Chapter 15

The days and nights passed. I had initially started the practice of marking the passage of time by using a piece of charcoal to scratch dates on a flat piece of wood. I missed several days and had to make a catch-up estimate. Then another remiss and more time slipped by. One night as I watched a new moon crest, I realized I had no idea what day it was or how long we had been here. More significantly the need and importance of the civilized "knowing the time" had unconsciously faded. I was aware of the sun rising and the coming of night. The cycle of tides had become a daily flow in our activities. I had tossed the last vestige of civilized time into the evening fire.

We were hunting.

I was perched on a tree branch high above a faint game trail the girls had found. I was naked except for my genitalia that were stuffed into a loose leather jock-like pouch. I had learned early and painfully why the savages in National Geographic always seemed to be wearing something like this in the bush. I held a heavy but well-balanced spear above my head as I peered into the clearing below me.

The smaller females seemed to be able to slip through the undergrowth unimpeded.

There was a whistle and the thick foliage rustled. A fat hog-like rodent burst squealing into view. A painted Jennifer suddenly appeared as she stepped from the dark green mass of the jungle. She seemed to leap across the clearing.

She was magnificent.

Jennifer was a beautiful brown blur of sleekly naked Amazon. She ran with a spear poised above her head.

I watched in awe.

She cast the spear and dropped the animal cleanly. The spear had entered its hindquarters and sunk in a foot. The beast squealed and spun in a circle. A running Brittany came at it from the side and with a wicked-looking homemade machete nearly detached its head at the spine with a vicious downward stroke. Blood spurted as it jerked and died.

I sat down on the branch and clapped my hands in appreciation. The two huntresses looked up at me. Both looked wildly savage.

The more buxom Brittany had adopted a tied-tight cloth halter for support. Her heaving breasts bulged in their restraint. Red specks of blood clung to the tops of her swelling mounds. She had a low-slung belt and leather machete sheath on her hips. Her long mane of blonde hair, now bleached almost white by the sun, was braided tightly to her head and hung behind her. The almost-white strip of pubic hair stood out from her browned loins. Her neck collar had been interwoven with some colored stones and shells. She held her bloody weapon above her head and screamed in primordial triumph.

The business-like Jennifer planted her foot on the creature and tugged her spear free. She immediately closely examined the tip of her weapon for wear. She was completely naked except for her flower and shell garnished neck collar. The females had discovered body paints by crushing berries, flowers and mixing them with coconut oil. Jennifer had dark green cat-like stripes covering her brown body. I had noticed that a feminine awareness always dictated the war paint application. The swirl of color accented those up-thrust breasts and if your eye followed the pattern flow across her flat stomach and thighs it was carried to a highlighted pubis.

She looked up at me and smiled, her brilliant white teeth shining from her darkened face and reddened lips.

"Red meat tonight!" she proclaimed proudly.

Dinner spat, dripped and steamed on a spit above the fire. Brittany turned it occasionally as she watched Jennifer and me. I had decided some sex before supper would be appropriate.

The cleaned and paint-free Jennifer had her arms stretched out and her hands against a palm tree with her backside thrust back. She balanced on her toes. I stood behind her between her widely spread legs with my erection nearly fully buried in her anus. She had her head down and with my slow in-stroke she moaned, brought her head up and shook the mane of her loose brown hair.

"God that hurts," she said with a grunt.

We had found that boiling coconut shells would release a thick oily goop. While its smell and color was slightly disgusting, it was as good a lubricant as KY jelly. We had practiced anal sex on a regular basis and the slender girl had slowly learned to accept almost a full penetration of her rectum. I was not sure what excited me more, the tightness of this lean girlish frame or my dominance in this act.

I held her hips and began a slow cautious driving. She would try and meet my thrusts but would always pull back at a certain point. My cock had another inch to go to be fully buried. I could feel a tight resistance on my cock head. I pushed at it.

"Oh no more," she writhed under me. "I can't."

"You must," I said simply. "Rub your clit... Refocus."

"Ohhhh God!" She sounded pitiful. But she dropped her hand and I saw her arm begin a slow stroke.

I looked over at the watching Brittany. Her expression was of worried concern. Feeling my attention on her, she dropped her eyes and rotated the meat. The two girls had formed a very tight bond in the past weeks. They seemed to be a constant. Theirs was a relationship beyond my scope. I had noticed that whatever they would be doing was accomplished with a minimum of speech. Their individual movements could almost blend into one seamless action.