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Message-ID: <48486asstr$1089839405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: stephen ambrose <chrutli@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} the nanai (snuff, caution)
Lines: 901
Date: Wed, 14 Jul 2004 17:10:05 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "nanai.txt" begin>

snuff.  You don't like it, don't read it.





   The Rites of the Nanai by Chrutli

   She was in the front row of his class, wearing a dark skirt that came
above her lovely knees and a white blouse.  Her long dark hair was done up
in a thick braid that fell straight down her back.  Her figure was
voluptuous, her face open and cheerful.  She had direct brown eyes, a
strong nose and jaw, a wide, full mouth.  She was one of those women who
men looked at and ached for, a startling beauty.  It was difficult not to
watch her as he lectured; every time Tom glanced at her, her eyes were on
him, direct, and there was a hint of a smile on those sensual lips.

   He lost his train of thought once, when, glancing at her, he saw her
unfasten the top button of her blouse, baring a hint of deep, inviting
cleavage.  He stopped for a moment, and, bless the girl, she dropped her
eyes and closed her blouse discreetly.

   She was, Tom realized, perfect; it was more than a casual distraction.
His attendance chart said she was Rachel Kingman; she was second year,
barely in her twenties.  For all her dark eyed beauty, she seemed a bit
innocent, smiling easily and broadly.  One more trip, then he'd have it
made.  At least one more trip.

   He wanted to meet her, but she took care of that herself.  She came to
his office after classes.

   "Dr.  Hunt?  I'm Rachel.  I'm an anthro major, and I'm a big fan of
yours.  I've read everything you wrote about the Nanai.  Do you have a
minute?"

   "I do if this isn't simply hero worship."

   Rachel laughed and flushed; there was an element of worship involved
then.  So.  Hr blouse had come unbuttoned again; not so open to be blatant,
but her breasts were large and the the space between them tanned and deep.

   "I hope not simply hero worship.  Anthropology has been a passion since
high school." Rachel hesitated.  "I'm sorry about your wife.  I hope I'm
not being too forward saying that."

   "Thanks.  I've come to terms with that." Tom paused; Rachel's beauty was
a bit intimidating, and his thoughts gave him a twinge of guilt.  She
wanted to sit down, but he hadn't quite invited her to.  "Listen, Rachel. I
haven't have lunch yet.  Do you mind coming back later?  Unless you'd like
to join me."

   "Oh, god, yes," Rachel laughed, then flushed.  "Yes, I would.  I haven't
eaten either."

   She was young then, naive, and incredibly beautiful.  ***

   Sam somehow always looked cool in the tropical heat.

   "Don't you think it's strange that they'd negotiate with you for me to
come?" Samantha asked.  It had been strange; the language of the Nanai was
difficult and obscure.

   "It's a patriarchal culture, Samantha.  You're considered my
possession."

   "Phooey," Sam laughed.  "You might have a piece of my heart.  The rest
belongs to me."

   "I know that.  Don't let them know, though.  You know what this can do
for my career."

   "Your career is going to be fine.  The first anthropologist to discover
the mysterious stoneage Nanai.  But this ceremony is just icing.  They even
sent you a robe to wear."

   "The robe is for you, love.  A woman at a mens' ceremony."

   "It's lovely, even if it is patronizing.  When you and Bukai were
talking, I go the impression you weren't going to witness the ceremony
unless I was there.  Is Bukai going to grope me again?"

   "He was giving you a blessing.  I'm sure he was giving you a blessing."

   "Sure," Sam laughed impishly, "He blessed my boobs, then he blessed my
puss.  If he tries to bless my womb with that big black cock of his, it's
going to ruin me for you."

   "So you just happened to notice he's hung like a bull?" Tom came up
behind his slim young wife and cupped her heavy breasts.  Her nipples
responded immediately, firming and swelling beneath his fingers.

   Sam laughed and squirmed in his arms, getting comfortable.  "Like I
couldn't notice?  That big thing behind that tiny loincloth?"

   "You don't find that monster of his attractive?"

   Sam squirmed around facing Tom and kissed him wetly.  "He's got enough
equipment for two women; it would hurt.  But you're the one has a piece of
my heart, and you've got some lovely equipment yourself."

   Tom squeezed her silky buttocks, pullling her tight against him.  "So,
you want to give me a piece of this too?"

   "We don't have time, do we?  We still have to set up the cameras and
mikes and all that."

   "The mikes are in place.  The cameras are loaded and set up.  How long
do we need?"

   Sam laughed and stroked the front of his jeans.  "You're ready, aren't
you?  Maybe a quickie."

   Louie, the boy Sam had been trying to teach English, knocked on the side
of their tent with his wood spear.  "Time now," he said, "You come.  Bring
wife."

   Sam giggled, then sighed.  "Later, okay?  Later."

   "You have to get naked, you know.  To put on the robe.  Need help?"

