Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com

The Milking Tree


Jasper McCutcheon

Part 1 -- Wrath of the Natashi

Dr. Richard Cargill was a professor, explorer and treasure hunter. His painstaking research and planning always brought him his prize, and every one of his campaigns had been a success -- until this one.

Currently Cargill found himself stripped naked and suspended, his wrists roped to tree limb, his arms in parallel lines overhead and toes inches from the ground. His wrist ropes were draped over the limb about 15 feet above the ground, where their length returned to the ground and were tied to a wooden stake driven into dirt.

Under the canopy of this lone tree in the center of a village clearing somewhere in southern Africa, hundreds of miles from nowhere, Cargill helplessly watched the torture and execution of what remained from his expedition: three load-bearers, also stripped naked, bound to wooden poles eight feet in length and standing vertical not more than 10 yards from where Richard Cargill dangled. All four men that very morning had been pounced upon and taken prisoner by a tribe of fierce female warriors known as the Natashi, and now, while waiting and wondering what fate awaited him, Cargill fought the urge to regurgitate from the brutality perpetrated upon his pitiful men.

Each man faced him. Each man hung with wrists crossed behind their poles and tied with rope, while their ankles were bound in the same manner, their feet inches from the ground. Gravity stretched them. Because their limbs were roped behind the poles, their torsos protruded towards Cargill. Because their limbs were crossed, their chests and bellies formed a V shape with rib cages expanded and abdomens flattened. Because their poles were buried in the open without protection overhead, unlike Cargill who was shaded by 60-foot tree, their ebony skin glistened with sweat, the unforgiving late-morning sun baking them with ungodly heat. And for reasons Cargill could not begin to guess, the leader of this Natashi tribe (a woman Cargill privately named Blue-face because of the dazzling designs of blue painted across her high cheekbones) allowed her female warriors to savagely beat these helpless men with wooden clubs.

She shouted a command and her warriors sprang into action. With two Natashi women assigned to each victim, the pairs ruthlessly assaulted these glorious men. Powerful men they were, devoid of fat and bulked with muscle, muscle built naturally from transporting on foot many pounds of cargo hundreds of miles countless times. None of their strength could help them now. Cargill tried not to look, but each horrific impact of blunted wood to stretched torso brought agonizingly horrific grunts and screams. He had to look. They were his men, his companions, his responsibility.

As the female pairs grew weary, Blue-face ordered them to hand their clubs to the next groups of two's and the beatings continued without interruption. The men howled and cried out as their chests and abdomens were viciously pounded to putty. Cargill could hear the unholy cracks and pops of ribs and other bones breaking.

Each warrior had their opportunity batter their victims, and as the final pairs dropped their clubs in exhaustion, Blue-face stalked up and down the line, inspecting what was left, making sure her sister warriors had done a proper job. Apparently pleased, she with commanding authority ordered the females to begin tearing the men's skin to shreds with whips. Again matched in pairs assigned to each victim, they relentlessly laid their whips across the battered bellies and chests of the pitiful prisoners, following the same pattern as before by passing the whips down the line, until all had been satisfied.

Cargill tried to shut out the unholy screams of agony coming from the poles. Impossible. Their cries permeated the village until he thought his head would explode, and as the lashings ended Cargill stared in disbelief at what remained of pitiful helpers. Their once gloriously masculine physiques now hung as though slaughtered meat upon vertical poles, sweat and blood intermingling to drip off their toes to the ground below. Screams and pleadings had turned to sobs and moans. One of them seemed to praying, surely for death, as Cargill also prayed for them, for it was he who had led them here to this god-forsaken place, only to see them turned to bloody, battered, living corpses.

His anguish soon turned to shock and amazement. Appearing from one of the huts came a man -- a white man who wore nothing but a loin wrapping and some sort of vegetation-made crown upon his head. Three females were knelt in front of the prisoners as the white man hovered nearby. They tied the victims's genitals by use of thin animal hide strips, wrapping them behind the testicles and over the tops of their penises, tightly securing the strips at the base of each. As the women stepped away, each phallus became engorged with blood, as the strips slowed the exiting flow from their dangling male organs.

Now the white man stood before one of the battered men. He knelt on the ground and began performing oral service upon him, which caused the man's body to flex. Despite being half-dead, this hapless victim was forced to respond to the oral assault on his isolated and hardened penis. His face was shrouded with anguish and utter humiliation -- anguish from the pain of his brutalized torso -- humiliation from the degradation inflicted upon his exposed manhood.

The tempo increased and soon the prisoner shot his load into the tormentor's mouth, as the white man continued sucking on the spent penis to elicit every last drop into his throat and down to his gut. This relentless assault on the sensitive cock forced the prisoner to involuntarily flex and twitch, causing ungodly pain to reverberate throughout his broken and brutalized body.

Then the white man released the organ, rose to his feet and proceeded to the next victim, where he knelt to perform the same task on that man's penis. Cargill watched in horror as his poor men were one by one degraded before the female warriors. The Natashi relished this spectacle. They chirped and chattered. Each twitching of prisoner brought laughter. Each moan of pain and humiliation brought mocking with fingers pointing. They viciously ridiculed what was left of the pitiful wretches stretched before them, as the mysterious white man extracted manly fluids from each cock, leaving the cock owners spent and nearly lifeless on their poles of torture.

He now turned and approached the tree, followed closely by Blue-face and the rest of the tribe. Cargill shuddered. Were they coming for him? Was it his turn to suffer what he'd just witnessed? Instead, the man ignored and drifted past him, continuing on until he reached the trunk of the mighty tree. The warriors formed a circle around the trunk behind Cargill and began a solemn chant. Attempting to see what was happening, Cargill peeked over his shoulder and watched in wonder as the white man stuffed his fingers into his throat, gagged himself, and spit what he'd regurgitated onto the trunk of the tree. Man seed, fresh semen taken from three tortured and slowly-dying prisoners, that's what was spit onto the tree.

The she-warriors broke into frenzied celebration, chanting, flailing their arms and dancing in wild circles. As he dropped his head to rest on his chest, Cargill at first was saddened, but then sickened and angered by the spectacle taking place behind him. His poor men had suffered unspeakable tortures, just so these savages could spit sperm onto a goddamn tree. And what was worse, the instigator of these atrocities seemed to be not the savages - which, while not excusable, could at least be somewhat understandable - but rather, it was the white man, perhaps at one time or another a civilized man, who had done this to his fellow human beings. To be sure, this ritual most-likey had been part of Natashi culture since the tribe came into being, but still, the lone male had played a major role, and Cargill vowed to himself that when and if opportunity came to him for exacting revenge, he'd take it. He'd do so not for himself, but for his men.

