Jungle Juice
Copyright© 2025 by Jo-Anne Wiley
Chapter 3
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 3 - 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
The savage heathens would materialize at the edge of the clearing, like shadows hardening in the undergrowth.
Xingu, with her skull-headed scepter, stood in front, her daughters a step back, one either side. The look of malice was palatable: You are trespassing on our lands and defiling our dead.
“Run Jeremy.” And Sharon positioned herself between her son and the primeval threat from the forest, “Quickly now, run.”
But Jeremy, oblivious to the danger, stared up at his mother. “W-what?”
Sharon’s heart filled with frustration as she failed to impart the danger to her son. Xingu noted the hesitation and nodded to her daughters. The girls were quick, darting in from either side.
Survival in the jungle had imparted heavy muscle, to thighs and biceps. On the average woman, the burl would seem vulgar and coarse, but these savages were anything but average.
Each towered over six-feet. They were dressed in simple animal-hides; loose aprons strung about the loins and open behind to expose hard, brawny buttocks. Their skin was painted with wood-ash, and each wore a beaded headdress that obscured the eyes. In kinder circumstances, Sharon would have thought the women magnificent.
“Run Jeremy,” Sharon tried. But it was already too late. By the time the lad had scrambled to his feet, the women were onto him, and kicking and screaming, Jeremy was hauled-up before Xingu. She laughed gaily and cupped the boy’s cheek.
Jeremy was pulled from his feet and the forest fronds closed about the women as they retreated with their prize. Screaming with frustration and inadequacy, Sharon, unable to forsake her son, forged after them into the undergrowth.
They arrived at a makeshift hunting-camp minutes later. There were no huts, only simple sleeping-mats, woven from reeds and strewn about the grass. Animal hides hung from trees with spears and arrows stacked beneath. Large rocks had been positioned about a campfire and held a steaming copper cauldron.
Jeremy was dropped to the ground then pulled ‘round to face Sharon. One of the daughters, Ruka, took hold of Sharon, tripped her up, and forced her to her knees. Jeremy was hauled over to face Sharon, pushed forward, his groin inches from her face.
“No,” she thought, “they can’t possibly...”
But her suspicions were confirmed with no uncertainty when the second daughter reached down to squeeze Jeremy’s genitals, lifting clasped fingers toward Sharon’s mouth.
Sharon, filled with dread, quickly nodded. She pulled her son’s shorts down and took his limp penis between her lips. If I can just make him cum, she hoped, maybe humiliating me will be enough.
It wasn’t. After a minute of trying, Sharon failed to get a favorable response from Jeremy. She licked the foreskin, sucked his balls, tickled his anus and sucked him in deep, all of the way. But still his penis hung limp as an earthworm. The women grew restless and Sharon was suddenly pushed aside. Jeremy, lifted by ankles and wrists, was swung over the boiling stew pot.
“Sharon?”
“No,” she cried as Jeremy’s screams of anguish echoed through the trees. Xingu stepped to the side of the pot and forced Jeremy’s head below the surface of the boiling broth with the butt-end of her scepter.
“Sharon!”
The quiet filled in, only the snap of the fire and the sounds of bubbling remained.
“Sharon. Are you all right?”
Sharon shook herself, clutched at a breath and looked up. Ben was standing at the side of the table, his eyes vexed. “You okay?” he asked again.
Sharon took a slug of rum. “Sure ... sure. I’m fine. I was just thinking...”
“Thinking? Of what ... the end of humanity?” Ben chuckled. “You look like you just returned from the grave.”
Sharon turned away. “Yeah. Something like that.”
“Look babe, I need to go over today’s dailies and I figured you might be interested. How’s about taking a look?”
Sharon recalled Riley’s remark about Ben being the boss. That it was his money that financed the video productions and that it was Ben who had the last word when it came to making production decisions. She quickly agreed to accompany him.
The dailies were a hodgepodge of unedited shots taken during the day’s filming but they provided the Producer with a sense of how successful the Director had been at recording each scene.
Ben dropped into a chair at the work station in his trailer and fired up the computer. Sharon, standing by his side, watched an on-screen image of herself, kicking off high-heels and then, mortally embarrassed, she watched herself sit to wash her splayed genitalia.
By contrast, Ben was bemused. “You shave,” he stated flat out, leaning forward to get a closer look. “I prefer natural hair myself, but I guess some guys like a totally slick look.”
“But...” Sharon was at a loss, “I thought ... I mean I was told ... that...”
“Told what?” Ben was looking up.
“That I needed to shave ... for the part.”
Ben chuckled from deep inside his chest. “I sense Riley’s hand in this. Tell me ... she help wield the razor?”
