The Phantom Pilot

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thwart redux, my friends, wondering if his 18-year-old protege Vananella is causing more trouble in the camp than she's worth.

~~~

Vananella clung drunkenly to me. The Sheikh had seduced her all too well with the wine, his expansive displays of the joys of slavery, coaxing her to the height of pleasure, then releasing her hot and bothered in my care. My battles had just begun. I questioned the Sheikh's motives. Wouldn't it be wiser not to antagonize a man like me? Namtor may have been wrong about the Shiekh controlling Jadda and me through our love for each other. Would it not be better to encourage that love, rather than drive us apart? I did not pretend to understand the man. I tried to put him from my mind, but he was the topic of conversation.

"Am I going to be a slave girl?"

"Not if I have anything to do with it."

"Is he going to check me like that every day?"

"Probably so. He's a powerful man who does what he wants. It's a price you pay."

"I didn't mind so much. It's better than getting my throat cut."

"That's one way to think about it."

"I wouldn't have minded at all if it was you. You're more handsome than the Sheikh."

Before I could reply she kissed me on the mouth, grinding her nubile form against me. I disentangled myself and held her at arm's length. As gently as possible I said, "We cannot do that."

"Why not?" she said coyly. "You and Jadda . . ."

The girl infuriated me as much as the Sheikh. But I said quietly, "Forget me and Jadda, forget what you saw in the tent."

"How could I forget that?"

"I am ashamed."

"Why? You are very strong." My hold loosened and she slipped back into my arms. "Will you do that to me too?"

"What we're going to do is have a wash in the river. Then we're going to bed."

"To sleep?" she giggled.

"To sleep."

That damned Sheikh.

As we walked, she asked, "Are you and Jadda in love?"

I thought before answering. "I don't know. Anymore. We were at one time."

"Is that why Jadda would be cruel to me?"

I had to smile at the way her mind worked. "Perhaps."

Last night the river had been teeming with bathers, but the riverside was deserted. A sentry patrolled the horizon bathed in the moons light. Vananella and I were alone. We'd been alone before, but then we were fugitives on the run, endangered. Now a new dimension existed between us. A development made more exasperating by the fact Vananella was drunk. And aroused. She hadn't helped matters with all the rubbing and grinding. Although the Colonel Walker part of me said no, Thwart's physical reaction screamed yes. Supposedly I was a grown man capable of making intelligent decisions, but the hot blood of youth inside kept making them for me. Eventually the sum of those poor choices would get me beheaded. I had a fifty-year-old brain in a twenty-year-old body whose overruling passions caused me to be constantly at odds with myself. I needed to win that battle, but it represented only one of many battles I had to fight.

I turned around to undress, wanting to get in the water before she did.

"This is so private, so romantic."

I waded into the river. Vananella stepped out of her apparel and swam out to me. She put her hands on my chest, held her face up to be kissed. When I disappointed her by not complying she grabbed at me under the surface. Her laughter carried across the water when I paddled away from her. I had nowhere to hide, she could swim like a fish. I had dug a neat trap for myself.

"Come back, Thwart, I promise to behave."

"Can I trust you?"

Vananella giggled. To her Thwart was a boy not much older than herself. Thwart and Vananella would have made a natural couple on Earth. In this jungle world, with its barbaric social customs, the pairing of Vananella and me seemed even less illogical.

I drifted to her side, sitting in shallow water to conceal my tumescence. She dunked herself, emerged from the river with the contours of her lithe body shining and wet. Droplets of water had collected in her peach fuzz.

"Can I bathe you?" she asked. "Like a slave girl?"

"You know the answer to that."

She pouted. She arched her back, brought her hands up and cupped her breasts. "You really and truly are my hero, Thwart. You rescued me and brought me to this thrilling new life. I want to thank you, I want to make you happy, give you pleasure. Please let me be your slave girl. Even if you do love Jadda."

Hoping to deflect her advances without hurting her feelings I joked with her, saying as lightly as I could, "Do you want the Sheikh to have me put to death for deflowering you?"

Vananella wasn't listening. "I could do what Jadda did with her mouth."

"No!"

"I would still be a virgin."

"Vananella," I pleaded, "you darling child . . ."

"You can see I am not a child."

"We're going back to the tent now to get some sleep."

She had the devil in her eyes. "Well then, let's go." She moved close enough to me so her mound was centimeters from my nose.

