Date: Sun, 23 Jun 2002 14:52:13 EDT
From: DoranlII@aol.com
Subject: Wendigo I

Wendigo: The breeze sighs like me as I watch you lying on your stomach,
lapping at the frothy water like a sleek brown mountain cat; and just as
dangerous. Your breech clout is askew and the firm, sunwarmed mounds of your
manmoons invite my eyes to feast and my clawed hands to fondle. I feel the
old, familiar ache in my loins beginning to pulsate as you look up and
around, wary as a hart in rut, your long midnight hair spreads like heavy
corn silk across your broad back and shoulders. Your black eyes, mystical in
their heritage, see me and yet do not see me as I crouch in the rocks and
leaves. I am well hidden, blended if you will, with the foliage, one moment
green and trembly, and the next hard and rippled and rusty brown as the bark
of a tree. You know I am here. You know what I desire. You are squatting now
with your brown hands in the tumbling water.

Your reflexes, lightning fast, pluck an unwary fish from the water, which you
will roast and eat to fill your stomach. You handle the creature as though
you would cherish it rather than consume it, and as I watch, son of the sun,
my fangs bare in amusement as you say your cherokee words of respect for the
life of the creature. I want to spit the drool that is pooling around my
tongue and slipping forth from my fanged mouth, but I dare not....You are
aware of my presence and to do so would only make you spring away. You look
around again as though the very movement of the wind has given away my
presence to you. Like an animal of the forest, you startle easily. I wonder
for a moment if you are actually aware of the serious nature of my relentless
pursuit of you...of my insatiable hunger for you. Instinctively I KNOW that
you are, and this knowledge stirs my  blood and my member to throbbing
erection. My clawed hand, of its own accord, drops to squeeze the
engorgement, giving me a moment of pleasure and surcease.

 I remember vividly the look of resignation in your eyes the day before your
escape from my City. You were willing to forfeit your life to feed my hunger
then, and you gave of yourself freely, pleasuring me as I have never been
pleasured.  Then, as I slept you fled my world. You fled from ME. How I
suffered for that, and my hunger went unsated for many moons. I starved
though I devoured and rent the choicest flesh in the Aztec, Mayan, Toltec,
and Tabascan empire and beyond. I had them brought from far and near. I
hunted them and drank their blood and still went hungry...and why? You,
Cherokee. My very soul sings with the sight of you crouched there making your
fire and preparing your simple meal. Ahhhhhh. You are again sniffing the
breeze. I have always sensed that you could smell my presence, as one smells
the odor of death and decay in the chamber of bones. Yes, cherokee, you DO
smell me, you smell your own demise. You rise, your belly hard and flat, your
precious sac holding the power of a soon to be conquered people. Your legs
propel you toward the trees where I hide and you are now so close I can see
the beaded design on your mocassins. I can smell the leather. I can smell
your maleness. Your brown hand clutches your blade in readiness as you move
toward the clump of trees where I and my band of hunters await you. You take
out your manserpent and aim it at a spot very close to where I hide, and let
go a fragrant golden stream of piss. It splashes on my sandals and my robe.
I am so enthralled watching you that I am unable to give the signal for your
capture...I would toy with you a bit longer.

II Warrior: My bladder relieved, I move back into the ring of light cast by
my fire and prepare to eat the fish I have caught. I feel my hair spreading
heavily across my back like prickles of warning. Like all braves of my nation
I respect the life the gichi manito gives us. There is not much pleasure to
the eating of the meal, for, to satisfy my hunger another creature must give
its life. I am apprehensive as a small animal stalked by the mountain cat. I
smell an unmistakable foulness in the air...a foulness that does not belong
here in the land of my fathers. It is the foulness of dead and decaying
flesh, human flesh. I rise again, sheathing my blade and snatching up my bow
as though I would resume hunting in the twilight, and move slowly to the
waters' edge. At the last moment I begin to run and clear it easily. Once on
the other side I leap into the clump of trees and disappear. I don't look
back, because I have no need to look back, I smelled your foul odor as I
relieved myself at the edge of the forest glade where you were concealed. If
I did look back I know that I would see the white shaven pates of the city
dwellers emerging from the foliage for the chase. The night air burns in my
lungs as I clear the ledge and land heavily on the other side, nearly
slipping into the deep chasm below. Within a short time I hear the screams of
my pursuers, larger, heavier, and more sturdy.....and therefore much slower
than myself, as they plummet into the deep crack in the earth to lie broken
and bleeding at the bottom.

