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Jungle Jive! by Throne (25 Pages)
🕑 Added 2021-03-01 20:56:21 +0000 UTCJungle Jive!
By THRONE
© 2019-2021 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email toDevinwhitegurl@gmail.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***
All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real. The acts in the following written work are only consensual sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.
Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities.
Jungle Jive!
By THRONE
Marlon Straight checked himself in the mirror. His tailored safari outfit certainly flattered him. He took off the pith helmet to lightly stroke his wavy blond hair. Sparkling azure eyes looked back at him from a smooth soft-featured face. He smiled his familiar toothy grin. Marlon thought of himself as The Universe's gift to women. He wished he was taller, but that couldn't be helped. Now he was ready for his greatest hunt. He wasn't after elephants or lions. This would be yet another sexual conquest. It was like so many in the past, and yet different. His target was Sheera, the Jungle Goddess. A photographer had flown over the
valley where she was rumored to dwell and launched a drone. It had captured images that proved she was more than a myth.
The sexual superman reluctantly stepped away from his reflection. He went to the computer and called up those photos. There she was, Sheera, tall and lithe, strong but not overly muscular, with long waves of golden hair and lips reddened by some exotic jungle berry. Her eyes were as blue as Marlon's. She had a big bust -- very big -- and perfectly formed, along with full hips that called out to his baser instincts. He imagined seducing her with his usual moves, and then the two of them having wild animalistic sex, several times a day for a week. After that he would grow tired of her, as he had with all those who came before, and move on. Still, it would be difficult to top this accomplishment.
He left his swanky hotel room and got into a jeep with his driver, Donald, a tall Black man with strong cheekbones dominating a long face. "Let's go, boy," Marlon barked. "I want to be at the trail to the dock in less than an hour. Chop-chop."
In a level, controlled voice, Donald told him, "Yes, Bwana."
A small dark man was already waiting in the rear of the vehicle. He was Ganga. They followed the winding primitive road away from the center of town. Leaving all signs of civilization behind, they rolled along under a canopy of heavy foliage. Light, filtering through, dappled the rutted passage.
"Damn it, Donny," snapped Marlon. "Do you have to hit every freaking bump in this poor excuse for a road?"
"I am very sorry, Master Bwana," Donald responded. His large hands gripped the wheel with terrible strength.
Marlon's mood was deteriorating. It was too hot and humid. He hated to perspire, unless it was in a gym, with a shower on the premises. Donald was an expert driver and got them safely to their destination in less time than it would have taken any other local guide. They were at the head of a trail that would lead them to the dock. Donald took Marlon's heavy pack from the back of the jeep, along with a capacious canvas bag that held the white man's tent and food. He strapped the former across his broad capable shoulders, and carried the latter. Ganga switched to the driver's seat and started driving back to return the jeep. As Marlon put himself in front of Donald and started off, he muttered disapprovingly to himself about a variety of issues.
Two hours later they reached the dock. It was a primitive floating structure, made of planks nailed to logs. Tied up to it was a long canoe. Standing nearby was another Black man, who could have been Donald's brother. This one was stripped to the waist. He helped Donald load the packs into the center of the craft. Then Donald bared his own chest. The two locals were obviously strong and their ebony skin, sheened with sweat, glistened under the midday sun. The boatman got into the rear of the craft. Donald helped Marlon take the seat behind the packs, before putting himself near the front. Donald untied them from the dock and the two Black men paddled them out into midstream, where their stong arms and the lazy current worked together to moved them swiftly along. They glided past several villages and then saw no more of them.
"That's it, boys," Marlon encouraged. "Put your backs into it. I'm in a hurry to get to where I'm going, and claim my prize." He laughed but the others didn't join him.
At dusk they found a sandy bank onto which Donald pulled the canoe. He set up Marlon's tent and laid out several of his plentiful, fancy food items.
"Don't have enough to share," Marlon told him flatly. "You fellows can just forage or whatever it is you do."
The next morning, after Donald took down the tent and repacked it, they were off again, covering many miles of the river. Soon they were between the steep sides of the Forbidden Valley, which had been rarely entered in modern times. Those who went in didn't come out, or so the stories said. Marlon considered all that to be bunk. He would not only bed Sheera, but also make a name for himself as an explorer.