As the crazed celebration drifted back towards the three prisoners, spears soon pierced their chests and abdomens, finally bringing an end to their unholy suffering. The white man did not participate. Cargill felt the mysterious man' s presence behind him, and then heard his voice. "Dr. Cargill, my name is Roger Trout."

* * *

Part 2 - The Kutambi Elephant

Cargill's eyes widened upon hearing the name. Roger Trout was known as a famed explorer and treasure hunter like himself, but the name had faded from the memories of most people involved in this field of adventure.

As the story goes, Roger Trout launched an expedition 16 years prior, seeking the same treasure that brought Cargill to Africa. This Roger Trout and all who came with him had not been heard from since, thought lost forever.

Trout smiled as he faced his prisoner, not in a welcoming and brotherly way, but in a sinister and superior way. "I see from the stupid expression on your face that you remember me. Imagine my delight when the scouts told me an expedition had passed through our jungle. I immediately knew what you were looking for. Did you find it?"

Richard Cargill hesitated, knowing the first words he spoke would determine his immediate future. "Find what?"

"Don't insult me doctor. Surely you were looking for the statue, the magnificent Kutambi Elephant... more importantly, the tusks, the two little 10-inch tusks covered with hundreds of the most perfect diamonds ever known to mankind."

"I found nothing. I failed just as you did. It is nothing but a myth. The ruins are still there, but nothing remains of value."

"LIAR" Trout launched a barrage of punches upon Cargill's defenseless body. He unleashed 16 years of frustration on the poor man. Fists rained into his gut, onto his rib cage and sternum. Cargill grunted and groaned in accepting these blows, flexing all muscles in defense. Slowly circling, Trout continued to pound on him from the back side, targeting his kidneys and shoulder blades before returning to the front of his victim to deliver more blows into his abdomen and chest until exhaustion forced him to rest.

Now both men were gasping for air. After several deep breaths, Trout continued the interrogation. "I went through your clothing. I read the notes on every chart and map you had with you. I saw your log book, doctor. Do you think I'm stupid?"

Still trying to recover from his beating, Cargill knew his game was up but for one piece of the puzzle: the diamonds. He'd written nothing in regards to the tusks. Their location was known only to his memory, and so rather than answer Trout's stupid question about who thought who was stupid, Cargill tried some offense. "What kind of man are you? How could you stand by and let these savages murder those innocent men?"

"None of that is your concern. You are alive and that is all that matters. I read all about your little misadventure. How and where you found the statue. How you lost it when your expedition was obliterated by the stampeding elephants. You mentioned that you left the statue behind on the plain, but what about the tusks? I know you were not foolish enough to leave them behind. Talk to me, Dr. Cargill."

Cargill flexed his chest as he spoke, " I left it all. What else could I do? Only three men were left alive to help me and the tusks were gone. They were crushed into the ground along with the rest of my men and supplies. All we could do was try to survive and return to the coast."

"You are a fool. You saw what happened to your men. Do not force me to let the women have their way with you." Trout resumed pounding his prisoner's torso, shouting one word in between each punch, "You... will... talk...... NOW!"

Cargill tightened every muscle in his helpless body to receive the pounding. He clenched his teeth and threw back his head, not wishing to see the blows rain on him, but this time Trout tired quickly and the beating stopped.

"What you have witnessed here today will pale in comparison to what I have in store for you. For 16 years I have waited for this day. I knew someone would come to seek my treasure. It is MY treasure, you know. I will have it, doctor. You cannot win."

And with that, Roger Trout returned to his hut.

During this little getting to know you between Cargill and Trout, the she-warriors had been busy cutting down the corpses of Cargill's bearers, dragging the carcasses to a seven-foot diameter pit dug into the earth a few yards to his left.

Smoke drifted out of the pit and had been since the entire spectacle started, and this smoke added more misery to the already miserable midday heat. He saw them brandish knives and remove something from the lifeless bodies, but refused to believe what he thought he saw. After all, he couldn't be sure and did not want to think about such a thing. Carcasses were thrown into the pit, becoming fuel for the coals below to create a stench of burning flesh that permeated the entire village, and after Blue-face received from one of her warriors a wooden bowl, she and the rest of her tribe disappeared into their huts, leaving the suspended man to suffer alone under the mighty tree.

Cargill's entire upper body ached. The ropes suspending him burned his wrists, as they were forced to bear all of his weight, while gravity relentlessly stretched him. Although he was protected by shade from the tree and its canopy towering above him, his body was covered with sweat from the noon time heat and foul smoke drifting from the pit of fire. Passing minutes seemed like hours. He thirsted for water, having received no sustenance since his capture, and mercifully, relief came.

Blue-face emerged from her hut and entered another hut nearby, then reappeared and strutted towards the prisoner. Following behind her, three men of the tribe shuffled their feet trying to keep pace with their tribal leader, a stuttered gait caused by the ropes connecting their ankles. One single binding wound around each ankle, connected by a two-foot length in between, thus limiting the size of their steps to this amount. One of the men carried a bucket, as Blue-face stood before Cargill and flashed her teeth to display her fierce superiority. The suspended man had been and still was somewhat in awe of this female, with her bright blue designs highlighting her cheekbones, and short-cropped black hair following the roundness of her head forcing him to remember what she'd done to his men. Otherwise, he risked fantasies that might bring arousal, which might remind her that the tree needed its ritual of prisoner beatings and prisoner semen. Nonetheless, he inspeced her with his eyes. Adorned with decorative wooden anklets, the rest of her stood naked. Nothing interupted her feminine curves and lines of ebony skin, and the beauty of her slender, but muscular legs and buttocks was matched only by her perfectly rounded breasts and commanding face.

She turned to nod at the man with the bucket and he set it down, scooped out a wooden bowl full of water and raised it for Cargill to drink. He voraciously lapped up the precious liquid, so eager to quench his thirst that he didn't notice when Roger Trout joined the group. As the bowl was emptied and lowered, Cargill recognized his own clothes covering Trout, the same attire that the Natashi had stripped from him that very morning.

"Dr. Cargill, I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt. I have studied your notes and plotted a path back to the scene of your mishap." Trout now mocked his prisoner. "You should have known that elephants are very sensitive creatures. They do not like to be disturbed when they are feasting. My, how they do love to strip bark and leaves from the Acacia trees!"

Cargill did not give his tormentor the satisfaction of a response, and so Trout continued. "I estimate my journey to take two hours each direction. I will see for myself if what you say is true. Do not begin to guess what will happen to you if you have tried to deceive me."

After delivering one more punch to Cargill's stomach, he then spoke the language of the Natashi to the three men. Two of them shuffled over to the stake, untied the ropes and lowered the prisoner back to earth. As Cargill collapsed to the ground, the third man cut the ropes from his wrists and immediately placed ankle restraints same as his own onto the prisoner, while the other two lifted Cargill to his feet.

