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Dark Dreamer: The Perils of Stacey [1/8] Mf/MMMf/N
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!
SEXUALLY EXPLICIT MATERIAL: RAPE/BONDAGE/DRUG
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Copyright 1990 All rights reserved
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This is a kind of X-rated version of Romancing the Stone combined
with Raiders of The Lost Ark. Our hero and heroine are down
in the jungles of Peru searching for ancient artifacts. They encounter
evil government soldiers, nasty rebels, and lost jungle natives.
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Part One
Neither the heat, the dust, nor even the leers and occasional
pawing of the ignorant latin peasant men could break Stacie
O'Connor's good mood. After months of research and more months of
begging, wheedling, and conniving, she was finally in Peru, on her
way to the lost tombs of the Mayan King Koo Lan and his family.
The fact that nearly everybody dismissed her chances of
finding anything did nothing to dissuade her. If anything, it made
her even more determined to prove them wrong.
She knew her odds, but knew what she stood to gain, instant
prestige. A doctorate in Ancient South American cultures meant
nothing to the fuddy, creaking, gray haired old boys network that
ran every museum and gallery, and every archaeological dig in the
world.
Newly graduated doctors, no matter what their grades or
intelligence, were little more than fodder for the wheel, used as
servants and labourers, digging, cleaning, dusting, washing and
note taking.
If she was lucky, she would be able to attach herself as a
very junior assistant on one of the least important digs somewhere,
and spend years and years gaining the confidence and recognition
that would allow her greater projects.
It would take ten or twenty years before she was instantly
dismissed as a flighty, ignorant little girl. The old boys were as
sexist as they came, and though they would never of course, admit
it, most thought the archaeological world was no place for women,
let alone young and pretty ones.
She had tried to disguise herself of course, in order to be
taken seriously. She'd purchased glasses. She didn't need them of
course, but they were carefully chosen so as to make her look both
intelligent and sophisticated.
Her beautiful blonde hair was died brown, cut short and pulled
back tightly against her head in a small bun. Her body itself was
concealed, as best she could, in loose shirts, sweaters and pants
that concealed the smooth roundness of her hips and buttocks, the
slim flatness of her belly, and above all, the high, firm roundness
of her oversized breasts.
She wouldn't, she simply WOULD NOT be dismissed as a sex
object without a brain!
This dig would make headlines around the world and give her
work for years to come, cataloguing, deciphering, then explaining
and lecturing on her find. By then she'd be famous and could get
her pick of digs anywhere in the world.
She strode arrogantly through the lobby of the hotel, the bell
boys carting her things along behind, stopped at the counter and in
a carefully cultivated voice of authority, proclaimed herself and
her reservation.
The clerk hurriedly signed her in and gave her key to one of
the bell boys, who hurried to the ramshackle old elevator with her
bags. She stood, ramrod straight in the elevator, looking straight
ahead as it slowly ascended to the top floor.
Then she moved quickly ahead, almost marching forward until
she stopped before her door. The bell boys caught up, unlocked it
and hurried through. She dismissed them firmly and then she was
alone, and finally beginning her first real dig.
She allowed some of her excitement to appear on her face then,
finally alone. She moved to the window and looked out on the city,
such as it was, thinking of how things looked here a thousand years
ago.
Tomorrow morning, she would leave it behind, and with her
assistant and labourers, head into the jungle towards Munga
mountain and make her name.
Of course there were a thousand details to take care of first,
and of course, her assistant hadn't shown up yet. She didn't even
know who he was! All daddy, Professor O'Connor had promised was
that he'd find someone competent.
Well, that was all she needed, just so long as they knew who
was in charge.
The phone rang.
She moved over and picked it up.
"Stacie O'Connor." she said.
"Miss O'Connor? There is a man here to see you. An American.
His name is Blackthorne."
"Blackthorne." She whispered. "Jack Blackthorne?"
"Yes, Miss O'Connor. Shall I send him up?"
She stared at the wall, her eyes closed.
"Miss O'Connor?"
"Yes?"
"Shall I send him up?"
"... Yes. Yes. Send him up." She said, slowly putting down the
phone.
Her mind was in turmoil. How could he? How could this have
happened? Of all the people her father could have hired, how could
he have settled on that drunken, lazy sonofabitch?!"