I eased her back. "You go first, I'm right behind you."

She reached for my hands, "Get up, silly."

I knew what she was doing. When I stood up she would have evidence with which to renew her argument. With nowhere to hide I surrendered to the inevitable. When I got to my feet I jutted out hopelessly in front of her.

Vananella stared and I covered myself with my hands. "Can we go now?"

She giggled while I dressed and all the way back to the tent. She had neglected to put her thong on, it dangled from one finger.

Namtor snored in his couch. A single candle burned.

I whispered, "The first thing we're going to do is get you some clothes."

"Why? I can sleep like this."

But I was already opening the chest of Thwart's meager possessions. He must have something in the way of clothing in there. Digging through the contents I discovered a sleeveless shirt. I pitched it to Vananella, "Put that on." Thwart must have liked red loincloths because he owned several, but they would not make suitable attire for a young lady. He'd owned a pair of short trousers too. With a belt to cinch them tight enough around her middle they would cover her decently.

I handed them to her, but she did not put them on. She dropped the shirt and trousers to the ground, her little thong on top of them.

"I will sleep naked, not even my panties," she let me know. She spied a comb in the trunk and began running it through her long blonde hair. When she was through she crawled into the sleeping silks. I took off my sword, set it within reach and laid down with my back to her. She massaged my neck and shoulders, asked me to please turn over.

"Go to sleep."

"Not till you turn over."

"You'd better not wake Namtor."

"He's snoring too loudly to be awakened by our whispering. Come here I said."

I rolled over to face her. She put her arms around my neck and snuggled up to me.

"Thank you," she said, pressing a tender kiss to my mouth.

"For saving your life? For not taking advantage of you?"

"I wish you would take advantage," she purred in my ear. She crushed the tips of her breasts against me, kissing me deeply. The next thing I knew she'd encircled me with an intimate fist, stroking me through the silk of my loincloth. A few more caresses would have me groaning, but I did nothing to stop her except tell her no.

She pretended she had not heard. "You can't sleep in the state you're in," she said urgently. "I want to ease your burden." She got her fingers under my loincloth. She held me the way I hold my sword. Her hands began to pump me with long strokes.

"I'm fine, I just want to sleep."

"Let me relax you." Her hands worked feverishly.

I groaned when the first warm burst squirted from me. It splashed her breasts. Before I realized what she was doing Vananella leaned down and had my spewing, spitting tip in her mouth. She made an unsuccessful try to contain the overflow. The spillage she rubbed into her chest and belly. Then she kissed and licked my length before she resumed pumping me with her fist.

"Are you happy now?" I asked.

"You feel like you need more relaxing."

I removed her hands. "It's time to sleep, blow the candle out."

Instead she wriggled closer to me. Her wet warmth squeezed against one of my legs.

"Sleep well," I said.

"I won't be able to sleep feeling the way I do."

"How do you feel?"

"Not like sleeping!" came her whispered grumble. "At least you've been satisfied. Why don't you satisfy me?"

"I'm in charge of protecting your virtue. Remember?"

"You don't have to use what you used on Jadda. Kiss me where the High Priest kissed me, touch me like the Sheikh touched me."

"Are you sure you're a virgin?"

"Unfortunately. Why?"

"You're acting like a slave girl."

"Treat me like one, Thwart," she hunched her mound against my thigh. She left a wet path on my leg in her attempt to mount me.

"I'll tie you up and gag you like a slave girl if you don't let me get some sleep." I turned over.

She said to my back, "After you tie me up you can kiss me and touch me. Like the way I asked you to before."

I shot to my feet and fumbled for a roll of cloth I'd seen in Thwart's trunk.

"What are you doing?" Vananella asked.

I stooped beside her and tore the cloth into strips. Her right ankle got tied to her right wrist, the same with the left. I reclined on my side, my left hand under my head. "If you talk I'll be forced to gag you, and I don't want to do

that. Do I need to?"

"No," she said in a small voice.

"Do you want me to untie you?"

"No."

"Are you going to be still and go to sleep?"

"Please touch me first. Please."

"Are you frustrated?"

"I relaxed you, you relax me. Please."

One more bad decision made by the blood roaring in Thwart's ears.