"It is good that your clothes fit me," Trout's sarcastically droned on. "They seem to smell a bit sour. Tell me, is it normal for you to produce this volume of sweat, or did something frighten you?"

Cargill again was silent.

"Enjoy your temporary relief, doctor. In four hours I will return for you."

With Blue-Face joining him as guide and protecter, Roger Trout disappeared into the jungle growth to search for his long-denied treasure.

* * *

Part 3 -- The Human Pendulum

The three men escorted Cargill towards their hut. He wearily staggered while they shuffled along beside him and supporting him, his body exhausted from hours of torturous suspension, beatings and denial of water. Once inside, he was laid chest down onto a floor mat of tightly woven leaves, where he immediately collapsed into sleep. As he did, the men began washing away the sweat and dirt from his body, but Cargill felt none of this. His mind was dreaming of places far, far away, places of peace and tranquility. The men soothed his body with salves and ointments, applying them with deep muscle massages.

When Cargill awoke he was laying on his back and feeling refreshed but hungry. One of the men offered him a bowl filled with some kind of meat, the odor and texture of which he recognized as snake meat. He filled his belly. As Cargill ate, one of the men verbalized something to him, and using what he had learned from his studies of African cultures Cargill was able to interpret bits and pieces of what the man was saying.

He wanted to know where the white man came from. Using words he knew and hand gestures, Cargill tried to describe his far-away world to the savages. Their wide-eyed smiles confirmed their understanding of what he was telling them, and then Cargill asked them about their lives.

They were born into the tribe as slaves, used only for servitude and reproduction. In their world, females ruled. Only one of ten male infants born to the tribe was allowed to survive, and at present their were no infants either male or female. This was a revelation Cargill had failed to notice when suspended from the tree. For the entirity of their lives this guarded hut had been their dwelling place. They were only allowed to leave it when summoned to perform tasks for the females, usually labor, but sometimes functional sexual intercourse.

Cargill laughed as the man indicated the word "fuck" by inserting his index finger into a circle made with his other hand, but only Blue-face could say when and whom they could fuck. Each man was denied intercourse but for one time every four seasons. Cargill was saddened by the plight of these men. Just imagine it: no pussy for eleven out of every twelve months, and even then, their once-per-year fuck was no more meaningful or emotional than shitting a daily turd. He wondered if they really knew how bad things were for them. He tried to make them understand that, where he came from, men and women were equal, at least that was the goal. Again their excitement over his world showed in their faces, and Cargill began to feel a bond forming amongst the four of them, but this train of thought was interrupted when Trout and Blue-face entered the hut.

"Dr. Cargill, I do not believe your story. The corpses and supplies, even the statue, were clearly visible. The Kutambi Elephant is in my hut right now, but the tusks and diamonds are gone. Where did you take them?"

"Someone beat you to the prize, Trout. I left it all there."

"You take me for a fool, but I assure you that I am not. Soon you will gladly tell me everything I want to know."

Trout and Blue-face stormed out of the hut, and within minutes two she-warriors entered to violently lift Cargill to his feet. They cut the ropes from his ankles and led him back towards the tree, where the entire tribe was gathered and waiting.

A major modification had been made to the suspension apparatus. One rope each was attached to the end of a five-foot log, five inches in diameter. Cargill was positioned facing away from the tree and the log placed on his shoulders. Then his arms were stretched in opposite directions and wrists strapped to the log with strips of animal hide. The ropes were pulled to lift Cargill's arms past his head, until his toes barely touched the ground. Now a log of equal size was brought from behind him. Large rocks had been tied to the top of the log, all of them together weighing 50 pounds. Cargill's feet were spread one foot apart and ankles then strapped to the front of the log. Once again, the ropes were pulled several inches and tied to the stake at the other end, leaving his feet three inches off the ground.

Cargill groaned in pain and humiliation, as he was again suspended naked before the savage females. The weight of the rocks increased his crucifixion stretching, forcing his chest to expand and belly to flatten. Immediately, he struggled to breathe, his diaphragm being hopelessly compressed.

Having again adorned his tribal garb of loin wrap and vegetation crown, Roger Trout joined the gathering with Blue-face standing beside him. "Cargill, this will be a long, torturous evening for you. Your fate will not be a quick, merciful death like those of your companions. No, I will make sure these women take it slow and easy on you. Now, tell me about the diamonds."

Cargill glared at his tormentor. "You had your chance. If you didn't find them it is not my fault."

Trout furiously threw his right fist into the pit of Cargill's stomach. The victim tightened his abdominals with all his might to receive the blow, creating a dull thud as the punch landed. Trout's knuckles felt like he had punched a brick wall. Angrily, he resumed pounding on the stomach from left and right, viciously trying to knock the air out of the man, but Richard Cargill greeted each blow with masculine grunts and groans of ooghs and ughs.

Now Trout turned and shouted an order to the warriors, as Cargill gasped for air in an attempt to recover from his beating. Struggling to breathe, he flexed arms and legs, lifting his torso until his arms were parallel with the log. After frantically inhaling precious oxygen for several seconds, he slowly lowered his body to resume its crucifixion stretching.

The females were taken aback by this display. They seemed to be mesmerized by the strength and defiance shown to them by the prisoner, but Trout repeated his order to Blue-face, who jolted the warriors into action. They immediately ran for the storage hut, where they each retrieved a five-foot pole one inch in diameter, then returned to the crucified man to form a circle of 12 around him.

Trout looked up to his victim. "This is your last chance, doctor. Where are my diamonds?"

Cargill flexed his chest in defiance. "Go to hell."

Leaning down to grab the lower log, he began spinning the prisoner and twisting the ropes above together. Soon two became one and Trout gave the victim a shove. Cargill swung towards the edge of the circle, where he was greeted by the rounded end of a pole. He grunted as the pole jabbed into the middle of his back to break the swinging momentum.

Using her pole to push, that warrior then sent Cargill in another direction, only to be greeted by another jab into his gut. The helpless man was sent from one part of the circle to another, and all the while, the ropes were unwinding and spinning him in a clockwise direction.

Cargill grunted with each attack, as he was mercilessly jabbed by one wooden pole after another. His swinging motion only increased the weight of the rocks at his feet and worsened his stretching.

Like a human pendulum, Richard Cargill was randomly poked and jabbed again and again until the ropes were completely unwound. Changing the angle of their weapons, the savages now whacked Cargill's crucified torso with the sides of their poles when he swung in their direction. The wooden weapons now being used like whips, Cargill's skin stung with each smack on his stretched body. The momentum of his swinging gradually decreased, making the diameter of circles take him out of reach of the tormenting poles. The warriors stood their ground silently, as the beaten man swung in smaller and smaller circles, finally becoming stationary in the center of the perimeter.

Cargill was groaning in agony. Small red spots and long red lines dotted his skin on the back, chest, stomach and buttocks. The stretching and crucifixion were taking their toll, causing his breath to become more labored.

