The Spicy Tales of Peril Group presents…
The Perils of Lianni
By Dana Bowman, Jeb, and Jeanne Thorne
Chapter the Second
"Free, I tells ye -- `ey each gots free titties! You'll see."
"Ye daft bugger-- it ain't three, it's one. They only gots one tit cause they has to cut one off for using them big bows."
"I had a cousin who--"
"Shurrup and row, you bleedin' nits," Jeb Stuart's voice growled from the back of the boat, and the seamen returned to their task, still muttering to each other about the supposed bonus or deficit in the women of the jungle.
Jeb settled back, trying to force down the unease in the pit of his stomach. After Jeanne-Marie's meeting with Dona Angela, it had been clear that this trip was going to be different from the others. Among other things, they were heading far inland, to country none of them had visited in their previous slaving expeditions. Throw a legendary Golden Goddess on top of that, as well as Jeb's own half-formulated ideas, and small wonder that his sea-dogs' prattle was getting on his nerves.
He scowled down at the oily brown water. You could practically see the disease coming off it in waves. The sooner they concluded this expedition, the better. He glanced behind, checking for the dozenth time that the unmanned boats were still tethered to his, the third in the line. At present, the stores of munitions rode there, held in place by ropes attached to the metal rings that lined the boats; on the return trip, of course, those rings would be where chains were attached, holding a somewhat more reluctant cargo in place.
Settling himself again, he let his eye drift to the first boat in the line -- aye, there she was. For all that five years of being careful had kept him whole and alive, there was no doubt that the sight of that magnificent form, its haughty stance, and the memory of how it had looked stripped could stir him as no other. He put his head back, letting the baking sun bathe his cheeks, and closed his eyes, wondering if any other man had ever seen Jeanne-Marie naked, on her knees, and begging for--
"Ahhhh!"
Jeb's eyes flew open at the gasping sound. It was so loud that at first he thought it had come from one of the men in his boat. When they looked back at him in bewilderment, Jeb looked forward and saw Jeanne-Marie's figure slumping down.
"Bloody hell!" He jumped to his feet, the boat heaving nearly over with the violence of the motion. His first instinct was to dash forward to his captain -- she's seventy feet of water ahead of you, you idiot -- but he drew his pistol and, instead, scrutinized the thick growth on the shore: trees, vines, tangles of brush. Christ, you could hide a regiment in there! Warily, he looked sideways to the first boat again, praying that his captain was not badly hurt.
She was gripping her shoulder, blood streaming from between her fingers, holding onto the shaft that had skewered straight through the meat. Her other arm was pointing at a break in the brush up ahead and to the right, a short patch of muddy bank that would do for a landing. Jeb barked at the men to make for the bank, and when he could see bottom, the mate vaulted the side of the boat and struggled through the brackish water to reach Jeanne-Marie.
“I’ve got you, Cap’n,” he murmured, scooping her writhing, groaning form in his arms. Over his shoulder he shouted, “Haddock! LeFou! Get a fire goin’ and be quick about it!”
Jeb laid Jeanne-Marie on a patch of dry ground up the bank and held her fast. “Try not to move, Cap’n,” he cautioned quietly. Jeanne-Marie looked back at him, dark eyes alight with pain and fury, nodded, and fought to stay in place. Every experienced mariner knows something about makeshift medicine, and every one of the battle-hardened crew of the Rover had seen fellows die from loss of blood and, worse, gangrene. The fire was going in short order, a long knife blade thrust deep into the flames.
"Put that in 'er mouth, lads, and hold 'er down." Jeb handed Haddock a thick leather strap from the store of slaving gear. The mate dutifully pushed it deep between Jeanne's gnashing teeth, minding his fingers, then took hold of her right wrist. Three other buccaneers held her left wrist and both legs, pinning her to the ground like a butterfly on a board. Off to the side, Bosun LeFou tended the small fire, turning the long knife in the flames.