On the morning of the third day, in a narrow portion of the valley, they reached their goal. Marlon was in the immediate area where the Jungle Queen had been spotted. They paddled up a stream and he told Donald and the boatman to set up camp and stay there. He didn't want anyone with him for what was to come. With many hours of daylight remaining, The Great White Pussy Hunter slung his rifle on his shoulder and set off, on a trail that Donald had located for him. Marlon carried a machete, though he rarely needed to use it. He felt like a character in some movie, but wished he had the amenities of a Hollywood location-shoot
available. Such a remote place as this would be inaccessible to any such conveniences.
At noon, with beams of sunlight piercing the overhead leaves and pointing straight down, he got his first glimpse of his prey, perched high in a tree. Sheera was even more magnificent than he had anticipated. The photos didn't do her justice. When she leaped from one thick branch to another, her long limbs invited his touch. That oversized bust, barely contained by a tiny animal skin top, shifted invitingly. Her brief loincloth hid very little. He fingered his machete and moved toward her. She peered down, smiled, and seized a hanging vine. All at once she was swinging across empty space, allowing him his clearest view of her in the flesh. Her alabaster skin would feel so wonderful when he touched it. Especially on her smooth shapely bottom.
Sheera drew him deeper into the dense trees, off the beaten path. He was confident he could still find his way back. Then she came down one of the vines, hand-over-hand, and stood regally before him.
"Hello, man from far away," she said, her English carrying a hint of some strange accent.
"Well," he said, his baritone sending out its message of unbridled masculinity. "You speak properly."
"I have spoken with those who ply the river, and learned from them. Why have you come to my place?"
"To meet you," he said, flashing his best smile. That always softened them up.
She took two steps toward him. She eyed him quizzically, top to bottom. "To be my... friend?"
"To be your lover," he stated boldly. Sheera nodded. "Yes. Take off clothes."
"Hey, let's understand who's boss around here. Me man. You girl." He reached out unexpectedly and yanked away her top, freeing those shapely, super-size breasts. They gave a single bounce. Their pink halos were wide, and the nipples large and protruding. Perfect. He grabbed at them with both hands, but suddenly they weren't there. She had back-stepped, as quick as a jungle cat. He lunged at her and she slid to the side, letting him stumble past. When he turned, her pretty face wore a mocking grin.
"You can't fight," she declared.
"Like hell I can't." Marlon threw himself at her.
She grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm, using the man's momentum against him, sending a jab of pain into his shoulder and making him drop the machete. Still holding on, she swung him around and he slammed into a thick tree trunk. His pith helmet went flying. He staggered back, only to be grabbed and have his shirtfront torn open by the forceful woman, sending buttons flying everywhere. She spun him around. Sheera freed
his rifle and flung it aside. From behind, she grabbed his belt buckle. He was aware of her bare breasts pressing against the back of his damaged shirt. She deftly undid the belt and pulled it free from the pants-loops. As he faced her again, she held the belt beyond his grasp, dangling it tauntingly. Marlon's temper got the best of him. No mere woman, beautiful though she might be, was going to best him in a physical encounter, be it a fight or a romp in bed.
Sheera tossed him the belt. When he reached up for it, she dashed in and kneed him between the legs. He grunted and went over backwards, curling into a fetal ball. She managed to open his pants and yank them halfway down, so that he couldn't use his legs. Then she tugged his open shirt back from behind, so that it pinned his arms. The jungle woman rolled him onto his knees and got his shorts off his bottom. She retrieved the belt, doubled it up, and positioned herself behind him.
"No man can take me against my will," she told him.
Then the topless goddess swung hard, cracking leather across his exposed backside. He yowled and tried unsuccessfully to free his limbs. With a triumphant cry she slashed his bottom over and over, turning it from white to pink to red. He wailed and struggled but couldn't untangle himself from his clothes. Marlon struggled not to weep, but soon tears were streaming down his flushed cheeks.
"Not a man," she observed. "Cry like little girl." "No," he sobbed. "Just you wait."
