Jinn’s AI Swamp

[Jinn]

I found this neat image while working on the Jungle Deep series. I thought it deserved a story of its own.

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The covered troop carrier rumbled to a stop on the desolate, dusty swamp trail. The old diesel military truck was one of a dozen vehicles in a convoy snaking across the mosquito infested lowlands away from one of the King’s posh palaces.

A coup d'état was transpiring in the Kingdom of Kinamasi. Centuries of monarchical rule had eroded the social fabric of the nation, and the marginalized majority was no longer tolerating their oppressive, entitled royal rulers.

Angry, anguished ordinary citizens assisted by the military were rising up, and systematically sacking the palaces and police stations of the powerful and privileged. The unstoppable, seditious surge of freedom fighters and pissed off proletariats were hellbent on revolution.

The King’s “Country Cottage” property contained a private lake, several horse stables, a parade ground and grandstand, dozens of staff cottages, six guest mansions and a castle with a grand banquet hall, throne room, solarium and eighty two bedrooms. The grandiose estate was dripping with pomp and prestige. It was a slap in the face of the impoverished peasants outside its walls who scrounged and slaved daily for food just to survive.

When the heavily armed military platoon had broken through the gates of the estate and ransacked the property’s buildings, they had found more than just expensive silverware and priceless works of art. The estate was home to a few dozen pretty, pampered “princesses,” living luxuriously as playthings for the King’s private enjoyment. The troopers soon realized they had found the King’s legendary harem.

A few of the young girls housed there were prisoners, captured from the families of the King’s enemies or slaves purchased from underground sex traffickers smuggling vulnerable females in from neighboring territories.

Some of the girls were even rumored to be King Matope’s own daughters; “consequences” of sewing seed between the legs of the limitless ladies of the realm over decades of decadence.

Many others were there of their own accord, choosing to service the sexual appetites of the King and his guests in order to live lavishly and lazily under the protection of the crown. They were the elite of the concubines, the “King’s Dolls”; the most beautiful, privileged, well-to-do damsels in the harem, wearing the prettiest painted faces, the most glamorous clothing and the most expensive jewelry.

The brutal Kinamasi military pounced on the captured girls like perverted predators. They helped themselves specifically to the King’s Dolls, as they represented the flavor and favor of the King. The Dolls were the symbol of the King’s ignorantly obtuse and luxurious lifestyle that they all enjoyed in the castles and courtyards while his people starved and suffered outside. The savage, spiteful soldiers raped the Dolls at will and doled out harsh treatment to the troublemakers.

After the terrorizing troopers had their allotted “fun,” they were ordered to make the entire lot of Dolls disappear. They were specifically instructed to keep it clean and quiet; no bullets, no blood… no bodies.

So, the terrified, traumatized group of glamor girls were bound with horse tack; arms tied, mouthes gagged and eyes blindfolded. They were marched like cattle into the backs of troop trucks and chained to the bench seats. After the last of the helpless haremites were loaded, the military convoy rolled out of the invaded estate grounds to deliver the damsels to their doom.

Abeba’s heart skipped a beat when the truck came to a violent stop. The force of the abrupt halt sent her slamming into another captive girl next to her. They had no idea where they were or even who they were chained beside due to their blindfolds and gags. They were packed like sardines; uncomfortably crammed into the cargo hold of the smelly, stuffy troop truck. All the comfort and coziness of their pleasant palace was many miles behind them now.

The faint yelling of soldiers could be heard in the near distance. The banter of the men sounded impatient and confused, as if they were lost or arguing about directions.

Whimpers and weeping in the dark from the captured concubines drowned out the military men’s dialogue, but Abeba could clearly hear and feel someone hastily climbing into the back of the lorry.

That someone was looming over her. She could smell their sweat, and feel their anxious heat emanating from their body as they quickly unchained Abeba from the rigid bench and lead her carefully out of the truck.

‘Please come with me, miss,’ requested a polite, whispering male voice, ‘Do not be afraid.’

The man forced Abeba to crouch down as he removed her blindfold. The terrified girl quickly realized that they were under one of the convoy trucks, idling noisily above them.

The mystery male was not dressed in a military uniform, rather he was sporting loose fitting blue coveralls and a black baseball cap. He looked more like a mechanic than a soldier. His impression was of someone more trustworthy than terrible, and he behaved as such.

Abeba’s pretty appearance was contrast to the stark, aggressive camouflage, the rough edges of the military monsters and their evil equipment. Her beautiful brown eyes and long feminine lashes were captivatingly hypnotic. Her long black braids draped casually over her sexy shoulders. She was wearing a two piece white lace top and skirt ensemble. Her short sleeve, low cut, crop top showcased her dark skinned, desirably ample breasts and her flat, deliciously kissable tummy. Her tiny skirt left little to the imagination; her tall, sensual legs extended elegantly from the super short lace-trimmed hemline; her supple buttocks subtly teased enticingly from under the flirty, fluttering fabric. Her sandals were tied to her legs with satin ribbons that crisscrossed over her curvy calves, finishing with adorable bows just below her knees.

‘My name is Jei,’ revealed the mysterious man, ‘I am here to rescue you.’ He took a large hunting knife and cut the leather straps that were securing Abeba’s wrists. ‘If I remove your gag, will you promise not to scream?’ he asked, as he compassionately rubbed the girls arms, sore and red from her restraints.

Abeba nodded.

‘What is your name, beautiful girl?’ Jei asked, as he gently removed the tightly applied gag from the girl’s mouth.

‘Abeba,’ she replied in a nervous sounding whisper.

‘That is a lovely name, Abeba,’ smiled Jei, holding the girl’s hands tenderly. ‘We haven’t much time, pretty Abeba,’ warned Jei, ‘The soldiers will want to leave soon. You need to hurry if you want to flee.’

‘I don’t understand,’ frowned Abeba, shaking her head in disbelief, ‘I’m so scared!’

‘It’s ok to be frightened,’ consoled Jei, ‘You have one chance to get away. Please let me help you escape.’

Abeba hesitated, then nodded submissively.

Jei pointed to the flat, swampy lowlands beside the road, ‘On the other side of this marsh is a road that leads to a loyalist camp on the coast.’ he directed, ‘It’s about five kilometers. If you are careful and quick, the soldiers will not even notice you’ve left. When they discover you’ve escaped, you will be long gone into the swamp. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ answered Abeba, as frightened tears rolled down her cheeks. She stared at the intimidating, boggy marshland before her and sighed.

‘What about the other girls?’ demanded Abeba, thinking of her helpless girlfriends chained down in the trucks, still blindfolded and gagged.

‘I will try to help as many of you as I can,’ offered Jei, leading Abeba out from under the truck by her hand, ‘Right now, there is no time. You must go by yourself. I will try to save another to follow you.’

‘Ok,’ agreed a brave but nervous Abeba, as Jei pointed her in the direction of the swamp. ‘Why are you helping me?’ she inquired, looking back at her savior.

‘GO NOW!’ commanded Jei, pushing the petrified prisoner away from the cover of the truck, ‘Keep moving Abeba! Do not stop! Run for the coast! RUN!’

Abeba’s heart pounded furiously as she sprinted away from the army truck. She could taste the tension in the air. Jei’s sense of urgency haunted her like a hunting lion as she cleared the dusty road and splashed into the watery weeds of the swamp.

The only sounds she could hear were her heavy panicked breathing and her stumbling and slopping. She could feel her pulse in her ears. Her lungs were burning. The wet, muddy ground grabbed and slowed her fleeing legs as she sloshed, but she did not stop. She was too afraid to even look behind her. ‘Do not stop,’ she thought to herself, reiterating Jei’s warning.

After what seemed like hours of haphazardly hurling herself through the marshland’s grass and goo, Abeba finally mustered enough courage to look behind her. She was mortified to see that she hadn’t covered as much ground as her exhausted body made her believe. Less than a kilometer back the convoy was stationary on the dirt road that dissected the swamp.

She felt nauseous, and faint. She repressed the urge to vomit. She caught her breath and cried.

Abeba stifled a scream as the crack of a gunshot rang through the air from the direction of the road and the line of army vehicles. She leapt into a sprint, digging down deep within to harvest the energy and ambition to get away, to survive.

Another gunshot echoed from behind her. She yelped with fright. Abeba abandoned caution as she unabatedly barreled through the treacherous landscape. Her absent minded footing lead her right into thick, soupy bog.

Abeba’s long, slender legs plopped into the deep mire, stopping her dead in her tracks. The astonished escapee gasped as she instantly plunged to her knees in the swamp’s ensnaring ooze.

She tried to keep moving, but the mud held her fast. The concealed quagmire had appeared harmless, but as the helpless haremite began to resist, her new abductor began to drag down her struggling legs.

Tired moans and terrified whimpers squeaked from Abeba as she fought to escape her quicksand captor. She pulled and yanked her legs desperately, as the mucky morass climbed up the silky smooth skin of her enticing, ebony thighs.

She looked over her shoulder, equally afraid of the soldiers who could easily catch her now if they gave chase. Abeba could flee no further. She was trapped and slowly sinking in bottomless swamp muck.