I stand for a moment listening in terror to the demonic howls of lament
ululating from the throats of the wendigo hunters from the City of Montezuma.
It will take them a while to get across and I have time to flee. I run as
fast as my runner's body will take me. Not in the direction of my village,
but away from it, judging by the stars: I have no knowledge of how many there
are in the Wendigo hunting party . I would not endanger my family and my
people by leading them to my village.. I am silently praying to the god of my
people to spare me capture by the flesheaters. As though in answer, the tiny
scar over my breastbone begins to sting as it did the day your obsidian blade
rested against it, slowly opening my flesh just enough to allow my blood to
escape and fill the hungry mouth bending to suck it. I stop, panting with
exertion, and close my eyes to clearly see the face in my nightmares....the
clear, terrifying eyes of the Aztec highpriest, Chihualli...you. I begin to
run again. I have been running, it seems forever, and yet never can I free
myself from the memory...or the pursuit.

III Wendigo: I stop suddenly, my foot nearly slipping over the sharp,
unexpected edge, too late recalling your cunning. One of my party, unable to
stop in time, has taken a fall and is screaming in agony. The howls of my
hunters for their injured loved one at the bottom, and the ones you killed
during your escape, echo in my ears, and hot tears of rage pour from my eyes.
I hear the weakened moans of one of my own lying at the bottom of the
chasm...my belly burns with hunger and my loins with need.... but I smile a
deadly smile of promise, I will have you Cherokee.

Undefeated, I say to my hunters. "Two of you get our injured, we camp here
for the night." I motion with my staff to the chasm and smile a smile that is
ripe with the promise of retribution. "Our quarry is cunning and dangerous
and I would pursue him in the safety of the light of day. "

I realize I am no match for you, even in the time of darkness when my powers
are strongest, for I am old and you are young.The sweetness of your youth
burgeoning, draining me. I realize that truly, you will escape me once again,
unless......I begin to sing the words to the serpents' spawn, calling him
from his lair in the bowels of the world. Calling him to the aid of his most
loyal highpriest and follower. Calling him to mist the night and fill your
eyes with sleep. As the unfortunate injured acolyte is dragged out of the
chasm, I crouch down on my heels and draw my deadly obsidian blade from its
sheath, tracing the incantations into the soil. The rescuers lay the injured
one at my feet, spreading his straining, broken limbs into the ritual
position. He is screaming now, perhaps with pain, but also with the knowledge
that we will devour his body and free his soul to live with the gods of our
people. As I gaze into his colorless eyes, I recall with a tinge of regret,
the many nights and the many ways he pleasured my body with his in the past.
My fanged smile and the white demon light in my eyes tells him just how
terribly I will miss him.....

Laughing, I bend forward and press my lips to his, tasting the blood from his
ruptured organs as it oozes its way upward toward the freedom of the outside
of his body. At the same time I press my blade to the soft valley between his
third and fourth rib and push gently....ever so gently, savoring the feel of
the thin blade as it makes it way to his heart. The blade slips between them
as easily as my tongue slips into his mouth to silence his dying
protest......As easily as my sex had in the past slid into his serpent's
hole.

IV Warrior: The rays of the sun begin streaking redly the sky and the
mountains take on an iridescence like the all seeing eyes of manito. I stop
for a moment, breathless and exhausted, to offer thanks for a new day. I can
see for miles in every direction and no sign of my pursuers. I can feel them,
I can feel HIM, deep in my bones and in my thoughts. I can feel him inside my
very soul. I can again feel him inside my body. Those dreadful colorless eyes
watch my every move. That fanged mouth laughs with growing derision at my
futile attempts to escape his just anger. I run faster, my lungs burning like
fire, hoping futilely, I may yet outrun him before the moon god climbs onto
his throne. This night the moon would be full and evil will stalk the
shadows. If the highpriest of Quetzacoatl should decide to seek help from the
underworld, this Man of the People would truly be lost.

Without thinking twice I begin to scale down the face of the jagged mountain.
I have long since left the land of my nation and entered into hostile
territory, but even the threat of capture by an enemy nation is preferable to
facing capture by the Wendigo. I am weary, much too weary to go on with my
flight. Lady Sun is dying as she gives birth to the moon. My eyes, with no
will of their own keep closing in slumber. Delicious and overpowering, sleep
finally overtakes me. Too late, I realize that though my athletic body may
flee those practitioners of dark magic, my spirit, if they are conjuring, is
always in danger. Unable to go on I fall against the base of a large tree
with nowhere else to hide. I flesh has gone cold and I am exhausted and
defeated. I curl into the position of the womb where once I was safe and I
sleep only until the nightmare face again looms above me. I feel the cold
claws of some nameless demon tracing a chilly path down my spine to the cleft
between my buttocks. I feel its icy entrance into my vulnerable netherhole
and its slow and freezing progress to the center of my being where it coils
like the shining serpent Quetzacoatl, turning my very spirit to ice.