She put her hands on those tempting hips. "I wait."
He squirmed around, like an escape artist attempting to free himself from a straightjacket. At last, he got his shirt back where it had been. Then he wrenched his pants up to their former place, hurriedly refastening them. Panting and red-faced, his rear end on fire, balls aching, he stood there quaking with rage. Sheera chuckled, which made him see red. Full of adrenaline and not thinking his moves through, he came in hard, swinging roundhouse punches at her. She nimbly dodged them and maneuvered him to where a vine hung almost to the ground. Sheera seized the vine and wrapped it around him at chest level, under his arms. Seconds later she had knotted it behind his back. Then she swung at him with open hands, slapping instead of punching. Being so easily outclassed infuriated him. He rushed forward but the vine jerked him back. While he was off balance, she spun him, grabbed the vine above his head level, and draped it over the stump of a broken branch. After that, it was easy for her to tug on it until his feet were off the ground. As she secured it to the same branch he scrabbled with both hands at the knot behind his back.
"Ha. Ha. Ha," she said, separating the syllables to show how little she thought of his efforts. "You are funny."
She came in unexpectedly and punched him hard in the stomach. While he was trying to recover, she got his pants and shorts down around his ankles, where his shoes kept them from going any further. Next, she split his shirt up the back and removed it in pieces, leaving only the cuffs. When he tried to kick her, she
dodged easily. Every time he lashed out with his hands, she simply stepped back, out of range. His whipped bottom rubbed against the tree trunk. He was humiliated to be so exposed in front of her. And his energy was running low. She moved in and back several times, making him grab at her, tiring himself further. He kept gawking at those fantastic breasts, hungering impotently for them, and for what lay beneath her loincloth. She saw his obvious lust and flaunted her body at him.
When she at last let him drop to the ground, his knees buckled and he fell forward. That made it easy for her to use another length of vine to bind his arms behind him. Taking a handful of his blond locks, she effortlessly hauled him to his feet. Sharra got the belt again and gave him a few swats with it, except this time she used the buckle. He shuffled forward with his legs hobbled. The exotic female took him by the ear and led him along like a misbehaving child. He huffed and puffed as they followed a wending path and emerged at the edge of a circle of huts. Sheera called out something high-pitched in an unfamiliar language, and natives appeared at the doorways of each structure. They had short hair. All any of them wore were loincloths. The men were mostly tall and muscular. The women full-figured, with massive boobs and hips. When one of the females turned to call back into her hut, he got a look at a bottom that was so wide and round that it left him speechless.
"Silly man comes to be Sheera's mate." She pointed toward his average-sized penis. "Is good for hump-hump?"
Everyone laughed. Marlon didn't understand until several of the men pulled aside their minimal coverings. All of them were
gigantically endowed. In comparison, he was a prepubescent boy. Another woman, older but also with one of those zaftig figures, appeared. She wore streaks of colorful face paint and had her hair in long braids, studded with beads. Her loincloth was the only one with a fringe at the bottom. She was obviously someone special. As she approached Marlon, she took a pouch that hung at her waist and undid the knot that held it closed. She got some of its contents on her fingertips and rubbed the spicey smelling stuff under his nose, even getting some up into the nostrils themselves, so that he inhaled it with every breath. As she uttered some incomprehensible words, she rubbed it on the tip of his penis, where the opening was. Finally, she squeezed his face to open his mouth, so she could smear more on his tongue.
The captive began to tingle all over, but especially where she had applied the powder. His cock rose as if my magic. Jungle juju. He moaned with need. Sheera tore off her loincloth. She put her fingers on her pussy lips and moved them up and down, until they were moist with her juices, which she then spread onto and under his lips. Marlon's head spun. Suddenly, all he could think about was the flavor of her sex, and how desperately he wanted more of it. Someone pushed on the backs of his legs, making him collapse onto his knees. Sheera stepped closer and his tongue extended, as if obeying some silent command.
"No, wait," he said nervously. "I don't do that. I never... not with my mouth... it isn't manly and..."