   "No," Sam grinned.  "I said later.  This isn't the time to get playful,
not if you want to witness your mysterious ceremony." She pushed Tom
outside.  Louie was already heading back into the village.  It was muggy
and sleepy in to morning sun; it seemed an unremarkable day.  Tom looked
forward to this rite; it was central to the Nanai religion.  It appeared to
be more than propitiation to their gods; they seemed to believe it was
essential for the world- the universe, actually- to continue.  The
religious ritual of an isolated stone age tribe; it promised to be unique.

   "Here I am," Sam appeared, wearing the coarse linen robe.  It was little
more than a drape or a toga, opening in front and extending to her calves.
Sam looked good, but the she looked good in anything.  Slim, tanned, and
smiling, she always loooked good to Tom.

   "Okay, nothing between your robe and your skin?"

   "Nothing," Sam said with a rueful smile.  "Bukai should cop a good
feel."

   Tom sighed and kissed her cheek.  "Samantha, this is really important. I
don't know how the ceremony is supposed to go, but we mustn't impose our
values on them.  You've seen how the women in the village act; respectful
and submissive.  That's how you should act."

   "Fat darn chance." Sam looked defiant.

   "Sam?  Please?  This is so important.  This is a first."

   Sam looked dubious.

   "They're fascinated with you.  Tall, voluptuous, blonde.  They've never
seen anyone like you."

   "White, too, you know.  You forgot that."

   "That, too, but they've never seen a white goddess."

   Sam laughed.  "Flattery won't win me.  So you want Bukai to grope me."

   "Think of it as a grope for science."

   "What if he tries to stick that black cock in me?"

   "You're on the pill, aren't you?"

   "You shit," Sam growled, more amused than annoyed.  "If he does, maybe
I'll let him.  That would certainly show you.  Maybe I'd like it."

   "Maybe you would," Tom laughed.

   Sam gave him a wicked half-smile.  "Maybe I would." ***

   There were a dozen young men at the edge of the village waiting for
them. They were lightly muscled, handsome young men, their slim black
bodies oiled.  Each carried a spear; each was completely naked.  They
typically wore a breechcloth, but not today.  They made no attempt to
conceal their erections, long, short, thick, straight, curving; each cock
was intact, oiled and black.

   "Oh, shit," Sam murmured, tensing.

   "Take it easy, hon.  Their attitudes towards clothing-"

   "Attitude, nothing.  They're in rut.  Those guys want to fuck me." She
shivered involuntarily.

   "I won't let them.  Please relax."

   "They're all hard, Tom.  They have spears.  You don't even have a pocket
knife.  They want to fuck me.  What are you going to do, throw cameras at
them until they quit?"

   "I'm not going to let anything happen to you.  Relax."

   "Relax and enjoy it, I guess.  I don't like this."

   For all that, the boys stopped short of the white couple, their faces
bright and happy and even a bit timid.  Sam relaxed somewhat, letting go of
her husband's arm and straightening her shoulders.

   "They're wooden spears, Sam.  They often carry spears.  Don't worry."

   Bukai was in their midst, naked as well.  His cock, though erect, still
pointed downwards, but not from a lack of spirit.  The thing was easily
fourteen inches long and as thick at the base as Sam's wrist.  Bukai
stepped forward among the young men and spoke to Tom, offering him a heavy
leather pouch on a thong.  Sam listened, puzzled and uneasy.  Tom accepted
it, hanging the pouch around his neck, and answered Bukai briefly.

   "What did he say?" Samantha asked uncertainly.

   "He thanked me and gave me this pouch in payment."

   "Payment for what?"

   Bukai spoke to Tom, glowering.  "I don't know what, hon, but he says you
must not speak."

   Sam opened her mouth indignantly, but Tom pressed a finger to his lips,
appealling to her.  "Go with it, honey.  This is new territory, and we have
to tread lightly.  It's okay.  Really."

   She frowned at him, then lowered her eyes and smiled at Bukai
uncertainly.  Bukai held out a wooden bowl to her, gesturing that she
should drink the dark violet fluid in it.  Sam took it, smelled, tasted. 
"Sweet," she murmured.  "Like cough syrup." She took a swallow.  Bukai
stopped her when she started to hand it to Tom, and spoke sternly.  Tom
answered him back.

   "Sam, he says you're to drink it all.  Something about purifying you, I
guess."

   Sam looked uneasily into the thick fluid, then looked uncertainly at
Tom. Tom wondered if there were drugs in the stuff.  There was almost
something, but would it harm his wife?  For an instant, he almost took the
bowl from her and called it all off, but this was too important.

   He knew nothing about this ceremony.  It made him uneasy that Sam was
being somehow singled out.

   "My gosh." Sam gave a sudden hard shiver and looking at her husband, her
eyes went wide, and her pupils dilated fully.  She gave a murmuring little
sound, pursing her moist lips.  She looked around, looked into the bowl and
looked at Bukai, who gestured, smiling, drink.  She drank the bowl empty;
then she licked it dry, turning her tongue and lips purple.