"How do you feel now?" asked Trout. "Are you ready to talk?"

With the need for oxygen critical, Cargill summoned his strength and flexed every muscle to pull his body up and alleviate the pressure. The she-warriors gasped at this manly display, but Trout was not impressed. He launched another assault on the tightened abdominal muscles.

"Damn you, come back down here. Do you think you can defy me? I will break you, doctor. Talk now!"

The powerful man jutted out his lower jaw to answer between each punch. "You... will... never... break me."

And with that, Cargill slowly allowed his body to return to its stretching. Trout took the opportunity to land his punches to the prisoner's chest and rib cage. Now he was crimson with anger, but soon tired of throwing punches to the man's defenseless torso.

The tormentor nodded to Blue-face. She barked an order and the 12 warriors left the circle. Passing their poles to the next group, a new circle of 12 was formed. Two at a time they ran towards the helpless man. Simultaneously, Cargill was speared on opposite sides of his stretched body by the poles.

The first of these dual assaults was launched in the middle of his back coupled with the sternum. The poles were driven into him like stakes, bringing pressure to his chest and back at the same time. Cargill gasped in shock from the initial blow, then emitted manly groans as the warriors stood their ground to drive their poles into him like daggers. Meanwhile, Trout stood by to continue the questioning.

"Where are my diamonds, Cargill? Where did you hide them?"

The crucified man continued with his tortured grunts, summoning all of his strength to withstand the poles grinding into him. Blue-face shouted a command and the two removed their weapons, exiting the circled perimeter as two more immediately charged towards him from opposite sides. One pole struck Cargill's lower back, while the other was embedded into his stomach. He flexed and writhed, expanding his chest and sucking in his abdominal cavity best he could.

The savage females in waiting beyond the perimeter were all smiles and giggles, relishing in the poor man's suffering, as Trout continued to torment his prisoner.

"Talk Cargill. Talk now. You have lost. Talk and I will make them stop."

Cargill, oblivious to the questioning, shut tight his eyes and focused his mind on withstanding this devastating assault on his abdomen and lower spine. The pressure upon him intense, he thought they intended to run him though, but just when he thought he could take no more, Blue-face ordered two to leave and two to replace them. Poles now were driven into the man' s rib cage, one on each side, forced towards each other with Cargill caught in between. He howled from the agony of unrelenting pressure grinding into his exposed ribs, every muscle flexed to capacity.

Each spearing pair of savage warriors were allowed two minuted to torture their crucified victim, each pair targeting any part of him from belly to arm pits. He groaned and grunted with each new assault, while Trout relentlessly tried to coax the answer from him, until finally, Cargill had withstood 10 attacks and only two warriors were left. Trout turned from the prisoner and spoke softly to Blue-face, and soon a warrior brought Trout a stool of two-feet height which he placed to Cargill's side. He stepped up to meet his victim face-to-cheek.

"Have you had enough? You must talk."

Cargill lifted his head, moaning from the agony inflicted upon him. "You will never break me."

"Oh, you think not? Wait until you feel this."

Blue-face directed the two remaining warriors and they walked towards the prisoner. As one placed her pole just above his tail bone, the other put her pole just above the center of his pelvic bone. Then they slowly started pushing towards each other. Cargill writhied as the front pole ground into the lowest part of his abdomen. Shockwaves reverberated from his belly into his groin, and when he tried to raise his legs to alleviate this ungodly pressure, Blue-face sadistically put her foot onto the log to keep him stretched. With all the strength they could muster, two female savages ground their poles into him with devastating ferocity.

"Talk doctor. Give me my diamonds."

He could not talk. All he could do was make sounds as though he were about to puke. Richard Cargill was about to puke, but with bile lining his throat, teeth gritting and groin burning, he gurgled a defiant response. "I will never tell you."

"Your answers have already given you up, Cargill. What you say tells me you know where they are. It is all over. Tell me."

Trout babbled on non-stop, but Richard Cargill did not hear him. He threw back his head and looked to the heavens. This simultaneous attack on his coccyx and belly, combined with his torturous crucifixion pushed him to the brink. With a mighty groan, his body collapsed and he lost consciousness.

Trout ordered all torture to stop and poles removed, fearful he had pushed his prisoner over the edge before getting his answer. He shouted for a bowl of water, and after wetting his hand he desperately tried to revive his prisoner, dabbing the liquid on Cargill 's forehead and cheeks, lightly tapping and hoping for a response. He could hear and see the man's labored breathing, and he ordered the warriors to remove the lower log.

As the straps were cut from his ankles, Cargill groggily lifted his head, sighing with relief as his stretching was lessened. Trout offered him the bowl of water and the tortured man eagerly drank. Revived, Cargill flexed his chest and arms to lift his torso higher. Drenched in sweat, his body glimmering in the heated air of dusk, shards of sunlight filtering through treetops surrounding the village, Cargill posed in all his masculine glory. Every line and curve of muscle was clearly highlighted by sweat and exertion, as he defied gravity to raise himself, to suck in air. In awe of him, the she-warriors did not quite understanding how this powerful man could possibly withstand their tortures. Despite all they had inflicted upon him, he still found the strength to display himself before them, to mock them, and to perhaps entice them.

After several deep breaths of chest-expanding oxygen, Cargill allowed gravity to resume his crucifixion, and although Trout was relieved by his prisoner's recovery, he still had but one purpose in mind. "Why don't you talk, Dr. Cargill? Nobody wants to see you suffer like this."

"You are worse than these savages, Trout. At least you know what you are doing is wrong. I pity them, but I despise you."

"Soon I will be forced to give you up to these savages. We will see how much you pity them after they have finished with you. Unlike me, they will show no mercy. I suspect that soon you will be begging for me to help you, to make them stop torturing you. Then you will tell me everything."

* * *

Part 4 - The Milking Tree

Roger Trout stepped down from his stool and transferred control to Blue-face. She summoned several females to follow her while the rest sat on the ground admiring their naked prisoner, and when they returned Blue-face was carrying a bowl, four warriors were carrying two buckets apiece, and several others came with jungle undergrowth that they threw into the pit. Hot coals reignited to flame, illuminating the center of the village clearing. Night had come. The naked form of Dr. Richard Cargill hanging in suspended crucifixion was bathed in a heated glow of orange. His sweat sparkled.

As Blue-face drifted towards the pit four female Natashi placed their buckets near Cargill's feet.

Trout hovered nearby and spoke. "Dr. Cargill, aren't you curious as to how I came to be here?"

"I suppose you'll tell me whether I want to hear it or not."

"I'm glad you asked. My expedition never made it out of this jungle. The Natashi took us all prisoner and brought us here to be executed like you saw today."

