World Travelers Ch. 04

All participants in sexual activity have been on their respective planets for at least eighteen years.

World Travelers

Chapter 4

Melody Sundown

Breakfast the next day was a much better experience than the previous night's dinner. Maybe because I didn't resist or maybe the Jungle was apologizing for its rough treatment earlier.

This time the vines lovingly lowered me to the ground and rolled me onto my back into what I would have called the missionary position. Thinking this was where the kinder, gentler part of the Jungle hung out, I relaxed when the flowers caressed my boobs and gently sucked on my nipples. Knowing there was nothing I could do about it; I willingly opened my mouth and may have even teased the feeding vine with my tongue as it slipped between my lips. And when the larger, cock shaped, vine made its presence known, my legs instinctively spread to give it access to my already dampened pussy.

All was right with the world. My nips were happily ensconced in the flowers' gentle embrace. The sweet nectar flowing down my throat brought sustenance to my hungry body while my more erotic needs were being well met by the vines and tendrils which were stroking those parts of my anatomy I had long ignored. Even when the vines around my ankles pulled my legs upwards and back - so that my knees bookended my boobs and my toes touched my ears - I didn't panic. Because I knew what was coming next.

The last vine - the sneaky little devil who wormed his way into my puckered hole and then kept going north - was there for a reason. Unlike an overbearing man trying to show his dominance by sodomizing me, it was all part of the Jungle's master plan. An advancement in the ever-amazing miracle of nature. My final orgasm of the meal - when the vine in my ass swelled to twice its previous size and cleansed me of my impurities - was proof I had discovered a rarity in the universe. A planet where plants and animals truly lived in harmony... as long as the animals followed the plants' rules.

Our "after breakfast path" was blocked by a small pond with no discernable shoreline. To continue, we'd have to wade across the shallow body of water. As usual, I took my cue from the other women and, when they removed their dresses, I did the same.

Since we were all naked, I used the opportunity to observe the general condition of their bodies (solely to satisfy my scientific curiosity). Their green complexions were flawless. Their facial features... nose, cheek bones, and lips... while not exactly the same, were all in proportion and appealing. Ocean blue eyes seemed to be the standard, topped with small slivers of brown brow. All of the women had gorgeous pink manes, some stopping at their shoulders, others stretching well down their backs to their shoulder blades. One of the girls had what my mom used to call "mermaid hair"... hair so long that, if pulled to the front, would cascade over her chest, and cover her boobs. Some had a hint of pink growth on their arms but, other than that, the rest of their bodies were devoid of hair.

As for their general shape... the term "swimsuit model" came to mind. Well-toned calves and thighs led to heart shaped bottoms which would draw the eyes of any man, although I had yet to see any evidence males existed on Panternia. Their thin waistlines, which certainly qualified for the coveted "hourglass" moniker, weren't the anorexic bellies often seen on runway models but, thanks to the Jungle's strict control of their caloric intake, nobody would ever call them fat. In fact, the only part of their bodies that seemed slightly out of proportion was their breasts. Those gravity defying melons of milk laden perfection were perched high on their chests sporting large brown nipples centered on perfectly symmetrical areolas.

Compared to the Panternians, I must have looked like a neanderthal. They had already commented on my vaginal bush when we got our hair washed the previous day. What they were polite enough to not mention, but assuredly noticed, was that I also had at least a week's growth on my legs and under my arms (maybe closer to two weeks, water was scarce on Mars, so we didn't shave or shower all that often). And for the rest of my body, well, let's just say I looked damn good for a thirty something professional who actually had to work for a living. Which is admitting that, if I went to the Panternian prom (and there really were men on the planet), I would be the last girl asked to dance.

In an effort to shake my feelings of inadequacy, I tried shifting my thoughts to "why". Why were these women so perfect? And why were they separated from the men? And, since there were no men in their lives, where did Panternian babies come from? And who the hell controlled the Jungle?

"Are you ready?" Lica asked, bringing me back to the present.

"Ready for what?"

"It's almost your turn. Do you want me to do up your hair?"

