The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Going Native” part 1

(ff, mf, ft, fd)

Maggie had never been more excited. She was going on a safari! As she and her best friend Juliana drove to the airport, Maggie made a mental checklist of all the things she wanted to see in Africa: Victoria Falls, giraffes, lions, rhinos. Those termite mounds that were taller than a person. Parrots! Chimps! A three toed sloth—the slowest mammal in the world! The list of interesting nature Africa boasts was practically endless, Maggie thought. The people who lived there probably had no idea how beautiful their land was.

“Mags?” Juliana’s voice punctured the daydream. “You remembered your passport, right?”

“Give me a little credit, Jules,” Maggie responded. Just to be safe, she reached into her jacket pocket (inside breast) and felt it. Then, to be extra, extra safe, she pulled it out of the pocket and took a look. Yep, there she was.

And even though the photo was poorly lit and taken in a pharmacy, she looked pretty good, Maggie thought to herself. The picture was taken last year. She had just gotten back from a cruise—hence the honey tan and extra blonde hair—and had just taken out the braids she had paid some island girl to give her, so her hair had extra body. Pulling down the passenger-side mirror, she checked herself out. Yep, still hot. Actually, even hotter than the pick, now that her osteotomy nose job from early summer had finally healed and left her with the thin, straight nose she wanted.

“Oh my God, Mags! You check yourself out every five minutes! You’re so arrogant!” Juliana teased.

“Yeah, like you don’t do the same thing when I’m driving!”

“I guess that’s why we get along! We both understand the importance of looking hot, even when you’re about to hop on an eighteen hour flight to go on a safari in Africa!”

They laughed. It was ridiculous when you said it aloud. Their last few weeks had been spent preening in front of the mirror, practicing their poses for selfies they would take in front of armadillos and wildebeast, and trying on different, cute safari outfits. They each brought five different safari outfits, in colors ranging from tinkerbell blue to hot pink. With matching safari hats and boots, of course.

Moments later, Juliana announced that they had arrived at Miami International Airport. Next stop: Tanzania! (or to be more precise, next stop, security, then the airport lounge, then the plane, THEN Tanzania)

* * *

The flight was uneventful. First class is the only way to fly internationally—Maggie’s dad had taught her that at a young age. In fact, it was the only way she had ever flown, but she had heard horror stories about coach. In first class, you could just recline and let the Ambien and white wine do their jobs.

In a moment of lucidity, Maggie noticed Juliana chatting up a well dressed black man whose accent indicated that he was from Africa. What a fucking tourist!

Maggie drifted off to sleep again in her comfortable, fully-reclined seat.

* * *

Maggie next opened her eyes in Kilimanjaro International Airport. The plane had landed, and all around her, passengers hustled to disembark. Juliana was still flirting with that man.

The flirtation continued through baggage claim. The man—whose name was Abassi, it turns out—even helped with the dozen or so suitcases they had brought. As Juliana and Maggie got in a taxi to their hotel, he slipped a piece of paper with his phone number into Juliana’s hand.

“What are you doing?” Maggie asked her friend.

“What? He’s fucking hot! You has a beautiful smile, and you can tell he’s like chiseled from granite.”

“Agree to disagree,” Maggie thought to herself. She wasn’t a racist by any means, and had even dated a Latin man once. She simply wasn’t attracted to black men. Maybe it was their skin tone, maybe it was their stereotypical features, like fuller lips and wider noses. Whatever it was, the end result was that Maggie was content for Juliana to experience this aspect of the local scene by herself. Still, she had to get in one last dig. “You always do this. You always have some kind of romance with the natives.” Maggie recalled the torrid (and brief) love affair between Julia and the Jamaica kid last year.

“Well, I like to experience everything the countries we visit have to offer!” The girls laughed. Yep, Juliana was going to fuck that dude.

* * *

At their amazing resort hotel, the girls threw some shillings at the concierge to arrange for their bags to be brought up to their room and headed to the spa. After a long flight, they needed some pampering. Otherwise, what would the selfies look like? An hour long massage and cucumber mask later, they felt refreshed and went to their room.

Or suite, rather. With two walk-in closets and a hot tub big enough for a half dozen people. Maggie wasted no time unpacking her belongings and arranging her outfit for tomorrow’s safari. Watermelon would be the color, she decided.

While Maggie was in the closet, Juliana was on the phone. “Don’t be mad,” she told her friend when Maggie emerged, “but Abassi is coming over now.”

“Oh great. Well what am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno—can’t you check out the gift shop or the beach or something?”

Maggie grumbled, then changed and complied.

* * *

Maggie walked through the gift shop. A snow globe of Mount Kilimanjaro. T-shirts with local soccer teams on them. Toy gazelles. Nothing compelling. She meandered to the postcard spinner rack and lazily looked at them. Postcards with pictures of Mount Kilimanjaro, local soccer teams, and gazelles. Nothing compelling.

Then, a bizarre image caught Maggie’s eye. Toward the bottom of the rack was a dusty card with a picture of some tribespeople. The men wore loincloths, their torsos painted. Some sported plates in their lower lips, extending their lips by inches in one of the most horrific examples of body modification Maggie had ever seen. The women were equally bad. They, too, wore only loincloths, their breasts hanging, exposed. Their hair hung in long dreadlocks or hung around their heads as unkempt afros. Their bare feet were adorned with numerous rings, and their toenails were uniformly as long as most women’s fingernails. Many sported some kind of nipple piercing. Most also had what appeared to be a kind of ritualistic scarring all over their bodies. Maggie put the card down and left the store, repulsed.

The beach was much better. Maggie was practically the only person there, except for the hotel staff that returned periodically to ply her with drinks. It was awesome sunbathing weather, too, with a high sun and no clouds in sight.

After about an hour on the beach, Maggie, who had been lying on her stomach, decided her ass had gotten enough sun and flipped over. Feeling naughty, and with no one else around, she undid the straps holding her bikini top on, exposing her breasts to the warm, moist air. “Juliana will flip,” she thought, “when she notices that I don’t have any tan lines…” Maggie smiled and thought back to that summer in Nice where she last got that “all-over” glow.

