Tender Savage (Siren Publishing Allure) (13 page)

“It’s time we were going.” Abraham closed his rucksack and shoved his arms in the loops.

“It’s time we were going,”
Eleanor mimicked.

Ignoring her childish behaviour, Abraham started walking, knowing without looking back to check that she would follow.

He knew he was hard on her and he knew, as he smiled whimsically, that she was hating him with every fibre of her being

* * * *

The day passed as usual, rain, steaming heat, the customary annoying variety of insects, and a long trudge through the jungle interspersed with a few rest stops. It was late in the evening before Abraham indicated that they should set up camp, and thankfully Eleanor let her pack drop to the ground. Abraham efficiently set up camp and soon had some kind of stew cooking. Eleanor didn’t know where he’d got the ingredients from and frankly didn’t care. Now, she was aware of his betrayal not only to her, but to his wife as well. She just wanted to get away from him as fast as possible. She closed her eyes in dismay. What she’d let him do to her and what she’d done to him just didn’t bear thinking about. Shame twisted her gut now. What they’d done was ugly and sordid. Whilst she imagined him single and beginning to care for her, it was acceptable, if not wonderful! But now, all she felt was disgust.

Abraham, surreptitiously watching her as he stirred the mealworm stew, knew she was berating herself for imaging herself in love with him, and whilst he wanted to reassure her and comfort her, he knew he couldn’t. She was hurt and vulnerable, and to do so would open yet another can of worms, and he didn’t need that right now.

He tensed. Something wasn’t right...

Suddenly the clearing was unexpectedly filled with Indians.

Eleanor started in fright. Crying out, she fell off her pack and quickly scrambled over to Abraham. Hiding behind his impressive form, she waited in fearful anticipation of what was to come, but she frowned, puzzled. Abraham was smiling.

Sheathing his knife, he took a step forward. Quickly, in an effort to save him, she grabbed his arm.

“Abraham, don’t. They could be cannibals.”

Abraham shook off her arm and, moving forward, proceeded to greet the man in front of him.

Eleanor looked in fascinated horror at the Indian. He was short and stocky with a mass of black hair, and he had a bone through his nose and smaller ones piercing his ears. His face was covered in tattoos, making him look fierce and unfriendly.

Abraham, conversing rapidly with him in some language Eleanor was unable to comprehend, but thought was partly Portuguese, appeared fully at ease. The man replied, smiling widely, showing broken and rotting teeth, and, gesturing with his spear, abruptly turned around and made his way back into the jungle, the Indians following closely behind. Abraham, catching hold of Eleanor’s hand, began to follow, but she was having none of it, and digging her heels into the earth, she pulled back against his restraining arm.

“Abraham, what are you doing? We can’t possibly go with them. They probably think we’d make a nice change to armadillo or whatever they usually consume and want to eat us.”

Throwing back his head, Abraham laughed, a rich, deep chuckle that rose from his chest.

“Behave yourself, Eleanor. There’s nothing to worry about, believe me.”

Scuttling behind Abraham, fearful of what might befall her, Eleanor, holding tightly onto the back of his shirt, tried not to show her trepidation. They were so near civilization, and to fall prey to a pack, or whatever large numbers of cannibals were called, at this stage of their journey hardly bore thinking about. Without any warning, they entered a massive clearing. Here there seemed to be a thriving village. Huts with roofs made of straw and barely big enough to swing a cat, but seemingly homes to large families, were dotted in a circular spread to the clearing. Campfires blazed merrily outside doors and were tended to, she surmised, by the women. It would be too much to hope that women’s lib had found its way this far into the jungle. Large pots filled with she knew not what were suspended over the fires, and some had what looked like chickens skewered onto makeshift rotisseries, but there was also a large central fire with a number of old women sitting around it. Animals—chickens, goats, and scrawny dogs—ran free, scratching at the dirt, and appeared to live openly with the people.

