Enthralled: The Sex Goddess Read online

  Jane moaned, her skin exploding with sensation and her insides with heat, but someone held her head and hands in place. She could see little, but she could tell was happening.

  It was some sort of ritual, for the leader had placed several small bowls, burning with dried herbs or flowers, near the end of the pallet by Jane’s spread legs. A new scent filled the air, and she saw a bit of smoke rising from the floor, seeming to mingle with the sensitive hair of her quim.

  Then the leader knelt in front of Jane, who suddenly felt even more like a sacrifice…as if she were splayed on an altar and ready to be given to the gods.

  She tried once more to throw off the imprisoning hands, but there were too many and they were too strong. Fingers closed over her thighs, and she submitted as purposeful thumbs drew her swollen nether lips wide. She felt the soft shudder of suction as they parted, felt the clinging moisture of her juices dripping free as her quim opened.

  Spread wide, her pussy pulsed, hot and ready, and the broad-shouldered woman made a soft sound of delight or pleasure…then bent forward.

  Jane jolted and gave a soft screaming gasp as the woman’s mouth closed over her. Pleasure and shock bolted through her as the hot lips covered her swollen ones and settled there. Jane whimpered, shifting and shuddering, wanting something, waiting for something…and yet desiring to tear away, to break free and gulp in clean, fresh air.

  The woman’s mouth moved, and every brush of her lips against Jane’s had her tensing and shivering, gathering up away and swelling, pulsing toward the heat of her mouth. Someone moaned, cried out softly in desperation, and Jane knew it was herself, unable to control the warring sensations of lust, pleasure, and denial.

  The mouth covering her nether lips began to move, its tongue sliding out and slipping through thick juices, over pulsing, swollen flesh. Then she began to suck, to draw the little pearlish nub deep into her hot, slick cavern. Jane cried out loudly in shock and pleasure, and someone shouted from beyond—a man. One of the women swiftly covered her lips, stifling her moans and sighs as the hot mouth sucked and sucked and sucked…as if to taste every last bit of her.

  Pleasure, hot and hard, shuttled through her body and Jane, smothered by a wad of cloth shoved into her mouth when she tried to twist away from the covering palm, bucked and rolled…trying to get away from the incessant stimulation—trying to find it and seize release. Her arms, bound up in her hair, struggled to free themselves, and the resulting pain at her scalp countered the intensity of the lower, lustful assault. The tongue played with her, slipping around without rhythm, sucking at the pearl and then slurping up the dripping, flowing juices, and Jane became nothing but an imprisoned, gasping, sweating pile of skin and bones, fighting and yet desiring—needing—release.

  At last the woman pulled away, leaving Jane hard and full, wet, hot, pounding. The broad-shouldered woman’s lips were swollen, shiny, and the scent of musk mingled with the incense in the air was pleasant and arousing. She smiled in satisfaction, looking at her comrades, and then using her tongue to lick away every last bit of musky essence from her lips.

  Jane collapsed flat on the pallet, trying to steady her breathing, trying to disregard the intense throbbing between her legs. They were still spread wide, still open, and surely she glistened, fat and hot and red. If she could pull her knees together, press them tightly, she could find some relief.

  But no. She was held in place and the chanting became louder. Jane tried once again to free herself, to spit out the wad of cloth in her mouth, but it was to no avail. The ritual continued.

  Another woman stepped forward, pressing a kiss to Jane’s forehead, then to her lips, then her shoulders, her breasts…

  Jane cried out from behind the cloth, knowing what was to come, and still, this hot mouth trailed down her belly, pressing reverent kisses all the way along the line from breastbone to pubis.

  The chanting grew louder, the smoke thicker, the incense more cloying. Jane’s skin seemed to burn; it was so hot, so full of need. Her body was tight and swollen and her entire being was focused on the fat, full, wet quim between her legs.

  Please, she thought this time as the second woman settled there. Jane hardly knew what she was asking, but please, please, please ran through her mind over and over.

