Bob's Bath

Once again a tall Amazon woman approached the pot. Once again she dipped her hand in to the water that surrounded him. Only this time she pulled it out quickly, shaking it to alleviate the pain.

Bob said to himself, "Yeah bitch, how do you think I feel". She mumbled something to her friends that had captured, stripped, raped, seasoned, and then put him in this cast iron pot to be boiled alive.

He waited for the next wave of natives to bring more wood to place around the cauldron. When they did, the flames would dance around the edges and the smoke would choke him. He would try in vain to push the apple out of his mouth so that he could at least scream obscenities at these animals that were killing him.

It would be the fourth time more wood be added to the fire below him, and each time the same ritual would be performed. The tall woman would dip her hand in, she shake her head as if to say: "not yet", more wood would be placed underneath him, meaning more fire, more smoke, more chanting, more screaming natives, and more natives groping each other for sex. Worst of all, more choking against this god damn apple in his mouth, as he watched all his tormentors fucking wildly around him. He couldn't understand out how they put this apple in his mouth that he couldn't push it out.

Soon he noticed several women approach the pot with large sticks. They proceeded to push the hot embers from the small sticks that had been heating the pot into a tighter configuration directly under him. Then he noticed some of the men carrying large logs, about a foot in diameter, that were placed below him and the pushed against the pot to contain the hot coals beneath him.

The women returned wearing what looked like heavy leather aprons, tied off at the ankle to protect them from the fire that was cooking him alive. They gathered around him. A big heavy set woman put a large spoon between his legs, and started a gentle stirring motion. The tallest one to her right pulled out a knife and a carrot from a pouch in her apron, and started to cut off small pieces to add to the stew. He then felt a rush of hot water on his left shoulder, as he turned to find another tormentor with a ladle pouring the stew on his back. A pinch on his chest turned him around as another women was poking his breast with a large fork and then poring water over the area with a ladle.

He turned a little more to his right to find another woman cutting onions and placing the shavings over his body. He looked at her with a most curious stare. He remembered this one from when he was being raped. She had a very cruel look in her eye, her brown ebony skin showcased her features. She was busy cutting up the onions, not paying much attention to her victim when their eyes met. She broke into a wide smile, the same one she wore as she was jumping up and down on his cock, and took the half an onion she had been cutting and rubbed it into his face. The women all laughed as tears poured from his eyes.

He turned to face the large women who was stirring the pot. She was moving the paddle against his balls and was stroking them to tease him. The women where all sweating heavily, wiping sweat from they foreheads. "Good", he thought, "they should suffer along with me". Suddenly, he felt a hand grab some of his hair and pull back. Hard.

"Hey white man! What's cooking?" It was the one that spoke English. This bitch was his worst nightmare during the rape. She had slowly rubbed her ass against his face until his nose was nuzzled in her anal cavities. She took great sadistic pleasure from describing what was about to happen to him.

"Chief say OK to rape White man", she had said early in his ordeal. Later she had added: "This white Man looks good for boiling. Chief say this white man make good pot of stew."

He was face to face with this woman who enjoyed telling him every thing that going to happen to him. She described the horrors in such detail that he was sick of hearing her.

"So I guess you're wondering why we didn't put more wood on the fire at this point, eh white man?", she gloated. He didn't move. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of his curiosity. She smiled and began to chuckle.

"Well, we are going to let you cool down a bit, because we don't want to kill you by boiling you. No, that would be too quick." she added. His eyes must have given away his need to know. He thought he would slowly fall asleep and die during one of the times they added more wood to the fire. He had prepared himself to die in this pot, boiled alive. But her sadistic smile said otherwise.

"We're going to simmer you in this pot for about 2 hours, or until your outer skin is cooked. You'll still be alive but a little numbed by the pain." she started. Bob was now starting to get really scared. Dying in the pot was bad but what she was telling him was unimaginable. "Once your skin is cooked we are going to take you out of the pot, place you on that table, chant a little bit and start to eat your skin, slowly." Bob's eyes must have jumped out his head at this point, and the english speaking Amazon saw it. "That's right white man, we're going to eat you alive while you watch!"

Bob began to shutter uncontrollably. The women surrounding the pot began to laugh loudly

"Then, if your still alive after we eat your skin, we'll put you back in the pot to cook the next layer. After we salt you down, of course." She turns to the other women around the cauldron and translates. They laugh, rubbing their tummies, mocking him.

She gave another sharp pull to Bob's hair. "If we do this right, it will take three trips to the table before you die. Each time I will stare into your eyes as I eat your flesh."

A tear comes from Bob's eye, her smile grows bigger. She releases his hair and turns to the others to give them an order in her language. The other women smile as they stop what they are doing. They all take a little taste of their victim. The ones cutting vegetables rub their knives against his body and then lick the knives. The stirrer takes the paddle out of the pot and licks it. The women with the spoons scoop up some of the stew and take a taste. "mmmmm", they say.

The English speaker takes one of the ladles, dips it in right in front of Bob, pours some of the stew on his chest, and then catches it with her tongue as it drips down.

"MMMM, white man taste good. You make good pot of stew white man." The fear in his eyes turned to anger. Her smile gave way to a frown. She gave an order to the others, and then turned to Bob to translate for him. "More wood, more fire. Cook the white man!" She turned to the first man of the village next to her and started to kiss him.

As the fire around him began to rise, Bob thought sadly: "Wow this is going to hurt!"