‘Ugh!’ she protested, as the slimy mire sucked her deeper, completely devouring her legs and slobbering sludge stains onto her scandalously short skirt.

The horrific realization that Abeba was about to drown in this deadly, disgusting muck hole gradually shrouded over her like an approaching thunderstorm.

The previous evening, Abeba’s alluring ass had been claimed by the birthday boy; King Matope himself. He gobbled her delectable derrière like a slab of chocolate birthday cake, before pumping it full of his own Royal icing. Now her ass was being gobbled by a gluttonous, goo filled bog.

As the slurping mud sucked her heaving hips down and oozed in around her slender waist, she knew she was at the point where self-extraction was no longer feasible. ‘Somebody help me!’ pleaded Abeba desperately, knowing full well that probably the only ones able to assist her were the rapey rioters behind her in the military convoy.

‘Please help me! I’m sinking in quicksand!’ Abeba begged sheepishly to anybody… to nobody. Hearing the proclamation of her own peril made her dizzy with anxiety and fear. The acknowledgement that she was indeed sinking into a gooey grave of awful quicksand was next-level frightening. It triggered some deep phobias within her about drowning in ghastly bog. She was paralyzed with hopelessness and dread.

No one was coming to save her. Not Jei, not the Kinamasi Armed Forces, not any of the other girls. No one to take care of her, no one to pamper her or treat her like a princess. She was all alone and at the mercy of the terrible trap that was consuming her. The tantalizing body that had temped and lured so many, and brought so much after hours pleasure to the wealthy men a women of King Matope’s court was about to be lost forever in a sucking swamp pit of death.

Abeba began to hyperventilate. Her panic was overriding her better judgement and she began to scream.

Her heaving chest dipped into the engulfing ooze as she tried to uselessly keep above the mud with her paddling arms. Abeba’s nonsensical flailing only buried her deeper, faster.

A day earlier the King’s guests had doused her glistening breasts with bubbling champagne. Now, the foul, fetid filth of the bubbling bog poured over them as they disappeared in quivering quagmire.

The captured concubine continued screaming. She didn’t care anymore if the soldiers plucked her out of the bog, only to have their way with her vulnerable body. As long as they spared her this wicked, most heinous demise, she would gratefully submit to being brutally gang-banged. Her body had recovered from rough, violent sex many times before, she thought. It would not recoup from drowning.

Quicksand gulped the sinking girl’s shoulders down into the deadly trap. Abeba felt the stagnate muck inch its way up her neck, where only hours before she had felt the licking tongues and kissing lips of the other harem girls in a lustful birthday orgy for His Majesty.

She clawed and reached for the edges of the pit. The nearby grass patches merely disintegrated as Abeba grasped them in her frenetic fingers.

Mud oozed in around her shrieking face. Her eyes were wide with unbridled terror. Even as the putrid quicksand began to fill her mouth, she did not cease her helpless wailing. Even as the bog swallowed her head with a gruesome gurgling gulp, Abeba cried out in despair from the depths, sending her last lungfuls of air to the surface in a series of burping bubbles and fizzing froth…

The army corporal clicked the timer button on his military issue wristwatch while peering out into the marsh through his binoculars. ‘Eleven minutes,’ he scoffed, with a tone of disappointment and callous disregard.

‘We’ll be here all day at this rate,’ complained one of the nearby soldiers.

‘Why can’t we just shoot them?’ impatiently asked another trooper.

‘No bullets, no blood, no bodies,’ quoted the corporal, ‘No more warning shots. Put those rifles down. Orders from the top.’

‘What if we let them go in pairs?’ wondered the first complaining militiaman.

‘One at at time,’ ordered the corporal, heading back to the prisoner lorry, ‘Go fuck one of them if you’re bored.’

Crouching down and crawling under the truck, he approached a gorgeous, light skinned teenaged concubine, blindfolded and gagged, with her hands tied behind her back by leather straps. She sat scared stiff with her back to a giant tire of the idling lorry. She was dressed in a slinky, pretty pink négligée, accessorized with a sexy silk choker and enticing pink thigh-high stockings clinging to her irresistible, feminine legs. The poor little King’s Doll looked confused, and was shaking with fright like an injured sparrow.

The corporal gently removed her blindfold, and curtiously moved a lock of blonde hair from her pink painted eyes. The terrified girl examined him with deep suspicion.

‘My name is Jei,’ revealed the corporal, disguised in loose fitting blue coveralls and a black baseball cap, ‘I am here to rescue you…’

[cerberus]

Good story line and I like the picture a lot. I must admit I'd have liked a happier ending (I'm a bit of a softie, though not everyone would agree with that), but still enjoyed it

[Jinn]

Good story line and I like the picture a lot.

Thanks. I thought it worked out well for an image almost left on the cutting room floor.

I must admit I'd have liked a happier ending (I'm a bit of a softie, though not everyone would agree with that), but still enjoyed it

D’accord. Sometimes in order to get the cake one has to blow out the candles.

[Jinn]

The first half of a recently finished Jameela of the Jungle adventure. Bring a towel.

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Jameela was alone, but not lonely. Her solitary existence in the coastal jungle of the British East Africa Protectorate was self-chosen. It wasn’t that Jameela hated the company of other humans, per se. She was actually fond of the very few people in her life. She was just done with getting close, and getting hurt. Too many times the reserved, yet passionate girl had had her trust betrayed and her heart broken by those who loved her. Too many times she had had her mind, body and soul violated by those who didn’t.

So the lovely British outcast had pursued a happy, healthy hermitic lifestyle in self-imposed exile in the tall African trees, and the peaceful ocean breeze.

Although Jameela avoided it, she was not totally without human contact. She did have a few neighbors, fringe friends within the network of local traders and adopted “family” among the Mijikenda tribespeople. She even kept company with a few animal acquaintances who would occasionally visit their friendly, favorite jungle girl in her multi-level treetop abode. Though for the most part the beautiful red haired recluse hunted, gathered, supped, slept, learned and lived by herself.

In her seven or so years as a castaway Jameela had grown from an awkward, depressed adolescent girl into a full fledged, beautiful and intelligent young woman. Puberty had gifted the traumatized teenager with a set of perfectly plush & plentiful breasts and gorgeous gluteus muscles. Her twig-like limbs were transformed into two toned and tempered muscular arms and shoulders, and a pair of powerfully strong, sensually long legs. Her flat, featureless frame was forged and fashioned into a fantastically fit and feminine figure from years of rugged rainforest routine.

The scorching hot damsel was well aware of her stunning natural beauty and her “savage” sexual allure among men and women alike. She had a knack for turning heads, not just for being the only fiery red haired Caucasian female on that side of the African continent. She garnered ganders and glares for her minuscule, trademark animal-print clothing which shamelessly showcased her sultry, nearly naked, chiseled body.

Jameela had made a personal pledge to remain abstinent, as a consequence of her deep lack of trust in other people. While she was not bound to her choice by solemn oath, she was nevertheless committed to protecting herself and her dignity. Jameea viewed her body as a temple, and as such only allowed admittance to respectful worshippers.

She had learned to deflect sexual advances and vigorously defend her honor from the rapt sailors and lustful visitors whom she encountered as they passed through the Protectorate. She had often suppressed her own impulses, thoughts and curiosities about her budding, open-ended sexuality. She instead chose to focus that energy on surviving and thriving in the harsh, unforgiving wilderness.

However like any young girl coming of age, Jameela had certain… “needs”. The kind of needs that couldn’t be totally satiated in her hanging bed under the stars by her frisky, frolicking fingers. Needs that couldn’t be completely quelled in the afternoon shade of her cozy little seaside hammock, with a secretively selected, sturdy, unripened tree fruit. It was the need to arouse and be aroused; the need to touch and be touched; the need to desire and be desired. It was the need to sexually submit to a lover and feel their heat between her legs; the need have that lover take control… take her, and force her to cum… to surrender to the tingling warmth and the toe curling, lip biting, tidal rush of orgasmic release…

Jameela awoke with a gasp, jumping up to a sitting position in her hanging treehouse bed. The enormous bed frame subtly swayed in the warm, late evening breeze as it hung from the partially open roof by four sturdy vines attached to each corner. The flustered jungle girl gathered her wits as she peeled away the silk sheets that were damp with her perspiration.

Yet again, an intense dream had disrupted her slumber, the third in as many nights. Although she couldn’t quite remember many of the details, Jameela knew most certainly that the dream was of the “wet” variety. She felt an aura of feminine sexual energy emanating from within, and was unusually moist and extra sensitive between her legs.

Jameela wasn’t sure who she was with in her dream or even their gender, but she did recall that they were feasting ravenously and relentlessly between her thighs. The memory of her dream had dissipated from her conscience like a fleeting vapor, except for the sensation of a tender tongue lovingly licking and lashing her nether regions. It felt incredibly realistic and nice… so, so nice.

Upon waking her thoughts went to memories of Colette and the impassioned sessions of love making they had shared in that very same bed. She was Jameela’s long lost, merchant marine half sister whom with she had engaged in a brief but passionate love affair, before the inevitable truth of their relation clawed its way out of a quagmire of lust and love-stained lies.