   She giggled and swayed and Tom caught her waist.  Bukai took her from
him, pushing Tom away firmly.  "You have accepted payment," he said in his
language.  "You may not touch her." Sam gave a throaty laugh, eyes
half-closing, her own hands cupping her breasts lightly.

   Alarmed, Tom sputtered protest.  With a word from Bukai, several of the
young men turned their spears toward him, urging him away from his wife. 
Bukai lifted one of Sam's firm heavy breasts through her robe, his eyes
lighting up as he squeezed and molded the lush mound.

   Sam giggled, and made a husky murmuring sound as Bukai led her away, her
eyes dreamy as she leaned on the older man.

   One of the young men was Louie.  "What is happening?" Tom asked him, his
voice panicked.  "Why are you taking my woman?"

   "We are thank you for this goddess of your tribe.  We buy her flesh. 
You take payment.  You don't stop what must be."

   "I didn't sell her to you!" Tom said angrily.

   "Payment," the boy said, pointing his spear at the pouch hanging from
Tom's neck.  Behind the boy, Bukai and Sam disappeared into the tribal
lodge, a sort of low-ceiling lodge for the men and elders.  The village
clearing basked in the sun behind the spear-bearing boys.

   Tom pressed against the spear.  "I want my wife released.  Immediately!"

   "Payment.  You mess, we kill you dead.  Then we ceremony.  You not mess,
we ceremony, you not be dead."

   "I don't want to interfere.  I want to witness this with Samantha at my
side.  You've drugged her."

   "You mess, you dead.  You not mess, you not dead.  We do this right, or
bad things happen."

   The spears were wooden, but the points were sharp, the wood hard as
iron. Tom couldn't fight three young men with spears, even wooden spears.
The young men were skillful with them.  Even if he could, Sam was in the
lodge surrounded by more young men, all armed with spears.

   His heart sank.  There wasn't anything he could do.  "You mustn't hurt
her," Tom said helplessly.

   All of them looked at him oddly.  "She is goddess.  How we hurt?" Louie
said.

   Tom shook his head.  What was going on?  How could he have misunderstood
things so badly?  "What are you going to do?  Why have you taken her?"

   "The drink-" he had a word for it- "It makes her spirit soar.  It make
her spirit loose from her flesh, and no pain.  We give her spirit up to the
gods.  We free it from her flesh.  Then her flesh is ours.  You accept
payment.  Her flesh is ours."

   "You're going to kill her," Tom said in English.  "A sacrifice." His
head swam.  "She's not a virgin," he said in their language.  Didn't they
need virgins for sacrificial rituals?  He felt foolish even saying it; it
was a modern assumption.

   The boy cocked his head.  "Why that?  We give her our seed, she take it
to the gods to be blessed when we set her spirit loose."

   Tom began shaking; this couldn't be happening.  When Bukai ducked back
through the opening of the lodge house and came towards them, a confused
sense of relief filled Tom.  He'd misunderstood, that was all.  The
language was difficult, which made confusions like this almost unavoidable.
Bukai was coming to straighten things out.  Sam was all right.  She was
going to be all right.

   The boys all talked at once.  Bukai listened impatiently, then turned to
Tom.  "You make your pictures now.  That is our agreement.  You have
accepted payment."

   Then Bukai directed one of the boys to follow Tom, and to kill him if
need arose.  Kill him he said; there was no mistaking that.  Bukai started
towards the lodge, then looked back.  "You take your pictures now or don't.
We don't wait.  We must begin."

   Tom groaned and shook his head.  He couldn't think; he didn't know what
to do.  The village beyond the lodge was quiet in the morning sun, women
cooking at small fires with small children about them, a sleepy
counterpoint to his panicked thoughts.  What could he do?

   Tom glanced at the boy nervously threatening him with the spear, then he
turned and walked to the lodge, stepping in.  For a moment, he was
sun-blinded and couldn't see.  Slowly his eyes adjusted.

   Sam swayed in the center of the lodge.  Some eyes followed Tom when he
entered, but more were trained on Sam.  Bukai offered her more of the
liquid, and she drank greedily as he touched her hair, her shoulders,
murmuring something soft to her.  She giggled, murmuring words that Tom
couldn't make out.  Bukai lifted and squeezed her breasts, smiling gently.

   She hadn't been hurt.  So far, she hadn't been hurt.

   There were five video cameras in the hut; Tom went to each one in turn,
turning them on and aiming them carefully.  As he went to the last camera,
a happy murmur went through the boys; Bukai had slipped the robe off Sam's
slim body, and she held her arms out as if she was on display.  She seemed
only casually aware of things around her, though she was in obvious
pleasure.  She raised her arms, her breasts rising and swaying.  He nipples
were swollen erect and her vulvate labia sparkled with moisture.