As the man was speaking, he motioned to the warriors behind him. "I knew it was the Natashi as soon as I heard their spine-chilling calls in the jungle. I had read about them in old journals from early Dutch explorers."

Cargill was distracted by the activities of the women. Two of them stood at his feet and were rubbing some sort of white colored liquid on his legs, feet and ankles. "What the hell are they doing?"

"Oh, never mind that. I'm sure you have read about this tribe, their fierce nature, their savage treatment of men. Well, I immediately knew there was only one way for me to survive. That was to sacrifice my men to appease these savage women."

Two more females now mounted two-foot stools and were applying the thick, milky substance to Cargill's chest, belly, arms and backside. The manner of the application became an erotic body rub, causing Cargill to sense feelings of arousal, but he diverted his attention to hold back these reactions. "What is this crap they're smearing on me?"

"I'll tell you in time. Now, pay attention. I gave up all 30 of my men and then, about every 10 days I would watch one of them be ritualistically tortured and executed, just as you saw today. Their leader forced me to extract the men's sperm and vomit on their tree. Again, this kept me alive. I became quite proficient at sucking dicks, only so I could get it over with as quickly as possible."

Cargill was now fascinated by the story, but still worried about the female activity all around him. "Please tell me what they're doing."

"Damn it, forget about that for now. This is important." Trout was determined to somehow justify his actions of the last 16 years. "Not only did I give them my men, I promised them many more. I told them of the trade routes 300 miles north of here. Once every six months, 12 Natashi and I would journey there. At night we would sneak into camps, taking two or three male captives and bringing them back here for slaughter. We could have taken as many as we wanted, but I figured this number would be the most we should take without attracting too much attention. So that is how I survived all these years. I knew there was no escape. I had to stay until either they killed me or someone like you came along looking for my treasure. You answered my every prayer."

Trout seemed relieved that he had finally been able to tell his story, hoping the prisoner would somehow understand and perhaps forgive.

Now Cargill's body was encased with the white goo. All that was left to cover were his face and genitals. The substance slowly started to sting and burn his skin, already sensitive from the relentless beatings. "What is this gunk? It burns. Tell me what the hell it is."

"Dr. Cargill, you are suspended under the Natashi Milking Tree. This is their god. One time per year a man is chosen to be subjected to a test of endurance under their tree. You, my unfortunate friend, have been chosen. I can probably stop this from happening, but you must talk to me. You know the question."

"You are sick. What happened to you? You were once respected the world over. Now you're just a sadistic maniac."

"It is called survival, doctor. I suggest you start learning to adapt. Do you know what these women really want? Penises. They worship the male penis. The man himself is useless to them, but their manly organs are sacred."

As the women applied the substance to Cargill's face, he gazed down to see that Blue-face had returned from the pit. Standing before the crucified man, she reached into the bowl to present a human penis. She had cooked it in the pit, and she held the charred organ high into the air. Looking up to the branches of The Milking Tree, Blue-face recited some sort of chant, perhaps a prayer, and then stuffed the cooked phallus into her mouth, swallowing it whole.

Cargill recoiled in horror at this macabre spectacle. As the other she-warriors mimicked her chant, Blue-face reached into the bowl, producing a second penis. Cargill turned away when the savage again forced the organ down her throat.

Suddenly, Cargill realized that the effects of the paste were changing. As the goo began to dry and thicken, the burning sensations were replaced by feelings of manliness. The chemicals, or drugs or whatever was in the goop, caused his nuts to send testosterone throughout his bloodstream, and his cock received plenty of this blood as well.

Meanwhile, Blue-face presented the third penis to the night sky, confirming for Cargill what he already knew. This female savage had indeed severed his poor men's masculinity, had separated their cocks from them before their battered carcasses were thrown into the fire. And all because of a fucking tree.

The outrage he felt was indescribable, as he watched her swallow for the third time, but his outrage was soon overtaken by the incredible sensations reverberating throughout his body. His dick was now fully erect. Blue-face reached into the nearby bucket, and then plastered his genitals with the tantalizing paste. First she encased Cargill's dangling testicles. Next came the phallus. She spread erotic substance over the entire length of his engorged penis, lingering there with her taunting fingers, slowly stroking back and forth on the shaft of the organ. And all the while, Blue-face smiled at him, not a smile of kindness, but of sadistic lust, lust to inflict more punishment upon him, lust to incorporate his manly, nine-inch-long and two-inch-thick cock with her tortures. Her brightly white teeth grinned an evil grin. Blue-face would prove beyond doubt that hers was the superior gender.

Cargill was overwhelmed by the sense of helplessness, of humiliation and vulnerability. He arched his back and thrust his pelvis forward hoping to startle her into releasing his cock, but to no avail. She held his hardened penis in her hand and squeezed tightly, continuing to mock him with her blue lines centered by flashing teeth.

He gazed at his audience. Every female scrutinized his masculine form in bondage, his Caucasian skin covered in chalky white. They marveled at his impressive tool, whispering and pointing and giggling. He dreaded the thought of losing his cock. What man doesn't? He shuddered to envision its being severed from his body, revulsed by the image whether his body was alive or dead, and he pleaded with Roger Trout, "Make them stop. What are they doing to me?"

Trout nodded to Blue-face and she released her taunting grip on Cargill's manhood.

"Dr. Cargill, I have watched this ritual for 16 years. No man has ever survived their test of endurance. And when the man fails, their treatment of him becomes brutal beyond words. I cannot begin to count the many different ways I've seen men tortured. Don't let it happen to you. Talk to me now. Quickly."

"We will both die here. After they kill me, who will be left for them to butcher but you? They certainly won't kill their own. Your time will come."

"I am aware of this, my friend. It saddens me that you have chosen this path. I wish you well."

Trout left the circle and turned the prisoner over to the women. They had now surrounded the suspended man. 12 females stood on their two-foot stools encircling him. Cargill's manly body writhed and undulated from the erotic sensations pulsating throughout. He again struggled to breathe, and so he flexed his muscles, pulling himself up for several quick gasps of air, a momentary relief from the stretching. Enraptured by this display of masculinity, every female present gasped wide-eyed, for now not only did his powerful muscles hypnotize them, so to did his awe-inspiring fuck tool. Cargill's cock pierced the air like a spear in flight, thick, juicy and intimidating. With the paste thickening, its effect unleashed new rounds of testosterone inside him, which caused his scrotum to involuntarily clinch, which caused his mighty cock to spring towards his belly. Repeatedly, Cargill's thick and elongated worm waved up and down to them, as he slowly lowered his body and resumed the crucified posture of an heroic, defiant, sex-starved man.

