If Glade expected her apprentice to be more shocked than she was by her account of the violence that had decimated her tribe she was disappointed. Ivory was more indignant at the rudeness of rebuffing a welcome than distressed by the account of the bloodshed. In any case, Glade was reluctant to give a full account of the horrors that followed. It was painful enough for her to remember the evil and worse still to describe it. Did she really want to elaborate on how so many of the people she’d known all her life were massacred in a growing orgy of violence; the sexual frenzy of the invaders; the rapes that followed in rapid succession; and the murder of her mother? Simply alluding to the subsequent horrors served only to refresh the shaman’s traumatic memories.
Compared to the younger Glade, Ivory was already fairly familiar with the sight of violent death. The spirits would curse the village for eternity when a crime was committed against the tribe unless swift and appropriate justice was dispensed on the perpetrators. Sometimes the spirits demanded nothing less than capital punishment. Such an execution was never a cause for celebration, although it needed to be staged in front of the entire village. This would openly declare that this extreme action was taken only to placate the spirits’ vengeful inclinations. Thankfully it was rarely necessary, but such punishment acted as a salutary lesson to anyone who might be tempted to anger the spirits. If a villager took another person’s life or property, if a villager showed disrespect to a sacred site, or if a villager plotted treason, then it was just and fitting that such a criminal be punished. The penalty was the expression of the will of the whole village. Every villager would actively participate in the debate as to how best to appease the spirits’ wrath.
The last time the village applied the ultimate penalty was during the Winter exodus. The offender was a hot-headed youth who had planned to kill the Chief and take on his mantle. He was sentenced to death by stoning. This was a horrible and ugly death that took far too long to execute.
As a result of such occasions, compared to the younger Glade, Ivory was relatively inured to the horror of violent death. Indeed, she was one of those most convinced that the most just retribution for the heinous crime of treason was one which was severe and unforgiving. Glade had a different opinion. She believed that there were alternatives to the barbarism of sanctioned murder. She also knew that had the young reprobate succeeded in his attempted coup d’état and become Chief, a very different legend would now be recounted by the village.
“How did your mother die?” Ivory asked. Her own recent loss made the question especially pertinent.
“As horribly as Flying Squirrel’s. As senselessly and brutally as Tarsier’s. As cruel as any other death that day. I had no idea what to do during the chaos of the slaughter. Nor did I know what the other villagers were doing. Some fled. Some tried to help Flying Squirrel as he lay in the blood-soaked undergrowth. Others, like me, stood petrified in fear. I simply couldn’t comprehend what had happened. I knew I was doomed when more strangers appeared from the shadows in all directions. These figures were quite unlike the black-skinned men, although they were similarly shaven and naked. Their faces were different. Their skin was not as black, though none had skin nearly as pale as that of your tribe. They didn’t carry weapons, but they swiftly overwhelmed us and bound our hands and legs together.”
“Who were these people?”
“I didn’t know at the time. In a sense, I didn’t need to know. But they were what we later came to know as ‘slaves’. It was a word that at the time had no meaning to me. Even in your tribe, the word is very rarely used. You only permit slavery as a punishment and it’s only ever for a limited term. We thought the slaves were just more strangers and they appeared equally as fearsome as the spear-carrying black warriors, even though only the black warriors carried out the slaughter. It was they who systematically raped everyone: whether male or female. And it was one of them who clubbed my mother to death with a flint encrusted cudgel when she tried to pull another black warrior off me while he was raping me.”
“He raped you?” gasped Ivory, who believed that such violation was worse than murder.
“Yes, raped,” said Glade softly, as she pulled a bear skin over her breasts. The word in itself didn’t really describe the actual horror. She’d tried to banish from her mind the vivid memory of the grinning black face above her. She tried to suppress her recollection of the pain of brutal anal penetration and how her fruitless struggles incited more passion than sympathy from the man ravaging her. Most of all she wanted never again to recall the sight of her mother being dragged away and speared by a black warrior who was in the same frenzied excitement that accompanied her sexual violation.
