World Travelers Ch. 02

Until Lica spooned up against me with her crotch pressed against my butt, her boobs crushed into my back and her arm draped across my chest. Scooting away from Lica, I quickly found my crotch pushing against Carn's butt and my boobs scrunched into Carns back. To complete the maneuver, Carn grabbed my arm and draped it over her chest, ensuring my hand cupped her ample breast ... just like Lica was doing with mine.

Apparently, this was how Panternian women spent their nights. According to our instructions from Chris, we were to eat what the locals ate and sleep where they slept. So, when Lica's hand gently fondled the soft flesh of my breast and her fingers occasionally pulled on my nipple, I did the same with the boob in my hand. When Lica's knee slowly pushed its way between my legs until her upper thigh rubbed against my pussy, my corresponding knee had nowhere to go except between Carn's shapely thighs.

It might have been a chilly night in the jungle. If it was, I didn't notice. My body and mind were otherwise occupied as the collective moans of pleasure gradually turned into contented snores of slumber.

I was the first to awaken. The hint of dawn found its way through the dense jungle canopy, just enough light to remind me of where I was ... in the middle of a tangled web of green-skinned, pink-haired aliens. Still shoehorned between Lica and Carn, I lay as still as I could, contemplating the strange events of the previous day and wondering what the new day held.

The other women woke shortly after I did with what seemed a choreographed chorus of "good mornings" as they slowly untangled themselves from their sleeping companions. Once separated, they went about their morning routine which was the height of simplicity. Put on your one article of clothing, squat in a corner of the clearing to relieve your bladder and then wait for the jungle to open your breakfast path.

Unlike the previous jungle paths, my morning trail didn't lead me to a clearing. The path ended abruptly about forty yards from where we slept. Thinking I had taken the wrong path, I turned to retrace my steps only to discover that the Jungle had already filled in the trail behind me. I was trapped in an area the size of an eight-foot-long hallway.

Does the Jungle make mistakes? Is it so busy herding the Panternians around that it forgot about me? Or has it figured out that I'm an invasive species and this is its idea of weed control?

Not wanting to be the girl who cried out for help at the first sign of adversity, I stood silently and studied the design of what I hoped would only be a temporary prison. The walls were made of bright green leaves attached to thick bushes which extended at least a foot over my head. The ceiling consisted of larger, darker leaves held in place by vines that formed an arch over me. The floor was soft fertile soil with a carpet of inch thick moss. The only thing that wasn't some shade of green was a single yellow flower poking through the bushes a couple of feet off the ground.

Getting down on my hands and knees, I watched as the flower grew from the size of a small rose to that of a large sunflower while the once yellow petals changed to a rainbow of color. I don't know if the flower came to me or I unconsciously leaned towards it, but when a puff of pollen assaulted my nose, I instinctively drew back ... only to realize that the bushes behind me were pressing against my bum.

Looking to either side, what once was a four-foot-wide path had now converged to the width of my hips and, even if the vines around my wrists weren't holding me down, the lowered ceiling would still have prevented me from standing. I was trapped. Pinned in like a Saint Bernard in a poodle crate.

Somehow the Jungle knew I didn't belong. Dozens of vines and tendrils emerged from the ground and bushes ... around my waist, holding my butt high ... grabbing my calves, keeping my knees on the ground ... circling my thighs, spreading them wide ... tangling with my hair, raising my head so the bulbous head of the vine which grew out of the flower would have direct access to my mouth.

It was definitely time to call out for help. Which probably would have sounded more like a blood curdling scream if anybody had been around to hear it ... and if the damn flower didn't shove its dick directly into my throat as soon as I opened my mouth.

This time, I was going to do it. I was going to chomp down on whatever was pushing against my tonsils and suffer the consequences. Yeah, the Jungle would probably grow yet a larger penis and use it to choke the life out of me, but that would be preferable to putting up with a daily dose of gang rape.

