Missionary Position
Part 1 of 3
-- by lightswitch © January 2009

[nosex, BF, WF, WM, teen]

Synopsis: An anthropology researcher and an arrogant missionary
woman experience a cultural clash with a newly discovered tribe
of primitive people, deep in the African rainforests.

Note 1: All dialog in the Nguni tribal language is depicted in
brackets [like this].

Note 2: The hardcore action doesn’t start until Missionary
Position, Part 2, but I encourage you to read Part 1 for the full
appreciation of what follows.

===============

Already sweltering in the humid, African early afternoon, Morgan
almost felt as if he were in hell. But that was due more to the
tedium of listening to the attractive missionary preaching nearby
to the small group of tribal people encircling her, than from the
heat.

“Go through, my children!” the beautiful young redhead exhorted
the small group of tribesmen clustered around her. “The time of
miracles is upon us. Let us cast off sin and walk together to the
Garden of the Lord. With God's mercy we shall meet again on the
other side.” (1) 

Morgan tried to ignore her annoying sermonizing, even as he
strained his peripheral vision to take in the gorgeous form of
the only other white person within hundreds of miles.  Her prim
linen dress, its ivory fabric not as light as the attractive
missionary’s pale skin, clung to her curvaceous body as she
perspired in the tropical heat.  Morgan smiled as he tried to
force his attention back to his anthropology notes. 

“I’ll bet that these men came more to ogle Miriam’s tits than to
listen to her hellfire and brimstone,” he chuckled. He pretended
not to watch as the fiery redhead’s breasts bounced enticingly
each time she gesticulated in blissfully ignorant religious
fervor. The only white woman these tribal men had ever seen was
probably in her early 20s and stood about 5’5”. 

Miriam had the soft curves of a woman who had never spent a day
of hard labor in her life.  The distracted researcher tried to
get his mind back on his work.  This job was too important to
compromise by wasting time gawking at a religious fanatic, no
matter how attractive. 

Not for the first time, Morgan marveled at the incredible luck
he’d had in getting this assignment from the University.  

“Imagine,” he thought, “in this day and age! An actual, hereto
undiscovered tribe of primitives!” 

There was so much that could be learned from an anthropologic and
sociologic view! 

The perspiring grad student frowned. 

“So much to be learned IF the environment isn’t contaminated by
outside influences,” he scowled, glancing resentfully at the
gorgeous missionary who was unwittingly thrusting her full
breasts out as she raised her arms heavenward.  Sunlight shone
through the thin fabric of her gauzy, ankle-length dress,
revealing the outline of her lithe, slender body. 

“No underwear,” Morgan whispered, his mouth going even drier than
it had been. “She’s not wearing any underwear.”  The smooth
contours of her body, silhouetted by the bright sunshine clearly
revealed that the gorgeous zealot was not above going Commando to
mitigate the brutal African heat. 

As much as he enjoyed this arousing bit of eye candy, Morgan was
more angered at the possibility that this pure and pristine
anthropology opportunity might be sullied by the curvaceous
missionary’s influence. 

“How did her church even know these people were here?!?” he asked
himself for the thousandth time. The University only came upon
this lost community – the Bantu, an offshoot of the
well-documented Nguni tribes – a few months ago. Morgan had come
out and verified their existence two weeks ago. One week later,
Miriam had shown up, Bible in hand. 

Morgan scanned the small crowd of assembled natives.  As he’d
suspected, all the faces he could see were males, ranging in age
from 13 to 40.  And all had their eyes glued to the alabaster
beauty’s curvaceous body as she paced and preached. 

Except for one. 

With a start, Morgan saw the tribe’s wizened shaman, Isandlwana,
sitting quietly near the back, taking in the passionate redhead’s
speeches – the only female in the group.  The woman was about 50
– ancient by tribal standards – and stood about 5 feet tall.
Following customs he had already picked up, Morgan bowed his head
toward her, in respect. Isandlwana gave him a friendly nod of
acknowledgement. 

“What’s the Wise Woman doing here,” Morgan wondered, “listening
to Miriam’s drivel?”  He had recognized Isandlwana as being very
intelligent and a virtual master of political intrigue.  Did she
perceive the naïve missionary’s preachings as subversive – a
threat to the Old Ways?  Surely she wouldn’t fall for Miriam’s
religious prattle! 

The grad student’s musings were interrupted by a fearful cry from
a young black man who ran past, apparently fearing for his life.
“Flee!” he screamed, waving his arms as he sprinted through the
clearing before crashing headlong into the jungle foliage. “She
comes!  Judaa comes! And she bears VENDA!” 