   The young men closed in on her as Tom focused the last camera on her
body.  Hands wandered over her, stroking, squeezing every surface of her
tanned flesh.  Some sort of oil was poured over her shoulders, and those
same dark hands smoothed it into her skin.  Bukai worked her breasts and
nipples, his eyes intense.  Sam smiled vacantly, absently relishing the
hands on her skin, and a bit of drool ran from the corner of her mouth.

   There was a crossbeam in the center of the lodge, under an opening in
the roof for smoke.  They tied Sam's outspread arms to it, pulling her arms
around the top, to the back of the beam so she was bent awkwardly back. 
Sam let her head loll back, her breasts pointed upward.  Two boys lifted
her hips and knees, spreading her trim thighs and exposing her wet cunt.

   The first boy stepped up with Bukai's murmured encouragement.  The boy
thrust blindly between her legs, once, then again.  Bukai took the boy's
cock and guided him into Samantha's cunt..  The boy pushed his black cock
deep into her wet pink, grinning.  Sam rocked with the thrusts of his long
black cock into her.  He was young.  In ten deep thrusts, he grunted and
finished, digging his hands into her upthrust breasts and grinning proudly.
He stepped away, his cock still hard, but now glistening.

   Another boy took his place, his cock thicker and curved.  He worked her
hard nipples, as he pushed in and out, and Sam raised her head, smiling
benignly as he thrust.  He lasted longer, and Sam's thighs and buttocks
tensed and shivered once, an orgasm that made her drop her head back and
giggle.

   One by one the thick black cocks entered her pink slit, pumped and
spewed semen.  At times, Sam rocked and writhed, her buttocks hardening
into orgasms the made her taut breasts quiver.  Other times she was
oblivious, head lolled back, a confused smile on her lips.  Some boys were
rough on her breasts, crushing and tugging them as they thrust.  Others
were gentle and caressing.  Sam barely noticed.They were all fascinated by
her creamy breasts, though.  As one after the other they filled her cunt
with cock and semen, Sam's coarse nipples swelled, as much from brusing as
from pleasure, and the pale veins beneath the skin of her breasts stood
out.

   Tom watched anxiously.  They hadn't killed her.  He felt paralyzed,
watching his pretty wife's ravishment.  They hadn't killed her, he thought,
but a sense of dread filled him.  They hadn't killed her, but there was
nothing he could do if they did, and the ritual wasn't likely to end with a
cigarette and a chat.  He was an anthropologist.  He knew of similar
rituals, and they always ended in blood sacrifice.  Always.  There was
nothing he could do.  The boy beside him jabbed his spear at Tom's ribs
anxiously.

   Finally Bukai, with that normous cock of his, leaned between Sam's
glistening thighs.  He was too big; even with Sam's cunt drolling semen, he
couldn't press that fist-sized glans into her.  Sam tilted her pelvis to
receive him, urged her hips forward, but he was simply too big for her. 
Bukai grunted a few harsh words, and stepped back.  The boys holding her
hips and legs pulled her calves up and tilted her hips backward, curling
her spine back in a way that might have been painful had Sam not been so
drugged.

   Bukai came at her from behind, gripping her hips firmly for leverage. 
He heaved once and then again, but he was too impossibly large.  Sam's head
came forward and her eyes went to Tom.  He suffered for her, but he wasn't
even sure she recognized him.  Her lips moved, and her eyes remained on
him. Stretched around the beam so severely, her belly was a flat plane.

   Then Bukai was working at her cunt with something thick and hard,
thrusting it into her brutally.  Sam gave a hoarse grunt, and then Tom saw
what it was.  Bukai had been thrusting a thick wood cudgel into her, making
her bigger for him.  When he was finished the wood was dark with blood. 
Tom's heart sank even as his cock began swelling.  He was ashamed at the
black desire rising in him, but he couldn't deny it.

   Sam gave another grunt when Bukai raised his cock to her cunt and rammed
into her.  She made little sound beyond that, lost in some drugged ecstasy.
When he drew out, a gout of blood burst from her and splashed down her
thighs.  After that initial blood, though, little more came out.  Bukai
thrust and thrust, grappling with her heavy, oiled breasts, working in and
out of her slowly, savoring the sensation, grunting and grinning himself.
When he finally came, he rammed deeply into her body and growled, rolling
his hips and giving hard little pushes into her taut belly.  ***

   It was Saturday and there were no classes or obligations.  Rachel was
tangled in cotton sheets, asleep on her back, one arm thrown over her head.
Her breasts were magmificent; even laid back, they stood high and firm, a
young woman's hard breasts.  Tom stroked her tight belly and she murmured,
but didn't stir.  Her nipples were relaxed now, broad flat disks of
tissue-soft flesh, with barely a pip in the center of each.

