Seaman From The Black Lagoon (Patreon)

The settlement consisted of one large hut and ten smaller ones. All were made of mud bricks, somehow tanned the same color as the surrounding trees. The palm-wattle roofs of the huts hung over the walls like a child's hair cut at home instead of the barber.

The natives were dark, with thick black hair that shone with the vegetable oil they dunked it in. Their solemn faces were ironically painted with brilliant colors. Around their foreheads were bands of red and green liana. That was all they wore, save for loincloths woven out of long and tussocky grass.

Their ritual was in full swing: chants flying out into the darkness that ringed the firelit village and returning, echoing back or perhaps repeated by whatever was out in the night. Even this close, Bettie could not distinguish one member of the choir from another. Male and female voices were both sexless; she could barely separate them from the rhythmic shake of the maracas, which seemed to chorus the onomatopoeia of the litany. And the natives shook—danced—spasmed?—as they released the jagged sound from within.

Bettie watched, staggered, certain she had never seen so much naked flesh in one place before, and certainly not Negros!

Bettie happened to look over at Milicent, sitting beside her on the log, and saw her gazing intently through the swirl of dancing natives. She followed Milicent’s stare to a man… at least, she supposed it was. He was so covered in seaweed and clumps of moss that it was impossible to see an inch of skin—like a child wearing a bedsheet to trick’r’treat as a ghost.

It somewhat spooked her. The natives already seemed so inhuman, with their eerie chanting and convulsive movements. What could be so disturbing they sought to hide it this way?

Bettie looked back at Milicent, wondering if she was disquieted too. The scientist’s assistant was always so prepossessed; there seemed no chance that she’d have a fear as foolish as Bettie’s. And, indeed, she didn’t look frightened. Her cheeks were flushed a deep hue of red.

“My God, I’ve always heard that the Yacuruna could seduce a human woman, but I never actually believed it!” Milicent gasped.

“What’s a Yacuruna?” Bettie asked. “And how seductive could he be if he needs to hide under that raincoat?”

“His cock! Look at that cock hanging down there!”

Bettie looked and had to suppress a gasp. There was a masculine penis dangling between the Yacuruna’s mossy legs. It was dark green and hung down for about a foot. Bettie felt a heat in her own cheeks. She hoped her eyes didn’t have the same bright glint that Milicent’s had.

“Yacurunas are just a myth, of course. They must’ve taken their most endowed tribesman and dressed him up like that for the ceremony. But my word, if that’s how one is supposed to be hung, then no wonder…!” Milicent and Bettie shared a look. “Local legend is that whenever a woman goes missing, she’s run off to be with a Yacuruna. They’re notorious seducers, which always confused me—I could never picture myself going out with a man who’s half-fish.”

“I suppose we know which half!” Bettie exclaimed.

She could tell Milicent was excited by the sheer size of the ‘Yacuruna’s’ prick, even without being able to see the man attached to it. That amused Bettie.

It amused her more the more Milicent’s eyes stayed locked to that mammoth cock.

“Would you like me to introduce you two?” Bettie suggested after a moment.

“Who needs introductions?” Milicent asked, moving her eyes from the Yacuruna for the first time. “Think of it, Bettie… we’re miles, days from civilization. Who would know if we simply went up to him and—well, it would certainly be in keeping with the spirit of the festivities!”

Bettie could concede that point. Male and female Indians were frenziedly dancing together, acting out pantomimes of mating that would put any teenage sock-hop to shame.

“I just came up here to shoot a few pictures,” Bettie reminded her. “You scientists are the ones interested in primitive customs. If we didn’t need to pool our resources to have enough porters and guides on hand, I don’t think we’d even be having this conversation. Heck, if the men weren’t out all hunting…”

Trust guys, even her photographer, to be too enthused by the idea of poking a wild boar with sticks to even want to see her in the altogether. All she needed was a few pictures of her epidermis (to use science-speak) in an exotic locale and she could get back to a nice air-conditioned hotel.

“Don’t you see, it’s just perfect!?” Milicent persisted. “We’re the only two who would know, and I won’t tell if you won’t… you can’t tell me you’re not interested, a woman of your reputation…”

“Aw hell, no one thinks a gal is anything less than a lady if she’s got a few pictures of herself running around naked on her sixth birthday, but the moment she starts getting herself a chassis, then suddenly she’s a harlot unless she’s clothed head to toe in every last photograph…”

“If it bugs you so much,” Milicent pointed out, “why don’t you take advantage of being so far from men’s hypocritical attitudes?”

“Maybe I’m just not in the mood to get fucked.”

Bettie deliberately went for the vulgar word in order to shake Milicent, maybe shock her back to her senses before they got into some real trouble out here in the jungle. And it worked, somewhat. Milicent’s face turned bright red and she averted her eyes—finally looking at neither Bettie or the Yacuruna.

Bettie congratulated herself on reading Milicent correctly. The scientist’s aide didn’t really want to copulate with a monstrously endowed fellow like that. She was just feeling her oats, out in the middle of nowhere and with no one to judge her beyond Bettie, who was in no position to cast aspirations on anyone.

“It’s just us girls,” Milicent said. “Can’t we admit that we’re always in the mood to get fucked?”

Bettie looked away, happening to look upon the Yacuruna, and she saw to her shock that an entire harem of women had clustered around the brute. They were rubbing his body, stroking his long limbs, even handling his rapidly stiffening manhood.

Thick ropey vines were wound around the Yacuruna, holding him tight on all sides so he was in a cage of the pressure exerted by teams of men to his left, his right, before him and behind him. There was no direction he could go without being pulled back the way he had come; it made it impossible for him to move at all!

“What are they doing with him?” Bettie asked.

“It must be a symbolic ritual,” Milicent said, slipping into one of her usual academic lectures even as her hitched breath showed that she wished it could be her rubbing hardness into that massive endowment. “They must be paying the Yacuruna back for all the liberties he takes with their women by getting him excited, then denying him any release. Hope he learns his lesson.”

“He’s a man, isn’t he? And that much of a man is just going to end up hornier than ever.”

“Oh yes!” Milicent breathed.

Bettie moaned in sympathy for the frustrated devil, who now seemed to be suffering a return on the fortune that had once so prodigiously equipped him for the female of the species. He bellowed angrily and scuffed the dusty floor in his impatience to sate himself, but the surrounding men strained and pulled, keeping the ropes too taut for him to sink his cock into any of the nearby females, despite his overt readiness.

“The poor dear,” Milicent whispered. “They’re jealous, that’s all. This is one big ruse to punish the bugger, just for having such an oversized… thingey. I wish I could do something for him…”

And Bettie knew exactly what. Milicent was growing more excited by the minute; Bettie couldn’t help but catch her sensuous fever. She was too close to Milicent not to feel the hot, excited blood flowing through her, making all of her burn with the heat in her pussy.

Milicent’s gasps of surprise and moans of sympathy became more pronounced until Bettie started to wonder if the woman could actually come from watching this perverse display.

Bettie clenched her eyes tightly shut, to block out this debauchery for a moment’s lassitude, only to open them at the insistence of a tap on her right shoulder. She blinked and felt a cool breeze—quite unlike the humid heat off the fire—blow silky locks of her hair across her face.

The effort of reaching up to secure the stray strands behind her ear brought her fully to herself. She must’ve lost consciousness at some point in the wild reveries. Now it was day and the events of the night’s celebration flooded back to her with startling crispness.