Not quite sure what she meant, I looked at the other women and saw that those with longer hair - hair that extended below their shoulders - had used their dresses to tie up their flowing pink locks on top of their heads. Which, I assumed, was to keep them from getting their hair wet as they waded across the pond. Since I had yet to be introduced to the Panternian version of a hair dryer, and not wanting to spend the rest of the day with wet hair dripping down my back, I let Lica use my pitifully inadequate dress as a scrunchie and then watched as the next woman crossed the pond.

She took her time getting into the water, first sitting on the moss-covered trail with her legs dangling into the pond and then slipping down into the waist deep water. After securing her footing, she shuffled to the center of the pond, which was a foot deeper than the edge, stopped and squatted down so only her head and neck were above the surface. She held that position as hundreds of tiny bubbles surfaced around her, making me think a hot spring fed the pond, the jungle's version of a jacuzzi. Once the bubbles stopped, the woman proceeded to the other side and carefully climbed out, leaving Lica and me on our side of the pond.

"Do you want me to go with you?" she asked.

"You can if you wish, but I've been in a jacuzzi before."

"I don't know what a jacuzzi is, but the bottom of the pond can get a bit slippery sometimes and you definitely don't want to fall and get your hair wet."

Since I'd already shared a bed with the girl, I didn't see any reason to not share the pond with her, so I acquiesced and let her lead me into the water.

She held my hand as our bodies descended into the pool. I'm not sure what I expected, but this certainly wasn't a jacuzzi. The water wasn't frigid, but it was far from hot... comfortably warm was my assessment... kind of tingly, like it had a high salt content or perhaps slightly sulfuric, even though it didn't smell like either of those. The sandy bottom was anything but slippery, but I let Lica lead me to the middle and, when she squatted, I squatted.

"Make sure the water covers your shoulders and hold your arms out to the side, but don't get your hair wet."

"Yeah, you already said that. Three times. What happens if my hair gets wet? Does it turn pink like yours?"

"If it did, I'd dunk you right now. You'd look amazing with pink hair."

I was about to ask the question again when I felt the teeth. Not piranha or anything nasty like that. I wasn't in pain. Once I got over the shock, it felt rather pleasant. Like a thousand tiny minnows were exfoliating my legs... and my arms... and my tummy... and my crotch. That's when it hit me. Why they were so worried about their hair. Why Lica insisted on going in with me.

Whatever was in the water wasn't removing dead skin cells, they were feasting on hair follicles... any hair they could get into their hungry little water borne mouths. The Panternian women's lower bodies weren't naturally devoid of hair, the Jungle periodically removed it for them. If I had gone into the pond without Lica, I might have panicked and tried to swim to the side, losing my hair and eyebrows in the process.

That's why the ladies were so anxious about keeping their hair out of the water and also why the other four women were standing on the far bank laughing while I realized their big secret for the day. And I was certainly putting on a show. If the bubbles from the previous four women were like those coming up from a recently poured glass of soda, mine were like a boiling witch's cauldron. The water around me roared with activity as word spread to the other million miniature hair eaters that a Yeti had somehow slipped into their domain, and they weren't going to let me out until the bottom ninety percent of my body was balder than a freshly plucked chicken.

The other women only spent two or three minutes in the pond. I soaked for a full fifteen. That's how much longer it took the organic hair removal units to clean up my body. When they were done, when the tingling stopped and the water quit boiling, Lica led me to the far bank and the other ladies helped us out.

Lica and I sat in the lone shaft of sunlight which broke through the jungle canopy to dry our hair-free bodies before we put our dresses back on. In no hurry, the other ladies oohed and aahed over my new look, insisting I "looked much more civilized now".

While I appreciated their kind words and our growing sense of camaraderie, I wasn't overly excited about them running their hands over my freshly smoothed skin, especially when their fingers sensually caressed my now bald pussy.

Or, maybe what bothered me was that it did excite me.

My next morning on Panternia started like the previous two. I woke with my appendages tangled amongst those of five naked green skinned women. One of my hands cupped a largish breast which may have belonged to Carn or the women lying opposite her. My smaller boobs were pressed against Carn's back and I could feel the warmth of Lica's body nestled up against my ass.