  The lips pressed there, tasting, and the jolt of awareness over her swollen flesh was nothing more than a tease—a terrible, painful tease. The lips, full and soft and warm, were tentative—too tentative. Jane wanted to cry out when they bared brushed against her needy nether lips, her desperate, hot self…the core of her being.

  A tongue flickered out as if to swipe up a taste, and Jane shuddered, hopeful, ready to explode into relief, and then the woman was gone, stepping back, leaving Jane’s quim open, ready, and abandoned.

  Tears of frustration and pain rolled from her eyes and Jane squeezed them closed. What is this? she thought as a third woman began the trail of kisses down her body. What is the purpose of this? To tease and taunt her into madness?

  This time she tried to block it away, to cut off from her consciousness the sensations…hot lips closing over her painfully tight nipples…a sudden, unexpected tug at each one, sending a searing streak of lust down to her quim…a gentle brush of mouth over her quivering belly…the pressure of fingers against her thighs, holding her still and wide…then heat. Wet. Sensation.

  The third mouth closed over her and all at once, a tongue was delving wildly against her flesh. Jane’s eyes flew open and she screamed behind her gag as shocks of hard, hot pleasure exploded over her.

  Oh, yes, yes, yes…please…

  The sucking, sliding, flicking drove her to a burning world of insane pleasure. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—it was intense and painful and blazing with pleasure. The lips, sliding in her pools of juices, the tongue, flickering through every fold of her, then the sharp, hard sensation as her little pip was sucked and sucked and tickled and sucked…and everything shattered.

  The red, rolling orgasm shuddered through her like a steam train, and Jane rose up off the pallet, gasping desperately behind the gag, her eyes rolling back into her head as she collapsed back down. Her scalp ached from her arms pulling her hair, and her breasts—heretofore mostly ignored—ached and jounced as she bucked.

  She couldn’t control her body as it continued to quiver and tremble. Pleasure still pulsed through her, juices dripped from inside her. The chanting had ceased for the moment, and her third tormentor had pulled away when Jane exploded. Now the women were speaking to each other, and Jane was dimly aware of their voices, hardly caring whether they seemed upset or pleased by this turn of events.

  But no sooner had she begun to feel her body again than the chanting began once more, the heavy incense wavered forth more strongly, and the fourth woman pressed a kiss to her forehead…and then to her lips…and down, and down, and down…

  Jane sobbed a little as the trail went inexorably south to where she was still hot and throbbing, still pulsing with tender little reminders of the previous onslaught. Her skin rose up in expectant little bumps beneath the soft lips of the fourth woman and she found herself tensing as the mouth drew lower and lower.

  The barest touch on her nether lips sent Jane arching and moaning. The tongue, tasting her, swirling around and darting into her depths, sent strong, hot pulses through her. She swelled again, grew wetter, and the pleasure was so intense it was pain—pain that must have relief. Pain that mixed with slick heat and the sounds of lapping and licking, sucking and panting.

  This mouth was incessant, drawing and sucking and stroking, until Jane felt herself climbing out of the pain and into the burn of lust. She trembled, feeling herself gather up again, tighten and throb beneath lips and tongue. Pleasure trammeled through her, building in that familiar way, and in the back of her mind she prayed that the mouth on her wouldn’t stop…wouldn’t leave her again…

  Jane rolled and sobbed, heat and desire rising to a pinnacle…then exploded against the lips a
nd tongue devouring her. She felt the mouth against her, drawing in the essence, the taste of her, the orgasm’s juices, sucking and mauling as if it would never get enough.

  And then, though she expected what would happen next—she’d be released, it would be the last time, the last mouth moving down on her—the unexpected happened. The fourth mouth didn’t move. It remained there, licking gently, almost thoughtfully…darting a tongue in and out and around, torturing Jane’s raw little pip back out into the depths of heat and wet.

  Nooo…! she thought. Noo…please, no more…

  But the mouth didn’t release her, didn’t leave, and the torture began again…

  Jane could hardly think as her world flowed into the red hell of pleasure and pain, the incessant coaxing and teasing…more mouths, more lips and tongues, as if they meant to drink up every last bit of her goddess essence.

