broad cavern with a pool in its center. A warm drone vibrated the air in the room, coming from dozens of creatures in the pond. The surface rolled and rippled and a green back or a gray appendage would show through before being drawn back under. A mating frenzy came to mind, amphibians of both sexes in a heated race to breed.
The sound itself was a tangible, alluring thing. It reverberated over her skin, making her warm. The pulsation vibrated through her chest and worked its way inevitably to her core. She slid her hand over her flat stomach and below the waistband of her shorts. She was already affected by the roaring hormones, her crevice slick, accepting of her fingers with an eager euphoric gasp torn from her throat. She bit her lip and was powerless to stop the rhythm her body fell into by rote. In seconds, she was panting, standing there rubbing her clit until she couldn't comprehend anything but the vibration swirling inside her abdomen and her fingers stroking her sex. Her gasps came fast and erratic as she pounded her hand against her clitoris knowing even as she did there wouldn't be the satisfaction the hum told her was out there.
“Ooh!” She half-backed half-fell against a jutting rock behind her, using it for leverage. “Ooohshit!” she groaned. A lull in the hum broke her from the mesmerizing sensation. She managed to suck in two complete breaths, before she veered, hurrying without caring where she stepped or which way she headed. She finally felt fresh air and the grotto opened up on a lush tropical forest a mere twenty-five paces from a lagoon. She leaned against a bent palm tree to catch her breath. Underneath it, two boulders rose up like huge stone breasts. Her analytical mind returned and, with it, she guessed it was not long after dawn. She was still flushed, hot, and the water here was dark and lapped languidly at the shore and its broad grasses.
The Amazon was famous for its piranha, which she knew had species that numbered in the dozens, none of which were known as the frenzied flesh eaters depicted in horror movies, unless chummed, starved, or the animal was already dead and rotting. Like nearly every other living organism, piranhas were opportunists. As inviting as the water was, she knelt down checking the edge thoroughly, ultimately risking a finger to see if anything came up to feast upon it. There was nothing. She waded in, stepping gingerly, but still nothing came around for a nibble. With an exhale of relief, she continued in and washed and rubbed the rest of goo off of her.
The water was absolutely heavenly. She ducked under several times to rinse her hair and face, but after her stomach growled with hunger, she knew she should work on building a fire and finding food. She didn't want to leave the soothing contentment the bay offered, but at last she dragged herself from the lagoon and lounged on the protruding boulders to dry. She itched and scratched her legs and arms. Dry, scaly skin—psoriasis—magnificent; apparently a reaction to the slime.
Wishing she had her GPS, she looked around in a concerted effort to determine in what part of Venezuela on the Amazon River she was. Of course it was no good. The jungle was thick and humid and probably looked and felt exactly this same way for hundreds of miles.
She wondered whether her professor and Bobby were even alive. She was alone, in a jungle, talked into this trip on the promise of an easy grade. Dr. Moreno wasn't a bad person, with his thin ribbon bow tie that became all the rage in the 1850's. But he was overly steeped in the need to learn firsthand. Had he been open to a blow-job or even something more—as long as it was just once—she wouldn't have been talked into the trip at all. And Bobby, bless his heart, was as opportunistic as the piranha. And nearly as bitey. Which was ironic considering he had part of one ear missing from a dog attack. This would've been a nice feather in his cap, volunteering to assist the
The sound itself was a tangible, alluring thing. It reverberated over her skin, making her warm. The pulsation vibrated through her chest and worked its way inevitably to her core. She slid her hand over her flat stomach and below the waistband of her shorts. She was already affected by the roaring hormones, her crevice slick, accepting of her fingers with an eager euphoric gasp torn from her throat. She bit her lip and was powerless to stop the rhythm her body fell into by rote. In seconds, she was panting, standing there rubbing her clit until she couldn't comprehend anything but the vibration swirling inside her abdomen and her fingers stroking her sex. Her gasps came fast and erratic as she pounded her hand against her clitoris knowing even as she did there wouldn't be the satisfaction the hum told her was out there.
“Ooh!” She half-backed half-fell against a jutting rock behind her, using it for leverage. “Ooohshit!” she groaned. A lull in the hum broke her from the mesmerizing sensation. She managed to suck in two complete breaths, before she veered, hurrying without caring where she stepped or which way she headed. She finally felt fresh air and the grotto opened up on a lush tropical forest a mere twenty-five paces from a lagoon. She leaned against a bent palm tree to catch her breath. Underneath it, two boulders rose up like huge stone breasts. Her analytical mind returned and, with it, she guessed it was not long after dawn. She was still flushed, hot, and the water here was dark and lapped languidly at the shore and its broad grasses.
The Amazon was famous for its piranha, which she knew had species that numbered in the dozens, none of which were known as the frenzied flesh eaters depicted in horror movies, unless chummed, starved, or the animal was already dead and rotting. Like nearly every other living organism, piranhas were opportunists. As inviting as the water was, she knelt down checking the edge thoroughly, ultimately risking a finger to see if anything came up to feast upon it. There was nothing. She waded in, stepping gingerly, but still nothing came around for a nibble. With an exhale of relief, she continued in and washed and rubbed the rest of goo off of her.
The water was absolutely heavenly. She ducked under several times to rinse her hair and face, but after her stomach growled with hunger, she knew she should work on building a fire and finding food. She didn't want to leave the soothing contentment the bay offered, but at last she dragged herself from the lagoon and lounged on the protruding boulders to dry. She itched and scratched her legs and arms. Dry, scaly skin—psoriasis—magnificent; apparently a reaction to the slime.
Wishing she had her GPS, she looked around in a concerted effort to determine in what part of Venezuela on the Amazon River she was. Of course it was no good. The jungle was thick and humid and probably looked and felt exactly this same way for hundreds of miles.
She wondered whether her professor and Bobby were even alive. She was alone, in a jungle, talked into this trip on the promise of an easy grade. Dr. Moreno wasn't a bad person, with his thin ribbon bow tie that became all the rage in the 1850's. But he was overly steeped in the need to learn firsthand. Had he been open to a blow-job or even something more—as long as it was just once—she wouldn't have been talked into the trip at all. And Bobby, bless his heart, was as opportunistic as the piranha. And nearly as bitey. Which was ironic considering he had part of one ear missing from a dog attack. This would've been a nice feather in his cap, volunteering to assist the
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