But, just like the previous evening, I chickened out at the last second and readily gulped down the sweet nectar. And when something latched onto my boobs, my nips were already hardened. Knowing what was coming next, my traitorous pussy moistened up after only a few minutes of foreplay and quickly accepted its fate ... twelve inches of jungle cock that stroked my clit and g-spot while exploring the rest of my reproductive system. Even my sphincter didn't give up much of a fight as a thin invader snaked its way into my ass and headed up towards my stomach.

It wasn't an exact repeat of my first experience with jungle sex. The position was obviously different, I was kneeling instead of standing. And the nectar had a slightly different taste with a hint of coconut and banana. But the end result was the same. The Jungle made deposits in all three of my primary orifices and tried its best to get milk out of my boobs. I also had an orgasm. Well, more like two ... or three. Or maybe more. I passed out after the tube in my ass doubled its diameter as it sprayed a stream of liquid up my poop chute and then sucked it all out again.

I was curled up in the fetal position when I came to. My dress bunched up around my waist, my boobs hung out of the inadequate bodice and, when I finally regained my senses, I discovered my thumb was in my mouth ... which I was sucking like a porn star. The Jungle, having had its way with me, backed off a few feet and opened a path in front of me, which led to a clearing where the rest of the women were drinking from a stream.

"We need to talk," I told Lica after drinking my fill of the crystal-clear water. "What happened this morning and yesterday afternoon. Is that normal?"

"Do you mean eating?"

"I'm talking about when the Jungle lures me into my own private dungeon and shoves vines up my twat and down my throat."

"Accepting the Jungle's bounty is what keeps us alive and healthy."

"I appreciate that the Jungle feeds us, but can't it do that without molesting my pussy, ass, and boobs?"

"Everything the Jungle does has a purpose."

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Let's start with the flowers that suck on my boobs. Why do they do that?"

"It is our way of giving back a portion of what the Jungle provides."

"Do you mean milk?"

"Of course. What good are breasts if they don't produce milk?"

"How is that possible? In my world, a woman doesn't lactate until after she gives birth."

"You must remember Melody; we are not in your jungle, and you are not Panternian. In my Jungle, a woman's breasts start making milk shortly after they receive their first gift. From that day forward, the Jungle continues to reward us for the milk we provide with additional gifts."

"What kind of gifts are you talking about? The best I can tell, you don't wear any jewelry and only have one dress."

"We have no need for material things. What the Jungle gives us is the most important gift of all. It is what you experienced yesterday afternoon and this morning. The gift of love and pleasure."

"Do you mean the green phallus that violated my pussy and forced me to cum like a common street slut? In my world, we call that sex."

"If that's what you call the feeling one gets when her pussy gets all wet and slippery, her body trembles with excitement, and she thinks of nothing but the wonders of the Jungle ... then yes. The gift is sex. It is what we live for. It is what gives our lives meaning. It is the Jungle's way of thanking us for being part of its kingdom."

"How old is a woman when she first receives the gift?"

"We have no way nor need to measure the passage of time. But I can tell you that the gift is bestowed on a woman when she quits growing. When her breasts become full, her hips widen, and she no longer gets taller ... that is when she gets her first gift."

"And how long does she keep the gift? Does it go away when a woman can no longer make milk?"

"I have never known a woman who couldn't make milk."

"Oh, come on. What happens when a woman gets old? When her skin starts to wrinkle, and her boobs shrivel up."

"That doesn't happen in the Jungle."

"Are you saying you don't die."

"Panternians don't die. We all take separate paths at certain times, but I have never seen a woman die."

"Okay, like you said, it's your Jungle and I won't question what I don't understand. But since we're talking about what happens at mealtimes, tell me why the Jungle insists on shoving a vine up my ass and squirting it full of water."

Lica's eyes opened wide and stared into mine as she paused to consider her answer.

"What you just described is one of the many things that separates people from the animals," she said. "The creatures that wander the paths with us and the birds that fly in the air above us, they all drop ... well there are many names for it, but the polite term is poop. Do you know what that is?"

Wow, the translation program that Chris stuck in my brain is topnotch.

"Yes," I answered. "I know what poop is."

"Then you can imagine the mess we would make if we did the same thing. But we don't. The Jungle takes care of that for us. Every time we eat, the Jungle not only gives us the gift, it also cleans out our insides and recycles our poop deep into the ground."