"Oh God!" she moaned, covering her face with her hands.
Not only was Jack Blackthorne a lazy miserable bastard, he was
also a stinking pervert. The last time they'd met had been on a dig
in central asia. They were both working as assistants, she during
her summer holidays.
He'd gotten her drunk, taunting her in order to show that she
could drink, that any woman could, and not lose control. Then what
he'd done to her...
She blushed every time she thought of it, which was not often.
It was one of the most humiliating events in her life and one she
tried desperately to forget. Unfortunately it invaded her dreams
regularly, and always in erotic tones that made her heart race and
her loins yearn for a man's touch.
Stacie had had only two men in her life. One, her first was in
her freshman year. She'd allowed it merely to show herself that it
meant nothing, and it hadn't. The boy was clumsy, fast and hurt
her. Jack though, was entirely different.
She'd never felt like that before, and never wanted to again.
It wasn't that it wasn't.... incredible. But she'd been totally
under his control, almost his plaything. She never wanted to be
used like that again, no matter how pleasurable.
There was a knock at the door. She took several moments to fix
her face firmly in place, then strode to the door. She opened it
and stared arrogantly into Jack
Blackthorne's chest. She cursed herself and raised her eyes,
instantly recollecting the somewhat condescending smile as he
looked back.
"Mister Blackthorne." she said, tonelessly.
"Hey there, Stace."
"Miss O'Connor, please. Come in." she held the door and stood
aside, back, ramrod straight. She shrugged, gave her that patient
little smile and swaggered through the door and over to the bed,
where he turned and dropped down, propping himself up on his hands
as he continued to smile, or was it smirk, at her.
"Let me get things straight from the start, Mister
Blackthorne," she said. "You were not my choice for this
assignment, and in fact, had I been consulted, you would not now be
here. But since you are here, I want there to be no
misunderstandings about who is the boss here."
"You're payin' the bills, honey. You can be boss if you like."
he smiled.
"The bills are being footed by the Belmont research
Institute."
"Your daddy's place, isn't it?"
"My father is a member of the board but... "
"Isn't he the chairman?"
"Will you shut up!" she snapped, stomping her foot.
"Anything you say, baby."
"I will thank you to address me as Ms. O'Connor!"
"Ms. O'Connor, huh? You were singing a different tune last
year, Mizz O'Connor." he sniffed. "Seems to me it was... OH FUCK ME
HARDER JACK! FUCK ME HARDER!" he cried the words in a high pitched
excited tone as he smirked at her.
Stacie turned a deep shade of red and her breath momentarily
left her as she froze in humiliation. She started to talk, then
stopped, unable to get the words out.
"Or was it something like... OHHHH! YOUR COCK! GIVE ME YOUR
COCK!..."
"SHUT UP!" she screamed.
Her skin was fiery hot as she scowled furiously at him.
"Whatever may or may not have happened in the past, when I was
purposefully misled into consuming too much alcohol, is in the
past! I will try to tolerate your presence, though I find you
disgusting, perverted, ignorant and completely incompetent, only
because I don't want to delay this trip any longer! But you will
speak when spoken to and reply in a respectful tone with respectful
words! Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
He smiled his tolerant smile again and shrugged.
"Whatever you say, honey. I mean, Mizz O'Connor."
"Good!"
"So where's the map of this place we're headin' to, anyways'?"
"I have the map and I shall keep the map, if it's all the same
to you!"
"Suit yerself, Mizz O'Connor."
"I will! Now, here is the location of the labour hire hall
where the men I have hired is located." She handed him a small slip
of paper.
"Go and pick them up and then go to the supply outlet listed
on the other side and pick up our jeeps and supplies. Return here
immediately. I'll expect you in not more than one hour."
"They ain't gonna be there, babe."
"What?"
"The hiring hall. The boys you hired won't be there."
"How do you know?"
"Cause I know is why. You hire em for today or tomorrow?"
"Today."
"They won't be there. They work from dawn to dusk. That's the
work day here. They showed up at dawn. When you didn't, they went
home or to the bars or something. They'll be back at dawn
tomorrow."
"I wanted to leave tonight!" She snapped.