In hindsight Jameela had been quite angry that she had fallen in love with Colette; angry at her pirate captain sister for betraying her by luring her into a forbidden romance; angry at herself for so easily and foolishly opening up to let someone in, after so much time in the strict sanctum of her solitude. However Jameela still loved her femme française from Côte d'Ivoire deeply, regardless that she still hated to love her.

Her mind struggled with the reality that she had found so much intimate love and tenderness with her own flesh and blood as they had laid naked together. She tried to dismiss an inner yearning to feel Colette’s warmth and silky caramel skin against hers again. She futilely battled a deep desire to let her memory replay the raw intensity of their mutual climaxes, as they squirmed and grinded between one another’s trembling legs in unabated ecstasy.

The memories, like her dreams stoked the fire in her loins. The hot and bothered Jameela was still as horny as hell.

She tried to lay back down and let the serenity of sleep carry her away from her desires, only to stare wide eyed, at the stars above, uncomfortably conscious and disappointedly unsatisfied.

She tried to masturbate. She spread her legs and ran her right hand delicately up the smooth skin of her inner thigh, and gingerly rubbed her cupped palm over her humid mound. Her fingertips circled slowly and gently around her throbbing pussy, increasing in tempo until they swirled dizzyingly and determined.

Jameela slid a slippery finger deep inside, rhythmically gliding it in and out while stroking her clitoris thoroughly, searching for some sort of sexual relief that never came, even when she did. She squeezed her breast trying to harvest as much pleasure as she could from an orgasm that was more yawn inducing than breath taking.

‘I am unquenchable,’ sighed a pouting, panting Jameela, red faced and frowning up at her friend the moon, who stared back down at the dripping damsel glowing brightly… and non-judgmentally.

Since sleep wasn’t going to deliver Jameela from her demons and self-gratification wasn’t scratching that itch, she decided to go for a walk. Down to the forest floor she slid, on a leafless vine like a dewdrop rolling down a morning stem.

A night time stroll in the jungle was a double edged sword. It was cool, calming, peacefully beautiful, and good for the soul if one stayed within the relative safety of the well worn, moonlit paths and clearings.

On the other hand, the shadows of the rainforest were home to all sorts of creepy crawlies and carnivorous critters that were dangerous enough in the daylight, let alone under the dark shroud of night.

For this reason Jameela carried her trusty hunting knife unsheathed in her right hand, ready for anything malevolent that was out there in the darkness hiding… or hunting.

Jameela misjudged her motives. She assumed that her risky little hike might take her mind off her sexual thirst, when in fact it was likely to add fuel to the fire. She was becoming aware that under some circumstances being in peril was actually strangely arousing. Facing a threat gave her an initial adrenaline rush, which compounded if something like a thrilling chase ensued. If or when that threat gained the upper hand Jameela found minute erotic fervor in relinquishing control or surrendering to an adversary; being dominated by someone or something dangerous was kind of hot.

She had felt it during a recent expedition when the trap walls in the Kansyore temple ruins began to close in on her. She had tasted it while seeking hidden treasure in the swamp, when a giant squeezing tar snake tried to consume her. She subconsciously relished it whenever she found her body trapped and slowly sinking into thick, gooey, jungle quicksand. Even as her helpless body was chained to the bowels of a navy warship and she faced torture, rape and probably death at the hands of a dozen dirty, devious sailors, Jameela sensed a tiny tinge of titillation. In a sense the prospect of being offed got her off.

Jameela’s mind was racing with images of her recent dreams, memories, her fantasies and desires as she stumbled through the jungle brush. The thick foliage had become more and more dense as she sauntered somewhat aimlessly. She had carelessly wandered off the beaten path and was not only lost in thought, but lost in the woods as well.

‘Bloody hell,’ she cussed, trying to get a bearing on her location and direction. The sinking moon shone down scarcely through the canopy from the west, giving Jameela an idea of where she might be heading.

A chill down her spine and the absence of nocturnal songbirds told her she was on the outskirts of the dreaded swamp known as the Deep. This was no place for living things to be wandering care free under patchy moonlight. The infamous swamp was teeming with peril; a plethora of predatory pythons and putrid pits waited to devour any living thing that might stumble into their grasp. Jameela herself had cheated death many times in this notorious, nightmarish lowland.

Her better judgement prevailed and Jameela turned 180 degrees to head back to the coast, back to safer treetops and more solid ground.

Commotion in the undergrowth startled the jittery jungle girl, and she raised her blade instinctively. More rustling and snort-like grunts disturbed the bushes on either side of her. ‘Boars,’ whispered Jameela quietly to herself. A sniffing sounder of swine were onto her scent, and had strategically begun to surround her.

Jameela strained her eyes in the darkness to try and catch a glimpse of the hunting hogs. A rustling bush here, a snapping twig there… they seemed to be all around her. Closing her eyes, Jameela concentrated on each approaching pig. ‘Three,’ she surmised, based on their audible signatures.

In unison, the boars dashed wildly screaming from the bushes at the cornered redhead. Jameela lept into the air, and brought her stabbing knife hand down into the back of one of the ambushing adversaries. The stricken swine squealed psychotically as blood exploded from its severed arteries. Before Jameela could yank her blade from the boar, it keeled over deader than the dirt it landed in.

At the last second, Jameela brought her leg up to kick another of the attacking animals. The third pig pounced from the opposite direction, grabbing a mouthful of the jolted jungle girl’s long red locks. While the kicked boar recovered and regrouped, the hair chomping hog wrung Jameela wildly by her fiery red mane. Bloodsoaked steel refracted the moonlight as the pigs’ pretty prey sliced the neck of the shaking swine, before it released her hair from its maw and squealed in agony.

Roughed up but unrelenting, the pair of porkers rallied and raced after the fleeing jungle girl, who had broken out into a sprint… directly into the Deep.

As fast as her fit legs could carry her, Jameela dashed through the swamp, splashing though muddy sand and leaping over rotting tree limbs. The trailing boars were equally as nimble, maneuvering through the marshy mud and decay with relative ease as they trumpeted their ear piercing squeals and closed the gap between them and their scurrying breakfast.

Literally nipping at her heels, Jameela heard the closest hog snapping its jaws directly behind her. She turned abruptly, as her assailant banked hard to match her maneuver. Jameela lunged at the boar with her knife, but the other pig rushed her with a bold charge and knocked her weapon from her hand.

Stunned and defenseless, Jameela exercised her only available option, and ran for the safety of the closest climbable tree across a moss covered glade. The fleeing female stumbled and tripped as she strode her long, elegant legs over unsteady open ground. The spongy, quaking moss below the darting damsel wobbled and rippled as her legs suddenly plunged into the bubbling bog beneath it. ‘(GASP) No! UHN!’ whimpered Jameela as another, more familiar peril revealed itself, ‘Quicksand!’

Not far behind her, one of her pursuing porkers had also careened out into the twilit clearing and was quickly ensnared by the treacherous trap. The squealing swine flailed frantically and was swiftly swallowed by the unforgiving ooze. The remaining boar cried protestingly from the edge of the bog, as its piggy partner disappeared into the deadly depths.

Jameela struggled her trapped legs desperately as she slowly sank into the concealed quagmire. Burping sandy mud boiled and bubbled around her writhing thighs as the dreadful quicksand slurped them hungrily in. The thin layer of floating moss around her lifted and heaved as the desperate damsel’s mired body fought against the terrible mucky suction.

Closing her eyes and taking a few deep, medeitative breaths, Jameela calmed herself and slowed her sinking. Feeling confident and courageous, she opened her eyes and began to lean forward, planting her arms into the unsteady moss. She slowly and carefully began to crawl. The ghastly goo squelched and gurgled hideously as she strenuously, carefully extracted her long legs from its clutches.

The last of the sinister swine paced savagely around the perimeter of the perilous pit. It grunted and snorted ferociously, waiting for Jameela to reach the solid outer edge.

Creeping precariously on a volatile blanket of swamp moss over the quicksand, the desperate jungle girl faced danger in both directions. Whenever Jameela would stop or even slow down she would begin sink through the fragile foliage and into the bottomless ooze beneath. To avoid being sucked into the awful, gurgling quicksand she had no choice but to continue crawling over the floating moss toward the bog’s edge, toward her awaiting fanatical foe.

Awkwardly positioned and lacking her trusty hunting knife, Jameela knew she couldn’t safely manage her escape from the bog and the hog simultaneously. She was growing frustrated.

‘FACK OFF!!’ Jameela cussed at the gnarly, snarly boar waiting for her but a few feet from her as she slopped and strained laboriously in the bog. Her patience for this obnoxious, ornery animal was as exhausted as her struggling body.

As if the Deep itself had also grown impatient, it seemingly unleashed a slithering serpent from the sky upon the pig. A gigantic python flopped down from the trees, planting its fangs into the startled swine and began to curl its colossal coils around it. Within seconds, the panicked pig had disappeared under a pile of python, with only its muddy hooves protruding from between the snake’s scaly curls. The squealing and snorting eventually ceased as the serpent eerily contracted and squished the life out of Jameela’s annoying nocturnal nemesis.

