Virgin Blood

James Abraham Carter

Warning: Erotic Content. Adults only

Edit History: Minor changes were made to this story on 1 June 2025

The sound of jungle drums drew John Morris onward through the darkness of the humid tropical night. The American knew he was ever closer to his goal, and had to contain his spurring urge to speed ahead. If the natives of Orongo Island caught him spying on their sacred ritual he’d be killed by slow torture. With this in the forefront of his mind, the man continued at a cautious pace, carefully parting the lush undergrowth with all the care of a stalking cat as he warily advanced.

After what seemed an age of sweat soaked torment from the heat and biting insects, Morris glimpsed the light of leaping flames flickering through the brush. The drums thundered ever louder as he drew near, reaching their crescendo when he arrived at his long sought goal. Carefully, the American parted the leaves and peered upon a wild and pagan scene.

A hundred natives, both men and women, pranced in frenzied abandon in the middle of the jungle glade. Their completely nude bodies were garishly painted like a mad surrealist’s artwork. Their woolly hair was adorned with headdresses of bright plumes that waived about like the wings of zombie birds to the jerky movement of the dance, and their faces were concealed by fiendish masks that rivaled the horrors of a drug induced nightmare.

No less horrific was the large idol they danced before in ecstatic adoration. The statue was as squat and as ugly as a toad. Its entire body of tuff (lithified volcanic ash) was carved with grinning skulls, including its enormous phallus that was rigidly erect. The hideous thing was set upon an altar of the same kind of stone. Crimson flames leaped and writhed in the rock bowel that it held, the hellish light painting the devilish scene with additional luridness.

But Morris had no time for the natives or their strange ritual. Not even the enticing jiggling of the women s naked breasts could distract him, nor their plucked genitalia which was exposed as they kicked their legs high in the air like crazed cancan dancers. Instead, his eyes were focused on the huge diamond set in the forehead of the idol of Maru, and the glittering gem filled him with an ecstasy no less potent than that of its wild worshipers.

The American was the owner of a small cocoa plantation on Orongo that wasn’t doing well. Most cocoa was now grown in Côte d'Ivoire and Ghana, and it was very difficult for small producers to compete with these nations. Indeed, if things kept going as poorly as they were he’d probably be bankrupt within a year. But the enormous gem, which rivaled that of the Cullinan diamond, would solve all that for sure. In his arrogance Morris unwisely looked down on the natives. Because of his haughtiness he never doubted for a moment that he wouldn’t get away with stealing it.

Morris removed a map of the island from his pocket, and carefully marked his position on the chart. Then he waited, intensely impatient in the darkness, as the dancers continued their wild leaps and mad gyrations. Would this savage and frenetic nonsense never end? At last, after what seemed an eternity, the throbbing drums began to slow and quieten. The dancers followed in response to the lessening tempo, and within a minute silence and stillness returned to the starry night.

The natives departed, vanishing into the blackness of the jungle. Morris waited half an hour to be certain all would be far away. Then, carefully, cautiously, he crept from concealment and approached the idol of Maru. The fire in its bowel had died. Only soft starlight and the sliver of a moon illuminated the sylvan scene. The gem caught the light. It twinkled like a malevolent eye. The American hesitated. For a moment superstitious fear crawled up his spine like a ghostly spider. The idol had a presence to it that was quite unnerving. He threw off his terror, annoyed at giving in to the same kind of superstitious nonsense like the natives.

Morris climbed onto the altar and, with his hunting knife, carefully levered out the diamond. He’d learned the language of Orongo from the native woman he used for sex, now dead. Only she knew he could speak their tongue, and so he’d overheard the incautious conversations of his laborers that hinted at the existence of the stone, hidden in the island’s heart, sheltered from the prying eyes of the greedy Whites. Now, after many years of methodical searching his efforts had at last been rewarded.

The haughty American pocketed the gem, and slipped away into the darkness, well pleased with his surreptitious thievery.