Women and children joined the men gathering around them, and Eleanor averted her eyes from their nakedness. No one appeared to possess any clothing, their modesty barely covered by jangling jewellery, colourful beads, and pieces of bone all threaded onto twine.

The women converged on her, and, frightened, she squeaked and hung more firmly onto Abraham’s shirt. Laughing, he prised her clutching fingers from the material, and reassuring her that she was going to be fine, he handed her over to what appeared to be the matriarch.

Led away toward a hut by the woman with the others following closely behind, she sent Abraham a beseeching look, which he ignored, and with no other option open to her, she shuffled on laden feet to where they led.

The hut was quite large but dark. With her eyes adjusting to the gloom, she took in her surroundings. The smell was what first hit her. She wrinkled her nose, trying to identify the aroma. It was…she wasn’t sure, but it was probably the remains of a meal, and she wondered in horror-stricken fascination whether the meal had been a man or a woman. Closing her mind to further ghoulish thoughts, she concentrated on her surroundings. The floor was mud-packed down until it was hard, and scattered across its surface were mats made from some sort of woven grass. There were pots standing in a corner, and a small kind of table which held a dish containing berries and nuts. A large-ringed urn was at the rear of the hut, and a woman speaking badly broken Pidgin English and sign language told her not to touch it, a piece of advice that to Eleanor’s mind confirmed her macabre convictions. The woman pulled at her clothing, obviously wanting her to disrobe, but she clutched hurriedly at the neckline of her blouse, not wanting to take it off. Shaking her head, she indicated that she wanted to keep her clothes on, but they were having none of it and kept pulling at her shirt and trousers. Backing up against the wall of the hut, Eleanor held out a hand warding them off. She didn’t care what Abraham said. She was sure they were cannibals and only wanted her to strip so they could toss her in a pot and eat her.

“No!” Eleanor cried vehemently, grasping at the collar of her shirt. “Do you understand? No!” She shook her head.

Laughing, the woman converged on her, and amidst the struggles, her clothing was removed and was taken away by a young giggling girl.

Naked, Eleanor attempted to cover herself, crossing her legs and folding her arms across her breasts. What if they really were going to eat her!

The matriarch approached, and with the aid of young girls began to rub some kind of oil into her skin, confirming her conviction that she was being basted for the pot. Next came the adornment, jingling necklaces and bracelets and a sort of belt made from bone and dried berries that sat loosely around her hips, and a tear dropped against her waxed pussy. Giggling, the woman pointed to her bare mound and then indicated their own dark, curly bushes.

Helplessly, Eleanor smiled, just a small tightening of her trembling lips. Where was Abraham? How could he have abandoned her now when she most needed him?

Grabbing her arms, the women led her from the hut out into the open and up to the large communal fire in the centre of the clearing. The fire was blazing, and a large pot stood steaming among the flames. It was then she realised that they had adorned her with beads and oil as a sacrifice to some unknown God before devouring her! Pulling back, she dug her heels frantically into the dirt.

“No, no I won’t let you eat me!” she screamed, struggling against the restraining arms.

Hysterical tears ran down her cheeks, and she kicked and scratched. Then suddenly she was free. Turning to run, she was brought up short against a hard wall that was warm and—she opened frightened eyes—had hair!

“Going somewhere, princess?”

“Abraham!” Pathetically, she threw herself into his arms and sobbed out her fear.

His arms closing around her heaving body, Abraham listened silently to her hysterical ranting about being eaten.

She came to a stuttering halt, her head still against his chest, and snapped open swollen eyes. He was laughing at her!

“What? Why are you laughing?”

“Do you really think these people are cannibals?”

“Well, aren’t they?” She looked at the sea of grinning faces around her. “They look like cannibals.”

“In what way?”

“Well, they have bones in their noses and things…”

Throwing back his head, Abraham laughed even louder.

