Trying out an o/c jungle girl. It was originally going to be a one off, but I think I’d like to try some different sinky and slurpy stuff with her.
The Royal Navy schooners had barely rounded the cape when the landing parties touched the shoreline of what is now modern day Kenya. Half a dozen dinghies landed on the white sands of the British East Africa Protectorate, where a contingent of British sailors and a handful of civilians made their way toward the dense tree line beyond the beach.
‘Pirates,’ hissed Jameela, as she spied on the invaders from a towering acacia tree. Her strong, slender legs straddled a giant limb as she propped herself up on her trim, muscular arms.
It didn’t matter that the ships were sailing under the Union Jack; for the resentful, reclusive jungle girl, the only factor differentiating the Royal Navy from other pirates was a crown.
The observant young girl knew enough about naval landings to perceive that this was a search party. They were looking for something… or someone.
Several tribespeople unfamiliar to Jameela appeared from under the jungle canopy and met up with the officers in charge on the beach. They shook hands and appeared to be offering guidance to the sailors. Their meeting appeared to have been preconceived as the locals joined the small groups now spreading out into the rainforest.
She could hear them calling. Her ears perked at the name they were bellowing out into the forest; ‘Jameela!… Jameela!…’ they were searching for her; the white skinned wild girl.
Jameela’s instincts told her to stay well away. No good could come of contact with those mariners, she thought. She ruled out returning to the safety of her hidden coastal treehouse as they would immediately look for her there. She had no choice but to keep her eyes and ears tuned to the searching sailors from afar.
“Jameela” was of course, not her birth name. The Swahili word meaning “beautiful girl” was bestowed upon her by her adoptive Mijikenda mothers who cared for the adolescent shipwrecked orphan several years prior.
She kept the moniker when she decided to live independently from her fellow tribespeople, in solitude along the African coast. Over time she was immersed into local legend as “Jameela of the Jungle.”
The search party were also calling another name; the name of someone from a past life, someone who died albeit symbolically with the rest of the ship’s crew in that fateful storm; ‘Charlotte!… Charlotte!…’
Jameela hadn’t heard that name in seven years. As it infiltrated her ear drums, memories came flooding back.
Prior to the sinking of the HMS Worthy, she had lived another life as the daughter of Royal Navy Commander Ernest Weber.
After her mother succumbed to tuberculosis, “Charlotte” fought deep depression and anxiety in a miserable, mundane existence as an awkward step daughter to a wealthy, vindictive governess and four spiteful, sniveling siblings. Her well-to-do London lifestyle was a facade; in it there was nothing “well” or “to do”.
‘I don’t want to be here anymore,’ she had cried to her father. They were the least frightening words she could think of to convey her urge to end her own life. Commander Weber interpreted it instead as a request to board his frigate with him and set sail for East Africa.
So her bags were ordered packed by the servants, and before Charlotte knew it, she was watching the wind fill the sails of the HMS Worthy. Doom and destiny awaited the ship and its crew around the other side of the Cape of Good Hope.
All the way around the Dark Continent they sailed, stopping along the way to plunder the colonies, and fill the hold with riches. Charlotte was disgusted by the sight of her father and his crew taking advantage of the people of this wild and wonderful land. They ate and drank, they stole, they raped, they burned and destroyed, they laughed… all at the expense of the African people. She felt heartbroken and ashamed to be a part of it. She felt as much a prisoner of a toxic lifestyle aboard the Worthy as she did in London.
Her only confidant was Lord Anthony Bailey, a Royal Navy lieutenant who was as kind and compassionate to the young, smitten Charlotte as he was strikingly handsome.
Lord Bailey did not engage in the corrosive antics of the rest of the Worthy’s crew. He was a smart, morally sound gentleman who had taken the reserved, red haired teenager under his protective wing at sea.
‘Each new day is a gift,’ he would tell her, as they read books at sundown in his quarters and chatted philosophically about life by candlelight, ‘Treat every moment like an opportunity, Charlotte. Always strive for what you think is unachievable. You are worthy of your beautiful life.’
Anthony was her mentor. He was also like an older brother, who fiercely protected her and taught her how to survive and thrive on a naval vessel, and in life in general.
But Charlotte thought of Anthony (as he preferred she call him) as so much more. Even years after his untimely death she still fantasized about him courting her, and taking her hand to be his wife.
In her treehouse bed, shrouded by mosquito nets in the twilit coastal humidity, Jameela would touch herself while daydreaming about Anthony. She visualized him covering her smooth neck with soft kisses while slowly removing her dress, and sliding his warm, manly hands up her delicate thighs to peel off her silky stockings. She could almost feel his moist tongue gently licking her nipples and the perspiration on her naked, supple young breasts. She would writhe passionately from orgasm after orgasm as she masturbated, imagining the feeling of his heat and sturdiness between her legs as she invited him in to put a baby inside her. Their baby.
Tragically, fate sentenced the fantasy to sadly remain as just that: a fantasy. The ship succumbed to a violent storm off the coast of East Africa, not long after they set sail from the port at Zanzibar. All but one aboard were claimed by the sea.
The hold, heavily laden with bushels and crates of gold, jewels and tons other plundered possessions was the catalyst of the sinking. The weighed down ship sat so low on the sea and took on so much water during the storm that it could no longer stay afloat. The wind and waves battered the fat frigate to death as its crippling weight dragged her down to a watery grave. HMS Worthy was as much a victim of its own gluttony as it was of the merciless storm.
As the ship broke apart in heavy seas, mayhem ensued. Crew members that weren’t thrown overboard were drowned below deck, including Commander Weber.
Lord Anthony somehow found Charlotte thrashing in the churning waters and swam her perilously toward an overturned dinghy. As the small capsized craft drifted away from them, Anthony stretched his exhausted arms to get the drowning girl as close as he could to it before it was too late. ‘Reach, Charlotte! REACH!!’ he screamed at the commander’s crying daughter as she clawed and clung to the wooden underbelly of the rowboat. That was the last time she saw Lord Anthony. That was the last time she heard the name “Charlotte.”
Jameela knew why the Royal Navy had come. She had made a routine hobby of diving almost daily to the nearby wreck of the Worthy to salvage shiny trinkets and pretty gemstones from the shallow sea floor. She had stockpiled an impressive fortune of valuable jewels and gold over seven years… millions of pounds worth. Some local tribespeople knew what she was up to, and after guesstimating the value of her secret cache, they had worked out a deal with the British; sunken treasure in exchange for tribal power and dominance in the colony.
However, Jameela was the only one who knew where the loot actually was. She wanted to keep it hidden from everyone as badly as the Royal Navy wanted to snatch it. In order to find it, the Navy needed to find this “lady in leopard print”… this “Jameela of the Jungle.”
‘Savages,’ she muttered with contempt at the approaching sailors. Seven years and ne’er a soul came in search of her, or Anthony, or her father or any of the Worthy’s crew. Only when the stench of wealth filled their nostrils did they come calling. For seven years they’d cared nothing for poor shipwrecked, well-to-do Charlotte until they found out she was fabulously, filthy rich.
Different voices pierced through the trees, growing louder and louder. They weren’t human voices. They were the barking and howling of hounds. The jungle girl wasn’t merely being sought, she was being hunted.
Jameela panicked. If those animals picked up her scent, they’d lead the searching seamen right to her. She had to flee. Far and fast. The search parties were starting to encircle the anxious jungle girl on both flanks.
Her only option was to retreat directly west into an area of the jungle that the Mijikenda called the “Deep”; a treacherous, swampy low land filled with venomous snakes, and hidden quagmires of sticky tar seeps and sucking sand traps. Locals say it was inhabited by the souls of the damned; bound by bog for eternity and hungry for the flesh of the living. Legend claimed that far more had entered the Deep than had ever returned from it.
She would have to take her chances with sniping slitherers, spooky spirits and sinky sludge pits. The alternative would be at the very least capture and most likely rape and torture at the hands of her former countrymen.
Jameela broke out into a sprint when she reached the jungle floor. As fast as her long legs could carry her, the fleeing, feminine forest dweller flew headlong into the Deep. Her bare feet sloshed and splashed in the sandy muck, splattering her elegant legs as she leapt over leafy plants and dodged downed trees.
She knew if she made it far enough into the dreaded swamp that the hunting dogs would cease their pursuit. Most humans and animals besides serpents had an eerie aversion to the Deep; it was as if they instinctually sensed the danger. Jameela sensed it too, and was running straight toward it.
The ground rippled and shook queerly under her scurrying feet. Plants and bushes bobbed and heaved around her when she passed by as if they were floating on waves. The danger lied beneath, and Jameela knew she had found it the very moment her legs plunged into it.
Syrupy sand gave way to Jameela’s calves, opening up like a mouth to swallow her legs. Gritty goo poured in and gripped her as she sank, clutching her with a sinister, inescapable suction. Jameela struggled desperately, pumping her stuck legs but only sinking deeper. As her knees disappeared, so did her hope of the trap having a shallow bottom.
‘Quicksand!’ gasped the exhausted jungle girl, as the Deep’s swallowing sand slurped down her tired thighs. Jameela labored in the mire, moaning in protest as she fought to escape the sucking sand. The howling hounds yipping and yelping in the distance were the least of her worries now. She was trapped, and ceaselessly sinking into the sticky swamp.
‘Oh!’ whimpered the red haired beauty, vulnerable and victimized by the devouring Deep, ‘I can’t escape!’ Thick, gooey quicksand gurgled gruesomely around Jameela’s hips as they were engulfed by her oozing adversary.
Her heart pounded in her chest. The Deep continued to suck her helplessly into its depths. Sopping wet sand inched up her waist, as she wiggled to no avail. She bit her lip and whimpered again at the slow realization that this bog would not have a bottom.
Even if she could escape, where would she go? Further into the devious Deep to meet another fathomless fate? Or backward into the talons of the Navy search party to be subjected to lewd and heinous sexual abuse, or worse by a mob of sadistic, salivating seamen?
Jameela was giving up hope as her breasts began to dip into the hungry quicksand. She sadly feared that she would have met a grizzly demise no matter which path she chose. She started to cry as bubbling, liquid sand oozed over her chest. Maybe this was her destiny, she considered. As tears rolled down her cheeks, she thought of Anthony.
‘You are worthy of your beautiful life.’
Anthony’s voice echoed hauntingly in Jameela’s mind. He was there for her at crucial moments in her life. He wanted her to live. He helped her to live. He was helping her now.
‘Always strive for what you think is unachievable.’
Jameela looked around. More than an arms length away was a sturdy looking root sticking out of the quivering quagmire. It didn’t shiver and shake like the rest of the floating plants. It was protruding from a nearby tree. She reached for it. Her action caused her to sink disturbingly deeper. Soupy silt licked her chin as she extended her finger tips. The root was just out of reach.
‘I..I can’t!’ cried Jameela, as the quicksand slurped sickeningly at her pretty face. The belching bog was mere moments from completely engulfing her hopeless body, ‘I can’t reach it, Anthony!’
She closed her eyes and focused. She relaxed her body. Last chance, she thought. One more try. She would not go without a fight. With what could have been imaginary but felt like someone pushing her from behind, Jameela extended her arm outward, as straight and far as she possibly could.
‘Reach, Charlotte! REACH!!’…
Jinn’s AI Swamp
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Jinn
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
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Visit my DeviantArt page to find my collection of sticky stories and perilous pictures: https://www.deviantart.com/jinnzou
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MadMax359
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
yes, please come back! (and sink again) 
The strong do what they want, the weak do what they must
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Jinn
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
Spicy second installment incoming…
The leopard print bra whose strap had been looped around the protruding root went taut as Jameela pulled on the gooped garment. Slowly, the imperiled jungle girl began to slink her sunken body from the clutches of the Deep’s deadly quicksand.
Grabbing the root with her hands, the gasping girl turned her attention toward the approaching entourage. Several Royal Navy seamen and their howling hounds had come upon Jameela’s scent, and were in full pursuit.
With only seconds to react, Jameela tossed her sand soaked bra out into the middle of the bubbling bog. She took a deep breath and lowered her head back under the sandy surface.
Hunting dogs whined and barked madly at the edge of the bog, as sailors carefully examined the goo, and the errant garment.
‘Her trail ends here,’ noted one of the mariners, as he held the baying bloodhounds back.
‘Me thinks she lost more than her brassiere,’ added another sailor as he used a broken tree limb to fish the lost article of clothing from the swamp.
‘FACK!’ exclaimed the hounds’ handler as he sneered at the sludge, ‘We’d better report this back to the captain.’
Letting the hounds have a sniff before tossing the animal skin clothing to the ground, the Royal Navy search party headed back out of the Deep, toward the beach.
Jameela, an adept diver, waited patiently to resurface with burning lungs under the quagmire, until the hunters were at a safe distance. Strenuously, the bogged beauty pulled with her strong arms and kicked away from the sucking swamp with her long legs until her sand covered body was on terra firma.
Catching her breath while wiping the grit from herself and fetching her bra, Jameela was taking a moment to plan her next move when she heard a girl’s scream from somewhere nearby.
‘Au secours!!’ shrieked the disembodied voice, as Jameela ran to the source of the screams.
Up to her tiny little waist in another equally perilous pool of jungle quicksand, was a young, beautiful caramel-skinned girl. Her dark hair was neatly styled into two long braids. Her pretty yellow dress was soaked and stained from the belching bog that was hungrily consuming her. She squirmed and struggled fruitlessly as her body sank deeper into the terrifying trap.
‘Mademoiselle! C’est des sables mouvants!’ gasped the mired maiden, as Jameela stumbled into the clearing, nearly plunging into the putrid pit herself, ‘Je coule! Aidez-moi! Aidez-moi, s’il te plaît!’
‘Don’t struggle!’ warned Jameela, as she once again utilized her trusty animal print getaway garment for a sketchy extraction, ‘I’m going to get you out of there, but you must stay calm. Vous comprendez?’
‘Oui, mademoiselle, yes!’ answered to steadily sinking girl, ‘Please hurry!’
Jameela had to move fast. The slurping sand was quickly gulping down the poor, panicked femme francais. Careful not to fall in, she laid down beside the pit and tossed her bra as far out as she could. The girl reached but it was well beyond her grasping fingers. The tension level increased significantly for both ladies.
“What is your name?’ asked Jameela, in an attempt to keep the drowning damsel (and herself) calm.
‘Colette,’ squeaked the distraught girl, as sandy muck oozed over her heaving cleavage.
‘A lovely name befitting of a lovely girl,’ smiled Jameela as she tied a bra string to her ankle. ‘Now listen, sweet Colette,’ the racing rescuer continued, ‘I’m going to swing my legs out to you. I need you to very carefully reach for me.’ Colette nodded and whimpered desperately as the sinister sand licked the nave of her neck.
With acrobatic prowess, Jameela gripped a solid tree root at the lip of the quicksand bog and performed a cartwheel, splash landing her legs down close to the disappearing Colette. The sinking girl cried nervously as she cautiously lifted her arms to grasp the lifeline tethered to her savior. Chin deep in gurgling goop, Colette held the bra with a death grip while Jameela relied on her toned muscles to pull the both of them out of the deadly pit.
On the solid edge, Jameela yanked Colette out of the liquid sand to salvation. With tears of joy and relief, the young french beauty collapsed on top of her red haired rescuer. Their eyes met and their chests heaved against one another as they drew in oxygen after their dangerous duet.
‘You saved me,’ acknowledged Colette, as she hugged and kissed Jameela, ‘I am forever in your debt, mademoiselle….?’
‘Ch..Jameela,’ the joyous jungle girl responded to her appreciative new friend.
‘You are Jameela?! Jameela of the Jungle?!’ asked Colette, her mouth agape. The sand covered jungle girl nodded gleefully. ‘You are the one I have been searching for,’ stated the starry eyed African, holding the English girl’s face, ‘The name “Jameela” is befitting of a “beautiful girl” such as yourself.’
Both girls smiled and blushed…
Jameela and Colette emerged from the trees to a picturesque waterfall that fed a hidden pool with water as clear as glass amid the beautiful East African rainforest. The two young girls happily waded into the private pond to clean themselves of the swamp sediment that had soiled their bodies and clothing.
‘I came all the way from Côte d'Ivoire to find you, Jameela,’ admitted Colette, removing her dirty dress in the soothing jungle water, ‘When I heard that the British were searching for you and the treasure of the HMS Worthy, I had to find you. I came to beg you for my people’s jewels, before the Navy could hunt them down… hunt YOU down.’
‘How did you find out the British were coming?’ wondered Jameela, as the two beauties bathed.
‘Like you, I am the daughter of a naval officer,’ revealed Colette, splashing her face and her hair, ‘I have not seen my father in many years but I live among his peers and have still beaucoup des connexions. These eyes and ears are always looking and listening.’
‘How do you know so much about me?’ inquired Jameela, helping the lovely Ivorian girl clean her beautiful braided hair.
‘Vous ete légendaire,’ smiled Colette admiringly, helping to rinse the muddy sand from the jungle girl’s smooth skin.
‘You’ve come a long way looking for legends,’ mentioned Jameela, ‘You must have known that Africa is a dangerous world. Pirates, unfriendly tribes, wild animals… You almost drowned in quicksand. Is it worth the risk?’
‘My father was a white military colonialist, my mother a poor black doctor,’ Colette began to lament, ‘I am too black to be accepted by my father’s people, too white to be loved by my mother’s. No one wants me. I have nothing to lose. I thought if I found the stolen gems of my homeland, I could be accepted by my African sisters and brothers… and loved by them.’
The english speaking French girl began to cry. Jameela’s eyes also welled up; she knew as well the pain of not being accepted or loved. She put a consoling arm around Colette’s shoulder. Colette accepted the compassion and upgraded it to a warm hug.
‘We have much in common, Colette,’ shared Jameela, smiling teary eyed at her companion. For the first time in a long, long time she could relate to someone. She felt herself appreciating, and even enjoying someone’s company. She felt herself letting that someone in.
‘Oui, mademouselle,’ grinned Colette, planting a kiss of gratitude on the cheek of her brand new confidant before quietly suggesting, ‘Perhaps more in common than we realize.’
The pair climbed out of the pristine pool and dressed. Holding hands, the fast friends disappeared under the jungle canopy, heading in the direction of Jameela’s treehouse…
‘They’re like buzzards,’ scowled Jameela from the top branch platform of her East African treehouse abode. She watched resentfully through a spy glass as salvage crews hoisted sunken treasure up from the wreck of the HMS Worthy, barely a kilometer off shore while the late afternoon sun hung low on the horizon.
There were twice as many boats in the cove now; another schooner, a monstrous metal gun boat and a giant flat deck barge. Crews used levers and cranes to pull precious cargo from the sea floor, spreading their loot out on the barge’s wooden deck. Water logged crates trimmed with barnacles and seaweed were pried open revealing a plethora of ivory statues, marble sculptures, and a variety of gold and silver coins, chairs, jewelry, crowns and keepsakes.
‘They won’t find very many gemstones,’ predicted Jameela, snooping on the sailors. The jungle girl’s years of diving to the wreck had yielded bushels and bushels full of glossy and glittering jewels and gems. ‘All that’s left down there are things too heavy to swim with.’
‘They won’t find you either,’ proclaimed Colette, leaning in close on Jameela’s shoulder as they observed the activity on the beach from the safety and seclusion of the tall tree-mounted villa, ‘They think you are dead, Jameela. They think the swamp took you. They will not be looking for you again.’
Colette slid her arm around Jameela’s waist. ‘No one is looking for either of us,’ she continued, as Jameela lowered the magnifying instrument. ‘It is only you and I now Jameela, here in our little world within a world,’ whispered Colette, softly and seductively as her fingertips caressingly tucked a lock of fiery hair behind Jameela’s ear.
Jameela turned to Colette, who was staring back at her with her big, beautiful brown eyes, and a friendly, flirtatious smile. She felt a tingling sensation inside, like a nervous excitement or a trickle of adrenaline. Colette’s warmth was overwhelming, her touch was intoxicating; the sensation of having someone sensual and sexy right next to her, against her body was bordering on irresistible. Until that moment, Jameela did not fully realize how lonely she was… or how horny.
‘I… Colette, I…’ fumbled Jameela, before awkwardly breaking the sweet girl’s spell and retreating down into the treehouse “boudoir”. Her heart was beating fast. The excitement of her encounter had triggered a default fight-or-flight response. She was not used to this kind of attention. The flirting and feelings were going to take some getting used to if…
‘Jameela, wait,’ called Colette, following close behind, ‘Je m’excuse, mademouselle. I only wish for you and I… for us to be comfortable.’ The elegant Ivorian sighed, ‘I am drawn to you, and I thought you may have felt the same. From now on I will refrain from…’
Colette gasped as Jameela suddenly pulled her in close, and kissed her.
‘I’m the one who should be sorry, Colette,’ apologized Jameela, in a soft voice as she held her friend close, ‘It’s nerves, I guess.’ She touched Colette’s cheek and continued, ‘I fancy you. I’ve been on my own for so long. I just need a moment. I’ve never…’
Colette playfully put a finger to Jameela’s lips. ‘Pas de problem,’ she whispered, ‘We have all the time in this little world of ours.’
Jameela could tell that behind the passion and heavy heartbeats both of them were utterly exhausted. ‘Come lay with me,’ she suggested, stifling an involuntary yawn. Leading the gorgeous African by the hand, the two girls entered the bed chamber, closed the mosquito net and laid down together in the soft suspended bedding of a hanging bed frame. Colette spooned her heroine host and wrapped her arms around her. Within seconds they were both pleasantly, peacefully asleep…
The light of a full moon covered the bed chamber and the resting beauties with subtle glow. Lunar luminance caught Jameela’s eyes as they opened after hours of uninterrupted slumber. She felt Colette’s hand around her waist and covered it with her own. Jameela’s guest interlocked fingers with her and held her hand. Both cuddling girls were wide awake under the moon and stars and gentle ocean breeze. Crickets chirped and night birds sang in the distance. The serenity and snuggling was delicious.
Jameela guided Colette’s hand up to her chest, and let her gently trace her fingertips over her nipple. Both girls stirred slightly. Soft, moist lips began to kiss Jameela’s neck as Colette gently squeezed her supple breast.
Swallowing nervously, the risky redhead slid her French friend’s hand down the smooth skin of her abdomen and slipped it under her leopard print bottom. Colette took the lead and started to rub mildly between Jameela’s legs. The jungle girl subtly squirmed as her girlfriend’s fingers began to swirl around her damp vagina, tenderly stroking her clitoris.
A quiet whimper escaped Jameela’s lips as she arched her back. Colette moved her kissing lips from her bedmate’s neck to her ear, where she seductively licked and sucked her earlobe. Jameela gasped; Colette slowly slipped a wet finger inside her lover.
Colette’s teeth playfully bit Jameela’s ear as she probed her finger between her quivering legs. Jameela rocked back and forth with the probing as Colette grinded into her from behind, and inserted another finger.
Their rhythm increased in tempo and intensity until Jameela paused and tilted her head back with her mouth open in a state of bliss. Gasping and moaning, Jameela reached behind her and grabbed Colette’s ass, pulling her closer as she submitted to a sudden orgasmic release.
The hot and horny redhead lay stunned for a moment, her moonlit chest heaving, her lover kissing. Dripping wet Jameela flipped over on top of Colette. The French firecracker let out a surprised whimper as the aggressive jungle girl held her arms down and kissed her.
The pretty yellow dress slipped off of Colette’s satiny smooth skin before finding a resting place on the floor under the hanging bed frame.
‘Ma fleur jolie,’ whispered Colette, as Jameela’s kisses wandered under the pinned girl’s chin, then down her neck, thoroughly over her breasts before slinking across her trim tummy.
The fired up French belle spread her beautiful legs in anticipation. Jameela lined the inside of Colette’s sexy thighs with soft loving as her mouth made its way to her lover’s hot, wet, awaiting opening.
The feeling of Jameela’s lips and tongue between her legs sent Colette into a moaning fit. Her stimulated body squirmed as she bit her lip and ran her fingers through Jameela’s hair. The fair skinned British lass caressed Colette’s silky thighs as she ceaselessly devoured her sopping wet pussy.
She could feel Jameela’s hand sliding up to touch her chest when the warm humming in her loins told her she was about to cum. Panting and convulsing, Colette’s legs tensed and her toes curled as Jameela’s licking and sucking triggered the warm, wet rush of a sexual peak. She cried out in ecstasy as her body wiggled and writhed in an orgasmic trance.
Colette pulled Jameela up by her hair to kiss her. She could taste her own juicy wetness in Jameela’s mouth as the pair of red hot lovers kissed like they were starving for it.
Leopard print jungle wear fell to the floor as Colette enticed Jameela to sit back and spread her long legs. The French fox also sat back and opened her own legs, slipping one over and one under each of Jameela’s before the two girls pulled into each other. Their damp, dripping pussies kissed as the naked girlfriends held themselves together and slowly grinded into one another, in a dance of tantalizing tribadism.
The moonlit maidens locked an arm with each other while their other arm held on to their pretty partner’s leg. They stared at each other in the pale light, their smooth, sexy bodies rubbing rhythmically; their pleasure mounting as they rocked toward euphoric release.
Whimpering and panting, breasts heaving, entangled legs flexing, heavenly bodies soaked with sweat and cum; the lustful lovers fed off each other’s feminine energy, building up to an orgasmic crescendo. Moans and cries filled the air over the rainforest canopy as they both achieved a sticky, sopping, simultaneous climax of epic proportion.
Catching their breath, the lovers kissed passionately. Their sensitive, stimulated bodies twitched with the aftershocks of their twin orgasms.
Colette forcefully rolled Jameela onto her tummy, and pulled into her again. She yanked on a handful of her partner’s long red hair as she wildly grinded into her submissive host.
Jameela lay red faced and stunned as Colette dominated and fucked her. Being overpowered and taken sexually was almost too hot; she could feel the warm hint of another orgasm kindling inside her.
The French vixen rolled Jameela over again. Colette retained her scissoring position as she lifted her lover’s leg. She licked and kissed her toes, the arch of her foot and the silky smooth skin of her calf as she vigorously rode sexy Jameela under the moon and stars and gentle ocean breeze.
Both girls felt the rising glow of another orgasm as they frolicked and fucked. Jameela sucked on Colette’s fingers before the girlfriends surrendered to another synchronous sexual deliverance. They cried out in unison as their pressed-together private parts gushed like hot, sticky honey pots.
As they settled down to catch their breath, they fell into each other’s arms and kissed for what seemed like an eternity. Gently caressing one another, they delicately danced their fingertips through sweaty hair, over smooth shoulders and silky thighs.
Like the treacherous quicksand of the Deep, the girls were caught in a pool of passion, and slowly sinking deeper. And like their timely orgasms, the pretty pair of lovers eventually fell simultaneously into a deep sleep…
It was not the morning sun that woke the sleeping jungle girl, rather the wind. The hanging bed frame was swaying on its tethers as gusts howled through the forest canopy and the treehouse. The motion reminded Jameela of being at sea. She thought of the Worthy and her father. She thought of Anthony.
Rolling over, Jameela discovered that she was alone in the bedding. Her guest, her new friend… her lover was gone.
‘Colette?’ she called from the boudoir, hoping her femme francais was still on one of the treehouse’s split level platforms.
Climbing to the lookout, Jameela grabbed her sight glass and scanned the horizon. Focusing in on the naval activity, she saw the sailors back to their plundering aboard the barge. Her magnified vision panned along the shore until it stopped at the sight of something that made her heart sink. Standing on the sandy beach surrounded by Royal Navy goons was Colette. Her pretty yellow dress fluttered in the wind as she appeared to be noticeably arguing with an officer.
‘Colette!’ cried Jameela, confused and concerned, ‘What on earth are you doing?!’
It was unclear if the navy was holding her captive or even if their reception of her was civil. What she did know from experience was that pirates loved “booty”, including the type that came in the form of a pretty young female strolling alone on a secluded beach.
After hastily strapping a large hunting knife to her leg, Jameela swung down to ground level on a sturdy vine, and ran with urgency for the coast…
The leopard print bra whose strap had been looped around the protruding root went taut as Jameela pulled on the gooped garment. Slowly, the imperiled jungle girl began to slink her sunken body from the clutches of the Deep’s deadly quicksand.
Grabbing the root with her hands, the gasping girl turned her attention toward the approaching entourage. Several Royal Navy seamen and their howling hounds had come upon Jameela’s scent, and were in full pursuit.
With only seconds to react, Jameela tossed her sand soaked bra out into the middle of the bubbling bog. She took a deep breath and lowered her head back under the sandy surface.
Hunting dogs whined and barked madly at the edge of the bog, as sailors carefully examined the goo, and the errant garment.
‘Her trail ends here,’ noted one of the mariners, as he held the baying bloodhounds back.
‘Me thinks she lost more than her brassiere,’ added another sailor as he used a broken tree limb to fish the lost article of clothing from the swamp.
‘FACK!’ exclaimed the hounds’ handler as he sneered at the sludge, ‘We’d better report this back to the captain.’
Letting the hounds have a sniff before tossing the animal skin clothing to the ground, the Royal Navy search party headed back out of the Deep, toward the beach.
Jameela, an adept diver, waited patiently to resurface with burning lungs under the quagmire, until the hunters were at a safe distance. Strenuously, the bogged beauty pulled with her strong arms and kicked away from the sucking swamp with her long legs until her sand covered body was on terra firma.
Catching her breath while wiping the grit from herself and fetching her bra, Jameela was taking a moment to plan her next move when she heard a girl’s scream from somewhere nearby.
‘Au secours!!’ shrieked the disembodied voice, as Jameela ran to the source of the screams.
Up to her tiny little waist in another equally perilous pool of jungle quicksand, was a young, beautiful caramel-skinned girl. Her dark hair was neatly styled into two long braids. Her pretty yellow dress was soaked and stained from the belching bog that was hungrily consuming her. She squirmed and struggled fruitlessly as her body sank deeper into the terrifying trap.
‘Mademoiselle! C’est des sables mouvants!’ gasped the mired maiden, as Jameela stumbled into the clearing, nearly plunging into the putrid pit herself, ‘Je coule! Aidez-moi! Aidez-moi, s’il te plaît!’
‘Don’t struggle!’ warned Jameela, as she once again utilized her trusty animal print getaway garment for a sketchy extraction, ‘I’m going to get you out of there, but you must stay calm. Vous comprendez?’
‘Oui, mademoiselle, yes!’ answered to steadily sinking girl, ‘Please hurry!’
Jameela had to move fast. The slurping sand was quickly gulping down the poor, panicked femme francais. Careful not to fall in, she laid down beside the pit and tossed her bra as far out as she could. The girl reached but it was well beyond her grasping fingers. The tension level increased significantly for both ladies.
“What is your name?’ asked Jameela, in an attempt to keep the drowning damsel (and herself) calm.
‘Colette,’ squeaked the distraught girl, as sandy muck oozed over her heaving cleavage.