The eyes of the assembled men widened with horror and, as one,
they rose and fled into the jungle, leaving the stunned white
woman with an audience of one. The expression on Miriam’s face
was one of surprise, anger, and humiliation. She was no longer
the center of attention. 

But realization soon dawned on her: The men were being chased!
“Help!” the lovely missionary pleaded to Morgan. “What’s out
there?!? Is it some horrid animal? A lion? A snake?” 

Morgan was laughing so hard he couldn’t speak, clutching his
sides as he rolled on the ground. The lovely redhead flushed with
anger. 

“You!” she shouted, turning to face Isandlwana, “What’s out
there? Should we run?” 

The old Wise Woman regarded the white girl placidly. This only
served to infuriate the terrified missionary. 

“What’s the matter with you?” the angry redhead demanded. “Are
you deaf? Dumb? Why don’t you answer me?!?” 

Morgan intervened, more to cut off Miriam’s tirade and avoid
angering the shaman. 

“She doesn’t answer because you are speaking English,” Morgan
informed her. “It’s because you never bothered to learn their
language. I’ve told you before:  We need to learn their customs
and ways of life.” 

The lovely young missionary scowled, pulling at her sweat-soaked
dress in an attempt to let some air in to cool her skin.
“They’re savages,” she snipped, “it is God’s will that we teach
them our ways so as to civilize them.” 

The smile dropped from Morgan’s face and he felt a righteous fury
overcome him. 

“It is NOT our place to ‘civilize’ them!” he shouted. “What
arrogance! To assume our ways are superior to theirs? What we
should do is allow them to live in peace and learn THEIR culture,
to better understand Man!” The indignant grad student was livid.
The haughty redhead was momentarily taken aback, but her attitude
soon returned. 

“Civilized people speak English!” she said, turning up her nose.
“If you know their primitive tongue so well, you ask her: What
was chasing those men? Are we in danger?” 

Morgan let out a laugh. “Not unless Judaa is a lesbian,” he
snarked. “I don’t have to ask the Wise Woman; unlike you, *I*
have been studying the Bantu ways and learning a bit about their
language, customs, and history.” 

They were interrupted by a big woman who crashed through the
jungle foliage, into the clearing. As was the Bantu custom, she
wore a loincloth of antelope hide … and nothing else.  Her
massive breasts, covered with a sheen of sweat, bounced like
ebony basketballs as she pursued her prey. Those enormous breasts
would have been freakishly large on most women, but were almost
proportioned to Judaa’s. Unlike the average Bantu woman, who
stood about 5’5” to 5’10”, this giantess was about 6’10” and
towered above the other villagers – and the two white outsiders. 

Just like every time he saw her, Morgan was struck by this big
Amazon’s savage beauty.  She had an absolutely beautiful face –
perhaps not by conventional Western standards, but beautiful all
the same. He watched the fascinating play of muscles, visible as
they worked beneath her dark skin. Her hips were wide and full,
signaling her fertility. Her legs were thick and muscular. She
looked as if she could crack coconuts between her thighs … or
between her full, muscular asscheeks. 

In her big hands, Judaa clutched a wooden bowl from which wafted
an enticing aroma.  This was the cause of the men’s panic.
Morgan turned back to the astonished missionary. 

“May I present …,” he said, gesturing towards the dark giantess,
“Judaa.” 

The white man smiled at the big woman and waved. “[Good hunting,
lovely one!] he called. “[Whomever you catch will be a lucky
man!]” 

The dark skin of the giantess’ lovely face flushed and she
lowered her eyes, embarrassed but appreciative of a rare
compliment. Morgan pointed in the direction of the fleeing men
and Judaa smiled her thanks before crashing off in pursuit.
The three who were left in the clearing watched in silence as
Judaa thundered off. 

The elderly shaman was the first to speak. 

“[Such a shame,]” Isandlwana sighed, eyes following the sound of
the Amazon’s trek. [“Judaa is a good woman -- a strong woman --
and will be a powerful force for our people. She deserves a good
man -- a man who will cherish what she has to offer – not those
weak-willed fools who think only of their own feeble male
pride.”] 

Morgan nodded. [“It is as you say, Wise One,”] he agreed. [“Judaa
is a strong and beautiful woman. The men should see her as a
prize and vie to be chosen by her, not foolishly flee such a
gift!”] 

Isandlwana regarded him, smiling her approval at the young anthropologist’s
words. 

[“I have told her not to ‘settle’ … not to chase after every man
in order to just to get a man,”] Isandlwana sighed. [“I have
asked her to let me make arrangements for her … to guide events
to provide the *right* man for her. But … she nears 20 summers
and is fearful of dying a virgin. She …”] 

Miriam interrupted. 