Shortly after doing so, Maggie’s attention was drawn to some commotion closer to the water. Staff had gathered and surrounded a small group. Voices were raised, puncturing the serene beach setting. Curious, Maggie got up for a closer look.

She stopped at about five meters distance, seeing that the staff had intercepted three interlopers. Most likely, they had wandered onto the resort beach without invitation, as they clearly weren’t guests. In fact, they appeared to be tribeswomen, like those in the postcard. The group consisted of three women, each wearing loincloths and each topless. Two had long, black dreadlocks; the third’s hair was a frizzy/kinky rats nest. Their breasts were shocking—enormous and hanging down the bulk of the length of their abdomens. Maggie looked down at her own breasts, also still bare. They were indeed much smaller than the trespassers’, but Maggie was very glad her B cups were so perky. She also was grateful at that moment for her moderately-sized, light colored areolas and normal-sized nipples, which contrasted starkly with these women’s dark areolas as big as saucers and ending in giant nipples, several pierced with thick metal bands. Maggie could only imagine how painful those piercings were.

Her jaw dropped further when one of the women turned her face, and the sun caught the metal in her face. A blunt rod traversed her nose sideways, halfway between her bridge and the tip, passing through both sides of the nose and the septum. Likewise, metal protruded from either side of her bridge. Several septum rings dangled from her nose. Each was connected by a chain to her ear. As if sensing Maggie’s derisive gaze, she turned and locked eyes with Maggie, cracking a smile and playfully knocking one of the chains with a finger. The fingernail was at least 2 inches long, and the hand bore some kind of scarred design.

Altogether, Maggie had never seen anything so grotesque as these women. She was very grateful to the staff for removing these people from her beach—the mere sight of them discomfited enough to ruin Maggie’s sunbathing experience.

Maggie headed back to her room, found that she was still sex-iled, and returned downstairs to the hotel bar. After she was drunk enough not to care whether her friend was having sex next to her, she went back upstairs and passed out.

* * *

The following morning, Maggie awoke, hung-over. She flipped in bed and saw Juliana, already awake. Next to her was Abassi.

“Wakey wakey! Man you were trashed last night!”

“Damn, don’t remind me.”

“You still making the safari today?”

“Oh shit—what time is it?”

“In about an hour.”

“OK good. I should be good to go. Did you decide on your outfit? Do you still want to coordinate?”

“Um… sorry, love. I’m going to bail. Abassi and I want to spend some time together.”

That sobered Maggie up. “Fine,” she said, curtly. She was pissed. This romance was really getting in the way of the plans she and Juliana had come up with. Maggie stomped off to the closet, threw on the safari outfit she had laid out earlier, and stormed out of the suite.

* * *

Maggie sat at the hotel bar, wolfing down a nice, greasy breakfast of eggs, bacon, and buttery toast. It was just what her hang-over needed. “Excuse me,” she said, flagging down a waitress. “Could you get me another glass of orange juice?” It was her third.

“Cripes, someone loves OJ,” came an Australian-accented voice from down the bar.

Maggie looked. The speaker was a blonde of about 25. He wouldn’t have been out of place on a surfboard, except that, like Maggie, he was wearing a safari outfit (albeit one less garish than Maggie’s). He beamed, and Maggie was drawn into his blindingly-white smile.

The two began to chat. This guy’s name was Shawn, and he was actually the safari tour guide Juliana and Maggie had engaged. Chatting turned quickly to flirting. Maggie was looking forward to going into the jungle or savannah or whatever with him. If all went well, maybe she would be the one to sexile Juliana later tonight…

Shawn and Maggie finished their breakfasts and left to load up his Jeep for the safari.

Minutes later, Shawn was driving Maggie down the highway. “Are you ready to see some rhinos?” Maggie screamed in delight. She was finally on the road, finally going to see some cool wildlife, and maybe going to have a fling of her own. When Shawn put his hand on her thigh, she leaned in. They made light, flirty small talk for the next several hours, until Shawn spoke up.

“How about I show you where the real cool shit is? Not the bullshit they usually put tourists on safari through?”

“That sounds awesome!” Maggie replied.

“Time to go off-road then!” he announced as he turned down a dirt path.

* * *

“Shhh—look over there,” Shawn said as he slowed the Jeep down to a crawl after a few hours down the bumpy dirt road. “Rhinos! As promised!” Sure enough, Maggie followed the direction Shawn pointed and, sure enough, there were three behemoths, nonchalantly chewing grass. Maggie couldn’t believe how close she was to these majestic beasts.

“Can we get out and pet them?”

“Are you daft? We have to get ready to floor it in case they charge!”

Maggie laughed at herself. Shawn was so smart. And so cute.

They continued driving and passed a group of crude huts. They appeared fashioned out of mud and straw, with thatch roofs and dirt floors. “Those will be the Tinerians. Creepy fuckers if you ask me,” Shawn volunteered.

As if on cue, someone emerged from one of the huts. It was a woman, clad only in a loincloth, with long, black dreadlocks. Even from a moving car, Maggie could see all the metal in her face.

“Oh my God, Shawn—I saw this woman yesterday at the hotel!”

“Shit! What were they doing there?!? That’s twenty miles from where their normal territory!”

“She walked twenty miles since yesterday?? That’s insane! She doesn’t even have shoes!”

“Yeah, I know, right! They’re nomads, I guess. Mainly, I think they just get their jollies off freaking out the tourists!” Shawn laughed, gutterally.

“I was so freaked out yesterday, Shawn. What those people do to their bodies is absolutely disgusting. The scars and piercings and everything—blecch…” Maggie gagged.

“Well, I dunno, I think you’d look pretty sexy walking around topless all the time,” Shawn laughed again.

“You bastard!” Maggie feigned indignation and hit Shawn playfully on the arm. The Jeep swerved slightly.

“Careful, lady—don’t forget I’m the one keeping you safe out here…”

“How could I forget? My hero!!!”

They both laughed. And when the laughter subsided, Maggie sensed a real moment. She reached across the seats and put her hand on Shawn’s pants. Seconds later, she had pulled down his fly and begun to wrestle his penis out. She started to jerk it. Shawn grabbed her head and guided it down to his lap. She unlatched her seatbelt and began to suck Shawn’s cock. It was average size, about 6 inches. Maggie looked forward to feeling it inside her later.