V Wendigo: Oh, beauteous son of the earth, even in slumber you recognize me
and my brother demon who holds your black eyes closed in slumber. The long
length of your heavy lashes feather out upon your high cheekbones, creating
shadow which beckons my lips to brush them. My hand trembles to touch your
throat and chest, and caress the smooth hard maleness beneath the brightness
of your breech clout. My hunters hold you as I ready your body for my
pleasure. I revel in the sweet scent of your youth and the lustre of your
dark hair as it falls across your face and chest as you slumber. I chuckle,
knowing that you would not be expecting this. Conjuring to capture you has
weakened me, but I will regain my strength as I will sap yours once inside
your body. I will you to waken, and take perverse pleasure in the sight of
your despair as you realize you are once again my slave. You didn't think I
would resort to a weakening conjure so far from my Temple, did you, Cherokee?

 I smile down at you, baring my sharpened black teeth. My fingers feel the
trembling of your precious body as I kneel admiringly between your taut,
widespread thighs. My clawed hands rest upon the rippling hardness of your
broad, hairless chest and flat belly. I have an insane urge to toy with the
fringe of your hightopped mocassins, and to trace the beadwork with my split
tongue to prolong your suffering..... An offering of chill saliva strings
from my mouth to the altar of your manhood where I could worship forever.
Your smooth belly quivers in dread anticipation as my hot, starving, mouth
takes your manroot inside and rolls it around and around my tongue. My forked
tongue delights in the taste of your sex, licking the sweet drop of slick
moisture forming at the tip. I savor the feel of your hardening mantool and
know once again that you are in my power. I wet a clawed finger and caress
the sweet valley between your straining manmoons. I am satisfied to hear you
moan in pleasure, fear and pain.

My cloudy blue eyes search your black ones for a sign, any sign that you may
feel something other than revulsion when you look at me....to no avail. Your
beautiful mouth is hard and your white teeth clench in defiant terror as you
strain against the hands of my minions. Even so, my fingers thrill at the
tightness of your puckered entrance, and push in ever deeper as though by
doing so, I could locate and withdraw your cherokee heart, still beating,
from your chest. I savor the sounds of your pain and relish the way your
strong body writhes beneath mine as I continue to toy with your tender nether
hole. "Stretch his arms above his head." I snarl to my acolytes.  "Spread his
legs wider apart." They do it...of course their highpriest will be obeyed. I
catch my breath in awe and wonder at the thick ropes of muscle straining in
your arms. I open my robe. My own sex is hard and standing ready. You
endeaver to turn your head away, that you will not be forced to look at my
hideousness, but I have another of my minions hold your head. "If you attempt
to close your eyes, I will be forced to slit your lids." I warn with an evil
grimace. Oh, to damage those delightful, flashing orbs would bring death to
me, but I would do it...I have no choice. I clasp your slim, hard hips,
raising them to meet mine, and then begin to guide my rock hard manserpent
into your glorious orifice, rejoicing in the pleasure your terror stirs
within me.

VI Warrior: Wakening slowly, I realize I am no longer safe within the arms of
slumber. I am aware of the hard, cold hands restraining my aching limbs, and
positioning my body, my legs wide apart. I can smell the foul odor of dried
blood and the fetid breath of the flesheating fiends from the City of
Motecuzoma. I want to mouthe the words of denial that would free me from this
nightmare, but they are hard coming with the reality of the moment. I see the
clouded blue of your eyes and the scaling dried blood on your shaved pate and
wonder, strangely, if under those ritual blood-markings, you may be human or
ever had been human. The horror of your sharpened teeth as your mouth
descends to encircle the head of my manroot freezes my blood. I want to close
my eyes, but I recall your warning, and to have to remain alive with my
eyelids slit would add to the terror of an already unendurable slavery.

I try to focus my mind on anything other than the reality of the moment, but
it is not possible. Your minions are too numerous and too strong for my
wearied body to fight, though I continue to struggle. Their leering mouths,
leaking drool, are much too close to my face, and I gag at the fetid smell of
their breath and unwashed bodies.

"LOOK AT ME," you are saying hypnotically. "Look into the eyes of your doom.
Look into the eyes of your master". I grit my teeth as your hard mantool
forces it's way into my body. I try not to breathe as you lean forward to
capture my dry mouth with yours. I feel the horror of your sharpened teeth
abrading my mouth, my throat, my chest. I pray to the Great Spirit to free my
soul from my body, but, from a son of his earth, the Great Manito expects
perseverence and sacrifice, as do all the gods. As you fill me and begin to
move inside me, my mind darkens...but my body soon betrays me and begins to
respond. My own mantool is engorged and throbbing in your hand or the hand of
one of your lower order priests.....I am ashamed of myself as I hear the
victorious laughter of your minions as from a great distance. Unable to stop
myself, I begin to move with you in our primitive rhythm. I feel the hands of
my captors relax and then free my limbs altogether. My legs, with a will of
their own, wrap loosely around your heaving shoulders, drawing you closer,
deeper into me. I feel your clawed hands in my hair and my mind draws into
itself, shutting out reality and giving into base sensation.