Sharon’s jaw moved. She had kiltered so far off base that she hadn’t realized Ben had lifted a hand and, with the back of a crooked finger, was softly stroking her pubis through the denim cutoffs she wore.
“I mean it was ... was last night, in our...” Sharon’s words trailed off as she became aware of Ben’s hand. He got her attention when he lightly pinched the fold where her clitoris was tucked safely in its cloak.
“Aaagh,,, “ Sharon came forward from the waist.
Ben rubbed a little harder, further in. “You like the feel of that? Between the legs?”
“Ben. I don’t k-know. I shouldn’t.”
Ben was already dragging her zipper down. “There is something about you, Sharon. A fresh innocence. A quiet sort of beauty, understated, but you are all the more desirable because of it. Sign on with me and I’ll make you a ton of money. I’m talking full-length, feature films. You’ll shoot on-location in cities like Milan, Paris, and Rio. I’ll bring the whole world begging at your feet. You’ll never work a strip club again.”
Sharon wobbled. Her denim cutoffs dropped about her ankles and she desperately tried to find the words that would get her out of his trailer with her dignity and undercover assignment intact.
As he reached around and eased the elastic of her under-panties down from about the roundness of her ass, she realized no such words existed and maybe her best option would be to quietly fuck for him. He was a good looking guy she reasoned, one dozens of young girls would gladly forgo a dinner-date with Brad Pitt in exchange for the quick roll with Ben, and a movie contract— as fleeting as the opportunity might be.
His hands moved along the outside of her thighs and her panties were abruptly down about her knees. This wasn’t what she wanted, standing in her shirt tails with her denuded vagina inches from Ben’s face, but suddenly things got much worse.
Sharon tried to console herself as she parked her ass on the corner of Ben’s desk. A quick fuck and she’d be out the door. It might be a temporary solution, but it would give her breathing space.
He unzipped and stepped between her knees. Sharon took his penis into the palms of her hands, guided him to the spot and rolled her hips up.
There was the rattle of the latch, the sound of the door swinging on its hinges and a breathy gasp on the end of a dirty laugh. “Well ... well...” Cal stood in sharp relief surrounded by moonlight, “looks like I arrived just in time. Having a wee fucky-fest are we?” He turned and closed the door.
Sharon gasped, crossed hands over her loins and dropping, she cowered at the side of Ben’s desk.
“Ah, Cal. I was just about to get my dick into her.”
Cal’s grin widened. “Is there pussy enough for the both of us?”
“Sure, I suppose...” Ben humped. “But if not, she has an asshole, doesn’t she?”
“Even better. I’ll flip you for who’s on top.” Cal turned his attention to Sharon. “What’dyah say, Detective Secco? When was the last time you had a doppio?”
He knew!
Sounds turned to static, like her brain had stopped processing. The shock of hearing her name was physical: Detective Secco.
Sharon began to tremble uncontrollably, her head throbbing. Ben reached down, took two turns of hair in a hand and hauled Sharon to her feet. The curl of his fist caught her below the ribs, capsized her stomach and drove the breath from her lungs.
She spun to one side, reeling from the shock and pain but Ben still had her by the hair and brought her back. He hit Sharon again, hard, and in the same place, in the tender underbelly. Any thought of defending herself vanished as he swung her around, setting her up for a third blow. “Please. No.”
Ben snickered, took the collar of her shirt in both hands and ripped down. Buttons bounced across Sharon’s bare thighs and rolled onto the floor. Her smallish breasts bobbed in the opening of her torn shirt as he dumped her across the bed. Sharon sprawled, arms and head back, knees up as the mattress shifted under Ben’s weight beside her.
Cal stepped to the side of the bed and reached for Sharon’s tits. Sharon missed his intent and wasn’t fast enough to ward off his hands.
Clamping thumb and fingers on the tips of the small pears, he hauled her up onto her ass by the nipples. Sharon seethed. “Play ball with us, Detective and, depending on your ability to suck and fuck, we may keep you around for a day or two. It will all depend on your enthusiasm.” He pushed his face into her’s. “Got it?”
Sharon hesitated, her chin rolling to the side.
Cal pulled a revolver from the waistband of his jeans. “Got it?” he shouted again and cracked the barrel of the gun against the side of Sharon’s head. “Now ... get on top.”
Sharon, reeling from the wallop and with her ear burning, her nipples throbbing and with her mind spinning incoherently, swung her leg over to straddle Ben’s hips. She hung over him, her head drooping and with the sound of his laugh echoing in the furrows of her mind, she felt his hand fumble between her legs.
