The Trenton Expedition of 1844

She was dressed much like the other women I had seen but of course her decorations bore more embellishments, even if of a primitive nature. She also appeared to have some sort of ornamental covering of her nipples. As she came closer with each labored grunt of those carrying her I also noticed that she wore a form of makeup. I don't know what berries or plant matter had produced the look, but her eyes were given a green shade and her lips a gold color.

I could tell as she passed that I had been somewhat mistaken about her nipples. They were not so much covered as polished bone pierced her nipples, no doubt for decoration and perhaps to signify status. But with a woman this size nothing else was needed to signify status.

They stopped between the lines of trapped men and lowered the litter to the ground. This huge woman, this queen, then stood up, stepped off, and made her way onto the dais to stand in front of the throne. I saw the medicine man, as I chose to call him, at her side. The dais also had some of the women and men that had followed him. With all of them standing in near proximity I would guess the 'queen' to be over seven feet tall.

Other women and men had followed and now filled in the area of the village center. The carriers then stood up and spun around. They then lifted the palanquin and quicker than it arrived it was taken from the scene. As they departed, the path was closed in by more of the village crowd. It appeared the stage had been properly set.

Chapter 3

With the queen and her entourage now on the dais, the medicine man stepped forward and spoke to the crowd. They replied with cheers and hollering. He then spoke a command and from somewhere behind the dais came several men dragging another member of our group, similarly bound.

They brought him to the medicine man who dipped his hand in some kind of jar and smeared a paint or paste on the forehead of the man, a man I recognized as Collin Farnsworth! Then the small men carried him around behind the throne as the queen stepped to the side. They laid him on his back behind the throne with his head upon the seat.

This made little sense to me. Then the queen made a gesture to the crowd and took her seat upon the throne; and upon Collin's face! This was barbaric! There was no way Collin could escape and if the weight of the woman wasn't enough to crush his head, surely he would suffocate within her nethers! I instinctively tried to shout out but was reminded of the gag in my mouth. Also at some point my guard had moved around behind me and her hands at my shoulders gripped me tight keeping me from moving or falling over.

I struggled but was aware that even if I broke free it would be to fall on the ground, still bound. I knew Collin was struggling underneath this mighty woman and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I felt so helpless. It was also the first time I truly accepted that we all might die before the night was over.

My guard wasn't worried about my escape and let me tire myself. Once I settled into despair she simply stood me up straight again and let me observe the scene unfolding before me. It was a scene which filled me with a mix of emotions.

Next upon the dais a woman stepped forward whose face was painted. She wasn't the queen but clearly she had some station within the tribe. She made a show of sticking out her tongue, which was a very long tongue indeed. And then she began to dance as the drum beats filled the air.

She danced back and forth and even came off the dais a few times. She was gesturing wildly but the most predominant aspect of her dance was making faces at the crowd and sticking out her tongue, a tongue she would wiggle and shake as if she was possessed.

Then the eight girls, each assigned to a half-buried man, began to dance once more. They danced and shook as they moved forward. They turned around throwing their massive hips high into the air, and then again moved forward. Eight of the midget men then came up behind each pole, putting a rope around each prisoner's throat and then waited.

The women moved again slowly approaching their victims. As they danced right in front of them it was quite clear that their most intimates were close to the eye level of my trapped comrades. As they danced inches from them I thought such a scene would be hard to find even in the red streets of Paris.

In their dancing they also squatted lower, which simply brought those beautiful bouncing breasts dangerously close. Perhaps they intended to bruise the men by use of their heavy, heaving breasts. And then the women all seemed to be making eye contact as they reached for the gags of each man before them. Then as one they pulled loose the knots on the gags freeing them and waving them overhead much like a handkerchief.

But before any of them had time to react, the short men behind them pulled on the short ropes much like a garrote and began choking them. They continued to pull and tighten the ropes, at least one of the tiny men using his foot upon the pole for leverage. Besides the obvious discomfort and strain, one thing I noticed in horror was that all of the victim's tongues were sticking out and waving in the air as they choked.

I involuntarily screamed into my own gag at this injustice, yet there was still nothing I could do to save them. But the purpose wasn't to kill them; at least not yet. For the short men tied off the ropes, the prisoners still choking and fighting for air, and then moved away and back into the crowd.

The women who had never left continued their dance. Now they waved the handkerchiefs though it was not as sensual or as graceful as tales of Persian woman and their dances with scarves. Once again focus shifted to their buttocks and the way they shook them as they raised one hip and then the other. Soon they were all bent over at the waist and they would raise their right leg, thrusting their right buttock into the air and then repeat with the left side.

They were all in synchronization following the beating of the drums and then slowly step by step they all moved backward toward the tied and choking men. I kept waiting for them to come to a stop but they did not. Or rather they only stopped moving backward when the face behind them was pushed so far into their arse that they had nowhere else to go!

My body jerked at this inhumane treatment. My mates were already fighting for their lives before this gross indignity! But the torture wasn't over. The women kept up their dance but now they reached behind and spread the cheeks of their backsides. But this was not out of compassion. This was not meant to allow their victims more air, though I was certain they were greedily gulping what air they could. No this was simply a means to ensure the wriggling tongues met up with the location so desired. These women were forcing the tongues onto their arseholes!

