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Some Kind of Voodoo

By: medvetis



He was almost completely untouchable. Even in his tribe he was an anomaly, the rest of the friendly people tactile by normal standards, but to him they kept a respected distance, granting him the space the shaman deserved by some silent demand to keep all hands off of his smooth dark skin. I had been in the jungle for months now, watching him out of the corner of my eyes, even as I recorded everything I could about the isolated cluster of people that seemed to be caught in a far more ancient, primal time. To most they would have seemed little more than animals at first glance, but I had been here for too long. 

Really, too long was an understatement. 

The small archipelago of close islands had only been discovered a year ago, a bizarre weather pattern that swirled over the cluster having kept it covered from satellites and passing crafts for so very long. It was a plane crash in the middle of the largest isle that had finally shown the lands as inhabited. Nine months later, I had been sent here, one of the few granted leave to merely…step back in time. At first, it had been a wondrous dream, and in a way it still was, were it not for the prancing medicine man that seemed to linger foremost in my mind now. 

While he locked himself away inside the stone temple, I lay on the floor of the hut they had made aside for me, staring up at the thatched ceiling. Around it misted a pale blue, sweet-smelling smoke that seemed to keep the worst of the insects at bay, the protective incense a gift from the shaman himself. He called himself Makya. My journals stacked beside me, a rolled-up jacket serving as a pillow, I could see the exotic beauty in the shapeless wisps of smoke above me. In the slow process of learning the native tongue, they had tried to explain to me some of the shaman's oddities. Silver hair was tied at the back of his head, falling down to the middle of his back, bangled and braided with bones, teeth, claws, and feathers, yet he couldn't have been far past his twenties, no matter how difficult it was to tell age with these people. His acolytes had explained that he was a "spirit child," one that was born at the exact moment an elder died. That seemed reason enough for his silver hair, though his skin also seemed a shade or two lighter than his counterparts, and his eyes were an enchanting aqua. There must have been some genetic explanation for it, but he would never allow me near enough for a closer look, much less to draw blood. For now, I just drew his image on the smoke above me. He was short in comparison to me, of course, perhaps five feet ten inches, lithe and limber, looking nearly boyish despite his silver hair. 

Closing my eyes, I tilted my head back, my hand drifting down the front of my bare chest, soothing over the sweat that had collected there from the heavy humidity. A black diamond tattoo rested beneath each of his strange eyes, and another inking of a snake wound around his torso, reared and ready to strike, the tail disappearing beneath the front of the simple wrap he wore around his waist. I could only imagine where the tip ended, where it curled and nestled on that smooth skin. 

I ran my tongue over my lips, well aware of how unprofessional my hormones were leading my thoughts, but after staying months here without relief… I could hear nothing outside but the jungle, insects buzzing and the rustle of the canopy overhead. My hand slid down further, as if with a life of its own, rubbing against a growing erection. God, that it were his fingers, instead.

Any day I could have requested relief from any of the other beautiful men and women around me, had I asked, or even shown some hint of interest aside from professional. They looked to me still warily, as if I were some higher being still only playing at being human. I suppose it must have all been a shock to them. All of them…except him. 

I couldn't help but groan to the night air as I started to stroke myself, skin hotter than even the temperature could account for. I had been observing with a loaded gun for a week, and I could feel my cock throbbing now from the much-needed attention. Squeezing my eyes shut, I ran my thumb over the mushroom head, slicking over a drop of pre-cum that oozed needily from the slit. Mouth open, I drew my fingers to my lips for a taste, imagining the salty tang came from him. I had seen him dance naked, painted from the neck down in a brilliant gold, black patterns etched all down his body like scales. He had pranced for hours in the night, illuminated only by fire, and seen just in glances through the open doors of the stone temple. Squeezing my aching cock a bit harder, I could still see his smooth thighs and that inviting, pert ass, feathers at his ankles and wrists, his hair let free to spin about him like a silver halo. I shouldn't have been watching then, no more than I should have been stroking myself now into quick, moaning pants. 

Turning onto my side, I rested one cheek on my arm, rubbing my hand up and down my erection more urgently, feeling the surges of pleasure building. God, I had needed this so badly. Soft grunts rose from my chest as I curled my hand almost painfully tight around the shaft, careless and rough in my urgency, stopping every so often to slip down further and squeeze my balls, feeling them swell with their own eager pulse. My eyes cracked open just as I felt the pressure mounting, hearing the dull sound of flesh on flesh, echoing another activity no doubt indulged in inside some of the neighboring homes, husbands and wives. A shadow moved in front of my hut, but I didn't stop, panting against my arm, watching the familiar form. Just when I saw his blue-green eyes glinting in the moonlight, I couldn't hold back, the sight of that nearly-naked body in the doorway tipping me over the edge.