Shawn moaned. Maggie gave good head, at first alternating between slowly licking the shaft and holding the tip in her mouth, then gradually increasing the speed of her cock sucking until she was energetically bouncing on his cock. Shawn slouched in the seat as the scenery zipped past.

Sensing that he was close to finishing, and turned on by how slutty she was acting, Maggie increased the suction. Shawn moaned again. This was the best blow job he’d ever gotten. He looked down and smiled at the beautiful, blonde American girl delivering it. She looked up, they locked eyes for a moment, and Shawn inadvertently steered the Jeep into a gnu that was crossing the street.

* * *

Maggie opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry at first, but after several blinks, everything snapped into focus. She was on some straw in a small shed or something. Looking more closely at the walls, she could see that they were textured. Did this shed have stucco walls? No, looking even closer, Maggie saw that the walls were made of dirt and straw. She was in one of those huts she had passed earlier.

“I have to get up and find Shawn,” Maggie thought to herself. She put her foot on the dirt floor and, as she stood up, experienced sharp pain in her leg. Examining the source of the pain, she saw a large gash in her calf. It had been filled with what looked like sand. She reached in her pocket for her phone, intending to call for help, but found it smashed beyond usability. There would be no calling for help, let alone selfies, today.

Ignoring the pain, Maggie walked out. The hut opened onto a common area around which other huts were arranged. The injury slowed Maggie’s gait, and her grunting drew a crowd of the tribespeople around her. It was mostly women. Sure enough, they each wore just loincloths, their large brown breasts flapping in the breeze. Their bare feet were adorned with numerous rings and the same ritualistic scarring that marred other parts of their bodies. The toenails were exceptionally long, yet somehow each foot looked clean. Their faces were heavily pierced as well.

Maggie tried to press through the crowd, but the woman she and Shawn had passed stood in her way. Maggie, forced to confront this dreadlocked primitive, couldn’t take her eyes off the metal rods running lengthwise through her large, flat nose. After a moment, the woman grabbed a handful of Maggie’s blonde hair, held it up, and spoke to the crowd in a kind of sing-songy / clicking dialect. The assembled all laughed uproariously at whatever the woman had said. Next, she pointed at Maggie’s boots and said something else. The crowd found this even funnier. Finally, she pointed at Maggie’s chest and uncorked a real knee-slapper.

Tired of being the butt of jokes, Maggie, painfully, pushed her aside and walked to the road. As she pressed through the crowd of women—about 25 in all—she saw that among them was a tan blonde, looking to be about 20 years old. She was as pierced as the others, with a series of septum rings and rods traversing her nose’s width up to the bridge, and dressed precisely the same, though her small, white breasts poked forward instead of down. “Weird,” Maggie thought, “but a mystery for another day.”

She made it to the road and spent the better part of the day slowly walking in the direction she believed Shawn’s car to be. After a while, she could smell burning in the air, an odor that grew more potent as she continued, until she finally arrived at the charred out husk of Shawn’s Jeep, next to the charred remains of the giant mammal Shawn had hit while she was blowing him. And of course, there in the front seat was a charred corpse. It must be Shawn, Maggie realized, as she pieced together what had happened.

The collision had thrown her from her seat. She injured her leg and was knocked unconscious, destroying her phone in the process, and the Tineris must have brought her back to their camp and “dressed” the wound. Mercifully, her ejection from the vehicle threw her clear of the conflagration that ensued as the gas tank ruptured. If Shawn wasn’t killed in the impact, he probably died an agonizing death, Maggie realized. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

That chill was followed by an even bigger one as she realized that she was alone, with no food, water, clothing, shelter, or means of communication. And no one knew where she was. She began to sob.

After crying for a bit by by the Jeep, Maggie collected herself. She was aided in doing so by night falling, which brought a significant temperature drop and, Maggie realized, nocturnal predators. With this realization, every rustle in the brush startled Maggie. Lacking better options, and with her mobility hindered by her leg injury, Maggie lay prone and rolled herself under the husk of the Jeep, where she spent a fitful and anxious night.

* * *

The sun’s warmth raised the air temperature even under the Jeep. Maggie awoke in a sweat. Her designer safari duds were torn and ruined with grime and blood. She had gotten almost no sleep, between her leg pain, concern about becoming some animal’s next meal, and dread about her present situation. She considered her options.

First, she could walk back to civilization. The Tineris did it, after all. With her wounded leg, though, it could take her days, even assuming she followed the path correctly back to the highway.

Second, she could wait by the Jeep for help to arrive. This was a gamble, as no one knew where she and Shawn were headed and they were far enough off the beaten path that it seemed unlikely anyone else would be coming down this way in the near future. Most likely, no one would even realize she was missing until, at the earliest, tonight—Juliana was in her own world and probably hadn’t noticed that her friend was missing yet.

That left one more option—go back to the Tineris and ask for some help. Maybe they knew a shortcut back to the civilized world, or maybe they could even go get her some help.

Maggie’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since breakfast the last morning. She set aside her pain and began the slow march back to the Tineris’ camp.

* * *

She arrived shortly after dusk. In her approach to the camp, she could hear a steady drumbeat and wild, bestial screams. Maggie couldn’t tell if someone was fucking or getting killed—or even if humans were involved at all—but, lacking any other options, she pressed on toward the noise.

A campfire lit the scene when she arrived at the outskirts of the camp. And what a scene it was. While Maggie crouched in the distance, twenty or so Tineri tribespeople, nearly all women, were gathered around one of them, rubbing some kind of dirt on her. She was totally covered, head to toe, including her hair. The process was clearly turning her on, and she tugged on her nipple rings in passion. As she did, a surprised look crossed her face, like there was something different to her breasts, but that look was swiftly replaced by pure lust. At that point, someone dumped a basin of liquid—water?—on her, wiping off most of the mud. She stood and shook off the rest, releasing her long black dreads and her smooth ebony skin from the mud. She stared at one of the only two men Maggie could see, as he stood off to the side. He nodded, and she walked toward him over some of the other Tineri. When she reached him, she silently dropped to her knees and reached under the man’s loincloth, maintaining eye contact with him the entire time. As she began to pump, it looked to Maggie like she was checking with him each time she escalated the encounter, seeing whether he gave permission to proceed. When he grunted approval, she lifted the loincloth and deepthroated the largest cock Maggie had ever seen. It was the size and shape of the lower part of the bannister at Tiffany’s. Maggie was amazed that a man could be so well hung and shocked / disgusted at the fervor with which the woman sucked that cock.