Back on Earth, and even on Mars, I would spend at least half an hour in the bathroom immediately after rising in the morning and then another fifteen minutes in the closet, picking out my clothes for the day. On Panternia, once extricated from the scrum, I walked to the edge of the clearing, squatted to pee, and threw on my poor excuse for a dress. A garment I had already worn several days in a row.

When the six separate breakfast paths magically appeared, I chose the one closest to me and obediently followed it to a small clearing which gave me two apparent choices for my morning meal. I could kneel down on all fours in front of a multicolored flower, which meant I'd be receiving my morning gift doggy style. Or, if I wished to be fed, cleansed, and pleasured while standing up, I could reach over my head for the purplish hanging fruit.

Feeling a need to stretch, I chose the hanging fruit and was soon in the loving/domineering grasp of the Jungle. Hands held captive above my head. Feet secured shoulder width to the ground. Feeding vine down my throat. Cleansing vine up my ass. Pussy vine bumping against my cervix. Titty flowers firmly attached to my sensitive nips, trying to pump oil out of a dry well. Just like every other meal I'd had on the planet.

Having learned not to fight the jungle, I settled in, thinking this would be a repeat of the last few meals I endured/enjoyed while in the domineering/tender clutches of the uncaring/loving Panternian ruling class when something different happened. Actually, different may not be the proper word.

My pussy continued to enjoy the thick cock vine which stroked my inner walls. My anal sphincter readily accepted the ass probe, giving it free access to my entire intestinal tract. My clit sang the same joyful song it always did when sucked by the jungle's botanical version of tentacles. My lips, tongue, and throat welcomed the feeding vine into my mouth and my tummy delighted in its offerings. My boobs were comforted by the jungle's caress and my nips hardened in anticipation of what was to come, even before they were sucked into the flowers' maw.

But there was something else. A sensation I had never experienced before.

It was an odd feeling of pressure, looking for an escape route. Not painful, not even unpleasant. Just the opposite. It was both a physical and emotional experience. Like I had something inside of me that needed to get out. Something good. Something the world needed. It started deep inside my chest, filled my breasts, and escaped through my nipples.

It was milk. My milk. Produced by my body. And the Jungle was drinking it.

My after-breakfast path led me to a tree lined clearing where the other women were already gathered.

"Today is a good day," Lica said. "Today we get new dresses."

"How do you know?"

"Look at the trees. Do you see a difference?"

It took me a minute. My mind was still reeling from the knowledge that I was lactating. But when I forced myself out of the "what the hell is wrong with my body" mindset and back into the brain of a highly educated botanist, I noticed that the trees were a type I had yet to see in the jungle.

"Okay. I'll admit that conifers aren't usually found in tropical jungles, but what does that have to do with new dresses?"

"Come. I'll show you," Lica said with an impish smile.

As with most "how to live in Panternia" lessons, getting naked was the first step. But this time, instead of leaving her dress on the moss-covered ground, each woman used her soon to be discarded smock to corral her hair on top of her head.

"So, how does this work?" I asked. "Will a path appear behind the trees leading us to new dresses? Do we have a choice of style? If we do, I'd really like something a little less revealing."

Lica rolled her eyes and laughed. Which usually meant I was about to get schooled.

"You can have any style I want," she said.

"You're going to choose my dress?"

"No. I'm going to design it, but feel free to give me suggestions."

"Why can't I design my own dress?"

"It's not possible. Somebody else has to do it for you."

"Can I at least watch one of the other girls get her dress first? Just so I know what to expect?"

"I'm afraid not. This is something we have to do together."

Not able to get a straight answer out of my best Panternian buddy, I followed her over to the stand of conifers and watched as one of the other girls pulled a piece of bark off one of the larger trees and used a small stone to scratch the bare trunk until sap began to flow out of the wound.

Two of the other women stepped up to the bleeding tree and began to rub the sap over each other's bodies while the tree mutilator did the same to two other innocent trees.

"Won't the Jungle get mad at you for damaging its trees?" I asked.