Neal paused at an open door on his way back from the bathroom. He had intended to hold it until the first movie of the doubleheader ended, but the beer he’d been drinking hadn’t agreed that he could hold it a minute longer. He had leaned over and asked the event’s host, Hector, a local employee finance officer at the U.S. embassy in the Central American country much like any other Central American country, where the head was. Hector, lost in the movie, had waved him toward a corridor leading off the communal living room. The bedroom hallway, Neal had discovered.
There were doorways off the hallway on each side, which, Neal assumed, if this was like other Marine Houses he’d been in, led to small, individual bedrooms for each Marine. But his near-panicked goal was a communal bathroom that was located half way down the hall. He didn’t remember having heard or seen anything on the way to the bathroom, but all he’d been thinking of then was how badly he needed to piss.
The room where Neal paused on the way back was small and Spartan, but Spic and Span clean and squared-away neat. Even the jeans, T-shirts, and briefs of the two men were folded neatly and placed on the seat of a straight chair next to the small desk by the bureau. Only the woman’s brightly colored dress and her red bra and panties were carelessly scattered on the floor—signaling how alien her presence there was. More than that, however, it somehow marked the room as her territory, where she reigned and was in control.
The woman, a voluptuous Hispanic beauty of forty-something in age, was standing on the floor in the center of the small room. All she was wearing were red spike heels and oversized gold hoop earrings. A short, black guy, obviously one of the Marines because of the buzz cut and how bulked up he was, was standing behind her as she bent over at the waist. He was stroking inside her with a hard, thick, condomed cock. He seemed quite pleased with being inside her, holding her flaring hips with his hands, but taking a hand off now and then to slap her on a butt cheek. The impression that Neal got was “cocky,” which almost made him laugh, because the cock certainly was prominent in what was going on.
The black Marine looked to be about half the woman’s age, maybe not even twenty yet. At the far end of her, she was servicing the cock of another Marine with her mouth. He was tall and blond, also with a buzz cut. Where the shorter Marine was compact and muscle bound, the taller one was hard-bodied, but on the thinner side. He also was a good ten years older than the Marine working the woman’s ass. His cock, sans condom, was long and had an acute upward curve. The blond Marine had long arms and legs and wasn’t having any trouble reaching the woman’s big, melon-sized breasts with his hands. He was squeezing them hard and thumbing her dime-sized nipples. She was moaning at the attention.
The woman, who was holding onto one of the blond Marine’s thighs with one hand for stability, was rubbing her clit and the root of the black man’s cock with the fingers of the other hand. From the moaning and humming she was doing, the woman obviously wasn’t distressed about what was happening to her.
Neal was transfixed in the doorway. Three gorgeous bodies giving their all, one as arousing as the next. If any of the three saw him standing there, they obviously didn’t care. He almost laughed, though. Earlier today when he’d asked at the station in the embassy whether there was any night action going on in the city, the Agency code clerk had just told him that it was movie night at the Marine House and that, as a visiting TDYer, he’d be welcome to go there. There would be two movies and all of the beer and chili dogs he could put away.
He’d thought the young guy had misinterpreted what he had asked, but he’d just laughed it off. Often on these TDYs, he’d be buttoned down like this. When an Agency adviser came into a country like this to consult with the local service, it could go one of two ways. The service would either provide him with a variety of “safe” hookers to hump at night without asking or they’d expect him to be an invisible monk, safely tucked away in a cell when he wasn’t liaising with them. All and all Neal preferred the variety of safe hookers approach.
And here, he could see, the code clerk had been straight with him. Obviously the action to be had was here at Marine House during movie night. At least there was a better show to be watched here than out in the communal living room, where the movies were being shown. The trio didn’t seem to mind that he was watching, so he’d watch for a while. There wasn’t a single one of these he wasn’t enjoying seeing in action.
“Together, Cap?” The speaker was the short, black, muscle-bound kid. His voice was high and squeaky, and it sounded more hopeful than sure. The other guy obviously was calling the shots. The black Marine would be a bantam rooster around most, puffing himself up to offset his lack of height and length, but probably not with that blond guy.
“Sure, why not?” the blond guy answered in a deeper voice. “If it’s OK with you, Maria. Do you together, Momma Maria?” He pulled her torso up from her bend, her mouth slurping off his cock, to where their faces were close together. She was smiling. He dipped his mouth to ingest one of her nipples.