‘A lovely name befitting of a lovely girl,’ smiled Jameela as she tied a bra string to her ankle. ‘Now listen, sweet Colette,’ the racing rescuer continued, ‘I’m going to swing my legs out to you. I need you to very carefully reach for me.’ Colette nodded and whimpered desperately as the sinister sand licked the nave of her neck.
With acrobatic prowess, Jameela gripped a solid tree root at the lip of the quicksand bog and performed a cartwheel, splash landing her legs down close to the disappearing Colette. The sinking girl cried nervously as she cautiously lifted her arms to grasp the lifeline tethered to her savior. Chin deep in gurgling goop, Colette held the bra with a death grip while Jameela relied on her toned muscles to pull the both of them out of the deadly pit.
On the solid edge, Jameela yanked Colette out of the liquid sand to salvation. With tears of joy and relief, the young french beauty collapsed on top of her red haired rescuer. Their eyes met and their chests heaved against one another as they drew in oxygen after their dangerous duet.
‘You saved me,’ acknowledged Colette, as she hugged and kissed Jameela, ‘I am forever in your debt, mademoiselle….?’
‘Ch..Jameela,’ the joyous jungle girl responded to her appreciative new friend.
‘You are Jameela?! Jameela of the Jungle?!’ asked Colette, her mouth agape. The sand covered jungle girl nodded gleefully. ‘You are the one I have been searching for,’ stated the starry eyed African, holding the English girl’s face, ‘The name “Jameela” is befitting of a “beautiful girl” such as yourself.’
Both girls smiled and blushed…
Jameela and Colette emerged from the trees to a picturesque waterfall that fed a hidden pool with water as clear as glass amid the beautiful East African rainforest. The two young girls happily waded into the private pond to clean themselves of the swamp sediment that had soiled their bodies and clothing.
‘I came all the way from Côte d'Ivoire to find you, Jameela,’ admitted Colette, removing her dirty dress in the soothing jungle water, ‘When I heard that the British were searching for you and the treasure of the HMS Worthy, I had to find you. I came to beg you for my people’s jewels, before the Navy could hunt them down… hunt YOU down.’
‘How did you find out the British were coming?’ wondered Jameela, as the two beauties bathed.
‘Like you, I am the daughter of a naval officer,’ revealed Colette, splashing her face and her hair, ‘I have not seen my father in many years but I live among his peers and have still beaucoup des connexions. These eyes and ears are always looking and listening.’
‘How do you know so much about me?’ inquired Jameela, helping the lovely Ivorian girl clean her beautiful braided hair.
‘Vous ete légendaire,’ smiled Colette admiringly, helping to rinse the muddy sand from the jungle girl’s smooth skin.
‘You’ve come a long way looking for legends,’ mentioned Jameela, ‘You must have known that Africa is a dangerous world. Pirates, unfriendly tribes, wild animals… You almost drowned in quicksand. Is it worth the risk?’
‘My father was a white military colonialist, my mother a poor black doctor,’ Colette began to lament, ‘I am too black to be accepted by my father’s people, too white to be loved by my mother’s. No one wants me. I have nothing to lose. I thought if I found the stolen gems of my homeland, I could be accepted by my African sisters and brothers… and loved by them.’
The english speaking French girl began to cry. Jameela’s eyes also welled up; she knew as well the pain of not being accepted or loved. She put a consoling arm around Colette’s shoulder. Colette accepted the compassion and upgraded it to a warm hug.
‘We have much in common, Colette,’ shared Jameela, smiling teary eyed at her companion. For the first time in a long, long time she could relate to someone. She felt herself appreciating, and even enjoying someone’s company. She felt herself letting that someone in.
‘Oui, mademouselle,’ grinned Colette, planting a kiss of gratitude on the cheek of her brand new confidant before quietly suggesting, ‘Perhaps more in common than we realize.’
The pair climbed out of the pristine pool and dressed. Holding hands, the fast friends disappeared under the jungle canopy, heading in the direction of Jameela’s treehouse…
‘They’re like buzzards,’ scowled Jameela from the top branch platform of her East African treehouse abode. She watched resentfully through a spy glass as salvage crews hoisted sunken treasure up from the wreck of the HMS Worthy, barely a kilometer off shore while the late afternoon sun hung low on the horizon.
There were twice as many boats in the cove now; another schooner, a monstrous metal gun boat and a giant flat deck barge. Crews used levers and cranes to pull precious cargo from the sea floor, spreading their loot out on the barge’s wooden deck. Water logged crates trimmed with barnacles and seaweed were pried open revealing a plethora of ivory statues, marble sculptures, and a variety of gold and silver coins, chairs, jewelry, crowns and keepsakes.
‘They won’t find very many gemstones,’ predicted Jameela, snooping on the sailors. The jungle girl’s years of diving to the wreck had yielded bushels and bushels full of glossy and glittering jewels and gems. ‘All that’s left down there are things too heavy to swim with.’
‘They won’t find you either,’ proclaimed Colette, leaning in close on Jameela’s shoulder as they observed the activity on the beach from the safety and seclusion of the tall tree-mounted villa, ‘They think you are dead, Jameela. They think the swamp took you. They will not be looking for you again.’
Colette slid her arm around Jameela’s waist. ‘No one is looking for either of us,’ she continued, as Jameela lowered the magnifying instrument. ‘It is only you and I now Jameela, here in our little world within a world,’ whispered Colette, softly and seductively as her fingertips caressingly tucked a lock of fiery hair behind Jameela’s ear.
Jameela turned to Colette, who was staring back at her with her big, beautiful brown eyes, and a friendly, flirtatious smile. She felt a tingling sensation inside, like a nervous excitement or a trickle of adrenaline. Colette’s warmth was overwhelming, her touch was intoxicating; the sensation of having someone sensual and sexy right next to her, against her body was bordering on irresistible. Until that moment, Jameela did not fully realize how lonely she was… or how horny.
‘I… Colette, I…’ fumbled Jameela, before awkwardly breaking the sweet girl’s spell and retreating down into the treehouse “boudoir”. Her heart was beating fast. The excitement of her encounter had triggered a default fight-or-flight response. She was not used to this kind of attention. The flirting and feelings were going to take some getting used to if…
‘Jameela, wait,’ called Colette, following close behind, ‘Je m’excuse, mademouselle. I only wish for you and I… for us to be comfortable.’ The elegant Ivorian sighed, ‘I am drawn to you, and I thought you may have felt the same. From now on I will refrain from…’
Colette gasped as Jameela suddenly pulled her in close, and kissed her.
‘I’m the one who should be sorry, Colette,’ apologized Jameela, in a soft voice as she held her friend close, ‘It’s nerves, I guess.’ She touched Colette’s cheek and continued, ‘I fancy you. I’ve been on my own for so long. I just need a moment. I’ve never…’
Colette playfully put a finger to Jameela’s lips. ‘Pas de problem,’ she whispered, ‘We have all the time in this little world of ours.’
Jameela could tell that behind the passion and heavy heartbeats both of them were utterly exhausted. ‘Come lay with me,’ she suggested, stifling an involuntary yawn. Leading the gorgeous African by the hand, the two girls entered the bed chamber, closed the mosquito net and laid down together in the soft suspended bedding of a hanging bed frame. Colette spooned her heroine host and wrapped her arms around her. Within seconds they were both pleasantly, peacefully asleep…
The light of a full moon covered the bed chamber and the resting beauties with subtle glow. Lunar luminance caught Jameela’s eyes as they opened after hours of uninterrupted slumber. She felt Colette’s hand around her waist and covered it with her own. Jameela’s guest interlocked fingers with her and held her hand. Both cuddling girls were wide awake under the moon and stars and gentle ocean breeze. Crickets chirped and night birds sang in the distance. The serenity and snuggling was delicious.
Jameela guided Colette’s hand up to her chest, and let her gently trace her fingertips over her nipple. Both girls stirred slightly. Soft, moist lips began to kiss Jameela’s neck as Colette gently squeezed her supple breast.
Swallowing nervously, the risky redhead slid her French friend’s hand down the smooth skin of her abdomen and slipped it under her leopard print bottom. Colette took the lead and started to rub mildly between Jameela’s legs. The jungle girl subtly squirmed as her girlfriend’s fingers began to swirl around her damp vagina, tenderly stroking her clitoris.
A quiet whimper escaped Jameela’s lips as she arched her back. Colette moved her kissing lips from her bedmate’s neck to her ear, where she seductively licked and sucked her earlobe. Jameela gasped; Colette slowly slipped a wet finger inside her lover.
Colette’s teeth playfully bit Jameela’s ear as she probed her finger between her quivering legs. Jameela rocked back and forth with the probing as Colette grinded into her from behind, and inserted another finger.
Their rhythm increased in tempo and intensity until Jameela paused and tilted her head back with her mouth open in a state of bliss. Gasping and moaning, Jameela reached behind her and grabbed Colette’s ass, pulling her closer as she submitted to a sudden orgasmic release.
The hot and horny redhead lay stunned for a moment, her moonlit chest heaving, her lover kissing. Dripping wet Jameela flipped over on top of Colette. The French firecracker let out a surprised whimper as the aggressive jungle girl held her arms down and kissed her.
The pretty yellow dress slipped off of Colette’s satiny smooth skin before finding a resting place on the floor under the hanging bed frame.
‘Ma fleur jolie,’ whispered Colette, as Jameela’s kisses wandered under the pinned girl’s chin, then down her neck, thoroughly over her breasts before slinking across her trim tummy.
The fired up French belle spread her beautiful legs in anticipation. Jameela lined the inside of Colette’s sexy thighs with soft loving as her mouth made its way to her lover’s hot, wet, awaiting opening.
The feeling of Jameela’s lips and tongue between her legs sent Colette into a moaning fit. Her stimulated body squirmed as she bit her lip and ran her fingers through Jameela’s hair. The fair skinned British lass caressed Colette’s silky thighs as she ceaselessly devoured her sopping wet pussy.
She could feel Jameela’s hand sliding up to touch her chest when the warm humming in her loins told her she was about to cum. Panting and convulsing, Colette’s legs tensed and her toes curled as Jameela’s licking and sucking triggered the warm, wet rush of a sexual peak. She cried out in ecstasy as her body wiggled and writhed in an orgasmic trance.
Colette pulled Jameela up by her hair to kiss her. She could taste her own juicy wetness in Jameela’s mouth as the pair of red hot lovers kissed like they were starving for it.
Leopard print jungle wear fell to the floor as Colette enticed Jameela to sit back and spread her long legs. The French fox also sat back and opened her own legs, slipping one over and one under each of Jameela’s before the two girls pulled into each other. Their damp, dripping pussies kissed as the naked girlfriends held themselves together and slowly grinded into one another, in a dance of tantalizing tribadism.
The moonlit maidens locked an arm with each other while their other arm held on to their pretty partner’s leg. They stared at each other in the pale light, their smooth, sexy bodies rubbing rhythmically; their pleasure mounting as they rocked toward euphoric release.
Whimpering and panting, breasts heaving, entangled legs flexing, heavenly bodies soaked with sweat and cum; the lustful lovers fed off each other’s feminine energy, building up to an orgasmic crescendo. Moans and cries filled the air over the rainforest canopy as they both achieved a sticky, sopping, simultaneous climax of epic proportion.
Catching their breath, the lovers kissed passionately. Their sensitive, stimulated bodies twitched with the aftershocks of their twin orgasms.
Colette forcefully rolled Jameela onto her tummy, and pulled into her again. She yanked on a handful of her partner’s long red hair as she wildly grinded into her submissive host.
Jameela lay red faced and stunned as Colette dominated and fucked her. Being overpowered and taken sexually was almost too hot; she could feel the warm hint of another orgasm kindling inside her.
The French vixen rolled Jameela over again. Colette retained her scissoring position as she lifted her lover’s leg. She licked and kissed her toes, the arch of her foot and the silky smooth skin of her calf as she vigorously rode sexy Jameela under the moon and stars and gentle ocean breeze.
Both girls felt the rising glow of another orgasm as they frolicked and fucked. Jameela sucked on Colette’s fingers before the girlfriends surrendered to another synchronous sexual deliverance. They cried out in unison as their pressed-together private parts gushed like hot, sticky honey pots.
As they settled down to catch their breath, they fell into each other’s arms and kissed for what seemed like an eternity. Gently caressing one another, they delicately danced their fingertips through sweaty hair, over smooth shoulders and silky thighs.
Like the treacherous quicksand of the Deep, the girls were caught in a pool of passion, and slowly sinking deeper. And like their timely orgasms, the pretty pair of lovers eventually fell simultaneously into a deep sleep…
It was not the morning sun that woke the sleeping jungle girl, rather the wind. The hanging bed frame was swaying on its tethers as gusts howled through the forest canopy and the treehouse. The motion reminded Jameela of being at sea. She thought of the Worthy and her father. She thought of Anthony.
Rolling over, Jameela discovered that she was alone in the bedding. Her guest, her new friend… her lover was gone.
‘Colette?’ she called from the boudoir, hoping her femme francais was still on one of the treehouse’s split level platforms.
Climbing to the lookout, Jameela grabbed her sight glass and scanned the horizon. Focusing in on the naval activity, she saw the sailors back to their plundering aboard the barge. Her magnified vision panned along the shore until it stopped at the sight of something that made her heart sink. Standing on the sandy beach surrounded by Royal Navy goons was Colette. Her pretty yellow dress fluttered in the wind as she appeared to be noticeably arguing with an officer.
‘Colette!’ cried Jameela, confused and concerned, ‘What on earth are you doing?!’
It was unclear if the navy was holding her captive or even if their reception of her was civil. What she did know from experience was that pirates loved “booty”, including the type that came in the form of a pretty young female strolling alone on a secluded beach.
After hastily strapping a large hunting knife to her leg, Jameela swung down to ground level on a sturdy vine, and ran with urgency for the coast…
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Jinn
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
Part three of ‘Jungle Deep’. This series was only supposed to be a two-parter, and it got way out of hand. I have zero regrets. Thanks for stopping by.
Jameela could hear her pulse in her ears as she raced through the rainforest. The only sound louder to her was her own gasping. The stress and her heightened senses were making the world seem like it was moving in slow motion. She could see blue sky between the trees and knew the beach was close. The super athletic, super anxious jungle girl twisted and turned at top speed in a skillful display of navigation over, under and around the dense brush until the open air of the shore was before her.
‘Jameela?!’ chirped Colette, walking in her direction at the edge of the forest.
‘Colette!’ yelped Jameela, launching herself into an embrace with her lovely French belle, ‘Oh, sweet Colette! Are you ok? Did they hurt you? Did they…’
‘I am fine, my love,’ smiled Colette reassuringly, holding Jameela close. She could feel the the panting redhead’s heart thundering wildly as their chests pressed together.
‘They could have beaten you,’ lectured Jameela, examining the pretty Ivorian girl, ‘They could have taken you captive, or raped you, or worse!’
‘They would not harm me,’ smiled Colette, kissing her concerned companion, ‘J’ai beaucoup des connexions, souviens-toi?’
‘I know many pirates too,’ stated Jameela, with a tinge of resentment, ‘All too well. Why did you go to them?’
‘They were rounding up locals,’ revealed Colette, ‘They were harassing them about looted treasure from the sunken ship. They were threatening them. I came to secure their release.’
‘How do you know all this?’ inquired Jameela.
‘I as well know many pirates,’ replied Colette, looking over her shoulder suspiciously at the beach, ‘All too well. Come, let us go somewhere safe.’
Hand in hand, the pair made their way back in the direction of the treehouse as Colette relayed some startling revelations, ‘They know you are still alive, Jameela. They know I was with you last night.’
‘But..How…?’ a confused Jameela wondered, stopping to digest what Colette was explaining to her.
‘Spies saw us leaving the swamp together,’ reported Colette, ‘They have been tracking us to see if we will lead them to your hidden treasure.’
Jameela’s head was spinning. This whole debacle was starting to get out of hand. ‘Colette, my love,’ she demanded, ‘I need you to be honest with me. If they know I’m still alive and have been following us, why haven’t they simply arrested us? What is going on?’
Colette looked down at the jungle floor momentarily before letting out a sigh and looking back up into Jameela’s scanning eyes. ‘I came with them,’ she revealed, as a shameful tear rolled down her cheek.
‘You..You’re a spy?’ asked a completely gobsmacked Jameela, with a look of disbelief.
‘Oui,’ admitted Colette, shamefully and teary eyed, ‘I determined that coming here with the Royal Navy was my best chance to find my people’s treasure, to find the “Mawu Star” necklace and bring it home.’
For a moment Jameela was speechless. She shook her head in denial. ‘So, you’re using me to get rich,’ she accused, waiting for an explanation.
‘No..I…’ began Colette, before taking a deep breath and resetting her response, ‘I swear to you that is not why I am here. I do not care about wealth. This was never about getting rich. This was always and only about finding the Star.’
Colette took Jameela by the hands and continued, ‘I may never find the Star, but I have found you… rather, you found me.’
The judging jungle girl smirked and rolled her eyes.
‘I want you to know, Jameela,’ added the confessing Colette, ‘When I heard that Commander Weber’s lost daughter was alive, I did not know what to expect. I thought she would be some entitled morveuse anglaise, bathing in riches, being pampered and protected in some colonial manor.’
‘Gee thanks,’ teased Jameela, facetiously.
Colette smiled and stared into Jameela’s eyes, ‘You are much more than I had envisioned. You are very courageous, and tres intelligente, and beautiful… so so beautiful. Vous ne souciez pas de la richesse, aussi… and that makes you just as beautiful on the inside.’
Jameela blushed, letting the warmth of Collette’s flattery cover her like a cozy blanket. The two girls pulled close together.
‘You risked your life to save me, a complete stranger sinking into the swamp,’ spoke Colette, softly to Jameela as their noses gently touched, ‘When you rescued my body from the quicksand, you as well rescued my heart.’
The smitten jungle girl surrendered unequivocally to Colette’s charm, without a fight. She didn’t want to fight. Looming trust issues aside, it felt so splendid to be complimented and cuddled; so wonderful to be desired… and loved. Years of self imposed exile in the jungle had starved Jameela socially, and sexually. She had denied herself the essential experience of being talked tenderly to, or tempted, or touched. Jameela delivered a reconciling kiss to the soft lips of her lover.
‘Come, pet,’ invited Jameela, ‘Let’s shake these bandits and go find your Star’…
Taking the long way, Jameela led Colette back to the secluded jungle pool they had bathed in the previous day. Making sure they were not being followed, the girls had hastily snuck through the rainforest until they came upon the picturesque pond with its crystal clear water and tranquil waterfall at the base of the East African hillside.
‘Tell me about the…’ prompted Jameela as they waded at knee depth in the private pool.
‘Mawu Star,’ finished Colette, before describing the necklace, ‘It is the most beautiful, bright diamond you will ever see, on a chain made of hand carved ivory beads. Its sparkle is hypnotic. Some say it shines at night, even brighter than the moon.’
‘I’ve found many necklaces from the wreck that match that description,’ pointed out Jameela, as the two girls stood at the bottom of the waterfall.
‘If you had come upon the Star, you would never forget it,’ mentioned Colette, ‘if you had worn it even once, its essence would remain with you always.’
‘I understand,’ nodded Jameela, taking her pretty partner by the hand, ‘We’re going to get wet.’
After a quick glance over her shoulder, Jameela walked through the falling water, with Colette in tow.
On the other side of the pounding falls the two soaking wet girlfriends crouched down and crawled into a small tunnel in the rock. The precarious passage led to an open space as wide as a large bed chamber, and as tall as a cathedral. Natural light flooded the hidden cubby through spaces between the rocks far above.
Colette gasped at the awe inspiring sight revealed by the minuscule sunlight. The walls of the cavern had been decorated with an incredibly intricate mosaic masterpiece of gemstones and jewelry. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, opals, gems of all shapes, sizes and colors, gold and silver chains, leafs and rings were affixed to the rock in a colossal collective of images. Depictions of the sun, the moon, stars, sailing ships, sea birds and a gigantic map of the entire continent of Africa had all been composed of the tiny treasures that Jameela had recovered from the wreck of the HMS Worthy. Refracted luminance exposed the epic craftsmanship of the glittering mural, and the painstaking detail in every inch of the priceless picture.
‘Mon Dieu,’ whispered Colette, her mouth still agape, ‘C’est incroyable!’
‘Merci,’ thanked Jameela, ‘I wanted to make something special from the plundered prizes of pirates; something beautiful from the trinkets that fostered so much greed and violence and desire.’
The two observers held hands and marveled at the multitude of majestic minerals meticulously morphed into the mural, like a pretty pair on a date at the Louvre.
‘How long have you been working on this?’ asked the impressed Ivorian, gazing at the gleaming gemstones almost completely covering the walls of the cave.
‘For the better part of seven years,’ answered the artist, subtly admiring her creativity, ‘Everyday for a few hours; either swimming out to the shipwreck, or working away under the falls, here.’
Colette examined every inch of the mural, counting and calculating the sparking stones, searching for one diamond in particular: The Mawu Star.
‘It is not here,’ frowned Colette, rescanning the walls frustratingly, ‘The Mawu Star is not here.’
‘I’m sorry,’ apologized Jameela, ‘Everything I’ve salvaged from the wreck is here, save for a few items in the treehouse. Although nothing like the Star you’re searching for.’
Colette let out a defeated sigh. She felt sick. She had surmised that the Mawu Star was in one of two places in East Africa; the site of the wreck infested with navy personnel or Jameela’s hidden cache. She was hoping it was in the latter. Alas, she was facing the inevitability of another inconvenient encounter with the Royal Navy in order to hopefully recover the prize she had risked so much to acquire. She shrouded her emotions with a poker face, trying her best to conceal her panic and frustration.
Jameela had lied. She already knew the Mawu Star wasn’t in the cave. She knew the necklace very well, and knew it would still be exactly where she had hidden it many moons ago; inside a hollowed out acacia tree surrounded by bottomless, bubbling tar pits in the bowels of the dreaded jungle swamp known as the Deep. It was this tidbit that she was reluctant to share with Colette… for the time being.
If Colette’s feelings for her were true, the mood of the evening would reveal her sincerity, thought Jameela, as the two girls packed away their secret agendas, took their lover by the hand and made their way quietly and covertly out of the hidden cave under the waterfall and away from the private pool…
Ascending into the treehouse boudoir, Jameela admired Colette’s feminine figure under her soaking wet dress as it clung to her alluring curves and accentuated her sensual shape in the waning daylight. Although the jungle was warm, the sopping garment on the gorgeous girl was causing her to shiver as the temperature dropped in the late afternoon.
Chilly Colette welcomed Jameela’s radiating warmth behind her. She allowed the red haired jungle goddess to peel the drenched dress off her trembling body and cover her shoulders with a dry, delicate silk robe… and moist, loving kisses.
Jameela’s hands slid down her girlfriend’s silk covered arms, over her slender waist and onto the soft curves of her hips. She pressed her pelvis into Colette’s backside as she tenderly kissed the French girl’s exposed neck.
Facing the wall of the boudoir, Colette placed her hands on the wooden panels and arched her back, submitting her ass to Jameela, who had begun to slip the silky garment up over her beau’s smooth, caramel thighs.
Colette closed her eyes as a tiny whimper peeped from her lips. Jameela had slid her hand down between the legs of her submissive, silk covered lover, and had began to rub her slowly and sensually.
If there were any reasons to cause doubt about Colette’s sincerity, they weren’t revealing themselves after her first orgasm of the evening caused her to cry out blissfully into the jungle canopy.
Turning and climbing onto Jameela, Colette wrapped her arms and legs around the firm, fit jungle girl and kissed her long and lavishly. The aroused young ladies removed any remaining clothing daring to hang on to them and fluttered into the bed chamber. The mosquito nets gently closed around hanging bed frame as the two lovers fell into each other on the soft, satiny linen.
‘Mon amour, mon cœur,’ whispered the femme française seductively as Jameela caressed her with kisses, from the sensitive skin of her neck all the way down between her elegant, sexy legs to her warm, wet, inviting vagina, ‘mMm… ma fleur… ma petite fleur… UHN!’
Passion erupted in the treehouse bed chamber, as the sinking sun slowly succumbed to the moonlit night that showered the sweating, swaying lovers with subtle luminance. The girls took several turns enrapturing each other with their loving lips, their tickling tongues and their frisky fingertips. They rocked together in the heat of sexual entanglement, gripping each others arms and legs, their pretty, pulsing pussies dripping as they rubbed together, their voices crying out in climactic, cum filled crescendos again and again.
Under the midnight moon the feminine figures wrestled in the silky sheets, dominating and surrendering to eachother’s beautiful bodies, and satiating eachother’s sex.
Even as the morning birds began to sing just before twilight, the young, love making lasses rolled and rocked; dainty whimpers and impassioned sighs escaped their lips as they helplessly drowned in a sexy, sucking quagmire of gooey ecstasy…
Before the sun crept over the treetops, Jameela crawled catlike out of the hanging bed, while a glowing Colette slept soundly and satisfied; her gorgeous, naked body laying partially covered by the silky sheets. Slinking into her leopard print top and bottoms, Jameela snuck out of the sky high sanctuary, down into the dark jungle below.
On the ground the daring dame departed for the Deep, minding her footing as she approached the treacherous, twilit terrain. She needn’t be reminded how misplaced steps in the swamp could lead her long legs into the deadly grasp of a goo filled death trap.
Surrounding the dead trunk of a massive acacia tree was a dismal looking moat filled with bubbling, black ooze. Steam rose like phantom fumes from the perilous pitch into the cool morning air of the Deep. The hot tar’s burping and belching seemed to intensify as Jameela approached, as if warning her or daring her to come closer.
Testing the strength of the few vines that were wrapped around the skeletal limbs of the once mighty tree, Jameela picked the strongest of the lot to swing precariously across the putrid pit. Landing safely at the foot of the expired acacia, she found an eye level opening in the trunk and peered inside. The bold, bright and beautiful profile of the Mawu Star on its ivory beaded chain glared intensely back at the red head explorer.
Jameea took a deep breath and stared at the sparkling stone. Her reluctance to immediately take possession the necklace was fueled by a peculiar inability to retrieve the missing memories of her first encounter with the Star. It was as if they were locked away, deep in her subconscious. She was sure there was a particular reason why she had hidden the necklace here instead of behind the waterfall, but all she could harvest were anxious feelings instead of a clear recollection of events.
The jittery jungle girl finally reached in and grabbed the necklace by the diamond. Instantly, all hell broke loose.
The tsunami of memories were so vivid, Jameela was convinced she was actually reliving the experience. Caught in a semiconscious dream state, she was transported back several years to the day she had found the devious diamond by chance on the ocean floor. It was far from the shipwreck, and was barely visible under the silty sediment. The jewel twinkled in the swimming salvager’s peripheral eye, and Jameela dove down to grasp the glowing gemstone.
On the beach, Jameela’s intuition screamed at her to stop, but the diamond bearing necklace compelled the braving beauty clad in a zebra skin top and loin cloth, to clasp it around her neck. That’s when the doors of her perception were opened uncomfortably wide. That’s when the fear and loathing began. She was overcome by the sensational awareness of the life force of every living thing around her; the plants, the bugs, the birds, the creatures of the forest. It was overwhelming to the point of being unbearable.
She could feel that some of those creatures were aware of her, and her new uninvited clairsentient ability. She could tell they felt threatened by her. She could tell they felt it a necessity to eliminate the threat. By merely donning the diamond, Jameela had become hated and hunted by god only knows what in the jungle.
Even more frightening were the ghosts. Scattered along the beach sand and in the rolling waves of the surf were the images of nearly a dozen Royal Navy sailors; men she recognized from the HMS Worthy; men who were no longer living. They stood silent, pale faced and stoic, glaring back expressionless at Jameela as her panic and paranoia consumed her.
She screamed. None of the feelings nor the fright, nor the phantom seaman dissipated as she wailed in terror.
She closed her eyes. Jameela dared not open them or turn around for fear that she may be confronted by the spectral image of her father… or her dear Lord Anthony.
She ran.
The terrified teenager stopped under the dark jungle canopy to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding. Her pulse drummed in her ears. Her vision was waning. Her hands and feet were tingling. She felt faint… and something else. She felt as though she was being watched; not by a ghostly apparition, but by something living and breathing; by something sinister and spiteful.
Jameela froze. She dared not breathe, she dared not move a muscle. Whatever was stalking her was waiting patiently for her to make a mistake, which she feared would be any sudden movement at all.
The eyes.
Without her new ability Jameela would have never seen them for that distance. All she could make out through the dense folieage were the piercing ocular orbs of a jungle cat, staring down its prey. She knew it was a cat. The Mawu Star told her so.
Startled birds scattered. Petrified Jameela panicked and sprinted. Her predator gave chase. Dashing through thick foliage, the fleeing female tripped. She was exhausted. She could not outrun a full sized lion, or cheetah or whatever it was that was hunting her.
Crying and cripplingly afraid, Jameela haphazardly scurried up a tree, hoping to lose her pursuer in the canopy.
She would not.
Quite literally out on a limb, Jameela felt the buckling branch wobble and crack. Turning around, the corralled jungle girl became paralyzed with fear at the site of the biggest leopard she had ever seen creeping out onto the branch. The enormous cat was easily fifteen stone; the weight of it caused the tree limb to bow. Jameela, who was already shaking, hung on to the branch for dear life as it bobbed up and down.
Sensing their precarious position, the leopard slowed its advance and crouched. The furious feline growled and hissed angrily at Jameela. She tried to shimmy back further but the sound of wood snapping stopped her cold.
‘Leave me alone!’ pleaded Jameela, trying to retain her balance on the branch as the loathing leopard swatted at her with razor sharp claws. The branch crackled disturbingly beneath her.
Backed into an inescapable corner, Jameela’s situation was dismal. She was convinced it would end with her either falling to her death or being ravaged by this fierce jungle foe.
The conniving cat seemed to be aware that the branch wouldn’t hold. It appeared to be spitefully trying to force Jameela to fall. It began to jump on the weakened wood, snapping it more and more with each lunge. The limb began to list heavily. Jameela cried tears of pure trepidation.
‘Please, stop!’ she begged, as the wicked wild cat bounced begrudgingly. The branch heaved dramatically, Jameela slipped.
Hanging to the limb with only her hands, the relentless convulsing was causing her to lose her grip. She was about to let go. She looked down at the ground far below, and back at the leaping leopard.
Jameela felt the diamond on her neck getting strangely hot. She heard voices in her head. Some were speaking in French, some in Swahili, and one in English; ‘Command her to stop.‘
The diamond began to glow.
‘STOP!!!’ screamed Jameela, forcefully from the bottom of her lungs at the aggressive animal. The explosive shriek that echoed eerily through the forest drowned out every other sound.