VII Wendigo: Mine!!!!!! The roaring triumphant laughter boils up from
somewhere deep inside my body and erupts eeerily into the echoing forest,
sending animals and creeping things scurrying and slithering to the safety of
their burrows and nests. You are mine as you always have been mine since the
first day I saw your image in the pool of mystic water near my Temple. I
pound my mantool deeper into your hard belly, watching every expression on
your face. My loose sac slaps noisily against your hard manmoons and I am
elated as never I have been. Oh, warrior of The People, I could almost give
up my own people, my position and my world for you, if I thought your people
would accept me. If I thought YOU could ever accept me...love me.  I cry out
in triumph as my seed spurts deeply into you and yours spurts all over my
belly, chest and even in my face. I lick it off hungrily, trying not to allow
my thick manserpent to withdraw from your tight hole. Alas, my age tells on
me and my drained serpent shrinks and shrivels from its lair, now clean and
coated with manhoney, and the fragrant inner fluids of your bowel. I look
around hastily for a medium sized, smooth rock and hastily work it into your
tight hole to hold my seed inside you. As long as it remains within your
body, you cannot fight me. My minions crowd about, hissing, snarling,
awaiting their turn to share the feast which would flow from that sweetly
stretched little hole if I were to allow it.

I rise threateningly, drawing my blade, and order them to retreat or die. You
are mine, young Man of The People. None of them are worthy to share you.
"Bind his hands with leather thongs." I order softly, and before you recover
enough to react or flee. I watch intently as my orders are carried out. I
reach down and remove your breechclout. "You have no more need of raiment,
slave." I whisper in your own tongue, so there is no doubt in you mind I am
your master. You moan softly, your black, glittering eyes only half cognizant
to your situation.

My shriveled manserpent is hanging dejectedly against my ragged, empty
scrotal sac. A thin string of syrupy nectar silently strings its way from my
pisshole to the grassy space between your firm brown thighs as though marking
this territory as mine alone. My hand encircles my manserpent, milking it,
and stretching it to its full, considerable length. Sharp sensations of
ecstasy shoot through my body in every direction as I continue to manipulate
and pleasure myself. Unexpectedly, my manserpent, raises its head, alive once
more and aching to fill your tight lair. I can feel the cold colorless stares
of my henchmen upon me and upon my prize. I can feel their hunger. "You may
prepare me for him....." At a nod, my second approaches, drops to his knees
and takes my flaccid manserpent into his hungry mouth. He begins to suck it
as though he would drain the very blood from my veins, licking your juices
even from the shriveled sac below, and from my scrawny thighs. I sigh in
pleasure as I see that you are moving now and I bid him hurry, for I cannot
wait to enter your boyhole again. "I promise you a turn soon." I lie
smoothly, knowing full well I will never share you. "Now, spread him and
remove the plug from his body............"

VIII Warrior: UNNNNGH! I moan as the pressure inside me again brings me to
full consciousness. I open my eyes to see your servant kneeling between my
legs, his hand working deeply in my savaged orifice. AAAAAAHGHHH! I scream,
as I realize he is using his hand and removing the hard object from inside
me. He smiles evilly at the sound of my protests. He deliberately makes a
fist around the object inside me and pulls it out with an arrowshot of agony
at my strained entrance.. I feel the cold rush of air against my nether
cheeks as your seed begins to flow like an untrapped demon from my torn hole,
to pool under my moons and I tremble as the agony abates somewhat. I fight to
control the unmanly water beginning to spill from my eyes to no avail. The
creature between my legs raises his arm and laughingly shows me a smooth
stone dripping with glistening man nectar. I moan again, knowing full well my
torment is just beginning, and that the manito would not free this Man of The
People on this day. Maybe never. Perhaps this Man of The People would
languish as a slave to the followers of the serpent for the duration of his
life. Perhaps this Man of The People would do well to pray for a short life.

* Note: Some of this story is historically correct. Some of the cultural
practices have been altered to fit the tone of the story. The nature of the
characters are for the most part, fictionalized and not intended to detract
from the memories of any of any actual person living or dead.

PART II: The young Cherokee warrior, kidnapped from his land, and far from
his people, is now the slave of the highpriest Chihualli in the City of
Motecuzoma.