Jungle Juice
Copyright© 2025 by Jo-Anne Wiley
Chapter 2
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 2 - INCLUDES TITLE ILLUSTRATION Detective Secco, posing as an actress, infiltrates a porn syndicate. But a last minute change of film location leaves her team scrambling to find her. Without backup, Sharon faces a dilemma... blow her cover and be left to rot in the jungle or get naked and perform for the men, in front of the cameras.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Reluctant Lesbian Heterosexual Rough Anal Sex Illustrated
Sharon had arrived at the club before six. Jack Delaney greeted her and teamed her with an older women who knew the ropes and who moved about the bar with her shirt unbuttoned to the navel.
The woman clearly had a strategy. And it worked. Every time she flashed a nipple, a twenty magically appeared on the top of the bar. She’d breakout an appreciative smile and tuck the bill into her purse. “Saving to put my daughter through college,” she whispered.
As Sharon loaded a tray with Casa Modelo she studied the Calico brothers. They were slick but a couple of good-looking dudes, both in their late forties; fit and trim and sporting two-hundred dollar hair cuts. They were dressed in Versace or maybe Armanie suits and their pastel, scoop-necked tee-shirts were right out of South Beach.
As she watched, Cal leaned into his older brother, nodded toward the bar. And he whispered.
Sharon quickly straightened and with shoulders back, she came up on toes to scoop a bottle of tequila from the top shelf. Thigh muscles strained, her ass tightened and her skirt lifted.
Sharon had the attention of every guy seated at the bar. She could feel their eyes on her ass but it was the scrutiny of the Calico brothers that bunched her anus and caused her nipples to twist. When she turned back, a twenty had mysteriously appeared on the bar.
Sharon smiled, picked it up and passed it across to her co-worker. “My contribution to your daughter’s education.”
Cal ordered an Old Fashion and his brother was content with an Amstel. When lofty-lollies, their tit-less waitress came to pick up the drinks, she leaned across the bar. “The brothers want a word,” she said and before Sharon could respond, the girl turned on a spiky heel and headed off with the tray, her ass jogging inside her loose bikini bottoms.
Sharon wiped her hands on a bar-towel and followed after the girl.
“You wanted to see me?” She stood, foot-shifting in front of their table.
“Hi-ah doll,” Cal looked up, “this is my brother, Ben.” Cal didn’t ask her to sit and Sharon figured it was because Ben was busy running his eyes along the slope of her skirt where it was draped into her crotch. “You’re lookin’ good,” Cal continued. “Everyone treating you right?”
“Mmm,” Sharon nodded, “it’s fun, but been awhile since I stood so long in heels.” And to underscore the point, she cocked a knee to rub an ankle.
“Oddly enough, we might be able to help with that.”
“What? You gonna rub my feet?”
Cal grinned. “You ever do any acting, doll?”
And before she could answer, Ben interrupted. “You got any scars? Birthmarks or tattoos?”
“No to the tattoos. And yes to the acting. What’s this all about?”
“Tell us about the acting...”
Sharon cleared her throat. “I took Theater Arts in college and was a member of the Drama Club. I had roles in a couple of productions. Then after college I did some semi-professional stuff, local productions mostly. I played Anita in West Side Story and Katie in All That Jazz.”
Ben considered the plump under-curve of Sharon’s right tit. “Okay...” he muttered out the side of his mouth. “She’s got my vote.”
Cal nodded.
“C’mon guys,” Sharon parked a hip against the edge of the table and folded arms under breasts, “what’s this all about?”
“My brother and I have financed a few video productions and we’ve got a new script we think would be right for you.”
“Me? Videos?”
“Yeah. Not feature length, of course. But we got our own production company and a studio. We’re legit.”
“Why not ask Mercedes up there. She’s vivacious. Got it all over me when it comes to glitz.”
Ben shook his head. “Ahh ... she looks like a friggin’ hooker. And that’s not what we’re after, here. The protagonist in our script is the academic type ... glamorous in her own right but it’s understated. She wears glasses, yuh know? Think of the little girlish-nerd next door, but all growed up.”
Sharon eyed the brothers carefully. “Would I have to take my clothes off?”