I brushed my fingers through her peach fuzz. Vananella sighed. She had secreted heavily; I smelt her spice in the tent; her aroma intoxicated me. I dipped a finger inside her, easing in and out. Her hips surged forward and back for a few minutes then I squeezed a hand over her mouth to prevent her vocal expression of joy from waking Namtor.

"I thought you said I wouldn't have to gag you?"

"Please don't stop what you were doing. I promise to be quiet."

Vananella had fanned the flames in me, inspired me. I leaned forward and kissed her where she wanted to be kissed. Her hips jerked when my mouth came in contact with her. She twisted in her bonds as I licked and sucked until her thighs tightened around my head, her entire body quivering. Her thighs clenched me several more times before I finished. She was out of breath, her skin clammy with sweat. I wiped my face.

She said, "Thank you," not once, but many times.

I untied her. She came into my arms kissing me passionately, grinding against me, a squeal escaped her upon discovering the object that wedged against her belly. Then, using her mouth instead of her hands, Vananella relaxed me. Like any other slave girl in the camp I held her head firmly in place to assure she didn't shirk her responsibility. She choked, pushed away from me. It became necessary to tie her hands behind her. If she wanted to play at being a slave girl, I'd do my best to leave a bad taste in her mouth.

I propped up on some cushions, my legs wide, bent at the knees. The girl knelt over me. Holding her head where I wanted it I thrust deeply into her mouth till tears ran from her eyes and drool covered her breasts. Vananella had no array of skills like Jadda, or Danae, but she had enthusiasm, which brought her close to retching on several occasions. She wanted to please me so I increased my exuberance. I thought she needed to be taught a lesson about the realities of slavery. Using her with force and without mercy might dispel some dark illusions. In the interest of helping her I put the theory into practice. She gulped each time I drove my hips intently forward. Her gagging induced a powerful abandon in me. When I got done with her Vananella would beg to join a convent. To my chagrin her eyes rolled up in her head, filled with adoration and I began to groan. She mouthed me lovingly, long after it mattered. I felt like half of me was sloshing around inside her belly by the time I laid down beside her.

We looked at each other face to face, her hands still secured behind her back.

"Now do you see the disadvantages of being a slave girl?"

"What are you talking about? I loved that," she said excitedly. "Are you going to make me do it every night?"

"You enjoyed what happened?"

"Very much. Feel how wet I am. You made me cream myself." I verified that with a delving finger. She arched her back and creamed again, eyes closed, her body shaking with spasms. When she got her breath back she asked, "What are we going to do tomorrow night?"

"Sleep."

"Guess what I want to do?"

"I don't have to guess."

"I want you to fuck me," she giggled.

Enough was enough I decided.

Her discarded clothes were within reach, along with the strips of cloth I'd torn to bind Vananella. I plucked her thong from the pile and stuffed it into her mouth before she could utter another word. Once I tied the gag in place I watched her wrestle futilely to get free. With her panties muting her voice I managed to doze off.

One of my last conscious thoughts before sleep was I no longer heard Namtor snoring.

He was gone when I awoke.

As usual I jutted out like a log. I untrussed Vananella's wrists. "Nod if you want me to take your thong out of your mouth and put this in its place."

She nodded, eyes wide.

With the gag removed I fed my length between her lips. Her hands and mouth labored diligently to satisfy me.

"Are you ready to stop being my slave girl?"

"No," she grunted. "I'll do this whenever you want."

"Hurry," I chided her, "we need to meet with the Sheikh."

Vananella obeyed.

When she had done her duty I put on a fresh loincloth and strapped on my sword. She complained about having to get up. She complained about wearing the shirt and the trousers. In the Sheikh's tent, ablaze with candles, he showed her a wicker hamper stuffed with women's clothing and invited her to find something that fit. All the fabric was sheer and brief in cut, the kind of clothes slave sluts wear. The presents improved Vananella's sullen mood. Chalk one more up to the Sheikh. Shrewdly he had outfitted her by guile in provocative clothing, comparing it to what she wore, men's clothes. What young girl did not want a feminine wardrobe?

She chose a sheer orange top and bright green shorts.

"Before you put those on," said the Sheikh, "let me re-examine you."

Vananella endured the ritual again, this time bent across his knees. He stared at her anal socket before applying an insistent fingertip until she yelped and clenched her buttocks together. "That appears virginal as well," said the Sheikh. He stuck his examining finger in her mouth. "What about here? Have you been being a good girl?"

