords and attending classes run by French fencing masters, they had never been called out to fight a duel in order to defend their honour. And as younger sons of the gentry their fathers hadn’t insisted they spend time as army officers. Life had been easy and luxurious – up till now.

The tribesmen prodded the prisoners in the back with their spears, not hard and with considerable good humour and wide smiles. Romilly couldn’t believe they were looking upon them as dinner! But if not what was their purpose? She dreaded to think.

After what seemed an eternity they came out in a clearing, dotted with palm-thatched dwellings. At once they were greeted with excited shrieks and women and children came running, leaving their cooking fires and huts, eager to see what the men had caught. The females were bare to the waist, and had brief woven aprons that barely covered their clefts. Their little ones were entirely naked, dusky-skinned, black-eyed and high cheek-boned, with the same slightly oriental features as the adults. In all, they were a handsome people.

They chattered and circled the newcomers, while the warriors preened themselves and strutted, proud of bringing home such a fine catch. Impudent fingers touched Romilly. She seemed to attract the most attention, with her wheat-gold hair, green eyes and peaches and cream complexion. Alvina came second. It was apparent that her fiery locks were a novelty. The native women made big eyes at Jamie and George, but it was clear that white people were nothing new. They had visited this tropical land before.

Then a weird figure emerged from one of the huts, and the crowd parted to let him through. He was older than the rest; a person of authority wearing a woven shirt dyed purple, berry juice decorating his face with triangular designs. A plumed headdress added to his height, and his chest was covered in necklaces of polished stones and animal teeth. His intelligent eyes flashed over the captives as he paced round them, sniffing their scent, stamping his feet and shaking a seed-filled gourd. The leader of the warriors handed him Alvina’s jewel case, which he opened and examined the contents.

‘Are you their chief?’ Jamie fronted him up, and Romilly admired his courage.

The man shook his head. ‘No, I Riku… shaman. I see spirits… talk with ancestors.’

It was astonishing to hear him speaking English. ‘You know our tongue, how so?’ questioned Jamie.

‘Ah, I have dealings with white man long time…’

‘Can you help us? Our ship went down in a storm.’

Riku nodded sagely. ‘I know, the gods foretold her coming,’ and he stuck out his arm and pointed at Romilly.

Jamie reacted angrily. ‘How can this be? What are you, some gypsy fortune teller?’

Riku drew himself up straight, pride in every line of him. ‘I tell true. This woman… she is for our ruler, Chief Awan.’

‘What?’ Romilly gasped. This was all getting just too much.

‘But the lady is to be my wife!’ Jamie exclaimed.

The shaman’s sacred adornments jingled as he shook his head. ‘Awan will wed her.’

He barked an order to some of the women, and at once Romilly and Alvina were hustled across the clearing to the biggest of the huts and pushed inside. Two of the women were older and in authority over the rest. The interior was dim, but as Romilly became used to the light, the source of which was a gap in the roof, she saw several couches balanced on stumpy feet. These supported frames made of thick branches crisscrossed with lianas to form a base, covered by palm-leaf pallets and woven blankets. There were also pitchers, ewers, and other domestic articles similar to those used in England.

‘It could be a lot worse, but I want my jewels returned,’ commented Alvina as her wrists were freed. She stretched her arms thankfully, and Romilly was soon able to do the same.

Her damp clothes were uncomfortable, but she attempted to adjust them to conceal her body. A kindly, smiling young woman shook her head and prevented her, indicating that Romilly should strip. She clapped her hands and others came in bearing calabashes of steaming water. Ignoring Romilly’s bashful protests, she was quickly divested of what was left of her garments, and Alvina was treated the same. She, however, made no objection, proud to display her perfect figure. She was happy to receive so much attention when the admiring attendants stroked her alabaster skin and combed their fingers through her russet pubes.

Romilly stood bashfully, an arm across her breasts, the other hand cupping her pubis. Then the leading girl said, in broken English, pointing to herself, ’Jacy… serve you.’

‘How do these savages have a knowledge of our language?’ Alvina pondered. ‘It seems we’re not the first castaways,’ and she gave herself up to their ministrations.

‘Do you still think we may be the main course?’ Romilly said timidly, though relaxing as Jacy lowered her dark head and nibbled one of Romilly’s nipples. Desire darted down to her loins and she could feel wetness forming in her secret folds.

Alvina chuckled as one of the other girls knelt at her feet, opened her foxy fork and applied a darting pink tongue to her love bud. ‘I think they want to eat us for sure… but it’s pussy they’re after.’

‘The shaman said I was intended for the chief,’ Romilly gasped, though it was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything but the extreme pleasure given her by those skilful lips. As when Nathan and Jamie had tongue-fucked her, the sensation was exquisite. She forgot to be ashamed or embarrassed, wanting Jacy to go on and on… and on. She did, and Romilly experienced a rush of voluptuous pleasure that flooded her and made her cry out with the force of it.

Somewhere, in the background, she heard Alvina’s moans rising higher and higher as she, too, climaxed.

Their reaction seemed to inspire the girls. While Jacy gently laid Romilly down, and Alvina’s paramours continued to caress her, the rest were enjoying one another, the air charged with the odour of female essences. Romilly had never dreamed such actions existed, women lying with women, legs entwined, breasts rubbing against breasts and thighs pressing against eager deltas. She was aroused again and wanted another orgasm.

Jacy smiled knowingly and reached up to kiss Romilly’s lips. She could taste and smell herself on the woman’s mouth, and welcomed the soft probing organ as their tongues met fervently in a dance of desire. She had never felt so horny, not even with Nathan. Her nubbin throbbed like an enormous swollen bud ready to burst into bloom. Jacy nodded to a couple of the others who came across to fondle Romilly’s nipples. Jacy unwound the strip of cloth that covered her own female parts and reached down to part her labia major, and stretch it open. Her inner lips were wet and swollen, and her clitoris was large and upstanding.