“Will you two stop chattering in that heathen tongue?!?” the
redhead snapped. “And will someone tell me why that woman was
chasing those men?” A loud growl emitted from the white girl’s
stomach. 

“And tell me why she couldn’t share some of that
delicious-smelling food she was carrying!” Miriam complained. 
“I’ve been preaching all morning and I am starving!” 

Morgan bristled at her tone. 

“Why should I bother going over this yet again?” the grad student
complained. “I’ve tried to tell you about the Bantu rituals and
customs time and again and you ignore me or forget.” Morgan was
always torn when it came to Miriam … she was so lovely that he
always wanted to sleep with her, but was always so bitchy that he
wanted to punch her. 

“The Bantu are a matriarchal society,” he tried to explain. “The
women make the rules. This may have originated due to the average
Bantu male being four to eight inches shorter than the average
Bantu female. One of the many ways in which women dominate is by
being the ones who get to select mates. They do this by means of
a ritual called ‘Venda,’ by which they present a bowl of curried
fish stew to the prospective mate.” 

Morgan fought back a wave of irritation as he watched the
beautiful redhead yawn. 

“Those presented with the gift of Venda have two choices,” he
continued, “accept the marriage proposal or be forever banished
from the tribe. The ritual of Ubuntu is the second phase. This
requires the couple to wrestle publically in order to determine
which partner will be dominant in the relationship.” 

Morgan decided there was no reason to tell the prudish missionary
that Ubuntu was a sexual wrestling match to establish dominance,
and that the winner was the one who forced a climax from their
partner first. If one was so inclined, the only acceptable way to
decline the union was to win Ubuntu first, although this was rare
… probably because the woman inevitably won the contest. 

He glanced up to see Miriam’s reaction. 

The lovely missionary was examining her nails, obviously bored.
“So why was she chasing those men and why was she too greedy to
share her food with us?” Miriam asked. Morgan tried to control
his anger; he didn’t want to lose face in front of the Wise
Woman. 

“I just TOLD you,” he said, curtly. “Judaa was trying to enact
Venda – trying to present a man with the ritual offering that
would force him to accept her marriage proposal or face
banishment. The Bantu are a strictly monogamous people and the
men fear Judaa’s overwhelming dominance. It seems that no man
wants to tie himself to a lifetime of submissiveness to such a
powerful woman.” 

It was evident from Miriam’s expression that she had lost
interest in the explanation once she had determined she, herself,
was in no imminent danger. Morgan was about to chastise her yet
again on her self-centeredness when another person entered the
clearing. 

It was Lular H’minee, a priestess of the Bantu, carrying a
covered basket of woven reeds. 

Lular was a dark beauty of indeterminate age. Morgan guessed she
may be about 16 years old, give or take 2 years.  Standing about
5’7” and exquisitely proportioned, her exposed, taut young
breasts hung like two, perfect, mahogany mangoes.  They swayed
seductively, making Morgan’s mouth water with desire. Most of his
recent fantasies rotated between Lular, Miriam, and Judaa.
However, he knew this research expedition was the chance of a
lifetime, so he was determined to play by the rules. For an
outsider to make overtures to a priestess …! He didn’t want to
risk being banished from a people he’d come to love. 

Besides, Lular had her sights set on an advantageous political
match with a well-positioned local buck. 

Morgan saw Miriam scowl. The lovely young missionary was
obviously perturbed that someone else had again robbed her of the
spotlight of attention. 

In spite of his arousal, Morgan was on guard. It was well known
that this beautiful young priestess was vying to unseat
Isandlwana as tribal Wise Woman – the highest position in the
tribe. Lular seemed every bit the political schemer and
manipulator that Isandlwana was and people were making wagers as
to whether she’d succeed. In spite of her youth, Lular was
already on the tribal Council of Elders, having successfully
convinced them that wisdom was not necessarily correlated with
age. 

Morgan felt the icy coolness descend as the two rivals regarded
each other. 

[“Pleasant day, Old One,”] Lular smiled, nodding to the Wise
Woman. The subtle use of “old” for “elder” was not lost on
Morgan. 

[“And to you … child,”] Isandlwana smiled. 

“Ouch” Morgan thought, trying to repress a grin. That pause
before the world ‘child’ had been the perfect rejoinder, in his
opinion.  From the corner of his eye, he saw Miriam grimacing at
being left out of the conversation again. 

“Tough!” Morgan thought. “She should try to learn the native
tongue and not expect everyone else to adapt to her convenience!”
The young priestess’ beautiful features froze momentarily at the
Wise Woman’s subtle put-down, but she was poised enough not to
let the smile slip from her face. 

