Conquest Of The Golden Goddess Ch 01

Conquest of the Golden Goddess - Part 1

by Cindy Lam

Lulled by the soft whine of the jet engines, Tracey sat in the soft leather seat and watched the vast expanse of green pass by, far below the small private jet. It was her first time ever outside the US, and Peter was bringing her in style; or, more accurately, his father was sending them. His graduation present had been a trip for the young lovers to Rio de Janeiro. It had not been a place Tracey ever dreamed of going, but since she learned of the trip, it had been all she could think about. She devoured the Lonely Planet guide, taking in its beautiful colorful pictures and memorizing each one in every detail.

Peter's hand reached over and touched her knee, caressing the soft surface of her pantyhose. It was absurd to wear them to Rio, but it had been cold in New York when they had gone to the airport. Besides, Peter loved the way they looked and felt on her legs. She gave him a shy smile. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," he said with a wolfish grin. His hand reached up under the hem of her dress.

She pressed her thighs together, trapping his advancing hand. "Are you crazy? What about them?" she nodded toward the cockpit door. Tracey had always been extremely shy and very modest. To do anything... unladylike with only an unlocked door separating them from two strangers was not something she would ever do. "We can't do that here," she whispered, pushing his hand out from under her dress.

Peter laughed and nodded. "Fine. It's okay, we'll be there in a few hours." He ran his fingers up her soft, white neck and through her thick, honey-blonde hair, pulling her in for a kiss. "You're not that kind of girl. It's what I love about you."

Tracey was NOT that kind of girl. She had been a virgin when they met. Well, almost. There had been Brett in high school. Her prom date had warned her persistently about the ridicule they both would face arriving at their respective colleges as virgins. He made an earnest case for them both getting a little experience under their belts. She finally relented the week before graduation in the front seat of his mother's Buick. It had been fumbling, quick, and messy. She laid back, let him finger her for a few minutes, and closed her eyes as he thrust inside her. Her right foot in a pink Hello Kitty sock hooked around the steering wheel for leverage, but that turned out not to be necessary. Four thrusts were all it took. She gave herself to him one more time over the summer, in his bedroom while his parents were out. That time he lasted a minute or two and it even felt a little good. She declined his generous offer to let her practice giving blowjobs on him. Two times with Brett. That hardly counted. No, she assured herself. It didn't count at all.

Then there was Mark, the Lambda at the first college party she attended. Tracey told him no, several times, but the music had been much too loud for him to hear. When she tried to push him away, but he grasped her hands and pinned them to the mattress above her head. Surely it had been a misunderstanding; she could hardly blame him. Mark pulled off her panties, pried her knees apart, and took her in the dark room of a frat house to the heavy beat of some lewd rap song she had heard a hundred times but could not name. She closed her eyes while his penis--much larger and harder than Brett's--drove in and touched her in a place Brett couldn't reach. She tried to think of something else while it was happening, making a mental list of things she needed to pick up at the Walmart in town, remembering something new with each punishing thrust. When she felt him spasm inside her, filling her with semen, she thought to buy condoms and then despaired that she had not written any of it down. When it was over, he handed back her panties and left her alone to return to the party. Mark never spoke to her again, but his frat "brothers" eyed Tracey hungrily over the next few weeks, repeatedly inviting her back to their parties. She realized that she had gotten a reputation.

Peter wasn't a Lambda and did not run in any of their circles. They were football players; he was a serious business major with no desire to waste his time on a frat. He was tall and lean, with blonde hair and eyes as blue as hers. The moment she fell in love with him, she felt dirty for what she had done with Brett and Mark, neither of who had even used a condom. She would be better with Peter. She made him wait for a month before she let him reach under her shirt. Six weeks before she allowed his hand down her pants. It was almost Thanksgiving before she pulled his penis out and stroked him to a quick orgasm. When he brought her back to his dorm room after their Valentine's date, she got down on her stockinged knees and gave her first blowjob, which ended in an alarming fit of coughing and sputtering that he was so kind and understanding about. In April, she finally consented to let him don a condom and take her virginity. Well, as far as he was concerned he was taking her virginity. It made her a little sad that he wasn't big enough to reach the place Mark had, but at least Peter was the first man she had ever been completely naked for.