‘Thanksssss,’ acknowledged Jameela with a humorous hiss as she climbed out of the pit, rose cautiously to her feet and crept past the remorseless reptile. The squeezing serpent paid no mind to the escaping jungle girl or her lame parody. It was busy unhinging its jaw in preparation for a feast of fresh, raw pork chops.

Finding a comfortable seat under a fern to recover and wipe icky swamp sludge from her body, Jameela reflected on her near death experience. In her sexually frustrated state, she was certain that she had manifested the whole thing. She was convinced now that she was indeed an adrenaline junkie; a thirsty thrill seeker; the true “wild woman” of local legend. Why else would she have went for a walk in the wilderness in almost total darkness? Why else would she have chosen to reside alone in an open air treehouse in a hostile environment like East Africa? Why else would she be relaxing in a danger filled swamp… touching herself?

Jameela snapped out of her trance. Her hands had segued from clearing the mud from her thighs to tracing her fingertips delicately over her nipples while she pleasured herself with two probing fingers in her hot, wet vagina. ‘Unquenchable,’ she whispered, shaking her head and suppressing her urges, ‘For goodness sake, Jameela. This is no place to…’

Something caught Jameela’s attention from the other side of the bog. Twilight was starting to illuminate the Deep, devouring its shadows and revealing its dimensions and its inhabitants. What appeared to be vines, or wiry wands of some sort were wiggling and writhing lethargically in the shallow muck.

Curious, Jameela squinted in the dimly lit jungle to make sense of what she was seeing. She popped up from under her fern brolly and proceeded to get a little closer to this mysterious phenomenon.

‘What in the world…’ she began, staring in mild awe at the swaying, swirling strands ahead of her. She had never seen anything like this in her years spent in the jungle. The long, rubbery ropes danced not unlike the seaweed in the shallow Indian Ocean waters
off the East African shore. They wiggled and whirled hypnotically as the inquisitive girl warily wandered over.

Jameela crouched down heedfully, near enough to examine these curious curly creatures but far enough to abandon her reconnaissance if things squirmed out of hand.

‘Tentacles,’ noted Jameela, comparing the squiggly swayers to the squid arms, with their slippery skin and suction cups. She couldn’t tell if they were attached to something below the surface, or if they were individual entities. She had never been this far into the Deep at night and thought perhaps they were nocturnal dwellers.

Nevertheless, they seemed to have been aware of the jungle girl’s presence, bending and bowing enticingly and enigmatically in her direction as if beckoning her to come closer.

A gasp came from the jumpy jungle girl as she recoiled from the touch of one of the tentacles that had unknowingly surfaced beneath her. The slimy slitherer had begun to glide innocently up Jameela’s calf before she backed away.

‘My, aren’t you friendly,’ she commented to the waving wiggler as it leaned from side to side almost playfully. Jameela knew to take its behavior with a grain of salt. Nothing in the Deep was friendly.

Still, Jameela’s catlike curiosity was overriding her fundamental precautions. She wanted to examine these things. She wanted to scrutinize and hypothesize. She wanted to get closer, maybe even beyond “close enough”. She wanted to let herself touch them. Rather, she wanted to let them touch her.

Biting her index finger nervously, Jameela extended her long leg out to the closest tentacle, the one that had snuck a feel moments earlier. The peculiar appendage gladly accepted Jameela’s offering as it coiled its squiggly self around her toes, and wiggled under the arch of her foot. The red haired girl giggled daintily. The pads of her feet were tough and calloused from years of trekking and climbing barefoot over the trees and terrain of East Africa, but her arches were still soft and sensitive… and somewhat ticklish.

The teasing tentacle continued to coil and climb around the smooth skin of Jameela’s right leg, massaging her calf and giving her knee a little squeeze as it inched its way up her silky thigh. Jameela blushed. The serpent-like slider zigged and zagged hesitantly up the inside of her leg, changing direction multiple times as if unsure where it wanted to go. A red faced Jameela bit her lip as she sat down in the soft swamp sand and made herself comfortable. She knew exactly where she wanted it to go.

Another touchy tendril had decided to explore the brave beauty. It poked up out of the mushy soil and immediately began to wrap itself around Jameela’s other leg, startling her in the process. ‘Oh my!’ she peeped, as the weedy worm roped around her ankle and ascended her shin. ‘It seems as though you both fancy my legs,’ she softly spoke to her flirty feelers.

More and more of the tendrils twisted and turned out of the marshy mud around Jameela. Soon she could feel the wormy wanderers coiling up her arms and crawling over the satiny skin of her abdomen, tracing and tickling her navel. She knew things might get way out of hand, and the potential danger excited her. She licked her lips as she could feel herself dripping with anticipation and arousal.

After another loop around Jameela’s sensual thigh, the first tentacle had started to investigate a source of warmth and moisture covered by her leopard print bottom garment. It meekly poked and prodded under the animal hide, as if following the trail of feminine secretion to the fired up jungle girl’s damp opening. The tentacle seemed to hesitate its advance until Jameela encouraged it invitingly with her fingers, guiding its slippery tip inside her.

Jameela closed her eyes, tilted her head back and moaned as the long awaited wave of pleasure she had been yearning for washed over her. The infiltrating appendage squirmed and stretched deeper inside her, probing her with a gentle, subtle rhythm. It hugged her lovely leg tenderly, squeezing and caressing her from her toes all the way up to her thigh as it pulsed methodically in her sopping wet pussy. It was as if the swamp slitherer knew precisely how the gorgeous girl wanted to be touched, inside and out.

‘mmMMmm,’ hummed Jameela, her body writhing and wiggling as much as the touchy tendrils fondling her feminine physique, ‘It feels sooo… UHN!’

The second slithering strand had spiraled around Jameel’s left leg several times before wiggling its way between her supple buttocks. The roused redhead being penetrated and prodded barely noticed until it began to squish itself invasively into her tight anal cavity. ‘Oh my g… (GASP) UHN!!’ whimpered Jameela tumultuously, at the feeling of the slippery sodomizer cramming invasively, slowly and shallow at first then forcefully and deep into her rear end.

The jungle girl tensed with jolts of discomfort as the anal intruder aggressively jabbed her exposed ass. The sensation was borderline intolerable and Jameela cried out with both pleasure and pain equally into the Deep’s canopy.

Daylight began to blanket the bog. As the sun rose above the gruesome glade, the gotten girl and the gooey grabbers, Jameela felt the growing, glowing, tingling vibration of an approaching orgasm from deep inside. An ecstatic explosion like a crouched lion about to lunge was building in her loins. She braced herself for an ultra feminine release of sexual energy and cum as the tentacles surged and stuffed her with their slimy scales and suction cups.

As sunbeams licked the skin of the molesting mud tendrils they instantly recoiled. The hot solar rays shriveled and shrunk the retreating ropes as they pulled themselves out of the libidinous lass on the verge of her sexual deliverance. They hastily let go of Jameela’s legs and slipped back into the moss covered bog with the rest of the tentacles like photosensitive vampires evading an early morning broiling.

‘No! Wait! Where are you going?’ Jameela panted, staring disappointedly at the withdrawing writhers. Her body was trembling with delectation. She was mere moments from reaching her peak when her dodgy dates decided to ditch the danger loving damsel. ‘Please! Don’t go!’ she begged, nearly in tears from being denied her deluge of delight.

With a defeated sigh, a sweat soaked, aroused and inequitably unfulfilled Jameela hugged her knees sadly as she sat alone the Deep’s dingy dirt. The hum and heat of her impending orgasm fizzled and faded in the morning light along with the mysterious mud crawlers.

‘I am unquenchable,’ whispered Jameela, feeling dejected and rejected. Something that could have either been a bead of sweat or a teardrop rolled down her cheek as she yawned involuntarily.

At the very least, her walk hadn’t been a total letdown, Jameela figured. She had become tired enough to quite easily fall asleep where she sat. She took solace in the fact that her adventure had achieved something.

She optimistically lifted her body and her spirit up from the swampy sand and pranced in the direction of her secret waterfall. She was ready for a soothing freshwater bath and looked forward to hopping back into bed afterward for a much needed morning “lala”…

[Jinn]

The juicy second half conclusion of my newest Jameela of the Jungle story. Happy Earth Day.

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The moon shone radiant and full. The night breathed humidly and hazily. The jungle loomed dark and forbidding. The girl lay restless and roused.

Jameela tossed and turned uncomfortably in what could barely be perceived as “sleep.” Sweat beaded and dripped incessantly from her feverish flesh onto the soaked and strewn silk sheets of her hanging treehouse bed.

The dreams corrupted her slumber again; dreams of touching and tasting; dreams of caressing and kissing; dreams of love and lust; dreams so vivid and sensual that the aroused African girl awoke several times to find her ultra-sensitive body sopping wet with more than just perspiration… she was sinfully saturated with sexual seepage.