**********

Clayton Irwin drove along the dirt track leading to the plantation of John Morris, his Land Rover leaving a trail of swirling dust behind him. Irwin, recently arrived, was one of two police officers on the island. Crime was virtually nonexistent among the small population of Europeans. As for the natives - they enforced their own laws with brutal retribution. The most challenging thing Irwin had to deal with were the few trouble making drunks that enlivened an otherwise dull routine, and this was how he’d met Pearl, Morris’ mixed-race daughter.

The Australian had been walking down the single street of Port Cook, the island’s only town, familiarizing himself with the environment when he’d seen her coming out of Wen Huang’s trade store, and in an instant he was captivated by her youthful beauty. Pearl’s face was a sublime oval framed by long wavy hair, glossy and dark as polished ebony, that fell to her slender waist in streaming tresses. Her dark brown eyes were large and expressive as a doe’s. Her complexion, a lighter shade than the natives, was flawless. Pearl’s breasts were full and firm; her arms and legs as graceful as the limbs of a gazelle.

Her small feet were unshod, and her brief clothing threadbare to the point of translucency in places. She was struggling with a load of purchases and dropped some of the packages. When she bent down to pick them up it was clear she wasn’t wearing any undergarments. Irwin had the decency to look away, not so a vulgar drunk who happened to be passing by. The man, if he could be called that, staggered up to the unsuspecting girl and thrust his groping hand between her shapely legs, penetrating her anus and vagina with his grimy fingers.

Pearl straightened with a gasp. She spun round like a spitting cat and slapped the drunk with such force it sounded like the cracking of a whip. Her molester roared in rage and pain. He came at her in intoxicated fury, his clawing hands ripping at her clothes like the talons of a wild beast.

Irwin raced towards the drunk who now straddled the fallen girl, mouthing racist obscenities as he continued to shred her apparel. The Australian grabbed the brute by his collar and hauled him off. The drunk, now completely maniacal, broke free. He staggered to his feet and took a wild swing at Irwin. The Australian blocked the clumsy blow. His fist rammed against the pervert’s chin in a hard right that sent him crashing unconscious to the ground.

After ensuring his opponent was hors de combat Irwin handcuffed him to a post of the store’s veranda. He then turned to the tearful girl who was futilely trying to cover herself with what remained of her shredded clothes. The Australian decided that the drunk could wait. The girl came first, and he introduced himself to her.

“You’re safe now, miss. You’d better go inside and by some new clothes. Then, if you wish to press charges, we can go down to the station.”

“I haven’t any money left,” she blurted out through sobs. “My father gives me little as it is.”

Irwin couldn’t help but be moved by her pitiful state. “Then I’ll buy them for you,” he said. “And then I’ll help you load your parcels into that Jeep. I assume its yours?”

Pearl looked at him with her large dark eyes, amazed that someone would be so kind to her.

The purchase of the sarong and the loading of the packages were accomplished all too soon for Irwin, who was quite taken by the beauty of the girl. The only thing that bothered him was that Pearl had refused to press charges, explaining that she wasn’t badly hurt and didn’t want the trouble of a court case.

The girl was eighteen, seven years younger than Irwin, but still an adult. The Australian had to respect her choice, although he didn’t agree with it. In fact, the more he thought about things after she’d driven off in her father’s rusty Jeep, the more worried he became. Pearl’s threadbare clothing and her comments about a lack of money might indicate she was being abused in some way. Today was the day after the incident, and his unannounced visit was intended as a welfare check. And of course, he was attracted to the girl and wanted to see her again.

Irwin’s mind was brought to the present by his arrival at Morris’ bungalow, a small ramshackle affair shaded by tall palms. Pearl was by the side of the house hanging out the washing. She was dressed in scanty clothes even worse than the rags she’d worn to town, so much so that the girl’s large breasts spilled out of her apparel when she bent to grab another of her father’s shirts, which were not at all in such a pitiable condition.