"Like an automatic fertilization system?"

"I'm not sure what fertilization means, but I know that what comes out of our butts helps the Jungle stay healthy."

Interesting. Now that I have an explanation for their unusual dinner routine, I need to find out where Panternian babies come from.

After my semi-enlightening conversation with Lica - when she explained why getting molested by the jungle twice a day was all part of Panternian culture - I followed her and the rest of the women down several paths and observed their daily routine.

Best I could determine, the Panternian females led a pampered life. Not a life of luxury, since they slept out in the open and their only possession was a dress that barely covered their butts and boobs, but they certainly didn't do a lick of work.

One path led us to a shallow pond surrounded by exotic plants. Each lady stripped out of her dress, stepped into the water, and lay down on their backs. Once their hair was wet, each woman repositioned to the edge of the pond, fanning their hair on top of the shallow water and under one of the brightly colored plants. When I mimicked my hosts, I found the position delightfully comfortable. The soft soil bottom contoured to my butt and back. My head rested contentedly on a conveniently positioned root so that my entire body was submerged, save my chest and face. Thinking this was the local version of a hot tub, I physically and emotionally settled into the warm water and closed my eyes.

The smell was my first indication that the experience would be more than a relaxing bath. Not an obnoxious odor. More of a banana or coconut smell, reminding me of both the rum drinks which are so popular in the Caribbean and the shampoo my mother used when I was a child. The fingers caressing my scalp made me think that one of the other women was shampooing my hair. Opening my eyes, I surveyed the pond, trying to determine which woman was being so kind, only to find that six women had slipped into the water and all six of us were getting our hair washed ... by eels.

The pleasant smell came from what the plants above our heads were secreting into the water. Whatever the substance was, it was like catnip to the six inch long, finger width eels which frolicked in each woman's flowing mane. Each of us had at least a dozen of the grey fish swimming through our hair.

My instinct to run out of the water was barely overcome by peer pressure. The other women weren't jumping around and screaming like little girls who saw a mouse in the room, so, using every available ounce of my willpower, I remained still ... until one of the damn eels went for my pussy.

I couldn't blame the other women for laughing. My hasty exit from the pond with the eels still entangled in my hair must have looked like Medusa walking on water.

"You could have warned me," I said to Lica after she and the other women had their fun with me.

"Why?" she asked. "How am I supposed to know what everyday event frightens you? If I was in your jungle, would you warn me before we washed our hair?"

"Yeah, you're right. I was okay with them swimming in my hair, but when one went between my legs ..."

"An eel was in your vagina?" another woman asked.

"Not exactly in it, but the slimy thing was headed that way."

"Are you sure? I've been getting my hair washed by eels for as long as I can remember and never once has one gone between my legs."

"Well, this one sure did. It was nosing into my bush like a giant sperm looking for a way in."

The next path took us to a small waterfall, which explained why the women didn't wear their dresses enroute. This was the rinse cycle. The stuff the previous pond used as shampoo was still lingering in our hair and the clear water cascading over the short knoll rinsed it clean. There was only room for one woman at a time under the waterfall so, while one of us rinsed off, the others waited.

Nobody paid much attention when the Panternian women took their turns but, when I stepped into the shower, all eyes were on me. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but the pointing, nodding, and giggling made it obvious that I was the topic of conversation.

"Okay. What's so funny? Did I do something wrong under the waterfall?" I asked when I got back to the group.

"No. Not at all," Lica said. "You have a wonderful body. And, even if your hair is a different color than ours, it is also beautiful."

"But," another lady added, "we think we know why the eel went for your pussy. Yours is different from ours."

"How so?"

"Yours is covered with hair."

Which was true. Not having any need to shave, I had a healthy bush down there while the Panternian women were essentially hairless below their eyebrows.

"Every animal in the jungle has a purpose," Carn said. "When the plant shampoo mixes with hair, the eels are instinctively drawn to it, whether it is on your head or between your legs. They aren't smart enough to tell the difference."