"Someday," Peter said in the seat beside her. "Someday we'll get a plane with a private cabin." He looked sideways at her with a twinkle in his eye. "Then we'll join the mile-high club."

"I can't wait," Tracey said. She leaned sideways and put her head on his shoulder.

Then the low white noise of the jet engines stopped, and the plane lurched slightly. "Please fasten seatbelts," came the captain's voice over the intercom. It came in the cool drawl of an experienced pilot, but Tracey thought there was a ring of fear in the man's voice. She and Peter quickly buckled their seatbelts. Then the plane tilted forward at an alarming angle, and Tracey closed her eyes.

========================

"Where are you going?" Tracey asked, sitting up from where they had slept on thin cushions on the tilted cabin floor. Her eyes were puffy, and her voice slurred with sleepiness.

"Just going to get the lay of the land," Peter said casually, stuffing two bottled waters into a backpack. He had put on a pair of cargo pants, a t-shirt, and his hiking boots.

"The pilots said to stay with the plane." Tracey did not really mind being left alone, but she was worried something might happen to Peter. He had never been in a jungle before, and leaving the plane was simply unnecessary.

"I'll be fine, Tray. They headed south, that way." He pointed. "I'm just going to scout a little in the other directions and make sure we're not like right on top of a research station or something with a working radio that can get us out of here today." He stood and put the backpack on.

"Be careful."

"Don't worry, beautiful. I'll be back soon." He leaned over and kissed her softly on the lips.

"Be careful," she said again as he ducked out the door of the crashed plane.

Tracey lay back down and stared at the cabin ceiling for ten minutes, twenty minutes, a half hour. Finally, she sat up and pulled out one of her suitcases. Inside she found the most practical clothes she had--a pair of close-fitting and very short white shorts, a tank top, and a loose-fitting button-down yellow blouse to wear over it. She pulled on a pair of ankle socks with frilly tops. She thought they looked childish, but Peter liked them on her. Finally, she put on a pair of sneakers.

She looked down at herself and shook her head. These were not jungle clothes. It was a cute outfit. It showcased her curvy legs and slim ankles. The shorts hugged her round ass, the tank top revealed her cleavage, and the baggy blouse muted her slightly chubby torso. It was the kind of outfit that a girl with a pretty, round face and soft blonde hair wore to make the most of an average figure. She wished she had brought long pants and boots. Sighing, she stepped outside for a look around.

The pilots attempted a landing on a long clearing along the side of a river running north to south. It started well, but the landing gear broke along the uneven ground. The aircraft skidded roughly along the muddy grass on its belly and into a tree. Miraculously, they were all unhurt, but the radio was smashed. The two pilots cursed that the plane had come to rest beneath the canopy of a large tree, masking it from the sky. They headed south along the river, promising to return with help. That had been yesterday.

Tracey took a deep breath of the fresh, humid air. She scanned the trees across the river from which came a chorus of cackling birds. Then, inexplicably in the warm sunshine, she felt the hair raise along her arms. She heard a whisper of noise from the direction of the trees behind her, on her side of the river. She turned and saw him, standing barely ten yards away gazing at her with dark eyes.

The man had caramel skin with wide set brown eyes. His head was shaved and streaked with white marks, like some kind of face paint. He had a broad chest and thick, powerful arms, completely hairless. There was a strip of leather around his waist, and that was all he wore. His large penis hung limp and strange in front of him. It had no head, was Tracey's first thought--she had never seen an uncircumcised man in the nude. His powerful legs were bent into a hunter's crouch, bringing his head lower than Tracey's. Then she saw the knife. It was shining black stone, honed and polished into what looked like a razor-sharp edge. He was a native, and indian. The man took a cautious step forward.

Tracey's lips began to quiver. Then her hands. Her heart started to thump painfully in her chest and her knees gave way and buckled. She dropped to all fours and clinched her eyes shut.

