Dark Journey [Ariel's Desire 2] Read Online Free PDF

discovered it was long enough to reach the water, but not to lie down.   He was exhausted after traveling to the village with the heavy pack, and rested back against the bars. No one brought him dinner.   He told them you spoke. They picked the white man to trick you.   The unbidden thought whispered in his mind.   He was being starved because dogs don’t speak.
    In the morning, the Indians came to get the horses.   Once again, they ignored the dog.   Mike was in crisis needing to piss and move his bowels.   His stomach was rumbling for breakfast.   Finally, the cramps were too bad and he squatted as close as he could to the far corner of the small space and brushed hay over the filth.
    A few minutes later, Wind Seeker showed up.   Mike wondered if someone had been watching for him to finally relieve himself.   He was terrified the big man would beat him again.   The Indian didn’t say a word as he pulled him out of his cage and led him back through town.
    They approached a small cabin with a long, wide porch.   Wind Seeker pulled Mike up the steps and dropped into a heavy wooden chair.   He snapped his fingers, pointing.   Mike closed his eyes and obediently knelt by his side.   Shining Star brought her husband a glass of cool tea and glanced at Mike’s penis.   It stirred, but thank god, didn’t rise.
    A young Indian boy of about eighteen was smiling broadly as he approached the porch.   His friends shuffled in the street behind him.   “You won, Raining Thunder?”
    “Yes, Wind Seeker.   I’m still the fastest,” the young man said proudly.
    “Then, you will train the dog. When he’s learned his lessons, return him so he can be trained by a man.”
    “He’ll be well trained, Wind Seeker,” the young Indian assured him.
    Mike stared in disbelief as the leash was handed to the kid.   He was easily the tallest and most well muscled of his friends.   He stood straight with an air of arrogance Mike wanted to slap off his face.   His black eyes narrowed at Mike and he smiled.   The young Indian pulled him to his feet and led him off the porch to his waiting friends.
    “Ewe, he stinks,” one of the youths held his nose.
    “He’s still my dog.”   Raining Thunder challenged the young men with his eyes.
    The Indian shuffled his feet in the dirt.   “I’m sorry, Raining Thunder, but he does smell.”
    Raining Thunder began laughing.   “He reeks.”   Mike wanted to die.   Either that or kill the punks.   The Indian pulled on the leash calling over his shoulder, “Warped Arrow, grab some soap and rags and meet us by the stream.”
    “No problem, Drizzling Rumble.”   The young men had been given their warrior names at the beginning of the summer.   They’d purposely screwed them up as a joke.
    The stream ran down the side of the village opposite the stables and into a shallow pond.   Mike’s anxious eyes followed the brook trying to see if it could possibly be the one that led to the caves and freedom.   He couldn’t tell.
    Raining Thunder pulled him to a stop about twenty feet from the water in front of a pole sunk into the ground. A branch was lashed crosswise at chest height.   Two leather straps were attached to each end of the pole, ending with a toggle of wood.   Furrowed lines of confusion etched Mike’s forehead as he nervously tried to understand the contraption.
    Raining Thunder pulled his dog close to the pole and held the loop to his choker collar in one strong hand as he threaded a toggle through each nipple ring. He looped the slack around the pole so Mike’s flesh was distended to the sides.   With his hands still attached to the ring, he was afforded no movement.
    Three buckets of freezing water poured over his head and he sputtered. Hands with soapy rags began scrubbing.   They covered his head, burning his eyes with the harsh soap.   He’d closed his mouth and inhaled some of it up his nose and started coughing and choking, eyes squeezed shut and