Enthralled: The Sex Goddess Read online

  ENTANGLED © 2012 Colette Gale

  All rights reserved.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright Page

  Title Page

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  Dear Reader:

  Welcome to the third volume of Miss Jane Clemons’s adventures in the jungles of Africa.

  If you have already read the first or second volumes, you need not continue with this introductory epistle, and can move directly forward to the first chapter. For those who have not read Entwined or Entangled, please feel free to read on below.

  During the late 19th century, the British indulged in much exploration of Africa, searching not only for gold and gemstones, but also for knowledge of this fascinating Dark Continent.

  Professor Everett Clemons, the famous lepidopterist, and his daughter Jane were two of the most famous British citizens to embark on these travels, and although Jane published a book of her drawings and notations about the butterflies her father studied during these trips, there remained little information about her own thoughts and adventures—until now.

  Recently, I was fortunate enough to come across an old trunk filled with Professor Clemons’s journals and butterfly specimens, and there, within, I also found the treasure of Miss Jane Clemons’s personal journals.

  Because there were so many volumes of her journals, I have chosen to publish a series of short segments over time in order to make them publicly available as quickly and efficiently as possible.

  I do hope you’ll indulge my decision to follow the popular form of literature from this era and publish Jane’s journals as a serialized collection. And I must warn you: also in the tradition of the times, each episode ends on a cliffhanger.

  The previous volume ended with a most unsettling event: the kidnapping of Jane and her fiancé Jonathan by members of a native tribe. They were taken to the tribe’s village, where Jane learnt the natives believe she is a fertility goddess.

  I hope you find Jane’s adventures enlightening, exciting, and titillating as we follow her further adventures as a young woman in the Madagascar jungle.

  Colette Gale

  October 2013

  ~*~

  — I —

  The Jungle of Madagascar

  1890

  Jane stood on a dais above the small crowd of gawking tribal villagers. Unlike her naked self, they were all dressed in native clothing. Some wore feathers in their hair or on their revealing clothing, others had beads, woven bits of string, and what appeared to be small bones as decorations. The women wore short, shift-like dresses that ended just above their knees, while the men had fastened cloth around their waists. Some of them sported open, sleeveless waistcoat-like coverings over their torsos, decorated with stitching and feathers.

  The color of the villagers’ skin varied from ebony to light coffee with cream. But all of them had dark eyes and black hair that appeared springy and soft. And they were all looking at her with avid, hungry eyes.

  Using the long, curling curtain of her fiery hair, Jane tried to cover her nudity as much as possible as she clung to Jonathan.

  “They believe I am a fertility goddess?” Jane whispered to Jonathan, repeating his shocking explanation for their abduction of her and her fiancé.

  She wasn’t certain whether she was glad he could speak and understand the native language, or if she’d have preferred to remain ignorant of what was to befall her. No, that was foolish. Of course she needed to know. How else was she going to figure out how to escape? “What are they going to do to us?”

  Jonathan was still clothed, but appeared no less a captive than she, for a spear was pointed at his chest, and another at his belly. His arm tightened around her. “I don’t know, but I think we must do whatever they ask. I’ll try to find out more information, Jane, but you must understand…they see you as a goddess. You are so different from them, they believe you must be divine. You must—”

  “I must act like a goddess,” Jane interrupted, suddenly seized with a rush of strength. Pulling out of his grip, she straightened her spine and stood erect, fully aware of the array of eyes on her. They were heavy and avid, the pairs upon pairs of them. More than a dozen, perhaps two dozen.

  But if she were a goddess, she would stand proud and confident, for goddesses wielded power, did they not? Goddesses could bestow grace upon the people.

  And above all, goddesses must not be angered.