The girl gasped as the Australian drove towards her. She quickly adjusted her threadbare apparel, swiftly hiding her generous breasts whose large dark areola and nipples could be glimpsed through the thinness of the cloth. The tattered and skimpy state of her dress often caused such accidents around the home, much to her embarrassment.

“Hello,” said Irwin with a friendly smile after pulling up beside Pearl, wondering why she wasn’t wearing the new sarong and underwear she’d purchased with his help, for when she’d bent over her smooth vulva with its prominent lips had also been on clear display. It was only much later that she confided in him her father had started forcing her to dress this way since her mother died two years ago.

“I thought I’d pay a visit and see how you are,” he continued, “and also to introduce myself to your father. Is he in?”

“Yes,” she hesitantly replied as he stepped from the Land Rover. “But he’s drunk and may not be in the mood for visitors. It would be best if you came back another day.”

Alarm bells went off inside Irwin’s head. But he knew he had to be careful with his approach, otherwise she’d be even more reticent to answer questions. There might be nothing wrong, but he needed to make sure. Irwin ignored her remark about coming back at a more opportune time and went off on a different tack.

“Here,” he said, handing her the parcel he had tucked under his arm. “These are more clothes for you. If you need anything at all, or need to talk to someone about anything, please don’t hesitate to come and see me. I’m here to help in any way I can.”

“You’re most kind,” she said. “But I…”

The sound of a heavy object crashing to the floor interrupted her reply. Irwin stiffened. He quickly walked towards the bungalow, the anxious girl at his heels. Both stepped onto the veranda and entered the clean but spartan dwelling. They found Morris slumped on a rickety table, an empty whisky bottle beside him. On the floor was the fallen cash box, a heavy steel affair, and out of it had spilled a glittering object of octahedral form.

Irwin picked it up and instantly recognized the object as a diamond of enormous size and value. To say that he was amazed would be an understatement.

**********

As Irwin gazed at the huge diamond in astonishment, there was much wailing from the natives as they looked upon their desecrated idol.

“Who could have done such a thing?” cried one.

“Not any of our people,” said another. “Only the Whites would do such a terrible thing.”

“But why?” asked a third in disbelief as he turned to Juma, the chief, seeking answers.

The chief, a huge man with hawk-like features, raised his hand for silence. When the crowd quietened he addressed them:

“The Whites have no respect for us,” he furiously explained. “Their priests denigrate our beliefs; their men molest our women. And they take our land from us and use it for their ends. This outrage is but one example of many. These other things perhaps we can forgive. But the profanation of our god, the spiritual heart of our people, cannot be forgiven.”

Juma turned to a wizened man whose gaunt and hunched frame was weighed down with the years of many decades. The oldster’s bony hands trembled as they clutched his staff for support. His body was weak, his shoulders bent. But one look at his compelling eyes sunk in his hairless skull-like visage showed that within that frail frame lurked strange powers far stronger than the brawn of youth could ever be.

“Uturu,” said the chief to the ancient. “You are the most powerful sorcerer of our people. I order you to use your skills of divination to discover who profaned the god. Then, when we know, merciless vengeance shall fall upon the wicked perpetrator.”

“I shall do as you command,” replied Uturu. “But in addition, and after retribution the defiled idol must be cleansed with virgin blood.”

**********

As Irwin picked up the diamond to get a better look Pearl gasped in horror.

“Oh, father,” she cried, aghast. “What have you done?”

The Australian placed the diamond on the table and turned to her. “What is it.” he inquired as the girl sank weakly into a chair. “You’ve gone pale. What’s wrong?”

“That diamond belongs in the forehead of the idol of Maru, the god of my mother’s people,” explained Pearl. “I have not seen it, but she told me of it. My father must have somehow found the Idol’s secret place and stolen it. The natives will be absolutely furious.”

“And you knew nothing of what he planned to do?” asked Irwin, reverting to his policeman’s role.

Pearl looked at him, and the hurt in her eyes made him instantly regret the insensitive question.