Jeb looked down again at his captain, who glared up at him with blazing eyes and nodded slowly. He nodded in return then laid one firm hand on her left shoulder, the other gripping the shaft of the arrow that had pierced straight through. Jeanne closed her eyes and steeled herself for what came next.
"NNNNNNNNGGGGHH!" Her lithe body arched off the ground, muscles cording and breasts straining against her blouse as she thrashed in agony. All four mates gripped her limbs tighter as Jeb slowly drew the arrow out. Immediately blood began to flow from the open wounds and Jeb called out, "LeFou! Bring it now, damn you!"
As the bosun drew the hot knife from the fire, Jeanne panted through her nose, teeth sunk deep into the leather. Fresh sweat broke out all over her body as she watched Jeb take the knife. He swabbed at the blood, then without a word of warning pressed the hot knife to the wound.
"NNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGRRRRRHHH!" Again Jeanne's body lifted and she keened against the strap. The hands winced at the smell of burning flesh. Jeb satisfied himself that the first wound was cauterized, then turned the blade over and applied it to the second. Haddock attempted to adjust his grip on her sweat-slick wrist and instead lost it. Jeanne's fist flew up with adrenaline-charged force and clocked him squarely in the chin, snapping his head back. As Haddock fell onto his back, the other pirates couldn't help but cackle and howl with laughter.
Jeanne chewed hard on the leather, jaw locked in a contorted grimace of sheer pain, eyes rolled back in her head as her flesh seared beneath the knife. Finally Jeb pulled the blade away and called for a flask, pulling the gag from Jeanne's mouth and bringing the bottle to her lips. The grog burned Jeanne's throat as she guzzled it greedily, rivulets running down her chin. Finally she gasped, "Let go of me, you bastards."
The hands backed away quickly and Jeanne sat up, teeth bared, the flesh of her exposed shoulder red and puckering. She looked all round at her staring crewmen and snarled, "You have work to do, you dogs! Unload the boats!"
Immediately the men scattered, heading to the riverbank to bring up the supplies they'd need for an overland trek. "We're close, Mister Stuart," she growled. "I can feel it."
Jeb looked at her and said quietly, "You need to rest up, Cap'n."
Her expression was terrible as she whipped her head around. "No!
Whoever shot that damned arrow is probably already at the Macumbas' village. We need to move now before we're overrun by savages."
"But which way?"
Jeanne pondered that through the haze of pain throbbing in her shoulder. She took another pull from the flask and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, staring down at the boats being unloaded, at the sunlight dappling on the muddy water.
"Water." She blurted, straightening up. "The Macumbas wouldn't drink that swill down there. There must be a source of fast-moving water around here. A tributary that feeds into the main river." She stood with difficulty, wincing, and turned to peer into the jungle, listening intently and damning the ceaseless chatter of the jungle birds.
There. Just barely on the edge of hearing. A soft murmur in the distance.
"A waterfall, or I'm a scurvy rat," she muttered. "We've not encountered any feeder waterways yet, so it must be that way." She pointed upriver.
Jeanne turned to Jeb, her eyes bright with the hunt and an appetite for vengeance. "Get those dogs together and tell them to be sharp. We're taking that golden wench if we have to slaughter every damn savage in Africa to do it!"
#
"They're coming, Zaba... coming soon. Are the men ready?". Lianni's chest still heaved beneath the skimpy bodice as her lungs dragged in the air to replenish her strength. The Jungle Girl had made amazing time in reaching the village, and now there was much to do.
The tall, muscular warrior nodded. "Yes, Golden One, they are fully prepared. How many do we face?"
"Less than fifty, but they are armed with the white man's weapons.
Unless we take them by surprise, they will decimate us".
Zaba smiled confidently. "If they come inland to the village, we will prepare an ambush that none of them will survive".
The long-legged blonde returned the smile. "They will come inland, of that I am sure. And Zaba...?"
"Yes, my Queen?"
"Their leader is a young woman. Whatever the warriors do to the others, I want her alive. Understand?"