The leopard froze as if captured in a photograph. Its mouth was agape, seemingly mid growl. Its posture was hunched as if on the downstroke of a lunge. Its eyes twinkled like the diamond on Jamleela’s neck. She, or the possessed jewel had somehow paralyzed the pouncing panther in a state of suspended animation.
This was only confirmed when Jameela climbed carefully back onto the breaking branch. Gingerly sneaking toward the sturdy tree trunk, Jameela’s attention was solely on the predator, who remained motionless. With fleeting strength, Jameela leapt over the cat and sliced its neck with her small fishing knife, in one lightning quick motion. As she grasped the tree trunk, the branch with the blood-spurting beast broke away and tumbled violently down to the jungle below, doling out death decisively. Jameela had averted her own demise, with the help of the nightmarish necklace.
She sobbed.
The memory ended, and Jameela was once again in the Deep. She looked down and examined her leopard print clothing, more of a solemn reminder than a trophy from that fateful day. She also examined the Mawu Star necklace, which had somehow become clasped around her neck while she had been remembering her trauma in her dream-like trance. As in her memory, she had also been noticeably crying. She wondered for a moment if she was awake or still in her semiconscious state.
As before, wearing the necklace brought the unwelcome clairsentient awareness, and the fear and paranoia that came with it. Although Jameela was more mature and more prepared, the intense attack on her senses was nevertheless overwhelming.
Jameela had also engaged in a stint of apparent sleepwalking. While in her trance, she had somehow gotten herself over the goo filled moat around the acacia tree, and was now unsure of which direction she was heading. The bubbling pits of pitch around her suggested she was most definitely still in the Deep.
Staying attuned of any lurking predatory threats, Jameela sought a tall tree to scale and perhaps get a bearing on her location. She felt instinctually like danger was looming all around her.
Momentarily gazing skyward, Jameela foolishly found herself tripped up by a root and falling forward. She landed on her hands a knees in a sticky, shallow puddle of tar, splattering black goop on her fit, feminine body.
While pulling her mired hands out of the stretchy slop, she caught the movement of a silhouette in the corner of her eye. She turned and gasped. The “root” she had tripped over wasn’t a root at all, rather an enormous black skinned tar snake, dripping with oily ooze and staring hungrily at its latest victim.
The snake’s body stretched from the pile of coils several meters behind her all the way around the pool of pitch and back to the pile again. She was surrounded by a slithering serpent as massive in length as the mighty rainforest trees were tall.
Jameela tried to quickly get to her feet, but the thick tar slowed her escape. While she struggled, the giant sprung at her, swiftly wrapping its killer coils around her midsection.
‘Ugh!’ moaned Jameela, as the constricting creature looped around her body several times, squeezing her arms to her sides and immobilizing her long, powerful legs, ‘Let me go!’
The captured jungle girl felt the malevolent monster’s grip tightening as it writhed in the swampy tar. It was getting increasingly difficult for Jameela to breathe.
The snake was like a huge contracting muscle, continuously stretching around and squeezing Jameela’s trapped body tighter and tighter. She could feel her ribcage on the verge of imploding as she gasped for air. Though each time she exhaled, her crushed lungs were unable to draw in more air. She was slowly being smothered.
The hideous head of the tar snake circled around to face the gasping girl. It regarded her momentarily with its horrifying forked tongue flitting intrusively in her face. With a grotesque popping sound, the appalling animal unhinged its jaw and dropped it down. The serpent’s maw had transformed into a gigantic gaping cavity that would have no trouble at all consuming the helpless red head in its clutches. As the tar snake began to stretch its mouth over Jameela’s head, it became apparent that her awful adversary planned on swallowing her alive.
The diamond was getting hot. Voices filled Jameela’s head as she felt herself blacking out. ‘Mawu created Aido Hwedo. Mawu commands Aido Hwedo,’ whispered a disembodied voice. Jameela could almost feel the breath of the whisperer in her ear.
The gluttonous snake’s mouth enveloped Jameela’s head as she closed her eyes. The suffocating jungle girl mustered her remaining breath and a soul full of conviction for one final demand, ‘L..(cough)..Let me go.’
The serpent stuttered and stopped as if contemplating the request. Obeying Jameela’s order, it regurgitated and decompressed its partially eaten breakfast beauty, releasing her from its ghastly grip entirely.
Gasping with bulging eyes, Jameela filled her grateful lungs with the crisp dawn air.
But as the relieved redhead began to stand up, she found herself in another perilous predicament; her legs were sinking into a gooey tar seep. When she tried to pull one of her trapped calves out of the sticky sludge, the other plunged deeper. Every strain and struggle caused the thick, bubbling blackness to swallow more of her lovely legs. Soon, the syrupy slime was devouring her captured thighs. Burping black ooze bubbles popped and splattered onto her trapped hips and ass like a muck monster licking its chops and salivating on its victim.
‘(GASP) I’m sinking fast!’ lamented the helpless heroine, as hot, gooping gunk gurgled around her disappearing waist, ‘It’s so thick! I’m trapped!’
Jameela was growing increasingly desperate. She had quickly found herself up to her chest in bottomless black bog. Gluey tar strung from her heaving breasts as she tried to push herself out of the pit. Soon, the oppressive ooze had locked down her arms. Whimpers of despair peeped from the sinking girl. Jameela of the Jungle was in deep trouble, and getting deeper every second.
Jameela stared at the serpent. Encircled around the treacherous trap, the dormant tar snake lied still, save for its nasty forked tongue flitting and flailing. Its jaw had reset, and it appeared uninterested in the jungle girl’s plight.
‘Mawu created Aido Hwedo. Mawu commands Aido Hwedo…’
The voice echoed in Jameela’s head as the tar sucked her down to her shoulders. This had better work, she thought. If I didn’t, she would most certainly drown in the Deep in a matter of moments.
‘Help me,’ demanded Jameela, as black doom poured in around her neck.
Nothing. The tar snake being referred to as “Aido Hwedo” remained stoic, flicking its foul tongue. Jameela whimpered with panic. Her chin breached the bubbling goo still slurping her down into a gruesome grave.
The Mawu Star and the entire necklace became burning hot. Jameela closed her eyes. She was up to her nose in the terrible bog. Icky tar splattered on her temples. One last chance. She tilted her head back and yelled despairingly at the stone cold serpent,
‘HELP ME!!’…
Jameela could hear her pulse in her ears as she raced through the rainforest. The only sound louder to her was her own gasping. The stress and her heightened senses were making the world seem like it was moving in slow motion. She could see blue sky between the trees and knew the beach was close. The super athletic, super anxious jungle girl twisted and turned at top speed in a skillful display of navigation over, under and around the dense brush until the open air of the shore was before her.
‘Jameela?!’ chirped Colette, walking in her direction at the edge of the forest.
‘Colette!’ yelped Jameela, launching herself into an embrace with her lovely French belle, ‘Oh, sweet Colette! Are you ok? Did they hurt you? Did they…’
‘I am fine, my love,’ smiled Colette reassuringly, holding Jameela close. She could feel the the panting redhead’s heart thundering wildly as their chests pressed together.
‘They could have beaten you,’ lectured Jameela, examining the pretty Ivorian girl, ‘They could have taken you captive, or raped you, or worse!’
‘They would not harm me,’ smiled Colette, kissing her concerned companion, ‘J’ai beaucoup des connexions, souviens-toi?’
‘I know many pirates too,’ stated Jameela, with a tinge of resentment, ‘All too well. Why did you go to them?’
‘They were rounding up locals,’ revealed Colette, ‘They were harassing them about looted treasure from the sunken ship. They were threatening them. I came to secure their release.’
‘How do you know all this?’ inquired Jameela.
‘I as well know many pirates,’ replied Colette, looking over her shoulder suspiciously at the beach, ‘All too well. Come, let us go somewhere safe.’
Hand in hand, the pair made their way back in the direction of the treehouse as Colette relayed some startling revelations, ‘They know you are still alive, Jameela. They know I was with you last night.’
‘But..How…?’ a confused Jameela wondered, stopping to digest what Colette was explaining to her.
‘Spies saw us leaving the swamp together,’ reported Colette, ‘They have been tracking us to see if we will lead them to your hidden treasure.’
Jameela’s head was spinning. This whole debacle was starting to get out of hand. ‘Colette, my love,’ she demanded, ‘I need you to be honest with me. If they know I’m still alive and have been following us, why haven’t they simply arrested us? What is going on?’
Colette looked down at the jungle floor momentarily before letting out a sigh and looking back up into Jameela’s scanning eyes. ‘I came with them,’ she revealed, as a shameful tear rolled down her cheek.
‘You..You’re a spy?’ asked a completely gobsmacked Jameela, with a look of disbelief.
‘Oui,’ admitted Colette, shamefully and teary eyed, ‘I determined that coming here with the Royal Navy was my best chance to find my people’s treasure, to find the “Mawu Star” necklace and bring it home.’
For a moment Jameela was speechless. She shook her head in denial. ‘So, you’re using me to get rich,’ she accused, waiting for an explanation.
‘No..I…’ began Colette, before taking a deep breath and resetting her response, ‘I swear to you that is not why I am here. I do not care about wealth. This was never about getting rich. This was always and only about finding the Star.’
Colette took Jameela by the hands and continued, ‘I may never find the Star, but I have found you… rather, you found me.’
The judging jungle girl smirked and rolled her eyes.
‘I want you to know, Jameela,’ added the confessing Colette, ‘When I heard that Commander Weber’s lost daughter was alive, I did not know what to expect. I thought she would be some entitled morveuse anglaise, bathing in riches, being pampered and protected in some colonial manor.’
‘Gee thanks,’ teased Jameela, facetiously.
Colette smiled and stared into Jameela’s eyes, ‘You are much more than I had envisioned. You are very courageous, and tres intelligente, and beautiful… so so beautiful. Vous ne souciez pas de la richesse, aussi… and that makes you just as beautiful on the inside.’
Jameela blushed, letting the warmth of Collette’s flattery cover her like a cozy blanket. The two girls pulled close together.
‘You risked your life to save me, a complete stranger sinking into the swamp,’ spoke Colette, softly to Jameela as their noses gently touched, ‘When you rescued my body from the quicksand, you as well rescued my heart.’
The smitten jungle girl surrendered unequivocally to Colette’s charm, without a fight. She didn’t want to fight. Looming trust issues aside, it felt so splendid to be complimented and cuddled; so wonderful to be desired… and loved. Years of self imposed exile in the jungle had starved Jameela socially, and sexually. She had denied herself the essential experience of being talked tenderly to, or tempted, or touched. Jameela delivered a reconciling kiss to the soft lips of her lover.
‘Come, pet,’ invited Jameela, ‘Let’s shake these bandits and go find your Star’…
Taking the long way, Jameela led Colette back to the secluded jungle pool they had bathed in the previous day. Making sure they were not being followed, the girls had hastily snuck through the rainforest until they came upon the picturesque pond with its crystal clear water and tranquil waterfall at the base of the East African hillside.
‘Tell me about the…’ prompted Jameela as they waded at knee depth in the private pool.
‘Mawu Star,’ finished Colette, before describing the necklace, ‘It is the most beautiful, bright diamond you will ever see, on a chain made of hand carved ivory beads. Its sparkle is hypnotic. Some say it shines at night, even brighter than the moon.’
‘I’ve found many necklaces from the wreck that match that description,’ pointed out Jameela, as the two girls stood at the bottom of the waterfall.
‘If you had come upon the Star, you would never forget it,’ mentioned Colette, ‘if you had worn it even once, its essence would remain with you always.’
‘I understand,’ nodded Jameela, taking her pretty partner by the hand, ‘We’re going to get wet.’
After a quick glance over her shoulder, Jameela walked through the falling water, with Colette in tow.
On the other side of the pounding falls the two soaking wet girlfriends crouched down and crawled into a small tunnel in the rock. The precarious passage led to an open space as wide as a large bed chamber, and as tall as a cathedral. Natural light flooded the hidden cubby through spaces between the rocks far above.
Colette gasped at the awe inspiring sight revealed by the minuscule sunlight. The walls of the cavern had been decorated with an incredibly intricate mosaic masterpiece of gemstones and jewelry. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, opals, gems of all shapes, sizes and colors, gold and silver chains, leafs and rings were affixed to the rock in a colossal collective of images. Depictions of the sun, the moon, stars, sailing ships, sea birds and a gigantic map of the entire continent of Africa had all been composed of the tiny treasures that Jameela had recovered from the wreck of the HMS Worthy. Refracted luminance exposed the epic craftsmanship of the glittering mural, and the painstaking detail in every inch of the priceless picture.
‘Mon Dieu,’ whispered Colette, her mouth still agape, ‘C’est incroyable!’
‘Merci,’ thanked Jameela, ‘I wanted to make something special from the plundered prizes of pirates; something beautiful from the trinkets that fostered so much greed and violence and desire.’
The two observers held hands and marveled at the multitude of majestic minerals meticulously morphed into the mural, like a pretty pair on a date at the Louvre.
‘How long have you been working on this?’ asked the impressed Ivorian, gazing at the gleaming gemstones almost completely covering the walls of the cave.
‘For the better part of seven years,’ answered the artist, subtly admiring her creativity, ‘Everyday for a few hours; either swimming out to the shipwreck, or working away under the falls, here.’
Colette examined every inch of the mural, counting and calculating the sparking stones, searching for one diamond in particular: The Mawu Star.
‘It is not here,’ frowned Colette, rescanning the walls frustratingly, ‘The Mawu Star is not here.’
‘I’m sorry,’ apologized Jameela, ‘Everything I’ve salvaged from the wreck is here, save for a few items in the treehouse. Although nothing like the Star you’re searching for.’
Colette let out a defeated sigh. She felt sick. She had surmised that the Mawu Star was in one of two places in East Africa; the site of the wreck infested with navy personnel or Jameela’s hidden cache. She was hoping it was in the latter. Alas, she was facing the inevitability of another inconvenient encounter with the Royal Navy in order to hopefully recover the prize she had risked so much to acquire. She shrouded her emotions with a poker face, trying her best to conceal her panic and frustration.
Jameela had lied. She already knew the Mawu Star wasn’t in the cave. She knew the necklace very well, and knew it would still be exactly where she had hidden it many moons ago; inside a hollowed out acacia tree surrounded by bottomless, bubbling tar pits in the bowels of the dreaded jungle swamp known as the Deep. It was this tidbit that she was reluctant to share with Colette… for the time being.
If Colette’s feelings for her were true, the mood of the evening would reveal her sincerity, thought Jameela, as the two girls packed away their secret agendas, took their lover by the hand and made their way quietly and covertly out of the hidden cave under the waterfall and away from the private pool…
Ascending into the treehouse boudoir, Jameela admired Colette’s feminine figure under her soaking wet dress as it clung to her alluring curves and accentuated her sensual shape in the waning daylight. Although the jungle was warm, the sopping garment on the gorgeous girl was causing her to shiver as the temperature dropped in the late afternoon.
Chilly Colette welcomed Jameela’s radiating warmth behind her. She allowed the red haired jungle goddess to peel the drenched dress off her trembling body and cover her shoulders with a dry, delicate silk robe… and moist, loving kisses.
Jameela’s hands slid down her girlfriend’s silk covered arms, over her slender waist and onto the soft curves of her hips. She pressed her pelvis into Colette’s backside as she tenderly kissed the French girl’s exposed neck.
Facing the wall of the boudoir, Colette placed her hands on the wooden panels and arched her back, submitting her ass to Jameela, who had begun to slip the silky garment up over her beau’s smooth, caramel thighs.
Colette closed her eyes as a tiny whimper peeped from her lips. Jameela had slid her hand down between the legs of her submissive, silk covered lover, and had began to rub her slowly and sensually.
If there were any reasons to cause doubt about Colette’s sincerity, they weren’t revealing themselves after her first orgasm of the evening caused her to cry out blissfully into the jungle canopy.
Turning and climbing onto Jameela, Colette wrapped her arms and legs around the firm, fit jungle girl and kissed her long and lavishly. The aroused young ladies removed any remaining clothing daring to hang on to them and fluttered into the bed chamber. The mosquito nets gently closed around hanging bed frame as the two lovers fell into each other on the soft, satiny linen.
‘Mon amour, mon cœur,’ whispered the femme française seductively as Jameela caressed her with kisses, from the sensitive skin of her neck all the way down between her elegant, sexy legs to her warm, wet, inviting vagina, ‘mMm… ma fleur… ma petite fleur… UHN!’
Passion erupted in the treehouse bed chamber, as the sinking sun slowly succumbed to the moonlit night that showered the sweating, swaying lovers with subtle luminance. The girls took several turns enrapturing each other with their loving lips, their tickling tongues and their frisky fingertips. They rocked together in the heat of sexual entanglement, gripping each others arms and legs, their pretty, pulsing pussies dripping as they rubbed together, their voices crying out in climactic, cum filled crescendos again and again.
Under the midnight moon the feminine figures wrestled in the silky sheets, dominating and surrendering to eachother’s beautiful bodies, and satiating eachother’s sex.
Even as the morning birds began to sing just before twilight, the young, love making lasses rolled and rocked; dainty whimpers and impassioned sighs escaped their lips as they helplessly drowned in a sexy, sucking quagmire of gooey ecstasy…
Before the sun crept over the treetops, Jameela crawled catlike out of the hanging bed, while a glowing Colette slept soundly and satisfied; her gorgeous, naked body laying partially covered by the silky sheets. Slinking into her leopard print top and bottoms, Jameela snuck out of the sky high sanctuary, down into the dark jungle below.
On the ground the daring dame departed for the Deep, minding her footing as she approached the treacherous, twilit terrain. She needn’t be reminded how misplaced steps in the swamp could lead her long legs into the deadly grasp of a goo filled death trap.
Surrounding the dead trunk of a massive acacia tree was a dismal looking moat filled with bubbling, black ooze. Steam rose like phantom fumes from the perilous pitch into the cool morning air of the Deep. The hot tar’s burping and belching seemed to intensify as Jameela approached, as if warning her or daring her to come closer.
Testing the strength of the few vines that were wrapped around the skeletal limbs of the once mighty tree, Jameela picked the strongest of the lot to swing precariously across the putrid pit. Landing safely at the foot of the expired acacia, she found an eye level opening in the trunk and peered inside. The bold, bright and beautiful profile of the Mawu Star on its ivory beaded chain glared intensely back at the red head explorer.
Jameea took a deep breath and stared at the sparkling stone. Her reluctance to immediately take possession the necklace was fueled by a peculiar inability to retrieve the missing memories of her first encounter with the Star. It was as if they were locked away, deep in her subconscious. She was sure there was a particular reason why she had hidden the necklace here instead of behind the waterfall, but all she could harvest were anxious feelings instead of a clear recollection of events.
The jittery jungle girl finally reached in and grabbed the necklace by the diamond. Instantly, all hell broke loose.
The tsunami of memories were so vivid, Jameela was convinced she was actually reliving the experience. Caught in a semiconscious dream state, she was transported back several years to the day she had found the devious diamond by chance on the ocean floor. It was far from the shipwreck, and was barely visible under the silty sediment. The jewel twinkled in the swimming salvager’s peripheral eye, and Jameela dove down to grasp the glowing gemstone.
On the beach, Jameela’s intuition screamed at her to stop, but the diamond bearing necklace compelled the braving beauty clad in a zebra skin top and loin cloth, to clasp it around her neck. That’s when the doors of her perception were opened uncomfortably wide. That’s when the fear and loathing began. She was overcome by the sensational awareness of the life force of every living thing around her; the plants, the bugs, the birds, the creatures of the forest. It was overwhelming to the point of being unbearable.
She could feel that some of those creatures were aware of her, and her new uninvited clairsentient ability. She could tell they felt threatened by her. She could tell they felt it a necessity to eliminate the threat. By merely donning the diamond, Jameela had become hated and hunted by god only knows what in the jungle.
Even more frightening were the ghosts. Scattered along the beach sand and in the rolling waves of the surf were the images of nearly a dozen Royal Navy sailors; men she recognized from the HMS Worthy; men who were no longer living. They stood silent, pale faced and stoic, glaring back expressionless at Jameela as her panic and paranoia consumed her.
She screamed. None of the feelings nor the fright, nor the phantom seaman dissipated as she wailed in terror.
She closed her eyes. Jameela dared not open them or turn around for fear that she may be confronted by the spectral image of her father… or her dear Lord Anthony.
She ran.
The terrified teenager stopped under the dark jungle canopy to catch her breath. Her heart was pounding. Her pulse drummed in her ears. Her vision was waning. Her hands and feet were tingling. She felt faint… and something else. She felt as though she was being watched; not by a ghostly apparition, but by something living and breathing; by something sinister and spiteful.
Jameela froze. She dared not breathe, she dared not move a muscle. Whatever was stalking her was waiting patiently for her to make a mistake, which she feared would be any sudden movement at all.
The eyes.
Without her new ability Jameela would have never seen them for that distance. All she could make out through the dense folieage were the piercing ocular orbs of a jungle cat, staring down its prey. She knew it was a cat. The Mawu Star told her so.
Startled birds scattered. Petrified Jameela panicked and sprinted. Her predator gave chase. Dashing through thick foliage, the fleeing female tripped. She was exhausted. She could not outrun a full sized lion, or cheetah or whatever it was that was hunting her.
Crying and cripplingly afraid, Jameela haphazardly scurried up a tree, hoping to lose her pursuer in the canopy.
She would not.
Quite literally out on a limb, Jameela felt the buckling branch wobble and crack. Turning around, the corralled jungle girl became paralyzed with fear at the site of the biggest leopard she had ever seen creeping out onto the branch. The enormous cat was easily fifteen stone; the weight of it caused the tree limb to bow. Jameela, who was already shaking, hung on to the branch for dear life as it bobbed up and down.
Sensing their precarious position, the leopard slowed its advance and crouched. The furious feline growled and hissed angrily at Jameela. She tried to shimmy back further but the sound of wood snapping stopped her cold.
‘Leave me alone!’ pleaded Jameela, trying to retain her balance on the branch as the loathing leopard swatted at her with razor sharp claws. The branch crackled disturbingly beneath her.
Backed into an inescapable corner, Jameela’s situation was dismal. She was convinced it would end with her either falling to her death or being ravaged by this fierce jungle foe.
The conniving cat seemed to be aware that the branch wouldn’t hold. It appeared to be spitefully trying to force Jameela to fall. It began to jump on the weakened wood, snapping it more and more with each lunge. The limb began to list heavily. Jameela cried tears of pure trepidation.
‘Please, stop!’ she begged, as the wicked wild cat bounced begrudgingly. The branch heaved dramatically, Jameela slipped.
Hanging to the limb with only her hands, the relentless convulsing was causing her to lose her grip. She was about to let go. She looked down at the ground far below, and back at the leaping leopard.
Jameela felt the diamond on her neck getting strangely hot. She heard voices in her head. Some were speaking in French, some in Swahili, and one in English; ‘Command her to stop.‘
The diamond began to glow.
‘STOP!!!’ screamed Jameela, forcefully from the bottom of her lungs at the aggressive animal. The explosive shriek that echoed eerily through the forest drowned out every other sound.
The leopard froze as if captured in a photograph. Its mouth was agape, seemingly mid growl. Its posture was hunched as if on the downstroke of a lunge. Its eyes twinkled like the diamond on Jamleela’s neck. She, or the possessed jewel had somehow paralyzed the pouncing panther in a state of suspended animation.
This was only confirmed when Jameela climbed carefully back onto the breaking branch. Gingerly sneaking toward the sturdy tree trunk, Jameela’s attention was solely on the predator, who remained motionless. With fleeting strength, Jameela leapt over the cat and sliced its neck with her small fishing knife, in one lightning quick motion. As she grasped the tree trunk, the branch with the blood-spurting beast broke away and tumbled violently down to the jungle below, doling out death decisively. Jameela had averted her own demise, with the help of the nightmarish necklace.
She sobbed.
The memory ended, and Jameela was once again in the Deep. She looked down and examined her leopard print clothing, more of a solemn reminder than a trophy from that fateful day. She also examined the Mawu Star necklace, which had somehow become clasped around her neck while she had been remembering her trauma in her dream-like trance. As in her memory, she had also been noticeably crying. She wondered for a moment if she was awake or still in her semiconscious state.
As before, wearing the necklace brought the unwelcome clairsentient awareness, and the fear and paranoia that came with it. Although Jameela was more mature and more prepared, the intense attack on her senses was nevertheless overwhelming.
Jameela had also engaged in a stint of apparent sleepwalking. While in her trance, she had somehow gotten herself over the goo filled moat around the acacia tree, and was now unsure of which direction she was heading. The bubbling pits of pitch around her suggested she was most definitely still in the Deep.
Staying attuned of any lurking predatory threats, Jameela sought a tall tree to scale and perhaps get a bearing on her location. She felt instinctually like danger was looming all around her.
Momentarily gazing skyward, Jameela foolishly found herself tripped up by a root and falling forward. She landed on her hands a knees in a sticky, shallow puddle of tar, splattering black goop on her fit, feminine body.
While pulling her mired hands out of the stretchy slop, she caught the movement of a silhouette in the corner of her eye. She turned and gasped. The “root” she had tripped over wasn’t a root at all, rather an enormous black skinned tar snake, dripping with oily ooze and staring hungrily at its latest victim.
The snake’s body stretched from the pile of coils several meters behind her all the way around the pool of pitch and back to the pile again. She was surrounded by a slithering serpent as massive in length as the mighty rainforest trees were tall.
Jameela tried to quickly get to her feet, but the thick tar slowed her escape. While she struggled, the giant sprung at her, swiftly wrapping its killer coils around her midsection.
‘Ugh!’ moaned Jameela, as the constricting creature looped around her body several times, squeezing her arms to her sides and immobilizing her long, powerful legs, ‘Let me go!’
The captured jungle girl felt the malevolent monster’s grip tightening as it writhed in the swampy tar. It was getting increasingly difficult for Jameela to breathe.
The snake was like a huge contracting muscle, continuously stretching around and squeezing Jameela’s trapped body tighter and tighter. She could feel her ribcage on the verge of imploding as she gasped for air. Though each time she exhaled, her crushed lungs were unable to draw in more air. She was slowly being smothered.
The hideous head of the tar snake circled around to face the gasping girl. It regarded her momentarily with its horrifying forked tongue flitting intrusively in her face. With a grotesque popping sound, the appalling animal unhinged its jaw and dropped it down. The serpent’s maw had transformed into a gigantic gaping cavity that would have no trouble at all consuming the helpless red head in its clutches. As the tar snake began to stretch its mouth over Jameela’s head, it became apparent that her awful adversary planned on swallowing her alive.
The diamond was getting hot. Voices filled Jameela’s head as she felt herself blacking out. ‘Mawu created Aido Hwedo. Mawu commands Aido Hwedo,’ whispered a disembodied voice. Jameela could almost feel the breath of the whisperer in her ear.
The gluttonous snake’s mouth enveloped Jameela’s head as she closed her eyes. The suffocating jungle girl mustered her remaining breath and a soul full of conviction for one final demand, ‘L..(cough)..Let me go.’
The serpent stuttered and stopped as if contemplating the request. Obeying Jameela’s order, it regurgitated and decompressed its partially eaten breakfast beauty, releasing her from its ghastly grip entirely.
Gasping with bulging eyes, Jameela filled her grateful lungs with the crisp dawn air.
But as the relieved redhead began to stand up, she found herself in another perilous predicament; her legs were sinking into a gooey tar seep. When she tried to pull one of her trapped calves out of the sticky sludge, the other plunged deeper. Every strain and struggle caused the thick, bubbling blackness to swallow more of her lovely legs. Soon, the syrupy slime was devouring her captured thighs. Burping black ooze bubbles popped and splattered onto her trapped hips and ass like a muck monster licking its chops and salivating on its victim.
‘(GASP) I’m sinking fast!’ lamented the helpless heroine, as hot, gooping gunk gurgled around her disappearing waist, ‘It’s so thick! I’m trapped!’
Jameela was growing increasingly desperate. She had quickly found herself up to her chest in bottomless black bog. Gluey tar strung from her heaving breasts as she tried to push herself out of the pit. Soon, the oppressive ooze had locked down her arms. Whimpers of despair peeped from the sinking girl. Jameela of the Jungle was in deep trouble, and getting deeper every second.
Jameela stared at the serpent. Encircled around the treacherous trap, the dormant tar snake lied still, save for its nasty forked tongue flitting and flailing. Its jaw had reset, and it appeared uninterested in the jungle girl’s plight.
‘Mawu created Aido Hwedo. Mawu commands Aido Hwedo…’
The voice echoed in Jameela’s head as the tar sucked her down to her shoulders. This had better work, she thought. If I didn’t, she would most certainly drown in the Deep in a matter of moments.
‘Help me,’ demanded Jameela, as black doom poured in around her neck.
Nothing. The tar snake being referred to as “Aido Hwedo” remained stoic, flicking its foul tongue. Jameela whimpered with panic. Her chin breached the bubbling goo still slurping her down into a gruesome grave.
The Mawu Star and the entire necklace became burning hot. Jameela closed her eyes. She was up to her nose in the terrible bog. Icky tar splattered on her temples. One last chance. She tilted her head back and yelled despairingly at the stone cold serpent,
‘HELP ME!!’…
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Jinn
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
Part four of my five part ‘Jungle Deep’ series. Please be advised that this chapter contains scenes depicting graphic sexual and physical violence. Tread lightly if you are sensitive to content of that nature.
The sun crept out of the Indian Ocean to burn the morning fog that hung over East Africa like a vampiric vapor. Eight monstrous merchant marines shoved their dinghy free from the sand bar adjacent to the beach. Six of the sailors jumped aboard and manned the oars, paddling the small craft into the cove toward the cluster of ships inhabiting the coastal waters.
With them was a female passenger, an attractive, caramel skinned girl in a pretty yellow dress. The petite young lady with long dark braided hair glanced back at the beach with a look of disquietude, as if bracing for some dramatic event to unfold. With a deep sigh, she turned and faced the row of Royal Navy and civilian vessels before her.
On the shore the two remaining mariners went about their work performing maintenance on another beached rowboat.
After laughing off an accusation of being a “dog fucker”, one of the sailors trekked into the jungle to find adequate lumber for a patch job. Whistling a popular French African mariner’s tune, “Gilles” surveyed a few prospective fallen trees.
From seemingly out of nowhere, a dark shape sprung from the dense foliage and attached itself to the startled seaman’s back, wrapping a knife wielding arm around his neck and locking his arms with its spidery legs. The large man was thrice the size of this perpetrator, but was being easily handled.
‘Where are they taking her?’ demanded a female whisperer, as she held the super sharp edge of her knife to the man’s thick neck.
‘W..Wherever she want,’ replied the surprised sailor, in broken English.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped the ferocious female, putting some pressure on her blade.
‘Je m’excuse, mademoiselle,’ clarified the creeped out crewman, ‘If Capitaine Colette say “Take me to de ship,” den we take her to her ship.’