Then, Maggie noticed that the rest of the tribe had broken out into an orgy. Throughout the clearing, women buried their heads between the legs of each other. The clearing was soon filled with the sound of passionate breathing and moaning. Maggie had never actually seen lesbian sex before. The sight made her gag involuntarily. Then, she noticed that several groups had formed where the women were licking one another’s feet. With utter revulsion, Maggie watched one such woman take another’s foot—the same one she walked around on all day—and lick between each of her toes, taking the long-nailed, ringed toes in her mouth in turn. The sensuality with which the licker approached her disgusting task really got to Maggie, and, without thinking, she muttered, “So gross…”

Moments later, she was tapped on the shoulder. She turned and looked up to see one of the two tribesmen standing above her. His chiseled chest was covered in scars, mostly designs, but some recognizable shapes, like horses and women. A stern expression crossed his face, a look made even more ominous by the crackling fire lighting him and the gigantic, curved ring that went through his nose, entering above one nostril, passing through the septum, and exiting the other side. When Maggie didn’t immediately move, he grunted again, this time pointing away from the camp.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spy. You people were so helpful to me earlier and—” Maggie started.

The man cut her off with another grunt, again pointing away from the camp.

“Yeah I don’t mean to bother you but I really need—”

The man grabbed her forearm. His grip would certainly leave a mark.

“Please, help me—”

He flung her away. Maggie stood, but the man silently guarded any return to the camp. Dejected, Maggie slunk away. She eventually found a tree she could climb and got what little sleep she could in it.

* * *

The next morning, Maggie knew she had to find water. She figured she could just watch the Tineri and see where they got theirs. After making her way back to their camp, she watched for a while before some of the women left carrying jugs and basins. They were clearly headed to the water supply, and Maggie would be close behind.

Of course, Maggie could barely keep up with these women, who could walk faster than almost anyone in spite of the terrain and their bare feet. Maggie struggled with her leg, but her desperation gave her the strength to keep them in sight.

Eventually, they approached a brook. They set their jugs down and entered to wash themselves. Maggie wandered upstream a bit until she felt they wouldn’t notice her and did likewise. She pulled off her boots for the first time in days. The stench was ripe. As she peeled off the filthy socks, she noticed that she had a bona fide sock tan line for the first time in her life. Lint from her socks stuck to her feet. The cool, soft mud on the shore of the brook felt good underneath and between her toes, and so did the temperate water of the brook.

As she lowered her head underwater and drank as much as she could, she began to relax. The pain from her leg subsided with her thirst, and she soon forgot how hungry she was. Maybe she could simply float down this brook until she got to a town, she figured. Isn’t that how these people who lived around her transported stuff? She raised a foot above the water, scrutinizing its blisters and nicks. A pedicure would be high on her list of priorities when she got back. Maybe a massage too...

Heated shouting punctured her relaxation. Looking at the shore, she saw two of the group of Tineri women entering the brook to chase her. She feebly attempted to escape but was captured in a few seconds and brought to the shore.

“Please let me go! I only need to get back to a city!” Maggie pleaded as she was dragged from the water to a third Tineri woman. Up close, her piercings and scarring were extremely intimidating. In response to Maggie’s pleas, the woman returned indignant shouting in that sing-songy / clicking language the Tineri spoke.

“I can get you money! Just let me float down this brook to a town!” Her words continued to fall on deaf ears.

“Please...I’ll die...I’ll do anything...please…”

At this point, Maggie fell to her knees. Her captors let her drop.

Maggie sobbed inconsolably on her own as the three Tineri huddled. After a minute of apparent argument, one of the two women who had captured Maggie helped her to her feet. Maggie recognized her as the cock-sucker from the night before.

“Oh my God, thank you so much, I promise—”

“Shut up, bitch,” the cock-sucker said, in perfect English and with an American accent. “Here’s the deal—we helped you yesterday, and you just pushed us aside and left. We Tineri can’t just let that go.”

“Wait—how do you speak English? Are you Americ—”

“Don’t be stupid, bitch. Listen to me. I’m telling you what’s going on. We Tineri can never forgive a foreign bitch who insults us like that.”

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry! I was confused! I was in shock! Please forgive me!”

“Shit. You really do talk too much, you know that? Just fucking listen, you idiot. We are a proud but forgiving people. We can’t forgive a foreign bitch like you, but we always forgive each other.”

“Huh? I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t.” The cock-sucker ran her fingers through Maggie’s blonde locks. The three Tineri laughed. “I’m telling you, if you want our help—and I can tell you that our help is the only way you’ll survive another day—you’re going to have to join us.”

“Join…?”

“Yes. Live by our customs. Become Tineri.”

That didn’t sound so bad to Maggie. She’d do their trust falls or whatever, gain their trust, then, with their assistance, return to civilization and the life of luxury she had always known.

“Umm. OK. What do I have to do?”

“First, this.” The cock-sucker grabbed the two sides of Maggie’s safari shirt and ripped them open. Buttons flew everywhere. The woman threw the rags into the brook. Then, she took the top of the tank top Maggie had on underneath and did likewise, similarly throwing it in the brook. Finally, she reached between the cups of Maggie’s bra and unclasped it (with a strange ease, considering she lived topless). The bra too found its way into the brook.

Maggie was as topless as the tribeswomen, who closed in on her until they were all standing bare chest to bare chest. Their dark skin and huge, black areolas contrasted with Maggie’s pale breasts. The cock-sucker grabbed Maggie by the shoulders and pulled her closer until Maggie could feel the thick metal of her nipple rings. Uncomfortable and self-conscious about her perky B’s, Maggie stepped back and folded her arms. The woman firmly unfolded them and the Tineri women laughed. They took turns poking her breasts and comparing them with their own ample tits, cackling the whole time. Maggie began to feel nervous.