"A woman?"
Lianni grinned. "You find that hard to believe?"
The young chieftain nodded gravely. "I do not believe any woman could command the allegiance of men as you do, Lianni".
“This one is wounded, but there was something about her..." Lianni looked up at him. "Let's not underestimate her. Now disburse the warriors. If I am right, the white devils will arrive near daybreak. Let us be ready for them -- the survival of our people depends on it".
The entire Macumba tribe consisted of a little over three hundred people. Of these, one hundred were full-blooded warriors, descendants of the savages who had come to this dark region a century before and driven the indigenous tribes further north. They were feared throughout the Congo, and were rarely challenged these days, largely due to the power attributed to their protector, the one they called Lianni, the Golden One. As a result of the blonde goddess's influence the tribe no longer committed atrocities against their neighbors, but should they ever be threatened by enemies, she was merciless in her demand for blood.
There could be no doubt as to her response to the looming danger then. The village could be approached only by a narrow track that forced any intruders to proceed in single file. The river was nearby, but the dense jungle surroundings provided perfect cover for those who lay in wait.
They heard them approaching when they were still more than a half a mile away, and all eyes fixed on the young woman who they knew without a doubt would protect them. Their hearts beat with the inexorable blood lust of their ancestors as the pirate crew came slowly into sight, led by the strikingly beautiful dark-haired woman, only the second white female the Macumbas had ever laid eyes on, and each was momentarily shocked by the realization that their goddess was not as entirely unique as they had believed.
Lianni waited, judging the precise moment when the majority of the party, save for a few men towards the rear, were within striking distance. She made a small motion with her right hand, and the slaughter began.
A hail of arrows cut down half of the freebooters instantly, choking in their death-throes as they clutched at wooden shafts embedded deep in their chests. Moments later, a sea of black death cascaded over them as the massive warriors poured from the jungle and set upon the intruders with club, spear, and knife with merciless savagery. The air filled with the smell of cordite and the sound of screams as desperate men clashed and weapons were discharged. At close quarters, the muskets and pistols of the white men were less effective than the more primitive weapons of the Macumbas, and the battle was uneven.
As Lianni, eyes blazing madly, jerked backwards on the head of one bearded brigand and slashed his throat viciously, she saw several of her men struck by bullets and falling back into the jungle, and others grappling at close quarters with the white devils. The smell of blood was all-pervasive. The pirates stood little chance against the savage fury of the warriors who now fell on them and wreaked havoc on their ranks. It was a fight that lasted less than five minutes, and at the end of it, a mass of bodies lay still or moaning in pain on the jungle floor while a few, including the black-haired beauty, struggled wildly in the grip of the powerful natives.
Lianni's eyes narrowed at the sight of the young woman cursing and thrashing as her arms were stretched wide and held by a pair of Macumbas. Her gaze was diverted momentarily by the sight of two whites escaping towards the river, and she yelled to the chief and motioned towards the retreating men. "Stop them!" A group of Macumbas set off in pursuit and the blonde beauty smiled grimly. She had no doubt that the devils would not get far.
But now she turned her attention to the survivors. All but six of the invaders had been slain and the carnage had been achieved for the loss of ten or so of the young warriors. She looked down at one of the natives sprawled before her, then looked up coldly at the young woman screaming shocking obscenities and writhing in the grip of the Macumbas. Slowly, she moved forward to face her, oblivious to the blood that splattered across her own chest, careful not to come within striking distance of the long, booted legs that kicked out indiscriminately. Two sets of eyes blazing with hatred met and locked.
Five minutes. That's all it took for the Macumbas to decimate the Red Rover's hunting party. Five minutes to ambush and cut down men who had survived pitched battle with the navies of England and Spain, who had crossed swords with the fiercest brigands of the Carib and the archipelagoes of Polynesia, who had spilled blood on five continents. Five minutes for a pack of savages who had never worn shoes or ventured out of the jungle to wipe out half the crew of the most feared woman in the known world.