But the seemingly unnatural forces at work compelled him to lean toward the juncture of her legs. She moved her feet apart and pulled him in, so that his lower face was mashed against her
pubes. Against his will, and contrary to everything he believed about male-and-female relationships, Marlon began to lap furiously at her flavorful snatch. He was starving for it. This was shameful, especially with all those dark natives watching and leering, but he couldn't stop himself. Sharra chortled and rubbed her puss all over his features, coating them liberally with her secretions. That drove him to greater efforts. Soon she was breathing hard, those stupendous breasts rising and falling dramatically, as he turned his eyes up to him. She grew wetter and wetter, until she exploded in a juicy orgasm, her fluids almost choking him.
Marlon knelt there, trying to regain self-control. Just as he thought he might be succeeding, one of the native females came close. She put her hand under her loincloth and brought it out with fingers glistening. As she held the wet digits under his nose, her aroma, much stronger than Sharra's, sent him into ecstasies. The smell was unpleasant in the extreme but he had to have more of it. She flipped her loincloth's end over his head, so he could get his salivating mouth on the dark split-fruit of her womanhood. He moaned as he mouthed her, sucking in her juices, trying to make her climax so he could get more of them. She held his ears, which wasn't necessary, as he burrowed his tongue up inside her slit. Marlon was at the lowest point of his life, and yet this new mad addiction kept him slobbering, lapping, and swallowing. It went on until she wailed, twisted both his ears at once, and erupted her hot wetness until it ran down his chin and dripped onto his bare chest.
As he looked on in disgusted horror, many more of the wide-hipped, big-busted native girls formed a line in front of him.
His lips were already throbbing and the hinges of his jaw protested, but his tongue betrayed him, sticking out and wagging demandingly for more of the same. Someone freed his arms. He made no attempt to fight back or escape. Instead, he took hold of the next set of well-upholstered hips, so he could pull himself more firmly against the odorous cleft of their owner. Very soon, touching that yielding flesh became as strong an obsession as tasting the vaginas that would have repelled him under other circumstances. His tongue worked without tiring. He got his hands further back, so that he could touch more of their jutting backsides. The female witch doctor looked on with amusement at the results of her efforts.
The not-so-great white hunter was exhausted before long but couldn't do anything about it. There were still six more of the overly curvaceous women waiting. The next one turned around to show him her bottom. Its extreme width filled his entire field of vision. At that moment it was his entire world. He greedily inhaled its earthiness. She wagged it at him and brought it nearer. He clasped it between his hands and shoved his face into the deep rear valley. Half out of his mind, he kissed and licked its depths, even the tightness in its center. When she pulled away, he was overcome by waves of shame, but knew that if it was offered again, he would repeat his mortifying performance.
After the last of the women had been satisfied, he was dragged into the largest hut, which was more of a longhouse. Two women removed his shoes, pants and shorts, along with the remnants of his shirt. They mussed his hair and tweaked his ears. He felt utterly helpless, despite the effects of the powder gradually lessening. Marlon urgently needed some sexual relief of his own,
though there was no way he could think of to get it. The females toyed with his cock but never enough to make it spurt. His balls began to ache.
The witch doctor reappeared. This time she had a smaller pouch hanging around her neck. As much as he didn't want it, he couldn't stop thinking about giving a repeat performance to all those women. Another of the females came in, carrying a small pot of something that exuded a sweet aroma. Sheera appeared, still naked, which elevated his sexual temperature all over again.
"Please," he said to her. "You have to let me go. I'm a very powerful man where I come from. I'm close to getting a deal to write a tell-all book."
"Book." She made a sour face. "Not here. Magic better." She motioned toward the witch doctor.
"Whatever," he said. "Just set me free and I won't tell anyone you're here. I'll keep my mouth shut."
"You... keep... mouth... shut?" She translated to the others, who found that hilariously funny, though he didn't understand why.
Then the girl holding the small pot dipped a finger in and it came out covered with a thick red stickiness. She rubbed it on Sharra's lips, giving them a fresh coat of their vivid crimson hue. Then, to Marlon's surprise, she turned and did the same to him. When she called out through the doorway, one of the tall imposing tribesmen entered. He eyed Marlon with bad intent and gestured at his upper face. The woman was handed a second pot, with a
thick blade of grass protruding from it. As she took it out, Marlon saw that it was coated with a black substance. She worked it artfully around his eyes for several minutes, which earned her an approving nod from the man. Then a third female finger-combed his hair this way and that, applying something sticky as she worked.