“We’ll fix your tits, don’t worry,” the woman said, ominously. “After all, we Tineri don’t wear tops.”

Maggie managed a wan smile, then went over to the edge of the brook to retrieve her boots and socks. She sat down and began to put them on when the woman interrupted.

“Nope. We don’t wear shoes or socks either.” She grabbed one of Maggie’s bare feet and examined it. “Don’t worry, we’ll fix your feet, too.”

“What does you mean—‘fix’?”

“I just mean that you’re going to love being a Tineri. Promise. In fact, let me introduce you to one of the many pleasures of life in our tribe.”

She sat on a rock next to Maggie and put her right foot in Maggie’s lap. The toenails were long to the point of curving, which seemed impractical in light of the fact that they walked around the jungle barefoot all day. Four of the toes had tight bands of metal around them. Maggie had seen toe rings before (though she personally found them hideous), but these were far more ornate than what you’d find on an aging yoga instructor in the Valley. Most striking about the foot, though, was its soft, supple skin—precisely the opposite of what Maggie expected from someone who never wore shoes or visited a nail salon. The tops were well-moisturized, the dark brown color almost creamy. The soles had no calluses on them and, in truth, felt like someone had run butter on them minutes earlier.

Maggie looked at her own feet, abused and angry from days of hiking. “How are your feet—”

“Shhh,” the woman said, lifting her foot and putting the ball on Maggie’s lips. “You know what to do.”

Maggie knew this woman expected her to kiss that foot. The idea of kissing any foot was among the most abhorrent things Maggie could imagine, but this foot had been walking around in a jungle! And the woman had super long nails and tons of toe rings and the whole thing was sooooo weird and…

“I don’t have a foot fetish—” Maggie started.

“Yet.” The woman finished the sentence as she shoved her big toe in Maggie’s mouth. The nail caught the roof. Maggie winced, then got the idea that there was more of that to come if she didn’t show some enthusiasm. So, reluctantly and tentatively, Maggie swirled her tongue around the toe. When the woman indicated that she wanted her second toe sucked as well, Maggie opened her mouth to allow its entry. Soon, she was holding the foot in front of her face with both hands, running her tongue around and between the toes. Her attention was fixed on that foot, as she knew that she had to do the necessary to placate these primitives. She didn’t notice as the other Tineri women began to pleasure themselves. Nor did she notice as they began to pleasure each other.

“Hmm… I see what they were saying about having a white girl suck your toes,” the woman said. “You are going to be very popular with the ladies back at camp. I mean, once we fix you.”

Maggie looked up to see the woman with one hand between her legs, lewdly manipulating her folds, and the other lightly tugging on the huge ring that went through her right nipple.

“Come,” said the woman, as she placed her other foot behind Maggie’s head and pulled it into her crotch. “Lick me, white girl.”

Maggie resisted, but the woman pulled her in more forcefully. Recognizing that she had little choice, Maggie stuck her tongue out and licked the small patch of soft, dark, curls. She had never seen lesbian sex before yesterday, let alone had lesbian sex. Frankly, the thought disturbed her. She wasn’t homophobic exactly, but she had a certain notion of what lesbians looked like and did. And that stereotype didn’t include her.

But today, it did. Tentatively, she pushed aside the woman’s pink folds with her tongue. The taste was mildly acrid, but not as rancid as Maggie expected of someone without a shower. Through trial and error, she eventually found the woman’s clit and spent several minutes slowly circling it with her tongue.

The pace of the woman’s breathing accelerated. Maggie licked with more urgency. The woman took Maggie’s left hand and placed it on her nipple ring. Maggie understood that she was supposed to tug on it gently, and so she did. The woman came violently as she held Maggie’s face into her cunt, making sure Maggie could feel each of her orgasmic convulsions.

“You’re going to be a good cunt eater, white girl. Say, what’s your name?”

“Maggie,” she said, wiping off her mouth.

“Cool. I’m M’li.” Turning to her friends, who were also engaged in some pussy eating, M’li said something in Tineri. The women nodded.

The four of them stood and began the trek back to camp. As they walked, Maggie, topless and barefoot, and having sucked her first toes and eaten her first pussy, wondered what she had gotten herself into.

* * *

M’li announced the group’s return with several loud cries as they approached the village. Maggie trailed slightly behind. She wasn’t used to walking barefoot anywhere outdoors besides a beach, and she had nicked her foot on some sharp rocks and small roots on the trip back to camp. By the time she arrived, what seemed like the entire tribe was there to greet her.

“Um...hello, everyone. Sorry I was so rude before—”

M’li cut her off, addressing the crowd in Tineri. She gestured broadly as she spoke, pointing at times to herself and at times to Maggie. Eventually, the din of the crowd picked up, seemingly in acceptance of Maggie’s request to join the tribe.

M’li turned to Maggie. “I let everyone know you’re here to become one of us. I’m vouching for you, white girl, so don’t let me down.”

“I won’t, M’li, I promise.” Maggie had conflicted feelings on M’li. On the one hand, she was the closest thing Maggie had to a friend out there, and without friends, Maggie wouldn’t make it. On the other hand, M’li had already taken advantage of that “friendship” to involve Maggie in sex acts she never would have considered under normal circumstances. Maggie decided to chalk up M’li’s actions to cultural differences and not aminus and resolved to continue to do what she had to do to survive.

“Good. Now, let’s meet everyone.”

Maggie spent the next hour or so being introduced to each person in the tribe. There were twenty-five or so women and just the two men she had seen the other night (no children at that time). Each woman insisted on a long, close hug. Maggie was still uncomfortable walking around topless, and each hug had the uncomfortable—for Maggie—effect of causing her bare breasts to rub against those of the woman she was hugging. Maggie certainly got her fill of feeling soft, huge breasts and giant nipple rings, though the women were quite welcoming. Maggie also got her fill of women pulling or caressing her blonde hair, poking her in her pale breasts, and pointing at her sock tanned feet, like those parts of her body were novelties.

