Chapter 2

As she had feared, they had not been for two days in Port-Au-Prince when Roger Antrim called on them at their hotel.

Her brain was whirling and her emotions were in turmoil as she nervously what Roger's attitude would be... But she need not have been so anxious, she now thought with intense relief as she got dressed for the evening--an evening Antrim had promised to be full of excitement-- he had been he old confident, charming self, but nothing more... There was not a hint in his attitude towards her that would have allowed her to think that he even remembered the incident in the backseat of his car that night in the woods... Thank God, it was all the better for Richard was simply wild with enthusiasm when he had offered to take them to some "real show," something quite different from the disappointing tourist attractions they had seen up to now.

Roger arrived punctually and the long appreciative look he gave Alice filled her with understandable delight in her blooming womanhood. She fen confident and her spirits soared as she walked between the two men, each one of her tiny hands wrapped into a strong masculine arm. Roger was giving them highlights of the fascinating culture of the island that was one of its main charms. He told them about Voodoo-- Richard listening intently--and mentioned the child sacrifices that the Negroes from Dahomey used to have, and still held in secret for it was now forbidden.

The stories gave Alice goose pimples and made her cling closer to her former beau as he went on with his informative conversation, all of which Richard seemed to almost be swallowing, hanging on to every word his friend pronounced.

The night was cool and calm, and the moon shone big and blue in a dark sky.

"A perfect night for a ritual," Roger said in his low, rich voice, and as they rode along the white moon-swept streets, he told the young couple about their rendezvous. "We are going to see an obeah rite. Know what that is, Dick7"

Alice shook her head while her husband immediately began stating in a doctoral tone:

"Well, darling," it's called by many names. Voodoo. Black magic. Over here it's called obeah. The name might be different, but it is essentially the same thing. Same rites. Same purpose. Everything... I feel quite excited at the prospect of seeing it... really, Roger, you don't know what this means for me..."

He seemed very excited indeed not his usual controlled self. "You know, I've read of many extraordinary things and this to which you are taking us, Roger, is the strangest of them all."

Alice remained silent as the car zoomed along. They left the roaring city behind. There was a more rural aspect to the passing landscape now and somehow, in spite of herself, she felt the same way as when watching those horror pictures of Count Dracula...

Then Roger stopped the car and helped Alice out. The darkness was intense. The moon had suddenly disappeared. The only light came from a window in the distance. A large white frame house loomed up in the darkness. The trio left the road and Roger directed his friends up a dirt path bordered by flowers whose heavy, penetrating aroma filled the night air.

For a few minutes, they followed the foot path. Only sounds of night-time reached them here. All signs of civilization were behind them, back in Port-Au-Prince. Alice felt as if she were stepping into a strange, unknown land with alien, forbidding customs. Now they were walking along a narrow defile and seemed to be climbing.

They came out suddenly on a broad ledge. Ahead of them a bright fire gave off a reddish, supernatural glow. As they approached the fire, Alice saw that there were many people, all coal black, sitting in a great circle around the fire. The whole scene gave her an eerie feeling and she threw a rapid glance in Richard's direction, noticing his unconcealed excitement.

Suspicious looks were directed towards the white intruders which immediately changed when they saw Roger Antrim. He seemed to be quite well known for immediately cushions were provided for the three of them to sit on comfortably. Alice was again placed between Roger and Richard and she preferred it this way. It made her feel more secure as the dreadful feeling of foreboding which had invaded her being at the sight of the unexpected scene lifted somewhat.

Finally, footsteps were heard approaching. A tall, gaunt, black woman of a statuesque beauty entered in the middle of the circle. She had enormous, hypnotic yellow eyes which made a striking contrast with her dark skin. She stared around slowly, allowing her eyes to rest on each person individually. When her eyes rested on Roger, Alice thought she saw a slight quiver of the muscles at the base of the woman's throat. Then the yellow, cat-like eyes were holding her own...

"Who is she?" Richard asked in a trembling voice.

"Salambo, a priestess of the voodoo rites," Roger answered in a low voice.

The black faces stared up at Salambo as she stood outlined, still as a statue in her long white gown. They stared impassively. No one moved. There was a lifeless quality about the group that sent chills along Alice's spine.

A drum began beating abruptly as if from deep within the very heart of the earth on which they were sitting. It beat slowly and softly, its monotonous rhythm filling their ears as with the intensified sound of their own heart-beat. Then the tempo increased and it grew in volume. The deep sound echoed through the thick bushes surrounding them.