  Orgasm after orgasm shocked her, some so hard they left her crying…others exhausted and tiny…and still others sharp and tingling…

  Until at last she slipped into a hazy world of nothing…of black-red nothing.

  — IV—

  Jane slowly became aware of her surroundings, opening her eyes to find that night had come. The memories of what had befallen her during the bathing session came flooding back, even before she realized she was, blessedly, alone.

  Her heart pounding, she realized her arms were no longer bound, and that she’d been sleeping on the pallet completely unfettered and rather comfortably.

  Comfortably…except for the dreams, which had been mingled with the hot onslaught of reality. Even now, her quim felt full and ready—even expectant—for another round of pleasure. The very thought made her cheeks heat with shame. How could she have responded to those women?

  Perhaps I truly am a fertility goddess…a goddess of pleasure and coitus…

  That thought made her feel even more confused, and she shook it away. Then, rising on unsteady legs, Jane looked around the hut. The fire still burned in the corner, but the haze-inducing leaves no longer smoldered in its coals. The lingering smoke was nothing more than common woodsmoke, filtering up through the hole in the ceiling. The flames there and in two small bowls set on the other side of the space gave off enough illumination for her to see that she was not only alone, but food and drink had been provided. And clothing.

  Jane fairly fell upon the lightweight tunic, yanking it on over her head. The undyed fabric was woven of some surprisingly soft material, but even so, it brushed roughly over her sensitive nipples as she tugged it into place.

  Once more modestly covered—at least to her knees—Jane turned to the food. Perhaps she could have peered out the window or door to see if she was still under guard, but a woman needed sustenance—especially if she was going to attempt to escape. And it had been almost a full day since she’d eaten.

  Besides. She was a goddess. Surely a goddess was never left unguarded.

  Her lips twisted at the thought, and Jane closed her eyes, pushing away the fear and apprehension that threatened to overtake her. If she became paralyzed by terror, she’d never escape.

  The food was still warm—though not hot, so it must have been there a while—and was surprisingly good. Or perhaps it seemed so simply because she was ravenous. Some sort of tender, stringy meat, stewed with vegetables that must grow in the jungle. A bread-like substance, shaped like a round cake but perfect for sopping up the juices. Fresh fruit—some familiar, some more exotic, but all sweet, soft, and juicy.

  Sweet, soft, and juicy…the words brought to mind her recent experience. She had, indeed, been thus at the hands—and mouths—of her attendants. Jane gave a little shiver, her cheeks heating again. They’d given her no chance, no choice but to respond. Between the sweet, drug-like smoke, the scented oils, the busy, insistent hands wooing her body with their touch…and of course, the lapping tongues and sucking mouths, she could not ignore the pleasure they gave her. Her little pip twinged in agreement, and as Jane bit into a soft pink fruit and the sweet juices exploded in her mouth, she considered her situation.

  What occurred had definitely been a ritual, and the only explanation she could find was the women believed she was a goddess, and therefore believed she had some great powers. And what better way to obtain those powers, those abilities for themselves, than to partake of her…literally. What they’d done must also have been forbidden, for why else would they gag her to keep her silent?

  Jane’s mouth was dry and she felt lightheaded. That they meant to drink of her juices in order to reap the same benefits seemed obvious, if not appalling and darkly titillating at the same time.

  And now that she thought back on it—which she could be forgiven for not having done sooner—she realized that of the people in the village, she’d seen no one under ten years of age. No children, no babies.

  Apparently the entire clan was in need of assistance in procreating. She just hoped when they were finished with her, she’d be released, not made into a sacrifice of some sort.

  The thought nauseated her and she rose abruptly. Time to see if she could take matters into her own hands. At the very least, she must see Jonathan. Perhaps he would know something more, have some idea how to escape this place.

  As before, Jane peered out the edge of her window covering. Sure enough, a man stood there, staring into the night. To her dismay, he seemed wide awake, for every so often, he paced a few steps then turned and walked back.