The upward thrust felt like a knife blade. Sharon abruptly focused and with a scream of desperation, she squirmed, rotating her hips to ease the assault. The fleshy walls of her vagina relented and the slide up inside was a wretched passage, ending with a savage jolt to her cervix.
With Ben fully buried within the twisted walls of her vagina, Sharon was abruptly made aware of the greater threat.
“No,” Sharon whimpered when Cal, standing behind, placed his hands on her ass-cheeks. She felt the air, cool and moist, stir across her anus as he opened her to place the tip of his cock against the brim.
“This is how Ben and I addition strippers,” Cal said with a course chuckle. “Mercedes is great at it— getting jammed, front and back. And in case you’re wondering, it was Mercedes who fingered you. When she was arrested for procurement she spotted you at the Precinct House. She came to me wondering why I’d hired a cop to work the bar.”
Sharon didn’t care a damn about Mercedes. Cal was rubbing his dick suggestively against the pink burr and it frightened her. She’d had anal once but that did nothing to help her now; it only served to heighten her awareness of the pain she was about to endure.
Cal leaned closer, spat in the cavity he had opened and rubbed the tip of his penis around in the drivel.
“Oh no. Please don’t,” Sharon cried. But Cal was not feeling charitable toward a cop who had set out to deceive him. Holding his penis, he pushed the knobby end forward. The skin surrounding her anus gave and with a lurch, the head of his dick bopped inside.
He pushed, but only deep enough for the ridge behind the bullet-shaped head to catch in the opening of her rectum. Her flesh tightened into the furrow, locking the gnarly head in place. He worked his hips, toying with her, enjoying the flubbing sensations as his penis flicked in and out through the clutching ring of ass-muscle.
Sharon clamped her jaw and grinding her molars, waited for the burst of pain. Ben below, laying between her splayed legs, started to move, thrusting upward, long slow strokes distorting her vaginal recesses, all the way to her uterus. Finally, moving deep, he held. It was his invitation for Cal to join him in the dark depths of Sharon’s groin.
Cal reared forward.
Sharon screamed. It was like Cal’s penis was covered with hundreds of metal barbs, each embedded in her flesh. Entwined and tearing at the walls of her rectum, it was a long and painful decent into her bowel.
Sharon heaved. “No ... no ... no” she cried bitterly, her hands clenched and beating about Ben’s shoulders.
Her skin crawled as the pores opened and sweat ran in rivulets down over her ribs. Her stomach upended in revolt.
“Geez doll,” Cal said, “we gotta open you up. Feels like my cock’s in a wringer.”
Ben laughed. “You complaining? We can trade places...”
“I’ll suffer...” Cal grinned and slowly bailed out. He readjusted the angle, came up on her a bit, and changing the direction of penetration, he added more fuel to Sharon’s agony. Once again, with the head of his dick parked in her asshole, he jockeyed, forward and back, taunting the rim, open, then closed. Sharon’s lower back spasmed painfully.
“No...” Sharon squealed like a snared rabbit. “Get out. You’re ruining me.”
“Out?” Cal snickered, “I just got it...” And to prove his point he forced his way forward, ballooning the walls of her rectum. “God. What a great little hole.”
He jammed deep causing a screeching shaft of pain to jolt her spine and white light suddenly burst behind clenched eyelids. Sharon experienced a moment of delirium, her head spinning, and she prayed she would pass-out, be released into bless-ed and total oblivion.
Ben could feel his brother’s penis moving, pressed against his own, the feel of the smooth bulge gliding opposite, through the thin wall that separated Sharon’s rectum from her vagina. Ben offset his brother’s thrusting. And together they alternately lunged into her, like pistons pumping. Back and forward. The revolutions countering one-another.
Sharon’s mind started to drift. She closed her eyes and began counting, trying to distance herself from the feeling that the inside of her pelvis was filled with burning gasoline. She worked back from one-hundred, mentally going through the numbers and all the while moving away from reality.
Unable to deal with the abuse, her senses were shutting down. She still felt the long squeeze, her anus gaping, the internal void as Cal pulled back to reasserted himself. She was still aware of the burn, only now the hurt seemed distant. But one rational thought remained— flickered at the edge of her consciousness: She was going die here in the jungle, her body left to rot on the river bank.
And just as she thought her sanity was about to implode, disintegrate into stardust, there was a jerk and a deep slide, followed by the clutching.
Cal came up on the balls of his feet and held deep. His penis stalled a moment, then opened. The flood of semen streamed out and he fell forward across Sharon’s sweaty back. Then one last screaming jolt of pain as her anus was abruptly pulled inside-out when Cal rolled to the side.
It was over, except for the sense of shame and bitter isolation. She was aware of spent fluids leaking out— the semen from both men pooling in the crack of her ass.