“Oh, sweet jesu, si.” Her voice was rich, low, sensual.
Momma? screamed through Neal’s brain.
The blond guy reached up and brushed her long, black hair over her shoulder on the side away from Neal, cupped her chin in his hand, and came in for a lingering kiss. The black guy at her rear, barely taller than she was, was still fucking up into her cunt from the back in slow strokes and with “Ughs,” indicating he was trying to get as deep as he could, which, from that position, wasn’t very deep.
The blond came out of the kiss. “Which one do you want, Maria?”
“The long one, of course, Sam,” She purred back at him. “Always.”
“Ass for you then, Lamont,” the blond one said over her shoulder. “Cunt for me.”
The black guy dutifully pulled out of her, adjusted his short, thick cock upward, and started working his way with it into her ass. This was actually better for him, Neal could see. He could reach deeper. The woman moaned and groaned for him and wiggled her butt, helping him to sink inside her. The blond Marine was standing off, rolling a condom onto his long, upward-curved, fully erect cock.
“Turn her up to me.”
The black Marine embraced the woman around her waist with his beefy arms and, crouching, lilted her back into his chest. Her ass was fully skewered on his upward-thrust cock. Neal took the moment to enjoy the contrast of Lamont’s chocolate-brown skin on her golden brown. When the image of the alabaster-white buttocks of the blond guy, showing the tan lines of a Speedo in stark contrast with the tanned skin otherwise, was tossed into the mix, Neal was almost humming himself.
The blond Marine sank on his knees between the woman’s spread legs, which had been lifted off the floor with her knees bent, the toes of her spiked heels barely touching bare linoleum flooring, and his mouth went right to her snatch. He was sucking hard on her clit almost immediately and working fingers into her cunt, and the woman was babbling loudly in Spanish. Her hands couldn’t make up their minds whether they wanted to be tearing at the head hair the Marine didn’t have or squeezing her own breasts, while the blond Marine’s hands moved to palming, squeezing, and pulling apart her buttocks cheeks to help give the black Marine maximum depth in her ass.
The woman turned her head up and to the side and the black guy’s face turned toward hers. The long kiss quietened her down, although her pelvis continued to writhe under the attack of the blond Marine’s tongue and teeth, while the black Marine started to revolve his hips, giving her ass, Neal imagined, a screwing sensation.
A screwing screw, he thought, amusing himself greatly.
It must have been good for the black guy, as Neal could tell when he tightened and then released his cum into the bulb of the condom inside her ass channel. He held there, though, for the other two to catch up with him.
After a minute or two of clit play with his mouth, the blond Marine stood, lifted one of the woman’s ankles to his shoulder, and slowly curved his long cock up into her cunt, sliding deep. Her fingernails went to his pecs and she dug in there. Neal could hear her sucking air as the curved cock pulled out, almost exposing the bulb, and then slid back in again deep. Out and in. Out and in.
She clutched at his shoulders. “Jesuchristie, fuck me hard, Sam!”
Answering her plaintive request, he began pumping her hard and fast. The show from that point was over rather quickly. Neal could tell when the woman exploded and then, soon thereafter, the blond Marine.
Surely they’d seen him standing there. But obviously they didn’t care.
Neal turned and left in the direction of the house’s large living area, where he could hear that the first movie was closing down with loud explosions. He’d seen the movie before, so he knew it was coming to a close. When he left the doorway to the small bedroom, the blond Marine was pulling on his T and jeans, his cock already having been cleaned by the woman, and the black Marine was sitting on the bed, with the woman kneeling between his spread legs and taking care of his cock.
“Right on time,” Neal had heard the blond Marine say when he was half way down the hall.
When he was almost to the door into the living room, he was passed by another young Marine, as young as the black one back in the bedroom, Neal thought. He looked clean-cut but with his tongue almost hanging out. In anticipation, Neal thought, doubting the kid was on the way to the head. He was dark-haired, broad shouldered, thin waisted. Quite handsome and with big hands. Athletic looking, like pretty much all young Marines. Neal thought the woman would probably enjoy his attentions. She didn’t seem to be the least picky, as long as the guy had a hard, muscled body. If there had been a chandelier in the room, Neal thought she’d probably have had this hopeful Marine swinging on it with her plastered to his pelvis. She obviously was a pro.