After all of them were done, the Black man was positively eating Marlon up with his gaze. When Sharra produced a broken piece of mirror and held it up, Marlon saw why. His face had been made over to resemble a woman's, with ruby lips and eyes seductively outlined with thin black lines that extended from their outer corners in upward sweeps. And his hair was done over in a crude approximation of a feminine style. Oh no. He could pass for female from the neck up.
That was when the witch doctor stepped in, with her second pouch. From it she scooped different-smelling plant matter, that she used in the same way as before. When the Black tribe member made himself available, she wiped a drop of clear fluid from tip of his cock, to spread it under Marlon's nose. Then she gathered male musk from where his legs met his crotch, that area that Marlon had always been so careful to wash, on himself, to not offend the women he seduced. That was applied to Marlon's nostrils and tongue. In combination with those mysterious herbs or ground roots or whatever, it did its job. He all at once wanted -- needed -- OH NO !!! -- to taste that long, thick, dark cock, to feel it filling his mouth, to worship it with his tongue and his tinted lips. He gagged at the thought of what he was about to do. The Black man gave him a wide grin and inched nearer. Marlon swallowed. He fought against his rising urges. To his total
mortification, as soon as that dangling member was within reach, he flicked it with the end of his disobeying tongue. As the man brought it to him, he kissed and licked, quickly bringing it to full erection.
With his stomach churning in revulsion, he got his lips around the bulbous head and sucked hard. It was like an addict getting a taste of his drug-of-choice. Deep contentment welled up inside him, even as he was sickened by what was occurring. He swirled his tongue around the widest part, in imitation of what he had made many girls do for him. More memories of his preferences came to him, and he acted out each one. Marlon bobbed his head, got that girthy length into his throat without choking, and withdrew so he could lap the man's heavy sweaty balls. The native even turned around. His white slave hesitated only seconds before his willpower evaporated and he did for the proffered male ass what he had done for the female one. After a few minutes of that self-disgrace, he was given back that rigid piece of man-meat to lavish his attentions on, which he did with wild enthusiasm. Marlon kept telling himself he wasn't gay, but then he realized his own penis was stiffer than it had ever been. What had that evil witchy woman done to him? And was it temporary... or would it become permanent?
He held onto the tall man's firm thighs and gave him a blowjob that would have commanded a high price from a classy whore. As the recipient's respiration accelerated, Marlon knew what was coming. He braced himself, backed off until only the head was in his mouth, and used one hand to pump the long, fat shaft. The captive made a mournful sound. This couldn't be real. Yet all he could focus on was the taste he craved. He had to have his mouth
filled with the contents of those balls he had been lapping. Had to. Must have it.
Marlon got it, in great spurting gobs, against the roof of his mouth, all over his tongue, and puddling underneath. It overflowed into the back of his throat and he felt it sliding down toward his stomach. He had been turned into a receptacle for semen. It made him think of those cruel names he had used for some of the less desirable girls he had taken advantage of, in between his big conquests. Jiz jar. Cum catcher. Human sperm bank. Those were what he was becoming. As he sucked the man through a long descent from the high of ejaculation, Marlon was already hungering for more. From the corner of his eye, he saw more males crowding through the entrance. He was relieved. Happy for additional cocks to gobble. Grateful that he wouldn't run out of sperm feedings for several hours. All those wide tools stretching his jaws, invading his throat, and pumping heavy loads into his willing-but-unwilling self.
The next man appeared before him. His cock hung nearly to his knees. Marlon whimpered as he took it in one hand, to cover it with fervid kisses as he brought it to an even greater length. He licked it up and down, as if it was some delicious main course. Then he jammed the knob between his lips and sucked for all he was worth, at the same time massaging it with both hands. He took his time because that perverse new part of his mind wanted this to last. But all good things must come to an end, and so must prolonged cock-sucking episodes. The native grunted, bucked his hips once, and hosed the interior of Marlon's mouth with thick rich cream. The kneeling man gulped it down as fast as he could,
but some was still squeezed out of the sides of his mouth, to dribble onto his chest.
