I took my hand away and looked at it. It was twice the length it had been before, and its normally deep redness was shading into purple. I caught it in my mouth and her nails dug into the back of my neck in a wordless insistence that I nibble more forcefully. When I did, she kept trying to push more and more of the breast between my teeth. It was as if she wanted me to devour it, as if she wanted my lips to envelop it entirely —which was an impossibility.
Suddenly she pulled away and then forced my mouth down against her other breast. I repeated my ministrations while she thrashed about in a sort of semi-ecstatic state. At last I pressed my lips into the deep cleft between her breasts and let my tongue search deep in the crevice. It drove her wild, and I had to stop after a moment because of the way she was clawing me.
She was tugging at my pants now, and I gladly let her remove them. Her eyes grew wide as she gazed upon my inflamed manhood. There was awe in her touch as she reached out very tentatively to grasp it. She stroked it and fondled it and murmured strange words that I didn’t understand. Finally, I had to remove her hand lest I waste the juices of my passion.
She lay passively as I undid the knot of the skirt she was wearing. But when my hand reached to stroke her thighs, she became so excited that she bit into my shoulder with a savagery that drew blood. I had to pull her over on her side and smack her plump, naked bottom to get her to stop biting.
She liked that, too. She flung herself on her belly and indicated that she wished me to spank her. I gave her a few whacks and stopped when her flesh was rosy and quivering. Then I trailed my hand up the back of her legs until they parted.
Quickly, I turned her over and flung my body over hers. She was moving so spasmodically, the lower half of her body virtually twirling, that I had a little difficulty hitting my target. And when I did, I found that her virginity was a solid fact not easily overcome. My efforts to pierce it drove her frantic, and she threw her legs up over my shoulders and locked them around my neck in a grasp that all but strangled me. Still the stubborn flesh of virtue refused to be sundered.
With a whimper of enraged frustration, she pushed me away now. Instinctively, she got up on her hands and knees and crouched. She looked back at me over her shoulder, and it was a look that was half pleading and half lust gone berserk.
I took the cue. I slammed against those soft buttocks from behind and lunged as hard as I was able. It worked. She screamed with pain as the stubborn flesh was finally torn. There was a spurt of blood and I thought to withdraw and relieve the pressure until she recovered from the sudden shock. But Zaketa wouldn’t let me. Her tunnel of love was a pulsating vise, and I was caught in a grip that was inescapable.
So I grabbed her breasts from behind and picked up the frantic tempo she’d initiated. Immediately, she erupted. And she kept erupting. Spasm, upon spasm of ecstasy seized her, each more powerful than the last. When, finally, my own passion exploded in a long, drawn-out, joyful draining, she matched it to the last. And then, her body still locked to mine, she fell forward in a dead faint
But she revived quickly. And she made it obvious that as far as she was concerned, the evening was just beginning. She wanted to experiment, to innovate, to experience everything. Everything! She wanted to feel my manhood at every one of her bodily orifices; she wanted to feel it throb within every conceivable fold of her flesh. She caught it between her breasts and enveloped it. She nuzzled it in her armpit. She kissed the orbs beneath it and rolled them around in her mouth one by one until I thought I’d go out of my mind. And then she got it deep into her throat so that when I erupted again the results nearly choked her.
Still she wasn’t through. She sat on my lap and arranged herself on it, forcing it deep into that narrower entrance. I stroked her vibrating womanhood in this position, and after she had responded several times, she fainted again.
But again she revived, and it went on and on until daybreak. Finally, then, we fell exhausted into each other’s arms and slept. The sun was was well up in the sky when we awoke.
Breakfast was brought to us. It was fruit and some sort of hot chicory fluid that tasted vaguely like coffee. As we ate and drank, Zaketa resumed her efforts to communicate with me again.
She made me understand that while I had given her great joy, I had also presented her with a problem. There must be a virgin sacrifice to the Sun God on noon of this day, and now that she no longer qualified, another virgin must be found. But the trouble was that the virgin must be an adult -- over eighteen, I gathered -- and it was doubtful that there was a female in the tribe who would qualify.
It was grisly, but it was funny, too. I managed to get across my thought that maybe a non-virgin might do as well, but Zaketa was obviously appalled by it. Well, it was her problem, so I simply shrugged and left her to cope with it. I remained behind, half-dozing in the hut, while she went out into the village to do exactly that. It was almost noon when she returned. She was flushed and excited. It seemed her problem had been solved. The Sun God had provided a virgin.
The ceremony was about to start, and I was to be an honored guest. Zaketa led rne from the village and through the jungle until we reached another clearing. In the center of this one, some rocks had been carefully piled to create a sort of altar. Zaketa and I were the only ones permitted to mount to this altar. The other natives clustered below us under the trees around the fringe of the clearing.
There was a sharp, brightly jeweled dagger lying on the altar, and Zaketa picked it up. It wasn’t hard for her to get across to me what was going to happen. I’d read enough about Inca sacrifices to know what could be involved.
It would be a delicate operation. The sacrificial victim would be spreadeagled and tied to the alter. Then an incision would be made under her breasts in such a way that her still beating heart might be removed. Modern surgery has actually copied this centuries-old technique in the most up-to-date heart operations. The heart would in no way be severed from the body until the victim was quite dead. And this could take any time from ten to forty-five minutes.
The whole idea was repugnant to me, but there didn’t seem to be anything I could do about it. To get my mind off what was coming, I tried to find out from Zaketa how they’d managed to find a virgin. But I wasn’t coming across, and the question remained unanswered until the victim herself was dragged onto the scene.
She was dressed like all the other women -- the same sort of skirt, and bare-breasted. At first glance, she looked to be another fine example of Tiahuanaco anatomy. But at second glance, the differences left me stunned.
She wasn’t a brunette like all the others, but a redhead. Her skin wasn’t bronze, but ivory white. She wasn’t a native, but a Caucasian.
She was Victoria Winters!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE INTENDED virgin sacrifice was Victoria Winters! “Oh, no!” I said it involuntarily and it came out loud.
Vickie heard it and her head shot up “Steve!” she yelled. “Help me!”
“Yes. Sure,” I said in some confusion.
“What are they going to do to me, anyway?” she wailed as they dragged her closer.
“You’re slated to be a virgin sacrifice,” I told her.
“A what?”
“A virgin sacrifice.”
“But I can’t be,” she protested.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I, personally, couldn’t vouch for that, and did she maybe have a testimonial from Foster? But this was no time for levity, so I restrained the impulse. I had to do something and do it fast, or my British heartthrob would be a diced dish.