But it was neither loss nor regret that consumed Jeanne-Marie as she struggled wildly in the iron grip of the Macumba warriors. After all, the life of a buccaneer is spent with one foot already in the grave. It is a short, bloody, and glorious life lived with the faint tickle of the hangman's noose felt on every pirate's throat. No, Jeanne would raise a mug to her fallen shipmates one day, but she felt no grief as their bodies lay all around her. What she felt was something entirely strange.
Awe.
In her lifetime, only two other people had loomed so large and impressive as to make her stomach clench and her knees buckle. One was her father, Jean-Baptiste de la Croix, whom she first met at fifteen after escaping from the draconian rule of the sisters of the convent outside Avignon and stealing aboard the Red Rover in Calais. The second was Henry Morgan, the legendary freebooter who had ravished her in his Jamaican fortress and given her the cutlass that had now been taken from her.
And now this girl -- this tall, lithe, breathtaking blonde beauty in her scandalous scraps of leopard-pelt, her tanned athletic limbs adorned with pagan trappings, who had fought and killed with the deadly grace and power of the true predator -- this girl was unlike anything Jeanne had ever seen. The pirate queen felt her heart pound inside her chest as the jungle goddess approached, felt a sudden craving inside her mind and a warm stirring between her legs. For one brief moment, Jeanne would have fallen to her knees before this woman and given her the worship the nuns had said belonged to almighty God alone.
For one brief moment.
And because of that one brief moment of weakness and hunger, Jeanne-Marie Magdalena de la Croix snarled with blinding hatred and swore on her father's watery grave that she would either see this Lianni in chains or in Hell...
"Your struggles will do you no good. You are defeated. You should never have come here, and now you will pay the price," Lianni said coldly, as she watched the woman's chest heaving beneath the knotted shirt.
"You scurvy bitch!" Jeanne hissed through the red haze of her hellish lust. "Let me loose and we'll see who pays!" Everything was forgotten then, the dead men all round, the searing pain in her shoulder, everything but the consuming need to break Lianni, body and soul. She heaved and writhed like a caged animal, and the Jungle Girl motioned to her young chief.
"Zaba, take care of her."
The powerful Macumba nodded and, moving behind the struggling pirate queen, brought his club crashing down brutally on the back of her head. Lianni smiled in satisfaction as she saw the girl's eyes open wide in shock, her head jerking backwards, her body tensing momentarily and then relaxing and sagging in the grip of the natives. The young blonde moved forward, gripped the pirate's thick, lush hair, and jerked her head up. She studied the beautiful face for a moment, then released Jeanne’s head to fall back onto her chest.
Lianni nodded to Zaba. "Bring her, and the others. This raven-haired devil will soon learn how the Macumbas deal with her kind." Jeanne-Marie's limp, unresisting body was lifted and pitched across a broad shoulder. The survivors of her band were tied securely and prodded with sharp spears and victors and vanquished turned towards the Macumba village.
Lianni's heart beat heavily with the vision of what would now be brought to bear on the voluptuous body of the woman who hung helpless and unconscious across the bare, black shoulder of the Macumba warrior. Soon they would all see just how strong this exotic young beauty really was…
#
The village of the Macumbas consisted of huts that surrounded a large clearing, in the middle of which was a pole, eight feet high and thick, planted securely in the earth. It was a sacred object, having been hewn from the wood of an ancient tree hidden deep in the jungle.
On this stifling hot day, the entire tribe was gathered here, surrounding the pole, to which was tied an amazing figure, that of a beautiful, dark-haired young woman -- a white woman. Jeanne-Marie's head rested on her chest, which rose and fell steadily beneath her knotted shirt. Her hair hung over her breasts, her arms tied by her wrists high above and behind her head, the harsh hessian ropes that bound her being slung over a wooden nail driven into the rear of the pole towards its top. The effect was to stretch the girl, arch her back and force her chest up and out.