Breathing heavy, an unsettled and semi-conscious Jameela tantalizingly traced her fingertips over her glistening thighs and delicately danced them over her sweat laced tummy. She began to tenderly massage her supple breasts while habitually and vigorously kneading her starving vagina.

She opened her eyes. Her friend the moon gleamed down at her unapologetically. ‘What are you gawking at?’ hissed the hot and bothered beauty, as she touched herself fruitlessly and frustratingly.

Her masturbation had become a utility. It was like a mop; used to wipe away, then put away. Instead of being a pleasurable playtime practice, self gratification had become a preventative pacifier for a ferocious feminine yearning; a safety valve to ease the pressure of her ravenous, uncanny cravings.

Her desire ran wild and unchecked. It was no longer a sexy itch that needed scratching. It had mutated into something like a disease; it was affecting her chemistry; it was holding her mental and physical health hostage; it was making her delirious.

‘I am unquenchable,’ sighed Jameela while stroking herself rhythmically and robotically. It was the familiar phrase she had so often repeated to herself when her urges seemed to conquer her judgement and commandeer her resolve; the signature words she used when her attempts to quell the hungry beast within had failed.

What she really meant to say was “I am unwell.” The sexual sickness infecting her felt foreign and otherworldly. It seemed organic yet unnatural. Jameela knew very well what being horny felt like. She enjoyed feeling horny. However this she did not like. Whatever “this” was it was beyond horny. It was dangerously past the point of mere sexual frustration. This strange sex-crazed thirst and hyper-hormonal suffering was something not of her. She had been completely taken over by it, ever since her moonlit jaunt in the jungle a pair of fortnights prior when she had submitted herself to the…

‘Tentacles,’ whispered Jameela, gasping and clutching a fistful of damp linen, ‘I’m cumming.’ Her body shivered and quivered as hot cum gushed over her forging fingers buried deep in her turned on, turgid pussy. Her climactic relief was instant but sadly intermittent. By the time Jameela had ceased convulsing and creaming herself her amorously amped body was already thirsting for more.

Jameela feared it was her close contact with the touchy tendrils that had infected her and transformed her into some kind of cum-lusting sex vampire. Her thoughts were erratic. She conspired irrationally. She had actually strategized how she might go about ambushing wary travelers, or even pouncing on unsuspecting locals to get what she wanted… to get what her sex starved soul coveted, what her fuck-famished body hungered for.

But her thoughts always came back to the tentacles. As the next lunar cycle approached its apex so did her fascination with the friendly fondlers. Her dreams had begun to almost exclusively contain sex themed scenarios with the rubbery rousers.

Those dreams were the most vivid and the most unforgettable; they always featured Jameela curiously courting and submissively surrendering to dozens of probing appendages to achieve the sexual euphoria she so desperately sought.

Those dreams were the most erotic; they usually contained intercourse and climaxes so realistic that they would almost always trigger actual toe curling, lip biting sleep-gasms.

Those dreams were the most horrifying; more times than not they would end with a blissfully ignorant and cumming jungle girl being dragged to her doom by the tubular touchers into the bubbling, bottomless bog in which they resided.

Inevitably, the ominous, orgasmic nightmares with their frightful, foreshadowed fate were not enough to deter the desperately deprived damsel. Jameela’s cum-lust beckoned her to the Deep, where she suspected steamy, squirmy sex and slimy, slithering sodomy awaited her.

‘Tentacles,’ she whispered again, sitting up overly aroused and adventurous in her swaying sleep apparatus under the earth’s auspicious orbiting orb, ‘I’m coming…’

The anticipation alone was giving Jameela orgasmic fervors. She pranced elegantly through the trees and thick underbrush of the East African jungle unable to keep her hands off herself. Dizzy with desire in the dark she stumbled frequently but recovered gracefully.

The danger too, vehemently excited her. The roused redhead was feeling so sensitive and sexy that she was convinced a face off with a blood thirsty predator or a perilous pit trap may trigger an autoerotic episode.

As Jameela glided steadfast into the gloom the ground beneath her was becoming marshy. She felt gritty ooze squishing between her toes as she slopped barefoot through the thick jungle muck. Squelching sounds filled the suspicious silence around her as she yanked her shapely legs from the sucking goop. The venturing vixen imagined herself carelessly stumbling into a deadly pit of gooey quicksand, where the sensation of sinking could easily send her into a cum spouting fit.

‘The Deep,’ presumed Jameela, as an eerie shroud of nervousness fell upon her. The jungle here appeared more depressing, more decayed. The air was becoming heavy and oppressive. The ambience was frighteningly foreboding. Jameela was undoubtedly skirting the fringes of the notorious, peril filled swamp.

Her survival instincts begged her to turn and run. Her sexual appetite enticed her to keep sloshing her pretty legs further into the goo filled glades. Her heart pounded in her chest like it was trying to escape. Her vagina tingled and trickled as though expecting company.

Coming to the edge of a mossy clearing, Jameela halted her advance. She recognized this particularly devious looking dell as the one she had been chased into by the sinister sounder of hunting hogs nearly a month ago. The moonlit moss was a facade. Under the green, grassy looking growth was bog; foul, fetid, fathomless filth that she had narrowly escaped during her previous visit. One of the pursuing pigs hadn’t been so fortunate.

It was also this bog where she had made her fateful discovery.

‘The tentacle pit,’ declared Jameela, as goosebumps rose up from her skin. The mere mention of it caused the hairs on her neck to stand up. Even in the hazy humidity something of a cold shiver ran down her spine. She began to feel faint, as if she was swooning over the very real possibility that she was about to embark on a second date with the bog’s icky inhabitants.

Her pulse quickened. Her breathing became shallow and rapid. Pins and needles zapped her toes and fingertips. She clenched her clammy palms. Cold sweat permeated through her skin. She felt the onset of tunnel vision. Jameela was in the grip of a panic attack. The excitement was too much for the journeying jungle girl.

The reeling redhead steadied herself and sat down in the tall reeds adjacent to the masquerading morass. She laid back and elevated her weak, shaky legs on a soft mound of earth beside her. She focused on her breathing, slowing it down to longer, deeper, more controlled exchanges as she half heartedly tried to meditate. ‘This is madness,’ admitted Jameela, closing her eyes momentarily until a vertigo induced dizzy spell made her nauseous.

Jameela wasn’t wrong in her assessment. She knew no good or lasting relief from her “sinfluenza” could come of this excursion. Her toxic desire was deleterious. She feared that she was on a collision course with calamity. The lightheaded jungle girl knew deep down that this was more or less a suicide mission. Yet she persisted, driven by cravings and blinded by lust. Her ceaseless urges coiled around and captured her, like the very tentacles she had wandered into the Deep to offer herself to.

The earth shifted peculiarly under Jameela’s legs causing her to jump up from her reclined posture. A rush of adrenaline seemed to wash away her faint spells as she examined the mound she was resting on. She cleared away the tall grass to get a better look at the unsteady mass. The lumpy heap was not earth at all. It was canvass. Someone had left their pack here.

Judging by the amount of growth on it Jameela assumed the fully loaded luggage had been long forgotten. No one in their right mind would leave such a trove of supplies behind in this environment unless they were in danger. And in the wretched swamp known as the Deep, one was always in danger. The owner of the hefty kit bag was obviously not returning for it. Ever. They were either dead, or too scared, or too smart to come back to this godforsaken place, she surmised.

She helped herself to an inspection of the sack’s contents. It was loaded with charts; a compass; envelopes marked with a London street address; climbing gear; canisters and jars with dehydrated fruit; two red, foot long, capped tubes; thirty three shillings; a hunting knife; a six shot revolver loaded with two rounds; miscellaneous clutter… and a treasure map.

The brilliant moonlight clearly displayed the parchment survey; a crudely sketched topographical view of the British East Africa Protectorate coastline. The map featured scribbled notes, landmarks, points of interest, possible inland treasure locations and a cute illustration of a shipwreck off the coast. Written in the finest calligraphy under the image of the sunken vessel: HMS Worthy.

Jameela smiled. This ambitious adventurer had been searching for the world famous hidden fortune recovered from her father’s sunken ship. HER ship. HER hidden fortune. ‘Good luck,’ she wished the long departed treasure hunter.

Jameela squinted in the pale moonlight trying to read the rough chicken scratch handwriting in the map’s notes. She could just barely make out the spelling of a girl’s name. Jameela knew the moniker very well. “Charlotte Weber” was HER name, in her former life as the daughter of a Royal Navy Commander. Under it in parentheses, was scribbled “Jameea of the Jungle.” It seemed the legend of the shipwreck’s sole survivor who had collected and concealed a priceless treasure from her daddy’s drowned boat was getting around. Jameela considered that she would have to start being extra precautious with visitors to her jungle. Her private paradise was starting to feel not so private.

Foraging through the pack gave Jameela time to recover from her crippling anxiety symptoms. It also provided a temporary distraction from her starving psychotic sex drive. It gave her a precious opportunity to use rational thought and decision making skills uninfluenced by her poisoned pursuit of pleasure. It felt nice to think of something else besides sacrificing her sex hungry body to slimy swamp creatures. For a moment Jameela remembered what it was like to just be a girl, to be human.