I turned my head, biting down on my arm to quiet the cry of relief, orgasming hard. Four shots coated my hand and the woven mat beneath me, two more spurting almost guiltily as I rode down the waves, still staring up at the shaman who made no noise, only watched. When I had finally stopped, and brought my teeth away from my arm, he snorted, folding his arms over his chest. 

"I thought a wild boar had come, with the grunts and squeals."

He spoke in his native tongue, of course, and he smiled a half second after I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. It was so hard to tell whether or not he was teasing, seeming smug about something, at least. Sitting up, I wiped my hand on the mat the best I could, pulling a spare fur over my legs. Like most of them, I slept in the nude in the heat, but to be caught like that…

"I…did not mean to bother you," I answered finally, taking awhile to find the right words in the still unfamiliar language. A lot of it seemed to be guessing still.

With a little swagger to his hips, he stepped completely into the hut, smoke swirling around his shoulders and framing that boyish face. "Do I seem bothered?" He laughed, tossing his head, his hair still held back at the nape of his neck, swirling from side to side behind him, beads rattling among the silky strands. "There is a woman eager for the children of a stranger that would have accepted you, Doctor."

I felt my cock give a throb at the last word, hearing the heavy accent on the English word. When I had introduced myself as Dr. James Heir, doctor was the only part of it they had taken to calling me, even after I had told them otherwise. Hearing from those sweet lips, though, was enough to give new life to my libido.

"I could not take the honor," I assured, swallowing around a dry throat. Besides, how could I tell him that I would rather be thrusting into him than any of the women in camp? While happily bisexual (though I must say, men are my greater preference,) I could see no one here of worth whenever he was around. A friend and colleague had told me many times I had a taste for the exotic, in décor, in food…he had no idea it traveled to other fields, as well. 

"You could," Makya corrected, moving over and sitting in front of me, crossing those long, smooth legs. Aside from his head, he was nearly hairless, lacking even eyebrows by then, apparently a side-affect of the oil they made and often mixed with their paints, and he was almost always moving around with some sort of color on his body, if not all over. "But you do not." He smiled, teeth surprisingly white for being 'uncivilized,' standing out in stark contrast against his darker skin.  

"I am here to learn." I reminded him, though he didn't seem convinced. To my arousal, he reached down and ran one finger through the milky fluid still coating the mat, drying slowly in the heavy humidity. Almost curiously, he watched it start to slide down the length of his finger, pearly in the moonlight. Already my cock was at full attention beneath the fur, yearning to paint more cum on that body.

"What did you learn tonight?" He asked, tilting his head slightly to one side. He brought his finger closer to his mouth, then dropped his hand abruptly and wiped it clean on the bare dirt. Tease.

"You walk softly."

He laughed at that, short, but with honest amusement, something rarely seen from the shaman. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. "You breathe loudly," he returned, about to say more, but interrupted by a long yawn, stretching his arms above his head. "It is considered ungrateful to relieve oneself when there is company around, without asking for assistance."

That, at least, baffled me. I hadn't heard of such a custom, but then again…I had never been caught in the act of masturbating while I had been here. Bowing my head, I gripped the fur a bit tighter, well aware of my throbbing erection, renewed quickly with the enticement sitting so close. "I apologize if I offended. I did not know."

The shaman smiled again, reaching over without warning and yanking the fur away from my legs, and out of my hands. He rose to his feet, dropping it on the floor and only giving my body a once-over with his eyes, lingering for half a second longer on the eight inch cock jutting up from between my legs.

"Good night."

He turned to leave, displaying that ass barely covered by a wrap around his waist, shorter in the back than the front, and I could almost catch sight of his balls as well, were the shadows not so heavy.

"Wait!" I was on my feet before I knew it, ducking my head to keep from hitting the top of the hut, my six feet one inch taller than the rest of the men, not built for these homes.

He looked back over his shoulder, long fingers resting on his hips, cocking a brow curiously. There was something so smug and condescending in the gesture, but it only made my loins tighten. Arrogant, confident little prick. He was playing me like a fish on a lure, but I couldn't resist biting down harder, driving the hook in deeper. "I need your assistance."

That smile came again, and he laughed, pointing down at the row of huts. "Ask yourself!" Dropping his hands, he strutted back to the stone stairs, and disappeared up inside the temple, leaving me standing naked in the dark, my cock offering his parting rear a last salute. 

I should have known. 



Some Kind of Voodoo



 

I don't know how long I was out for, but I woke still in the dark, nude now, laid out on a raised platform covered with soft furs. I could feel a warm body hovering over mine, and the tickle of long hair against my chest. It had to be him. It had to be. My erection, which had flagged before, seemed to think so, as it came back with a throbbing vengeance. 

"Makya?"

There was no answer from him. I reached out for him, only to find that my hands were bound above my head. Loosely, and with leather straps that had the fur still on the inside, so as not to chafe. My legs were spread and tied as well, laid across the altar like a ceremonial sacrifice. 

Wait, sacrifice?