  Thus, she stood as tall and proud as she could force herself to be, completely naked and—for the moment—at the mercy of this tribe. Jane looked around with as much boldness as she could muster. She met the hot, needy eyes of the men and the curious, apprehensive gazes of the women as if she had the power they believed. The heavy heat of the jungle seemed to press against her bare, unprotected body, and the faintest skitter of a breeze brushed over her flesh. The ends of her hair rippled slightly and she could taste a hint of salt on her upper lip as she moistened it, aware of the sheen of perspiration on her skin.

  Jane could only imagine how she must appear to the natives: tall and ivory-skinned with green eyes and high, generous, pink-tipped breasts. Her curls fell nearly to her waist, thick with soft waves, and fiery red-gold in color. It was no wonder they thought her a goddess, with hair such as hers. It was like a blaze. Like a fire.

  Fahhr.

  Fire.

  Jane felt a sharp, unexpected stab of pain in her belly. Zaren. The wild and passionate jungle man had been gentle and reverent as he reached to touch one of her long curls. “Fahhr,” he’d said, his blue eyes wide and soft with awe. “Fire.”

  Zaren. A little quiver caught her by surprise, and then was gone, replaced by despair. She would never see him again. She couldn’t, for even if—no, when; if wasn’t even a possibility—she and Jonathan escaped from this situation, she would marry her fiancé and they would return to England.

  Jane blinked hard and jolted back to the present when one of the presumed tribal leaders shoved Jonathan away and came to stand next to her. Her heart began to beat harder and her throat went dry as he gestured for another man to stand on the other side.

  They spoke to each other, to Jonathan, and to her—though she couldn’t understand anything they said—and then to the group of twenty-some people standing in front of the dais. The man in front of her had cold, dark eyes and he wore a woven red band around his throat.

  Jane did not like the way he looked at her, and it took every bit of composure to remain silent, maintaining her haughty look even when he reached out to cup her breast. His dark, hot hand curved under it and he hefted it lightly, speaking and gesturing all the while. Jane couldn’t understand his words, but the meaning was all too clear—particularly from his low, liquid laugh and the similar response from the audience. Her areola tightened, its nipple thrusting in response to the attention being given to it.

  When Cold Eyes shifted his thumb to rub over the sensitive tip, Jane couldn’t help but rear back a little, trying to put herself away from the unwelcome but erotic sensation. He made a sharp sound, and the next thing she knew, Jane’s wrists were grasped by two strong hands from behind.

  The man standing at her back forced her arms straight out from her sides, his fingers tight around her narrow wrists. He now stood so close behind her, she could feel the heat of his body…and the gentle brush of his loincloth, for it had lifted with his obvious erection. She swallowed hard and focused on a hanging vine in the distance, above the rapt crowd. Her guard’s breath was warm and moist against her temple, and she could smell the man’s essence—not unpleasant, simply unfamiliar and strange.

  Those in the audience made a noise of satisfaction as she was spread out in front of them, her arms wide and helpless, extended fr
om each side.

  This gave Cold Eyes the opportunity to fondle each breast in turn as Jane stood still, trying to keep her breathing steady and herself from shrinking or trembling. For Jonathan. And yourself. You are a goddess. They want from you. They want to please you.

  If only she could speak their language or otherwise communicate with them—to tell them if they didn’t do what she wished, she would bring the wrath of all her powers down on them. How could she demonstrate this?

  Then all coherent thought scattered as Cold Eyes slid his hand down the gentle swell of her belly and lower. Jane couldn’t help but tense, unable to keep from twisting away as he approached her mound. Cold Eyes stepped back abruptly and made a sharp gesture to someone on the ground, and a tall, sleek, ebony-skinned man vaulted up onto the dais in a flutter of loincloth and a flash of muscular flank.

  She might have admired his long, lean muscles and broad shoulders if she were anywhere but here. He flashed her a devilish white smile, and before Jane knew what was happening, Devilish Man knelt in front of her.

