Tracey weighed 140 pounds. She had a paunch that she could never get to go away, hips she thought were a little too wide, too much fat around the upper arms and shoulders, and although her calves and ankles were quite nice, she always felt that her thighs were a little too thick. She was not even close to being "fat," really, but she was sensitive about her weight and protested vehemently on the rare occasions that Peter ever tried to pick her up. For this reason, she could only marvel at the native man who was carrying her effortlessly over his shoulder through the rugged Amazon jungle. She did not struggle or fidget, lest she slip and fall. Both she and her captor were entirely unclothed, and both were sweating in the humid heat.
The native half turned and gave Peter's leash a cruel jerk. Faster! The young man stumbled forward, his hands bound behind him and the tight collar adding to the redness in his face caused by exertion and humiliation. Tracey noticed that his penis had shrunk almost entirely into his body, a small purple head, resting atop his puffy red scrotum. Her heart tore for him and the pain he must be going through. She looked with concern at his muddy and scratched feet.
Tracey's thoughts turned to her rape, earlier that day. This nameless indian had become the fourth man to be inside her and the second to enter uninvited. Shortly after her eighteenth birthday, she had had sex twice with her prom date Brett in high school. Then she was taken once by frat boy Mark the first week of college.
Tracey began dating Peter in late September and decided to make him wait so that he would believe she was a virgin like he was. She awkwardly jerked him off thirteen times between November and February. Peter tried to return the favor, but his poking did little for her. Starting on Valentine's Day, she graduated to blowjobs. Peter returned that favor once and she hated the creepy, tickly sensation. Also, how could she kiss him with her... stuff all over his face?
They finally began fucking in April, near the end of freshman year, and they continued throughout college, longing for one another achingly over the summers. Tracey kept a careful count. In the three years and four months they had been having sex, they had done it one hundred and twenty-three times, plus twelve blowjobs and forty-two hand jobs, the latter of which she much preferred to using her mouth. There was one time Peter used her bare breasts to get himself off and she did not know what to call that. His semen had squirted all over her neck and face and into her hair, though, so she did not let him do it again.
Compared to her record with Peter, the meager three times with other men was a statistical rounding error. Not even two percent of all the times she had made men come. But now it was four times, and her captor must surely have been thinking about doing it again. Would he have the chance before they were saved? She could not escape the conclusion that he would, and probably soon. It was also not lost on her that her captor was the only man ever to make her have a real orgasm. She was still befuddled by that fact. The man was not handsome. He was ugly, and short despite his muscles. She wondered how he had done it. Was it simply that his penis was large?
As Tracey was lost in thought, they walked--the native and Pete walked, that is--for what must have been miles. The native had taken them from the crash site in the morning and now the sky was beginning to dim. The man stopped by a small stream and dropped Peter's leash so that he could lay Tracey down on the ground.
Peter quivered where he stood, contemplating whether he should try to attack the man. He was five or six inches taller than the native, but he was not as muscular, and his hands were bound tightly behind his back. He took a step forward while the native fished another leather cord from his bag. The man held up his knife without even looking up, so Peter stepped back, his face twisting in bitter shame.
The native ran the leash through Tracey's collar and secured her to a tree with a reasonable amount of slack. He then turned to Peter who seemed ready to make his stand. He kicked at the approaching native, but the man grabbed his foot and flipped Peter onto his back. Tracey gasped in horror as the native fell onto her boyfriend, pinning him with his knee and holding his razor-sharp obsidian blade against Peter's testicles.
"No! Okay! Okay!" Peter shrieked, his eyes filling with tears. Tracey blushed at how high pitched and helpless his voice sounded.
The native dragged Peter by the hair to a tree opposite Tracey's, shoved him into a sitting position against the trunk, and began to tightly wrap the leash around and around the tree and Peter's neck. He finally tied it off, leaving Peter sitting miserably against the tree, sobbing softly with his eyes clenched shut.
The native turned to Tracey and uttered a string of unintelligible words. She felt like he was telling her not to try to escape, which was ridiculous. Where could she possibly go with no clothes or shoes in the middle of a hostile wilderness? The native then took his knife and walked casually through the stream, disappearing into the trees beyond.
"Did he rape you?" Peter asked almost as soon as their captor was out of sight.
"Peter, I--"
"Did he rape you?!" he shouted angrily, glaring at her, his eyes wet with tears again.
Tracey dropped her head, but her bangs did not cover her face, so she turned sideways and let her tawny locks block his view.
"Oh, no! No! Fuck! I'll fucking kill him! I'm going to cut him open and rip his guts out!"
After a moment's shock at hearing her gentle boyfriend say such a thing, Tracey began to sob in shame. "I'm so sorry, Peter! I wanted to stop him, but I was so afraid!"
Peter ignored this and continued to loudly utter impotent threats of violence against their captor. Tracey looked back to him, her face worn with sorrow and shame, but Peter was glaring sideways at the trees.