The thought did much to cool my libido, panic spiking my heart rate. Surely they wouldn't, after all this time, draw blood for their gods, the blood of a stranger? The shaman gave me no answer, but I could feel him sliding down my body. 

The next feeling pushed away all doubt—at least for now. Warm, wet lips wrapped around the head of my cock. I groaned, my eyes fluttering, then closing, giving up on straining in the gloom. The only noise was the soft suck of his mouth against my skin as he took me in deeper. His tongue lapped against the sensitive underside, tracing up the thicker vein there until the tip of the slick muscle could probe at the slit. I could feel him licking away the seeping pre-cum there, and he hummed contentedly, or perhaps in some vague approval. 

His hands slid up my legs from knee to groin, stroking my thighs with his palms damp, I could only assume from paint. I heard him shift, and then his hands came away. He swallowed my cock again, this time halfway down, sucking hard so suddenly I thought for sure I would orgasm then and spoil the wonderful torture prematurely. His fingers wrapped around the base of my erection, pinching painfully to hold me back. I felt a groan rumble in my chest, and I pulled against the bonds, my hips thrusting up towards that delicious mouth with a life of their own. 

There was a soft chuckle in the darkness as he pulled up again, his tongue tracing thin, teasing lines along my inner thighs now, his cheek pressed against the hard side of my cock. 

"Makya," I groaned, curling my hands into light fists. The Amon did not torture their victims, I knew that, so did he have to tease me so now? I felt his warm skin as he slid up my body again, his mouth feathering up my chest, until he finally began to lap at my throat. 

"Shh," he soothed, his tongue flicking at my earlobe, before he sucked it into his mouth. I moaned again at the sensation, wonder when I had lost such control of my own body. I felt smooth legs move to either side of my hips, and he ground down on top of me, until I could feel his own erection against mine. Like the rest of him, it was slender, but long, and each delicious roll of his hips had me panting. His tongue dipped into my ear for a moment, before his cheek brushed mine. 

I could feel his lips, slightly swollen, dance up my jaw. I opened my mouth, wanting him, wanting to taste him so badly as he continued to grind against me in slow, sweet torture. He licked my lower lip, and then backed off. I heard a weak, needy, and frustrated sound, realizing belatedly that it came from my own beckoning lips. 

And then, he was gone. Panting, dripping precum onto my own chest, I could hear his footsteps off in the dark somewhere, but all I knew was that I had lost the warm body I craved so much. I was about to call for him again, ready to plead if need be, when I caught a mild, sweet scent of the oil they often used for cleansing themselves. Warm, I felt it drip onto my cock, before his fingers followed. God, it was heavenly. His breath tickled my ear, as his hand liberally coated my erection with the oil. Again, I felt him slide up on top of me, straddling me once more. 

He began to speak, though not to me, his whispers so soft, and the words so exaggerated I could barely understand him, especially in my current state. I only felt him shift as he beseeched the gods, before that pert ass I had watched so closely rubbed against my hard length. 

"Mak—"

His palm pressed against my mouth to silence me, before he began to lower himself down. I felt the head of my cock against his puckered entrance, oiled as well, and waiting for me. And…god he was tight, moving sinuously on top of me as he arched down, driving me deeper up into him. I heard a moan break his words, and he shuddered, stopping only when my balls pressed against his smooth cheeks, and he sat fully impaled in my lap. I could have died a happy man then, almost cumming from the tight heat. I panted against that hand, a heavy groan sounding more like that of an animal. 

And then, he began to move.

His voice became louder, little gasps breaking his incantations as he pulled himself up again, until I nearly came out of him, before he drove himself back down hard, so sudden again I almost lost control. My hips bucked up towards him, out of my control with hunger. Now, at least, he responded to that. He let go of my mouth, and his hands waved somewhere out in the air above us. Bending that lithe dancer's body, he rode me fast now, driving himself down hard with each roll of his hips. His words were lost to quick pants, internal muscles spasming around me. 

God…it was too much. I pulled hard against the bonds, thrusting up to meet him every time he came down. I wanted so badly to touch him, to bring him down beneath me instead and claim him, with my mouth, with my hands—everything. Condemned to be overcome by him again, when he drove himself down again and ended it with a little grind, I saw stars burst in the darkness. 

My body arched, my head tossing back with a cry that came more like a scream from the release that surprised even me. I thrust up into him, feeling myself spill over, flooding him. His own cry came sharp and sweet, before his body tightened around me. Six splashes of warm cum splattered onto my chest and stomach, before his hands pressed to either side of my head, hovering over me in stillness for now as he panted. 

"Accept this man," he whispered to the dark, his words more familiar now, even if they came breathless, "as an Amon, and let him forget that there was ever a thought of a greater people."

His cheek rested against my brow, and I could feel the oily pant dripping onto my skin, slick with sweat now, too. I smiled, and fell limp, content to sleep there beneath the shaman. The gods, I knew, had granted his request.