Then with cheeks spread they began to do squats and raises. They were effectively wiping their arses on the men's trapped and unwilling tongues. While I could not fathom the full meaning of this night's ritual and what they intended, clearly some of this was sexual in nature, though clearly deviant.

After several seconds which felt like minutes, they pulled away and turned around facing them. The dance continued with swaying breasts and the most intimates approaching dangerously close to the wagging tongues. But it was far from over as they turned once more and brought their large jiggling backsides towards those involuntary tongues. Once again the men were abused to the pleasure of the women and I suspected the pleasure of the chanting crowd.

Minutes passed like hours and in truth I felt I was losing my sense of time. But the dance continued. The women would let up after a long rubbing and gyrating of hips only to return soon after and begin the abuse again. What I also found distressing as I witnessed this most depraved method of torture is how well synchronized and practiced the dance was.

That all the women performed the same moves in unison spoke to their familiarity with the dance. How had they come to practice such moves and how often did they put such dance into practice? These uncomforting thoughts tumbled in my mind as the woman came back to the men, arses at the ready, for yet another round.

I don't know how long it lasted. I prayed it was only minutes but it felt like days. My best scientific guess was that it went on for nearly an hour, though I couldn't imagine how the men survived. But eventually the women turned to face the men and slowly danced backwards away from them to stand relatively still where they had stood before.

The focus shifted back to the tongue-lady on the dais. This time she produced a large gourd and began pouring from it into a large and elaborate, at least by primitive standards, chalice. She emptied the gourd of its contents, an orange colored liquid, no doubt from the wild fruits and berries of the jungle. She then emptied another such gourd and the chalice was presented to the queen.

The queen stood from her throne and took the ceremonial cup. She raised it high to the crowd and then downed its contents in one continuous motion. Having finished she handed it back to the tongue-lady who in turn passed it off to one of the short men on the dais. While she drank I tried to see if I could spot Farnsworth. I had forgotten about him as the abusive arse dance was underway but now that the focus was back on the queen I wondered if it possible for him to still be alive.

After handing back the cup, the queen retook her seat and in the split second before his head was once again enveloped in the dark flesh, I thought I saw the slightest movement from Collin. I thanked God that he was still alive. And then I reconsidered. Would it have been more merciful if he were already dead? What real chance did he or any of us have? I wanted us all to get through this somehow but if this was to be our last night, wouldn't it be better to end quickly and with less suffering?

Whatever Collin's fate I had no sight of him now and the focus shifted back to the eight women. Each had been given a drinking gourd and now all began drinking. As the gourds were drained and given back, the women began a steady rhythm while standing in place. Then at a given beat of the drum they all moved forward once more.

The dance was a little different this time. It took me a moment to notice but there was less arse-shaking going on this time. However much of those moves were replaced by a sort of pelvic thrusting. And again they neared their victims. Again more squatting and rising but they didn't turn themselves around.

And again as the women stood in front of the prisoners, pygmy men came up behind them. This time they untied the ropes at their necks and I felt relieved as my mates coughed and gasped. However they only had seconds of such respite before they had new gags fitted in place. These as far as I could tell, resembled the one in my mouth, minus the potato like object, which held their mouths open and stretched their lips and cheeks quite uncomfortably, if mine was any indication.

That accomplished, these little helpers retired once more and the women moved to the next part of their dance. It should have not surprised me yet I wasn't fully prepared when the women stepped forward as one and put their womanly creases into the men's faces. While this wasn't the same sort of perversion as the arse dance before, this was still certainly for the women's benefit and not that of the men.

Much as before the dance was all about rubbing their savage cunnies over the mouths and faces of their victims. The women had clearly enjoyed themselves before but now the sexual excitement had grown within them. They looked more like sexual animals as they danced and rubbed against the men.

At times they would grab the bamboo pole in one hand as they all slowly dragged their hairy minges the full length of the face trapped before them. Given the relative coarseness of native hair I could only imagine how it might feel on a gentleman's face, notwithstanding the womanly musk and likely the same sort juices that must be now coating the men's faces.

For a moment I thought I caught whiff of the sexual musk from the women but that seemed rather impractical at this distance. But I suppose my imagination was running at full tilt. I was also shocked to discover that my John Thomas was also running a bit wild, straining my dungarees. I suppose such wanton display of cunnies, even savage cunnies was registered on a primal level even if such were being used against unwilling faces.

And indeed they were being used against unwilling faces; over and over and over again. As before they would occasionally step away but they would always return. And the dance continued to leave its mark on the men's countenance. But then something different happened.

One of the women gripped the bamboo pole and let out a shrill cry. The crowd responded with cheers. The women then made a few pelvic thrusts into the face of the man in front of her before a loud sigh and exhalation. I could not tell just what was happening until another woman made a similar cry. She got the same response from the crowd and this time I could see that when she relaxed she was having a piss. More disturbing was the realization that she was having a piss in the unsuspecting and unprotected mouth of the man before her!