She stood up in the reeds, put the heavy carrier on her shoulders and carefully made her way around the perimeter of the bog. Burping bubbles emitted putrid swamp gas from the under the moss as the surface of the bog quaked and heaved. The swamp was always so animated Jameela thought, like it was licking its chops before a meal.

The brave, beautiful girl in skimpy leopard print garments cautiously approached the far side of the menacing mud hole. ‘They’re not here,’ calculated Jameela, standing in the same spot she had been a month earlier when the wormlike wands had crawled up her lovely legs, and explored her nether regions. ‘The tentacles are not here! They’re gone!’

The area was void of any sign of the tempting tendrils. A puzzled jungle girl set down the bulky pack and assessed her situation. She was definitely in the right spot. The moon was full. The conditions were identical. It didn’t make any sense. Perhaps the tentacles had shifted over to the other side of the bog, or even migrated the other side of the Deep. The only certainty was that the jungle girl was alone.

Jameela’s crushing disappointment was dwarfed by her epic feminine desire. The fact that she couldn’t fulfill the fantasy she was chasing made her want it even more. ‘Bugger!’ cussed the annoyed adventurer, standing bothered and bitchy with her hands on her hips.

She turned around and let out a long, defeated sigh. She crossed her arms and stared for a while at her new cumbrous canvass acquisition and considered what it represented: Someone else had come to this place in search of something they wanted very, very badly. That person had risked their life and more than likely ended it in pursuit of that thing. Their desire had probably lead them to an untimely demise even though they didn’t actually need the thing they coveted. Perhaps they may have felt that this thing would fulfill them or deliver them to a higher state of being. Whether it would have or not was a moot point because they paid the ultimate price for their longing.

Jameela perceived this abandoned pack as a sign; an ominous reflection of her own perilous pursuits. Of all the times and places to stumble upon such an ensemble of lost possessions, one of which with her own bloody name written on it. Jameela slowly began to regard the omen in a more spiritual sense. To her it was revealing itself as a warning of divine influence.

‘I’ve made a big mistake,’ deduced the doubtful damsel, as if proclaiming her predicament to the plump prophetic pack, ‘I must get out of this swamp.’

As Jameela made for the crammed kit bag, she stumbled in the marshy moss. She had been tripped up by something unseen, something moving in the mud. Before the floundering female could focus on her faulter, a pair of twisting tendrils had begun to loop their slithery selves around her legs.

‘Ugh!’ gasped the alarmed lass as tentacles spiraled quickly around each of her calves, gripping her gams tightly. These weren’t like the teasing, tickling tentacles that were friendly and flirty with her during her first encounter. These forceful feelers seemed more controlling, more conniving.

Jameela struggled. ‘Please! I don’t…’ she begged before the aggressive appendages pulled her off balance, sending her falling forward onto her pack. The creepy crawlers commenced coiling over her knees and continued creeping up her flexing thighs. With a series of muscly tugs they began to draw the jolted jungle girl toward the bubbling bog.

‘My legs! UHN! No!’ protested Jameela, hurriedly reaching into the pack to produce the small hunting knife buried under the cluttered gear. She turned and began to hack at one of the tentacles, sawing and slicing as it recoiled in apparent displeasure. As it let go of her kicking leg and reversed into the swamp, another icky arm rose from the goop to replace it. She jabbed and stabbed at the other slithering strand, until it let go as well. Another rubbery replacement immediately compensated, climbing and clutching Jameela’s calf then crawling and coiling up her thigh.

‘It’s no use!’ lamented the gripped girl, as arm after arm appeared for each assailant she ousted.

The knife wielding wild woman raised her weapon intent on bringing the blade down once again onto her aggressors. This time her effort was thwarted by wickedly whipping worm that thrust itself around Jameela’s wrist from her flank. ‘Let go!’ demanded the restrained redhead as the grabber seized and squeezed her arm. Its grip was powerful, and her hold on the knife waned until she inevitably dropped it.

In the meantime Jameela’s other hand was fishing frantically in the pack for another defensive item. Out came the revolver. The gun-toting girl held the pistol point blank against the tentacle wrapped tightly around her forearm and discharged a round. The bang was deafening. The recoil almost sent the firearm flying along with the chunks of tendril meat and neon green gut juice that had sprayed into the air. The scene reeked of gunpowder and something like rotting fish.

With her ears still ringing from the gun blast, Jameela pointed the pistol at one of the tentacles scaling her legs. Before she could fire the remaining round off, the six shot was swatted from her grasp by yet another attacking tendril.

With her legs firmly in the clutches of the creepy crawlers, Jameela could once again feel herself being dragged toward the moss blanketed bog. ‘UHN!’ she whimpered, clawing at the ground desperately as her helpless body was pulled toward the sucking sludge pit and a nest of rising rubbery ropes, ‘Leave me alone!’

A gasp expelled from her pouting lips as she turned to witness a hellish host of treacherous tentaculum, writhing and reaching for her by the dozens from the quaking quicksand.

Jameela stretched out, reaching for the canvass pack in front of her. Her fingertips grasped one of the shoulder straps when the bag was suddenly lifted into the air by a huge tentacle emerging from the muck before her. The dejected jungle girl watched defeatedly as contents were strewn about the glade by the wiggling worm whipping and wringing the sack widely overhead.

The bog belched hideously as more and more terrible tentacles rose to receive the defiantly struggling jungle girl. She moaned hopelessly as she felt her feet then her calves slipping into the sandy swamp sludge behind her. Snake-like slitherers overwhelmed her as the quicksand gurgled despicably and slurped at her sinking legs.

The feeling of wiggling worms working their way under her garments invoked whimpers from the defeated damsel. Coils of musclebound meat squeezed her breasts as a slimy squiggler slid boldly between her defenseless bottocks. With a painful pinch, the tentacle squished itself into Jameela’s vulnerable ass, causing her to yelp with extreme discomfort while it set about pumping her tight opening like a fleshy piston.

Another uninvited appendage traveled under her violated ass and sought out her humid, moist vagina. ‘Please, no!’ begged Jameela, as the assaulting arm pushed its squirmy tip into the slippery opening of her hot mound. ‘I just want to go home… I just want to go home!’ pleaded the besieged beauty repeatedly as the penetrating prodders lunged deep inside her to commence their brutal assault. ‘I just want to… UHN!!!’

Tears of fear and pain streamed from Jameela’s eyes as the tandem of tentacles ravaged her captured body. All the while she was slowly but surely being dragged deeper and deeper into the gruesome, gurgling quicksand. A tentacle had caught her right arm and was holding it behind her back while she pawed desperately at the muck with the left.

There was no escape for seized and sinking jungle girl. She was totally at the mercy of the mire and the monsters, as they relentlessly invaded her ass and unabatedly pounded her pussy.

As the muddy marauders pulled Jameela’s thighs down into the awful ooze, her intruding adversaries began to throb and pulse disturbingly inside her. They trembled and torqued queerly before squirting an offensive amount of hot, slimy tenta-cum deep in her body. Pailfuls of sticky seminal fluid gushed from her openings as her attackers continued their horrific probing of her abused body.

Biting her lip, Jameela fought not only against the terrible tendrils and the quicksand’s deadly suction, but also against the arousal that was beginning to envelope her. A sense of utter helplessness was already totally suppressing her, and although she tried, the red faced redhead couldn’t deny that she fancied it. She found the feeling of the murderous muck monsters immobilizing her legs as she was being sucked into the bottomless goo to be overwhelmingly erotic. The pain and discomfort of the forced tentacle sex and sodomy being inflicted on her was deliciously unbearable yet frighteningly enticing. The pleasure and pain receptors in her brain were singing harmoniously to the tune of her desperate, danger filled dilemma.

Soon she would be completely engulfed by the bog, and the demons in its depths would continue to fondle her and fuck her and fill her with their spurting secretions. Soon she would breathe her last breath and succumb to a dreadful drowning death in liquified sand. These stark realizations for all their horror and heinousness made Jameela’s loins hum and tremble with an approaching orgasm of such scary intensity that she fought against that too.

‘(GASP) Ohmygod (GASP),’ she cried out with delectable despair, before a ropey writher rounded her neck and stuffed itself into her gaping mouth, ‘UHN! Im going to cu…’

Jameela was at the threshold of an epic, ultra sensual, hyper-sexual release. The icky quicksand had greedily gulped down her beautiful hips and was slurping away at the toned ab muscles of her flat, firm midsection. Tentacles snaked tighter around her bested body, constricting her heaving chest and strangling her airway. Hot invasive fluid continued to be pumped munificently into her inflamed, greasy, gooped openings. An aggressive arm from the nest had reached over to the doomed damsel and set about forcibly pulling a coil full of her long red locks. Adding fuel to her already out of control feminine inferno, the scales and suction cups of an infiltrating tentacle under the surface were rubbing purposely, provocatively and perpetually against her super sensitive clitoris.

Jameela could no longer resist.