***Oh, please please please just go away. Please go away please go away!***

The man did not go away. She did not hear his approach over the pounding of her heart. She lost herself in her small, dark world, until his hand plunged into her tawny gold hair and pulled her up to her feet by it. The man was taller than her, but only by a couple of inches, based on where his breath hit her neck.

"No, no, no!" she cried, keeping her eyes shut in some vain hope that what she could not see would not hurt her. Something sharp pressed into her thigh. Oh God, it's the knife! The tip of the blade slid up her skin and scratched across the front of her shorts. The blade turned and its flat pressed into her belly. Tracey began to weep softly. "Please don't hurt me," she peeped. The blade slid down inside her waistband and turned sideways. Wiith a quick rip, it cut through the wasitband and her belt. The shorts slid down her legs.

His right hand slid the knife up to her throat and his left released her hair and reached down between her legs, poking roughly at her clitoris. "Stop," Tracey whimpered, quivering but too terrified that any move would be her last. The knife slid back down and cut her panties twice, allowing his left hand to pull them free and cast them aside onto the grass. "Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed. It was an absurd thing to ask. She knew exactly why he was doing it.

The native crouched down and pulled what remained of her shorts over her feet which she obediently lifted, one at a time. He pulled off her sneakers as well. Tracey stood paralyzed. The man rose behind her, and she felt the tip of his penis press into her buttock as he took hold of her hair again. It was going to happen, she realized. She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn't answer. Placing his hand on the top of her head, he pushed her back down to her knees, then a rough hand shoved her forward onto all fours. She gasped and sobbed when she felt that evil black blade against her lower back. It cut upwards, through the tank top and blouse. It tore through the cloth and the sundered garments slid down her arms. Another quick cut and her bra fell into the pile of ruined clothes around her hands.

***Oh God!***

She felt panic coming on.

***What if Peter comes back and sees me like this? He'll try to do something, and this man will kill him. No no no! Please, Peter, stay out there. Go explore a little further. Don't come back until its over, please!***

When this man was finished with her, she could quickly wash off in the river and get dressed. Peter wouldn't even have to know. He did not know about Brett or Mark. He would never know about this strange man from the jungle.

Tracey closed her eyes and could feel the man kneel between her calves. His left hand again grabbed her hair and pushed her head forward until her soft pink cheek was pressed against the muddy grass. His hand splayed across the side of her face, dark fingers over ivory skin, like the shadow of cage bars. Between two fingers, her right eye opened and looked at the sideways world, the river running from top to bottom. And then, with shocking suddenness, he was inside her, deep inside. She let out a surprised grunt, an ugly, outraged, guttural sound that prim Tracey would never have made back home. She had expected the man to flip her over on her back and take her face to face, as she was accustomed to.

Slowly, he began to thrust, in and out. It felt rough when he started, but Tracey's body instinctively discharged fluid to ease the man's violation, and for that she was both ashamed and grateful. Each thrust went deeper. Whether it was the angle from behind or the size of his penis, she was certain he was reaching places even Mark the Lambda had not reached. As his pace began to quicken, she opened her right eye again and looked out between his fingers at the river. Her own fingers tore uselessly at the grass. Each thrust made her body lunge forward, but he held her head still, firmly pinning it to the ground.

Tracey's eyes welled up with tears. As with Mark, the pain was not very bad, but the shame was intense, even worse than it had been in the dark room of the frat house. Not only was she being taken without her permission, she was bent over and being taken like an animal. He turned her away like she wasn't even a part of it. He was behind her, using her like she was just a thing and not a person. Peter had proposed trying the position several times, but she always told him not to be disgusting. She let out a sob at the thought of what Peter would think of her if he saw her with another man in such a helpless, pathetic position.

Then she felt something growing inside her, a rising pleasure between her legs. The tiny breaths she let out with each thrust turned into gasps. The gasps slowly turned into soft grunts of pleasure. Her face flushed with shame, but she could not deny that it felt good. The grunts coalesced into the word she said whenever Peter pleased her--"Oh."

"Oh. Oh. Oh! Oh! OH! OH!" She had never said "oh" so loudly with Peter, but the intensity of the pleasure was climbing and climbing until finally it burst inside her in a way it never had before. There was a blast of pleasure that radiated down her legs to her toes, still wrapped safely in her frilly ankle socks. Then it happened again. And again.