‘Her ship?’ repeated the interrogating assailant, her glowing neck jewelry was digging uncomfortably sharp and peculiarly hot into the man’s head.
‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ cooperated the big African boatman sincerely, ‘La “Diable Blanche” is belong to her. C'est ça.’ The subdued shipmate pointed to the only ship in the cove not flying the Royal Navy standard Union Jack.
The fierce femme scowled, and let the man go. He turned to face his adversary; a filth covered female, as intimidating as she was attractive. Her nearly naked body was stained with black oily residue, her hair matted and slicked back. Her eyes were alluring yet menacing. Her necklace glowed and sparkled mysteriously, and undeniably hypnotic. He felt oddly compelled to mind his manners and abide by whatever instruction this soiled yet strangely sultry girl chose to dictate.
‘My girlfriend, Captain Scallywag,’ a tar smeared Jameela whispered to herself, shaking her head in self reflection, ‘I am but a fool. I should have known.’ But deep down she did know. Jameela was being taken for a ride. She’d known all along and chose to ignore it, from the moment she found Colette sinking helplessly in quicksand. She had felt it even as they made wild, passionate love over and over in the moonlit treetops. It was so easy to pretend it was real, when Colette made her swoon with her tender French terms of endearment… So easy to pretend that it wasn’t too good to be true, while sliding between Colette’s invitingly silky thighs.
Jameela was angry, at herself and at “Captain” Colette. However she knew she couldn’t stay angry. She was falling head over heels for her femme française.
‘Monsieur, une moment s’il te plaît,’ she signaled for the stand-by seaman to come closer with a wagging of her finger, to which he gladly complied. Jameela was confident that she had total control of this sailor’s faculties, with a little help from the Mawu Star necklace. She leaned into Gilles’s ear and gave her instructions, ‘Vous ecoutez…’
‘So you’ve actually seen the jewels?’ inquired Admiral William Burr, squinting with curiosity in lantern light on the deck of the Diable Blanche, as the moon sank over the predawn East African rainforest.
‘Indeed,’ replied Captain Colette reluctantly.
‘Then why not just bring them to us? Burr commanded sternly, ‘Why all the games?’
‘This is not a game, Admiral.’ argued Colette confidently, ‘There are lives at stake. Some of your men have already gone missing while searching for this treasure. I am simply ensuring the well being of my crew, and the trust and protection of the people of East Africa, whom I represent. Just as you represent Her Majesty the Queen, respectfully.’
‘Making sure you get your cut, more like,’ squawked Captain Aaron Bronson impatiently, ‘Have you told the wild woman yet, witch?’
‘Aboard my ship you will address me as “Captain,” Captain Bronson,’ corrected Colette, concealing her loathing for this Navy gentleman, ‘I need not remind you that the matter does not warrant your concern in the least. Furthermore, I will tell her at a time of my choosing.’
‘And what time would that be, “Captain”?’ snapped back Bronson, laying the sarcasm on thick, ‘When she coughs up the treasure, or when you’re done licking all honey from her pot?’
‘Mind your tongue Captain,’ threatened Colette, ‘Unless you want it flayed.’
‘I am an Officer of the Royal N…’ started Bronson, fuming at the French girl’s audacity.
‘Enough!’ barked Admiral Burr, silencing the battling bickerers, ‘Both of you!’
The Admiral closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before continuing. ‘Captain,’ he started calmly, facing Colette, ‘The salvage crew will be done drudging the cove and recovering the lost cargo of the HMS Worthy in less than a fortnight. I hope by then you and your “Jameela of the Jungle” will be willing to negotiate. Lest we keep Her Majesty waiting.’
‘Aye, Admiral,’ answered Colette, compliantly, as Bronson snickered.
‘Captain Bronson,’ continued the Admiral, still keeping eye contact with Colette, ‘Kindly remove your Royal Navy Officer’s ass from Captain Weber’s ship.’
Bronson mumbled something resembling an acknowledgement, saluted enthusiastically and headed for an awaiting cutter after bearing his teeth to Colette.
‘I knew your father quite well Captain Weber,’ admitted Admiral Burr, putting a hand on Colette’s shoulder, ‘Like myself, he was a stubborn man, not easy to please. I am certain he would be very proud of your conviction, and your efforts here.’
‘Merci, Admiral,’ answered Colette, humbly.
As the Admiral and his entourage made their way back to his yacht, Colette snuck away to her private chamber in the aft section of the Diable Blanche. She had granted the crew leave for the evening, for which they took to camping on the beach and sharing food and drink with the local Mijikenda tribe folk, to make amends for their recent harsh treatment by the Royal Navy. The Captain was alone aboard her ship, and was missing the company of her lovely lady.
Opening the door to her quarters, she gasped at the figure standing before her, dimly illuminated by a hanging lantern.
‘Mon fleur!’ cried Colette, rushing toward Jameela, stopping just shy of her beautiful red haired surprise guest. An awkward silence dropped between them like an invisible barrier. They were inches apart but felt miles away from each other. Neither of them knew what to do. Their passion was present, but so was something else; tension. After what seemed like several minutes but in actual fact was a few seconds, the two lovers leapt into each other.
The girls hugged and kissed like it might be their last embrace. Neither wanted to let go. Neither wanted to face the inevitable truths about to come to light. They just wanted to enjoy a few peaceful moments of being with each other before…
‘Jameela, there is something I need to tell you,’ confessed Colette, holding her lover and fighting back tears, ‘It cannot wait any longer.’
‘I know. I know. You’re a swashbuckling pirate.’ cut in Jameela, ‘It’s alright,
Captain.’ The jovial jungle girl futilely hoped it was the end of the reveal, knowing full well it wasn’t. She couldn’t ignore or forget the surname she heard the Admiral address Colette with.
‘No,’ clarified Colette, ‘I mean yes, but there is something else.’ the French girl fessed, ‘Something you must know…’
‘I don’t care what it is,’ resisted Jameela, shaking her head and holding Colette close, ‘So you’re Queen of the Pirates, or you’re wanted on three continents and you held back the truth to protect me… whatever it is, I don’t care.’
They hugged again quietly until Colette broke the silence with a sniffle and a sigh.
‘Jameela,’ wept Colette sadly, but carried on determined with her truthing, ‘When you said we had much in common…’
‘No, no NO! Don’t tell me,’ pleaded Jameela, starting to cry as well, touching Colette’s face, ‘I don’t want to know. Let’s just leave here. Let’s get away from this awful place…’
‘Jameela,’ whispered Colette, tears streaming from her eyes as she let go of her girlfriend’s waist and clutched her arms.
‘Let’s sail to Canada,’ blurted Jameela, already in total denial of what she was about to hear, ‘We..We can start over there. We can forget all of this gold and greed and stupid, stupid necklaces!’
Jameela sobbed, burying her head on Colette’s shoulder. She felt an emotional storm coming; something excruciatingly unbearable, something finite.
‘My love,’ Colette began to disclose, with another long tearful sigh, ‘Before we ever shared a bed, we shared blood.’
The words struck like a knife in Jameela’s heart. She defiantly shook her head, as if it would help her to forget, to rewind time to a moment that didn’t yield so much torturous heartache.
‘Commander Ernest Weber was your father,’ Colette started to explain before gulping nervously with some difficulty. After a deep breath, she struck her lover with her earth shattering revelation, ‘He was also my father… Jameela, you and I… we are half sisters.’
Colette covered her gasping mouth and froze with shock as if she herself were realizing it for the first time. The actual utterance of this fearful fact to her lover… her sister, had delivered Colette to a painful enlightenment. She shook her head and wept as the gravity of her confession sucked the warmth from her soul, leaving her sinking into a quagmire of consequence.
The inconsolable jungle girl continued to sob and shake her head on her sister’s shoulder. Colette tried to hug her again, but this time Jameela pushed away. Her eyes were completely red and waterlogged. Her face was so severely contorted with grief that for a moment she was nearly unrecognizable to Colette.
‘You… you lied,’ Jameela accused, backing away from her sorrowful sibling, ‘This whole time! You could have told me! You could have admitted it when I saved you from the bog! You could have told me before we shared our bodies with each other!’
‘Jameela, I…’ peeped Colette, desperately, ‘I wanted to tell you! But then we got so close, and we kissed and… I did not want to lose that feeling! I did not want to lose YOU! I love…’
‘I shared my home with you! I shared my secrets with you! I shared my bed with you!’ screamed Jameela, indictively, ‘You’re breaking my heart!’
Jameela reached over onto the nearby table and retrieved a velvet pouch, clenching it resentfully before tossing it angrily at Colette. The grieving girl caught the partially open bag, noticing the gleaming diamond of the Mawu Star necklace starting back at her.
‘I knew where the diamond was. I’ve always known,’ divulged the weeping Jameela, ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t trust you. I started feeling guilty because you made me feel so special, like you actually cared more about me than that god forsaken Star! I came to apologize and beg your forgiveness. I’m such a fool!’
‘Jameela, mon fleur, I love you!’ proclaimed Colette, dropping to her knees in sheer anguish and begging with her hands clasped, ‘Please say you love me! I cannot bare it if you do not!’
‘Yes,’ admitted Jameela, checking her anger, ‘I love you. You made me fall in love with you, and that’s why this hurts so much! So, so much!’
With a flood of tears pouring from her eyes, Jameela clutched her chest as if her still beating heart was being pulled out of her. She imagined that this is what it must feel like to be shot with a gun. The pain was real. It was unbridled. It was unequaled. It was the most horrible feeling that she had ever felt.
‘My sweet Colette,’ the sniffling red head continued, wiping away her tears and kneeling down opposite her femme française, ‘I will always love you… and I never want to see you again.’
Jameela lifted Colette’s chin, caressed her soft, wet cheek and set her free with one last kiss. Holding back a tsunami of emotions, the devastated jungle girl rose laboriously to her feet. She solemnly walked out of the Captain’s quarters, leaving an emotionally crushed Colette drowning hopelessly in a puddle of bitter shame and salty tears on the loneliest chamber floor of the seven seas.
Quietly shutting the cabin door, Jameela turned around and was met by a contingent of Navy sailors brandishing rifles, all pointing at the startled jungle girl.
‘Well, well,’ croaked Captain Bronson, with a smile that looked more like a gnash, ‘If it isn’t the long lost Charlotte Weber.’
Jameela stood very still, as the bayonets of a half dozen British rifles pointed precariously at her. ‘I don’t go by that name anymore,’ she quipped, glaring distrustfully at her captor.
‘Of course you don’t,’ offered Bronson, pacing in front of her with his arms tucked comfortably behind his back. Turning to approach Jameela, the tall officer stopped inches from her and began to lewdly survey her alluring figure. He made no effort to conceal his sexist gawking as he ogled her enticing breasts and peeked behind her to steal a glance at her supple rear end. He licked his chops in her face like a hungry hyena readying to feast on an injured gazelle.
‘Out for a little early morning “sibling nibbling,” are we?’ asked the corrosive Captain as the armed mariners laughed at his offensive remark.
Jameela felt her temper flare uncontrollably. Her emotions were already boiling and this seafaring son-of-a-bitch’s cocky-jockey posturing put her over the edge.
She slapped his face.
Some of the sailors gasped, some chuckled. A surprised Bronson put his palm to his stricken cheek and began to dole out a threat, ‘Do you know the penalty for striking an Officer of the Royal N…’
She slapped him again.
Bronson stopped mid lecture and glared wide eye with his mouth agape. The sailors roared with applause and laughter.
Not to be outdone, the vengeful villain grabbed Jameela by the hair and pulled her head back. ‘Listen you little monkey-fucking bitch, I am…’
The end of Jameela’s hunting knife travelled upward from her thigh, slicing a gash several inches long into the red, freshly double-tapped face of Bronson. He instantly let go of the jungle girl to tend to his wound, that was now gushing crimson and would require medical attention.
This time, the sentry seamen did not laugh. They positioned themselves to run through their crazed captive with their bayonets before the bleeding Bronson halted them, ‘Stand down, stand down.’
Two of the mariners grabbed Jameela by the arms, knocking her blade to the deck of the Diable Blanche.
The door of the Captian’s quarters opened to a charging Colette. ‘I command you to let her go!’ she dictated, tears still flowing from her eyes. Navy sailors inhibited her from reaching Jameela.
‘Oh, so sorry, Captain,’ snickered Bronson, ‘By authority of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy I am taking this savage into custody for assault and attempted murder of an Officer of the Crown.’
‘Merde!’ hissed Colette, before disgustedly spitting at the feet of her British counterpart.
‘You’re confined to quarters, witch,’ he ordered vindictively, ‘Take this jungle jester to the Punch and chain her up in the boiler room. Let her sweat out her sins down there.’
Colette broke through the blockade of brutes and ran to Jameela, throwing her arms around her. The guards balked.
‘Let them have their farewell,’ granted Bronson, holding a blood soaked handkerchief to his face, ‘Someone find that damned doctor!’
Jameela felt Colette stealthily clasping the Mawu Star around her neck as the two embraced.
‘I don’t want this,’ Jameela protested, looking down at the cursed Vodun jewelry.
‘D’accord,’ whispered the French Captain hugging her sister tenderly, ‘But you will need it. Goodbye, my love.’ Colette held Jameela’s face and kissed her before the the pair were forcefully separated. They were both sadly aware that it was more than likely the last time they would ever see one other again. As the Navy dragged Jameela away into the darkness, the forbidden lovers looked into each other’s eyes until a closing cabin door severed their visual connection…
The HMS Punch was truly an iron ogre. The bowels of Captain Bronson’s Bramble-class gunboat were stifling hot in contrast to the cold, dark look of the place. The boiler room was like the digestive tract of a giant metal monster. Dozens of copper pipes, stretched throughout the narrow corridors, connecting tanks and boilers, before disappearing through a ceiling, floor or walls into the ships other compartments like industrial intestines.
Jameela’s wrists were already tender and sore from the shackles that bound her arms to a scorching pipe overhead. The rigid iron restraints made her struggling painful. Her mouth had been gagged with a foul tasting rag that was likely someone’s sweat soaked handkerchief.
A few feet away the ship’s doctor tended to the seated Captain Bronson’s facial laceration, carefully stitching his flesh as he moaned and cussed. Each time he twitched from the pain he would glare resentfully at the captured female chained to his ship.
‘There, Captain,’ stated the puny physician, finalizing a brilliant sewing job from behind tiny spectacles, ‘That should just about do it. Try to keep it clean, if you can.’
The captain admired the doctor’s handiwork in a small shaving mirror. ‘Marvelous, doctor,’ he critiqued, ‘A scar will make me look more dangerous. Don’t you think?’ No one answered.
Bronson turned sneering to Jameela, ‘Now, our “wild woman” here is going to have a little meet & greet with some of the crew. We need to administer something to make her “wild” a little more “mild.’
‘Aye Captain,’ sighed the mild mannered medicine man as he prepared a syringe with a clear fluid and approached the jungle girl, writhing protestingly in her restraints.
‘NnnNNnn!’ Jameela moaned from under her gag cloth, staring begrudgingly at the miniature medic as he cautiously prepared to prick the powerless prisoner.
‘My dear Charlotte,’ he whispered, which seemed to somewhat subdue the flailing female upon hearing her birth name, ‘Please, sweet girl… They’re going to hurt you. This will numb some of the pain. I beg you, please let me help you.’
Reluctantly, Jameela relaxed her defensive posture and subtly nodded. A frightened teardrop fell from her eye. The doctor jabbed her submissive rear end with the needle and squeezed the plunger. A euphoric high immediately began to travel through her body, like a cozy blanket, hugging her from the inside.
As Jameela felt the drug quickly begin to inhibit her motor skills, the metal marine door of the boiler room creaked open. In sauntered nearly a dozen rugged looking crew members, laughing and rough housing with each other as they filed into the compartment. Most of the grimy goons were clad in stained tank tops and soiled trousers. As their eyes gazed upon their pretty prize, the men leered and panned out around Jameela like wolves stalking a cornered deer. Cat calls and whistles squashed the serene sounds of hissing steam and water droplets that had occupied the oppressively hot and humid compartment.
‘Gentleman,’ boasted the Captain loudly, silencing the bundle of brutes, ‘Behold, a little gift for my hard working shipmates.’ The goons applauded, before Bronson continued, ‘Do whatever you wish with her but take heed; she absolutely must be able to walk when you’re done. We’re going for a little hike later, and I need her able. If she is not able, there will be consequences, for ALL of you. Is that understood?’
‘Aye, Captain,’ several of them acknowledged as they ogled the helplessly hanging heroine in their midst.
‘Excellent,’ concluded Bronson, grinning deviously at the defeated damsel. ‘And now if you will excuse me, I have a treasure to plunder,’ he revealed as he bowed and made his way to the open door with the dinky doctor trailing close behind him, ‘Enjoy your breakfast; a little “taste of Africa”!’
Even heavily sedated Jameela could still feel her anxiety soar as several of the salivating seamen approached her. They laughed and joked inappropriately in a British accent so thick that she could barely understand them.
One of the larger menacing mariners circled around Jameela and latched himself on her backside. She tried futilely to wiggle away but the man’s huge hands grabbed her waist and pulled her ass forcefully back against his crotch. He pressed against her back and sniffed her hair like some kind of wild animal. She could feel the beastly brute’s slowly growing erection hardening between her cheeks while he groped her enticingly sensual thighs and helped himself to aggressive handfuls of her rousingly round buttocks.
Another greasy looking goon meandered over in front of the drugged damsel and began to fondle her exposed chest. His disgusting semi-toothless grin smelled as awful as it looked. He reeked of stale tobacco and rum rations. Greedily, he pulled Jameela’s top up and began to lick and suck her supple breasts. His slimy, scaly tongue swirled repulsively around her nipples as she moaned in disgust. ‘Like that do ya?’ The drooling droog exuded, as his victim tried not to vomit from his stench. ‘Nnn!’ whimpered Jameela through her mouth gag as the sleazy sailor slid his hand down and began to rub his grubby fingers between her squirming legs.
Jameela glanced despairingly around the dimly lit boiler room at the other crew members. They were all watching with sinister grins, hooting and hollering, spouting lewd remarks and encouraging the pair of pervy perpetrators molesting the poor girl in their clutches. Some were taking liberal swigs from a large jug of rum; some of them had begun to remove their trousers; some were openly, unabatedly masturbating.
After the monster behind Jameela had his fill of fondling her feminine physique, he violently ripped her bottoms down. The terror of what was to come gripped her as she felt her garment slide over her legs to the floor. These men planned on doing much more to her than just groping her helplessly captured body.
A balding man in a white apron approached with a tin seemingly full of cooking fat. Jameela witnessed with horror as the two men on either side of her disgustingly dipped their filthy hands into the lard and smeared the greasy goo onto their rigid and ready penises.
‘Prop ‘er up mate,’ grunted the now trouser-less troll in front of her; vile gunk dripping from his throbbing, rock hard erection.
The mariner behind her tried to pick her up, but Jameela mustered enough miniscule mobility to kick at him in a moment of brief but vehement defiance. Triggered, the man responded by punching her in the lower back, punishingly against her kidney. Her knees buckled and she cried out, reeling in agony.
The ghastly goblin in front swatted her face with a back hand slap that nearly knocked her out. Even in her state of heavy medicated numbness Jameela felt the intense sting of the dual assaults. She could taste the blood that was now oozing out of her lip, and soaking the horrible tasting gag in her mouth. The crowd of callous seamen waiting their turn with her had cheered and laughed while she received her beating.
The rear rapist grabbed a paw full of the whimpering Jameela’s long red hair and yanked her head back. ‘Let’s try this again,’ he suggested, licking her face. His other arm lifted up her right leg, exposing her nether region.
‘Act up again and I’ll break your fackin’ nose,’ the other violator threatened, as he fumbled clumsily, trying to guide the tip of his intruding cock uninvitedly into Jameela’s vulnerable vagina.
Tears of fear and shame poured from her eyes as the sodomizing sailor behind her squished his sturdy, slippery erection into her rump, searching hungrily for her tight, little anal cavity.
The mob of malevolent mariners began to close in on the drugged and defenseless redhead.
The pair of perverts’ prodding penises had found their marks, and started to slowly slip inside her. The conquered jungle girl braced for an unstoppable onslaught of nightmarish sexual abuse and unspeakably cruel beatings.
The Mawu Star around Jameela’s neck began to glow brightly as one of the crew members slammed the creaky boiler room compartment door with a dreadful ‘CLANG’…
The sun crept out of the Indian Ocean to burn the morning fog that hung over East Africa like a vampiric vapor. Eight monstrous merchant marines shoved their dinghy free from the sand bar adjacent to the beach. Six of the sailors jumped aboard and manned the oars, paddling the small craft into the cove toward the cluster of ships inhabiting the coastal waters.
With them was a female passenger, an attractive, caramel skinned girl in a pretty yellow dress. The petite young lady with long dark braided hair glanced back at the beach with a look of disquietude, as if bracing for some dramatic event to unfold. With a deep sigh, she turned and faced the row of Royal Navy and civilian vessels before her.
On the shore the two remaining mariners went about their work performing maintenance on another beached rowboat.
After laughing off an accusation of being a “dog fucker”, one of the sailors trekked into the jungle to find adequate lumber for a patch job. Whistling a popular French African mariner’s tune, “Gilles” surveyed a few prospective fallen trees.
From seemingly out of nowhere, a dark shape sprung from the dense foliage and attached itself to the startled seaman’s back, wrapping a knife wielding arm around his neck and locking his arms with its spidery legs. The large man was thrice the size of this perpetrator, but was being easily handled.
‘Where are they taking her?’ demanded a female whisperer, as she held the super sharp edge of her knife to the man’s thick neck.
‘W..Wherever she want,’ replied the surprised sailor, in broken English.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped the ferocious female, putting some pressure on her blade.
‘Je m’excuse, mademoiselle,’ clarified the creeped out crewman, ‘If Capitaine Colette say “Take me to de ship,” den we take her to her ship.’
‘Her ship?’ repeated the interrogating assailant, her glowing neck jewelry was digging uncomfortably sharp and peculiarly hot into the man’s head.
‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ cooperated the big African boatman sincerely, ‘La “Diable Blanche” is belong to her. C'est ça.’ The subdued shipmate pointed to the only ship in the cove not flying the Royal Navy standard Union Jack.
The fierce femme scowled, and let the man go. He turned to face his adversary; a filth covered female, as intimidating as she was attractive. Her nearly naked body was stained with black oily residue, her hair matted and slicked back. Her eyes were alluring yet menacing. Her necklace glowed and sparkled mysteriously, and undeniably hypnotic. He felt oddly compelled to mind his manners and abide by whatever instruction this soiled yet strangely sultry girl chose to dictate.
‘My girlfriend, Captain Scallywag,’ a tar smeared Jameela whispered to herself, shaking her head in self reflection, ‘I am but a fool. I should have known.’ But deep down she did know. Jameela was being taken for a ride. She’d known all along and chose to ignore it, from the moment she found Colette sinking helplessly in quicksand. She had felt it even as they made wild, passionate love over and over in the moonlit treetops. It was so easy to pretend it was real, when Colette made her swoon with her tender French terms of endearment… So easy to pretend that it wasn’t too good to be true, while sliding between Colette’s invitingly silky thighs.
Jameela was angry, at herself and at “Captain” Colette. However she knew she couldn’t stay angry. She was falling head over heels for her femme française.
‘Monsieur, une moment s’il te plaît,’ she signaled for the stand-by seaman to come closer with a wagging of her finger, to which he gladly complied. Jameela was confident that she had total control of this sailor’s faculties, with a little help from the Mawu Star necklace. She leaned into Gilles’s ear and gave her instructions, ‘Vous ecoutez…’
‘So you’ve actually seen the jewels?’ inquired Admiral William Burr, squinting with curiosity in lantern light on the deck of the Diable Blanche, as the moon sank over the predawn East African rainforest.
‘Indeed,’ replied Captain Colette reluctantly.
‘Then why not just bring them to us? Burr commanded sternly, ‘Why all the games?’
‘This is not a game, Admiral.’ argued Colette confidently, ‘There are lives at stake. Some of your men have already gone missing while searching for this treasure. I am simply ensuring the well being of my crew, and the trust and protection of the people of East Africa, whom I represent. Just as you represent Her Majesty the Queen, respectfully.’
‘Making sure you get your cut, more like,’ squawked Captain Aaron Bronson impatiently, ‘Have you told the wild woman yet, witch?’
‘Aboard my ship you will address me as “Captain,” Captain Bronson,’ corrected Colette, concealing her loathing for this Navy gentleman, ‘I need not remind you that the matter does not warrant your concern in the least. Furthermore, I will tell her at a time of my choosing.’
‘And what time would that be, “Captain”?’ snapped back Bronson, laying the sarcasm on thick, ‘When she coughs up the treasure, or when you’re done licking all honey from her pot?’
‘Mind your tongue Captain,’ threatened Colette, ‘Unless you want it flayed.’
‘I am an Officer of the Royal N…’ started Bronson, fuming at the French girl’s audacity.
‘Enough!’ barked Admiral Burr, silencing the battling bickerers, ‘Both of you!’
The Admiral closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before continuing. ‘Captain,’ he started calmly, facing Colette, ‘The salvage crew will be done drudging the cove and recovering the lost cargo of the HMS Worthy in less than a fortnight. I hope by then you and your “Jameela of the Jungle” will be willing to negotiate. Lest we keep Her Majesty waiting.’
‘Aye, Admiral,’ answered Colette, compliantly, as Bronson snickered.
‘Captain Bronson,’ continued the Admiral, still keeping eye contact with Colette, ‘Kindly remove your Royal Navy Officer’s ass from Captain Weber’s ship.’
Bronson mumbled something resembling an acknowledgement, saluted enthusiastically and headed for an awaiting cutter after bearing his teeth to Colette.
‘I knew your father quite well Captain Weber,’ admitted Admiral Burr, putting a hand on Colette’s shoulder, ‘Like myself, he was a stubborn man, not easy to please. I am certain he would be very proud of your conviction, and your efforts here.’
‘Merci, Admiral,’ answered Colette, humbly.
As the Admiral and his entourage made their way back to his yacht, Colette snuck away to her private chamber in the aft section of the Diable Blanche. She had granted the crew leave for the evening, for which they took to camping on the beach and sharing food and drink with the local Mijikenda tribe folk, to make amends for their recent harsh treatment by the Royal Navy. The Captain was alone aboard her ship, and was missing the company of her lovely lady.
Opening the door to her quarters, she gasped at the figure standing before her, dimly illuminated by a hanging lantern.
‘Mon fleur!’ cried Colette, rushing toward Jameela, stopping just shy of her beautiful red haired surprise guest. An awkward silence dropped between them like an invisible barrier. They were inches apart but felt miles away from each other. Neither of them knew what to do. Their passion was present, but so was something else; tension. After what seemed like several minutes but in actual fact was a few seconds, the two lovers leapt into each other.
The girls hugged and kissed like it might be their last embrace. Neither wanted to let go. Neither wanted to face the inevitable truths about to come to light. They just wanted to enjoy a few peaceful moments of being with each other before…
‘Jameela, there is something I need to tell you,’ confessed Colette, holding her lover and fighting back tears, ‘It cannot wait any longer.’
‘I know. I know. You’re a swashbuckling pirate.’ cut in Jameela, ‘It’s alright,
Captain.’ The jovial jungle girl futilely hoped it was the end of the reveal, knowing full well it wasn’t. She couldn’t ignore or forget the surname she heard the Admiral address Colette with.
‘No,’ clarified Colette, ‘I mean yes, but there is something else.’ the French girl fessed, ‘Something you must know…’
‘I don’t care what it is,’ resisted Jameela, shaking her head and holding Colette close, ‘So you’re Queen of the Pirates, or you’re wanted on three continents and you held back the truth to protect me… whatever it is, I don’t care.’
They hugged again quietly until Colette broke the silence with a sniffle and a sigh.
‘Jameela,’ wept Colette sadly, but carried on determined with her truthing, ‘When you said we had much in common…’
‘No, no NO! Don’t tell me,’ pleaded Jameela, starting to cry as well, touching Colette’s face, ‘I don’t want to know. Let’s just leave here. Let’s get away from this awful place…’
‘Jameela,’ whispered Colette, tears streaming from her eyes as she let go of her girlfriend’s waist and clutched her arms.
‘Let’s sail to Canada,’ blurted Jameela, already in total denial of what she was about to hear, ‘We..We can start over there. We can forget all of this gold and greed and stupid, stupid necklaces!’
Jameela sobbed, burying her head on Colette’s shoulder. She felt an emotional storm coming; something excruciatingly unbearable, something finite.
‘My love,’ Colette began to disclose, with another long tearful sigh, ‘Before we ever shared a bed, we shared blood.’
The words struck like a knife in Jameela’s heart. She defiantly shook her head, as if it would help her to forget, to rewind time to a moment that didn’t yield so much torturous heartache.
‘Commander Ernest Weber was your father,’ Colette started to explain before gulping nervously with some difficulty. After a deep breath, she struck her lover with her earth shattering revelation, ‘He was also my father… Jameela, you and I… we are half sisters.’
Colette covered her gasping mouth and froze with shock as if she herself were realizing it for the first time. The actual utterance of this fearful fact to her lover… her sister, had delivered Colette to a painful enlightenment. She shook her head and wept as the gravity of her confession sucked the warmth from her soul, leaving her sinking into a quagmire of consequence.
The inconsolable jungle girl continued to sob and shake her head on her sister’s shoulder. Colette tried to hug her again, but this time Jameela pushed away. Her eyes were completely red and waterlogged. Her face was so severely contorted with grief that for a moment she was nearly unrecognizable to Colette.
‘You… you lied,’ Jameela accused, backing away from her sorrowful sibling, ‘This whole time! You could have told me! You could have admitted it when I saved you from the bog! You could have told me before we shared our bodies with each other!’
‘Jameela, I…’ peeped Colette, desperately, ‘I wanted to tell you! But then we got so close, and we kissed and… I did not want to lose that feeling! I did not want to lose YOU! I love…’
‘I shared my home with you! I shared my secrets with you! I shared my bed with you!’ screamed Jameela, indictively, ‘You’re breaking my heart!’
Jameela reached over onto the nearby table and retrieved a velvet pouch, clenching it resentfully before tossing it angrily at Colette. The grieving girl caught the partially open bag, noticing the gleaming diamond of the Mawu Star necklace starting back at her.
‘I knew where the diamond was. I’ve always known,’ divulged the weeping Jameela, ‘I didn’t tell you because I didn’t trust you. I started feeling guilty because you made me feel so special, like you actually cared more about me than that god forsaken Star! I came to apologize and beg your forgiveness. I’m such a fool!’
‘Jameela, mon fleur, I love you!’ proclaimed Colette, dropping to her knees in sheer anguish and begging with her hands clasped, ‘Please say you love me! I cannot bare it if you do not!’