[“Has anyone seen Nwabudike?”] she asked, ignoring the jibe.
Nwabudike was a handsome young man from a prominent family. It
was no secret that the aspiring priestess had set her sights on
acquiring him, both for her own pleasure and for the political
advantage such a union would bestow. 

Morgan watched Isandlwana shift uncomfortably. 

“The Wise Woman must know all of this,” Morgan realized. Had the
old fox been outmaneuvered by the beautiful, scheming young
vixen? 

[“I have a special gift for him!”] Lular said, patting the basket
she carried. Isandlwana couldn’t repress a sharp intake of
breath. 

[“You mean …?”] the Wise Woman whispered, eyes widening in
distress. 

The priestess was smug in her moment of triumph. 

[“That’s right,”] Lular said, grinning broadly. “Today, I gift
Nwabudike with Venda!” 

As if on cue, a handsome, well-muscled young black man stepped
into the clearing, looking about furtively. 

“Is she gone?” he whispered. 

Isandlwana and Morgan laughed. 

[“Yes,”] the Wise Woman told him. [“Beautiful Judaa has left …
more fool you for not taking advantage of such an offer!”]
Isandlwana’s face grew sad. 

[“You’ll never find a lifemate as good as Judaa.”]  Her words
were for Nwabudike, but her eyes were on Lular. 

The young black man was oblivious to the Wise Woman’s warning and
smiled widely as he stepped into the clearing. He was soon joined
by the other men who had been fleeing the lusty Amazon. 

[“Perhaps I shall trip you next time,”] Nwabudike joked to one of
his friends, [“so that Judaa can finally win her mate and be
sated and we won’t have to be antelopes ever on the alert for the
lioness’ approach!”] 

[“I note that *you* did not actually flee with your brothers,]
Isandlwana goaded, [“but stayed hidden in the underbrush. 
Perhaps you secretly wished the beautiful Judaa to claim you? Or
were you just too enthralled by Master Morgan’s explanation of
our Venda custom?”] 

Nwabudike laughed, but fell silent as his eyes fell on the lovely
young priestess. Morgan noticed the young black man’s loincloth
twitch. 

Lular smiled seductively and reached into her basket, pulling out
a wooden bowl. The savory aroma of curried fish stew wafted about
us. 

Nwabudike’s eyes widened in surprise, pleasure, and anticipation. 

This is it, Morgan realized. The young black man was about to be
presented with Venda.  And there was no question he was ready to
accept, and submit to the beautiful, domineering young priestess.
Lular extended the bowl, grinning in her moment of final triumph.
Making this union would nab the young priestess the most handsome
man in the tribe, as well as almost guaranteeing her acceptance
by the Circle of Elders as the tribe’s new Wise Woman. 

Nwabudike reached out to accept the gift of Venda. 

Morgan realized this would be an incredible triumph for the young
black man, as well. Lular was the one of the most beautiful and
well-connected woman in the tribe. Further, as a priestess, she
was privy to secrets for enhancing acts of sex, for both
partners, promising couplings of unimaginable intensity. 

The young tribesman was already stiffening at the thought of how
the beautiful dark priestess would use him every night.  His
answer was soon plain for all to see, as it thrust his loincloth
up. 

[“Beautiful priestess,”] Nwabudike murmured, his voice thick with
pride and lust, [“I humbly accept …”] 

Without warning, Isandlwana fainted. 

Morgan reflexively tried to catch her, but the diminutive old
woman seemed to spin in his grasp, falling forcefully against the
young priestess. 

Caught by surprise, Lular fumbled the Venda bowl. Trying to
regain her hold, she stumbled forward, into the inattentive
missionary.  The young priestess finally regained a firm hold on
the bowl, which was now wedged partway into Miriam’s ample
cleavage. 

The missionary, bored by chatter in an unknown primitive tongue,
hadn’t been following the conversation. She looked down,
uncomprehendingly, at the bowl thrust against her chest. 

“What’s this?” she snapped, in irritation. Her scowl faded as the
delicious aroma drifted up to her nose.  The attractive
missionary’s stomach rumbled loudly. 

“For me?” Miriam said, snatching the bowl from the stunned
priestess’ hands. “Why thank you! Maybe you people aren’t such
uncultured savages as I first thought!” 

The arrogant redhead grabbed the wooden spoon in the bowl and
began shoveling the delicately spiced concoction into her mouth.
Everyone else in the clearing stood there, stunned, watching.
Lular was the first to break the silence. 

[“NOOOOOO!”] The beautiful priestess wailed, launching
herself at the white girl and clawing to retrieve the bowl.
[“Evil white she-devil! What are you doing? That is my Venda gift
for Nwabudike, not for the likes of you!”] 