***Holy shit! Is this an orgasm? Oh God, why now? Why with him?***

It hit again and silenced all her thoughts. Her eyes rolled back and closed,

The man kept going, thrusting in and out of her after the shocks of pleasure subsided back into the same soft buzz of satisfaction down there. Slowly Tracey came back to herself, where she was and what was happening to her. The thrusting slowed almost to a halt and when the native was at his its deepest point, Tracey felt his shaft pulse inside her, again and again. He let out a long, heavy breath. She could feel the semen inside her and knew she would have to wash it out the first chance she got. She tried to remember when her last period was.

***Please don't let me get pregnant.***

He pulled out of her, and she collapsed on her side, sore, numb, and weary. Her thick, honey-colored hair covered her face, and she left it there to hide her shame and avoid looking at the man who had just raped her. HER rapist, was how they said it. He was hers now, and she was his. His victim. She lay still, waiting for him to go away and praying that Peter would stay away a little while longer, until it was safe, and she could cover up what had happened.

A rough hand grabbed her foot and yanked off her sock. Then the other sock. The act made her feel strangely exposed. She was lying nude, with her body torn open, but at least her toes had been covered from the eyes of the world. Now they too lay naked and white against the mud and grass. She had fallen partly on top of her torn shirt and bra, and these were also yanked out from under her. Was he taking her clothes? Rapists did that, didn't they? They collected trophies of their conquests. She lay still and defeated and did not open her eyes.

***Yes, you conquered me. You got what you wanted. I didn't fight. Just take them and leave me in peace.***

The man walked softly, but she could hear his footsteps fading away. She kept her eyes closed and lay still.

***Let him get back into the trees. Don't provoke him.***

She waited. She counted to twenty. No, better make it one hundred. She was somewhere in the fifties when she heard someone approaching.

***No! No no no no no no! It's Peter! He'll see me and know what happened. He won't want me anymore, oh God no!***

Tracey struggled to get back to her feet and turned toward the footsteps. She was struck by a perverse sense of relief to see that the native was coming back back. Perhaps he wanted to rape her again, and that would be fine with her if only he left her in time for her to hide it all from her boyfriend.

The man had an animal skin sack slung over his shoulder and wore a stern look on is face. He barked something at her and waved his black stone knife toward her face. She did not understand the words, but sensed he was angry at her for getting to her feet, so she dropped back to her knees and placed her forehead on the ground. "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me!" she pleaded.

The native grabbed her hair again and pulled her up to a kneeling position. He looked at her for a moment and reached out to caress her breast. She had good breasts, she had always been told--well shaped and big without being too big. She closed her eyes and did not protest.

***Fine, go ahead. Just get it over with.***

After a good long feel of both he breasts, he reached into his sack, pulling out a thick strap of animal hide. Holding it with both hands, he reached out and began to put it around her neck. "Stop!" she cried, slapping at his arms. Her first thought was that he was trying to strangle her with it. His hand tore across her face and knocked her flat onto her face in the grass. Stunned by the slap, she began to weep. He knelt, straddling her, and she felt his soft genitals press against her back. He gathered up her hair and threw it forward onto the ground. Then he pulled the strap tight around her neck and tied or clasped it at the back. It was uncomfortably tight, but she could breathe at least. She tried to turn over, but he grabbed one of her wrists and then the other, pulling them behind her back where he tied them together with a thin cord that must have come from the sack, or it was the one around his waist.

Once again, the man pulled her to her feet by her hair, and her scalp was now burning a little from the misuse. She stood there, naked and bound, watching her captor as he stuffed her torn clothes inside her sneakers. Then he walked over to the river and threw them into the water. She wondered why he had tied her hands, and the thought dawned on her that he meant to take her with him. She scanned the tree line again, this time hoping Peter would return, or the pilots, or anyone. If he took her away from here, she would surely have to endure more abuse, and he probably would kill her. "HELP!" she screamed. "PETER! COME FAST! HELP ME!"