The warm, tingling glow deep inside the capitulated captive girl began to expand and pervade her trapped and tortured body. It rose up into her plentiful chest and made its way past her shoulders, down the length of her arms, into her hands and out to the muddy ends of her fingers. It travelled all the way down her long, luscious legs, through her feet and right out to the tips of her toes. It tickled her neck, permeated her head and even the follicles of her gorgeous red mane with a cozy, lascivious warmth. Every inch of the lovely Jameela vibrated with the rising electric radiance of an earth shattering, soul shaking orgasm.

Its arrival took hold of her fully and completely. It caused her to relinquish total control of her motor skills as she came. The gyrating jungle girl twisted and turned like the muddy monster mob mauling her. Her jaw bit down on the tentacle that was lodged in her throat. Her clenching teeth lacerated the panicked appendage as it retreated hastily from her mouth. Her pelvic muscles contracted so intensely that they shot out the anal and vaginal intruders from her gushing openings like slippery eels.

Jameela closed her eyes, tilted her head back and let out an eerie, unhinged, primal howl at the moon as she surrendered to the euphoric tsunami of sex and heat and bliss and cum exploding from within her convulsing, contorting feminine frame.

The nest of tentacles paused their pummeling and released their gruesome grip, seemingly shuddering in shock by the ferocity of Jameela’s red hot sexual climax. Even the quicksand seemed to stifle its slurping and sucking while the juicy jungle girl jerked and jolted.

The power of Jameela’s orgasm had delivered more than just relief from her devilish desires, it emancipated her from their inane influence. Her mind, body and soul were reset, restored and vindicated. She immediately felt more in charge of her destiny, and would fight to have it be anywhere other than the bowels of the Deep.

As the pinnacle of her pleasurable peak subsided Jameela felt an aura of calming peace surround her. She entered a trance like state of reflection, ignorant to the tentacles that had started to rally and were once again slithering around their voluptuous victim. She paid no mind to the fact that ghastly quicksand was burying her breasts as she continued to sink out of sight.

With her eyes closed the meditative maiden reached to her left and grasped at something lying in the moss adjacent to her. She had no idea the object was even there, yet had been strangely compelled to collect it.

Jameela opened her eyes to examine the item. She recognized it as part of the gear that had been tossed from the pack. It was a long, red cylindrical tube with a rough tipped cap at one end.

Feeling something slithering around her waist under the quicksand, Jameela questioned her instincts and motives for playing with such trinkets while being devoured by a monster filled bog.

However her instincts prevailed. She ignored the tentacles beginning to wrap themselves around her arms so to further inspected her prize. Not even sure of what she was doing, the curious jungle girl removed the cap and struck its rough end on the newly exposed end of the cylinder. A strange hiss emitted from the object along with a cloud of dense smoke and an intense, bright red flame. When the signal flare ignited it lit up the bog like a pocket sized sun.

The looming tendrils about to pile onto the mired maiden flinched at the flare’s radiating light and scattered like exposed rats. Even the submerged assaulters abandoned their underground attack. Shielding her eyes from the brilliantly burning cylinder, Jameela could hear splashing and squelching in the muck on all sides of her as her photosensitive assailants dove into the sheltering darkness of the bottomless Deep.

And then under the moon and the receding shadow of night it was just the filthy female, her fiery flare, and of course her frighteningly familiar foe: sticky, slurpy quicksand.

Jameela was up to her shoulders in the sinister quagmire. ‘I don’t suppose I could interest you in not swallowing me, could I?’ requested the joshing jungle girl to her earthy, abhorrently appalling archenemy.

Her lighthearted humor was answered with a ghastly gurgle, as Jameela was sucked spitefully down to her chin in the gritty ooze. She was out of options and out of time. There was nothing around her but mounds of moss and muck; nothing above her but fleeting starlight and the infused pinks and blues of the twilit morning sky; nothing beneath her but deep, deadly, disgusting quicksand.

‘This can’t be it,’ denied the doomed damsel, pleading her case to her friend the moon which was also sinking into its own horizon at the advent of sunrise. ‘After all the suffering and all the stupid sex… After all the signs and the second chance,’ she grieved, offering her signal flare to the sky, ‘All of it for nothing? I went through all of that just to snuff it?!’

After her moment of defiant denial and pouty self pity Jameela came to terms with her situation and sadly resigned to her fate. She closed her teary eyes and attempted to calm herself. She took a series of deep breaths trying to let herself slip into a meditative state. She sadly surmised that this would be the least painful and the most graceful way to meet her demise.

She tried to remain as still as possible. She could feel her body sinking with every little movement and was afraid to even blink. She could taste gooey grit on her lips. Only her partial face and her hand holding the flare remained above the bog’s surface. Her submergence was imminent.

Adding insult to injury a lone, brave tentacle began to swim up and swirl around Jameela’s neck from the depths of the pit.

‘Oh, fack off!’ swore Jameela, temperamentally plunging the flare into the muck, extinguishing it begrudgingly on the slithering submarine assailant. The resentful redhead put a little extra elbow grease into her strike, burying the burning beacon deep into tentacle tissue. The singed snaky tendril writhed violently from its trauma, rolling and splashing maniacally in the quicksand.

Jameela’s angry outburst set off a surge of movement under the surface of the bog. The miserable mud pit began to heave and swell, as if a giant balloon was inflating in its depths. The sunken jungle girl could hardly believe her senses as she felt herself rising up out of her trap. Looking down, Jameela saw her breasts, her hips then her thighs ascending from the quicksand. With her eyes and wide and her mouth agape in shock, she started to question this peculiar development, ‘What on earth…’

The pit exploded with a fury of filth covered, flailing, flinging tentacles. Heaps of moss and dirt and wet sand erupted into the air, along with a gobsmacked girl in leopard print garments.

‘UGH!!’ grunted the jettisoned jungle girl as she splash landed in the soft swamp soil on the edge of the bog. Mud rained around the glade from the boggy burst.

From the center of the quicksand pit arose a colossal creature, comprised of hundreds of swinging, slithering mud covered tentacles, whirling wildly as they slapped and splashed in its boggy basin. The central node of the monster was a shapeless mass of flesh with no distinguishable features besides a gruesome, gurgling, gaping maw. The malevolent mouth was lined with dozens and dozens of teeth-like tendrils, each squirming and swaying as its hideous flapping lips pursed and puckered.

The menacing monster was more than mad. It was incensed. It had taken exception to Jameela’s burning hot handshake and had ejected itself from its hideous habitat, hellbent on retribution. It launched a volley of tentacles at the jostled jungle girl still gathering her wits on the bank of the bog.

‘UHN! Get away from me!’ whimpered the frantic femme, kicking her legs rebelliously as the terrible tentacles trapped them.

As the enormous brute began to draw the helpless heroine toward it, the mouth flaps flopped open exposing a grotesquely gooey, gob-filled gullet. Jameela gasped at the horrendous sight of the beast’s menacing muscly muzzle.

‘This wasn’t supposed to be a dinner date!’ yelled the resisting redhead, as she dragged her hands uselessly in an attempt to stop being pulled into the gluttonous gargantuan gobbler. She clawed and pawed at anything that she could get her grip on. She even raked up items from the pack, including the treasure map, a jar of dried dates and… the second signal flare.

She frenetically fumbled with the cap when a giant tentacle wrapped around her, locking her arms to her waist and lifting her up in front of the dark, dank monster mouth cavity. The beast belched out the most irksome fumes as Jameela held her breath in disgust.

‘Bugger,’ whispered a helpless Jameela, close enough to the beast’s wide open maw that she could feel its hot, rancid drool oozing onto her bare legs. She knew she was done for.

A morning breeze provided a last second miracle as it rustled the forest canopy, allowing a few rays of direct sunlight to beam through the branches. Solar radiation peppered the entrapping tentacle around Jameela’s midsection like buckshot. The beast withdrew its stung arm, dropping its vulnerable victim as it ducked back into the shadows.

Still clutching the signal flare, Jameela took full advantage of her gifted opportunity by striking it with the cap. The tentacle monster blenched at the flash as the fiery flare sizzled to life.

‘Sorry, I don’t have a mint,’ jested Jameela, standing beautiful and bold as she airmailed a kiss to the amply armed abomination. The world famous red haired castaway cast away the flaming baton directly into the retreating beast’s gullet. Lacking vocal cords, the light loathing leviathan emitted a creepy clicking noise interpreted as agony while it launched itself urgently backward, out and down into the splattering, spraying quicksand.

The bog gurgled and churned chaotically, continuously expelling pockets of gas and air from the abyss through bursting bubbles and mini geysers at the surface. The beast was gone, back into the darkness of its hellhole of a home under the quicksand.

Jameela collapsed to her knees in the swampy sand and expelled air of her own in the form of a fatigued but relieved sigh. The sun was lurching over the haggard treetops in the Deep as she remained solemn and still for a long while. She marveled at her good fortune. She wasn’t sure how but somehow she had survived. A yawn followed another deep sigh as the reflective redhead felt the warmth of the sun’s beams caressing her sand covered cheek.