Not knowing a word of the Nguni language, Miriam was clueless.
She turned, shielding the bowl from the dark priestess’ grasping
hands. 

“No take-backs!” the young missionary declared, her words garbled
as she continued to furiously scoop the delicious stew into her
mouth. 

Between the two of them, Lular and Nwabudike were finally able to
wrest the Venda bowl from the white girl’s greedy grasp, but only
after the feisty redhead and eaten over two thirds of the
contents. 

[“There’s still some left!” Nwabudike sighed. [“But not enough. I
can wait here until you make more.”] 

Lular scowled, shooting glares between the mostly empty bowl, the
gluttonous missionary, and Nwabudike. 

[“It takes two full days to properly prepare Venda!”] she spat at
her intended fiancé. [“If you think I am going to go back and do
this all over again, you have the brains of a mountain gorilla!”] 

Nwabudike flinched under the angry priestess’ lashing. 

[“You will make do with what is left!”] the irate young black
woman told him. Isandlwana, miraculously recovered from her fainting spell,
stepped forward.
[“Not so fast, child,”] the Wise Woman interjected. [“You have
already Venda-gifted someone and can neither retract such a gift
nor extend the remnants to another.”] 

Lular, Nwabudike, and the rest of the crowd regarded her in
puzzled silence. 

An angry Lular finally responded. 

[“What are you talking about, old woman?”] she asked, angrily. 

[“No other man has received my Venda gift! It would be completed
as intended if this clumsy white cow had not gorged herself on it
when I stumbled against her.”] 

The Wise Woman regarded the priestess patiently, as one does a
child who is slow in her lessons. 

[“They who receive the Venda gift must partake,”] Isandlwana
said, reciting the traditional ritual rules. [“They who partake
must enter a life union with the presenter, the dominant member
to be decided via Ubuntu.] 

Lular’s temper flared. 

[“I know all that, you old hag!”] the lovely priestess snapped,
forgetting decorum in her anger. [“Don’t think to quote ritual to
ME! That is what I am saying: That ghost-devil woman interrupted
us when she ate the Venda offering I intended for Nwabudike! She
should be punished for interfering, even if she is an outsider!”]
With a visible effort, Lular calmed herself. 

“She’s probably realized the repercussions if word of her
demeanor got back to the Council of Elders,” Morgan thought. 

[“Still,”] the young priestess said, composing herself, [“I am a
reasonable woman. I shall forego my rightful claim to punish the
white bitch so that I can finish Venda with Nwabudike.”] 

Isandlwana regarded the beautiful young priestess placidly. 

[“They who receive the Venda gift must partake …”] the Wise Woman
repeated. 

[“You already SAID that,”] Lular snapped. [“So, unless you are
implying that this white outsider bitch has accepted my Venda …”] 

Realization came crashing down on the young priestess. 

[“No!”] Lular gasped, eyes widening in horrified anger. [“You
can’t be serious! You can’t mean to impose a technicality such as
…!”] 

The Wise Woman gave the young girl a smug smile. 

[“I *am* serious,”] Isandlwana said, a stoic mask stealing over
her features. [“And the letter of the law is exactly what I
intend to impose.”] 

One could see Lular’s mind working, scheming … trying to work
this new set-back. 

[“She is a female!] the priestess protested. [“She has no cock!
Two women cannot enter a life union! There is no precedent for
…”] 

The beautiful black woman’s protest tapered off as a horrified
realization hit her. 

[“Ah,”] Isandlwana said. [“I see you are remembering your history
lessons!  Yes, although rare, there has been precedent for two
women to join through Venda.”] 

The young priestess erupted in fury. 

[“You senile old fool!] she bellowed. [”I see your scheme!
Manipulative bitch! You think that if you can force me into such
a union, I will be ineligible to keep my place on the Council of
Elders! I would never be regarded as a viable Wise Woman!”]
The lovely priestess’s pert breasts heaved as she panted in
anger. 

[“You won’t get away with this!” the dark beauty raged. [“I
insist we take this matter to the Council!”] 

The Wise Woman bowed her head. 

[“As you wish,”] she murmured, and turned to return to the
village. 

Morgan could swear he saw her repress a smile. 

* * * * * * 

The Tribal Council convened to hear this unusual case.
The Council was composed of six women, deemed the wisest of the
tribe. At their head was the Wise Woman, who only voted to break
ties. 

Lular had been permitted to present her case and Isandlwana had
presented her alternate case. Morgan suspected that each of the
Councilwomen were wise enough to see past the surface issues and
recognize the politics behind this conflict. 

[“This is all foolishness!”] Lular angrily shouted at the
assembled Council. [“Schemes of a desperate woman who seeks to
hold onto power when change is coming!”] 

One of the Councilwomen signaled for silence. 