   Tom wet one nipple with his tongue, and moved a fingertip in gentle
circles around the center bud.  She sighed, and her nipple rose and
swelled. They were exquisitely sensitive.  The soft disk became a generous
bulb, flushed dark-red, a series of tight whorls surrounding a bud that had
thickened to a blunt stub, somewhat coarse, deeply cleft in the center. 
Her nipple swelled so prodigiously that the swelling aureola pulled lighter
flesh up into the gorged bulb.  Rachel smiled and squirmed when he laved
her other nipple with saliva.  That too swelled with gentle caresses,
filling to a blunt-tipped bulb.  The cleft in that nipple was tripart, like
a Y, deep.  Tom suckled each hardened nipple in turn.  Rachel sighed and
gave a throaty laugh.  "Fuck me from behind," she murmured, "That way you
can get deep, and you can play with my boobs."

   Then she slithered down to his hips and took him in her mouth.  She
worked the head a moment, then pressed her throat down on his cock, burying
her nose in his pelvis, holding him so deeply in her throat for a
breathtaking moment.  ***

   Sunlight filtered through the hole in the longhouse roof, making traces
across Sam's naked body.  Sam's arms were bound to the beam, her head
thrown back, her face still lost in private pleasure.  A gout of red-tinted
semen spilled down her thighs when Bukai drew out and stood back from her.
He lifted her head and brought another bowl of the liquid to Sam's mouth;
she roused and drank greedily.  Bukai was the last to fuck her, and Tom
held his breath, dread and unwelcome desire mingling in his heart.

   Bukai gestured, then, and a young man came forward, cupping her left
breast and squeezing it so her nipple bulged and distended outward.  Bukai
lifted a narrow steel dagger to her nipple and thrust it into her flesh,
into the center of the mass of her breast, twisting and tugging it free as
he lifted a bowl to the wound.  The young man kneaded her breast, milking
her.  Bright blood squirted into the bowl like breast milk.  Sam lifted her
head, her face showing more surprise than pain, and watched her own breast
being milked.

   Tom felt a violent surge of anger, of shame, of dark and unwilled
desire. He couldn't save her; he knew that now.  But wanting to drink from
her pierced nipple, to taste her, that was something he'd couldn't have
expected.  He wanted her.  He wanted to fuck her before she died.

   Naked, bleeding, lost in a drugged ecstasy, she had a strange, atavistic
beauty to her.  Tom had never wanted her as much as he did now.  He had
never wanted any woman as he did his wife at this moment.  Her imminent
death made his desire even more acute, and though the desire shamed him, he
could not deny it.  Her lighlty muscled body gleamed in the light filtering
from above.

   Bukai apparently felt the same dark desire, despite having just had her.
As he began painting strange signs and sigils on her glistening, naked
body, his black cock thickened and rose again.  A boy lifted and crushed
her other breast; Bukai thrust into it with the iron blade.  Sam grunted,
frowning.  He lifted her chin and drew figures on her face with the bright
blood from her other breast.

   He painted other sigils on her shoulders, covering her body with her own
blood, murmuring softly the entire time.  Sam raised her head once and
smiled down on him with a curious benificence, then let it fall back.  She
didn't hurt.  Tom took a small comfort from that, though a brutal desire
darkened his heart.

   Finished, Bukai stepped back for a moment to admire her naked beauty,
then stood forward again and lifted each breast to his lips.  He licked,
then suckled.  The wounds were deep, but her nipples were largely intact, a
dark slit where the knife had passed into the mass of her breast.  Sam
could survive such an injury, Tom thought.  Antibiotics.  She'd survive. 
She hadn't been fatally injured.  She could still survive.

   He was lying to himself, and he knew it even as he hoped it was true. 
They were going to sacrifice his wife.  Sam was a blood sacrifice.  He was
videotaping her ritual murder.  He hated the way his cock had swollen,
lusting now, but he couldn't deny the hunger.

   Bukai touched her swollen, bleeding nipples reverently, then stood back
and gestured.  The young men stepped up, one by one, and suckled at each
breast.

   They all stepped away, and Bukai walked around Sam's naked body,
uttering incantations lost to Tom.  Inanely, he realized he was grateful
the chant was being recorded.

   Bukai gestured solemnly to a boy, and the boy approached Sam, a short
spear in his hand.  He studied her a moment, balancing the spear, then
thrust it into her belly, just below the ribs.  Sam convulsed.  He pushed
again, heaving, and the spear came through her back, where he left it.

   Tom experienced a moment of horrific, agonized desire.  Sam's belly
hardened, and she tried to lift her head, but failed.

   Another boy; he thrust his spear into the inside of her thigh, below her
swollen sex.  It emerged from her buttock.  Sam squirmed and kicked once,
her breasts leaping, then she lay still, her head falling back again. 
Another boy approached; Sam lifted her head enough she could lay it on her
shoulder.  She watched the spear slam into her taut belly, and frowned.

   Tom's face hardened, and he tensed, but then there was a spear touching
his side, the boy holding it looking fearful and determined.