‘Yes,’ admitted Jameela, checking her anger, ‘I love you. You made me fall in love with you, and that’s why this hurts so much! So, so much!’
With a flood of tears pouring from her eyes, Jameela clutched her chest as if her still beating heart was being pulled out of her. She imagined that this is what it must feel like to be shot with a gun. The pain was real. It was unbridled. It was unequaled. It was the most horrible feeling that she had ever felt.
‘My sweet Colette,’ the sniffling red head continued, wiping away her tears and kneeling down opposite her femme française, ‘I will always love you… and I never want to see you again.’
Jameela lifted Colette’s chin, caressed her soft, wet cheek and set her free with one last kiss. Holding back a tsunami of emotions, the devastated jungle girl rose laboriously to her feet. She solemnly walked out of the Captain’s quarters, leaving an emotionally crushed Colette drowning hopelessly in a puddle of bitter shame and salty tears on the loneliest chamber floor of the seven seas.
Quietly shutting the cabin door, Jameela turned around and was met by a contingent of Navy sailors brandishing rifles, all pointing at the startled jungle girl.
‘Well, well,’ croaked Captain Bronson, with a smile that looked more like a gnash, ‘If it isn’t the long lost Charlotte Weber.’
Jameela stood very still, as the bayonets of a half dozen British rifles pointed precariously at her. ‘I don’t go by that name anymore,’ she quipped, glaring distrustfully at her captor.
‘Of course you don’t,’ offered Bronson, pacing in front of her with his arms tucked comfortably behind his back. Turning to approach Jameela, the tall officer stopped inches from her and began to lewdly survey her alluring figure. He made no effort to conceal his sexist gawking as he ogled her enticing breasts and peeked behind her to steal a glance at her supple rear end. He licked his chops in her face like a hungry hyena readying to feast on an injured gazelle.
‘Out for a little early morning “sibling nibbling,” are we?’ asked the corrosive Captain as the armed mariners laughed at his offensive remark.
Jameela felt her temper flare uncontrollably. Her emotions were already boiling and this seafaring son-of-a-bitch’s cocky-jockey posturing put her over the edge.
She slapped his face.
Some of the sailors gasped, some chuckled. A surprised Bronson put his palm to his stricken cheek and began to dole out a threat, ‘Do you know the penalty for striking an Officer of the Royal N…’
She slapped him again.
Bronson stopped mid lecture and glared wide eye with his mouth agape. The sailors roared with applause and laughter.
Not to be outdone, the vengeful villain grabbed Jameela by the hair and pulled her head back. ‘Listen you little monkey-fucking bitch, I am…’
The end of Jameela’s hunting knife travelled upward from her thigh, slicing a gash several inches long into the red, freshly double-tapped face of Bronson. He instantly let go of the jungle girl to tend to his wound, that was now gushing crimson and would require medical attention.
This time, the sentry seamen did not laugh. They positioned themselves to run through their crazed captive with their bayonets before the bleeding Bronson halted them, ‘Stand down, stand down.’
Two of the mariners grabbed Jameela by the arms, knocking her blade to the deck of the Diable Blanche.
The door of the Captian’s quarters opened to a charging Colette. ‘I command you to let her go!’ she dictated, tears still flowing from her eyes. Navy sailors inhibited her from reaching Jameela.
‘Oh, so sorry, Captain,’ snickered Bronson, ‘By authority of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy I am taking this savage into custody for assault and attempted murder of an Officer of the Crown.’
‘Merde!’ hissed Colette, before disgustedly spitting at the feet of her British counterpart.
‘You’re confined to quarters, witch,’ he ordered vindictively, ‘Take this jungle jester to the Punch and chain her up in the boiler room. Let her sweat out her sins down there.’
Colette broke through the blockade of brutes and ran to Jameela, throwing her arms around her. The guards balked.
‘Let them have their farewell,’ granted Bronson, holding a blood soaked handkerchief to his face, ‘Someone find that damned doctor!’
Jameela felt Colette stealthily clasping the Mawu Star around her neck as the two embraced.
‘I don’t want this,’ Jameela protested, looking down at the cursed Vodun jewelry.
‘D’accord,’ whispered the French Captain hugging her sister tenderly, ‘But you will need it. Goodbye, my love.’ Colette held Jameela’s face and kissed her before the the pair were forcefully separated. They were both sadly aware that it was more than likely the last time they would ever see one other again. As the Navy dragged Jameela away into the darkness, the forbidden lovers looked into each other’s eyes until a closing cabin door severed their visual connection…
The HMS Punch was truly an iron ogre. The bowels of Captain Bronson’s Bramble-class gunboat were stifling hot in contrast to the cold, dark look of the place. The boiler room was like the digestive tract of a giant metal monster. Dozens of copper pipes, stretched throughout the narrow corridors, connecting tanks and boilers, before disappearing through a ceiling, floor or walls into the ships other compartments like industrial intestines.
Jameela’s wrists were already tender and sore from the shackles that bound her arms to a scorching pipe overhead. The rigid iron restraints made her struggling painful. Her mouth had been gagged with a foul tasting rag that was likely someone’s sweat soaked handkerchief.
A few feet away the ship’s doctor tended to the seated Captain Bronson’s facial laceration, carefully stitching his flesh as he moaned and cussed. Each time he twitched from the pain he would glare resentfully at the captured female chained to his ship.
‘There, Captain,’ stated the puny physician, finalizing a brilliant sewing job from behind tiny spectacles, ‘That should just about do it. Try to keep it clean, if you can.’
The captain admired the doctor’s handiwork in a small shaving mirror. ‘Marvelous, doctor,’ he critiqued, ‘A scar will make me look more dangerous. Don’t you think?’ No one answered.
Bronson turned sneering to Jameela, ‘Now, our “wild woman” here is going to have a little meet & greet with some of the crew. We need to administer something to make her “wild” a little more “mild.’
‘Aye Captain,’ sighed the mild mannered medicine man as he prepared a syringe with a clear fluid and approached the jungle girl, writhing protestingly in her restraints.
‘NnnNNnn!’ Jameela moaned from under her gag cloth, staring begrudgingly at the miniature medic as he cautiously prepared to prick the powerless prisoner.
‘My dear Charlotte,’ he whispered, which seemed to somewhat subdue the flailing female upon hearing her birth name, ‘Please, sweet girl… They’re going to hurt you. This will numb some of the pain. I beg you, please let me help you.’
Reluctantly, Jameela relaxed her defensive posture and subtly nodded. A frightened teardrop fell from her eye. The doctor jabbed her submissive rear end with the needle and squeezed the plunger. A euphoric high immediately began to travel through her body, like a cozy blanket, hugging her from the inside.
As Jameela felt the drug quickly begin to inhibit her motor skills, the metal marine door of the boiler room creaked open. In sauntered nearly a dozen rugged looking crew members, laughing and rough housing with each other as they filed into the compartment. Most of the grimy goons were clad in stained tank tops and soiled trousers. As their eyes gazed upon their pretty prize, the men leered and panned out around Jameela like wolves stalking a cornered deer. Cat calls and whistles squashed the serene sounds of hissing steam and water droplets that had occupied the oppressively hot and humid compartment.
‘Gentleman,’ boasted the Captain loudly, silencing the bundle of brutes, ‘Behold, a little gift for my hard working shipmates.’ The goons applauded, before Bronson continued, ‘Do whatever you wish with her but take heed; she absolutely must be able to walk when you’re done. We’re going for a little hike later, and I need her able. If she is not able, there will be consequences, for ALL of you. Is that understood?’
‘Aye, Captain,’ several of them acknowledged as they ogled the helplessly hanging heroine in their midst.
‘Excellent,’ concluded Bronson, grinning deviously at the defeated damsel. ‘And now if you will excuse me, I have a treasure to plunder,’ he revealed as he bowed and made his way to the open door with the dinky doctor trailing close behind him, ‘Enjoy your breakfast; a little “taste of Africa”!’
Even heavily sedated Jameela could still feel her anxiety soar as several of the salivating seamen approached her. They laughed and joked inappropriately in a British accent so thick that she could barely understand them.
One of the larger menacing mariners circled around Jameela and latched himself on her backside. She tried futilely to wiggle away but the man’s huge hands grabbed her waist and pulled her ass forcefully back against his crotch. He pressed against her back and sniffed her hair like some kind of wild animal. She could feel the beastly brute’s slowly growing erection hardening between her cheeks while he groped her enticingly sensual thighs and helped himself to aggressive handfuls of her rousingly round buttocks.
Another greasy looking goon meandered over in front of the drugged damsel and began to fondle her exposed chest. His disgusting semi-toothless grin smelled as awful as it looked. He reeked of stale tobacco and rum rations. Greedily, he pulled Jameela’s top up and began to lick and suck her supple breasts. His slimy, scaly tongue swirled repulsively around her nipples as she moaned in disgust. ‘Like that do ya?’ The drooling droog exuded, as his victim tried not to vomit from his stench. ‘Nnn!’ whimpered Jameela through her mouth gag as the sleazy sailor slid his hand down and began to rub his grubby fingers between her squirming legs.
Jameela glanced despairingly around the dimly lit boiler room at the other crew members. They were all watching with sinister grins, hooting and hollering, spouting lewd remarks and encouraging the pair of pervy perpetrators molesting the poor girl in their clutches. Some were taking liberal swigs from a large jug of rum; some of them had begun to remove their trousers; some were openly, unabatedly masturbating.
After the monster behind Jameela had his fill of fondling her feminine physique, he violently ripped her bottoms down. The terror of what was to come gripped her as she felt her garment slide over her legs to the floor. These men planned on doing much more to her than just groping her helplessly captured body.
A balding man in a white apron approached with a tin seemingly full of cooking fat. Jameela witnessed with horror as the two men on either side of her disgustingly dipped their filthy hands into the lard and smeared the greasy goo onto their rigid and ready penises.
‘Prop ‘er up mate,’ grunted the now trouser-less troll in front of her; vile gunk dripping from his throbbing, rock hard erection.
The mariner behind her tried to pick her up, but Jameela mustered enough miniscule mobility to kick at him in a moment of brief but vehement defiance. Triggered, the man responded by punching her in the lower back, punishingly against her kidney. Her knees buckled and she cried out, reeling in agony.
The ghastly goblin in front swatted her face with a back hand slap that nearly knocked her out. Even in her state of heavy medicated numbness Jameela felt the intense sting of the dual assaults. She could taste the blood that was now oozing out of her lip, and soaking the horrible tasting gag in her mouth. The crowd of callous seamen waiting their turn with her had cheered and laughed while she received her beating.
The rear rapist grabbed a paw full of the whimpering Jameela’s long red hair and yanked her head back. ‘Let’s try this again,’ he suggested, licking her face. His other arm lifted up her right leg, exposing her nether region.
‘Act up again and I’ll break your fackin’ nose,’ the other violator threatened, as he fumbled clumsily, trying to guide the tip of his intruding cock uninvitedly into Jameela’s vulnerable vagina.
Tears of fear and shame poured from her eyes as the sodomizing sailor behind her squished his sturdy, slippery erection into her rump, searching hungrily for her tight, little anal cavity.
The mob of malevolent mariners began to close in on the drugged and defenseless redhead.
The pair of perverts’ prodding penises had found their marks, and started to slowly slip inside her. The conquered jungle girl braced for an unstoppable onslaught of nightmarish sexual abuse and unspeakably cruel beatings.
The Mawu Star around Jameela’s neck began to glow brightly as one of the crew members slammed the creaky boiler room compartment door with a dreadful ‘CLANG’…
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Last edited by Jinn on Tue Mar 26, 2024 6:24 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Jinn
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
The finale to the Jungle Deep series. I had a lot of fun putting this together. For anyone taking the time to read the series in its entirety, I hope you enjoy the adventure.
Ordinary Seaman Haanstra pushed his pretty prisoner through the dense brush of the Deep, towards an undisclosed location selected by Captain Bronson, who trailed closely behind them.
The sophomore sailor immensely enjoyed the view of his attractive Ivorian captive; her tempting, tight little figure slinking and swaying in her sizzling silk & lace outfit; her stylishly braided hair; her form-hugging leather boots accenting her long, elegant legs; her slender arms bound by ropes; her young, helpless body totally at the mercy of her handlers. He relished in the feeling of being dominant over this gorgeous, powerful, intimidating woman. It made the lout from Liverpool feel macho and manly.
Colette could feel the eyes of her gun-toting guard ogling her as she stumbled through the woods. Her wrists were tied behind her back, and her mouth was gagged. She could do little to stop the sleazebag seaman from occasionally running his hands up her thighs, and slapping her hips or spanking her ass under her skimpy lace petticoat, or reaching around her silk corset covered waistline to steal a squeeze of her ample cleavage. All she could do to avoid his filthy fondling was keep her boot heels moving slightly ahead of him.
The trail ended at the most hideous looking bog, where the trio could not safely travel any further. The slime filled pond seemed to acknowledge their presence with nasty burps and bursts of escaping swamp gas.
‘Halt here, Haanstra,’ ordered Bronson, checking his compass, ‘Remove her restraints.’
As the seaman untied her, Colette regarded the ominous ooze in front of her and began to feel justifiably uneasy. The last time the femme française was in this swamp, she had nearly succumbed to a similar stagnate pit of gooey…
‘Quicksand?!’ she inquired as her gag was ripped from her mouth, ‘Do you think threatening me will make me tell you where the treasure is?’
The quaking quagmire emitted a boisterous belch, spitting out steam and splattering sandy muck onto the quivering surface. Colette bit her lip and whimpered at the horrifying probability that she was about to be consumed by such ghastly goo.
Bronson laughed. ‘Threaten you? Heavens no!’ chuckled the conniving Captain as he began to unveil his sinister intent, ‘I am well aware that the treasure is behind the waterfall, witch. I’ve been tracking your every move since those pretty legs of yours touched down in the beach sand of the Protectorate.’
‘Démon!’ spat Colette, with resentment and fear of the devious plan for her demise that was unfolding.
‘And now, those pretty legs of yours are going to touch down in another kind of “sand,”’ snarled Bronson, before commanding his henchman sailor to, ‘Put her in.’
Colette gasped in shock at the treachery of the Navy Officer. Behind her the quicksand gurgled grotesquely, almost in anticipation for the meal that it was about to be fed.
Haanstra looked confused. He panned his watchful eyes from Colette to Bronson, and back to Colette. He raised his rifle and motioned with his bayonet for his prisoner to proceed into the perilous pit.
‘No!’ protested the femme française, shaking her head, ‘Je ne vais pas le faire!’ Colette refused to budge until the tip of the lethal lance was at her breast.
Facing a terrible stabbing or shooting, she reluctantly withdrew her boycott and turned to face the slurping sand pit. Colette extended her leg and tested the spongy sand carefully. She knew the gritty gunk under her boot was not solid enough to support her. However with a sketchy sailor threatening to stick a steely spear in her back, she had no choice but to walk out into the awful, awaiting quicksand. Vulnerable and afraid, she delicately paced a few feet out into the putrid pool. She could feel her balance wane in the unsteady soil. Her boot heels began to subtly sink. The muck bubbled eerily around her mired ankles.
She turned to face her tormentors. ‘I am not going to go any further. You will have to shoot me.’ challenged Colette.
‘So be it,’ spat Bronson, calling the French girl’s bluff, ‘Shoot her, Haanstra.’
The sailor gulped nervously, his pupils dilated anxiously. This wasn’t part of the plan, he thought. Captain Bronson had assured him that when they got to the Deep, Haanstra would be allowed to “have a go” at the pretty pirate girl. Instead he was being ordered to snuff her. He hesitantly aimed his rifle. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow. He wiped the salty sting from his eyes.
Just then, the icky earth surrounding Colette began to liquify and churn unsettlingly. Gas bubbles ‘GLORP’d and ‘BLORP’d in the mud around her legs. She gasped as her calves suddenly plunged down into the gobbling goop.
‘Stand down, Haanstra,’ instructed Bronson, gesturing with his hand, ‘It appears as if the swamp is hungry for French flesh after all.’
‘No! UHN!’ cried the sinking Colette, as she fought rebelliously to free her legs from the sticky, silty sludge. The horrified Haanstra could only watch as the unforgiving goo slowly swallowed the trapped girl, now up to her knees in bubbling bog.
‘Don’t worry, witch,’ quipped Bronson, crossing his arms, ‘Your sexy, savage sister will be joining you in there soon enough. She’s a bit occupied at the moment, however. Some of my crew are taking turns filling her with… patriotism.’
‘Va te faire enculer!’ cursed the struggling Colette. Thick, sucking quicksand slurped at her smooth, shapely thighs. Sickening squelching sounds murmured from the muck as the frantic female strenuously pumped and pulled her sinking legs in the mushy morass. ‘You won’t get away with this! The Admiral will…’
‘The Admiral will be none the wiser,’ cut in Bronson, ‘As soon as I get rid of you and your family fuck-friend, I will be the only one who knows the exact location of the jewels.’
Haanstra’s throat was dry yet he still swallowed air nervously. He also knew the location. He felt sick. He dared not look at his Captain. Colette turned her gaze to him, and so did Bronson.
As if sensing his guilty angst, Bronson unholstered his sidearm and fired a single round into Haanstra’s temple. The bullet exited the other side of his skull along with disturbing amounts of bloody pink and grey chunks. His corpse dropped like a stone where he stood.
Colette screamed.
‘As I was saying,’ continued Bronson, barely missing a stride, ‘When you’re gone I will have all the leverage because only I will have the treasure map.’ He pointed to his forehead.
‘You killed those missing sailors as well! Didn’t you?!’ Colette accused, as the swallowing swamp gurgled and gobbled down her wiggling hips and her pretty lace petticoat.
‘Leverage,’ repeated Bronson, in a matter of fact tone, ‘They knew too much. They wanted a massive cut to keep their mouthes shut. I simply chose a more pragmatic way to keep them quiet.’
The doomed French damsel cried out despairingly as her petite waist disappeared into the sticky sand trap. She tried to stay above the bog by pushing her arms down, but the quicksand merely claimed them as well in its sucking grasp.
‘I want mine to be the last face you’ll ever see, witch,’ sentenced the corrupt Captain, standing over his vulnerable victim. The ooze filled pit greedily gulped Colette down to her breasts as Bronson added, ‘I also want you to experience a somber, lonely death in there, so without further ado…’
Bronson proceeded to dump the dead sailor’s body in the bog. He then checked his compass, retrieved Haanstra’s rifle, bowed mockingly at the mired maiden and disappeared into the jungle, in the direction of the waterfall and Jameela’s hidden jewels.
Panic was enveloping Colette’s demeanor the same way the quicksand was enveloping her body; slow and ceaselessly. She struggled wildly to no avail. Her desperate flailing was only sinking her faster. Sandy mud oozed in over her cleavage as she thrashed despondently.
It was no use, thought Colette as she felt her her fatigued body sadly surrendering to the sucking sand. There was no escape. She was all alone, afraid and nearly neck deep in this devouring death trap. The gluttonous, gluey grit crawled over the sheer lacy fabric covering her shoulders. She started to cry.
‘Mon fleur!’ wept Colette in her final moments, thinking of her sister… her lover, ‘Je suis désolé! Je suis très, très désolé!’ Guilt, sorrow, loneliness, fear; an array of emotions fueled the unstoppable tide of tears now streaming out of the drowning damsel.
The chin-deep French belle whimpered desperately as liquid sand poured in on her face. ‘Jameela!’ she remorsefully cried out with her last words, ‘Je t’adore… Je t…’ With a gruesome gurgle, the quicksand slurped the gasping girl under, concluding its grizzly gorging by emitting several unpleasant burps and belches from its diabolical depths…
Captain Aaron Bronson stood victoriously with his chest puffed and his hands at his waist next to the sparkling, fresh water pool at the foot of the waterfall.
Putting his compass away, he leaned his rifle against a tree and laid his neatly folded Navy jacket on a rock next to the shimmering water. Minding his footing, he passed through the falling water into the hollowed out stone behind the falls.
‘There,’ he muttered to himself, regarding the small opening at floor level. Slithering on his belly like a great serpent, he maneuvered along the tiny passageway. Bronson was a much larger human than those who had previously passed through the tunnel to enter the cave. The Captain was feeling quite constricted.
Bronson entered the cool, damp open space at the end of the tunnel, and hastily got to his feet. Nursing a leg cramp, the notorious Navy Officer scanned the cave with anticipation. The dark, empty stone walls glared back blandly.
The curious Captain strutted to the back of the cave. ‘If I were a fortune in jewels…’ he hypothesized.
Feeling around the barren walls for a trinket or a trap door or anything at all besides rock, Bronson grew impatient. There were no other rooms in this cave. There were not crates, or bushels full of wondrous wealth. There was nothing. Only a cold, dark empty space.
The scouts had told him of a fantastic mosaic made of gold and silver, diamonds, rubies and sapphires covering almost every inch of the walls. A vast fortune in jewels. Yet, there wasn’t even an earring on the ground. Not one iota of treasure was left under the falls. The stash had been cleaned out. Bronson’s irritation turned to ire at the realization that he had been duped.
Like the quicksand that he had condemned Colette to drown in, Bronson was being slowly devoured by rage.
‘Fackin’ HELL!!’ Bronson hollered maniacally, blaming the Weber sisters for their apparent treachery, ‘To hell with you witches!!’
He wanted to retaliate. He wanted to run back to the Punch and ring Jameela’s neck. Never mind throwing her into the quicksand with her suffocated sister; he was now fantasizing about breaking her arms and legs, locking her in the cargo hold of the Diable Blanche with its crew and using Captain Colette’s orphaned ship as target practice for his own warship’s lethal arsenal. He wanted blood, almost as much as he wanted wealth. He would do incredibly stupid and sadistic things to satiate the thirst for both if he had to.
His head was spinning with raw, unhinged anger. Evil anger. He turned and made for the floor level tunnel with clenched fists and all of his murderous, malevolent intent.
He paused. A looming shadow lurched in the small tunnel entrance. Someone was coming into the cave. Bronson unholstered his pistol and cocked the hammer. He had a few questions for whomever it was.
At first the curious Captain thought he saw a long, thin red rope or ribbon prodding forward and back repeatedly from the opening of the shaft.
It was neither. It was the flitting sensory organ of an enormous reptile. The diamond shaped head of a monstrous tar snake crept through the mouth of the passage while its disturbingly long tongue lapped at Captain Bronson’s boots from several yards away.
Sensing Bronson, the head of the sinister serpent stopped, while the rest of its gigantic tubular torso poured into the hidden hollow. The tar snake’s body flowed like the oily ooze it was named after, slow and silent, but very much deliberate. Soon Bronson was completely surrounded by black, slithering scales.
‘Of course,’ quipped Bronson, exhibiting a lack of surprise as if awaiting the gargantuan threat, ‘I expected no less from the pirate voodoo whore-witch or her savage slut sister.’
To Bronson’s growing rage-fueled irritation the snake appeared immensely underwhelmed by Bronson’s curses. The dark reptile remained still, save for its repeatedly lashing forked tongue.
‘I suppose you’re here to drag me back to hell,’ suggested Bronson, preparing his pistol for a life-or-death showdown. ‘Lizards first,’ he snickered, raising the firearm and pointing it between the slitherer’s eyes, ‘When you get there, tell that cunt…’
Before Bronson could finish his expletive-riddled insult, the massive predator swatted the gun out of the corrosive Captain’s hand with its tail. On the way out of Bronson’s grip, the handgun discharged a round which ricocheted off the walls of the cave.
By the time the bullet had lost its momentum, the tar snake had wrapped several loops of lengthy lizard around Bronson. He gritted his teeth as the snake began to squeeze his chest uncomfortably tight.
The snake circled its head around the constricted Captain as it tightened several giant coils around him. Bronson yelled defiantly. Each time he exhaled it would get increasingly difficult for him to replenish his lungs with more air. The tar snake’s grasp was getting tighter and tighter.
Bronson’s eyes began to bulge. He gasped. In a matter of moments his face color changed from red to purple to blue. No air was getting into him now. The coiling killer wrapped another pair of loops around his shoulders and neck for good measure.
The ball of coiled creature rolled around on the cave floor as it crushed the caught Captain with immense pressure. A blood vessel popped in Bronson’s right eye. His nose started to bleed thick, dark crimson gobs of blood. His rib cage started to crack. His forearms and elbows fractured as they were jammed tightly against his pelvis.
With a horrific snap and a crunchy grinding sound, Bronson’s ribs imploded. The jagged ends of his splintered bones pierced his internal organs. The dying man could feel all of his incredible, unimaginable, intolerable pain on the edge of consciousness, but was unable to scream or pass out. His stomach squirted out of his throat. He wished for death, he begged for it.
Bronson was no longer a man. He had been morphed into an elongated, super squished sac of shattered bone and pulverized flesh. Yet, death eluded him. Even when the colossal creature unhinged its jaw and began to swallow the stretched sailor into its gullet, Bronson would not die. Only when the suffocating serpent flexed the coil around his neck and broke his spine did the Royal Navy Officer finally cease to exist.
Mawu created Aido Hwedo. Mawu commands Aido Hwedo…
Entirely engulfed, completely confined and swiftly suffocating under the surface of the Deep’s diabolically deadly pit of quicksand, Colette’s last breath of air left her hopeless body.
Survival instincts gave way to involuntary reflexes as she aberrantly inhaled a throat full of liquid sand. Her contracting diaphragm ached and her starving lungs burned as they battled to breathe in oxygen that was not there.
The frenetic French girl had no control over her physical torquing and twitching as she rebelled violently in her gooey grave. She wanted to give up but her body would not relent its primal instinct to survive; it was ferociously fighting a quicksand quietus, and was losing.
Suffocating in quicksand was a most horrible, gruesome demise. For the dying damsel it was a true living nightmare. While drowning was not an overly painful way to perish, the anguish was still physically strenuous and mentally excruciating. Being swallowed and smothered to death by the sandy slime was the epitome of claustrophobia, panic and desperation. It was the embodiment of utter helplessness and insatiable hysteria.
Colette felt the dizziness and fatigue of her approaching permanent unconsciousness. As terrifying and torturous as her imminent extinction was, she also sought its relief for the misery and convulsions; a deliverance from maddening trepidation; the conclusion of this most heinous, wicked way to meet oblivion.
Colette’s body finally ceased movement. Her lungs and heart failed to supply her body with the necessities of life and she slipped into death.
At the end, there was darkness and silence; a separation from a tangible, physical realm to a void where time was not linear and space was not a distance. There was no sense of pain, or peace in this state, only a fleeting sense of existence.
Then, nothing.
Then, a feeling. A sensation akin to being lifted. Colette felt herself rising up, in the arms of an angel perhaps. Darkness became light. The heavy burden of drowning and death was replaced with a sense of liberation and life.
The angel carried her to someplace soft and warm, and laid her gently down. Colette felt comfort and contentment. Was this heaven? Did she deserve to be in such a peaceful place?
Colette was in a dreamlike trance. She opened her eyes. She was hovering above the ground staring down at her own mud covered lifeless body, and the angel kneeling over her. She could see and feel the sentient being’s loving hands, its soothing touch against her chest, against her heart. She closed her eyes.
Then, compressions. The angel was applying pressure to her chest, forcing the life back into her limp form, one rhythmic repetition at a time.
Colette briefly opened her eyes. She was once again back on the ground, inside her drowned corpse. She saw the angel, or Jameela, or someone she wanted to be her sister looking down at her. She tried to speak but her body would not cooperate.
The being continued trying to resuscitate Colette. Between serial chest compressions it would put its mouth over the dead French girl’s blue, mud covered lips and deliver lungfuls of life-sustaining air into her sand stuffed larynx.
With an awkward retch, Colette’s body contracted and spewed out a substantial volume of sandy muck from her mouth and her nostrils.
She shot up to a sitting position, gasping for air like she had been starved of it for a century. Her eyes were wide open, but she was not fully conscious. She was crying and screaming like a newborn baby. Her angel carefully laid her back down on her side. Colette was alive; continuously coughing and gagging out mouthfuls of gooey grit but she was alive. Oh, so alive.
‘Jameela,’ whispered Colette, semi-conscious and staring up at a blurry silhouette through partially opened eyes.
‘Shhh,’ answered the softly spoken angel, stroking the muddy maiden’s head compassionately, ‘Rest, sweet Colette.’
Strangely, Colette obeyed, closing her eyes and slipping back into unconsciousness. As she sank into sleep, Colette dreamt of Jameela’s familiar lips softly touching her own with a tender, gentle kiss.
‘Jameela,’ mumbled Colette, waking from a slumber that could have been five seconds, or five hours. The blurry silhouette leaning over her was gone. She collapsed back into sleep.
‘Jameela!’ cried Colette, hastily jumping up, suddenly awake, seeing, hearing, breathing, alive.
‘Non, capitaine,’ responded a looming silhouette, once again hovering over her, ‘C’est Gilles.’
‘Gilles!’ gasped Colette, her adrenaline surging and her arms reaching for the embrace of her loyal crew member. ‘Où est Jameela?’ she desired.
Gilles shrugged. ‘I’m so glad you are alive, my dear Capitaine,’ he declared.
‘How did you come to find me?’ demanded Colette, attempting to stand on shaky legs.
Gilles shrugged. He helped his weak and weary Captain up, holding her steady and safely. ‘I followed you and the British dis way, mon Capitaine,’ he admitted, unapologetically, ‘I came to rescue you.’
‘Was there anyone else with you?’ questioned the curious Collette.
Gilles shrugged again. ‘Only me here, Capitaine. I’m so glad you are ok.’ The simple sailor smiled delightfully at Colette. ‘I must take you to see the doctor now, Capitaine,’ he proclaimed, picking the petite, filthy female up in his huge arms and carrying her out of the Deep.
Colette did not refuse. Whether she wanted to go or not, she was done fighting. She had experienced more than enough conflict already for one morning; a devastating confrontation with the woman she loved, an abduction by the Royal Navy and a losing battle against death in a horrendously hellish sinking pit. Utterly drained, she gladly chose submission. Colette curled up in Gilles’s comforting cradle of manly muscle, and let him carry her exhausted little body out of the wretched swamp and back to the beach.
As Colette and her rescuer approached the sandy shore, they were alerted to the sound of commotion up ahead. Several voices were yelling with urgency. ‘Gilles! Regarder!’ gasped the carried Captain. Through the treetops they could see a column of black, ominous smoke climbing high into the East African sky over the water.
Gilles rushed hastily to the edge of the jungle with his beloved Captain still in his arms. The beach was littered with scurrying and soaking wet Navy men and the smell of burning. Fire crews and volunteers were manning pales and pumps aboard several Navy ships. Out in the middle of all the chaos, Captain Bronson’s gunship, the iron ogre HMS Punch was ablaze…
After the fire had been quelled, and a preliminary investigation had been conducted, Lieutenant Oscar Mill answered a summons to present his early findings to Admiral Burr at the makeshift Navy headquarters, ashore at the edge of the jungle.