Cal grinned. “You shy or something?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like you’re asking a lot.”
“We’re paying a lot.”
Ben waved a hand, back peddling. “Look, you don’t have to decide right now, Sharon.” He pulled a raft of papers from his inside jacket pocket. “All we’re asking is for you to read the script. Then in the morning, Cal will drive you over to the studio. You can meet the Director and look over our operation. No pressure, okay?”
Sharon reached for the script. “Okay, I guess. It won’t hurt to have a look.”
“That’s my girl.” Cal nodded, deeply satisfied. “You head on out. Go home, soak your feet and curl up in bed with the script. Have a read before turning out the lights. In the morning, I’ll send a car ‘round for you.”
The script wasn’t anything like what Sharon had imagined. No pizza delivery man. No despondent widow. No pool maintenance guy.
Sharon leaned back against her pillow and read about an archaeologist who takes her four-year-old son on a badlands survey. They are hunted down by a tribe of mountain-women. The archaeologist is forced at knife-point, to perform oral on her son. And there is a nifty little rape scene where the ladies decide they want a lick of love-juice before the main event.
The whole thing read like a bad B-movie and Sharon felt a twinge of relief knowing that acting out the charade would not be necessary for the District Attorney’s Office to proceed to trail.
The subtle chirp of a car horn brought Sharon to her front door the next morning. The car was parked across the end of her drive. It was a full-stretch limousine and she watched a uniformed driver get out and look up. He saw her standing behind the partially open door and touched his cap.
Sharon couldn’t believe the car. “I’ll just be a moment,” she called down. He nodded his reply and relaxed against the fender.
In a panic, Sharon raced into her bedroom. She quickly pulled off the jeans and sweater she planned to wear and reached into her closet for a silk blouse. She yanked a business suit from a hanger and stepped into the skirt.
Once she had the jacket done up, she dumped the contents of her shoulder bag onto the bed and scooped her wallet and compact into an alligator-skin purse. She slipped her feet into matching shoes. A last look in the mirror had her digging through her jewelry box. She selected a string of pearls that emphasized the length of her neck and with a quick swipe of a hair brush, the transformation was complete.
“Coming,” Sharon called as she locked up. She skipped down the steps to where the driver held the car door.
“Morning ma’am. There’s hot coffee on the console and fresh croissants. Also a small cognac, if you’re feeling a wee bit lethargic this morning.”
“Yikes. You’ve thought of everything.”
“We try, ma’am. Hop in and make yourself comfy.”
Sharon moved the bottle of cognac aside and poured coffee. “Where are we headed?”
“Across the bridge, ma’am. Brooklyn. That’s where the film studio is located. You a performer?”
Sharon thought of the script again. Of three women dressed in animal hides holding her down with legs forced apart. She reached for the cognac and reinforced the caffeine in her coffee.
The driver pulled up to an old, three-story apartment building that had been carefully restored. The windows and doors were new and the brickwork had been recently painted. A brass plaque announced she was entering Calico Color-Max and Cal was there to greet her.
“At twelve-hundred square feet,” Cal opened a door on the ground floor, “this is our main studio. It’s not exactly a Hollywood sound stage but more than adequate. There are two smaller studios on the second floor and makeup and wardrobe are on the third.
Sharon was impressed. “Wow. This is really cool. You can build a fake mountain in here?”
Cal frowned. “Well that’s something we have to discuss. But you read the script...”
“Sure. Captivating story-line, though I was a bit concerned with some of the subject matter. I’m assuming you want me to play the archaeologist.”
“Yes. We think you’re perfect. We’ve been searching for someone who looks like she made it through elementary school, has a certain intellectual intensity, whose beauty doesn’t hit you between the eyes and just when we were about to give up, you walk into the Club. Being blond is an added bonus we hadn’t anticipated...”
“Well I’d really like an opportunity to work in front of the cameras, that would be new to me, but the nudity. I mean, it’s pretty graphic stuff.”
Cal lowered his chin. “You uncomfortable with that part of it?”