   By the time the fourth spear had entered her body, deeply piercing her
left buttock, Tom accepted that he wasn't going to do anything.  His
beautiful wife Sam was being slaughtered.  He ached for her, he cringed at
his cowardice, but there wasn't anything he could do.  If he interfered,
they would kill him, and Sam would still be slaughtered.  Sam looked down
at the spears in her body, frowning vaguely, confused.  Did she realize she
was dying?

   Another young man, another savage thrust.  The young man had slammed it
through her belly, left of her navel.  Sam gave an odd grunt and shivered,
but she didn't seem altogether aware of what was going on.  The spear stuck
out of her front and back, dark blood trickling from her wound.  They
weren't killing injuries, any of them, at least not immediately fatal.  Tom
realized that each young man would push a spear through his wife's naked
body, and that she wouldn't be killed until they had.

   Another young man, and a spear slammed through her thigh, inside her
thighbone.  Sam snorted and shook her leg, frowning, then threw her head
back with a groan.  Bukai lifted another bowl of the purple liquid to her
lips, lifting her head.  Sam lapped it greedily, the fluid running down her
chin and throat.  Bukai splashed more on her breasts, on the the crude
piercings of her body.

   Another spear, thrust upward into her exposed armpit.  They were
avoiding her chest, Tom realized, her heart and lungs.  Another spear,
passing through the side of her belly and out her waist.

   She was dying.  Tom knew she was dying, but he wanted her, he wanted to
be inside her while she was still flushed and alive.  For all the horrific
injuries her body was suffering, he was helpless to do anything but to want
her.  He loathed those who were killing her, and loathed himself for the
black desires that were clamoring within him.

   Tom was shocked when Bukai pressed between the circle of boys and
offered Tom a spear.

   Tom shook his head angrily, refusing.

   Bukai insisted, then gestured to his chest, shaking his head: not there.
He flattened one hand and passed a finger from the other hand between
flattened fingers: it must pass through her body.

   He was being offered an honor, he knew, a chance to redeem himself in
their eyes.  He accepted the spear.  Was he going ot impale his own wife?
What difference would it make?  The spear was crude, a heavy wood thing,
fire-hardened on one end and polished to a point.

   The dark desire propelled him into the circle.  He found a spot on her
belly next to her navel, touched it lightly, then thrust.  It made a wet
sliding sound, like a knife in a cabbage, and it went in so easily.  A
light thrust pushed it entirely through her tight belly.

   Sam's breasts jumped and settled, but she didn't raise her thrown- back
head.  Tom cringed as he came in his trousers, and he extended his pleasure
shamefully by rubbing himself.  Smiles and soft laughter spread through the
boys, and Bukai smiled mildly himself as Tom withdrew behind the cameras.

   Her eyes were closed, and for an instant Tom thought she was dead, but
then she licked her lips and swallowed.  Sam was still alive.There was more
to come.  Was she even aware?  Did she know her own husband had speared
her, hurrying her death?

   Bukai was the last.  He came up to Sam and lifted her right breast,
kneading it, savoring the feel of her firm flesh.  Then he took up a spear
and presented it to her nipple, dimpling the swollen flesh.  He lifted the
mass of her breast slightly, and with a brutal surge, slammed the spear
through her breast, through her chest, and out her back.  The head and six
inches of spear jutted redly just below her shoulder blade, the shaft
dimpling her breast inward.  He gathered her impaled breast in both hands
and drew the flesh out on the shaft so it had resumed its rounded contours.
Satisfied, he did the same with her left breast, thrusting into her
brutally, then tenderly pulling her breast out along the shaft.

   Sam's body arched with each thrust, but she didn't lift her head.  She
coughed once, then again, and darkness spattered around her lips.  Even
pierced through so many time, she was beautiful and Tom felt his cock rise
again despite his orgasm.  She had a lovely throat, bared so submissively,
so helplessly.  Her lips moved, and she coughed again, bringing arterial
blood running down her chin.  Her breasts- and the spears piercing them-
leaped when she coughed, then settled.

   Murmuring some indistinct chant, he took up what Tom recognized as a
simple, modern meat cleaver.  He touched her throat, her breasts, her sex,
then took a step back.  It took three slashing blows, practiced and
precise, to split her breastbone apart.  The first blow made her breasts
slap together, and left a dark gap in the center of her chest.  Sam gave a
breathy cry with the blow.  The second nearly split her ribcage apart.  The
third glancing blow opened her chest and half her belly, a skillful
slashing cut that only went an inch or so deep.

   Bukai levered her ribcage open with the spears buried in her breasts,
and boys rushed forward to grasp the edge of her ribs, to open the
glistening darkness of her chest further.  Sam's big breasts swung outward,
under her arms.  Bukai reached into the wet throbbing darkness with both
hands.

   Sam's tortured body arched, Legs straightening, buttocks hard, and she
gave a hissing gurgle.  ***

   Rachel wandered to his desk; she was wearing only his shirt, unbuttoned,
barely covering half her silky tanned buttocks.  She was breathtaking.  Her
large nipples swelled up and out at the least provocation, and they tented
his shirt now."What's this?" she asked, indicating a mahogony box.  In each
velvet lined compartment was a razor-sharp spearhead; there were two dozen
of them.