Neal reentered the darkened living room and went up and sat down beside the movie-night event’s host, Hector. The closing credits for the first film of the doubleheader were running on the screen. The second movie, yet another action hero fantasy shoot-’em-up adventure, would start up almost immediately. The Marines and other young, fit guys from the embassy who liked to see the movies the Marines liked to watch and who the Marines would condescend to socialize with were talking among themselves in small groups. A young Hispanic woman and even younger Hispanic guy were walking from group to group, delivering drinks and food and getting orders for more drinks and food. Both of them were very handsome kids, with good bodies as far as Neal could tell.
The short, black Marine and tall, blond, older Marine come into the room from the bedroom wing, practically arm in arm, and smiling and whispering to each other. Neal had heard the discussions about how guys who would share a woman like that were as much into each other as the woman. His own view was that Marines were so narcissistic—loving their own bodies enough to want to show them off as Marines—that most of them probably were bi anyway. Which was OK with him.
The blond Marine went straight to the bar, and behind it, and poured himself a beer. The black Marine went over and inserted himself into a group of other young Marines. Neal could hear that they were whispering and sniggering to each other.
“Those are my children, Angelina and Jorge,” Hector said after a few moments.
“Excuse me? What?” Neal said, waving his hand toward the screen to indicate he hadn’t heard Hector well over the soundtrack behind the closing credits. What he’d been doing, though, other than watching the two Marines return from their fun time in one of the Marine’s bedrooms, was watching the young Hispanic woman move. He—naturally—was feeling quite horny himself.
She had good jugs and a slim waist, the bag dress she was wearing didn’t hide that. She was built to be fucked by someone like him. Neal was imagining himself standing close behind her, being the first man to take her, those rounded orbs sitting on the tops of his thighs, and stroking up into her sweet, ripe cunt, while his hands were squeezing those jugs and she was moaning for him. She would cry out for him, firing off orgasm after orgasm, telling him he was so very, very deep inside her. He was big. She would melt to him; he hadn’t met anyone yet who didn’t melt with him inside them.
Maybe he could maneuver her outside, onto the Marine House patio. She wouldn’t give him a bit of trouble. He knew that. He’d put an arm around her belly and pull her ass into his crotch and the feel of the size and hardness of him would be enough to . . .
“Those are my children,” Hector repeated. The young woman, Angelina, and man, Jorge, there, the ones serving the refreshments. This is a family’s duty, running this movie night for the Marines. They are good to us. Both of my children are in their later years in the university—on Marine House scholarships. We want to give back.
Ah, his daughter, Neal thought, and the image of fucking her that had been running in his mind evaporated. Hector was not a small man. He looked like he could be mean and was built like he didn’t lose often. Probably good with a knife. Neal didn’t like knife play.
“Your daughter is beautiful,” Neal said. “Aren’t you afraid that letting her come to where all of these fit, randy young Marines are—?”
“Nobody would touch my daughter I didn’t want too,” Hector quickly said. And from the tone of his voice, Neal could believe that was true. “The Marines give her the respect I want them to.”
Ah, well. Neal wondered if Hector fully realized what was going on at Marine House under his nose. “Have you been back to the bedroom area?”
“So, you’ve seen my wife, Maria. I thought so. You were taking a long time to take a piss back there. And you looked a little . . . flustered when you came back into this room.”
Neal crossed his legs without a thought of what he was doing. But he did have the thought of wondering if his hard-on could be seen in his trousers when he came back into the living area. Surely it had been too dark in the room for that.
“Your wife? Do you know—?”
“That she’s fucking men back there? Si, I do.”
Neal didn’t have the words to say to that, so he waited for Hector to say something.
“It’s a good arrangement. We do this mostly because Maria is highly sexed. She’s got to have it all of the time, and I can’t give it to her all the time. But I enjoy getting it from her when I’m in the mood. If I didn’t let her do this, she would leave me for a younger man. I don’t want her to leave me. I fuck other women. So, she can fuck other men. American Marines are cleaner than men of my own country looking for it on the streets of the capital. And as I said, the Marines have been good to us. Both of my children are at university with Marine House scholarships.”