“Not uncomfortable. More like scared I won’t be able to perform under that kind of pressure. I’ve done a few love scenes before, but never anything in the nude. When I was in college, I was asked to pose topless for some photography students. When I started to undo my blouse, I was shaking so bad I ran from the room.”
“But, Sharon ... you’ve matured since then. You’re not a naive poppet anymore.”
Sharon slumped. “I guess. But I’ve always thought of my body as a private place somehow. To share it with strangers is ... is...”
“I know. I totally get it.” Cal turned his hands palm-up. “But please, don’t make a decision until you’ve met our Director. They’re shooting upstairs. Let’s look in on the filming and see how you feel after. Okay?”
Sharon gave him a weak smile and nodded.
Cal stood outside Studio “B” on the second floor. “It’s a video about a woman who is posing as a man so she can be ordained a Catholic Priest.” He swung the door open and Sharon stepped into the hush.
At the far end, standing in front of three remote video cameras, a priest placed his hand on a young boy’s shoulder. “Don’t be frightened, Daniel,” he whispered. And the priest pulled open his dark jacket to reveal a pair of pretty breasts. The boy gasped and Sharon strained to determine the kid’s age. If he was eighteen, he’d certainly been cast to act the part of a much younger boy. A dozen years younger.
“Cut. Print it.”
“That, Sharon ... is your Director.”
Sharon gawked. “But he’s a she,” Sharon blurted out unnecessarily when Cal pointed across the room.
“In body only,” Cal chuckled. The work-lights came up and Cal called across. “Hey Riley, Got someone I want you to meet.”
The woman ran fingers through a short, stylish cut. “Cal. What drags your flabby ass outta the City?” Her voice resonated from deep within her chest and she shot him a toothy grin.
Her long face and coarse features gave her a horsey appearance— angular, if not masculine. But that’s not to say she was unattractive ... she was very attractive but in an unusual way.
Riley was the type of woman you admired right off because she was strong and clever and you wanted her to like you, have her include you within her inner circle. Or you were immediately turned off, completely, by her blunt manners, aggressive body language and outspoken opinions.
Riley was unapologetically butch— and Sharon thought she was wonderful.
“Hey.” And the woman stuck out a hand. Riley’s grip was solid, no nonsense. “You my bone-digger?”
“Archaeologist,” Cal corrected her with a smile.
“Suit yourself,” Riley said. “Nice boobs, good ass and long, curvy gams. You didn’t come from Central Casting, hon, not with that look.”
“I’m a bartender,” Sharon said, taking a moment to study Riley more closely.
Riley was a husky woman, dressed in a man’s sleeveless vest. Her unsupported boobs were taut and swayed, didn’t jiggle, when she laughed. The dark color of large areola and nipples was visible beneath the white cotton. She had squeezed a muscular ass into tight jeans and wore cowboy boots.
“She’s a newbie,” Cal added.
Riley took greater interest. “A tenderfoot?” She took Sharon by the arm, rubbing a little seductively, Sharon thought when fingers grazed the outer curve of her left breast. “I love that. Working with the uninitiated. No preconceived notions. No delusions. Putty in my hands. Please, remove the jacket. Let’s see what you got for me.”
Sharon obediently slipped the buttons and draped her jacket across a chair.
“Well there may be one delusion,” Cal said. “Sharon’s not so sure about sucking clit.”
Riley laughed, unconcerned. “Wish I had a dime for every time I heard that one.” She turned her attention back to Sharon. “Never ever?”
“Beth, my schoolmate ... we used to hold hands sometimes.”
“My goodness,” Riley voice hummed, easy, low-down ... not condescending. “You’re in for a treat.”
“With you?” Sharon asked, sounding a bit too close to hopeful. Then suddenly, burning with embarrassment and fearing she might have come across sounding too eager, she added: “I’m a little nervous. Sorry.”
Riley saw through Sharon’s deception. “No. I think you’re a little naive, but definitely curious. And it’s making me hornier than fuck, watching you squirm.”
Sharon felt transparent. The color came up from her collar and she felt she was treading water, with a lead weight hanging from her pussy— and would quickly suffocate if Riley touched a hand to her bare skin.