Vananella blushed and he ushered her away from him with a wicked grin. She scrambled into her new clothes. I could see the color of her nipples through the thin top and the indention of the vertical cleft on her lower mound. She might as well have been naked. What a devious clever Sheikh!

He made approving noises as he fastened a black velvet choker around Vananella's sleek neck. A metaphorical slave collar. "Now are you going to translate for our Askaar friend?"

She said yes.

Max and Raj led the chained prisoner into the tent moments later. They remained behind to watch the Askaar, hands never far from their swords. Vananella reddened at their frank appraisal of her. Except for her clothing

her behavior in private differed greatly with the public impression she made. The contrast struck me as most feminine, highly erotic. My thoughts had done a turnabout overnight. She was actually not much younger than Jadda, and squarely embarked upon her destination. Had I honestly tried to change her course, or just gotten her closer to that destination? Try as I might I was not going to overcome her strong will. Or the Sheikh's advocacy of her will.

Namtor entered the tent, said something in the Sheikh's ear. He gave the girl and me scarcely a glance, focusing his attention on the prisoner.

During the interrogation Vananella repeated the questions to him in Askaar. Namtor and the Sheikh did all of the asking, listened closely to

the inflections in the exchanges between Vananella and the Askaar.

Were his people planning an attack or ambush?

How many warriors belonged to his tribe?

Would there be retribution for the deaths of the High Priest and others?

Would they come to take Vananella away?

Did he know where to find a witch doctor named Bali Wu?

Vananella glanced at me when the Sheikh spoke the witch doctor's name, but I didn't understand why at the time. She and the Askaar prisoner knew each other, not unusual since they dwelled in the same tribe. Seemingly they did more talking amongst themselves than the questions called for. They may, or may not, have been friends. They regarded one another as if they were the only two in the tent.

"He knows of Bali-Wu," Vananella translated. "Bali-Wu is a legend, much like the Sheikh."

"Does he know where to find him?"

"The Sheikh doesn't advertise his whereabouts, he says, and neither does Bali-Wu."

The man in the burnoose slammed an angry fist against an enameled tabletop, causing the contents to leap. He said to Vananella, "I assume you are friends with the prisoner?"

"We know each other by sight."

"Why? He said earlier it is a small tribe, sixty or less."

"I was separated from the men and held with the women. Because I was so young."

"You're not that young anymore. You spent many seasons living in that small Askaar tribe and went unmolested?"

She responded slyly with: "The Sheikh knows I'm a virgin."

"I'm wondering why they didn't ravish you before yesterday," the Sheikh pretended that something else just came to mind, "The prisoner claims he doesn't know where to find Bali Wu. Do you?"

"No sir," she said. "He is as elusive as you."

"But you've heard of him?"

"Just like I heard of you," she flattered, "before I got to meet you."

I turned away from them so no one would see the smile I'd been unable to suppress. The little slut was lying!

The best the Sheikh could do was to keep rolling south in the last known direction of the witch doctor's tribe. He dismissed the prisoner for the time being. While issuing orders to Namtor to get the caravan underway, he commented, "There may only be sixty of them, but what's to stop ten tribes from banding together and marching against us?"

"We'll be fine, Sheikh. Me and you have been in tighter spots before."

As the flap closed behind Namtor I asked the Sheikh where Vananella would stay in the caravan.

"I think we'll put her in Danae's coach," he said, expressionless. "Don't worry, Jadda's in another coach today."

"I'll check in on her from time to time."

"The guard will be told not to harass you."

We went our separate ways: the Sheikh to the front; I walked Vananella to the coaches. Danae observed our approach leaning, naked and beautiful, against one of the wagons. I said good morning to her.

"Hi, Thwart," she said, "who's your friend?"

I introduced the girls. "Did the Sheikh tell you to watch after Vananella today?"

"No," Danae said, her smile meant more than just a smile, "but I'll take good care of her."

I didn't like the sound of that.

The first thing Vananella asked Danae before I got out of earshot was about her nipple piercings. I exhaled loudly, all I could do was go and find She-she.

The caravan expected arrows and spears at every turn in the journey, but the only excitement occurred when the brush beaters stirred up a couple of lions. I saw the pony I'd ridden in the jungle, took note of the many other fine animals in the Sheikh's herd. Thoughts curled like smoke through my brain.