By the time he got through with the last man, it was late at night. The witch doctor came to him and noted how his front was covered in spunk. By using pantomime and a few words of English, she conveyed that he was to play with his nipples. All that runny white stuff provided plentiful lube, which made him get even more excited than he had up until that point. He moaned and, as she sprinkled another type of powder, a much finer one, over his head and face, fell into a trance. Marlon was aware of her using long thorns, coated with something that stung as she drove them under the skin of his chest and bottom. There were also spines from some plant, tipped with a deep red substance, that she jabbed into both his lips and selected parts of his face. After that, with the help of more sprinkled dust, he sank into a deep dreamless sleep.
When he awoke, it was full daylight, but he didn't know how long he had been under. His mind was muzzy, which gave him the sense that he might have slept for more than a full day. Marlon was on a platform bed, which was covered with some sort of harvested moss. He was covered by a blanket and, when he lifted his head, was shocked to see two large mounds rising on his chest. Had they laid something there? He tried to speak and his voice refused to cooperate. After two more attempts, he formed a few words, but they sounded high and soft. When he sat up, supporting himself with one hand braced on bed, the sheet fell away. His eyes went wide. Those two lumps on his chest were growing there. They were breasts, overly large ones, that bobbed and swayed as he moved. His bottom felt odd and, when he
reached back to check, he discovered that it had swollen to huge proportions. In shock he put his hand to his mouth, only to find himself touching inflated pillow lips. What had that fiendish female done to him?
A woman came up to him and offered her hand. He got up unsteadily, those mammoth mammary glands standing up proudly. As he took a few steps, they wobbled constantly. His new rear end jiggled. She led him out of the hut. He blinked against the bright sunshine. Several villagers were nearby and they all pointed and hooted. He reflexively put a forearm across his overgrown boobs, which felt like well stuffed cushions. His other hand went down to hide his cock. He received the worst shock of all when there was nothing there but a nubbin, above two tiny grape-sized balls. He couldn't see past those enormous chest-warmers, and had to pull them to the sides to try to get a look at what had been done to his precious male parts. All he could see was what must be the end of his extremely shrunken penis. He let his big milk-bags settle back into their natural positions.
"Hello." It was Sheera, wearing a malicious grin. "You are much changed."
"What did that woman do to me?"
"She made you okay. You wanted Sheera's body -- and now you are wearing it. Big joke. Ha. Ha. Ha."
The jungle dweller hooked her arm through his and walked him around the compound, making occasional sounds like bird cries,
so that people came to the door of every hut and all got a good look at his new self. The women were highly amused and the men openly lustful.
"Please," he said in his wispy voice. "You have to get me back to my guide. My native bearers. They care about me. They'll take me back to civilization. I'm sure there's some way to reverse what's happened."
"Yes. Your friends here now. They wait to see you." "Thank goodness," he squealed.
She walked him to a small hut outside the circle of other ones. As they passed through the door, Donald and the boatmen, whose name Marlon hadn't bothered to learn, were there, conversing with two of the voluptuous females in their own language, while drinking some sort of local brew out of earthen cups. Donald raised his drink to Marlon in salute.
"Hello, Master Bwana. Do you have some errand for your humble slave to run?"
"Just get me away from this madness. I need to see a doctor as soon as possible."
"But you already did. Doctor Drama. She's the best in The Forbidden Valley. Her powders and potions can work miracles... as you have found out." He laughed so hard that his body rocked.
The boatman joined him, standing and placing his hands in front of his chest, as if he was supporting breasts as large as Marlon's. "You be big hit with men of tribe now."
"They already... did things to me. To my mouth. Please be serious, you idiots. Morons. Get me out of here."
Donald gabbled something to the boatmen, in the native tongue, but with the words 'idiots' and 'morons' in English. Then he gave Marlon a hard look. "You will be staying, while we two go back upriver. Thank you for the rifle, machete, and other good things. There will be a sad story about how you met with an accident and we buried your body. I will try to appear mournful as I tell it. But this is your new home."