"Can't do it. You'll have to pay em' for today, too."
"I will not!"
"Yes, you will. Else the government won't let you leave the
country when you're done. Trust me. We'll leave tomorrow at dawn."
"I decide when we leave, Mister Blackthorne."
He sighed and shook his head, the condescending smile still on his
face."
"Look, sweety..."
"Ms. O'Connor!" she snapped.
"Right. Look, Mizz O'Connor, you can't do anything these
people don't wanna do. What's more, they won't take orders from
you. You let me handle em'. I've done it before."
"I am in charge of this expedition. They will take orders from
me!"
"No. They won't. You're a woman. They won't take orders from
a woman. They won't even work for a woman. You try and yell at em,
they'll just ignore you."
"Then I will fire them and find others."
"None of em' will work for you, babe. And what are you gonna
do if they tell you to fuck off when we're a hundred miles into the
jungle, fire me then?"
She glared at him, furiously.
"Remember your cultures one-oh-one?" he grinned.
"Very well. You may handle them. They're ignorant labourers so
you have a great deal more in common with them than I do."
"Right you are."
"I want to leave at the crack of dawn."
"Sure, babe."
"Ms. O'Connor!"
"Right. Right."
She decided to take the opportunity to study the maps and
notes some more, then have a bath. It would be her last bath for
some time, at least in hot water. She cleaned the tub first, then
filled it and stopped briefly at the mirror before getting in.
She had a wonderful body. She knew that, though it was little
more than a curse to her in her business. It was the body that
peered brainlessly up from a thousand magazine covers and
centerfolds. It was the body of a stupid blonde bimbo.
She had perfect curves, a pair of perfectly formed, high
rounded breasts that would have made her look stacked, had she not
been so tall and physically fit. She had a good strong chest, her
ribs prominent and well formed beneath her firm, rounded mammaries.
Her waist was somewhat thin, the envy of her friends, and her
hips were round and womanly, leading to long, perfect legs that
were made for mini skirts, but had never seen one. She ran a hand
through her died brown hair, noting reluctantly that it was
starting to get long again and would soon have to be cut.
Her groin was lightly dusted with golden fur. She'd had no
reason to even attempt to dye it since no man was going to see it
anyway, and her crack was easily seen beneath the hair. She turned,
running a hand across her left ass cheek. That too was a
distraction to men she dealt with. In fact, her body was probably
her biggest difficulty in being taken seriously, well, her second
worst. Her worst was undoubtedly her face.
She shoved a lock of brown hair from her eyes and shook her
head as she saw herself. "Doctor Stacie O'Connor." she said,
finding it hard, herself, to accept the title with the image. She
didn't look her twenty-five years. She couldn't even get into a bar
without her ID.
She wouldn't look out of place on a high school campus, in
fact. She wasn't sure whether it was her huge blue eyes, her pouty
little mouth or her sweet little upturned nose. Maybe it was all of
them combined. Together they made her look like a teenager, a cute
little girl who was to be looked at but certainly not to be taken
seriously.
"Shit." she said. She turned from the mirror and went to the
tub, then got in, easing herself into the hot water with a sigh of
relief.
Things were definitely not going the way she'd expected.
Still, she could cope with that baboon, Blackthorne. Letting him
deal with the scruffy little latin labourers was probably a good
idea, too. It would save her the problem.
She remembered their last meeting, blushing again as she
recalled his words earlier in the afternoon, and the gap in her
memory that didn't let her recall whether or not she actually had
said words like that. She closed her eyes and rubbed her wet hand
across her face as she eased further down into the water.
How she could ever have gotten involved with that big, ugly
brute was something she'd never be able to understand. Oh, he had
a certain charm, if you were looking for the dumb jock type, and he
was unquestionably big, handsome, and muscular, but who cared? He
had the sensitivity of a rhino.
And the horn of one, popped into her mind. That she did
remember, that big cock of his. She had a vision of herself in much
the same position as she was in now, on her back, legs spread,
knees up. She remembered looking down between her legs and seeing
that massively thick horn of his sliding in and out of her groin.
She shook her head in anguish. How had she allowed herself to
become so drunk she had let him use her like that? Her hand slid
down between her legs and cupped her crotch, remembering how it had
---
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