Romilly yielded to the urge to show off her own pink parts, for Jacy’s were of a pewter-grey colour. She held her wings apart and opened her crack wide so that the girls might take a good look. They murmured in admiration, and each wanted to rub Romilly’s stiff bud. She closed her eyes and gave herself to pleasure. Fingers played with her puckered nipples, others toyed with her anus and Jacy went down on her.

Romilly’s head sagged back and her throat arched as she sobbed, ‘Oh yes, yes!’ and she held the girl firmly to her, using her hair as a bridle.

Jacy sucked the hard clit into her mouth and rolled her tongue-tip over its aching head. She used her fingers to gently pull the labia back so that the nub stood out like a tiny cock robbed of its foreskin. Romilly’s sensitive nipples sent tingles of joy down to that seat of all sensation, stimulated by the busy fingers of Jacy’s companions.

Through half-closed eyes Romilly saw Alvina writhing under the hands of other girls, and the sight of her friend enjoying spasms of lust roused her even more. She was approaching that plateau where nothing could stop that delirious plunge into bliss. Jacy’s tongue worked its magic. Romilly’s nipples were flicked, rolled and mouthed. With a scream she reached the peak and tumbled over into ecstasy, coming in a welter of pleasure that left her shaking from head to toe.

It seemed as if a wave of awesome female sexuality had taken over the hut. They satisfied one another; they were loving friends and understanding companions, banding into a flourishing sisterhood. It was a state that could never have been entered into with a man, no matter how much of a soul mate he was. They were earth goddesses, giving their womb blood to nourish the soil, giving life to their young, caring for those around them and forming a deep, abiding bond. Romilly’s eyes were opened in that moment of revelation and she now understood her feelings towards Alvina. Should anyone have threatened this lovely person she would have fought to the death in her defence.

Riku’s entrance rudely interrupted this epiphany. The girls unwound themselves from each other and bowed to him respectfully. A man was once more in control, a holy man, moreover, who claimed he could communicate with the gods and the dead.

An old crone was with him, her bright eyes peering out from under a mane of grizzled hair. Jacy whispered to Romilly, ‘She is Mahil, a great sorceress. She will find out if you have been with a man. Chief demands it. ’

‘I won’t let her,’ Romilly insisted indignantly.

‘What’s going on?’ Alvina demanded, sitting up and fixing the weird pair with a haughty stare.

‘The hag wants to examine us to see if we’re virgins.’

‘Damned impertinence!’ Alvina exploded ‘How dare she? Doesn’t she know that we’re ladies and not to be tampered with?’

‘I don’t think any of that is significant here,’ Romilly said sadly, and huddled on the bed, arms folded protectively about her bunched knees.

Mahil snapped her fingers at the watching women and four flung themselves on Romilly, bearing her down on her back. Two held her arms above her head, while the others forced her to raise her legs, knees widespread. Then the sorceress and shaman leaned over, peering into Romilly’s wide open cleft. They muttered together in a strange language, and Mahil inserted a finger into her victim’s vulva.

Romilly stiffened at the sudden pain as the women pressed against her hymen. She withdrew with a satisfied nod, and turned to where Alvina was standing like a cornered tigress. ‘Don’t bother to try me,’ she said briskly. ‘I lost my maidenhead ages ago. Look,’ and she crouched and thrust her fingers into her vagina, withdrawing them wet and sticky with her love juices.

Mahil and Riku shrugged their assent, and gave them over to the women to be prepared for the feast and Romilly’s introduction to her bridegroom. She was bathed and perfumed and her hair was washed free of salt water, and Alvina was treated in the same way. Then two beautiful white robes were produced, diaphanous and flowing, of so sophisticated a design that they could only have been manufactured in a civilised country.

‘Where on earth did they get these?’ Alvina wanted to know. ‘I wish there was a mirror; I want to see myself. The chief may demand a virgin bride but I’m willing to be his concubine, if he’s handsome and vigorous and well hung. I could use a big cock right now.’

‘Are you never satisfied?’ Romilly asked.

‘Hardly ever, sweeting.’

Drums throbbed in the background, and they became louder. Mahil and Riku led the procession from the hut to where torches flared and a great fire blazed. The route was lined by warriors, standing to attention, spears uplifted. Flutes played, high and reed-like, and human voices wailed a litany. It was spine chilling and ritualistic, and Romilly’s fears returned threefold. So foreign a people, and totally beyond her understanding.

Behind the flames stood totem poles surmounted by hideous demon faces – a jaguar, a snake, a skull. Before them lay a large flat altar stone, and beside this, guarded on either side, stood Jamie and George. They had not been washed and cleaned up, and Romilly had the horrified notion that they might be intended for human sacrifice, the stone to be smeared with their blood in honour of the deities. She prayed this would not be so, hoping against all hope that when the chief penetrated her it would be suffice, her virginity all that would be required.

The drumbeat increased, thundering out, the beat whipping the onlookers into a trancelike frenzy as if, indeed, the gods were manifest. ’Oh,’ Alvina muttered in Romilly’s ear, ‘rather you than me, dearest. These are barbarians!’

Riku pushed Romilly back till her knees pressed against the great slab. Mahil was dancing round mouthing incantations. The tribe swayed and chanted as they watched. The warriors lifted Romilly onto the altar and bound her, spread-eagled, ropes about her ankles and wrists. She had never believed in God, not seriously, bucking against attending services in the church on her father’s estate or going to those in London, but again she prayed. ‘Dear Jesus, save me. I don’t want to die.’