“Of course not,” she emphatically stated. “My father treats me more like a servant than a daughter, as he did my mother. If I’d had the slightest suspicion of what he planned to do, I’d have tried to stop him. Blood will be shed because of this - a human sacrifice. I’m not exaggerating.”

“All right,” said Irwin, grimly. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take your father in for questioning. We’ll need to move quickly to placate the tribesmen. Have you got something to revive him?”

“Smelling salts,” replied Pearl. “I’ll get them.”

The girl came back from the kitchen with a small bottle and handed to Irwin. The Australian opened it and waived the pungent contents under Morris’ nose.

The man mumbled something, opened bleary eyes and sat up with an effort.

“Who the hell are you,” he slurred belligerently at Irwin. “And what the devil are you doing in my house?”

“I’m officer Irwin,” replied the Australian, touching his badge. “I have reason to believe you stole this diamond from the natives,” he continued, pointing at the gem. “Did you?”

“What if I did,” drunkenly responded Morris, too inebriated to moderate his language, his true and ugly self fully on display. “Damn niggers just bow down before it. Don’t do anything useful with it. Give them a bit of glass and they’ll be just as happy. Stupid savages.”

Irwin tensed. His lips thinned in hard disapproval. After that foulness the man had no redeeming qualities in his eyes. “Need I remind you that the mother of your daughter was an Orongo islander. Pearl shares her heritage. You insult both ladies with your deeply offensive words.”

“Ladies,” derisively responded Morris. “Tula was a village whore I bought from a chief for the price of five axes and a pig. Pearl will probably be the same. She’s got a nice firm arse like her mother, and a big pair of pointy tits to match. I’ve often wondered what it would be like to screw that luscious twat of hers. Like the other niggers, she plucks it clean you know.”

Irwin glanced at Pearl. The girl’s head was bowed and tears of humiliation were streaming down her cheeks as she quietly sobbed. The Australian felt like forgetting he was a police officer and flogging her vile father within an inch of his miserable life. And its quite possible he may have done just that. But at that very moment the front door crashed in under the power of a terrific blow.

The Australian grimly drew his revolver as half a dozen natives poured into the room. But before he could fire a well thrown club struck the weapon from his hand. Pearl screamed as a warrior came at him. The Australian stepped in and caught the fellow’s wrist, stopping his swinging war club. Irwin slammed a fist against the native’s chin with such force that it sent him crashing to the floor.

Morris, sobered by danger, grabbed the whisky bottle, broke it and used it like a knife. One warrior reeled back, arm deeply cut by his slashing glass. But another clubbed the American and he, too, tumbled unconscious to the boards.

Irwin lashed out with a kick. His boot slammed into a native’s groin. The man went down screaming shrilly. Pearl hurled an unlit kerosene lamp at another warrior. Glass shattered. The man stumbled away clutching his bleeding face.

From the doorway of the bungalow Juma, the chief, took careful aim and fired an ancient carbine. The bullet struck Irwin. Pearl screamed as she saw him fall, then the natives were on her like a pack of wild dogs and she was dragged from the bungalow screaming the Australian’s name…

Irwin groaned and opened his eyes. He touched his skull and winced. His head had hit the floor when he’d fallen, the impact rendering him unconscious. The Australian looked at his chest and gasped at the sight of the large bloodstain. Removing the thick notebook from his breast pocket he saw that it had partially stopped the bullet, which was still lodged in it. Further examination showed that the wound he had sustained was about 1 cm deep. He was very lucky to be alive.

Getting shakily to his feet he looked around. The place was a shambles. There was no sign of either Pearl, her father or the diamond. Panic caught him in its talons. The natives must have taken them. He remembered the girl’s warning - there would be blood to pay in the form of a human sacrifice.

Irwin felt sick. By the time he organized a search party it would be too late. The sacrifice would no doubt take place before the idol, but he was completely ignorant of its location.

**********

Pearl’s screams of unmitigated terror rent the air as four natives carried her towards the hideous idol of Maru. She was completely nude, her clothes having been brutally torn from her by the warriors, who grasped her arms and legs, spreading them wide apart.