“
You beast
!” Eleanor screamed, thumping his chest. “You knew and you didn’t say. You’re not clever, and you’re not funny, and
I hate you
.” She stamped her foot for good measure and, turning, stormed toward the jungle only to halt and look uncertainly back at him.

Abraham stood like a god surrounded by his following, legs akimbo, hands on hips and grinning.

Lifting a questioning eyebrow, he waited.

Grinding her teeth in temper, Eleanor turned around and stomped back to him, her face glowering and her lips sullen. Oh how she hated him and his smug, superior attitude!

A brief conversation between the chief and Abraham and they were led back to the fire amid guffaws of laughter.

* * * *

It was dark, the clearing lit up by a huge fire and lanterns made from fat-based cloth. The stars were out in a clear, velvety sky, and people were milling around. Eleanor, conscious of her nakedness and the eyes of the chief’s son on her attributes, did her best to, if not enjoy the evening’s festivities, then to tolerate them as best she could. The pot she discovered contained a kind of stew. It was rich and contained meat and vegetables, and as she was starving, she tucked in with a healthy appetite. Offered a cup containing liquid, she sniffed it cautiously. It smelled like liquor, and she eyed it dubiously. It was a funny cream colour, but, as Abraham was partaking, she did the same, grimacing at its strong taste and coughing as it burned its way down her throat. However, upon asking one of the men how it was made in a mixture of sign language and shouting, she nearly heaved up her supper when she was told it was made with saliva and fermented corn.

Her hunger satisfied, Eleanor sat back, replete. The fire was still burning brightly, and most of the men were either lying around stone drunk or well on the way to it. Abraham, Eleanor noticed, had only had one drink and was completely sober. He was conversing in Portuguese with the chief, who was sending her admiring glances. Shifting uncomfortably under his admiring stare, she clutched at Abraham’s sleeve.

“What’s going on? What’s he saying?”

Grinning widely, Abraham, noticing her agitation, decided to put her out of her misery.

“Don’t worry. He’s not thinking about eating you—well, not in the way you think anyway. He was just admiring your, err, attributes, saying you would make a comforting bed-mate, a bit too skinny for his taste but a warm body for a man to sink into after a hard day’s work. He offered, that if I wasn’t interested, his son would quite like to take you off my hands and give you a good fucking.”

“Well really!” Eleanor responded huffily. “Women these days are more than just a convenience for men to slake their thirst on. We’re intelligent individuals, who own their own bodies, and we say what we want and with who we want it with. Get it!”

Abraham held up his hands. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. You wanted to know, so I told you. If you can’t hack it, then don’t ask.” He looked at her, considering. “Maybe I should just let the son have his way with you tonight. It might teach you to appreciate what you’ve had.”

“
What!
You don’t get to say who I have sex with, mister.” She poked him hard in the chest.
“I am my own person, not an object that gets passed from man to man. I say what, when, and who, get it!”

Eleanor, feeling miffed with Abraham and his indifferent attitude toward her, looked over at the son and gave a slow “come hither” smile. “But, you know what, maybe I should take him up on his offer.” She tilted her head to one side. “He looks fit enough, and he’s not that bad looking, considering, and…”

Her eyes dropped lower, taking in the man’s already rising cock. “He does have very attractive attributes of his own.”

Raising an eyebrow, Abraham looked calmly at her then at the son of the chief.

“Knock yourself out, princess.”

Thoroughly annoyed with his response, Eleanor glared at Abraham’s profile. She couldn’t believe he would let her go just like that. He’d made it plain he didn’t love her, but to willy-nilly pass her to another man for the night just beggared belief.

Eleanor stood up and glowered defiantly at Abraham.

“Fine!”

“Fine!” parroted Abraham, watching as she sauntered over to the son.

She’d show him. Mouth dry, Eleanor flicked her hair back over her shoulder and, thrusting out her breasts, walked as sexily as she could over to the man, her training on the catwalk perfect for such a situation.