He experienced sensations never before known to him. This ecstasy was higher than foreplay, higher than post-orgasm and yes, perhaps even higher than orgasm itself. His erect cock tried to expand well beyond its nine inches, if only its skin would allow it. His body writhed, belly sucked in, chest thrust forward, cock thrust forward, as he physically begged for them to ravish him. Females were tempted. These savages were being driven to madness from the sight of this amazing, mysterious white man. His powerful penis throbbed before them. His glorious muscles flexed, highlighted by the milky paste, fire from the nearby pit increasing his glow.

Cargill again pulled himself up until his shoulders touched the log, but this time it was not to breathe. He arched his back as though performing a swan dive, inviting the females to come to him, to engulf him with their salivating mouths and pussy holes. His protruding cock contracted and bobbed upwards with each heartbeat, the gooey white substance mixing with pre-come and oozing a long silky strand from his slit to the ground below.

She-warriors on either side of Cargill had the most tantalizing view, as he flexed his muscles to maintain this pull-up position. They could follow the manly line of his body starting from his rugged jaw jutting out, then curving back to the adam's apple. Flexed arms deepened his pits, thick hair matted by the erotic paste. Suddenly, the line protrudes forward, defining his powerful chest flexing and straining against gravity, two tiny tips of his tits emerging from the paste. Next came a dramatic curve inward under his rib cage, flowing down the length of his flexed and flattened belly, only to be gloriously interrupted by his pulsating, mighty phallus penetrating the air, begging for something more meaningful to fuck.

This all-encompassing display of manliness brought moans from his female spectators. Anticipation drove them to madness, as they marked time on their stools as though they had to pee. They frantically massaged their vaginas as salivating juices ran down their ebony legs.

Blue-face circled behind the man and launched him. He swung towards the circle's perimeter, where the chosen female reached out for a crucified, hard-dicked man. As his swinging body reached her, she clamped her hands onto his buttocks and inserted his magnificent penis into her pussy hole. She pressed his pelvis against hers and forced his manly organ deep into her vaginal walls, burying him into the heavenly surroundings of her pulsating clitoris. High-pitched shrieks were matched by deep-toned and manly groans, as she began to thrust her pelvis forward and back, riding this magnificent mount.

Cargill's belly and cock were pulled forward, while the crucifixion log pulled his arms back. He flexed his arms and expanded his chest, further displaying his manliness. His legs hung hanging limp towards the ground, toes frantically curled forward, and then arched back. This pose created a scene of heroic sacrifice. Cargill offered up his manly tool for her to do with as she pleased. And what she pleased to do was clutch her fingertips into his buttocks, thrusting his powerful unit deep inside her.

The upward angle of his approach maximized the stimulation of her clitoris, his swollen mushroom head perfectly shaped to make contact. Convulsions reverberated throughout her body as she frantically pounded his enlarged organ into her. Cargill gazed down his expanded chest to watch her work him over. He could feel her rounded breasts bouncing against him, her erect nipples driving under his rib cage again and again. His own nipples became stimulated, their tips erect and protruding out of the erotic paste. Their orgasms were conjoined in time. Sounds never before heard reverberated throughout the village. Wild beasts in the surrounding jungle awoke and alerted themselves to danger. Birds took to the wing from what they did not know.

The she-warrior kept him inside her until she could take no more. She released him to return to the center of the circle, while she collapsed to the ground, arching her back and thrusting her nipples toward the branches of The Milking Tree. The incredible power of this man continued to pulsate inside her long after his penis had been released.

Soon he was again in his stationary position, hanging crucified in the center of the circle, his cock still throbbing and ready for more. Blue-face sent him on his way. A second pair of hands clasped onto his buttocks and his incredible cock thrust inside a female warrior. Both man and woman cried out from the incredible sensations, as the spectacle was repeated. Soon he shot his mighty load into her, knocking her off her pedestal to writhe under the tree.

And so it continued. One after another, the fierce female warriors fell like bowling pins to the ground, fucked by a he-man, rendered useless rags to convulse, to thrust their nipples to the sky. The power of this mysterious man consumed the entire tribe - and one outsider.

Midway through the ordeal, Cargill's mind and body were tiring. He knew the paste would keep him erect as long as he could focus on the task at hand, but maintaining this focus was becoming more difficult for him. Thus, the test of which Trout had spoken.

Using the atmosphere of the jungle around him, Cargill instigated an animalistic aggression as a way to motivate himself. He re-invigorated his resolve with expressions of his masculine superiority. He taunted the inferior women, knowing they couldn't understand his language anyhow.

Each time a warrior took him into her, Cargill flexed his arms and bulged his chest to capacity. He grunted, gorilla-like, mocked her, dominatingly glared at her and challenged her. "You will never defeat me. I am too much man for all of you. I will service you and the next and the next until all of you have had enough. I will fuck all of you to oblivion. I will survive your goddamned test."

Interspersed with this language were animal sounds, grunts and ughs.

Cargill spoke the language of lust-crazed sex. That's all the Natashi needed to hear. It's universal. The combination of his powerful cock battering one clitoris after another, coupled with his animalistic verbal, facial and bodily expressions brought each of them to orgasm before they even knew what hit them. And Dr. Richard Cargill, crucified he-man, was there for them each and every time, maintaining his massive erection and pumping one manly load after another into savage female pussies.

Trout heard every word. He watched with amazement, as Cargill rendered one she-warrior after another into convulsing rags, writhing under the sacred Milking Tree. Trout himself was consumed by this man, and his infatuation caused his own pecker to bulge out from beneath his loin wrapping. He tired of trying to keep it concealed and removed the wrapping, along with his ridiculous vegetation crown, joining the rest of the tribe in naked glory.

Finally, there was but one of the twelve Natashi left unserviced. Cargill's body hung limp in the center of the circle. The only movement came from his rapid breath and still bobbing, erect penis. Lying on the ground, 11 females dreamily gazed at the night sky through the branches of The Milking Tree, still mesmerized by their prisoner's incredible masculinity. Vaginas continued to pulsate, vibrating from the aftershocks left behind by this man's amazing organ.

The lone female awaited his cock. Self-induced orgasm could have come to her long ago, as she patiently watched the 11 before her serviced by this glorious man, but she had restrained herself. Now her reward was at hand. He had already surpassed the performance of any others in the known history of the tribe. She was the chosen one, the Natashi female warrior prepared and honored to take this man to his triumph.

Blue-face sent him to her and their contact was instant ecstasy. Again the man's penis was engulfed by pulsating vaginal walls. She squeezed him with all her might, crushing his manly tool inside her. She waited patiently for him. Longing for this since his ordeal began, she now would take his magnificent penis to new heights, coaxing him to shoot.

She thrust herself back and forth, squeezing her powerful vaginal muscles around him. His dick felt as though she were standing on him barefooted, and he relished it. She prodded him, she worshipped him and manhandled him until he was ready. His mighty chest bulged as he prepared to shoot the final manly load.