[“Present your objections,”] she told Lular. 

The young priestess leapt at the opportunity. 

[“As I have stated, I never intended to Venda gift the outsider
bitch!”] the priestess spat angrily. [“I intended to obligate
*Nwabudike*! It is only due to Isandlwana’s interference that I
did not complete the action.”] 

The Councilwoman nodded and conferred with the other women
briefly. 

[“I am sorry, young priestess,] the elderly Councilwoman said.
[“The ritual law is clear and the Venda gift was eaten. If it had
been an accident, rather than a movement fated by the gods, the
recipient would not have verbally accepted nor have partaken.”] 

Lular seethed but had one more gambit. 

[“Then I submit that the gifting was invalid because the
recipient is an outsider and not subject to our laws,”] the
priestess announced, a smug smile creeping over her lovely
features. 

The Council deliberated much longer on this point and it was
almost 6 p.m., by Morgan’s watch, when they returned. Lular,
although a member of the Council, could not vote since she was
one of the parties involved in the dispute. 

“This is GOLD,” Morgan chortled, furiously scribbling notes. “I
can’t believe my luck in being allowed to witness tribal Council
deliberation!” 

When the Council returned from discussion, the spokeswoman asked
Lular if she had any more arguments. The young priestess wracked
her brains but could come up with no other viable protests. 

[“Then,”] the Councilwoman announced, [“know that we find the
outsiders are *not* exempt from our laws. Precedent has been set
in periodic hunts for mates from other tribes, so as to bring new
blood into the village.] 

The young priestess was on her feet, shouting. 

[“But these are ignorant outsiders who know nothing of our
customs and rituals!] Lular screamed, spittle flying from her
full lips. [“It was a complete accident that the white woman
accepted Venda … due more to her stupid, self-centered nature
than from a desire to be my mate!] 

Isandlwana stood and everyone fell into a respectful silence. 
Even Lular, still seething, became quiet. 

[“The outsiders are neither ignorant nor ignorant of our ways,”
the Wise Woman stated, with quiet authority. “In fact, the white
man has been studying our rituals and customs, much to his
merit.] 

The Councilwoman regarded Morgan, surprised. 

[“Is this true, white man?”] she asked. [Are you familiar with
our language, our ways, and our customs? Can you even understand
what I am asking?”] 

Morgan stood and bowed his head respectfully.  A murmur of
approval went through the assembled Council. 

[“As she ever has,”] Morgan said, speaking in the Nguni tongue,
[“the revered Wise Woman speaks truth.] 

While several of the tribespeople were aware of Morgan’s growing
fluency, the cloistered Council members had not been, and were
suitably impressed.  They quizzed him on a variety of rituals and
customs, finally nodding their approval. 

[“This is insanity!”] Lular protested. [“Admittedly, the man is
not *as* foolish as the woman. He *has* taken the time and effort
to learn *some* of our ways. But *she* has not! She is ignorant
of our customs and doesn’t even speak our language!”] 

Isandlwana smoothly interrupted. 

[“What the youngster says is partially true,] the Wise Woman
conceded. [“The white woman is ignorant of our tongue. However,
she is not ignorant of our ways. The white man has explained the
traditions of Venda and Ubuntu to her on numerous occasions.”] 

The Councilwoman turned to Morgan. 

[“Is this true, Outsider?”] she asked. [“Did the white woman
knowingly agree to Venda?”] 

Morgan was torn.  How to respond? He knew that Miriam was
clueless about the repercussions of her actions.  But if he
didn’t back Isandlwana now, the Wise Woman would surely be
unseated by the arrogant young priestess. 

[“I have indeed lectured my companion on many occasions
regarding the rituals and customs of the Bantu,”] he said,
balancing a fine line between fact and necessity. He paused,
hesitant to admit the truth he knew would free Miriam, but give
Lular her ultimate victory over Isandlwana. 

“Go ahead, Master Morgan,” Isandlwana told him, speaking in
perfect English. “Do what your heart tells you is right.”
Morgan stood, stunned. 

The Wise Woman knew English? Had she had been privy to every
conversation he’d had with Miriam, when he’d believed such the
discussions confidential? 

“How naïve of me,” he thought, chuckling, “to believe I was the
only one with intelligence and wisdom to learn the language of
another!” How could Isandlwana have accomplished such a task –
learning a complex language within a few weeks, merely by
listening, with no formal instruction? Morgan knew that he had
had many of the villagers helping him, as he endeavored to learn
Nguni. 

What to do? 

He looked at the beautiful missionary, who sat scowling at the
assemblage. 