   "It's a gift."

   "It's an odd gift, isn't it?  Who gave it to you?"

   "Not for me.  From me.  For the chief of the Nanai.  Their spears are
crude, wooden points hardened in fire.  I thought something more
sophosticated would help them."

   "You're not worried about corrupting them with modern stuff?"

   Their chief, Bukai, has a stainless steel cleaver as good as anything
you can get at an upscale kitchen shop.  They're isolated, but not totally.
I think it's okay."

   Tom got up and found a photo on his desk, handling it to Rachel as he
nuzzled the silky nape of hre neck.  "That's him."

   "My gosh!  That's unnatural.  Is that his, or is it a totem or something
attached to his loincloth?"

   That's all him.'

   "Are you going back sometime?  Can I go with you?"

   "Does Bukai's wienie impress you that much?"

   "Gosh, no!  That thing would rip me open if he tried to get it in me. 
You're plenty big for me."

   "The rules are different in the jungle.  It's dangerous there."

   "I know.  I still want to go."

   "I'll think about it." Tom said.  "I can think of one way you could
influence me."

   Her full lips spread into a broad smile, and her eyes sparkled.  ***

   Bukai stepped back from the dark gaping space of Sam's torso, her
quivering heart in his hands.  He lifted Sam's head and pressed her heart
to her lips, then kissed it himself and passed it to a boy.  Each young man
in turn kissed it and passed it on.  Tom watched Sam, though.  She writhed,
rotating her hips.  Her head started up as if she would look around, and
then finally fell back.  It was finished.  His Samantha was dead.

   Bukai began tugging the short spears from her glistening body.  He eased
the spears tenderly from her breasts, licked each mound clean, and suckled
blood at each hot nipple.  She was dead; she must have been dead, but her
body still jerked and quivered.  Her flat belly was still quivering when
Bukai began cutting it open, gutting her in preparation for the roast.  Tom
left the lodge then, but the cameras recorded everything, right up to the
point where San's fresh steaming body was spitted and carried out to the
roasting pit.  ***

   In a dusty little bar on the harbor at Macapa six weeks later, Tom
nursed a rum and his grief and guilt.  He was so lost in his misery that he
barely noticed the older man who sat beside him.  Sam was gone; it seemed
there weren't going to be any legal consequences, but out here at the edge
of civilization, he wasn't surprised at that.  She was gone, and the most
fervent image he had of her was the moment Bukai and thrust the first spear
into her breast.  That was the moment he had wanted her the most
desperately; that was the moment he knew with complete certainty she was
going to die.  She had died.  She was gone.  He'd been drinking for two
days, and he was far enough gone he didn't hear what the old man said the
first time.

   "I beg your pardon?" he said, not very interested.  The old man was
well-enough dressed, a white cotton suit, but he looked like life had been
cruel to him.

   "The authorities weren't terribly curious were they?"

   Tom shrugged, half-turning from the man.

   "You started to tell them, but they suggested it was an accident, or a
jungle fever."

   Tom glared at the man, and the man waved the bartender over and ordered
a gin.  He didn't speak again until he had his drink and sipped it.

   "You found it easier to let them believe that than to tell the truth."

   "Who are you?" Tom glowered.

   "A fellow traveller.  It doesn't matter."

   "Why are you bothering me?"

   "Because some several years ago, my Carmelita shared the same fate.  A
beautiful woman, Carmelita.  I was foolish; I tried to stop them.  The
spear they stuck in me missed anything vital, of course, but my Lita wasn't
so fortunate."

   "Who are you?  You're an anthropologist?"

   "Nothing so noble.  They were a bit afraid of me, you see, because I'd
been run through and hadn't died.  I passed out, though, and when I came to
they were suckling her bleeding breasts.  Lita smiled down on each one, it
was so strange.  They were suckling her life's blood."

   Tom didn't lose his scowl, but the old man had his attention.  The man
lit a cigarette, and looked out on the dusty sun-bleached street.  "I
pulled the spear in my chest out myself.  They thought I wa reborn, or
returned from the dead, or some such.  Superstitious fear.  They nursed me
back to health because of that.  Just the same, they forebade me ever to
return when I was well enough to travel."

   He shrugged and smiled at Tom sadly.  "The Nanai have a word for the
woman who carries their messages to the gods.  The word itself means
"tender soul," but only and always it refers to their sacrificial victim.
That word is wa-if, or as you might say it, wife.  You didn't know that,
did you?"

   Tom shook his head.  "No."

   "Neither did I.  They were always a small tribe, you see.  The ritual is
urgently important to them.  They're immensely grateful when a woman comes
from outside.  It doesn't diminish the tribe that way, you see, and there's
something exotic about white women." The man gestured to the waiter. 
"Vodka this time, please, Henry." Then he fell silent for a time, and
neither man spoke.