Again, savage animal sounds permeated the village, as simultaneous orgasms brought two lovers to the pinnacles of ecstasy. She crushed his cock deep inside her, savagely coaxing out every ounce of manly come he had left to offer. He growled in ecstatic pleasure and pain, as she tortured his cock long after his orgasm was finished and seed extracted.

Then, mercifully, she released him back to the tribal leader and collapsed to the ground, joining the eleven before her who had partaken of this incredible man.

Now the entire tribe moved towards Cargill as he hung limp under the magical tree. They surrounded and knelt before him in reverence and awe. Those who had not felt his power reached out to touch him, to be a part of this historic moment, but Blue-face ordered them out of the circle. She was not yet convinced. Having not yet experienced his power, she now isolated and prepared him for his final ordeal. He still had not offered his sacrifice to the Natashi god, The Milking Tree.

* * *

Part 5 - Consecration

Cargill was completely exhausted. He had been bound in suspended crucifixion for hours. His body had been beaten, poked and drained of manly sperm again and again. The enormous amount of sweat he had produced was beginning to dissolve the stimulating paste and allow his erection to fade.

In the background stood Roger Trout. He had fully intended to continue the interrogation after Cargill failed the endurance test, but the man had not failed. His amazing performance had subdued the savage females and Trout himself was been more than impressed by the man's virility. More than that, he was totally overwhelmed by the power and manly strength, and now it was his responsibility to extract and provide this man's seed for sacrifice to the tree. Beyond that, Trout was consumed by his own personal urges to become part of this amazing man. His own penis throbbed as he entered the circle and approached Cargill.

Blue-face intercepted him, stopping him dead in his tracks. She ordered Trout out of the circle, making it clear to him that she would be the one to perform this sacred duty. Trout obediently stepped aside. He no longer felt threatened by the Natashi warriors or Blue-face. He wanted to be part of this glorious ritual, which had already reached historic proportions, and so he joined the female warriors sitting on the ground under The Milking Tree to absorb the incredible masculinity displayed above them. All were enraptured.

Kneeling before the tortured man, Blue-face took his fading penis into her mouth. Cargill twitched from this attack, jolted out of his dream state to the realization that his ordeal was not yet over. His mind, however, stirred to defiance. With the paste having lost its effect, Cargill knew that only will power could save him. After all he had been through, he was not about to let Blue-face win this battle, execute him and sadistically sever his cock. Of course, unbeknownst to him, Cargill no longer lived with this threat. He could never guess that it no longer existed, because the Natashi now worshipped him as a kind of man-god. Oblivious, Cargill focused every thought to one goal, and that was to shoot into this savage's mouth and prove to her that, as a man, he was her equal.

Between his will-power and her oral worship, the erection was achieved. Cargill's self-motivating animal lust now returned, stimulating himself to perform for her.

"Tonight you've seen a real man in action. So, you want some, too. Is that it? You can have it. None of your tortures will defeat me. I am more than you can deal with, you savage. I will choke you when I shoot my load."

Trout had to restrain himself when he heard Cargill's motivational speech. What kind of man was this? How could anyone service so many and still be prepared to give more? He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from jacking himself off, as one touch of his penis would cause him to explode.

As Trout struggled, Blue-face took control of Cargill. For hours she'd watched the evening's festivities with skepticism, but as this man had answered every beating and challenge one by one, she also became enraptured by this man's power. And now the focus of his strength was right where she wanted it to be: buried inside her mouth.

How long had she and her people waited for such a man to come to them? What an incredible honor she had been given. Here was the only man in the history of the Natashi tribe to pass the test of The Milking Tree, and she was the one to sacrifice this greatest gift to their god. This overwhelming honor fueled her passion to give this incredible man the performance of her life. This was not any kind of oral service, but something divine, a gift from the gods themselves.

Cargill sensed the excitement coming from the mouth of Blue-face. Her intense praise of him reverberated from his dick to his head to his toes. He flexed his arms and pulled his shoulders up to the log, forcing Blue-face to follow him upwards in order to continue her oral worship.

The spectators gasped at this amazing display of strength. They could see his mighty chest and powerful belly flexed to capacity, his manly grunts and verbal taunts driving them to madness. One of the she-warriors lost all control and pounced upon Trout, inserting his hardened pecker into her. Others now joined in, as they pinned his arms and legs spread eagled onto the ground. All the females who had not been fortunate enough to partake of Cargill now used Trout to fulfill their desires. Roger Trout was up to the task. As long as he was able to see the magnificent crucified Cargill being serviced by the Natashi leader, Trout could perform for them. And perform he did.

Cargill was mesmerized by the scene on the ground before him. Coupling this scene of orgy with memories of his own glorious orgasms, he could now see that two incredible displays of masculinity were simultaneously subduing the fierce Natashi warriors. As he watched the man below thoroughly satisfy one lust-crazed female after another, Cargill knew that both he and Trout had been elevated to the status of god.

This startling realization overwhelmed him and he easily summoned a huge load of sperm, flooding it into Blue-face. The incredible velocity of the explosion nearly choked her, but she was sworn to carry out her sacred duty and recovered to consume every last drop of his manly come.

Now she released the organ and rose to her feet, signaling to the rest of the tribe that it was time. They stopped their activities and drifted towards the symbol of Natashi power. Raising her hands to the sky, Blue-face gave praise to the mighty Milking Tree.

Roger Trout rose to his feet, his dick fully erect, and followed them towards the tree. Stopping before the crucified man, he looked up and smiled.

Cargill smiled in return. "There it is my friend, it is yours."

Trout immediately knelt and took the half-hard organ into his mouth. Finally, it was his turn. He abandoned all notions of the sacred ritual. How many dicks had he been forced to suck so he could spit sperm onto a friggin ' tree? This was what he had waited for - 16 years of waiting. A real man. A man whose sperm meant something.

His enthusiastic assault immediately brought Cargill to full erection. The man's powerful penis once again throbbed as it was lovingly worshipped. Trout took his moistened lips to the base of the unit, forcing the bulging head deep into his throat. He held it there and squeezed with all his might, pressing with his tongue and roof of mouth.

Cargill flexed and groaned at this incredible sensation. Now Trout slowly drew back his lips, gently massaging the underside of the shaft with his tongue, as he approached the head. Once there, his tongue lovingly wrapped around the underside, further stimulating the throbbing mushroom. Cargill twitched his fingers and toes. The incredible oral worship was driving him to madness. He had serviced 13 females, but the sensational praise lavished on his penis by this man was beyond heaven.

Blue-face performed the sacrifice, gagging herself and regurgitating the powerful man's sperm onto the trunk. Then, she gently placed her lips onto the tree and consecrated the sacred fluid with a gentle kiss, forever uniting this incredible masculinity with her Natashi tribe.

Blue-face began a woeful song of praise. For the first time, her gentle, feminine voice was heard.