Riley turned to Cal. “Give us a few minutes, would you? Go grab yourself a coffee. And drop the work-lights down, on your way out.”
Cal turned reluctantly. He sauntered across the studio, looked over his shoulder once, flicked a light switch and closed the door.
“We’re alone,” Riley said. “What happens in this room, stays in this room. Understand?”
Sharon fought for some semblance of sanity. “Y-yes.” And she watched Riley pull across a photo-flood, swing one of the free-standing studio cameras around on its wheels and train it on the spot where she stood agonizing. Riley squinted at the viewing screen, focused the lens then snapped a switch. A red LED abruptly turned green.
“We’ll call this your screen test,” Riley stepped out from behind the camera, “but it’s for my own personal enjoyment.”
“Oh God,” Sharon uttered and desperately fought rebellious knees. “What do you want from me?”
“I’m going to lick your cunt, Sharon. And what I want is for you to pretend to enjoy it.” Riley moved in behind Sharon, and reaching around, she took a breast in each hand. “And after, I want you to return the favor. And you can pretend to enjoy that too.”
Sharon sagged back into the woman’s arms. She felt tits, rock-hard, press against her shoulder-blades, the insistence of eager nipples was so intense, it felt like something had pierced her skin. “Please.”
“I’m very good at what I do,” Riley continued, twisting buttons open down along the front of Sharon’s blouse. Cool hands were scorching Sharon’s skin as she was turned— Riley slipping comfortably between Sharon’s arms.
The kiss was delirious, open mouthed and wet. Riley uncurled her tongue into Sharon’s mouth. Sharon sucked gently as Riley reached to unclasp her bra. The lace drooped and Sharon felt the weight of her breasts. Her nipples were cinched so tight it felt like they might split, then bloom, side-out.
Riley abruptly stepped back. “You finish yourself,” she said.
Sharon felt staggered, her face betraying her distaste. “W-what?”
“Move over against the wall, take everything off and then pump your cunt. I want to capture those fingers flashing.”
Riley not only wanted to watch, she wanted to make a permanent record of Sharon’s nudity. She swung the camera around. “Now let’s see it.” Riley’s voice was unforgiving. “Show me what hangs open, drooling for your boyfriend’s dick.”
Sharon whimpered under the onslaught of emotions. Stripping naked for another woman screamed of immorality. Her blouse already hung gaping, her breasts bobbing below the constrains of her bra. She fell back against the wall and looked into the camera lens. “I’m not comfortable doing this,” she cried.
Riley stepped out from behind the camera, gripped Sharon by the collar and hit her. It was an open-handed slap to the face and as Sharon stumbled, Riley pulled her up again, ripping her blouse. Riley pushed Sharon up against the wall and hit her a second time. “Now? Or do I have to beat the shit outta yuh?”
Sharon was a cop, trained to defend herself and it took every ounce of restraint not blow her cover and retaliate with a power kick followed by a flurry of knuckles.
“No ... no more...” Sharon turned her face to the wall. “Don’t hit me. Please.”
“You’ll fuck yourself?”
“Yes. Anything.”
“And me ... after?”
“Oh God.” Sharon slid down the wall, her legs splayed along the floor. “I’ll try. You might have to help me but you won’t have to beat me.”
Riley looked down with arms crossed, watching Sharon snivel into a cupped palm. “You sure? I enjoy a good force-fucking now and again.”
Sharon held up her hand. “Please...”
Riley grinned and stepped back behind the camera. “Have it your way.” She tilted the camera. “Show me your cunt.”
Sharon closed down, her head lolling like she had just fallen into a foreboding underworld. She had undone her skirt hundreds of times but nothing could compare with this. Like watching her hands move on a movie screen, she saw quaking fingers twist open the button. She pushed away the cloth tab and took the zipper-pull between thumb and forefinger. It slid easily up and over her hip and she felt the waistband of her skirt sag.
Still on the floor, Sharon lifted with her legs, just enough to slip her skirt down beneath her ass and along her thighs. She kicked it off over the toe of an alligator-skin pump. She looked down at herself— brown nipples revealed themselves, bobbing in the opening of her torn blouse and further down, the vee of clustered lace where her panties were drawn-up into the slice of her vagina.