Uturu the sorcerer stood by the altar on which the image of the god obscenely squatted. He wore a hideous mask. His scrawny body was painted in wild patterns of red, blue and yellow. He shook the rattles on his staff to the tempo of the wildly beating drums.

The warriors halted in front of the demonic idol. The restored diamond in its forehead glittered like an evil eye. Uturu raised his arm dramatically. The drums fell silent. A hush descended on the watching crowd. In the quiet the sorcerer spoke.

“The desecrator of our god has been slain. Now what remains is the cleansing of the symbol of Maru. Let the purification of the idol begin.”

The crowd commenced an eerie chant. Pearl screamed in terror as the warriors raised her up and pressed her vulva against the long and thick phallus of the idol. The girl writhed in wild terror as the grinning sorcerer reached between her thighs and spread her womanhood in preparation for the brutal thrust that would rip her delicate sex apart.

But a shot rang out before the horrid deed could be enacted. A native holding Pearl screamed, collapsed; a second well aimed bullet felled another. The girl tumbled to the sward. The crowd scattered as additional pistol shots filled the jungle glade with roaring noise.

Irwin dashed madly from the undergrowth, only to halt as Juma pressed his spear to Pearl’s throat.

“Drop your gun or she dies,” he shouted in Pigeon English - a creole language spoken as a lingua franca on many Pacific islands of the region.

“Shoot him,” cried Pearl. “I don’t want to die a brutal death impaled on that horrid idol.”

“It’s over,” said Irwin, replying in Creole to Juma. “You’ve got your diamond.” The Australian glanced at Morris. The man had been bound to a post. He’d been brutally tortured. A dozen arrows protruded from his corpse. “You’ve had your revenge. Let the girl go.”

“The idol must be purified with virgin blood. It is fitting that the violator’s daughter cleanse it.”

Irwin rejected the option to shoot the chief. The point of his spear rested on Pearl’s throat, and when he fell his dead weight might plunge the point home. The Australian now realized he was dealing with a fanatic, and that fanatics can’t be reasoned with. But perhaps he could turn the man’s religion to his advantage.

“You’re wrong,” replied Irwin. “I recognize you. You’re the man who shot me, and yet I live. I survived by the will of your god, to bring you the message that blood sacrifices are not needed. The divine purity of the deity cannot be sullied by the touch of mere mortals. Let the girl go free and unharmed. Her death is completely unnecessary.”

Uturu, the only other tribesman remaining cried out his objection: “Do not listen to the lies of the White Man. He is trying to deceive you. Kill him and put an end to his blasphemy.”

“I’ll fight you with your own weapons,” replied Irwin as he holstered his revolver. “When I win it’ll prove I’m right. Do you accept the challenge?”

“Don’t,” warned the sorcerer. “It’s a trick. This foreigner knows nothing about our god.”

“Quiet, Uturu,” replied the chief. “Do not interfere in any way. A challenge has been given and as a warrior I can’t ignore it. Make sure the woman doesn’t escape. When I’ve killed this fool we can sacrifice her.”

Juma unhooked the war club hanging from his loincloth’s belt. He tossed it to the Australian. “Defend yourself,” he said as Irwin caught the paddle-shaped weapon.

The two men advanced towards each other. Irwin was playing a high stakes game. If he lost he’d be dead and Pearl would shortly and brutally follow him. His challenge, however, wasn’t reckless bravado. As a police officer, self-defensehad been part of his training: not only the use of handguns, but knives and stick fighting as well. The reasoning was that if you knew how to handle these weapons (which were common to the islands) you’d know what to expect if attacked with one.

Juma feinted, then lunged. Irwin, not falling for the ruse, parried his attack. The spear, a longer weapon, gave the chief the advantage, but Irwin had a plan to counter it.

Again, Juma thrust. Irwin’s right hand, like a striking cobra, caught the spear just behind its head. Then, in one swift strike, he brought his club down upon the haft with such force that the weapon broke in two.