“What are these ignorant savages talking about?” Miriam demanded. “And why
do I have to sit through this? I have better things to do than
sit with a bunch of people who are all going to Hell, anyway,
unless they do as I say.” 

The lovely young redhead gave Morgan a pointed look. 

“And that includes you, you godless heathen-lover!” she sneered.
Morgan’s gaze shifted to the serene features of the Wise Woman.
Then to the smug look on Lular’s beautiful, young face. 

Morgan made his decision. 

[“It is as the Wise Woman has said,”] Morgan told the Council,
watching in satisfaction as Lular’s mouth dropped open in
surprise. [“In fact, I was reviewing the rituals of Venda and
Ubuntu with her just before her acceptance of Lular’s Venda. I
had gone over these many times before. She was surely aware of
what she was doing.] 

Morgan paused, unsure of how far he should go. 

[“In fact,”] he murmured hesitantly, [“my companion had told me
on several occasions how she longed to be taken as the priestess’
mate – to be totally and completely dominated by the dark
beauty.”] 

[“LIES!”] Lular screamed, leaping to her feet. [“The white man
lies to protect the senile old fool who arranged this plot!”] 

The Councilwoman banged her staff on the ground, commanding
attention. 

[“Silence!”] she demanded. [“Such an outburst is unbecoming one
who has a position on the Council!] She turned to face
Isandlwana. 

[“Revered Wise One,”] she said, [“while I do not doubt your
words, I ask if there is any proof of your claims?”] 

Isandlwana smiled gently. 

[“No offense is taken,” she reassured the Councilwoman. [“You are
just doing your job. As a matter of fact, there is another who
can substantiate my words – ask young Nwabudike if the white man
had told the white woman about Venda and Ubuntu.”] 

Silent and submissive among the more dominant women of the tribe,
Nwabudike went ashen as he heard Isandlwana’s words. 

[“What say you, warrior?”] the Councilwoman asked him. [“Can you
verify that the white man had informed the white woman of the
rites of Venda and Ubuntu prior to her acceptance of Lular’s
gift?”] 

Nwabudike’s eyes were wide with horror and fear. Lular’s gaze
drilled holes in his skull, but it was the Wise Woman who spoke. 

[“Honest Nwabudike,”] Isandlwana murmured gently, [“Remember your
training. A man must always speak truth when questioned by a
woman.”] 

Nwabudike was in torment. He knew the results his answer could
have, either way. Finally, he collapsed on the ground. 

[“Yes, revered Wise One,”] he gasped, in misery. [“It is true.
The white man did lecture the white woman on the rituals of Venda
and Ubuntu, immediately before the incident when she accepted.”] 

[“Nwabudike!”] Lular shrieked, jumping to her feet. [“How COULD
you?!? Do you know what you have done?!?”] 

The Councilwoman thumped her staff on the hard-packed earth,
signaling for silence. 

[“Nwabudike,”] she said, not unkindly, [“it has already been
established that the white woman cannot understand out tongue.
How is it that you know what the white man told her?”]
The miserable black man sobbed in anguish. 

[“It is because … because … the Wise Woman has been teaching me
the Outsider tongue,”] he cried. [“I am not fluent, but I knew
enough to grasp the gist of the white man’s lectures to the white
woman.”] 

The Councilwoman banged her staff again. 

[“Then it is settled.”] she announced. [“It is the decision of
the Council, then, that Lular H’minee honors her Venda and be
united with the outsider … Mir-i-am.”] 

The elderly Councilwoman gave the young priestess a hard look.
[“Do as you are commanded or be banished from the tribe,”] the
older woman told the stunned priestess. 

The lovely teenager was livid with rage. She shot venomous
glances at Nwabudike, Isandlwana, Morgan, and … finally, at
Miriam. 

[“Very … well,”] the priestess sputtered, nearly choking on her
rage. [“But know that if I am to be denied the pleasures of
Nwabudike’s perfect, masculine body, that I shall take my full
vengeance on the white bitch who is responsible for my loss!”]
Lular regarded the beautiful, but clueless redhead with a
malicious glare. 

[“Let us prepare for Ubuntu!”] the angry young priestess
declared, turning and stalking away from the Council circle.
Morgan wondered if he had made the right decision. 

* * * * * * * 

By tradition, Ubuntu started at dusk, three suns after Venda
acceptance. 

Word spread rapidly in that time and the day of the ceremony
found the entire village assembled around the low, circular
wooden dais that served as the Ubuntu stage. People arrived early
to jockey for the best seats. In fact, people from other villages
came, just to witness the bizarre spectacle of a sex fight for
life-long dominance between the beautiful black teen and the
lovely, exotic, white outsider. 

Morgan, as an honored guest, was given a prime seat, right in
front, sitting between a triumphant Isandlwana and a morose
Nwabudike. 