The men were both very standoffish and barely spoke, even with M’li acting as translator. One, N’krzi, was especially intimidating. He must have been over two meters tall, even barefoot. His skin was onyx-colored, in contrast to most of the women, who had a more chocolate-y tone. His hair was a close-cropped afro. Both his forearms were covered in intricate scars. And his loincloth did little to conceal the mammoth cock underneath. Maggie, standing next to him, could see it in profile when he stood at certain angles and was aghast at the thought of being penetrated by such a thing.

“That’s out of the way, now let’s get something to eat,” M’li said when they had finished. She led Maggie to a part of the clearing where large stones were arranged in a circle. There were three large, woven baskets in the center, next to a pile of ceramic plates. M’li took a plate from the pile and loaded her plate up with the contents of the three baskets. The first two contained leaves, the second, some kind of meat.

Maggie followed suit, her reservations about the cleanliness of the plate and concern over what exactly she was eating trumped by her need to fit in and, most of all, her starvation. Her plate full, Maggie followed M’li as they sat on adjacent stones. M’li’s huge nipple rings rested on her thighs when she sat, Maggie noticed. Maggie also paid attention to cues on how to eat. When M’li began to pick at her plate with her fingers, Maggie took the opportunity to, essentially, inhale her food. She had never had anything so delicious.

“Whoa, glad you like it!” M’li remarked.

“It’s so good! What is it?”

“The meat is basically leftovers. We roasted a boar last night as part of our … celebration, and there was some meat left. The first leaves are from un’jaro trees. They taste kind of like a softer kale to me. The second are really cool. They’re called s’mati. It grows like a weed around here. They taste kind of like buttery cucumber. But there’s something else and them. Watch this.” M’li took a handful of leaves and squeezed them, then rubbed the crushed leaves over one of her feet. After a moment, she was finished, and her foot looked shiny and refreshed. “Better than any pedicure. Try it.”

Maggie took some of her remaining s’mati leaves and crushed them in her hands until she felt some liquid release. She then took the mass of leaves and liquid and ran it over her left foot. The feeling was amazing—the leaves left her foot feeling clean and refreshed like sanitizer or rubbing alcohol, plus moisturized. Her cuts and blisters felt better almost immediately. She quickly repeated with the other foot.

“Good! Now do that every day. You know, some of the girls here think white girls’ feet are nasty, but I think yours have some real potential.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

They sat in silence for a minute before Maggie asked a question that was bothering her. “M’li, how do you know English? And why do you have an American accent?”

“Well, that’s a complicated question. I guess it would be fair to say that I lived in America for a while, but that feels like a long time ago.”

“Wow—where did you live? And how did you wind up here?”

“Hmm...I’ll tell you some other time. How about you finish up eating now so I can show you something.” Maggie did so, and the women got up. Maggie followed M’li into a hut on the outer limits of the clearing. Inside was nothing but a pile of straw with a leathery sheet over it.

“What am I looking at?” Maggie asked.

“My bed,” M’li slyly responded, as she pushed Maggie down onto the straw.

* * *

Weeks passed. There was still no sign of any rescuers or search party coming to find Maggie. She knew better than to ask the Tineri for help in returning to the opulent lifestyle she had known. Instead, she settled into some kind of a routine.

She slept in M’li’s hut by night. The hut lacked an ottoman, but the straw bed she shared with M’li gradually felt comfortable. There was nothing else in M’li’s hut, so Maggie spent much of her nights by the fire the tribe built in the center of the clearing each night. Sometimes, she would stay up much later than everyone else, just listening to the jungle noises and wondering if she was hearing any of the animals she had originally come to see on safari.

By day, she shadowed M’li as she did her chores, preparing hides and food, foraging, finding water, and washing up. M’li was quiet during these hours, focusing on the tasks she had, to the exclusion of light conversation.

At mealtime, they sat together often while M’li made conversation with the other Tineri. In their spare time, M’li instructed Maggie in the language. Maggie found that she could understand more and more and even have simple conversations with the Tineri.

Her daily trips to the brook to wash and get fresh water brought her by her old boots and socks. For a few days after she abandoned them, she was tempted to take them back with her, in preparation for her eventual departure and return to civilization. That urge diminished over time, and Maggie found that she actually loved walking barefoot all the time. Her sock tan quickly dissipated, and her feet took on a golden tan. Her soles thickened with use and protected her from nicks and scrapes from walking on sticks and rocks. Regular application of s’mati leaves left those same feet soft and blemish-free. The moist ground beside the brook was especially pleasant to walk through—Maggie enjoyed the cool muck surrounding her toes as she stepped, and the dirt was easily removed with s’mati.

With her feet persistently bare, Maggie began to take an increased interest in them. She kept hers clean and soft and also began to appreciate the feet of the Tineri women. The long nails were a bit much, and that amount of foot jewelry looked ridiculous (and probably felt strange). Still, Maggie was inspired by their example to take the two rings she wore on her fingers and move them to the index and middle toes of her left foot. One ring was a simple band of silver, the other, a gift from Juliana last Christmas, was silver with a blue streak in the middle. Within hours of putting on the rings, Maggie couldn’t feel them on her toes anymore, but she really like seeing them when she looked at her feet. It was surprising to Maggie how much she liked her toe rings, especially given how repulsive she used to find them.

Eventually, Maggie had no interest in reclaiming her boots. She liked looking at her pretty feet, and she liked feeling the ground under her. Moreover, she probably couldn’t wear them any more—free of the constraints of shoes, her feet had widened noticeably. She couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to coop her feet up in boots. Even flip-flops sounded horrible.

One day, as Maggie walked into their hut, M’li, already lounging on the bed, acknowledge Maggie’s increased interest in footcare. “Your feet are very pretty. You have done a good job with the s’mati. I like your toe rings.”

Maggie beamed. She looked at M’li’s feet, with their dark tops and peach-colored, smooth soles. She also looked at M’li’s toes, most of which bore stacks of metal rings and all of which had toenails so long they were beginning to bend. Maggie had worshipped them many times at that point, but always reluctantly. At this moment, though, those feet looked cute.

“We should get you some real toe rings,” M’li said, wiggling her toes in response to Maggie’s gaze. “And you really need to grow your nails out.”