  As Guard One held her arms spread wide, the sleek newcomer forced her ankles apart…and apart…and apart. She fought to keep her knees together, but he was there—just in front of her belly. She felt the heat of his breath on her skin, and the strong, dark hands as they slid down her pale thighs to her knees, forcing them to move. The man behind her pulled Jane back so she was tilted off balance, making it easier for Devilish Man to have his way.

  When her legs were open and her ankles spread to nearly shoulder width, Cold Eyes brought a spear forward. Jane tensed again, bracing herself for a blow or a stab or something…but instead, Devilish Man tied one end of the spear to one ankle and the other end to her second ankle, thus ensuring she couldn’t bring her legs together again.

  She felt the fresh, warm air on her quim, open and bare to whoever chose to look…or feel. And Devilish Man did just that as he finished tying the second bond, sliding both hands up along her outer thighs to the bush of fiery red hair, then bringing his face right into her pussy.

  Jane jolted, gasping as he pressed his full lips against her labia, and she felt his tongue flicker out against the deep, hot folds of her. Cold Eyes made a sharp, angry noise, but Devilish Man took his time easing back and standing. He flashed her a hot smile as he rose and Jane’s lungs felt as if they’d been constricted. The man’s entire persona bespoke of devil-may-care insouciance as he turned, taking a second spear from one of the other tribal members.

  Jane had no choice but to stand immobile as her wrists were lashed to the wooden pole, which rested over the back of her neck and along her shoulders. When they were finished, she stood in the familiar pose that appeared in Leonardo da Vinci’s drawings, arms and legs spread-eagled in a large X-shape.

  And then, just when she thought her current humiliation was enough, two poles were brought forward and arranged on either side of her. Stronger and thicker than the spears, each was tied vertically from ankle to wrist, so Jane was in effect boxed into position.

  A loud roar erupted from the audience as Cold Eyes gestured to her as if to say, Behold! See what I have for you!

  He fixed her with that cold, arrogant look and approached, standing directly in front of her as Guard One and Devilish Grin flanked her on either side. Jane tensed, trying to keep her expression calm and empty as he covered her breasts with his hands, molding and stroking them roughly. Then he slid them down to her pussy, plunging both sets of fingers into her thatch of hair and stroking over her full, moist quim. Jane couldn’t remain still, and she twisted and tried to shift away from those thrusting fingers—but she was helpless, for each of her guards held one of the vertical poles in position.

  At last, with a sound of triumph, Cold Eyes withdrew his hands. The tips of his fingers glistened in the bright sun. He made a great show of smelling them, his eyes widening and his smile turning feral as he turned back to his audience and displayed them, slick with her juices, as if he’d acquired some great trophy.

  Another roar came from his people, and then with a curt nod and a short, abrupt command, Cold Eyes gestured to Jane’s guards.

  All at once, she was lifted from the ground as the two men hoisted her up by the vertical poles. Jane stifled a startled shriek as she was raised aloft.

  Her strong two guards held each pole just below the midpoint, which put her feet at the height of their shoulders. With careful steps, they made their way down from the dais amid the roars and whistles of the audience, and as Jane hung there helpless, they began to make their way through the cluster of people.

  Hands reached for her, grabbing at her ankles and legs as the tribal members began to chant and sing. They clustered about, making it difficult for the guards to navigate through the crowd.

  Jane closed her eyes and tried to be thankful no one could touch her—though it wasn’t for lack of trying. Her perch swayed and dipped as members of the audience jumped up or bumped into her captors.

  When her guards stopped moving, Jane opened her eyes to see them in the midst of the group. Cold Eyes stood on the dais just in front of them, and with a broad smile, he made a sharp gesture.

  All at once, Jane was falling, face forward. She couldn’t stifle the scream, and closed her eyes as she plummeted toward the ground, her limbs imprisoned, helpless to catch her fall. Then she abruptly stopped in midair, jolting from the ties at her wrists and ankles. When she opened her eyes, she found herself face to face with a myriad of people, looking up at her.