"You have do something to help me," Marlon insisted.
"Of course. I brought you this from your pack. The possession you cherished most."
He held up a mirror. Marlon saw his face reflected. It had been altered beyond the expansion of his lips. Its contours had been softened and filled out, so that it was totally feminine. Those triple-dimensioned lips were painted a shocking red again. His eyes were made up with the black stuff, as well as blue tint on the upper lips. Donald and the boatman enjoyed a final laugh at his expense and departed. When he tried to follow, his fat tits bouncing, Sherra grabbed him by the arm. Her strength had been superior before, but now he was weakened so that it took only her slightest effort to keep him where he was.
"No, no," she mildly scolded. "You have important day now. Special ceremony. Become bride."
"You're going to marry me off to one of those savage men?"
"No. Would be wrong." He sagged with relief. She went on, "We marry you to ALL the men. You be Number Two Wife to each one."
He was trussed up like a turkey about to be roasted. His arms and legs were drawn up and bound, which pushed his watermelon breasts out under his chin. As they carried him to the middle of the central area, he saw the witch doctor approaching from the opposite side. She went through a process much like before, when she had turned him into an oral obsessive, except that this time she also applied one of her formulations between his ass cheeks, pushing it inside with a short stick. His rear entrance puckered and relaxed, several times in a row, as if it was eager to be fed.
No, no, no. His mind rejected what was probably about to happen. The men of the tribe started to gather, the women behind them to watch. He saw so many Black faces leering at him, so many loincloths being removed, so many stupendously lengthy and girthy cocks exposed.
As one of the men got behind him and rubbed against his enlarged bottom, Marlon's attitude began to change. Part of him wanted to be used that way. He felt the man's organ expand and it excited him. But most of the white man's mind, the old Marlon part of it, was horrified at the thought of being a sexual plaything for all the males of the tribe.
He muttered, in his faint girly voice, "But I'm not gay. That kind of sex makes me sick, just to think about it. And those men's tools are like industrial equipment. I can't take anything that size."
Obviously, no one cared. And the witch doctor assured him, with Sheera translating, that now he could accommodate the most impressive cocks, and would very soon want nothing as much as he desired them.
Whimpering and barely able to protest, Marlon felt his first groom poking at his back door. There was a burning pain as the head entered him. He wailed but the man went on inexorably, until he was buried up to his weighty balls. Then he began a slow in-out rhythm. As his cock slid over the nerve endings in Marlon's nether ring, what had been pain turned to pleasure, though of an unwanted sort. Then it expanded into a ravenous need. As the Black man pushed in, Marlon shoved back at him. His receptive nipples demanded to be touched. As if reading his mind, another man knelt before him. He played with those sensitive points, and rubbed his cock against Marlon's puffy lips. Soon the new arrival and his feminized target were both hard. The difference was that, while the tribesman's prick was huge, Marlon's was barely there. Yet the white man's tiny member throbbed insistently. Marlon used his newfound oral skills on the cock in his mouth, and employed the muscles of his rear end to milk the one in his ass. It was ego-crushing. It was libido liberating.
Both men flooded copious amounts of cum into him at the same time. A tremor ran through his body and he experienced all the sensations of an ejaculation without the expected relief. He was still just as horny as ever, if not more so. They were rapidly
getting him addicted to being bum-banged, like the lowest form of sissy he could imagine. One pulled out of his abused anus, and another took his place. More followed. With each repetition, Marlon's shame and desire grew in equal measures, until he was trapped, forever hating it, yet unable to do without it. They rolled him onto his back and several took him that way. At some point, a native pushed Marlon's fat tits up so the white victim could suck his own cream-coated nipples, which immediately became imprinted on his mind as another form of irresistible pleasure.
He was helplessly hooked.
Naked, feminized, his male parts diminished to almost nothing. Many miles from any form of civilization. Enslaved by the rapacious tribe and by the White Goddess he had come there to seduce. Most of all, he was trapped by his rampant yearning to serve the tribe as their sex slave, and especially to feel those enviable cocks in his hands, mouth and penetrating his most private orifice. Marlon Straight was changed forever.