A second drum joined the first at a higher pitch. Then another at still a higher pitch. All three drums now beat in unison as if played by one hand. The rhythm was electric.

Then they stopped as suddenly as they had begun. The abrupt quiet was louder than the beating of the drums had been.

Alice looked about her. Salambo had not moved. Now she walked to the fire and someone began a low chant in a strange language. The chant was taken up by more and more watchers until all were singing the guttural syllables in a low, hypnotic voice.

The chant too was ended abruptly. Salambo mouthed some phrases and the chanting began again. It is like a litany, Alice thought, and Salambo is the High Priestly.

A strong drink that tasted somewhat like rum was passed around and the spectators were taking turns inhaling deeply on a long thin pipe exhaling a sweet, pungent smelling smoke. Everyone seemed to be in a sort of catatonic state, not smiling, not frowning, just sitting there expressionless.

Alice noticed that Richard took his turn like the others, sipping some of the brown drink and taking a long drag on the pipe. Then, the gourd and pipe were passed to her and she hesitated, not knowing what to do.

"Try it," Roger told her in a low, persuasive tone.

"No... no... really," she said. "I don't care to."

"It will make the evening more pleasant if you do," he laughed reassuringly. "And we'd better not offend our hosts, so you may as well enjoy yourself... They're quite harmless!"

Alice was not so sure, but she hesitantly took a sip of the strong liquor. It wasn't too bad. Tasted even good, strong and warm as it went down her throat. She took the pipe and pretended to take a long drag, then handed it back to Roger.

"Come Alice," he urged her softly. "Take some more, don't be afraid..."

She couldn't fool him and even though she was afraid of the effects it could have, she took a small puff. The pungent smoke filled her lungs and she coughed. The taste was quite acrid and the thought she might get sick, but she didn't. Roger watched her closely, moving his cushion nearer to hers, his dark eyes taking in every move she made

Salambo was swaying back and forth to the music, undulating her hips. Her loose white robe clung to her magnificent figure as she moved. She was fairly tall, with long, nervous legs, well rounded hips and a narrow waist. Her breasts appeared to be quite full and pear shaped and they jiggled slightly as she moved, revealing the fact that she was not wearing anything under the robe.

Her expressionless face wore a mask of defiance or tragedy while her hypnotic yellow eyes flashed an inner fire. Her hair was closely cropped around her head in an Afro style.

She walked around the circle of spectators, moving slowly, sensuously, like a strong, graceful feline, letting the men present admire the sleekness of her firm body. Her hips were swaying gently and the tie of her robe loosened slightly. The garment fell apart, revealing a few inches of her bare dark bosom, just enough so that the firm roundness of her flesh could be seen.

She stretched her arms outward as if she were invoking some deity and at the same time daring her robe to come apart. As she moved, her long, black-skinned legs were visible where her robe separated just below the waist.

Alice watched her, fascinated, and so did Richard, for she moved so gracefully, and so sensuously. Her hands moved to the tie on her robe and one could feel the tension in the group as she undid she string that was holding the garment together and let it slip off her shoulders and fall to the floor.

All the people present were breathing rapidly, enthralled by the movements of the Priestess. Her hips were full-fleshed and solid, the bulge of her thighs was soft and cushiony. Her pelvis undulated forward and back, teasing, taunting, daring the men with the dark patch between her legs, posing with her legs apart so that all could look up between her naked thighs and view the velvety purple vaginal lips and the tiny slit of her open cunt.

Her nipples stood erect like blackberries on her heavy, firm breasts as they quivered to the rhythm of her dancing. Her buttocks trembled and she stood in one place for just a moment and let her body shake all over, the flames playing on the smooth dark flesh, making of Salambo a vision of supernatural beauty and power.

The Voodoo Priestess looked like a mirage, so beautiful and entrancing that it was difficult to believe that she was real. Her hands cupped her pear-shaped breasts and pushed them up, holding them proudly upward, letting all admire their fullness, their firmness, and she gave the audience several minutes to absorb this pose, letting all realize exactly what she was offering them.

Alice squirmed down against the cushion, feeling its rough edge push dress and panties into her crevice. She rubbed herself gently against it, working the corner of the cushion between the moistening lips of her vulva. Her body rocked on it rhythmically--in concert with the writhing girl swaying in the eerie light of the fire. She could feel the well-known wetness spread between her thighs and she spread them slightly to gain greater contact with the cushion. The roughness brushed soothingly against her tiny, rising clitoris through the sheer panties she was wearing.

