Sacrifice to the Emerald God by Paul Blades

only whined through her orange mask.
          The fuzzy, blond treasure was revealed to him in all its glory. Its soft folds called to him and he yearned to taste of its ambrosia. Manuelo liked sucking cunts. The whores back in Caracas had called him el hormiguero , the anteater, because of his proclivities and his long, agile tongue. He took off his battered, floppy hat and cast it aside and leaned over to supp at the woman’s heavenly gate.
          Margie had been fearful that the skinny man would rape her while the head bandit, the one they called el Jefe , was away. She was unaware of his Christian name since neither of the other men had used it. When the one that he had called Manuelo came into her tent, she had tensed her body and prepared for the worst. She had been surprised, but relieved, each time when he left. But this time, she knew, he had mustered the determination to violate her.
          She whined as she felt the man lift her ankles and bring them back towards her body. In the faint light she saw the man licking his thin lips as he came forwards to insinuate himself between her thighs. She knew what he was after and the thought of him putting his scrofulous tongue inside her made her skin crawl. She shuddered when she felt its warm, firm pressure on her love lips and then as it traced the gap between them until it rested on her bud of pleasure. The man’s arms had encircled her thighs, pulling them wide apart and she knew that she had no chance of denying him his pleasure.
          To her dismay, in spite of being fucked roundly by el Jefe hours ago, Margie felt her passions awakened by the skillful and insistent tongue that lashed at her crevasse. He took his time, burying his stiffened tongue deeply within her and then lashing it up its length again and again. He seized her love bud with his lips and sucked on it long and hard, flicking the tip of his tongue across it until the unhappy, young woman could deny her passions no more.
          Margie’s chest began heaving with the results of her enflamed lust. Her thighs quivered each time the tongue flitted across her rigid, engorged clit. Her breasts ached with need. When her climax came, she groaned and shook, pulling futilely at the bindings that locked her hands to the post above her, squeezing her thighs tightly against the head that owned the tongue that was tormenting her.
          She was still in the middle of her orgasm when she heard some noise at the end of the tent and the man’s head was violently and suddenly pulled away from her. There was a scream, a piteous plea in high pitched Spanish and then a dull thud and then another and another.
          Diego and Pepe had cruised the Rio Cioro for hours. The police raft had come equipped with a little box that had policeman type supplies in it, a first aid kit, flares, some nylon rope, notebooks and pens, a small book containing some of the statutes that regulated activities on the river and a large, powerful flashlight. They had used the flashlight to help them navigate down the stream in the dark and then to guide themselves as they cruised up and down the Cioro , looking for victims. Perhaps the news of Diego’s dramatic escape had warned off the river traffic, but they had had no luck. When they came into the lagoon on their return, Diego noticed that Manuelo was nowhere to be seen. He knew right away where he was and as soon as he got out of the boat, he drew his machete from his belt.
          Manuelo had been too engaged in his favorite sport to hear the putt putt of the boat’s engine as it arrived on the sandy beach. The sound of the girl’s energetic moaning and the fact that her thighs had closed tightly around his ears had deafened him to the sound of his approaching doom. It was with great surprise and terror that he felt a vice-like grip on his ankle and his body being dragged out of the tent. He hadn’t expected el Jefe and Pepe back for another hour at