The Admiral had also summoned Captain Colette, pending her recovery. Feeling anxious, the restless French Captain abandoned “doctor’s orders” to rest and recuperate. She slipped into a pretty white, floral patterned summer dress that projected the antithesis of the depression and hurt that was crippling her. After accessorizing the single braid in her hair with a white ribbon, the beautiful Captain of the merchant ship Diable Blanche made her way to Navy HQ.
Colette arrived unnoticed save for the guards standing outside. She quietly waited and listened in at the entrance of the large canvass Navy tent where the Admiral was being briefed.
‘Twelve crew confirmed missing, Admiral,’ reported the thorough Lieutenant, ‘Including Ordinary Seaman Haanstra and Captain Bronson, who were witnessed leaving the ship prior to the fire, sir.’
‘What about the locations provided to us by Captain Colette?’ inquired the Admiral.
‘Short of draining the swamp, sir,’ Mill began, ‘I’m afraid we may never find Haanstra’s body.’
‘And the…’ Burr began to question.
‘The waterfall, sir,’ Mill finished, ‘We found Haanstra’s rifle and Captain Bronson’s coat at the location. Under the falls we also found Captain Bronson’s sidearm, sir. No sign of him or the missing cargo from the HMS Worthy. They’re gone, sir.’
‘And what about our lads in the boiler room?’ requested the Admrial, sounding solemn and empathetic.
The lieutenant shook his head. ‘They had no chance, sir,’ he regretfully reported, ‘The only accessible marine door of the boiler room was locked from the outside. Once the fire started…’
Mill paused his briefing and swallowed back a most unpleasant thought before continuing, ‘Between the intense heat of the flames and the escaping steam, sir… those men… they… it would have been the most excruciatingly painful death imaginable, sir.’
Admiral Burr let out a defeated sigh. ‘What about their prisoner? The other Weber girl?’ he probed quietly, unaware that Colette was standing just within earshot.
The lieutenant shook his head again. ‘No witnesses saw her after she was confined to the boiler room, sir,’ Mill stated, with a more conservative volume, ‘No one saw her leave that room or the ship. From all accounts, she was in there with those men when...’
‘Captain Colette!’ boomed the Admiral, as the phantom-like femme française floated into the tent. Her dress fluttered like the wispy silks of a wandering spirit. Colette’s complexion was ghostly pale. Her eyes were glassy and expressionless. Tears had begun to noticeably roll down her cheeks.
‘I… We… um… Lieutenant Mill was just briefing me on his investigation, Captain.’ fumbled the Admiral, awkwardly, ‘That will be all for now, Lieutenant, you’re dismissed.’
‘Very good, sir,’ saluted Mill, before giving a sympathetic, peripheral glance to Colette on his way out of the HQ tent.
‘You’ll be happy to know that once we locate Captain Bronson we’ll be placing him under arrest, Captain Weber,’ offered Burr in an upbeat, jovial tone.
His optimism failed to even slightly lift the melancholy fog enshrouding Colette. She continued to stare blankly. Another teardrop fell from her eye.
‘The salvage group is packing up,’ proclaimed the Admiral, hoping to engage Colette in any kind of discussion, ‘We’ve wasted enough of Her Majesty’s time and money on this quixotic adventure. The powers that be would like us to put our resources to better use further south.’
The Admiral paused his speech. Colette eyes were welling up and she was visibly holding back an explosion of sobbing. ‘We don’t have to do this right now, Colette,’ petitioned the Admiral in a more moderate, personal tone, concerned for the Ivorian Captain’s mental health.
‘Merci, Admiral,’ thanked Colette, staring down at the floral pattern of her dress.
The Admiral rose from his desk chair and proceeded to offer the tiny, teary, caramel-skinned girl a warm, compassionate hug. Colette accepted, and wept like a baby into his uniform for several minutes. Only when she ceased her impassioned waterworks with a sniffle and a deep sigh did the Navy Officer release her. ‘Go and get some rest, my dear,’ instructed Burr, ‘That’s an order…’
Colette climbed into the treehouse where she had spent several nights with Jameela living, laughing and loving. ‘Mon fleur?’ whispered the creeping Colette, checking every part of the multi-level homestead for any sign of her beloved half sister. Sadly, the treehouse was quiet, vacant and lonely.
She scaled the ladder to the rooftop lookout where her and Jameela had watched the Navy in the cove from afar. She peered over the late afternoon jungle through the spyglass, sighing disappointedly when her scanning turned up nothing interesting.
Colette dropped down to the boudoir where Jameela had nervously fled from her rooftop advances, and where they had shared their first kiss. She imagined her lover’s enticingly tender touches on her body. Even the memory of her was soul-warming.
Finally, the French belle tip toed into the open air bed “chamber,” where the two red hot girlfriends had surrendered their hearts and bodies to each other, and immersed themselves into intense moonlit sessions of sweaty, sticky, sizzlingly sexy love making.
Colette slinked behind the mosquito nets and deposited her exhausted body onto the super soft hanging bed frame. She wrapped herself in the satin sheets and breathed in the sweet ambiance. She could smell, touch and taste Jameela’s essence everywhere; an aroma of fresh cut flowers, a subtle scent of lavender, a hint of hibiscus, a tiny taste of tropical fruit. Beauty and color and love fascinated her senses.
Could Jameela really be… gone? The question plagued Colette. ‘Est-ce que je t'ai imaginé?’ she pondered, unsure of what or whom she experienced earlier that same day in the Deep. She was almost certain that Jameela had been the one who pulled her from the terrible quicksand. She swore it was Jameela who breathed life back into her lifeless body. She was positive it was Jameela’s lips on her lips as Colette had faded into slumber after being rescued.
Yet, no one saw Jameela escaping the ship. Gilles claimed he was with no one else in the Deep. Was it Jameela’s spirit passing through on her way to the afterlife that had denied Death a drowning damsel?
She couldn’t imagine that her lovely jungle girl suffered the same horrible fate as those sailors in the boiler room of the Punch. Colette wasn’t sure if she truly didn’t believe it, or if she just didn’t want to accept it.
Also, Jameela had the Mawu Star. Was its mysterious Vodun power enough to protect her? Did it help guide her to safety? Or did the menacing mariners take her jeweled necklace when they captured her?
Nevertheless, Jameela was gone from this place. Gone from her treehouse, gone from her sorrowful sibling. Colette was alone, and lonesome, and she missed her sister… her flower.
Colette closed her tired eyes and wept as the waning sunlight retreated over the jungle canopy. She cried, and cried, and cried her solemn, solitary self into a peaceful, prescribed, deep, dreamless sleep in the comfy, hanging treehouse bed, under the moon and stars and gentle ocean breeze…
It had been one full rotation of the globe since the crew of the Diable Blanche pulled anchor and set sail into the Indian Ocean from the shores of the British East Africa Protectorate.
The merchant ship, as well as the Royal Navy contingent had incurred as much expense as profit on its treasure hunting adventure. It was in the best interests of all parties to cut their losses and move on to more lucrative ventures.
From all accounts, the Royal Navy mission to locate and salvage the missing treasures from the wreck of the HMS Worthy was a bust. One civilian and fourteen missing or dead sailors, including Captain Aaron Bronson and the crippling of his gunship, the HMS Punch.
Her Majesty would barely break even on her investment, with more than half of the estimated value of the treasure remaining unrecovered.
For Captain Colette, the adventure yielded only grief and guilt. In less than a week she had found love, made love and lost love. She had no one to blame for the loss of her half sister but herself. Her omission of truth from the onset of her relationship with Jameela was their undoing. Their forbidden love was doomed from the beginning.
Colette bore the responsibility solely for Jameela’s disappearance and probable death. It is said that time heals all wounds, but the scars of this self inflicted suffering would remain with the pretty pirate from Côte d'Ivoire always.
Somewhere off the coast of Zanzibar, Colette leaned against the taffrail of the Diable Blanche. She watched the sun in the east rise out of the ocean like a magnificent, heavenward spirit into a flawlessly clear orange and blue horizon.
Colette’s long, dark, uncharacteristically braid-less hair flowed freely in the warm ocean wind, draping carelessly over her soft, caramel-colored shoulders.
Her dark, almond shaped eyes, slightly swollen and red from days of crying stared far out over the vast void, at nothing in particular. Colette’s eyes had remained unpainted for several days. There was no sense in accenting them with a dark liner that would soon enough be smudged and smeared by streams of heartbroken tears.
The Captain’s long, white dress flowed deliberately in the breeze. The gentle wind and the silky, fluttering fabric of her skirt felt good on her legs. Any sensation that wasn’t heartache, or regret, or shame felt good to Colette. Even the rough wooden planks of the ship’s deck under her bare feet gave the Captain a feeling to think about besides despair and depression.
She rested her chin in her palms, and sighed lugubriously into the sunrise.
‘Excusez-moi, mon Capitaine,’ Gilles spoke, apologetically interrupting his dear Captain’s moment of solemn serenity.
‘Oui, Gilles,’ Colette acknowledged, smiling and nodding at her hulking African hero.
‘Pour toi,’ Gilles offered, handing Colette a small burlap bag. She accepted the tan colored sac, looking at her crewman curiously.
The Captain held the bag in her hands for a long moment before opening it. The space inside the melon-sized cloth container was taken up mostly by straw, used as an adhoc packing material. Moving aside the protective filler, Colette covered her mouth and gasped.
‘Gilles!’ she exclaimed, wide eyed and white as a ghost. ‘Where did you get this?! Who gave you this?!’ demanded Colette.
Predictably, Gilles shrugged. ‘Je m’excuse, mon Capitaine, I do not recall,’ explained the regretful mariner, ‘I do not remember where or when I took possession of dis. I do no recall who gave it to me. All I remember is dat I was to give it to you at the first sunrise after we set sail.’
Colette uselessly fought back tears as she lifted out of the sac a beaded necklace featuring a shimmering, mesmerizing diamond. The Mawu Star had been delivered to her. The same protective, mysterious Vodun charm that she had given to her dear Jameela, at the last moment she ever saw her on that fateful morning.
Colette was now unequivocally convinced that her sister had rescued her not once, but twice from the Deep’s notorious quicksand. It had indeed been her “fleur” that had brought Colette back to life. They were definitely the lips of her lover that had kissed hers, before the jungle girl lulled her to sleep hypnotically, using the Mawu Star’s power.
Jameela had survived her imprisonment and the boiler room fire aboard the Punch. Colette now considered that her jungle girl may very well have been the cause of the fire, with the Mawu Star being the catalyst. Regardless, her love, Jameela, her sister was alive. Oh, so alive.
But the elation from this revelation was bitter sweet. The Star, its chosen medium and moment of delivery were a message: I am alive and I love you, but do not seek me. Colette could almost feel those words emanating from the Mawu Star as she held it in her closed palm, through some sort of strange vibrating heat. ‘D’accord,’ she whispered with her eyes closed, in a tearful promise to her sister, ‘I will refrain, mon fleur.’
The crying Captain could not contain her emotions; happiness, sadness, regret, relief, anguish, joy. Tearful sobs gushed from the fervent French belle as she clutched the jewelry close to her heart.
Gilles looked at his Captain with concern. He was having difficulty reading her. Amid her weeping, she seemed like she was having a hard time catching her breath.
‘Mon Capitaine,’ he interjected with worry, ‘Es tu malade?’
‘Non, Gilles,’ responded a sniffling Colette after a few deep breaths, ‘Je suis triste, mais je suis content, aussi.’ She smiled at Gilles, who was still looking confused and unconvinced of her well being.
‘Oh, merci Gilles! Merci!’ Gratefulness suddenly burst from the flustered femme française as she leapt at the giant sailor and hugged him tightly.
While welcoming a squeeze from the petite girl, the bewildered Gilles surmised that under the circumstances reciprocating a hug at that time was dutiful and undoubtedly important to his beautiful, beloved Capitaine…
An elegant shape moved slowly from the depths of the pristine pool under the waterfall in the East African jungle. A beautiful girl with long, fiery red hair emerged at the surface. Casually climbing out at the edge of the peaceful, private pond, the sexy, shapely, young girl clad in a minimal leopard print top and bottom ensemble examined the contents of a pouch made of animal hide affixed to her slender waist by a thin strap.
Inside the pouch were an assortment of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, opals and other glittering gemstones.
The dripping wet jungle damsel examined her find, carefully counting and categorizing the jewels. She washed away bits of sediment from the shiny stones and packed them back in the pouch before she disappeared behind the waterfall.
With athletic prowess, the ginger jungle girl thread her fit, flexible body with ease through the narrow ground level passageway into the secret cave.
“Jameela of the Jungle” stood and leaned left, wringing the fresh water out of her lovely red locks as she admired the partially constructed mosaic on the cave wall.
Fetching a jewel from her pouch, Jameela knelt down and dipped the gem into the overturned skull of a jungle cat, filled with a peculiar viscous slime that she was using as an adhesive. The attentive artist planned the position of the pretty pebble upon the picture, placing it with patience, pensiveness and pinpoint precision.
She took a step back to look at her work-in-progress from a distance; incomplete depictions of the sun, the moon, stars, sailing ships, sea birds and the nearly finished outline of the entire continent of Africa dazzled the dark stone wall of the cavern. The sultry sculptor almost allowed herself to smile at her efforts, but she knew there was much more work to be done.
She repeated the process, melding each stone from her pouch into the materializing mosaic. When it was empty, Jameela secured the pouch to her waist and turned to head for the tunnel leading back to the waterfall and the jungle pool.
Just as she was about to depart, the pretty jungle pillarist paused. She turned and stared, examining the majestic mural once more.
She approached the sparking, gemstone-studded outline of Africa, and gravitated toward the eye level area featuring the British East Africa Protectorate.
After a moment of personal reflection, the reclusive redhead exhaled a deep sigh and smiled. Two tiny tear drops rolled inconspicuously down her already damp cheeks. She kissed the underside of her fingers and placed them lovingly over a palm-sized jeweled heart containing a pair of initials shaped by rubies and emeralds: “C+J”…
Fin
Ordinary Seaman Haanstra pushed his pretty prisoner through the dense brush of the Deep, towards an undisclosed location selected by Captain Bronson, who trailed closely behind them.
The sophomore sailor immensely enjoyed the view of his attractive Ivorian captive; her tempting, tight little figure slinking and swaying in her sizzling silk & lace outfit; her stylishly braided hair; her form-hugging leather boots accenting her long, elegant legs; her slender arms bound by ropes; her young, helpless body totally at the mercy of her handlers. He relished in the feeling of being dominant over this gorgeous, powerful, intimidating woman. It made the lout from Liverpool feel macho and manly.
Colette could feel the eyes of her gun-toting guard ogling her as she stumbled through the woods. Her wrists were tied behind her back, and her mouth was gagged. She could do little to stop the sleazebag seaman from occasionally running his hands up her thighs, and slapping her hips or spanking her ass under her skimpy lace petticoat, or reaching around her silk corset covered waistline to steal a squeeze of her ample cleavage. All she could do to avoid his filthy fondling was keep her boot heels moving slightly ahead of him.
The trail ended at the most hideous looking bog, where the trio could not safely travel any further. The slime filled pond seemed to acknowledge their presence with nasty burps and bursts of escaping swamp gas.
‘Halt here, Haanstra,’ ordered Bronson, checking his compass, ‘Remove her restraints.’
As the seaman untied her, Colette regarded the ominous ooze in front of her and began to feel justifiably uneasy. The last time the femme française was in this swamp, she had nearly succumbed to a similar stagnate pit of gooey…
‘Quicksand?!’ she inquired as her gag was ripped from her mouth, ‘Do you think threatening me will make me tell you where the treasure is?’
The quaking quagmire emitted a boisterous belch, spitting out steam and splattering sandy muck onto the quivering surface. Colette bit her lip and whimpered at the horrifying probability that she was about to be consumed by such ghastly goo.
Bronson laughed. ‘Threaten you? Heavens no!’ chuckled the conniving Captain as he began to unveil his sinister intent, ‘I am well aware that the treasure is behind the waterfall, witch. I’ve been tracking your every move since those pretty legs of yours touched down in the beach sand of the Protectorate.’
‘Démon!’ spat Colette, with resentment and fear of the devious plan for her demise that was unfolding.
‘And now, those pretty legs of yours are going to touch down in another kind of “sand,”’ snarled Bronson, before commanding his henchman sailor to, ‘Put her in.’
Colette gasped in shock at the treachery of the Navy Officer. Behind her the quicksand gurgled grotesquely, almost in anticipation for the meal that it was about to be fed.
Haanstra looked confused. He panned his watchful eyes from Colette to Bronson, and back to Colette. He raised his rifle and motioned with his bayonet for his prisoner to proceed into the perilous pit.
‘No!’ protested the femme française, shaking her head, ‘Je ne vais pas le faire!’ Colette refused to budge until the tip of the lethal lance was at her breast.
Facing a terrible stabbing or shooting, she reluctantly withdrew her boycott and turned to face the slurping sand pit. Colette extended her leg and tested the spongy sand carefully. She knew the gritty gunk under her boot was not solid enough to support her. However with a sketchy sailor threatening to stick a steely spear in her back, she had no choice but to walk out into the awful, awaiting quicksand. Vulnerable and afraid, she delicately paced a few feet out into the putrid pool. She could feel her balance wane in the unsteady soil. Her boot heels began to subtly sink. The muck bubbled eerily around her mired ankles.
She turned to face her tormentors. ‘I am not going to go any further. You will have to shoot me.’ challenged Colette.
‘So be it,’ spat Bronson, calling the French girl’s bluff, ‘Shoot her, Haanstra.’
The sailor gulped nervously, his pupils dilated anxiously. This wasn’t part of the plan, he thought. Captain Bronson had assured him that when they got to the Deep, Haanstra would be allowed to “have a go” at the pretty pirate girl. Instead he was being ordered to snuff her. He hesitantly aimed his rifle. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow. He wiped the salty sting from his eyes.
Just then, the icky earth surrounding Colette began to liquify and churn unsettlingly. Gas bubbles ‘GLORP’d and ‘BLORP’d in the mud around her legs. She gasped as her calves suddenly plunged down into the gobbling goop.
‘Stand down, Haanstra,’ instructed Bronson, gesturing with his hand, ‘It appears as if the swamp is hungry for French flesh after all.’
‘No! UHN!’ cried the sinking Colette, as she fought rebelliously to free her legs from the sticky, silty sludge. The horrified Haanstra could only watch as the unforgiving goo slowly swallowed the trapped girl, now up to her knees in bubbling bog.
‘Don’t worry, witch,’ quipped Bronson, crossing his arms, ‘Your sexy, savage sister will be joining you in there soon enough. She’s a bit occupied at the moment, however. Some of my crew are taking turns filling her with… patriotism.’
‘Va te faire enculer!’ cursed the struggling Colette. Thick, sucking quicksand slurped at her smooth, shapely thighs. Sickening squelching sounds murmured from the muck as the frantic female strenuously pumped and pulled her sinking legs in the mushy morass. ‘You won’t get away with this! The Admiral will…’
‘The Admiral will be none the wiser,’ cut in Bronson, ‘As soon as I get rid of you and your family fuck-friend, I will be the only one who knows the exact location of the jewels.’
Haanstra’s throat was dry yet he still swallowed air nervously. He also knew the location. He felt sick. He dared not look at his Captain. Colette turned her gaze to him, and so did Bronson.
As if sensing his guilty angst, Bronson unholstered his sidearm and fired a single round into Haanstra’s temple. The bullet exited the other side of his skull along with disturbing amounts of bloody pink and grey chunks. His corpse dropped like a stone where he stood.
Colette screamed.
‘As I was saying,’ continued Bronson, barely missing a stride, ‘When you’re gone I will have all the leverage because only I will have the treasure map.’ He pointed to his forehead.
‘You killed those missing sailors as well! Didn’t you?!’ Colette accused, as the swallowing swamp gurgled and gobbled down her wiggling hips and her pretty lace petticoat.
‘Leverage,’ repeated Bronson, in a matter of fact tone, ‘They knew too much. They wanted a massive cut to keep their mouthes shut. I simply chose a more pragmatic way to keep them quiet.’
The doomed French damsel cried out despairingly as her petite waist disappeared into the sticky sand trap. She tried to stay above the bog by pushing her arms down, but the quicksand merely claimed them as well in its sucking grasp.
‘I want mine to be the last face you’ll ever see, witch,’ sentenced the corrupt Captain, standing over his vulnerable victim. The ooze filled pit greedily gulped Colette down to her breasts as Bronson added, ‘I also want you to experience a somber, lonely death in there, so without further ado…’
Bronson proceeded to dump the dead sailor’s body in the bog. He then checked his compass, retrieved Haanstra’s rifle, bowed mockingly at the mired maiden and disappeared into the jungle, in the direction of the waterfall and Jameela’s hidden jewels.
Panic was enveloping Colette’s demeanor the same way the quicksand was enveloping her body; slow and ceaselessly. She struggled wildly to no avail. Her desperate flailing was only sinking her faster. Sandy mud oozed in over her cleavage as she thrashed despondently.
It was no use, thought Colette as she felt her her fatigued body sadly surrendering to the sucking sand. There was no escape. She was all alone, afraid and nearly neck deep in this devouring death trap. The gluttonous, gluey grit crawled over the sheer lacy fabric covering her shoulders. She started to cry.
‘Mon fleur!’ wept Colette in her final moments, thinking of her sister… her lover, ‘Je suis désolé! Je suis très, très désolé!’ Guilt, sorrow, loneliness, fear; an array of emotions fueled the unstoppable tide of tears now streaming out of the drowning damsel.
The chin-deep French belle whimpered desperately as liquid sand poured in on her face. ‘Jameela!’ she remorsefully cried out with her last words, ‘Je t’adore… Je t…’ With a gruesome gurgle, the quicksand slurped the gasping girl under, concluding its grizzly gorging by emitting several unpleasant burps and belches from its diabolical depths…
Captain Aaron Bronson stood victoriously with his chest puffed and his hands at his waist next to the sparkling, fresh water pool at the foot of the waterfall.
Putting his compass away, he leaned his rifle against a tree and laid his neatly folded Navy jacket on a rock next to the shimmering water. Minding his footing, he passed through the falling water into the hollowed out stone behind the falls.
‘There,’ he muttered to himself, regarding the small opening at floor level. Slithering on his belly like a great serpent, he maneuvered along the tiny passageway. Bronson was a much larger human than those who had previously passed through the tunnel to enter the cave. The Captain was feeling quite constricted.
Bronson entered the cool, damp open space at the end of the tunnel, and hastily got to his feet. Nursing a leg cramp, the notorious Navy Officer scanned the cave with anticipation. The dark, empty stone walls glared back blandly.
The curious Captain strutted to the back of the cave. ‘If I were a fortune in jewels…’ he hypothesized.
Feeling around the barren walls for a trinket or a trap door or anything at all besides rock, Bronson grew impatient. There were no other rooms in this cave. There were not crates, or bushels full of wondrous wealth. There was nothing. Only a cold, dark empty space.
The scouts had told him of a fantastic mosaic made of gold and silver, diamonds, rubies and sapphires covering almost every inch of the walls. A vast fortune in jewels. Yet, there wasn’t even an earring on the ground. Not one iota of treasure was left under the falls. The stash had been cleaned out. Bronson’s irritation turned to ire at the realization that he had been duped.
Like the quicksand that he had condemned Colette to drown in, Bronson was being slowly devoured by rage.
‘Fackin’ HELL!!’ Bronson hollered maniacally, blaming the Weber sisters for their apparent treachery, ‘To hell with you witches!!’
He wanted to retaliate. He wanted to run back to the Punch and ring Jameela’s neck. Never mind throwing her into the quicksand with her suffocated sister; he was now fantasizing about breaking her arms and legs, locking her in the cargo hold of the Diable Blanche with its crew and using Captain Colette’s orphaned ship as target practice for his own warship’s lethal arsenal. He wanted blood, almost as much as he wanted wealth. He would do incredibly stupid and sadistic things to satiate the thirst for both if he had to.
His head was spinning with raw, unhinged anger. Evil anger. He turned and made for the floor level tunnel with clenched fists and all of his murderous, malevolent intent.
He paused. A looming shadow lurched in the small tunnel entrance. Someone was coming into the cave. Bronson unholstered his pistol and cocked the hammer. He had a few questions for whomever it was.
At first the curious Captain thought he saw a long, thin red rope or ribbon prodding forward and back repeatedly from the opening of the shaft.
It was neither. It was the flitting sensory organ of an enormous reptile. The diamond shaped head of a monstrous tar snake crept through the mouth of the passage while its disturbingly long tongue lapped at Captain Bronson’s boots from several yards away.
Sensing Bronson, the head of the sinister serpent stopped, while the rest of its gigantic tubular torso poured into the hidden hollow. The tar snake’s body flowed like the oily ooze it was named after, slow and silent, but very much deliberate. Soon Bronson was completely surrounded by black, slithering scales.
‘Of course,’ quipped Bronson, exhibiting a lack of surprise as if awaiting the gargantuan threat, ‘I expected no less from the pirate voodoo whore-witch or her savage slut sister.’
To Bronson’s growing rage-fueled irritation the snake appeared immensely underwhelmed by Bronson’s curses. The dark reptile remained still, save for its repeatedly lashing forked tongue.
‘I suppose you’re here to drag me back to hell,’ suggested Bronson, preparing his pistol for a life-or-death showdown. ‘Lizards first,’ he snickered, raising the firearm and pointing it between the slitherer’s eyes, ‘When you get there, tell that cunt…’
Before Bronson could finish his expletive-riddled insult, the massive predator swatted the gun out of the corrosive Captain’s hand with its tail. On the way out of Bronson’s grip, the handgun discharged a round which ricocheted off the walls of the cave.
By the time the bullet had lost its momentum, the tar snake had wrapped several loops of lengthy lizard around Bronson. He gritted his teeth as the snake began to squeeze his chest uncomfortably tight.
The snake circled its head around the constricted Captain as it tightened several giant coils around him. Bronson yelled defiantly. Each time he exhaled it would get increasingly difficult for him to replenish his lungs with more air. The tar snake’s grasp was getting tighter and tighter.
Bronson’s eyes began to bulge. He gasped. In a matter of moments his face color changed from red to purple to blue. No air was getting into him now. The coiling killer wrapped another pair of loops around his shoulders and neck for good measure.
The ball of coiled creature rolled around on the cave floor as it crushed the caught Captain with immense pressure. A blood vessel popped in Bronson’s right eye. His nose started to bleed thick, dark crimson gobs of blood. His rib cage started to crack. His forearms and elbows fractured as they were jammed tightly against his pelvis.
With a horrific snap and a crunchy grinding sound, Bronson’s ribs imploded. The jagged ends of his splintered bones pierced his internal organs. The dying man could feel all of his incredible, unimaginable, intolerable pain on the edge of consciousness, but was unable to scream or pass out. His stomach squirted out of his throat. He wished for death, he begged for it.
Bronson was no longer a man. He had been morphed into an elongated, super squished sac of shattered bone and pulverized flesh. Yet, death eluded him. Even when the colossal creature unhinged its jaw and began to swallow the stretched sailor into its gullet, Bronson would not die. Only when the suffocating serpent flexed the coil around his neck and broke his spine did the Royal Navy Officer finally cease to exist.
Mawu created Aido Hwedo. Mawu commands Aido Hwedo…
Entirely engulfed, completely confined and swiftly suffocating under the surface of the Deep’s diabolically deadly pit of quicksand, Colette’s last breath of air left her hopeless body.
Survival instincts gave way to involuntary reflexes as she aberrantly inhaled a throat full of liquid sand. Her contracting diaphragm ached and her starving lungs burned as they battled to breathe in oxygen that was not there.
The frenetic French girl had no control over her physical torquing and twitching as she rebelled violently in her gooey grave. She wanted to give up but her body would not relent its primal instinct to survive; it was ferociously fighting a quicksand quietus, and was losing.
Suffocating in quicksand was a most horrible, gruesome demise. For the dying damsel it was a true living nightmare. While drowning was not an overly painful way to perish, the anguish was still physically strenuous and mentally excruciating. Being swallowed and smothered to death by the sandy slime was the epitome of claustrophobia, panic and desperation. It was the embodiment of utter helplessness and insatiable hysteria.
Colette felt the dizziness and fatigue of her approaching permanent unconsciousness. As terrifying and torturous as her imminent extinction was, she also sought its relief for the misery and convulsions; a deliverance from maddening trepidation; the conclusion of this most heinous, wicked way to meet oblivion.
Colette’s body finally ceased movement. Her lungs and heart failed to supply her body with the necessities of life and she slipped into death.
At the end, there was darkness and silence; a separation from a tangible, physical realm to a void where time was not linear and space was not a distance. There was no sense of pain, or peace in this state, only a fleeting sense of existence.
Then, nothing.
Then, a feeling. A sensation akin to being lifted. Colette felt herself rising up, in the arms of an angel perhaps. Darkness became light. The heavy burden of drowning and death was replaced with a sense of liberation and life.
The angel carried her to someplace soft and warm, and laid her gently down. Colette felt comfort and contentment. Was this heaven? Did she deserve to be in such a peaceful place?
Colette was in a dreamlike trance. She opened her eyes. She was hovering above the ground staring down at her own mud covered lifeless body, and the angel kneeling over her. She could see and feel the sentient being’s loving hands, its soothing touch against her chest, against her heart. She closed her eyes.
Then, compressions. The angel was applying pressure to her chest, forcing the life back into her limp form, one rhythmic repetition at a time.
Colette briefly opened her eyes. She was once again back on the ground, inside her drowned corpse. She saw the angel, or Jameela, or someone she wanted to be her sister looking down at her. She tried to speak but her body would not cooperate.
The being continued trying to resuscitate Colette. Between serial chest compressions it would put its mouth over the dead French girl’s blue, mud covered lips and deliver lungfuls of life-sustaining air into her sand stuffed larynx.
With an awkward retch, Colette’s body contracted and spewed out a substantial volume of sandy muck from her mouth and her nostrils.
She shot up to a sitting position, gasping for air like she had been starved of it for a century. Her eyes were wide open, but she was not fully conscious. She was crying and screaming like a newborn baby. Her angel carefully laid her back down on her side. Colette was alive; continuously coughing and gagging out mouthfuls of gooey grit but she was alive. Oh, so alive.
‘Jameela,’ whispered Colette, semi-conscious and staring up at a blurry silhouette through partially opened eyes.
‘Shhh,’ answered the softly spoken angel, stroking the muddy maiden’s head compassionately, ‘Rest, sweet Colette.’
Strangely, Colette obeyed, closing her eyes and slipping back into unconsciousness. As she sank into sleep, Colette dreamt of Jameela’s familiar lips softly touching her own with a tender, gentle kiss.
‘Jameela,’ mumbled Colette, waking from a slumber that could have been five seconds, or five hours. The blurry silhouette leaning over her was gone. She collapsed back into sleep.