To the right of the unconscious pirate queen, and beyond the throng of natives was a small cage that housed the pitiful remnants of the pirate crew, who crowded together awaiting their fate. In front of the dark-haired beauty, the Golden Goddess stood, surveying her captive, pleased at her helplessness and feeling strangely aroused, a sensation she barely recognized. She moved forward and reached out a hand to grip the lustrous hair, jerking it up to study the beautiful face. Lianni knew the effect the woman had had on the Macumbas from the moment she was carried into the village, roughly dumped at the foot of the pole, and then, on the blonde's orders, stretched and bound limply. This was only the second white woman ever to set foot in this impenetrable jungle, and Lianni sensed the challenge the pirate could pose. It became clear to Lianni that she must assert her authority in order to maintain her revered status.
Aside from the girl's intense good looks, it was that this female actually commanded the band of invaders which impressed Lianni the most. It was a power alien to the women of Dana's past world, and the major reason why she loved her jungle refuge. Where else could a woman such as she be granted such power and worshipped?
As she studied Jeanne-Marie, the Jungle Girl was very aware of the strange sensation in her belly that intensified as she thought of what was to happen next. She turned to Zaba at her side. "Wake her".
A bucketful of water was hurled forcefully into the unconscious pirate’s face, drenching her hair and shirt. As Jeanne-Marie was brought suddenly to consciousness, coughing and sputtering, the long-limbed goddess stood before her again. Her hand went to the knot at the front of the pirate's shirt, and tugged forcefully on it. It gave way, and Lianni jerked the two sides apart, releasing the girl's breasts to fall free and bare in plain sight of the men, women, and children of the village. There was an audible gasp as the natives beheld the beautifully shaped, glistening bosom. Lianni herself allowed her eyes to rove over them before lifting the girl's head with her chin and staring deep into her dark, fathomless eyes. She surveyed the shoulder wound that had begun to bleed again, marveling once more at the bravery of the woman before her.
"Can you hear me, dark one?" Lianni asked at last.
Jeanne-Marie gritted her teeth and nodded. She was aware now of her taut and restrained body, the pain in her shoulder, and the crowd surrounding her, but most of all, her senses were filled with the impossible figure before her, the Jungle Girl who really did exist, beyond all the odds.
Lianni spoke again. "Are you strong?"
Jeanne-Marie's eyes blazed with a furious defiance. "Yes!" she hissed, and the blonde smiled.
"You will need to be. I'm about to show you what happens to barbaric fools such as yourself who dare to invade my jungle."
The brigand laughed mirthlessly, hatred replacing her fear. "Your jungle? Why, you're nothing but a big-breasted bitch who's had too much sun! Hear me, you shit-eating slag, and hear me well. I promise you, when I get out of this hellhole, I'll be taking you with me, and nothing you do to me now will compare to the agony of my revenge!"
Lianni was momentarily taken aback by the outburst, but only just. She looked down and saw the leather strap on the young beauty's hip, reached for it and jerked it from the girl's body. She held it before Jeanne’s face.
"How many backs has this lashed?" Dana murmured to her captive and in reply received a venomous spit in the face. She turned and threw the lash to Zaba. "All the men in today's raid, line them up. One lash for each of them. Let them use the woman's own weapon on her. We will see how long she lasts against the strength of the Macumbas’ best." She stood back as the men moved forward, saw Jeanne-Marie's eyes widen in restrained terror as she began to writhe in her bonds.
"Keep away from me, you bastard!" she screamed as the first of the warriors moved forward, slightly to her right. She felt hands from behind jerking her shirt behind her back, leaving her chest and stomach bare and vulnerable. Her eyes widened and she tensed her body as she saw the leather strap lift high... and then felt slashing pain as it lashed her across her full, firm breasts. Jeanne bit down on her lip, stopping her cry of pain, and then looked with desperate, agonized eyes at the line of just under one hundred natives which had formed directly in front of her helpless body and who, for the next hour, would unleash on her body more pain than she had ever imagined possible.