“But surely the embassy, the Marine Corps . . .”
“You see that older Marine over at the bar?” Hector asked, indicating the blond Marine with the long, upcurved cock–not that it could be seen now, of course. When Neal answered “yes,” Hector continued. “That’s the Marine captain. He’s in charge here. He determines what’s good for his Marines. He says he thinks his Marines need to get their rocks off in a controlled environment so that they don’t get into trouble downtown in the city. He brings prostitutes in for his men. My wife letting them fuck her on movie nights is better than them having a prostitute he can’t be sure is clean, and it keeps her happy too. She likes young, well-muscled bodies. They consider her their house mother.”
Ah, that’s where the “Momma Maria” came from. Just a pleasant evening fucking momma, Neal thought. But he didn’t say it.
“He’s the one you saw fucking my wife back there, isn’t he? The captain there at the bar.”
“Yes,” Neal answered, not knowing if he should mention that the blond Marine captain had been sharing her with a young black Marine.
“Do you think he was doing her well, and that she was enjoying it?”
Neal couldn’t say anything to that, so he nodded his head, which most likely Hector didn’t see in the dark. But Hector didn’t require an answer. He continued speaking.
“Yes, I’m sure the fuck was good for her. There will be good food on the table and peace in the house in the morning. And I’ll get a good fuck later tonight myself. Having muscled young men fucking her turns her on to me. I’m more of an expert at it than any of those young men are. She wants me more after having them. I’m the cream on the top. I think you’ll enjoy this next movie,” Hector then said, directing Neal’s attention to second movie, with the same shoot-’em-up, action-overloaded plot of the first, just with a different cast.
It didn’t escape Neal that Hector was purposely changing the subject.
Neal hunkered down then and concentrated on the movie, which he’d already seen in another Marine House in another Central American country just like this one, where he had given the same intelligence advice on countering the spying of the country he now was giving advice to regarding the country he’d been in the previous week. Keep them at each other’s throats but not doing anything really harmful to anyone, particularly the United States, was his Agency brief. They loved hearing the stories of his years with the Agency commando teams. And he kept very fit to make those stories believable.
The film started to go bonkers after a half an hour or so, with something obviously going out of alignment in the projector. It stopped altogether, and a couple of the Marines got up from the audience to see to the projector. Neal realized for the first time that Hector was no longer seated next to him. Scanning the room, he was unable to see Hector’s son or daughter either—or the blond Marine captain. He wanted another beer, but there was no one around who seemed assigned to get him one. He stood and went to the kitchen at the other end of the room. That’s where the young woman and her brother had been bringing the drinks in from.
He stopped just inside the swinging kitchen door, surprised by what he saw. He wasn’t shocked. Nothing in life shocked him anymore. In fact, he almost laughed out loud.
Hector’s daughter, Angelina, was bent over the sink, her sack dress, bra and panties in a heap on the kitchen floor. Hector, his pants and briefs puddled around his ankles, was close behind her, covering her. His hands were squeezing her melon-plump breasts, and his hips were moving in a slow-motion stroking. This was pretty much the position Neal had imagined himself in with this young woman while he fucked her. She was just silently taking it, this obviously not being a new experience for her. Something to amuse him again. The image of being the first one inside her. What a fool he was. He rather appreciated life’s little ironic kicks in the nuts, though.
Standing nearby were two young Marines, not exactly dressed, stroking their cocks, and watching Hector fuck his daughter. Waiting their turn. A stack of money on the kitchen table beside them assured Neal that the Marine House university scholarships for Hector’s children would continue. It also answered the question of why Hector wasn’t worried about the randy Marines getting at his daughter. As long as they paid, he was fine with it. He even took a big slice for himself off the top–of Anglelina, not just the money.
So arresting was this tableau that Neal almost missed what was going on over in the corner of the kitchen, in the shadows. Hector’s son, Jorge, naked, was bent over a table top and the blond Marine captain was crouched over him from behind. Neal could see the long, up-curved cock holing the young Hispanic’s ass in long, slow strokes.
Faith and Charity
Eric Esterhazy MP