Monster Sex On A Hot Jungle Night
Starring Natacha 3
by The Preve
based on "Jungle Night" by MB109-DA featuring Natacha3
The Author wishes to express his deepest thanks and appreciation to MB109 and Natacha3 for their permission in writing this story.
Warning: Lots of monster sex, controversial stuff, very adult.
Merde! This little adventure was a fucking bad idea. What the fuck happens now?
A question cycling 'round and 'round Natacha's head, from the moment she met the natives,
On an island I'm definitely not supposed to be on,
to the moment they left her staked, naked and spreadeagled, slathered head to toe in a strange, sweet-smelling oil, on the lush jungle ground.
In spite her present predicament, Natacha didn't blame the natives for it. It was fate, an inevitable consequence stemming from the risk-taking, adventurous life she led.
She'd ever been the rule breaker since childhood. She'd gotten herself into trouble on more than one occasion, and got herself out of it, often.
She neither liked, nor wanted to rely on, friends and family to bail her out. It was one of the graces her moneyed, aristocratic family respected: when she got into it, Natacha took responsibility.
Another grace in which her family took comfort was, at least, her constant risk-taking hadn't led to drugs or alcohol. Her addiction, if any, was to adrenaline, albeit could be argued her constant bed and bone jumping qualified as well.
Natacha also took every opportunity to try her luck, which is how she wound up in her present predicament.
Her hard work, these past seven years, as a hostess for
Aero Paris,
resulted in a raise, and a unique 32
nd
birthday present: an all expenses paid trip to
Tapu Tapu Island Resort,
in the
Andaman Islands.
It was perfect; perfect because she had her sights set on that area since a college trip to India, ten years ago.
The Andaman Islands numbered at least two hundred, dotted with resorts. Tapu Tapu was a resort in the
Southern Andaman
area.
Natacha, though, wasn't so much interested in Tapu Tapu, as in two other islands: Chindi, near Tapu Tapu, had a much more budget friendly resort.
South Sentinel,
however, was her actual target.
She had her reasons. Tapu Tapu would be useful for a couple of weeks relaxation, but Chindi was convenient as an entryway to South Sentinel.
All it took was to add accumulated vacation time to extend her trip to a month long sabbatical: two weeks on Tapu Tapu, one month on Chindi,
With a side trip to South Sentinel.
So why South Sentinel? Different reasons for Natacha: the challenge, the lure of the forbidden, the adventure, bragging rights for a selfie with the elusive South Sentinelese.
South Sentinel Island was every bit as forbidden as its northern counterpart, if not more so.
The difference stemmed from the South Sentinelese more extreme elusiveness; rarely seen on the beach but every bit as hostile as their northern brethren, so the stories went.
Attempts to contact them, however rare, either bore no fruit, or the offenders simply vanished without a trace.
Not that challenges like these discouraged Natacha. If any, they drew her like a moth.
She planned Project Sentinel carefully, in the months preceding, or so she thought.
"Spend two weeks at Tapu Tapu. May as well use that gift."
"Head to Chindi for the budget part (don't tell anyone where I'm going exactly. They'll know I'm in the area and that's it.)" Given that Natacha had a habit of dropping off the map, her friends and family were used to it.
"Find a fisherman or tourist guide to get me close to the island, without violating the local laws."
"Windsurf to the island, find the natives, snap a selfie, and windsurf back to Chindi. I get caught, all I have to do is say I got blown off course."
Everything, from Paris to Tapu Tapu, went smoothly. Prior to the trip, Natacha did some touch ups for swimsuit and bikini purposes; waxing and electrolysis mostly. She'd always preferred the smooth look. Plus, it made her low maintenance from the grooming standpoint.
The only hiccups from the plane, and the cruise ship, stemmed from the constant hits other passengers made on her.
She was used to it, but it got annoying sometimes. She was hot after all, so it couldn't be helped. Her curvy but fit body, complemented by her D-cups, symmetric model face, steel-blue eyes, and glossy black ink hair, drew many looks.
Natacha's looks suited her well as a hostess. Still, more than a few were surprised by her energy, both in bed and in life; few could keep up.
It was the Americans who annoyed her the most.
"Overly bragging, entitled narcissists who watch too many of our movies," she sniffed. "And most of them are too fat."
She took a couple to bed on the cruise ship but they weren't much fun.
"Natacha Trois? Your last name is a three?" asked one, some college kid from Washington State, USA.
"So far as you're concerned, yes."
Natacha rarely gave out her actual surname. Considering her family's wealth and prominence, she didn't want her relationships advertised, brief as some of them could be. Her employers at Aero Paris were good about it.