Maggie thought for a moment about it—what would she look like with stacks of toe rings on most of her toes and long toenails? Would that take her from a beach bum look to … something else? Could that be a … sexy look? Were M’li’s feet … sexy? Had she developed a … foot fetish in her time with the Tineri?

Shaking off those feelings, Maggie smiled and said simply, “Maybe someday.” She backed out of the hut shaking her head, as if to rid herself of these unwanted thoughts. She was from America, meaning that she belonged back in civilization, she told herself. And civilized people didn’t have foot fetishes.

* * *

Maggie quickly adjusted to being topless. Her pale bust became as bronzen as the rest of her. Wouldn’t Juliana be jealous of her “all-over” tan, once she got back? Over time, though, what was once naughty to her simply became a fact of life. It was simply her lot to feel the morning sun on her nipples, and a warm breeze on her areolas.

One thing she disliked, though, was the constant teasing from other Tineri about her breasts. Since she arrived, they would poke her in the chest, say something, and walk off. Now that she could understand their words, Maggie was hurt. Because her breasts were so much smaller, they called her flat-chested, and because she was white (albeit tan), they said she had ugly boobs. What hurt Maggie the most, though, was when they grabbed her nipples and called her an outsider. Whether this was because of her skin color or bust size, or even because she didn’t have horseshoes hanging from her tits, was unclear.

It was also unclear to Maggie why this bothered her. She was, after all, an outsider. She had every intention of leaving these primitives to wallow in their own filth. Right? So why did it bother her that they were calling her out on this, or that she didn’t meet their stupid standards for beauty.

Maggie didn’t get immediate answers to her questions. Instead, she found herself looking at the Tineri women and admiring their breasts. What would she look like, with huge, pierced tits, she wondered before dismissing the thought. Maybe she’d consider breast implants once she was back in Miami, but until she was rescued, she needed to focus on getting home.

* * *

Help didn’t arrive, though. After a month of routine tribal life, Maggie’s safari shorts and underwear disintegrated. The constant use, including regular submersion into the brook, simply destroyed them. With M’li’s assistance, Maggie fashioned herself a loincloth out of leather and cordage.

This had the effect of exposing Maggie’s pussy and ass to the air. An earlier version of Maggie would have recoiled with embarrassment at the thought of walking around nude except for two small leather patches over her crotch, but Maggie found she enjoyed the occasional breeze up her twat. That realization led Maggie to reflect on other ways she had changed. An earlier version of Maggie also wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing toe rings, but Maggie loved hers now. And perhaps most glaringly of all, an earlier version of Maggie would never parade around topless, let alone live without a top for weeks. How was she going to go back to wearing tops, underwear, shorts, and shoes?

* * *

Maggie’s everyday duties also extended to regular sex with M’li. Before sleep every night, Maggie was expected to worship M’li’s feet and eat her pussy until she came.

Maggie’s evolving position on her own feet was mirrored in her enthusiasm for the foot fetish acts she performed. When she was new to the tribe, before her feet had tanned and widened, and long before she began wearing toe rings herself, she dreaded the point each night when M’li would put one of her feet in Maggie’s hands. Over time, though, she gained an appreciation of the fact that feet can be cute, and that appreciation extended to M’li’s feet. Maggie noticed that M’li had long, slender toes, for instance, and that her feet always smelled like cut grass, and these things helped Maggie find it more palatable to suck M’li’s toes. She still wasn’t interested in feet sexually, she told herself, but these were objectively pretty feet, and besides, it wasn’t like she had a choice.

The lesbian sex acts were worse. Maggie had no lesbian leanings prior to her time with the Tineri, and (she told herself) she still didn’t. Even as she became quite adept at finding M’li’s G-spot with her finger while nibbling on her clit and delicately tugging on one of her nipple rings, Maggie refused to let herself enjoy it. She was straight, and she would return to her lesbian sex-free life as soon as she could get home.

Not only was she not attracted to women, but M’li didn’t even have the courtesy to return the favor once in a while. She liked Maggie, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat out a white girl, she said.

* * *

Overall, despite her reservations, Maggie was acclimating to tribal life well. The safari outfit-clad girl had been replaced by a topless girl in a loincloth. Instead of boots, she wore toe rings on bare feet. And a girl who had never even kissed a girl was now at another girl’s sexual beck and call.

One day, though, the facade cracked. N’krzi confronted her at mealtime. He had never warmed to her, and here, he accused her of leading everyone on, of refusing to join the tribe. Despite the ultimate truth of his comments, Maggie denied them. She pointed out the fact that she spoke the Tineri language now, but N’krzi was unimpressed—she would go home and never speak it again. She pointed out what she was wearing, but N’krzi was, again, unimpressed, calling her a skinny, ugly white woman. She had no piercings, she hadn’t decorated her skin like the rest of the tribe, and her hair was hideously light colored and straight. A hush fell over the tribe while N’krzi was verbally abusing her.

Thoughts flashed through Maggie’s mind—He was such a bully! He was so unfair! He was so...hot?

Maggie ran back to the hut.

Minutes later, M’li joined her, hoping to provide some consolation. “N’krzi is an idiot,” she told her friend as she sat with her on the bed.

“I don’t know why I’m so upset… he hasn’t said two words to me since I got here… And all I’ve done to fit in! Look at me! Look at what I’m wearing!”

“Shhh...I know. You’re doing your best.” M’li stroked Maggie’s head for a while. When Maggie’s sobbing subsided, M’li wanted to redirect Maggie’s energy somewhere more production and so, gave her her feet to play with.

Maggie began dutifully licking M’li’s soles. She was quite good at it by now, for a girl without a foot fetish.

The mood in the hut calmed down over time, and M’li spoke. “Maggie—I’ve been meaning to tell you. We’ve got the riprasha coming up soon.”

Removing the soft foot from her mouth, Maggie asked, “What’s that?”

“It’s a celebration. And an opportunity.”

“An opportunity for what?” Maggie said.

“To truly become Tineri.” M’li slid a hand between her legs.

Maggie knew she couldn’t say no, whatever this entailed. “Sure, sounds good.” M’li gestured, and Maggie went back to sucking her toes.