She looked guiltily out of the corner of her eye at Richard next to her to make sure he hadn't noticed; but he seemed so engrossed by the spectacle that he had paid no attention. Then she felt Roger's arm behind her, waiting. Without thought, she relaxed against it and made no protest when his hand came to rest heavily on her left throbbing breast.

The musky odor of Roger's cologne filled her nostrils, stimulating her further. It had a rich, suggestive odor that caused her to snuggle closer as the excitement of forbidden naughtiness rippled through her and she was careful not to break contact with the edge of the cushion pressed into the crevice between her fevered thighs.

Salambo reached inside the fork of a huge tree near by and brought out a wicker basked from which she removed a long, black snake that wiggled restlessly, undulating and writhing, weaving its head and body in nervous coils. At the sight of the snake, a ripple of excitement swept the onlookers.

Alice tensed in momentary shock and only Roger's firm grip on her now throbbing breasts kept her from running away from the clearing. She felt tiny throbs pulsing in the erect bud of her clitoris as she squirmed downward, the cushion edge forcing the set band of her panties deeper into the split of her crotch. She bit her lower lip tightly to hold back the forbidden sensations that were throbbing between her legs.

Salambo stood in the wild flicker of the fire and ran her hands over her hips and thighs, bending to caress her smooth, trim calves. The men gasped as she revealed the firm plumpness of her buttocks and the dark crevice with the tiny anal ring nestled there mysteriously. Eyes were popping out in the darkness, absorbing the erection of her nipples, the cleavage of her buttocks and the spot between her legs where each male wished that he could bury himself.

The Priestess moved her legs out and around in a circular motion, uncaring of the black, hideous snake coiled around her throat, her vee catching the dancing flames of the fire as they played on her completely naked body.

Her face was contorted with an expression of lust and desire, almost of pain, as though she were being impaled by some invisible penis, her body moving faster and faster as though she were working up to an orgasm and the music of the drums grey louder and louder.

Roger's hand was now resting on Alice's thigh and she did nothing to stop him. She could feel his fingers tighten and loosen on her skin each time Salambo rocked her hips forward as though she were offering her treasure to every man sitting around the fire. It was impossible to watch and not want to touch her, press against her, take her, and it was obvious that all the men were just waiting for the first one to make a move. They rocked back and forth, pressing their legs together to control their erections that were rapidly becoming more and more obvious. But surely, no one would dare touch the Priestess for Salambo seemed to be having intercourse with some powerful deity ruling over this superstitious people.

Alice felt that the drink and smoke had dulled her senses and yet at the same time intensified them. It didn't matter who the man was next to her, she found the situation sensually exciting, animalistic and she vitas enjoying it. She could feel a tightness growing in her loins, a desire that was becoming stronger and stronger, so she leaned back, supporting herself against Roger's shoulder.

He took this as an encouragement and his hand slipped even further up on her leg, reaching well beneath her skirt. She was enjoying the power she held over him now, she wanted him while he watched the other girl dance, and it was a strange, almost sadistic feeling of power that she was experiencing. She knew that the whole set-up was affecting her, but she had such a warm glow, such a sensual feeling that the only thing that mattered was that she was a woman and she wanted a man... any man.

Salambo undulated and writhed for several more minutes, then collapsed to the floor, her legs slightly apart, her breast jiggling each time her chest rose and fell with her heavy breathing.

A white rooster was handed to Salambo. A knife flashed in the wicked light of the fire. Salambo rose. There was a great arching motion of her black arm holding the knife. Then, the bird's head fell to the ground.

Salambo quickly held a gourd bowl under the still flapping and palpitating bird's neck and collected the creature's life blood as it streamed out. A choir of children's voices rose in a bizarre way.

The purity of the children's voices and the primitive sacrifice awed Alice who now realized that she was witnessing a voodoo sacrificial rite. Was this what Richard had wanted so much to see, she wondered vaguely. Her head was whirling. The fire was giving off a pungent fragrance.

Salambo was now drawing a circle on the ground in which she sprinkled a few drops from a vial she held. She sprinkled some of the liquid on the fire which blazed fiercely all of a sudden. The tempo of the drums increased to a deafening volume.

Salambo raised the bowl of rooster's blood to her head and drank from it, the morbid, red life fluid running in awesome streams along her neck. The watchers moaned in unison. Then they were still. Salambo dipped her fingers in the bowl and sprinkled a few drops of blood over the fire. Again the flames blazed in renewed fury.