In less than a minute all the women had made the same cry and then proceeded to empty their bladders down the throats of my mates! I hung my head. I had thought the arsehole dance to be unbearable but I simply had not conceived of any act like the one before me now. Words like 'savage' and 'barbaric' just weren't up to the task of describing this atrocity.

Eventually it was over. I heard some of the sputtering and choking but I was unaware if any of the men had drowned from such a torturous ordeal. The women, uncaring savages that they were, simply danced their way back to their resting spots as the focus shifted once again back to the dais.

It was the tongue-woman once again. She began a slow dance in place. She began to dance more like a belly dancer than she had before though the movements were more quick and forceful, lacking the grace of an Arabian dancer. The grace may have been absent but I now noticed more of her nakedness.

Then a native man was brought forward. This was different than anything else for this one man, clearly a member of the tribe, was bound hands behind his back and brought forward by other men of the tribe. It was the first case I had seen of them turning on their own in any such fashion.

With a scared look the man was brought stage center and awaited his fate. The tongue-woman soon approached him. She danced around him and by his stature and hers rather than by any pits or poles, she was dancing with her cunny and arse very close to his fearful face.

She put a foot on his shoulder as she bent backwards and shook her chest from side to side. As she stood back up she let her foot then ankle slide off his shoulder and down his back. In a fluid motion she was now standing astride his shoulder and her minge was right next to his face. With the greatest of ease she turned his head toward her and dragged her crotch from his chin to his forehead. She even took time in reversing the motion and slowly brought herself back to his chin.

Then she grabbed his hair and pulled his head back forcing him to look at the sky. He didn't have long to look before she rose up on her toes and shifted forward settling her crotch down upon his upturned face. He remained in this neck-breaking position as she once again shook her chest.

She was quite happy to leave him trapped where he was as she danced in place; occasionally grinding down upon him. But after a short time of that she brought her other leg over his shoulder such that both her legs were behind his back and his neck must nearly snap as his face was pushed into her.

She then crossed her ankles and squeezed her thighs; and in what I momentarily thought was a faint, she fell back onto the dais and rolled onto her side. His body followed hers as he had no choice and now he was on his side with his head trapped within her savage crotch. She rolled away and now her backside could be seen along with the man's body, minus his head and neck, and then the squeezing evidenced in her buttocks told of the poor man's discomfort.

She rolled him onto his back and then pulled her legs up, sitting on his face. She bounced her crotch on his face a few times before she extended her legs, grabbing the back of his head and pulling his face into her dark cunny. Then she leaned back and squeezed her thighs mightily about his head.

She continued to move with him. This looked less like a dance and more like a bout of French wrestling. She nearly always had his head, and thereby his face, in some kind of leg hold. He was clearly suffering not only by the simple evidence of his positioning but also by the times his legs and body would shake as he no doubt was fighting for air.

It wasn't quite clear if the drums stopped first or if she did, but when it was over she stood up over his small body and then stepped away. He did not leave on his own but rather his limp form was drug off the dais by other natives. Fear of death still hung in the air as I could not tell if he had merely passed out or if he had expired under her harsh treatment.

And then we were back to the eight.

Those women; those chosen women who had already done so much, began dancing once more towards their victims. Once more in unison, once they had closed the distance, each grasped the bamboo pole in both hands, did a squat, and together did a very slow drag of their dark cunnies across the entire length of the men's faces. Upon reaching the tops of their heads the women arched their backs while still gripping the pole and made a sort of cry, before as one, they all did another slow drag down the men's faces and off their chins.

That appeared to be some statement of intention. Clearly they were about to do more of the same and in their way mimic the actions of the tongue-woman on the dais. However given that their victims were tied to poles and half-buried, the moves would necessarily need to be altered.

They didn't seem the least bit concerned about that. All women wrapped their legs around the pole and the head of their man. Using the pole as a grip they would rub and grind against the face trapped before them. They even switched legs as if that made any difference to the poor soul whose face was buried in a savage cunt!

But as the scene before me continued I did notice something unexpected. I don't know exactly when it began but I noticed a few women were 'out of step' with the others. But soon it was clear each of them were now doing their own thing. The dances and abuses that had been performed were of a team effort but now their actions showed it was time for personal achievement.

And too the crowd felt more divided. If possible the women had fans and it was like watching a rugby match as fans encouraged the team as a whole but also shouted for favorite players. There was an element of competition going on as each woman ground her sex upon the face that belonged to her. Some had a faster rhythm while others held a long squeeze.

The women also stayed with their men more than before. While they would step back to change positions they never appeared more than a foot away from the man tied at their mercy. In fact as this latest 'dance' wore on, it looked like several of the women were trying to climb the pole.

They weren't actually looking to reach the top, but with both legs wrapped around the pole and the face wedged deep within their crotch they would squeeze and lift themselves as if they wanted to shimmy higher on the pole. Though by their own faces, none of the women were disappointed in their lack of progress up the shaft, though they kept trying, certainly to the despair of the men whose faces must be crushed, slick, and suffocating.