Juma cursed. He leaped in, spear swinging. Irwin blocked the the skull cracking blow with the section of his foe’s weapon he’d held onto. The Australian swung his club, thrust with the spear point, using it like a dagger. Juma managed to dodge both attacks, but only just. The two combatants were breathing hard as they feinted, each looking for an opening.

Uturu watched on, silently cursing. He looked at Pearl. His foot was brutally on her throat, pinning her to the ground. Things were not going well for Juma. There wouldn’t be a sacrifice if the White Man won. The ritual must recommence immediately.

The sorcerer closed his eyes. Silently, he called upon Maru, reaching out with the power of his mind. His questing thought pierced the barriers of reality to touch that otherness which lies beneath. The two became one. Uturu opened his eyes. They glowed with strange power.

Fear came upon Pearl as the sorcerer turned his blazing inhuman gaze upon her. She tried to scream, but to her horror found her entire body paralyzed. Then, adding to her terror, she began to rise into the air, levitated by preternatural forces. The girls legs were spread wide by invisible hands. She floated towards the huge phallus of the horrid idol.

Pearl silently screamed in utter agony as she was cruelly penetrated. The invading stone was rough. Its thickness brutally stretched her, the skulls carved along its length tore her as the stone phallus thrust deep into her vagina. Never before had she felt such pain. Black sorcery now fully possessed the girl. Involuntarily, Pearl’s arms and legs wrapped around the idol. She began to violently thrust her hips, savagely hammering her cervix with its inhuman length. The idol’s phallus was dripping with blood as it ripped her virgin tightness with excruciating pain. Time and again she tried to scream out her enormous agony but couldn’t.

Irwin saw what was happening. He gasped in utter horror. Juma gave a wild yell of joy at his distraction. The chief swung a mighty blow that would have fractured Irwin’s skull had it connected. But the Australian managed to dodge the attack. He swiftly thrust with the broken spear point. It rammed into Juma’s heart. The chief was dead before he hit the ground.

Irwin dashed toward the sorcerer. Uturu turned, knife in hand. The Australian slammed into him, felling him to the earth. Irwin pressed the broken spear point to his scrawny neck.

“Release Pearl from your magic, you sadistic bastard,” he cried. “Or by God, I’ll slit your throat right now.”

The sorcerer, who wasn’t keen on dying, complied.

Pearl floated free of the idol and to the ground where she limply lay. Her parted thighs were heavily streaked with blood. More flowed from her torn and gaping vagina, and her badly scoured labia and clitoris. Fear and rage beset Irwin. She’d sustained internal injuries that would prove fatal if not treated quickly. But the hospital in Port Cook was many kilometers away. Without transport and a barrier of thick jungle to bar quick progress he knew she’d never make it.

The Australian turned to the sorcerer, his rage barely under control. “I’m not as dismissive as other Whites,” he snarled ferociously. “I know you sorcerers have strange powers. Heal the girl completely and be quick about it. If she dies, then so do you, and far more painfully.”

Uturu considered using his sorcery against Irwin, but he’d been weakened from his magical exertions. The White Man was alert for the touch of magic. With the spear point pressed tightly against his throat, Uturu couldn’t be sure his powers would be quicker than his enemy’s fatal thrust. For now, he’d cooperate. But later, he’d exact a terrible revenge on both of them with his regained strength, for with his magic, no prison cell would ever hold him.

“I will do as you say,” he passively replied, hiding his volcanic rage.

Uturu closed his eyes and concentrated. Irwin divided his attention between his captive and Pearl. He saw the blood oozing from her ripped vagina slow, then stop as the sorcerer’s occult powers began to take full effect. The blood on her thighs and vulva quickly dried, then completely disappeared. Within a minute no trace of any injury could be seen.

The sorcerer opened his eyes. “It is done,” he said. “Her mind and body have been completely healed. She will waken soon. The girl will not remember anything.”

Pearl opened her eyes. The sorcerer stiffened as Irwin thrust the spear point deep into his jugular. The Australian stepped clear of the gushing blood.