‘Good morning,’ offered Jameela with a pretty smile to the careened canvass pack, spotted hanging from a dead tree limb close by. It felt good to be alive, to be happy and healthy instead of horny and helpless.

However the doubtful damsel worried justifiably about her dangerous desire returning. The tentacle monster had exposed her to gallons and gallons of its gushing, seminal goo. Jameela was convinced it was an oozing aphrodisiac responsible for amplifying her already unstoppable sex drive. She feared another cripplingly crazy cum-lust was in her near future. The subtle yet certain hedonistic humming deep in her loins and the teensy, tantalizing tingling between her legs told her so.

‘I am unquenchable,’ lamented Jameela, accepting that she would once again have to face her ferocious, unrelenting urges. She knew she would be in for the fight of her life, until the effects of the tentacle monster’s toxic jizz subsided. The foreshadowing femme would have to deal with it itch by itch, one craving at a time, one sleepless night at a time.

At that moment the exhausted and famished jungle girl was doing more yawning than yearning and just wanted to go home to her cozy hanging treehouse bed.

The only things standing between Jameela and a lengthy session of wonderful, uninterrupted sleep were ‘this godforsaken bog,’ a bath and a breakfast banana or three…

[MadMax359]

urges are our friend, Jameela!

[cerberus]

Well, those two were a bit different, but very enjoyable. They're going to a tough act to follow!

[Jinn]

urges are our friend, Jameela!

With friends like that who needs enemas?

Well, those two were a bit different, but very enjoyable.

Thank you. That’s the idea. I’ll cut my own path through the jungle.

They're going to a tough act to follow!

Challenge accepted.

[Jinn]

This one is sort of an epilogue to the Temptacles story. A banana split dessert, if you will.

709B4D86-68D2-48A9-8DE2-FF1C5929B2F9.jpeg

The lion is often regarded as “King of the Jungle.” This monarchical moniker, like most royal designations of the modern age is purely ceremonial. In Africa, especially in the coastal rainforest of the British East Africa Protectorate, it was hunger that reigned supreme.

Hunger dictated the terms of survival. It established order. It empowered the predators. It thinned the herds. It fostered competition between foes… and friends. It created killers.

Everything had to eat, even the plants.
In turn insects at the plants; birds ate the insects; spiders ate the birds; mammals ate the spiders; reptiles ate the mammals; plants ate the reptiles… Yes, even the plants had to eat. The food chain in the East Africa jungle looked more like a web than a chain per se; it was a swirling, fluid cycle of perpetual consumption continuity where today’s predator was tomorrow’s prey.

All of this was governed by hunger. It was the one and only law of the land.

Jameela was hungry. She had pulled an all-nighter, off on some quixotic self-serving adventure that was supposed to quell her appetite for danger, among other “thirsts.” At that particular moment though her appetite was specifically honed in on a beautiful bunch of bananas, hanging perfectly ripe from a tree over her head.

‘I’m absolutely starving,’ whispered the famished femme to herself, licking her lips while strategizing how she was going to retrieve her breakfast from the bow.

The banana tree’s offerings had yet to be harvested, likely due to its location off the beaten path under the jungle canopy that kept it invisible. The tall, awkwardly placed tree branch yielding the fruit dared would-be climbers. Jameela considered standing under the branch and taking a whack at it with a stick, but the sandy soil beneath the tree was swampy and sketchy.

‘Up I go,’ resigned the jaunting jungle girl, before nimbly scaling the towering tree trunk. The agile young female easily climbed up and out on the branch adjacent to the stalk hosting the bunch. She straddled the limb and carefully reached over to the bananas.

‘These are going to taste yummy,’ smiled Jameela, as her fingertips grazed the greenish yellow skin of her morning meal. Her rumbling tummy concurred.

‘Uh oh,’ gasped Jameela, as her precarious perch began to dip. The branch supporting the pretty girl in leopard print garments began to buckle and crack. Unbeknownst to the hungry heroine, termites had systematically gutted her tree limb from the inside out, and the integrity of the hollow offshoot was compromised.

‘Down I go!’ jested Jameela humorously, moments before a loud snap was heard and the branch swung out from underneath her.

Falling always gave Jameela the sense that time was slowing down. To her, the tumble from the treetop felt like she was airborne for at least one rendition of “Hail Mary.” In actual fact her plummet of three meters was merely a fraction of a second.

A unpleasant ‘GBLWOP’ burped from the bog under the tree as Jameela’s slender, shapely legs plopped down into the pool of soupy, saturated sand.

‘Oh dear,’ peeped the mired maiden as she struggled in the shifting silt. Every movement she made resulted in gross squelching sounds and her long legs sinking deeper. She quickly surmised that the forgiving ground that broke her fall was forgiving for a reason, ‘This is quicksand!’

The trapped tree climber slogged and sloshed in the goop, fighting defiantly to try and free her sinking body from the creepy quagmire’s strong suction. ‘Ugh! It won’t let go!’ whimpered Jameela as the slurping slurry sucked down her sensual thighs, ‘it’s pulling me in!’ UHN!’

Gritty gunk gulped and gurgled around her gorgeous gooped gams. The jarring jungle girl was already exhausted before her plight, and her tired body was quickly growing weary from wiggling and writhing in the horrible sinking trap. She gasped as the quicksand emitted a grotesque gargle while it greedily engulfed her curvy hips.

‘I..I can’t free my legs! It’s so thick!’ lamented Jameela, plunging her arms down into the sucking sand to futilely tug at her trapped legs. Even her arms became mortally mired in the morass.

Deeper and deeper her trapped body descended into the awful ooze. ‘Oh! It’s got me!’ she cried, biting her lip poutingly. The quicksand’s grasp on the desperate damsel was stubbornly unrelenting. It puckered and pulled at her slim waist like a mauling mouth of muck. Jameela likened her sinking to being gluttonously gobbled by some terrible toothless terrorizer, ‘Ugh! This goo! It’s… it’s swallowing me!’

Moaning despairingly, Jameela heaved her limbs rebelliously in the bottomless swamp. Her breasts began to dip into the soaked sand just as she finally freed her fatigued, filth covered arms.

Jameela froze. Her eyes locked onto a reciprocating stare from the rainforest’s undergrowth. Two piercing feline orbs were sizing up the drowning redhead from the edge of the pit. The eyes belonged to a ferocious looking female lion. It lay motionless and eerily silent in the ferns as it inspected the girl sinking helplessly in the ghastly bog.

Stifling a scream, Jameela held her breath, afraid to make even the slightest movement. She guessed that the large predator wouldn’t dare pounce on her while she was trapped in quicksand, yet the cunning, killer cat crouched like it was about to attack.

It was suicide, thought Jameela. Only a dummy would take such a risk for a meal, and lions were not dummies. Nevertheless, the fearless feline’s body language screamed that it was preparing to unleash an assault.

The lion cranked itself back like the cocking hammer of a handgun. Liquid sand oozed over Jameela’s chest as she closed her eyes and tensed her muscles in anticipation.

The wild cat leapt into the air and sailed over and past the sinking jungle girl, burying its teeth and claws into a prowling python that had stealthily slithered down the dangling, broken banana tree limb. The momentum of the lion’s pounce sent it and the recoiling reptile tumbling into the brush beyond the pit. The sound of a vicious battle ensued in the undergrowth.

In the melee, the broken branch had completely separated from the tree trunk and splashed into the muck directly beside Jameela. Grateful and surprised, the fast moving female wasted zero time utilizing the gifted tree limb to extract her imperiled person from the sucking sand pit.

Jameela eyed the bushes nervously, half expecting one or the other of the predators to emerge and turn their sights on her while she was vulnerable. She labored herself out of the ooze, pumping and kicking her legs until they were free from the clutches of the sandy sludge. Slowly, the bogged beauty crawled to the safety of the pit’s edge.

The ferns in front of her rustled. The head of an enormous snake poked through the wide, green leafage. Jameela gasped. Following the snake head was the lion. Firmly in the cat’s jaws was the neck of the sacked serpent, which was gushing blood like a faucet.

It was the snake who had been the real threat. If that lion hadn’t been there, Jameela was certain she’d either be coiled up and crushed, or sucked down and drowned… or both. Perhaps if the snake wasn’t there, she’d have been a breakfast for the big cat. Or her and the lion might have both ended up being a bog’s brunch. Too many possible scenarios, Jameela thought. She was as dizzy with speculation as she was from fatigue and hunger.

The lion briefly made acknowledging eye contact with the rescued redhead before turning and disappearing into the rainforest, dragging along its massive, murdered prize python.

‘Queen of the Jungle,’ whispered Jameela admiringly and thankfully, as she knelt in the soft sand and watched the tail of the snuffed snake slip away into the East African wilderness.

Her tummy rumbled as if protesting her proclamation. Jameela still hadn’t eaten, and turned her gaze to the elusive and delicious looking banana bunch. ‘Up I go,’ giggled the jovial jungle girl, as her empty stomach beckoned her back up the tree. The lion may have been given the royal title, but in the jungle it was hunger that reigned supreme…

[MadMax359]

you had me at "mortally mired"
so... Go Lions!