  It was even less likely she’d find an opportunity to leave through the door, but, though weak-kneed and still quivering randomly, Jane was determined. At the larger opening, she managed to pull away some of the grasses woven into the bamboo frame and made a sort of eyehole. This gave her another idea—one that made her heart bump in excitement—but first she had to see what was out in the front of the hut.

  Through the small hole she could see the blazing fire pit in the center of the village. It must be very late, for there weren’t many people standing around it, and the stars were high and bright in the sky. The forbidding jungle enclosed the small collection of huts, and Jane was once again reminded of the dangers that lurked within.

  Escaping into the night, especially without a weapon, would be foolhardy at best.

  Then she recognized Jonathan’s tall, slender figure standing near the shadows, only a few feet from her hut. He seemed to be deep in conversation with one of the tribal members; their voices floated in bits toward her.

  The other man shifted and his face became illuminated by the fire. Jane recognized him as Cold Eyes, the one who seemed to be the leader—and the one who’d touched and fondled her brazenly in front of his people. The one with the flat, lascivious smile.

  To Jane’s surprise, Jonathan wasn’t bound or restricted in any way. And as they talked, she saw Cold Eyes give something to her fiancé. Something like a parchment or a rolled-up piece of skin. Jonathan nodded, satisfaction evident in his demeanor. He unrolled the item and looked at it, then glanced up at Cold Eyes.

  Jane felt weak as she watched through the peephole, disregarding the irritating tickle-scratch of the dried grasses against her face. What was he doing? What was this about? Something didn’t feel right. Jonathan was supposed to be a prisoner too.

  You must do as they say, for both our sakes. Or they will kill me. Wasn’t that what he’d told her?

  Straining hard, hoping to hear some of what they were saying, Jane pressed her ear to the hole. Her heart thudded so loudly it nearly masked the sounds outside…but now she was able to hear unmistakable snatches of conversation. In English. She could hardly breathe, and clung tightly to the door, listening with all her might.

  “…brought her to you…” That was Jonathan; she recognized his clipped British voice. “…kept my promise…”

  “…woman…indeed a prize…”

  “…cannot tell anyone…release…”

  “…map…Darkdale…”

  “No, he does not…”

  Jane had gone cold and numb. If she
were a more fragile person, she would have collapsed in shock and horror. Her heart pounded in her throat, choking her with its force, and nausea surged, threatening to spill her recent meal on the dirt floor.

  She’d heard enough. Heard and comprehended enough to understand. Jonathan had brought her here? Pretended to be captured and in danger? But he had given her to these people…for a map?

  Her breathing became short and fast, and Jane spun back into the hut, looking for something that could be used for a weapon. Something. Anything.

  With a roar of fury borne of deep, dark pain, she found a wrist-thick stick still burning in the fire. Yanking it free, she turned toward the door just as it opened to reveal her guard—presumably to investigate her shout.

  Jane was so incensed, so blinded by rage, she swung the flaming stick at the man in the doorway. He was taken by surprise and stumbled out of the way as she burst out of the hut.

  “Jonathan! You foul, lily-livered, dog-licking snake!” she screamed. She managed only a few steps before several hands grabbed her, pulling her up short, and yanked the flaming stick from her hands.

  She kicked and fought, bit and screamed like a wild woman; all she wanted was the chance to kill him. To maim and torture him.

  To destroy the man who was supposed to love her.

  Jonathan, for his part, leapt behind Cold Eyes when Jane first came into view, but once she was subdued, he stepped back around.

  “Jane!” he cried as she snarled and hissed, determined to get to him.

  “How could you? Why would you ever do such a thing?” she screamed, fighting, kicking, even vaulting up so her legs came off the ground, cycling furiously in the air in his direction as she was held up by her arms. Thick curls flew in her face, tangled around her arms and shoulders. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and her voice was raw with grief and sharp from pain. “Jonathan…”

  At last, she collapsed into the imprisoning hands, still sobbing with fury, shaking with a rage so deep she thought she might never find peace again. Hatred burned in her eyes as she looked at him.