Tapu Tapu, itself, went great, with the exception of the overcast days. It was the beginning of the monsoon season. No rain yet but warm and humid.
One advantage was it allowed Natacha to retain her pale skin. She didn't feel like bronzing just yet.
Natacha spent most of the two weeks at the Hyatt and the spa. She enjoyed a dalliance with a wealthy businessman from Mumbai. He did well, but she'd had better.
Two months later he recognized her photo on CNN. He kept his mouth shut. He was married after all. He wasn't the only one Natacha would meet over the following month to have a reason not to help the authorities.
She purchased a windsurf board and sail. At the end of the two weeks, she checked out and took a ferry to Chindi.
She'd already arranged to rent out a small bungalow.
Bangalore Jack Tourist Service
was run by an eponymous Australian, who was more than willing to take a bribe to get her near the island. Not too close to arouse suspicion or break laws.
To cover his ass, he made sure to snap her picture, and film her windsurf towards one of the sanctioned islands.
While Natacha didn't exactly say where she was headed, he had an idea. She wasn't the first.
"I don't think we'll see her again," he thought, steering his boat back to Chindi. "A shame. That Sheila's gorge."
Getting on the island was easy. Hiding her surfboard and sail were easy. Finding the village was going to be easy, she thought. The island was small,
Should be easy.
"This is too easy," thought the village Elder, silently watching the Pale One. Their kind didn't come to the island often, and
The People
usually left them alone, only killing the persistent or the rude.
The scouts had reported this one the second she set foot on the island. The Pale One obviously thought she was being stealthy. They always did.
"Clumsy creature, stumbling around like that," the Elder thought. Sneaking up on her felt almost like an afterthought.
Pale Ones rarely stayed for very long. Ofttimes keeping to the shore, fixing their canoes, then leaving.
The persistent were the problem ones. A few carried and waved strange crossed twigs on their necks, shouting incomprehensible words, and waving around weird objects with strange symbols inside.
The people avoided them, and they usually went away. Some left their twigs and objects behind. They made good kindling, at least those twigs that weren't made of metal.
The rude ones ranged from annoying to out and out dangerous. A few carried thundersticks that spit fire and killed from a distance.
The Elder thanked his ancestors that none of The People were lost to these weapons.
The annoying were less a problem, albeit the Elder remembered a couple from his youth. The male was fat, loud, and dressed gaudy, like one of the roosters from his village.
He also wore strange, round objects over his eyes, like small puddles reflecting the jungle. A view through them made the world look like night.
He wore one of those broad covers on his head, as many of his fellow Pale Ones often do.
Finally, he had these adornments, shiny and yellow metal, not like the crafted wooden links some of The People wore.
He looked ridiculous.
His female companion looked less so in wear. She looked comely for a Pale One, but the new one looked more so.
The new one wore coverings the Elder had seen before. Intruders on the beach often wore her type of covering. At least she didn't carry one of those lightening boxes like the others.
He chuckled at the memory from his youth. The fat one had a lightening box. He was annoying, and rude, and obnoxious. The People couldn't understand a single word he said. The noises and gesticulations he made almost looked as if he were giving orders.
It was a farce.
When The People took him for sacrifice, he made these squeaky, panicked sounds, offering his adornments, and these strange looking leaves, with images of Pale Ones on them.
The People took them anyway. The leaves made good kindling. The adornments weren't much use, except as decorations. The coverings, the couple wore, were useful but didn't last long.
The fat one, and his companion, were anointed and given to the Other Ones.
The Elder wondered how this one was going to react. He turned to a boy.
"Go back to the village. Tell the women to come with the holy oil. This one looks persistent."
"Yes, Elder One," the boy scampered off.
The Elder turned to the rest, "Wait awhile. Watch if she comes deeper."
When the men surrounded her, Natacha didn't scream, a testament to her experience.
She knew enough in these situations, fear and panic served no purpose. That knowledge did not reduce her surprise, however.
The men came out of the jungle, seemingly from nowhere, flowing like dark shadows.
They gave her no time to gasp. Her arms were grabbed and held behind her back, faster than she could react.
"Merde!" she thought. "They were so fast!"
Her captivity allowed her a closer look at the men.
They were tall, at least taller than her, and wiry in build; very dark-skinned, as Sentinelese were, and covered in tribal markings. There wasn't much else to distinguish about them, except for the spears, and the loincloths.
Natacha's actions, she knew, may have been reckless and illegal, but she'd never considered herself a clueless idiot tourist either. She'd had no intentions of contacting the natives directly, nor interacting with them.