This enchanting sound soothed Cargill. The pure beauty of it nearly brought him to tears and he gazed down his racked body to see Trout kneeling before him, heaping his praise upon his tireless cock.

The expertise, the slavish worship, the incredible heights of ecstasy were more than any man could deserve. The love he felt for everyone in the village consumed him, as he absorbed the realization that he had conquered and subdued this tribe of females with his incredible masculinity. The Natashi women had found a new respect and admiration for the male gender, thanks to these two men.

Trout's incredible expertise finished him and he shot another manly load into the eager mouth below. This time the orgasm was not one of lust, but of admiration and respect for all those who had serviced him this night. The emotion overwhelmed him and he cried out, as Trout continued to coax the last drops of precious fluid from his he-man.

The entire tribe now encircled Cargill and he was released from his suspension. The ropes were lowered and log cut from his wrists. He was laid spread eagled on the ground and surrounded by the tribe, including Blue-face and Roger Trout. They began dribbling him with spit and washing away the remnants of erotic paste. Cargill basked in this worship, as they lovingly massaged his tormented body, working their saliva deep into his muscles and every crevice from his armpits to the skin between his toes .

Sacrifice made and released from bondage, Richard Cargill was comforted and lavished with praise. The Milking Tree festivities were soon ended and all the Natashi drifted to their huts, dreamily enchanted by the magical evening they had experienced.

* * *

Part 6 - Two Worlds are One

Cargill and Trout were escorted to the grand hut, the residence of Blue-face. There, Cargill was attended to by his two admirers. They fed him, bathed him and treated his skin with moisturizing ointments.

For three days and nights, Cargill, Trout and Blue-face were seen by no one. During the nights, nobody in the village slept. They laid awake on their floor mats absorbing the animal sounds emanating from the grand hut, and because these sounds reminded the females of what they'd felt when the cock of Richard Cargill overwhelmed them, they summoned the men of their tribe from their dwelling. Their ankle bindings were cut and they were taken to the second-most important and largest hut of the village, where the six eldest Natashi females lived. Here, the three men were shown the art of making love like real men, not as slaves. No longer were they subjugated to mere functional intercourse, but instead were taken to utopia, absorbed into the new-found enlightenment of the Natashi females.

The three inhabitants of the grand hut worshipped one another, constantly changing combinations to please each other two on one. Blue-face was fulfilled countless times. Triangles were formed. Lips, fingers and tongues massaged and stimulated, bringing untold orgasms to each of them. The three lovers from two different worlds melded all their morals and desires together, radically changing both worlds forever.

When Cargill finally emerged from the hut, he stretched his naked body in all its glory to greet the morning sun. Blue-face and Trout remained inside on the sleeping mat, both of them chest down with his left arm draped over her shoulder and her right arm draped over his. Saturating the ground beneath the mat, the flow of their still-warm blood, once gushers, now trickled from their freshly-cut throats. And one by one Cargill visited Natashi huts, insisting that fierce Natashi females accept his cock into their pussy holes from behind while on their hands and knees, so that he could stifle their screams with his cupped hand as he slit their throats.

An arduous task it was, but Cargill thoroughly enjoyed each fuck. Methodically and magically he reduced their numbers, and when he finally entered what was now the orgy hut where three tribal men were busy poking into and being molested by six tribal women, Richard Cargill was confronted with a rather difficult decision.

What should he do with the three Natashi men? He certainly couldn't kill them, too. They'd done nothing but suffer themselves since the day they were born. And what of the six remaining Natashi women? Did his rage and desire to exact revenge justify the obliteration of an entire people? No, it did not, and besides, neither the female warriors nor their male lovers even noticed him standing there with bloody hand holding bloody blade. Nine serpentine forms of glistening ebony skin writhed, undulated and intermingled in a ceaseless festival of unbridled sex, a new method of entertainment, and all of it because he, Dr. Richard Cargill, had satisfied the challenge of their Milking Tree.

Although he was tempted to join them, Cargill had other priorities. In the Blue-face hut were his western clothes, his charts, his notes, and the Kutambi Elephant. He made preparations for his return to civilization. Once dressed and supplied with provisions of food and water, Cargill approached the pit, stoked its embers with a branch taken from The Milking Tree and gathered flame onto the branch. He set all reachable canopy afire. No more Milking Tree, no more need for sadistic rituals of regurgitated sperm and severed cocks, and as flame from one branch jumped to another and another, Dr. Richard Cargill left this village to its own fate. At the pace those three men and six women were going at it inside their hut, oblivious to Cargill while they fornicated a mile a minute, he expected they'd have the village repopulated in no time.

His tusks were intact, still wrapped in a pair of his cargo shorts and right where he'd buried them. Reaching the edge of Natashi jungle, Cargill was greeted by a vast plain. One hundred miles stood between him and civilization, but he made it, urged on by motivational speeches not far removed from those used underneath The Milking Tree.

"Torture me, will ya? Crucify me? Beat me? HA! Crazy bitches. Didn't know what they were dealing with. Milk my cock, huh? Think you're going to take it from me? Fat chance, woman. Fuck 'em... fuck 'em all... that's what I did."

Back home, Cargill had the statue and tusks expertly mended together. At auction, he watched in amazement as the bids for his Kutambi Elephant climbed higher and higher, far surpassing the estimated value of his hard-earned treasure. A fitting end to his wild adventure, he thought, and even though he enjoyed slitting the throats of that crazed cock sucker, Roger Trout, and his sadistic female Natashi partner, Blue-face, counting his millions was Cargill's ultimate revenge against all who participated in his tortures.

The next several years were devoted to one singular goal: duplicating that erotic paste. He paid a staff of chemists vast sums of cash in his efforts. He hired countless escorts and set up countless orgies to test what his chemists put together, but none of them ever quite got it right. In the end, it didn't matter. Richard Cargill came to the realization that his brain was all he needed. His memories of that magical evening transformed him from a sophisticated, well-traveled man, to a beastly, come-spewing masterpiece.

After installing his own Milking Tree in his own mansion, word of his parties spread like wildfire. Females from the world over paid him for the privilege of torturing him. "Go ahead, woman. Do your worst!" he'd grunt while hanging crucified and naked and waving his hard-as-stone nine-inch cock. Doing their worst resulted in them writhing on the floor, thrusting their tits towards the night time sky separated by a two-story solarium. And why wouldn't they? What possible threat could they pose for him? Richard Cargill conquered an entire tribe of fierce, female warriors with that cock of his. He feared no woman.

The mighty phallus is a powerful force, and that is exactly why no man should fear anyone at anytime anywhere.

Holy fucking crap! Ain't men beautiful?

* * *

The End

Copyright 2008 to Jasper McCutcheon

Jardonn's Erotic Tales.com

Copyright 2004-2011