‘Jameela!’ cried Colette, hastily jumping up, suddenly awake, seeing, hearing, breathing, alive.
‘Non, capitaine,’ responded a looming silhouette, once again hovering over her, ‘C’est Gilles.’
‘Gilles!’ gasped Colette, her adrenaline surging and her arms reaching for the embrace of her loyal crew member. ‘Où est Jameela?’ she desired.
Gilles shrugged. ‘I’m so glad you are alive, my dear Capitaine,’ he declared.
‘How did you come to find me?’ demanded Colette, attempting to stand on shaky legs.
Gilles shrugged. He helped his weak and weary Captain up, holding her steady and safely. ‘I followed you and the British dis way, mon Capitaine,’ he admitted, unapologetically, ‘I came to rescue you.’
‘Was there anyone else with you?’ questioned the curious Collette.
Gilles shrugged again. ‘Only me here, Capitaine. I’m so glad you are ok.’ The simple sailor smiled delightfully at Colette. ‘I must take you to see the doctor now, Capitaine,’ he proclaimed, picking the petite, filthy female up in his huge arms and carrying her out of the Deep.
Colette did not refuse. Whether she wanted to go or not, she was done fighting. She had experienced more than enough conflict already for one morning; a devastating confrontation with the woman she loved, an abduction by the Royal Navy and a losing battle against death in a horrendously hellish sinking pit. Utterly drained, she gladly chose submission. Colette curled up in Gilles’s comforting cradle of manly muscle, and let him carry her exhausted little body out of the wretched swamp and back to the beach.
As Colette and her rescuer approached the sandy shore, they were alerted to the sound of commotion up ahead. Several voices were yelling with urgency. ‘Gilles! Regarder!’ gasped the carried Captain. Through the treetops they could see a column of black, ominous smoke climbing high into the East African sky over the water.
Gilles rushed hastily to the edge of the jungle with his beloved Captain still in his arms. The beach was littered with scurrying and soaking wet Navy men and the smell of burning. Fire crews and volunteers were manning pales and pumps aboard several Navy ships. Out in the middle of all the chaos, Captain Bronson’s gunship, the iron ogre HMS Punch was ablaze…
After the fire had been quelled, and a preliminary investigation had been conducted, Lieutenant Oscar Mill answered a summons to present his early findings to Admiral Burr at the makeshift Navy headquarters, ashore at the edge of the jungle.
The Admiral had also summoned Captain Colette, pending her recovery. Feeling anxious, the restless French Captain abandoned “doctor’s orders” to rest and recuperate. She slipped into a pretty white, floral patterned summer dress that projected the antithesis of the depression and hurt that was crippling her. After accessorizing the single braid in her hair with a white ribbon, the beautiful Captain of the merchant ship Diable Blanche made her way to Navy HQ.
Colette arrived unnoticed save for the guards standing outside. She quietly waited and listened in at the entrance of the large canvass Navy tent where the Admiral was being briefed.
‘Twelve crew confirmed missing, Admiral,’ reported the thorough Lieutenant, ‘Including Ordinary Seaman Haanstra and Captain Bronson, who were witnessed leaving the ship prior to the fire, sir.’
‘What about the locations provided to us by Captain Colette?’ inquired the Admiral.
‘Short of draining the swamp, sir,’ Mill began, ‘I’m afraid we may never find Haanstra’s body.’
‘And the…’ Burr began to question.
‘The waterfall, sir,’ Mill finished, ‘We found Haanstra’s rifle and Captain Bronson’s coat at the location. Under the falls we also found Captain Bronson’s sidearm, sir. No sign of him or the missing cargo from the HMS Worthy. They’re gone, sir.’
‘And what about our lads in the boiler room?’ requested the Admrial, sounding solemn and empathetic.
The lieutenant shook his head. ‘They had no chance, sir,’ he regretfully reported, ‘The only accessible marine door of the boiler room was locked from the outside. Once the fire started…’
Mill paused his briefing and swallowed back a most unpleasant thought before continuing, ‘Between the intense heat of the flames and the escaping steam, sir… those men… they… it would have been the most excruciatingly painful death imaginable, sir.’
Admiral Burr let out a defeated sigh. ‘What about their prisoner? The other Weber girl?’ he probed quietly, unaware that Colette was standing just within earshot.
The lieutenant shook his head again. ‘No witnesses saw her after she was confined to the boiler room, sir,’ Mill stated, with a more conservative volume, ‘No one saw her leave that room or the ship. From all accounts, she was in there with those men when...’
‘Captain Colette!’ boomed the Admiral, as the phantom-like femme française floated into the tent. Her dress fluttered like the wispy silks of a wandering spirit. Colette’s complexion was ghostly pale. Her eyes were glassy and expressionless. Tears had begun to noticeably roll down her cheeks.
‘I… We… um… Lieutenant Mill was just briefing me on his investigation, Captain.’ fumbled the Admiral, awkwardly, ‘That will be all for now, Lieutenant, you’re dismissed.’
‘Very good, sir,’ saluted Mill, before giving a sympathetic, peripheral glance to Colette on his way out of the HQ tent.
‘You’ll be happy to know that once we locate Captain Bronson we’ll be placing him under arrest, Captain Weber,’ offered Burr in an upbeat, jovial tone.
His optimism failed to even slightly lift the melancholy fog enshrouding Colette. She continued to stare blankly. Another teardrop fell from her eye.
‘The salvage group is packing up,’ proclaimed the Admiral, hoping to engage Colette in any kind of discussion, ‘We’ve wasted enough of Her Majesty’s time and money on this quixotic adventure. The powers that be would like us to put our resources to better use further south.’
The Admiral paused his speech. Colette eyes were welling up and she was visibly holding back an explosion of sobbing. ‘We don’t have to do this right now, Colette,’ petitioned the Admiral in a more moderate, personal tone, concerned for the Ivorian Captain’s mental health.
‘Merci, Admiral,’ thanked Colette, staring down at the floral pattern of her dress.
The Admiral rose from his desk chair and proceeded to offer the tiny, teary, caramel-skinned girl a warm, compassionate hug. Colette accepted, and wept like a baby into his uniform for several minutes. Only when she ceased her impassioned waterworks with a sniffle and a deep sigh did the Navy Officer release her. ‘Go and get some rest, my dear,’ instructed Burr, ‘That’s an order…’
Colette climbed into the treehouse where she had spent several nights with Jameela living, laughing and loving. ‘Mon fleur?’ whispered the creeping Colette, checking every part of the multi-level homestead for any sign of her beloved half sister. Sadly, the treehouse was quiet, vacant and lonely.
She scaled the ladder to the rooftop lookout where her and Jameela had watched the Navy in the cove from afar. She peered over the late afternoon jungle through the spyglass, sighing disappointedly when her scanning turned up nothing interesting.
Colette dropped down to the boudoir where Jameela had nervously fled from her rooftop advances, and where they had shared their first kiss. She imagined her lover’s enticingly tender touches on her body. Even the memory of her was soul-warming.
Finally, the French belle tip toed into the open air bed “chamber,” where the two red hot girlfriends had surrendered their hearts and bodies to each other, and immersed themselves into intense moonlit sessions of sweaty, sticky, sizzlingly sexy love making.
Colette slinked behind the mosquito nets and deposited her exhausted body onto the super soft hanging bed frame. She wrapped herself in the satin sheets and breathed in the sweet ambiance. She could smell, touch and taste Jameela’s essence everywhere; an aroma of fresh cut flowers, a subtle scent of lavender, a hint of hibiscus, a tiny taste of tropical fruit. Beauty and color and love fascinated her senses.
Could Jameela really be… gone? The question plagued Colette. ‘Est-ce que je t'ai imaginé?’ she pondered, unsure of what or whom she experienced earlier that same day in the Deep. She was almost certain that Jameela had been the one who pulled her from the terrible quicksand. She swore it was Jameela who breathed life back into her lifeless body. She was positive it was Jameela’s lips on her lips as Colette had faded into slumber after being rescued.
Yet, no one saw Jameela escaping the ship. Gilles claimed he was with no one else in the Deep. Was it Jameela’s spirit passing through on her way to the afterlife that had denied Death a drowning damsel?
She couldn’t imagine that her lovely jungle girl suffered the same horrible fate as those sailors in the boiler room of the Punch. Colette wasn’t sure if she truly didn’t believe it, or if she just didn’t want to accept it.
Also, Jameela had the Mawu Star. Was its mysterious Vodun power enough to protect her? Did it help guide her to safety? Or did the menacing mariners take her jeweled necklace when they captured her?
Nevertheless, Jameela was gone from this place. Gone from her treehouse, gone from her sorrowful sibling. Colette was alone, and lonesome, and she missed her sister… her flower.
Colette closed her tired eyes and wept as the waning sunlight retreated over the jungle canopy. She cried, and cried, and cried her solemn, solitary self into a peaceful, prescribed, deep, dreamless sleep in the comfy, hanging treehouse bed, under the moon and stars and gentle ocean breeze…
It had been one full rotation of the globe since the crew of the Diable Blanche pulled anchor and set sail into the Indian Ocean from the shores of the British East Africa Protectorate.
The merchant ship, as well as the Royal Navy contingent had incurred as much expense as profit on its treasure hunting adventure. It was in the best interests of all parties to cut their losses and move on to more lucrative ventures.
From all accounts, the Royal Navy mission to locate and salvage the missing treasures from the wreck of the HMS Worthy was a bust. One civilian and fourteen missing or dead sailors, including Captain Aaron Bronson and the crippling of his gunship, the HMS Punch.
Her Majesty would barely break even on her investment, with more than half of the estimated value of the treasure remaining unrecovered.
For Captain Colette, the adventure yielded only grief and guilt. In less than a week she had found love, made love and lost love. She had no one to blame for the loss of her half sister but herself. Her omission of truth from the onset of her relationship with Jameela was their undoing. Their forbidden love was doomed from the beginning.
Colette bore the responsibility solely for Jameela’s disappearance and probable death. It is said that time heals all wounds, but the scars of this self inflicted suffering would remain with the pretty pirate from Côte d'Ivoire always.
Somewhere off the coast of Zanzibar, Colette leaned against the taffrail of the Diable Blanche. She watched the sun in the east rise out of the ocean like a magnificent, heavenward spirit into a flawlessly clear orange and blue horizon.
Colette’s long, dark, uncharacteristically braid-less hair flowed freely in the warm ocean wind, draping carelessly over her soft, caramel-colored shoulders.
Her dark, almond shaped eyes, slightly swollen and red from days of crying stared far out over the vast void, at nothing in particular. Colette’s eyes had remained unpainted for several days. There was no sense in accenting them with a dark liner that would soon enough be smudged and smeared by streams of heartbroken tears.
The Captain’s long, white dress flowed deliberately in the breeze. The gentle wind and the silky, fluttering fabric of her skirt felt good on her legs. Any sensation that wasn’t heartache, or regret, or shame felt good to Colette. Even the rough wooden planks of the ship’s deck under her bare feet gave the Captain a feeling to think about besides despair and depression.
She rested her chin in her palms, and sighed lugubriously into the sunrise.
‘Excusez-moi, mon Capitaine,’ Gilles spoke, apologetically interrupting his dear Captain’s moment of solemn serenity.
‘Oui, Gilles,’ Colette acknowledged, smiling and nodding at her hulking African hero.
‘Pour toi,’ Gilles offered, handing Colette a small burlap bag. She accepted the tan colored sac, looking at her crewman curiously.
The Captain held the bag in her hands for a long moment before opening it. The space inside the melon-sized cloth container was taken up mostly by straw, used as an adhoc packing material. Moving aside the protective filler, Colette covered her mouth and gasped.
‘Gilles!’ she exclaimed, wide eyed and white as a ghost. ‘Where did you get this?! Who gave you this?!’ demanded Colette.
Predictably, Gilles shrugged. ‘Je m’excuse, mon Capitaine, I do not recall,’ explained the regretful mariner, ‘I do not remember where or when I took possession of dis. I do no recall who gave it to me. All I remember is dat I was to give it to you at the first sunrise after we set sail.’
Colette uselessly fought back tears as she lifted out of the sac a beaded necklace featuring a shimmering, mesmerizing diamond. The Mawu Star had been delivered to her. The same protective, mysterious Vodun charm that she had given to her dear Jameela, at the last moment she ever saw her on that fateful morning.
Colette was now unequivocally convinced that her sister had rescued her not once, but twice from the Deep’s notorious quicksand. It had indeed been her “fleur” that had brought Colette back to life. They were definitely the lips of her lover that had kissed hers, before the jungle girl lulled her to sleep hypnotically, using the Mawu Star’s power.
Jameela had survived her imprisonment and the boiler room fire aboard the Punch. Colette now considered that her jungle girl may very well have been the cause of the fire, with the Mawu Star being the catalyst. Regardless, her love, Jameela, her sister was alive. Oh, so alive.
But the elation from this revelation was bitter sweet. The Star, its chosen medium and moment of delivery were a message: I am alive and I love you, but do not seek me. Colette could almost feel those words emanating from the Mawu Star as she held it in her closed palm, through some sort of strange vibrating heat. ‘D’accord,’ she whispered with her eyes closed, in a tearful promise to her sister, ‘I will refrain, mon fleur.’
The crying Captain could not contain her emotions; happiness, sadness, regret, relief, anguish, joy. Tearful sobs gushed from the fervent French belle as she clutched the jewelry close to her heart.
Gilles looked at his Captain with concern. He was having difficulty reading her. Amid her weeping, she seemed like she was having a hard time catching her breath.
‘Mon Capitaine,’ he interjected with worry, ‘Es tu malade?’
‘Non, Gilles,’ responded a sniffling Colette after a few deep breaths, ‘Je suis triste, mais je suis content, aussi.’ She smiled at Gilles, who was still looking confused and unconvinced of her well being.
‘Oh, merci Gilles! Merci!’ Gratefulness suddenly burst from the flustered femme française as she leapt at the giant sailor and hugged him tightly.
While welcoming a squeeze from the petite girl, the bewildered Gilles surmised that under the circumstances reciprocating a hug at that time was dutiful and undoubtedly important to his beautiful, beloved Capitaine…
An elegant shape moved slowly from the depths of the pristine pool under the waterfall in the East African jungle. A beautiful girl with long, fiery red hair emerged at the surface. Casually climbing out at the edge of the peaceful, private pond, the sexy, shapely, young girl clad in a minimal leopard print top and bottom ensemble examined the contents of a pouch made of animal hide affixed to her slender waist by a thin strap.
Inside the pouch were an assortment of diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, opals and other glittering gemstones.
The dripping wet jungle damsel examined her find, carefully counting and categorizing the jewels. She washed away bits of sediment from the shiny stones and packed them back in the pouch before she disappeared behind the waterfall.
With athletic prowess, the ginger jungle girl thread her fit, flexible body with ease through the narrow ground level passageway into the secret cave.
“Jameela of the Jungle” stood and leaned left, wringing the fresh water out of her lovely red locks as she admired the partially constructed mosaic on the cave wall.
Fetching a jewel from her pouch, Jameela knelt down and dipped the gem into the overturned skull of a jungle cat, filled with a peculiar viscous slime that she was using as an adhesive. The attentive artist planned the position of the pretty pebble upon the picture, placing it with patience, pensiveness and pinpoint precision.
She took a step back to look at her work-in-progress from a distance; incomplete depictions of the sun, the moon, stars, sailing ships, sea birds and the nearly finished outline of the entire continent of Africa dazzled the dark stone wall of the cavern. The sultry sculptor almost allowed herself to smile at her efforts, but she knew there was much more work to be done.
She repeated the process, melding each stone from her pouch into the materializing mosaic. When it was empty, Jameela secured the pouch to her waist and turned to head for the tunnel leading back to the waterfall and the jungle pool.
Just as she was about to depart, the pretty jungle pillarist paused. She turned and stared, examining the majestic mural once more.
She approached the sparking, gemstone-studded outline of Africa, and gravitated toward the eye level area featuring the British East Africa Protectorate.
After a moment of personal reflection, the reclusive redhead exhaled a deep sigh and smiled. Two tiny tear drops rolled inconspicuously down her already damp cheeks. She kissed the underside of her fingers and placed them lovingly over a palm-sized jeweled heart containing a pair of initials shaped by rubies and emeralds: “C+J”…
Fin
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Jinn
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
Continuing with my ‘Jameela of the Jungle’ stories. This one is sort of a semi-sequel to the Jungle Deep series, but it works just as well as a stand-alone.
Most of my stories I write around the images I generate, but this one was the other way around. I went hunting for the right image for an adventure idea I had already. It has some Tomb Raider vibes, and of course loads of peril. Enjoy.
‘Drat,’ cussed Jameela, staring down at the leopard skull she had fashioned into a bowl to hold a special adhesive slime. She was using the sticky substance to secure gems and jewelry of all shapes and sizes to the stone walls of a hidden cave. To her dismay, the skull was empty. No more work could be done to her unfinished mosaic until she could get herself a refill of the green gooey glue.
Concealed in the coastal jungle of the British East Africa Protectorate was a pristine, picturesque waterfall that fell into a pool of crystal clear water. Behind the falls was a secret passage that lead to Jameela’s cave, naturally illuminated by fissures in its tall, rocky ceiling.
The young, beautiful red haired girl known locally and in legend as “Jameela of the Jungle” chose this secluded spot to hide a treasure trove of unimaginable wealth. The reclusive redhead had no monetary use for the vast collection of jewelry and gemstones. She found value from keeping the fortune safe from those who sought only its pecuniary worth.
Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, gold and silver and many other types of shiny stones and glimmering gems had made their way to the cave from the wreck of the HMS Worthy, lying under shallow waters just off the nearby coast.
It was the same ship that brought Jameela to Africa from the UK many years earlier, when she was known as “Charlotte.” Her father Commander Ernest Weber of the Royal Navy and his entire crew were killed when their overloaded vessel succumbed to a storm close to what is now modern day Kenya.
Instead of burying the treasure, the pretty jungle dweller decided to use the items in the cache to create a mosaic masterpiece inside the cave. The magnificent mural featured images of Jameela’s new home that were dear to her heart; boats, birds, the sun and moon, celestial bodies and an intricately detailed outline of the continent of an Africa.
To Jameela, her larger-than-life art was more than a hobby. It was a tribute to her new home. It also served as a memorial; a solemn reminder of all those who suffered and perished because of human being’s pursuit of the treasure’s wealth.
When the Royal Navy returned and threatened to steal the hidden treasure several years later, Jameela was forced to destroy her amazing artwork and hide the jewels in the water beneath the falls. It took the young orphaned girl several years to retrieve the treasure and create the original. She was faced with the self-imposed task of reconstructing the priceless picture, one precious gem at a time.
The lovely Jameela lived off the land as a hermit. She managed her mind, body and soul to not just survive, but thrive in this strange and wonderful place, her beloved African jungle. Sometimes her self-sufficient lifestyle required her to venture into the deeper, darker, more dangerous parts of the rainforest for resources.
The gluey goop she used for the mosaic was a mysterious muck she had encountered at the secluded ruins of an ancient Kansyore temple. The forgotten structure was buried under vines and vegetation, hidden from sight for generations. The semi-sunken sanctuary held many mysteries; dark, endless labyrinths, treacherous pits and torturous booby traps. The temple was a remorseless, religious relic waiting to devour trespassers, even hundreds of years after its abandonment.
However, Jameela knew that nothing stuck the gemstones to the cave wall as easy-peasy and hassle-free as the temple slime. It could quickly hold even the heftiest gemstones in place. When it dried, it retained twice its strength. If she made a mistake, the goop broke off easily and cleaned up nicely with water. The “quickslime” was the perfect, natural epoxy for her labor of love. There was plenty of it in the bowels of the ancient ruins for all of her artistic aspirations, or anything else requiring a sticky solution.
It was still early. The sun had barely climbed out of the Indian Ocean when Jameela had used up the last of the quickslime. By her calculations she would have ample sunlight to make the trek to the temple and return before darkness of night swallowed the jungle.
‘Adventure awaits,’ quipped Jameela facetiously as she slung an empty ceramic jug over her shoulders with a set of hide tethers. She knew the inherent dangers of this mission. The temple was perilous. Equally as threatening was the path to get there; hungry hunting animals, aggressively territorial tribespeople, deadly disguised pools of quicksand. The jungle was as lethal as it was lovely.
As she strapped a large sheathed hunting knife to her thigh, Jameela’s mind went to a meditative state to mentally prepare for her journey. After several deep, reflective breaths, the jungle girl ventured out into the wilderness…
Jameela’s uncanny intuition and memory was an adequate substitution for a compass. Occasionally, she would scale a tall celtis or trema tree to scope out familiar landmarks in the panorama above the canopy. Her resolve and her strange sense of direction brought her to the exact location of the temple ruins just as she had planned.
The red haired traveler approached one of two partially buried pillars guarding the east entrance to the ruins. She produced the sheathed knife from her leg and cleared away the undergrowth and vines that were concealing a stone carving. The chiseled, ferocious face of an ancient Kansyore sentry stared ominously at Jameela.
‘Smile,’ suggested the jovial jungle maiden to the stoic rock replica. Her light hearted humor was contrast to the fearsome foreboding glare of the sentinel statue.
Beyond the protective pillars was a straight cobblestone path leading toward the hidden temple, flanked by towering flat rock walls that rose up gradually to a height of roughly five meters.
During her previous visit she had used another entrance at the north side of the ruins. A cave-in had occurred some time between then and this visit that had rendered the northern access impassable. Jameela was unfamiliar with the east passageway and proceeded down its narrow corridor with utmost caution.
Her strong, shapely legs strode slowly and softly down the pathway. About halfway to the other end, the stone blocks beneath her eerily shook and shifted. ‘I don’t feel good about this,’ squeaked Jameela, glancing at the unsteady rock squares under her feet, and then over her shoulder in the direction she came.
She turned to hastily head back when a rumbling in front of her caused her to steady herself. A massive stone monolith rose up from the cobblestones to the top of the walls, blocking her path. The terrifying totem was covered with the carved faces of devils and demons, intimidatingly ireful eyes, gnashing teeth in gaping grotesque maws.
Jameela turned to scurry away in the opposite direction when another imposing pillar vaulted up out of the earth on her other side, containing her in the deep, narrow chasm. ‘Oh dear! A trap!’ she gasped, glancing skyward at the only exit from this man-made crevasse that she had been foolishly caught in.
The pretty panicked adventurer’s attention quickly shifted to another queer quaking and an unpleasant grinding noise. To her horror, the colossal walls on both sides of the booby trap between the menacing monoliths began to slowly close in on her.
‘Oh goodness, no!’ cried Jameela, futilely trying to push back on the massive slabs as they slid relentlessly closer. Her fit body and impressive strength were no match for the enormous, rumbling rock intended to crush her to death. ‘What am I going to do?!’ she whimpered, trying to quickly manifest an escape plan, as the perilous path became narrower and narrower, ‘Think Jameela, THINK!’
When the wicked walls were close enough to touch with both her feet, Jameela struggled to get a toehold on the slippery stone. ‘Only one chance,’ she reminded herself, as she braced her body between the sides of the closing crevasse.
With incredible agility, Jameela rapidly shimmied up the disappearing space toward the top. ‘Almost… there…,’ Jameela grunted, as she monkeyed up the steep, shrinking stone enclosure.
The slick surface proved treacherous as her left foot slipped near the top of the quickly closing canyon. She gasped and reached frantically for the edge, gripping the lip precariously with her fingertips while her long legs dangled beneath her. The walls were so close that Jameela could feel them pressing the ceramic jug into her back.
With sheer determination the mighty jungle maiden pulled herself up with all her arm strength. She planted her forearms above the sliding stone and lifted her legs out, just as the walls grazed her thighs. Behind her, she felt the rock walls slam shut, pulverizing to dust the jug that was still tethered to her back.
‘Too close for comfort,’ whispered Jameela, panting and sweating from her acrobatic ascent out of the diabolical death trap. If the jug was the mere price she had to pay to stay alive then so be it, she thought.
The pancaked pottery presented another particular problem; Jameela now needed to find another container for the slime. However she expected to undoubtedly come across a vacant skull or two in this god forsaken place.
Atop the sealed trap, Jameela quickly jumped to her feet and raced for the temple as the walls began to once again rumble and grind, sliding back to their open position.
Jameela lept from the edge of the wall with cunning, catlike grace to a balcony ledge in front of an open doorway in the side of the temple ruins’ main structure. The entrance was partially obstructed by years of plant growth and creeping vines, leaving a small opening just wide enough for the jungle girl to squeeze her slender, flexible frame through.
Inside the deteriorated shrine, Jameela followed a long, dark corridor toward a less dimly lit open space near the center of the sanctuary.
The walls were adorned with square stone panels displaying carvings of the sun and moon, and other celestial bodies, reminiscent of her own decorations back in the hidden cave under the falls. Multi-limbed and multi-headed deities were featured in some of the panels, gods and demigods of a long lost religion.
One panel showed a group of people being crushed to death by giant walls between two menacing monoliths, eerily depicting the doom that Jameela had narrowly evaded moments earlier.
Another panel featured a snake with several heads, encoiling victims in its swirling, scaly reptilian rings and bearing down on them with forked tongues and exposed fangs. ‘Death from above,’ remarked Jameela, noticing that the depiction showed the snake striking from overhead, rather than at ground level.
As if expecting a similar surprise attack, Jameela tilted her head to look into the fractured ceiling above. Before she could focus on the movement over her, a giant rock python dropped its coils onto the ambushed adventurer.
‘UHN!’ moaned Jameela as she was buried under a pile of predator. While the hindered heroine struggled with the immense weight of the serpent, it wrapped its muscular body around her, trapping her arms and immobilizing her legs.
The sinister slitherer tightened its grip on the defiant damsel as she wiggled and writhed her toned, athletic frame to no avail. Jameela was breathing rapidly as her enormous adversary slowly squeezed her captured body. Each time Jameela exhaled, the python would squish her a little tighter, preventing her lungs from filling with air. ‘I..I can’t…’ she began to lament, as her adversary curled another conniving coil around her neck.
Jameela could feel the painful pressure on her ribs as the snake crushed her. The relentless reptile flexed its body around her neck, cutting off her air flow completely. She started getting dizzy. The suffocating jungle girl was close to blacking out.
The head of the colossal carnivore circled around to Jameela’s side, flicking its forked tongue against her exposed thigh. ‘My knife,’ she thought, ‘If I could just reach my knife.’
The serpent compressed itself tighter around its vulnerable victim. Jameela frantically reached down and grabbed the hilt of her knife with her fingertips. Tunnel vision was setting in. She was slipping into unconsciousness as she flicked the strap button on her thigh-mounted sheath and freed her trusty blade.
As the coiling killer looped around her squirming legs, Jameela tuned her knife outward. When the snake’s body tightened around her thighs, the tip of the blade punctured its scaly skin. The panicked python jolted and gyrated wildly, twisting and turning crazily around on the stone floor of the temple corridor. Under the snake’s own weight, the deadly knife buried itself deep inside the monster, severing its spine and slicing its arteries.
The length of the serpent south of the knife wound went limp. Jameela felt immediate relief from the crushing coils and the imminent asphyxiation. She braced herself as the hanging half of the giant beast’s body flopped down on her from its perch in the temple ceiling.
Jameela laboriously lifted the creepy carcass off herself and climbed to her feet. She hunched over with fatigue, gasping intensely in order to nourish her body with much needed oxygen.
The python’s head was still flailing about, in obvious duress and shock. With her blood soaked hunting knife in hand, Jameela wrangled the contorting cranium of the serpent. With a straight and true thrust of the blade into its eye socket, the jabbing jungle girl swiftly put her attacker out of its misery.
Jameela stared back at the mural depicting the multi-headed serpent. ‘One head was enough, thank you very much,’ giggled the joking Jameela. Still, she interpreted the ancient art as a warning of sorts.
Looking back up to the temple ceiling, her intuition was vindicated. Several more sadistic slitherers were eying the pretty girl standing over the dead snake from the broken beams and dark spaces overhead. Three..four..five… Jameela lost count after six; more than a half dozen rock pythons were poised to strike. The careful, cautious jungle girl backed away slowly and broke out onto a sprint down the corridor toward the grand rotunda.
Jameela could hear overhead vines breaking and pieces of broken rock hitting the floor behind her as she fled. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw python after python pouring out of the ceiling onto the floor.
The dashing damsel stopped at the edge of the rotunda. The floor was completely covered with leafy vines, spanning across to four other archways leading into more dark corridors.
The domed roof above her was partially caved in, allowing sunlight to wash over the heart of the temple and illuminate its plant covered pillars and moss coated carvings. Trees were growing out of the cracks in the circular wall around the open space. Several species of birds were nesting in the numerous nooks and crannies.
Since the tenants of the temple had long ago vacated their sacred sanctuary, the jungle had more than just moved in and made itself a permanent resident of the temple; the jungle had become the temple.
Behind Jameela, the slight sound of shifting and sliding was emanating from the darkness. The snakes were on the hunt. She had to make her move, sooner than later.
Jameela planted one foot heedfully ahead of the other in the mesh of vines, as she started out into the open rotunda. The network of ropey roots stretched and wobbled like a giant web of rubber bands.
She fretfully considered that there was no floor beneath the vines; the wood and stone deck had long ago eroded away, leaving only a platform of live and dead interwoven clinging plants and spiraling vine growth above the lower levels of the temple. Light shone down between the strands revealing an open chamber far below.
When she felt the volatile vines begin to break and give way under her legs, Jameela ceased her forward motion. She slowly took a corrective step backward, but it was too late.
With a terrible snapping sound, Jameela found herself falling through the leafy limbs into the chamber below. She grasped desperately at the hanging plants as she tumbled down, seeking anything that would stop her descent into the unknown.
A thin vine slowed her plummet, when she gripped the growth tightly with both hands several meters above the chamber floor. Her hold was waning, and she felt her palms and fingers slide down the slippery strand. ‘Please, please, please!’ begged Jameela, as her hopeless hands slipped down and inevitably off the end of the slick vine, sending her into a free fall.
Jameela felt she was on good terms with fate, only falling a relatively short distance into the depths of the temple. She had braced for a hard impact, and was for a moment quite grateful when her legs splash landed with a ‘GBLWUMP’ into a soft, viscous substance.
She gathered herself, and assessed her situation. Looking up, Jameela saw the sun shining through the opening in the vines where she had fallen. Thankfully, there was no sign of pursuing predators.
She peered around the dark, damp chamber. The space beneath the rotunda was lined with more moss and vine covered structural pillars. Trees and plant life lined the edge of spooky temple basement. Cracked walls and creepy shadows blanketing the dimly lit perimeter. A sketchy stone staircase curled up around the circular walls to the upper rotunda.