   "Don't let yourself feel too badly.  It was a simple misunderstanding,
really, and she didn't suffer.  I've sampled the herbs they used; it has a
powerful narcotic and hallucinogens in it.  What your wife felt was the
most intense pleasure, and some confusion.  She didn't know what they were
doing to her, you see, or why it didn't hurt."

   Tom winced and finished his shot, then poured another.  "I loved her."

   "Indeed.  I loved my Lita.  But she is gone, and you can't bring her
back.  She didn't suffer.  It's a small comfort, but still a comfort."

   "I've lost everything.  I hate them, all of them.  I'd like to get a
machine gun and-"

   "Don't.  It gains you nothing.  They don't even deserve it; what they
did they considered both necessary and honorable.  It's over.  Let it go.
Hate will only harm you."

   "You can't know how I feel.  How can you know?  I did nothing.  She's
dead because I did nothing."

   "She's dead because of a misunderstanding.  You could do nothing.  They
would indeed have killed you.  Let it go."

   "I loved her," Tom groaned.  "I loved her."

   The man regarded Tom calmly, then said, "Not to be too crass, but they
paid you for her, didn't they?"

   "A little leather pouch full of pebbles."

   "Do you have it?  May I see it?"

   The pouch was still on its thong around his neck.  Tom put it on the bar
and the man opened it, running a finger through the stones.  "Rough
diamonds.  Perhaps half a million here, on the legitimate market.  Half
that on the black market, if you're skillful in selling them.  Less if
not."

   The grizzled man chuckled at Tom's astonishment.  "Odd, isn't it? 
They're such a gentle and peaceful people.  They're brutal ritual isn't
merely propitiation; they believe that it sustains the universe.  They
believe the roof of the world will collapse, destroying everything if they
don't do it up proper.  I think Bukai likes it because its the only time he
can stick that obscene business of his into a woman, but on the whole, they
see the sacrifice as a grave obligation.

   "The Nanai have their own values; they consider these stones the tears
of gods.  They alone know where the diatreme is, and they won't reveal it.
Except for this one ritual, they are a peaceful and happy folk.  That's
what they value." The old man sighed, looking out at the dusty street and
the bright sunlight behind them.  "The question is, what do you value?"

   "What do you mean?" Tom asked cautiously.

   "I'm a treasure hunter, you see.  But I betrayed them; I can't go back.
They would kill me.  You, however, can.  I can tell you that they favor
tall, voluptuous women for their rite, and for reasons I don't understand,
olive-skinned brunettes.  My Lita was one of those Mediterranean beauties."

   "Are you suggesting I return to them with-?"

   "I'm asking you what you value.  You needn't answer me.  Ask yourself
that."

   Tom scowled.  "I think I'd like to be alone, if you don't mind."

   "As you wish." The man stood and dusted his trouser.  "Brunette, olive
skin, big breasts.  Bukai is fond of big firm breasts."

   "Leave me alone," Tom growled.  The older man left, and Tom didn't even
look over his shoulder to watch him depart.  ***

   Tom had told her how it was going to go, but Rachel kneeling formally in
front of Bukai was her own improvisation.  It pleased the chief.  She
lowered her eyes and opened the mahogony box, raising it up in a sort of
offering to Bukai.  Tom explained to Bukai what they were, and the black
man's eyes lit up.  Tom put his hand on Rachel's shoulder; she was wearing
a plain white shirt and a little lace bra; Bukai could look right down her
blouse as she knelt, and he did so with relish.  "This is Rachel, my wife,"
he told Bukai, and then repeated it in English.

   Bukai's eyes lit up even farther; Rachel, understanding something
different, flushed and smiled, raising her eyes from the ground for a
moment to show Bukai, and then Tom, her radiant smile.  "My wife," Tom said
again.

   Rachel licked her lips, eyes again downcast.  "Yes," she said.  "Wife."

   "Wa-if," Bukai giggled.  Her took Rachel's hand and stood her.  She kept
her eyes lowered as he his hands went from shoulder to breasts to belly. 
She shivered when he pressed fingers against her vulva, Bukai murmuring in
his language as he touched.  She didn't draw back, as Sam had; indeed, she
opened her slim thighs slightly, smiling secretly even as she kept her eyes
properly downcast.

   "That's a funny way to ask a girl to marry you," she said when they were
alone in their tent.  Tom shrugged and smiled.  Her sensitive nipples were
erect from Bukai's attentions, and she kissed him when he started
unbuttoning her blouse.  "You're a little rough, you know.  You leave me
sore sometimes."

   "You want me to be more gentle?"

   She knelt, kissing the rise in his trousers as she unfasted his belt. 
"It's like you can't get enough of me, or like you'll never have me again."
She tugged trousers and shorts down and licked his cock.  "No.  No, I like
the way you love me.  Sore I can live with."

   Tom smiled darkly and pressed her back on the camp cot.  Tonight she was
his alone.
   THE END

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