"Not at all. This is the way of the Jungle. It is nothing but a scratch to the tree. It will quickly heal, and new bark will grow. A small sacrifice in exchange for the Jungle's bounty."

Having spouted what seemed a well-practiced litany, Lica stuck her hand into the second tree's flow of sap and began spreading it on my body.

"What was wrong with your last dress?" Lica asked as her sap covered hands caressed my ass cheeks.

"It showed too much skin. I'd prefer a dress that wasn't cut down to my belly button."

"Okay. I can do that," she said and rubbed a fresh load of sap all over my mid-section.

When she was done, most of my upper torso, all of my ass and pubic area, and the top three or four inches of my thighs were covered in tree sap. My nipples and a good portion of my breasts were sap free, although there was a thin line of the stuff above my boobs which continued up my chest, over my shoulders, and around the back of my neck.

Lica's turn was next. At her direction, I did the same thing to her body as she had done to mine. Except she insisted I cover a good portion of her boobs with the stuff and leave a long, sap free V between her upper chest and belly button.

"This is the tricky part," Lica said when the Jungle opened a path behind the trees. "Your hands still have sap on them. Make sure you don't touch any part of your body, especially your face. And don't touch anybody else until we get to the next clearing."

It was a relatively short path, a hundred feet at the most, lined by large-leafed bushes. All of the other women stopped periodically to wipe the sap off their hands with the leaves, so I did the same.

The path led to a small circular clearing with what looked like a large anthill in the exact center. Instead of avoiding the obvious hazard, the women formed a circle around the three-foot-high pile of porous dirt and joined hands, reminding me of a troop of girl scouts around a campfire.

"You're not going to like this," Lica said as she squeezed my hand. "But trust me. It won't hurt. Whatever you do, don't move when they come. Keep hold of your neighbor's hand and keep your feet spread shoulder width on the ground."

"What won't I like? Who is coming?"

"You will see soon enough."

"What happens if I move?"

"Your dress won't fit properly."

My barrage of questions came to an abrupt halt when the anthill started boiling. Not with water, but with dirt. Small clouds of dust escaped from its depths until the entire top of the mound burst open revealing an army of tiny, short legged insects that seemed a cross between spiders and centipedes.

Lica and Carn held tight to my hands. It took every ounce of my courage to remain in the circle and not run.

The first wave of miniature marauders was upon us mere seconds after leaving their subterranean lair, crawling between our toes, over our feet, up our legs, heading for points north. I gasped in horror as thousands, if not millions, of additional arachnids poured out of the hill, like lava flowing from a volcano, and was seconds from breaking ranks when I glanced at the other ladies in the circle. Who were all laughing. At me.

This is just like the hair munching minnows, the shampooing eels, the nipple sucking flowers, and the ass cleaning tendrils. If the other women aren't afraid, I shouldn't be either. This is obviously a normal part of Panternian life. I have no fucking idea why these spiders are crawling all over my body, but I'm obviously about to find out.

Ignoring what was happening to my body, I watched the spiders crawl all over the green skinned women across from me. It took several minutes, but I slowly pieced together what was happening.

Even though they started at our feet, the insects never went above our shoulders or down our arms. They only roamed the areas that were covered in tree sap, weaving back and forth, climbing on top of one another, looping around their countless cousins, often three or four layers deep. It was almost like a choreographed dance, imagine Times Square on New Years Eve, everybody switching partners with each beat of the music.

I didn't see it at first. I was either too enthralled with the ballet or couldn't see the color change because of all the dark hued insects. But, eventually, the green skin of the Panternian women was replaced by a sheen of white. Not over their entire body. Just where the spiders were dancing, where the sap used to be.

That's when the light bulb finally came on over my head. Spiders. Silk. New dresses.

For the first time in several days, I thought about David Greene. I remembered what he said shortly after we arrived on Panternia, when we first put on our Panternian clothes.

"There aren't any seams. The cloth was custom made for us."

I still wasn't sure how Chris made our original set of clothes, but I knew why the Panternian women's clothes didn't have seams and fit them like gloves. The spiders were weaving their dresses as I watched, using the sap for a pattern.