As her eyes adjusted to the poor lighting, Jameela turning her gaze downward. She gasped in disgust at the sticky sludge that had broken her fall. She strenuously pumped and pulled her strong legs in the thick, soupy slime that had received them. ‘Yuck!’ she scoffed, as her struggling induced icky squelching sounds in the ooze. Jameela could feel the gooey goop bubbling unsettlingly around her stuck thighs.
‘Quickslime,’ whispered Jameela, trying to free herself from its strange suction. The moniker she had given the gluey goo was beginning to take on a whole new meaning as it began to subtly swallow her vulnerable body.
‘I’m trapped!’ cried Jameela, feeling the sinister slime slurp at the sensually smooth skin of her legs. More grotesque gurgling and bubbling belched from the gripping goop as it slowly sucked the struggling jungle girl deeper, and deeper. ‘Oh, I’m sinking!’ whimpered Jameela, feeling the greedy quickslime consuming her helpless body.
She reached for the vines on a nearby pillar, grasping desperately at the leaves and limbs. The weak foliage offered no solace from the sinking pit as the greenery easily tore away in pieces from the stone structure. The column itself was too slippery and featureless for Jameela to obtain a proper grip. Relentlessly, the redhead pawed at the pillar in a futile attempt to cease her descent.
Meanwhile the quickslime continued to deviously devour the desperate damsel like a sucking, salivating monster maw.
A gigantic statue of a Kansyore guardian glared deadpan at the drowning damsel from the other side of the chamber. Jameela estimated that the size of immense carved figure was five or six times that of an actual person. She shuttered at the disturbing fact that the effigy was nearly nose deep in the quickslime, meaning that the slurping sludge in the pit was more or less bottomless.
Soon, the tired and mired maiden was up to her hips on burping, belching slime. The exhausted girl’s struggling had slowed to an occasional wiggle, or a half-hearted tug of her buried legs.
A long hike through treacherous jungle, scaling the crushing walls of the narrow booby trap and battling sizable serpents had significantly depleted her energy.
Not that struggling was doing her any good; the more Jameela fought the grip of the goo, the quicker she sank into its deadly depths.
‘UHN! I can’t escape this awful ooze!’ exclaimed the hopeless heroine, biting her lip despairingly as gurgling green gunk gulped her down to her tight little waist.
Jameela’s resistance against the sucking slime pulling her down to her doom was not her only fight. Along with the oppressive fatigue from her adventure she was also battling the onset of panic and desperation sapping her sanity. ‘Breathe, Jameela,’ the bogged beauty whispered to herself as she closed her eyes and concentrated on conserving her strength and focus through meditative breathing.
Deeper and deeper Jameela slipped into the ghastly goo. Her supple breasts touched the sickly surface and began to disappear into the quickslime with the rest of her defeated body.
She opened her eyes and calmly looked around the perilous pit for anything she might be able to reach. Nearby at the edges of the chamber she could see roots and vines dipping under the slime just beyond her grasp.
Jameela knew that any dramatic twisting or thrashing might cause her to sink rapidly to a point of no return. She carefully calculated her movements and began to lean gingerly toward a burly tree root several feet from where she was sinking.
Her chest dipped into the sticky pit as she reached slowly outward in the direction of the submerged rhizome. A whimper escaped her lips as she felt her body sinking uncomfortably down into the slime. Burping gelatinous ooze lapped at Jameela’s chin as she extended her body with all her might, fishing daringly under the surface for the root. Her beautiful red locks fanned out over the slime. She could taste the foul fermented filth in her mouth as her imperiled body plunged toward a horrific demise.
‘Thank goodness!’ she sighed, as her fingertips grazed the surface of the lifesaving limb; the root was within her reach. She took a deep breath and a gamble, letting the quickslime swallow her completely with a gruesome, gurgling gulp.
Under the surface, she lunged toward the stalk, stretching her arms through the thick slime until her hands were around the root. Her tired muscles began to pull her fatigued figure toward the edge of the treacherous trap.
Her head breached the surface of the slime as she swam and sloshed herself toward the safe and solid growth around the pit. After freeing herself from the nightmarish grip of the quickslime, Jameela collapsed in a heap on some leafy greens against the chamber wall. Her glistening chest heaved vehemently, breathing gratefully and excitedly while she laughed and cried simultaneously with relief.
The embattled beauty was 3-0 so far on the day, in her contests against death, and had no intentions of relenting her winning streak.
‘The things I do for glue,’ she jested humorously, panting and staring up at the fleeting sunlight. The day was getting long in the tooth. She considered it wise to be far from this toxic temple when light surrendered to darkness.
Jameela prepared her mind, body and soul for her journey back to the coast. After a series of meditative breaths, the goop covered girl wiped handfuls of syrupy slime from her hair, her face and her sticky body before rolling over onto her hands and knees.
She scanned the perimeter of the pit for something, anything she could use to transport a few globs of glue. Crawling around with her eyes to the ground, she stopped dead in her tracks after suddenly setting her attention on something further ahead that she should have expected.
Directly in front of her, two sinister eyes leered at her from the darkness of the temple’s lower chamber. The frightful head of a rock python emerged from the shadows, flitting its forked tongue wickedly and slowly slithering toward the startled jungle girl. The sneaky serpent had dropped down below the rotunda during Jameela’s daring escape from the slime pit, and was lying in wait.
The snake was mere meters away and creepily closing in on Jameela, who was crouched and holding completely still. The scaly assailant looked mean and menacing as it prepared to lunge at the red haired girl.
‘Smile,’ suggested the jovial jungle maiden, as she flicked the strap button on her thigh-mounted sheath and freed her trusty blade…
Not long after the morning sun leapt into the eastern sky over the Indian Ocean, Jameela of the Jungle passed through the waterfall and entered her secret cave through the hidden passageway.
The early light barely refracted in the gemstones of the unfinished mosaic that adorned the cave walls. A few glimmers and sparkles winked from the shadows at the lovely jungle girl as she set down the pair of tubular snakeskin sacs she had carried into the hollow.
Slicing the tether on one of the bloated bags, Jameela carefully poured out a small amount of quickslime into the empty leopard skull on the floor.
The aspiring African artist retrieved a shiny ruby from the hide pouch beside the skull bowl and scoped out a place for it on her marvelous mural. Finding the right space for the pretty jewel, she knelt down to dip it in the sticky slime.
She paused when her fingertips touched the green gooey glue. It was warm; probably from her body heat permeating the serpent skin on the trek home. It was stringy on her fingers as she lifted her hand up. Syrupy slime dripped onto her wrist and rolled down her arm. She flashed back to her near death experience the previous day, when she had nearly been sucked down to her doom by the very same ooze.
She looked at the steep, rock face of the cave and remembered her narrow escape from the closing wall trap outside of the temple ruins. She shuddered at the thought of being pulverized by that moving mountain of stone.
She looked at the scaly sacs and reminisced about her death match versus the rock pythons in the dark corridors of the ancient sanctuary. “Kill or be killed” was indeed the theme of the contest.
Jameela reflected on all the previous day’s perils for a moment. She questioned her own sanity after foolishly and austerely risking her life for practical art supplies. After a deep sigh, she wiped the quickslime off her arm and put the ruby back in the pouch. She covered the leopard skull with a lid she had fashioned from a large green leaf. She secured the snakeskin sacs and placed them in a corner. She turned and faced her incomplete artwork spanning the cave walls.
‘Maybe later,’ Jameela whispered with a smile to the mosaic masterpiece made of sparkling stones, shiny silver and glittering gold. She turned and knelt down at the crawl space leading back to the waterfall. A sleepy yawn escaped her as she rested her hands on her thighs. She thought about a long, morning nap in her cozy, dry, safe treehouse bed; free from sinister ceiling serpents, squishing stone snares and sticky, sucking slime.
Jameela rubbed her heavy eyelids, yawned again and amended her proposition, ‘Maybe tomorrow…’
Most of my stories I write around the images I generate, but this one was the other way around. I went hunting for the right image for an adventure idea I had already. It has some Tomb Raider vibes, and of course loads of peril. Enjoy.
‘Drat,’ cussed Jameela, staring down at the leopard skull she had fashioned into a bowl to hold a special adhesive slime. She was using the sticky substance to secure gems and jewelry of all shapes and sizes to the stone walls of a hidden cave. To her dismay, the skull was empty. No more work could be done to her unfinished mosaic until she could get herself a refill of the green gooey glue.
Concealed in the coastal jungle of the British East Africa Protectorate was a pristine, picturesque waterfall that fell into a pool of crystal clear water. Behind the falls was a secret passage that lead to Jameela’s cave, naturally illuminated by fissures in its tall, rocky ceiling.
The young, beautiful red haired girl known locally and in legend as “Jameela of the Jungle” chose this secluded spot to hide a treasure trove of unimaginable wealth. The reclusive redhead had no monetary use for the vast collection of jewelry and gemstones. She found value from keeping the fortune safe from those who sought only its pecuniary worth.
Diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, gold and silver and many other types of shiny stones and glimmering gems had made their way to the cave from the wreck of the HMS Worthy, lying under shallow waters just off the nearby coast.
It was the same ship that brought Jameela to Africa from the UK many years earlier, when she was known as “Charlotte.” Her father Commander Ernest Weber of the Royal Navy and his entire crew were killed when their overloaded vessel succumbed to a storm close to what is now modern day Kenya.
Instead of burying the treasure, the pretty jungle dweller decided to use the items in the cache to create a mosaic masterpiece inside the cave. The magnificent mural featured images of Jameela’s new home that were dear to her heart; boats, birds, the sun and moon, celestial bodies and an intricately detailed outline of the continent of an Africa.
To Jameela, her larger-than-life art was more than a hobby. It was a tribute to her new home. It also served as a memorial; a solemn reminder of all those who suffered and perished because of human being’s pursuit of the treasure’s wealth.
When the Royal Navy returned and threatened to steal the hidden treasure several years later, Jameela was forced to destroy her amazing artwork and hide the jewels in the water beneath the falls. It took the young orphaned girl several years to retrieve the treasure and create the original. She was faced with the self-imposed task of reconstructing the priceless picture, one precious gem at a time.
The lovely Jameela lived off the land as a hermit. She managed her mind, body and soul to not just survive, but thrive in this strange and wonderful place, her beloved African jungle. Sometimes her self-sufficient lifestyle required her to venture into the deeper, darker, more dangerous parts of the rainforest for resources.
The gluey goop she used for the mosaic was a mysterious muck she had encountered at the secluded ruins of an ancient Kansyore temple. The forgotten structure was buried under vines and vegetation, hidden from sight for generations. The semi-sunken sanctuary held many mysteries; dark, endless labyrinths, treacherous pits and torturous booby traps. The temple was a remorseless, religious relic waiting to devour trespassers, even hundreds of years after its abandonment.
However, Jameela knew that nothing stuck the gemstones to the cave wall as easy-peasy and hassle-free as the temple slime. It could quickly hold even the heftiest gemstones in place. When it dried, it retained twice its strength. If she made a mistake, the goop broke off easily and cleaned up nicely with water. The “quickslime” was the perfect, natural epoxy for her labor of love. There was plenty of it in the bowels of the ancient ruins for all of her artistic aspirations, or anything else requiring a sticky solution.
It was still early. The sun had barely climbed out of the Indian Ocean when Jameela had used up the last of the quickslime. By her calculations she would have ample sunlight to make the trek to the temple and return before darkness of night swallowed the jungle.
‘Adventure awaits,’ quipped Jameela facetiously as she slung an empty ceramic jug over her shoulders with a set of hide tethers. She knew the inherent dangers of this mission. The temple was perilous. Equally as threatening was the path to get there; hungry hunting animals, aggressively territorial tribespeople, deadly disguised pools of quicksand. The jungle was as lethal as it was lovely.
As she strapped a large sheathed hunting knife to her thigh, Jameela’s mind went to a meditative state to mentally prepare for her journey. After several deep, reflective breaths, the jungle girl ventured out into the wilderness…
Jameela’s uncanny intuition and memory was an adequate substitution for a compass. Occasionally, she would scale a tall celtis or trema tree to scope out familiar landmarks in the panorama above the canopy. Her resolve and her strange sense of direction brought her to the exact location of the temple ruins just as she had planned.
The red haired traveler approached one of two partially buried pillars guarding the east entrance to the ruins. She produced the sheathed knife from her leg and cleared away the undergrowth and vines that were concealing a stone carving. The chiseled, ferocious face of an ancient Kansyore sentry stared ominously at Jameela.
‘Smile,’ suggested the jovial jungle maiden to the stoic rock replica. Her light hearted humor was contrast to the fearsome foreboding glare of the sentinel statue.
Beyond the protective pillars was a straight cobblestone path leading toward the hidden temple, flanked by towering flat rock walls that rose up gradually to a height of roughly five meters.
During her previous visit she had used another entrance at the north side of the ruins. A cave-in had occurred some time between then and this visit that had rendered the northern access impassable. Jameela was unfamiliar with the east passageway and proceeded down its narrow corridor with utmost caution.
Her strong, shapely legs strode slowly and softly down the pathway. About halfway to the other end, the stone blocks beneath her eerily shook and shifted. ‘I don’t feel good about this,’ squeaked Jameela, glancing at the unsteady rock squares under her feet, and then over her shoulder in the direction she came.
She turned to hastily head back when a rumbling in front of her caused her to steady herself. A massive stone monolith rose up from the cobblestones to the top of the walls, blocking her path. The terrifying totem was covered with the carved faces of devils and demons, intimidatingly ireful eyes, gnashing teeth in gaping grotesque maws.
Jameela turned to scurry away in the opposite direction when another imposing pillar vaulted up out of the earth on her other side, containing her in the deep, narrow chasm. ‘Oh dear! A trap!’ she gasped, glancing skyward at the only exit from this man-made crevasse that she had been foolishly caught in.
The pretty panicked adventurer’s attention quickly shifted to another queer quaking and an unpleasant grinding noise. To her horror, the colossal walls on both sides of the booby trap between the menacing monoliths began to slowly close in on her.
‘Oh goodness, no!’ cried Jameela, futilely trying to push back on the massive slabs as they slid relentlessly closer. Her fit body and impressive strength were no match for the enormous, rumbling rock intended to crush her to death. ‘What am I going to do?!’ she whimpered, trying to quickly manifest an escape plan, as the perilous path became narrower and narrower, ‘Think Jameela, THINK!’
When the wicked walls were close enough to touch with both her feet, Jameela struggled to get a toehold on the slippery stone. ‘Only one chance,’ she reminded herself, as she braced her body between the sides of the closing crevasse.
With incredible agility, Jameela rapidly shimmied up the disappearing space toward the top. ‘Almost… there…,’ Jameela grunted, as she monkeyed up the steep, shrinking stone enclosure.
The slick surface proved treacherous as her left foot slipped near the top of the quickly closing canyon. She gasped and reached frantically for the edge, gripping the lip precariously with her fingertips while her long legs dangled beneath her. The walls were so close that Jameela could feel them pressing the ceramic jug into her back.
With sheer determination the mighty jungle maiden pulled herself up with all her arm strength. She planted her forearms above the sliding stone and lifted her legs out, just as the walls grazed her thighs. Behind her, she felt the rock walls slam shut, pulverizing to dust the jug that was still tethered to her back.
‘Too close for comfort,’ whispered Jameela, panting and sweating from her acrobatic ascent out of the diabolical death trap. If the jug was the mere price she had to pay to stay alive then so be it, she thought.
The pancaked pottery presented another particular problem; Jameela now needed to find another container for the slime. However she expected to undoubtedly come across a vacant skull or two in this god forsaken place.
Atop the sealed trap, Jameela quickly jumped to her feet and raced for the temple as the walls began to once again rumble and grind, sliding back to their open position.
Jameela lept from the edge of the wall with cunning, catlike grace to a balcony ledge in front of an open doorway in the side of the temple ruins’ main structure. The entrance was partially obstructed by years of plant growth and creeping vines, leaving a small opening just wide enough for the jungle girl to squeeze her slender, flexible frame through.
Inside the deteriorated shrine, Jameela followed a long, dark corridor toward a less dimly lit open space near the center of the sanctuary.
The walls were adorned with square stone panels displaying carvings of the sun and moon, and other celestial bodies, reminiscent of her own decorations back in the hidden cave under the falls. Multi-limbed and multi-headed deities were featured in some of the panels, gods and demigods of a long lost religion.
One panel showed a group of people being crushed to death by giant walls between two menacing monoliths, eerily depicting the doom that Jameela had narrowly evaded moments earlier.
Another panel featured a snake with several heads, encoiling victims in its swirling, scaly reptilian rings and bearing down on them with forked tongues and exposed fangs. ‘Death from above,’ remarked Jameela, noticing that the depiction showed the snake striking from overhead, rather than at ground level.
As if expecting a similar surprise attack, Jameela tilted her head to look into the fractured ceiling above. Before she could focus on the movement over her, a giant rock python dropped its coils onto the ambushed adventurer.
‘UHN!’ moaned Jameela as she was buried under a pile of predator. While the hindered heroine struggled with the immense weight of the serpent, it wrapped its muscular body around her, trapping her arms and immobilizing her legs.
The sinister slitherer tightened its grip on the defiant damsel as she wiggled and writhed her toned, athletic frame to no avail. Jameela was breathing rapidly as her enormous adversary slowly squeezed her captured body. Each time Jameela exhaled, the python would squish her a little tighter, preventing her lungs from filling with air. ‘I..I can’t…’ she began to lament, as her adversary curled another conniving coil around her neck.
Jameela could feel the painful pressure on her ribs as the snake crushed her. The relentless reptile flexed its body around her neck, cutting off her air flow completely. She started getting dizzy. The suffocating jungle girl was close to blacking out.
The head of the colossal carnivore circled around to Jameela’s side, flicking its forked tongue against her exposed thigh. ‘My knife,’ she thought, ‘If I could just reach my knife.’
The serpent compressed itself tighter around its vulnerable victim. Jameela frantically reached down and grabbed the hilt of her knife with her fingertips. Tunnel vision was setting in. She was slipping into unconsciousness as she flicked the strap button on her thigh-mounted sheath and freed her trusty blade.
As the coiling killer looped around her squirming legs, Jameela tuned her knife outward. When the snake’s body tightened around her thighs, the tip of the blade punctured its scaly skin. The panicked python jolted and gyrated wildly, twisting and turning crazily around on the stone floor of the temple corridor. Under the snake’s own weight, the deadly knife buried itself deep inside the monster, severing its spine and slicing its arteries.
The length of the serpent south of the knife wound went limp. Jameela felt immediate relief from the crushing coils and the imminent asphyxiation. She braced herself as the hanging half of the giant beast’s body flopped down on her from its perch in the temple ceiling.
Jameela laboriously lifted the creepy carcass off herself and climbed to her feet. She hunched over with fatigue, gasping intensely in order to nourish her body with much needed oxygen.
The python’s head was still flailing about, in obvious duress and shock. With her blood soaked hunting knife in hand, Jameela wrangled the contorting cranium of the serpent. With a straight and true thrust of the blade into its eye socket, the jabbing jungle girl swiftly put her attacker out of its misery.
Jameela stared back at the mural depicting the multi-headed serpent. ‘One head was enough, thank you very much,’ giggled the joking Jameela. Still, she interpreted the ancient art as a warning of sorts.
Looking back up to the temple ceiling, her intuition was vindicated. Several more sadistic slitherers were eying the pretty girl standing over the dead snake from the broken beams and dark spaces overhead. Three..four..five… Jameela lost count after six; more than a half dozen rock pythons were poised to strike. The careful, cautious jungle girl backed away slowly and broke out onto a sprint down the corridor toward the grand rotunda.
Jameela could hear overhead vines breaking and pieces of broken rock hitting the floor behind her as she fled. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw python after python pouring out of the ceiling onto the floor.
The dashing damsel stopped at the edge of the rotunda. The floor was completely covered with leafy vines, spanning across to four other archways leading into more dark corridors.
The domed roof above her was partially caved in, allowing sunlight to wash over the heart of the temple and illuminate its plant covered pillars and moss coated carvings. Trees were growing out of the cracks in the circular wall around the open space. Several species of birds were nesting in the numerous nooks and crannies.
Since the tenants of the temple had long ago vacated their sacred sanctuary, the jungle had more than just moved in and made itself a permanent resident of the temple; the jungle had become the temple.
Behind Jameela, the slight sound of shifting and sliding was emanating from the darkness. The snakes were on the hunt. She had to make her move, sooner than later.
Jameela planted one foot heedfully ahead of the other in the mesh of vines, as she started out into the open rotunda. The network of ropey roots stretched and wobbled like a giant web of rubber bands.
She fretfully considered that there was no floor beneath the vines; the wood and stone deck had long ago eroded away, leaving only a platform of live and dead interwoven clinging plants and spiraling vine growth above the lower levels of the temple. Light shone down between the strands revealing an open chamber far below.
When she felt the volatile vines begin to break and give way under her legs, Jameela ceased her forward motion. She slowly took a corrective step backward, but it was too late.
With a terrible snapping sound, Jameela found herself falling through the leafy limbs into the chamber below. She grasped desperately at the hanging plants as she tumbled down, seeking anything that would stop her descent into the unknown.
A thin vine slowed her plummet, when she gripped the growth tightly with both hands several meters above the chamber floor. Her hold was waning, and she felt her palms and fingers slide down the slippery strand. ‘Please, please, please!’ begged Jameela, as her hopeless hands slipped down and inevitably off the end of the slick vine, sending her into a free fall.
Jameela felt she was on good terms with fate, only falling a relatively short distance into the depths of the temple. She had braced for a hard impact, and was for a moment quite grateful when her legs splash landed with a ‘GBLWUMP’ into a soft, viscous substance.
She gathered herself, and assessed her situation. Looking up, Jameela saw the sun shining through the opening in the vines where she had fallen. Thankfully, there was no sign of pursuing predators.
She peered around the dark, damp chamber. The space beneath the rotunda was lined with more moss and vine covered structural pillars. Trees and plant life lined the edge of spooky temple basement. Cracked walls and creepy shadows blanketing the dimly lit perimeter. A sketchy stone staircase curled up around the circular walls to the upper rotunda.
As her eyes adjusted to the poor lighting, Jameela turning her gaze downward. She gasped in disgust at the sticky sludge that had broken her fall. She strenuously pumped and pulled her strong legs in the thick, soupy slime that had received them. ‘Yuck!’ she scoffed, as her struggling induced icky squelching sounds in the ooze. Jameela could feel the gooey goop bubbling unsettlingly around her stuck thighs.
‘Quickslime,’ whispered Jameela, trying to free herself from its strange suction. The moniker she had given the gluey goo was beginning to take on a whole new meaning as it began to subtly swallow her vulnerable body.
‘I’m trapped!’ cried Jameela, feeling the sinister slime slurp at the sensually smooth skin of her legs. More grotesque gurgling and bubbling belched from the gripping goop as it slowly sucked the struggling jungle girl deeper, and deeper. ‘Oh, I’m sinking!’ whimpered Jameela, feeling the greedy quickslime consuming her helpless body.
She reached for the vines on a nearby pillar, grasping desperately at the leaves and limbs. The weak foliage offered no solace from the sinking pit as the greenery easily tore away in pieces from the stone structure. The column itself was too slippery and featureless for Jameela to obtain a proper grip. Relentlessly, the redhead pawed at the pillar in a futile attempt to cease her descent.
Meanwhile the quickslime continued to deviously devour the desperate damsel like a sucking, salivating monster maw.
A gigantic statue of a Kansyore guardian glared deadpan at the drowning damsel from the other side of the chamber. Jameela estimated that the size of immense carved figure was five or six times that of an actual person. She shuttered at the disturbing fact that the effigy was nearly nose deep in the quickslime, meaning that the slurping sludge in the pit was more or less bottomless.
Soon, the tired and mired maiden was up to her hips on burping, belching slime. The exhausted girl’s struggling had slowed to an occasional wiggle, or a half-hearted tug of her buried legs.
A long hike through treacherous jungle, scaling the crushing walls of the narrow booby trap and battling sizable serpents had significantly depleted her energy.
Not that struggling was doing her any good; the more Jameela fought the grip of the goo, the quicker she sank into its deadly depths.
‘UHN! I can’t escape this awful ooze!’ exclaimed the hopeless heroine, biting her lip despairingly as gurgling green gunk gulped her down to her tight little waist.
Jameela’s resistance against the sucking slime pulling her down to her doom was not her only fight. Along with the oppressive fatigue from her adventure she was also battling the onset of panic and desperation sapping her sanity. ‘Breathe, Jameela,’ the bogged beauty whispered to herself as she closed her eyes and concentrated on conserving her strength and focus through meditative breathing.
Deeper and deeper Jameela slipped into the ghastly goo. Her supple breasts touched the sickly surface and began to disappear into the quickslime with the rest of her defeated body.
She opened her eyes and calmly looked around the perilous pit for anything she might be able to reach. Nearby at the edges of the chamber she could see roots and vines dipping under the slime just beyond her grasp.
Jameela knew that any dramatic twisting or thrashing might cause her to sink rapidly to a point of no return. She carefully calculated her movements and began to lean gingerly toward a burly tree root several feet from where she was sinking.
Her chest dipped into the sticky pit as she reached slowly outward in the direction of the submerged rhizome. A whimper escaped her lips as she felt her body sinking uncomfortably down into the slime. Burping gelatinous ooze lapped at Jameela’s chin as she extended her body with all her might, fishing daringly under the surface for the root. Her beautiful red locks fanned out over the slime. She could taste the foul fermented filth in her mouth as her imperiled body plunged toward a horrific demise.
‘Thank goodness!’ she sighed, as her fingertips grazed the surface of the lifesaving limb; the root was within her reach. She took a deep breath and a gamble, letting the quickslime swallow her completely with a gruesome, gurgling gulp.
Under the surface, she lunged toward the stalk, stretching her arms through the thick slime until her hands were around the root. Her tired muscles began to pull her fatigued figure toward the edge of the treacherous trap.
Her head breached the surface of the slime as she swam and sloshed herself toward the safe and solid growth around the pit. After freeing herself from the nightmarish grip of the quickslime, Jameela collapsed in a heap on some leafy greens against the chamber wall. Her glistening chest heaved vehemently, breathing gratefully and excitedly while she laughed and cried simultaneously with relief.
The embattled beauty was 3-0 so far on the day, in her contests against death, and had no intentions of relenting her winning streak.
‘The things I do for glue,’ she jested humorously, panting and staring up at the fleeting sunlight. The day was getting long in the tooth. She considered it wise to be far from this toxic temple when light surrendered to darkness.
Jameela prepared her mind, body and soul for her journey back to the coast. After a series of meditative breaths, the goop covered girl wiped handfuls of syrupy slime from her hair, her face and her sticky body before rolling over onto her hands and knees.
She scanned the perimeter of the pit for something, anything she could use to transport a few globs of glue. Crawling around with her eyes to the ground, she stopped dead in her tracks after suddenly setting her attention on something further ahead that she should have expected.
Directly in front of her, two sinister eyes leered at her from the darkness of the temple’s lower chamber. The frightful head of a rock python emerged from the shadows, flitting its forked tongue wickedly and slowly slithering toward the startled jungle girl. The sneaky serpent had dropped down below the rotunda during Jameela’s daring escape from the slime pit, and was lying in wait.
The snake was mere meters away and creepily closing in on Jameela, who was crouched and holding completely still. The scaly assailant looked mean and menacing as it prepared to lunge at the red haired girl.
‘Smile,’ suggested the jovial jungle maiden, as she flicked the strap button on her thigh-mounted sheath and freed her trusty blade…
Not long after the morning sun leapt into the eastern sky over the Indian Ocean, Jameela of the Jungle passed through the waterfall and entered her secret cave through the hidden passageway.
The early light barely refracted in the gemstones of the unfinished mosaic that adorned the cave walls. A few glimmers and sparkles winked from the shadows at the lovely jungle girl as she set down the pair of tubular snakeskin sacs she had carried into the hollow.
Slicing the tether on one of the bloated bags, Jameela carefully poured out a small amount of quickslime into the empty leopard skull on the floor.
The aspiring African artist retrieved a shiny ruby from the hide pouch beside the skull bowl and scoped out a place for it on her marvelous mural. Finding the right space for the pretty jewel, she knelt down to dip it in the sticky slime.
She paused when her fingertips touched the green gooey glue. It was warm; probably from her body heat permeating the serpent skin on the trek home. It was stringy on her fingers as she lifted her hand up. Syrupy slime dripped onto her wrist and rolled down her arm. She flashed back to her near death experience the previous day, when she had nearly been sucked down to her doom by the very same ooze.
She looked at the steep, rock face of the cave and remembered her narrow escape from the closing wall trap outside of the temple ruins. She shuddered at the thought of being pulverized by that moving mountain of stone.
She looked at the scaly sacs and reminisced about her death match versus the rock pythons in the dark corridors of the ancient sanctuary. “Kill or be killed” was indeed the theme of the contest.
Jameela reflected on all the previous day’s perils for a moment. She questioned her own sanity after foolishly and austerely risking her life for practical art supplies. After a deep sigh, she wiped the quickslime off her arm and put the ruby back in the pouch. She covered the leopard skull with a lid she had fashioned from a large green leaf. She secured the snakeskin sacs and placed them in a corner. She turned and faced her incomplete artwork spanning the cave walls.
‘Maybe later,’ Jameela whispered with a smile to the mosaic masterpiece made of sparkling stones, shiny silver and glittering gold. She turned and knelt down at the crawl space leading back to the waterfall. A sleepy yawn escaped her as she rested her hands on her thighs. She thought about a long, morning nap in her cozy, dry, safe treehouse bed; free from sinister ceiling serpents, squishing stone snares and sticky, sucking slime.
Jameela rubbed her heavy eyelids, yawned again and amended her proposition, ‘Maybe tomorrow…’
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Last edited by Jinn on Sun Apr 14, 2024 6:51 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Visit my DeviantArt page to find my collection of sticky stories and perilous pictures: https://www.deviantart.com/jinnzou
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MadMax359
- Posts: 4258
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
please bring Jameela back over and over!
The strong do what they want, the weak do what they must
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cerberus
- Posts: 528
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
This has been an excellent story and I've enjoyed reading it very much. Well done. I look forward to seeing what you come up with next.
Cerberus
Johnny Dowd: Be content with your life. It may not get any better!
Johnny Dowd: Be content with your life. It may not get any better!
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Jinn
- Posts: 294
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Re: Jinn’s AI Swamp
MadMax359 wrote:please bring Jameela back over and over!
Ok. I’ve something in the works as we speak.
cerberus wrote:This has been an excellent story and I've enjoyed reading it very much. Well done. I look forward to seeing what you come up with next.
Thank you for taking the time to read it. I’m sincerely happy that you enjoyed it. I’ve got lots of stuff I’m working, and ideas are flowing all the time. I just need to find the time to craft them.
Visit my DeviantArt page to find my collection of sticky stories and perilous pictures: https://www.deviantart.com/jinnzou
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