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Message-ID: <34474asstr$1010185803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Laura Davis" <ldavis4@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Jungle Dreams by Laura Lynn Davis F/F/F/F/F Violence, Human Sacrifice
Date: Fri,  4 Jan 2002 18:10:03 -0500
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Jungle Dreams by Laura Lynn Davis
Copyright 20002


	The dream started a week after I arrived at the site of the dig, deep in 
the Guatamalean jungle.  In the dream I'm standing at the head of the path 
that leads from the camp to the dig site, 200 yards away.  I'm fully clothed 
- jeans, a denim work shirt, heavy work boots, and a hat to protect my 
complexion from the sun.

	I walk down the path to the dig site, not hurrying like I usually do in my 
eagerness to get to work.  When I arrive I find the site has been 
transformed.  It's no longer a hole in the jungle floor with little 
evidencen of the temple pyramid that once stood on the site.  Instead, the 
temple stands there in pristine glory, looking as if it had just been 
completed.

	I climb the steps to the summit of the temple.  The altar is situated 
exactly in the center of the square summit - an area about fifty feet 
square.  The altar is made of the same stone as the pyramid itself but it's 
been smoothed and polished.  I am shocked at the sight of the huge phallus 
that juts up from the altar.  It's green and my first throught it that it's 
jade.

	The phallus is very realisitc excepted for its size - it's about 18" high 
and as thick as my forearm.  I get another shock when I finally reach out 
and touch it - it's smooth and warm.  It doesn't feel like stone at all.  It 
feels like living flesh, soft, warm living flesh!

	I stand there staring at it for what seems like hours.  Then, slowly, I 
remove my clothes, folding each item carefully and placing it at the base of 
the altar.  When I'm done I stand there nude for several minutes.  My skin 
is warm and I'm soon covered with a light film of perspiration.  My breasts 
bounce gently as I climb onto the altar.

	I stand there and stare down at the phallus for a moment before mounting 
it.  It's too big for me but I force myself down onto it, whimpering as I 
feel myself being stretched.  Once it's inside me, the head touching my 
cervix, I freeze in place, staring at the rising sun, my breasts cupped in 
my hands.  My nipples are hard and pointy.

	After a couple of minutes I begin to move up and down, fucking myself on 
the phallus, squeezing and fondling my tits as my excitement grows.

	Time passes as I fuck myself, eyes closed, head thrown back.  I don't know 
how much time has passed when I realize that I'm no longer alone.  I open my 
eyes and see a row of beautiful young women facing me.  They have black hair 
and beautiful brown skin, slender women in their late 'teens.  There are 
seven of them, all nude, all stunningly beautiful.  The woman in the center, 
the most beautiful of all, is the obvious leader.

	She gestures and they surround me.  My wrists are pulled behind my back and 
tied with soft cords.  I continue to fuck myself on the phallus while the 
woman caress me - breasts and buttocks, belly and thighs, back and 
shoulders.  One girl crouches and rubs my clit with the tips of her fingers.

	The leader approaches slowly and kisses me on the mouth, her tongue probing 
deeply.  I moan as my orgasm starts.  My body shakes and I whimper as it 
goes on and on and on.  The kiss ends and she bends and picks up an obsidian 
knife that I hadn't noticed.  Suddenly I know that I am about to die, a 
sacrifice to the god of fertility.

	She touches my throat with the knife, then my belly, and arches her 
eyebrow.  The question is obvious - do I want her to gut me or cut my 
throat?

	I tilt my head back, presenting my throat to the knife.  She smiles and 
stares into my eyes as she cuts my throat.  I feel my warm blood running 
down over my breasts and belly.  She dips her hands in the stream and smears 
my blood over her small firm tits and down between her legs.

	Then, very deliberately, she laps my blood up from the palm of her hand.  
My vision begins to fade.  She steps close and cuts my heart out just before 
I die.  My last sight is of my still-beating heart cupped in the palm of her 
hand.

	The dreams ends and I wake up in my tent, nude and drenched with 
perspiration, my body trembling uncontrollably.  This has been happening for 
a month now but I wasn't really scared until Isabella Vargas arrived in camp 
earlier this morning.  I was shivering in terror when I shook her hand, the 
same hand that I've seen every night for a month, holding my still-beating 
heart.

	It's late afternoon now and Isabella has settled in.  She's sharing my 
tent.  Tonight I think she'll hold my heart in her hand again, but I won't 
be dreaming.

The End

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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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