“I’m not stupid,” he quietly said to the corpse. “I knew you’d seek revenge the moment you had the chance. Your powers can reach across distances and penetrate walls. We would never have been safe.”

Irwin turned to Pearl, who had seen what had happened. She gasped in horror at the sight of her dead father and the other bloody corpses. The girl quickly turned her head away and was violently ill.

The Australian removed his shirt and draped it on her trembling shoulders.

“Come on,” he gently said. “Lets leave before the other tribesman build up courage and return. By sheer luck I found your father’s map that led me here. Let’s not press our good fortune any further.”

**********

Pearl remembered nothing concerning her rape, thank God, only those events that preceded it, which were traumatic enough. Irwin explained that she’d fainted when he’d been fighting Juma, no doubt from all the stress.

Of course Irwin had wanted to report what had happened, but Pearl had convinced him that the entire incident must be kept secret. Morris had been murdered, true. But those responsible were now dead. If word got out of the existence of the enormous diamond, as it would with a court case, then Orongo would become a magnet for every adventurer and rogue in the region, and probably beyond as well.

They’d cause no end of trouble tramping about the island in search of the gemstone. The natives would be incensed by this trespassing. Tensions between Whites and locals would increase, possibly leading to further deaths and revenge attacks. Keeping quiet about what had happened seemed the best way to prevent more tragedy.

The story they’d eventually settled on was this: During Irwin’s visit, Pearl’s father had gone out into the jungle for a walk and had never returned. James Stevens, Irwin’s senior, had accepted their version of events without question. Irwin was a fellow officer, and so he was believed. Naturally, they’d cleaned up the bungalow, Irwin’s bloodstained shirt and themselves before going to the station. By the time more police with bloodhounds had arrived from the main island of Tuvara the trail had gone cold, the scent having been washed away by heavy rains.

Morris’ body was eventually discovered after an extensive search. But there was no sign of the idol, and Irwin correctly guessed it had been relocated to the Island’s mountainous interior. The natives, of course, claimed they knew nothing about the murder of Morris, which remained an open case, but one with little chance of ever going to court given the locals refusal to cooperate and lack of police resources.

Three months had passed since these events. Irwin sat on the beach of Tuvara, the largest island of the archipelago of which Orongo was a part. He’d been granted his request for a transfer back to the main island. The Australian didn’t feel safe on Orongo after all that had happened, and he was worried for Pearl also.

She’d eagerly come with him to Tuvara. There was nothing to tie her to Orongo. Pearl had sold the plantation which she’d inherited, but the price she’d gotten barely covered her father’s debts. On Irwin’s wage they weren’t wealthy, but they were comfortable.

He turned and lovingly gazed at the girl who was lying next to him in the shade of a palm. During the weeks of the investigation they’d spent much time together and during this period their feelings had blossomed to love. They’d been married for a little over a month now.

The only thing that had worried him was the intimate aspect of the marriage after what she’d been brutally subjected to. Fortunately, she enjoyed giving and receiving oral sex when introduced to it, and as he’d slowly caressed her clitoris on their wedding night, bringing her to an explosive orgasm with his teasing lips and tongue, he’d had ample time to explore her womanhood. Irwin was relieved to see that everything had been healed by the sorcerer. His reassurance was complete when she also encouraged his slow and gentle thrusts to be come far more vigorous, and soon climaxed once again with gasping pleasure.

The only thing that marred Irwin’s happiness were his occasional horrid nightmares: Dark and graphic visions of Pearl violently thrusting the idol’s rough and stony phallus into her young body, savagely violating herself with its enormity until its brutal shaft was thickly coated with her virgin blood.

He’d wake up screaming in the night. Pearl would hold his trembling body, settling him with her warm embrace. Naturally, she’d asked him about the nightmares. But for her sake he would never tell the truth, saying only that it was some formless horror he couldn’t remember clearly upon wakening.

Most husbands kept secrets from their wives, he reflected, but none so black as his.

THE END