With a dry sob, Sharon hooked her thumbs into the elastic waistband. She heard the camera cant forward on its floor-stand. “Go on...” she heard Riley murmur from the darkness. There was movement. Sharon gasped when she saw the convergence of rude pubic hair between the woman’s thighs— the cleft bulging to contain a massive clit. “Do it,” Riley repeated.
Concealed behind the video camera, Riley had pulled off her jeans and now stepped toward Sharon clad only in the white cotton vest. She stepped over Sharon, a foot positioned by each hip and pushed her cunt forward, toward Sharon’s upturned face.
The engorged clit was as big around as a fingertip, jutting out from between the fleshy folds and swelling up like the head of a penis. And like a penis, it twitched, lifting toward Sharon’s lips. A penis, she thought. And suddenly there was the glimmer of possibility. The extension of another woman, sure. But dammit, maybe she could.
Sharon gasped as Riley reached down. Riley grabbed the crotch of Sharon’s panties and jerked up. Elastic and lace were no match for the woman’s powerful arm and with a rip and snap, Sharon’s ruined undergarment dangled from Riley’s fingers. Cool air wafted between Sharon’s legs and across the moist folds. She shuddered.
“That’s better,” Riley taunted and moved a foot to nudge Sharon’s thighs apart. A blunt toe prodded in the crease but Sharon hardly noticed. She was watching in horror as the woman’s throbbing clit surged in size.
Riley moved closer. Sharon felt the wisp of pubic hair across her lips and watched large hands closing in, taking hold of her head like it was a mere child’s ball.
“Now let’s see what you’re made of.” Riley pushed her cunt into Sharon’s face and the mound opened like a broken egg, cracking and spilling raw succulence across Sharon’s lips. Riley doubled her grip and, rolling her hips, she spread gooey scum across Sharon’s face— her cheeks and chin.
“C’mon,” Riley encouraged rolling to a stop with her clitoris resting on Sharon’s upturned mouth. Sharon closed her eyes, thought of a penis and extended her lips to firmly grasp the ovule while raking the tip of her tongue, side-to-side across the quivering flesh.
Her years with Paul served her well and thinking of the tip of his penis, she nibbled, then sucked, working the clit like a baby works a soother. The first shock-wave moved through Riley’s groin, almost immediately. “Oh Jesus,” she gasped and fell forward, her body clutching. She grasped at Sharon’s head, held for a moment as the contractions raced up her spine then she rotated her hips for more.
Sharon moved lower, hooking her tongue into the breach. She flicked her tongue in the opening several times before forcing herself inside as far as she could. Riley began to circle again, arousing her clitoris, worming rigorously against the underside of Sharon’s nose until the contractions arched her spine.
Sharon pulled back but Riley, still squirming, wasn’t done. Sharon wet her fingertips and milked the freakish-sized clit, her thumb in the clitoral channel. Her fingers moved, first in tight, lithe circles then flirting side-to-side.
Sharon moved in again, her hands on the backs of Riley’s thighs. She felt the woman begin to writhe as she captured the pink proboscis against her upper lip, rasping the underside with quick in-and-out flicks of her tongue, like she was worrying a bit of hard-candy.
Riley cried out, “Oh Jesus,” and leaning over Sharon, she took up handfuls of hair each side of Sharon’s head and pumped violently with her hips, picking up the rhythm of Sharon’s oral screwing. Riley started panting, the side of her face against the wall and in a sudden cry of anguish, her knees gave out and a sweaty mass of quivering flesh fell into Sharon’s arms.
Riley held a moment, the contractions passing through, wave on wave, and the sensations of warm blood, radiated from her groin, passing down the insides of her legs. She took a breath, then started to jiggle. Riley’s chin came up, her face split side-to-side with a shit-eating grin. She bubbled over into a hardy laugh that was instantly contagious. Sharon, looking into the woman’s dancing eyes, brimming with moisture, couldn’t restrain herself.
Like two idiots, they laughed. “You pass the test,” Riley sniffed and wiped tears on the back of a hand. “Next stop: New Mexico.”
“What? New Mexico?”
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