  They had hot, dark, avid eyes, and they were less than an arm’s length away…and she was suspended above them, just above their heads like a bird on a spit above the fire of the crowd. Her guards still held the poles above their heads, but now she was turned facedown as they paraded her through the crowd.

  Her thick hair fell like a heavy curtain on either side, and the natives reached up to touch it, pet it, pull on it, brush it, smell it. Her breasts dangled just above their heads, but the hands could reach. They were grasping, pinching, slapping hands that touched her there, brushing her nipples and belly, and roved along her legs and hips and into the hot, musky hair at her quim.

  Jane closed her eyes, for she couldn’t bear to watch the desperate hope and lust in the faces as she was paraded over them. The chants grew stronger, undulating through the crowd, now followed by the dull, incessant beating of a drum. She tried to ignore the touching, petting, and stroking, but there were so many hands…so many of them…she couldn’t block it all out. As hot fingers touched her, the sun blazed over her from above, cooking her buttocks and baking her along the length of her spine. Her wrists and ankles ached from the suspension, and her muscles strained and trembled as she hung in a gentle bow over the ground.

  Jonathan. Where was he? Could he do nothing to help her?

  What would they do to her now?

  Her bold thoughts of strength and power slipped away as she realized just how helpless she was, goddess or no goddess. She had to talk to Jonathan. At least he could communicate with the tribal members.

  And so why wasn’t he trying to save her?

  — II—

  Zaren perched on a huge tree branch, surrounded by heavy foliage and hanging vines. A thick green snake slithered down the trunk next to him, and he politely moved so the creature could make its way toward its prey: the fist-sized red and blue frog sitting below.

  Once the snake passed by, Zaren returned his attention to the den-like nest where he’d first seen the fire-haired woman named Jane. She wasn’t there, hadn’t been for two sunrises. Something inside his chest hurt, sharp and yet dull at the same time. Where could she have gone?

  Settled on the branch, he looked through a large opening and watched the nest’s current inhabitants. There were two of them, two creatures inside. Two just like him—with skin more pale than the other humans who lived in the jungle.

  A man, he reminded himself, silently mouthing the word. Woman.

  The two were mating…but in a way Zaren h
ad never seen before. The man was sitting, and the woman climbed on him, spreading her legs, fitting herself over his rod, and embracing him from the front.

  “Oh, Everett…darling…” Her moans wafted through the air, mingling with the rustle of leaves and the twittering of birds, the nibbling of some creature on bark or plants below.

  Zaren could not take his eyes away from them. She was large and soft and round everywhere. Her damp skin beamed, white as the moon. Each of her amazing teats would overflow his hands if he cupped them together—something the equally round man was doing with enthusiasm as he kissed and licked the huge mounds.

  The man’s hairless head shone with perspiration, and even from where he perched on the branch, Zaren could scent the musky, titillating aroma of their activity. That smell, and the sounds, the sight of them rocking violently together brought back memories of Jane…of his mad thrusting into her glorious, wet warmth, of tasting her smooth white flesh, of burying his face in her sweet-smelling hair of fire.

  “Effie! By gad, Effie!” cried the man suddenly. He sounded as if he were dying, or in distress. His head tipped back, his neck and arms strained, and his face was red with effort.

  But Zaren knew better. That was no distress. He remembered the hot, glorious feeling of mating—and so did the heavy, pulsing rod that had risen between his own legs. His member was so tight and sensitive that it was painful to the touch, with a dull throb of need that could hardly be sated by the grip of his hand—and even then, only temporarily.

  For every time he thought of Jane, and when he remembered her lovely eyes—the color of the sea beneath a cloudless blue sky—and recalled the way her skin had trembled the first time he reached to touch her, how reverent he’d felt, how awed by her beauty and taken by her scent, how kind and funny and patient she’d been when they were in his own nest in the trees…every time he thought of her, he grew short of breath, and hard, and his muscles tightened everywhere. And that dull ache inside his chest blossomed into something warm and fierce.