* * *

That evening, M’li disappeared from their hut for a while, then returned with a bowl full of some dark fluid. The smell wasn’t unpleasant. “Here, drink this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s the riprasha drink. Have some in the morning and night, every day until the riprasha.”

As M’li knelt over her, Maggie held the bowl in two hands and brought it to her lips. There was a weak, minty taste.

Almost immediately, Maggie felt light headed. She reclined on the bed.

In Tineri, M’li addressed her. “You’ve been holding out on us. You have not been Tineri. You have barely tried. That changes now, doesn’t it?”

M’li’s words clicked. Maggie nodded, her resistance drained. She had spent the last several weeks with the tribe trying to figure out how to escape and not how to meet her end of the bargain she had struck—how to become part of the tribe.

“And it’s going to change because you realize now that you want to be Tineri more than anything else in the world.”

“...yes…” The realization hit Maggie—why was she trying to leave the Tineri? Everything she needed was here.

“The most beautiful people in the world are Tineri,” M’li continued.

“...yes…”

“We speak the most beautiful language.”

“...yes…” Maggie resolved never to speak English again if she could avoid it. She loved the melodic clicking of Tineri.

“We have the most beautiful hair.”

“...yes…” Maggie looked at M’li’s beautiful black dreadlocks with awe that shifted to envy when she compared that beautiful hair to her own flat blonde hair. At that moment, she would give anything to have dark, kinky hair.

“We have the most beautiful skin.”

“...yes…” Maggie looked at M’li’s rich, dark skin with similar reverence. It was so creamy, so sexy, so much better than her own. The persistent sun had left her tan, and no doubt her jetset friends would kill for this tan, but Maggie realized she would never be dark enough to have skin as beautiful as M’li.

“We have the most beautiful tits.”

“...yes…” Maggie looked at M’li’s huge brown cans, which rested down on her tummy. They, too, were gorgeous. She regretted every negative thought she had ever had about the Tineri women’s chests; she now sincerely wished her own breasts could be so ample. Her loins stirred when she took in M’li’s black areolas. For the first time since she began wearing a loincloth, her juices ran down her legs. As Maggie’s eyes were drawn to M’li’s protruding nipples and the giant rings piercing them, Maggie no longer felt any revulsion. Instead, she saw a kind of brutalist beauty in the way flesh had been warped to allow the integration of metal.

Maggie reached out to touch M’li’s tit. For the first time, she caressed M’li out of desire, not obligation. “Yes, feel my tits. Feel the nipple rings.” Maggie did so. At this point, her pussy was gushing, leaving an unmistakable smell.

“You can have these, too,” M’li said, as her protégée felt her up, “once you’re truly Tineri.”

Was M’li talking just about the nipple rings or the breasts in general, Maggie wondered.

“I want them so badly,” Maggie said. She didn’t know herself the scope of what she said she wanted, but admitting her desire aloud was one of the most erotic things she had ever experienced.

“I know, love,” M’li responded. She sat beside Maggie, turned to face her, and placed the palm of her hand on the side of Maggie’s face. M’li’s long fingernails subtly scratched Maggie’s scalp as she ran her hands through the blonde tresses. The girls lapsed into a kiss.

Maggie had never kissed a woman before. She never had an “experimental” phase in college, she never even kissed a girlfriend at the bar to titillate a crowd. Now, however, she passionately made out with M’li, opening her mouth to accept M’li’s invading tongue and then stroking it with her own.

That was the moment Maggie admitted to herself she was bi. At least.

“Tineri women are the sexiest,” Maggie whispered between kisses.

“Yes, love. I can’t wait for you to become one of us.” While they kissed, M’li began to rub her supple right foot the length of Maggie’s calf and foot, the long toenails and rings trailing that tender touch with a light, erotic scratch.

It drove Maggie wild with lust. After a few minutes, Maggie had to escalate things.

With the sun beginning to set outside, she grabbed M’li’s foot and shifted positions to kneel at the edge of the bed before M’li, holding the foot in front of her. “Tineri women have the sexiest feet,” she told her lover.

They locked eyes, a prurient look on Maggie’s face, as she opened her mouth to insert M’li’s dark foot. For several minutes, her tongue ran from the base of the ball through the ball and between two of her middle toes. She then extended her tongue in between M’li’s middle and index toes, swirling it around her ring. She had worshipped feet before, but never by choice. Now, she made out with M’li’s foot in a way that only someone extremely aroused by feet could.

That was the moment Maggie admitted to herself she had a foot fetish. She was sexually attracted to female feet.

M’li pleasured herself with a hand through her loincloth. Maggie paused the foot worship to rub the soft sole on the side of her face.

“I have a foot fetish, love,” she told M’li. Saying it aloud made it even more real. And even sexier.

“Good, I’m so glad, my love.”

“I need to start wearing toe rings like you. And I’m going to grow my nails just like you.” Each admission ramped up her desire.

“Yes. You will have such beautiful feet.” As encouragement, M’li placed her left foot on Maggie’s breast, teasing the nipple with her big toenail. Maggie’s breathing grew louder. This was the first time M’li (or anyone in the tribe) had done anything to please Maggie.

“We have to pierce these,” M’li said as she pinched the nipple between her big and index toes.

Maggie gasped. That was exactly what she had to do! Mark her permanently as one of the tribe! “YES! FUCK! PIERCE ME!” She had never been so turned on in her life.

“You are going to be such a gorgeous Tineri woman soon,” M’li said. She slid her supple sole the length of Maggie’s abdomen and slid it inside her loincloth. The foot prodded Maggie’s nether regions before reaching her entrance.

“Your old world has nothing for you any more, does it?”

Maggie nodded deeply, repositioning herself flat on the floor.

“You don’t want to leave any more, do you?”

Maggie nodded deeply again, taking another lick of the beautiful foot in front of her.

“And you’re ready to become a true Tineri woman now, aren’t you?”

Maggie had never been so sure of anything in her life. She smiled and said, “Fuck yes.” M’li penetrated her with her big toe and proceeded to fuck Maggie to the first orgasm she’d had since her ordeal began. It was also the best orgasm of her life.