The circular wooden platform that served as stage was raised
about one foot from the ground, allowing a maximum number of
people to view the proceedings.  The crowd gathered from all
sides, quickly encircling the dais. 

A furious Lular stood on the platform, seething.  Her lovely,
heart-shaped face twisted in anger as she stood, hands defiantly
on her shapely hips. As was customary for women entering Ubuntu,
the priestess had cropped her long hair short, so as not to
provide her opponent with any convenient handholds. 

The young girl’s pubic patch, a small triangle that stood darker
than the surrounding dark skin, looked to have been trimmed, as
well – perhaps, again, to deny opponents any embarrassing
handholds. 

Completely nude and defiant, Lular stood glowering as the
confused missionary was led onto the stage. 

“What the hell is going on?” Miriam demanded, apparently ignorant
that few in the crowd could understand her. 

Naturally, nobody answered. 

Morgan regarded his former “companion” as she stood on the stage,
looking about in bewilderment. 

Miriam really was a beauty. Her long lashes, like her brows, were
a slightly darker shade of red than her hair. Her lips were red
and full; Morgan chuckled at the vanity of using lipstick while
living in a remote jungle area. 

The missionary’s long red hair hung down her back to within a few
inches of her deliciously round ass. She wore an ivory-colored
linen dress that hung to her ankles. 

Evidently, religious zealotry didn’t preclude showing an ample
amount of pale cleavage. 

“It would be a shame to hide those away when one had such large,
perfect breasts,” Morgan admitted to himself. 

While Lular *was* a stunningly beautiful black girl, Morgan
realized, Miriam was a stunningly beautiful white *woman*. 

He tore his gaze from the stage to scan the assembled crowd of
men and women. Every seat was full and a throng of people stood
in back, all gazing with rapt attention at the stage. Many men had 
visible erections. 

Isandlwana left her seat momentarily to address the spectators. 

[“Peoples of the Bantu and of the extended Nguni tribes,”] the
Wise Woman announced, [“bear witness this day to the rite of
Ubuntu, as invoked by priestess Lular H’minee, of the Bantu
tribe, on priestess Miriam Godwinson, of the … Uh-mer-kun …
tribe. “] 

Isandlwana allowed herself a small smile in the direction of the
combatants, but obviously directed at Lular. 

[“Let she who is superior demonstrate her dominance, to set the
standard for the rest of your lives!”] the Wise Woman decreed. 

With that, Isandlwana left the stage and returned to her seat, at
Morgan’s right. 

Lular glared at the retreating Wise Woman with a look of pure
hatred. The black girl knew exactly who had been the architect of
her humiliation. 

But the old woman had won. 

Lular had been defeated and removed as a political threat. A
blinding rage made the furious teen shake with frustrated anger.
She was consumed by an overwhelming hatred towards the old Wise
Woman … which she soon shifted to her decreed-to-be life mate,
Miriam. 

The beautiful white woman stood on the dais, befuddled, looking
out at the crowd. 

“Why am I up here?” she demanded. “What are all of these people
doing here?”  Miriam brightened, as an idea came to her. 

 “Ah, it must be to hear me preach?” she decided. “Word of my
piety and gifted sermons have spread and now the whole pagan
village wants to be saved!" 

The lovely redhead beamed with self-importance as she looked out
at the throng of people. What an audience!  Perhaps coming out to
this primitive dung heap wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

Time to begin! 

“The righteous need not cower before the drumbeat of human
progress!” the lovely missionary called out to the masses,
thrilled to have such a large audience. “Though the song of
yesterday fades into the challenge of tomorrow, God still watches
and judges us. Evil lurks …” (2) 

Lular, not knowing a word of English, ignored her speech. Taking
advantage of the opening, the vengeful black girl sprang to close
the gap between her and her opponent. She thrust her hands
against the surprised missionary’s cleavage, grabbing the lacy
décolletage border of Miriam’s dress. 

“You presumptuous savage!” Miriam protested. “How dare you lay
your hands on my …” 

With a mighty heave, the beautiful black teen ripped the dress
right off the startled white woman, obviously relishing the sound
of the tearing fabric. 

Miriam screamed and tried unsuccessfully to cover two large boobs
and one sparsely red-haired pubic patch. Only able to do two of
three at any one time, she finally settled on leaving her large
white left breast exposed as she cupped one hand over her crotch
and the other over the nipple on her right breast. 

(Continued in “Missionary Position, Part 2.”

----------------

Quoted References
(1) Sister Miriam Godwinson, Alpha Centauri, "Last Testament"
(2) Sister Miriam Godwinson, Alpha Centauri, "The Blessed
Struggle"
