Native Claim - Sex Stories

Native Claim

... entirety of a life’s worth needed to be justified. The reference to the missionaries. The sanctity of life, of a person having a soul, had been taught to these people, but all the same they had… Peter bowed his head to the chief and went to take his leave to see the glorious spectacle. Billings panic as the translator left before he could find the priori of civilization. His desperation came across abrupt and rude as he placed his flat hand on Peter’s chest as he walked by. “Wait… For God’s sake man wait!” Peter frowned at the physical confrontation, but Billings’ desperation seemed to pacify him. “You can’t… You mustn’t eat my Intern.” He implored the words. Peter cropped his head. He looked back to his chief who was also frowning at this potential hurdle to and expected banquette. The place of Peter in the consumed Missionaries close became apparent and despite his tribal culture. He was the diplomat – calm and open to negotiation. “English-Apex”, he addressed Billings. “You want contract?” He reached forward and clasped the table Billings held to his chest preciously. He pulled on it. Billings let it slip from his hands slightly but then tugged back. “Wait… Wait! I want the contract, but you can’t…” “English-Apex. Mumbahoo no eat – no contract.” Peter applied force to his leverage on the tablet. “No… No, I want the contract, but I don’t want you to…” Billings’ boardroom prowess crumpled at the severity of the situation. “English-Apex no contract and you are not our friend. ...

... You like Missionaries.” As Peters face turned to a smile Billings dropped into a cold sweat. His pasty skin went paler and he saw the severity of his situation. Peter smiled a sinister brickwork of pearl white teeth. He released his hold on the table and turned and smiled at the Chief who turned his head away from the trivial concerns of Billings. “All happy.” Peter slapped Billings on the shoulder and exited the hut leaving Billings shaking in the realisation of his predicament. A commotion began outside the Chiefs hut. The commencement of drums, laughter and happy voices greeted the shell-shocked Billings as he walked out of the hut. As if in tribute the large clay oven faced the very place Billings exit. Jillian was the centre of attention. Her pale painted skin, stark in its lithe form, made a terrifyingly beautiful contrast to the barely dressed tribe. She rested on her knees, hunched over. Her ankles had been tied with natural fibre and her arms pulled through the gap between her knees and tangled in the same knot. Her face was pressed into the ceramic tray she’d been placed on and her head was turned to Billings. Her eyes were open now and wide with teared terror as her sex pointed outward in taken submission. A bright yellow native fruit had been placed in her mouth and Billings couldn’t tell if he was hearing her sobs muffled amongst the chorus of happy, unintelligible banter of the tribesmen as the gathered. As Billings watched in horror she spasmed and jerked, the ...