"Which means that, since I didn't bring a razor with me, every time I wash my hair on Panternia, I'm going to get eel fucked."

"Not necessarily," Lica said with a smile and a wink. "Maybe tomorrow the Jungle will show you what some of the other animals do for us."

Despite me pestering them for the rest of the afternoon, neither Lica nor any of the other women were willing to tell me what the next day might bring.

"There are too few surprises in life," she said when I asked why they wouldn't divulge the next day's events. "I would hate to deprive you of one."

I thought about Lica's words as we blindly followed the next path.

The best I could remember, I'd never heard anybody say that "there weren't enough surprises". I could understand a child wanting to be surprised by a trip to an amusement park or a woman yearning to be surprised with a diamond ring. However, I didn't think that was what Lica meant. If my brief experience on Panternia was any indication, the women of the Jungle led extremely repetitive lives. They went where the Jungle led them and did what the Jungle demanded. For all intents and purposes, they were dairy cows. Extremely intelligent dairy cows, but cows just the same. And for some reason, they were okay with it.

But I wasn't a Panternian. I wasn't a dairy cow. And I certainly wasn't a misguided horticultural experiment's sex slave. So, when it was time to eat again, I decided to exert my feminine independence.

I knew that Chris told us to mimic the locals, but I was not raised to follow the crowd. My mother constantly told me that I was different ... not better, she would always add ... but not one to give in to peer pressure or blindly follow authority figures. So that evening, when the six separate paths opened in the clearing and each of the Panternian women obediently followed the one closest to her, I rebelled.

Instead of walking down a path that I knew would lead to another session of rape and forced feeding, I chose to remain in the clearing and see how the Jungle would react to an act of civil disobedience. Positioning myself directly in the center of the clearing, with my feet planted firmly on the ground, my hands on my hips and my head held high, I stared at the lone remaining path and waited.

After a few minutes, the entrance to the path widened slightly, making a funnel shape.

When I refused to move, the top layers of leaves along the path began to ripple as if beckoning me towards them.

I remained stationary, steadfast in my protest against the Jungle's authority.

After several minutes of what amounted to a Mexican standoff between me and a bush, I heard the familiar rustling of leaves as the path in front of me closed, leaving me alone in a clearing about the size of my childhood bedroom. At that point in the negotiations, I thought I had the upper hand. Since I had refused to eat my dinner, I figured the Jungle would make me wait while the good girls ate and then - after the others had been properly fed, milked, fucked, and cleansed - a new path would open which would rejoin me with the others. I would be sent to bed without dinner or dessert, but I had sent a message. I was not a mindless zombie.

The renewed sound of shifting leaves and vines initially supported my theory but, as I waited for a new path to open, I realized that the clearing was getting smaller, slowly closing in on itself, without any apparent escape route, until my once cozy room shrunk to the size of a shower stall ... and not a large one.

Claustrophobia winning out over reason, I opened my mouth to scream, which did nothing but open the first hole in my body for a vine to invade. Two other vines wrapped around my wrists as I tried to pull the intruder out of my mouth but, instead of lifting my arms over my head, as they did my first time in the clutches of the Jungle, they instead pulled me down towards the ground, forcing me to squat, and then backwards, until I fell on my butt.

Two larger vines grabbed my ankles and slowly raised them above my head. Thinking I was going to get fucked while sitting on my ass, I steeled my nerves for what was to come. But the Jungle had something more sinister planned. The green restraints around my ankles continued their upward journey until I was completely inverted with my head three feet off the moss-covered jungle floor, my legs spread wide, and my arms pinned behind my back.

What followed was a repeat of the previous sessions. Twin flowers massaged my breasts while trying their best to get milk out of my nips. The infamous "cock vine" easily slipped past my traitorous pussy lips and dove down to French kiss my cervix. Its little brother rubbed, stroked, and sucked on my clit, while my ass was treated to the standard rinse and flush. I'd always heard it was possible to eat and drink when hanging upside down, but never felt a need to try, until the vine, which had made its way halfway up my inverted throat, decided it was time to feed the obstinate child it held in its clutches.