Monster Sex On A Hot Jungle Night

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.

Snap a selfie from a safe distance, then split. Leave as little a footprint as possible. Merde! So much for that plan.

The look the slightly elderly man, who seemed to be the leader, gave her put a chill through her spine.

Putain! Je suis dan la merde!

It wasn't a lewd, lustful look, like oh so many cheap pulp adventures. The look was cold assessment, like appraising some cow to be slaughtered.

Oh putain! Please don't let these guys be cannibales!

The others holding her held the same look. It didn't help when the leader grunted an order and a whistle. All the men drew knives. Most looked made of stone or bone, some were metal. All looked very sharp.

Okay Nat! Time to go!

Natacha prepared a fight or flight response. An arm around her neck, plus another man helping her captor, thwarted that plan.

The men came forward.

Oh fuck! They're going to carve me like a chicken!

It came as a shock when, instead of plunging knives in, they cut off her clothes.

A few deft strokes divested Natacha of her wet suit and rash vest.

A couple of men went through her vest and found her iPhone, which they promptly threw away, as they had no use for it.

Natacha, having opted to go commando, now stood captive, before barely clad natives, in just her booties.

How bloody embarrassante!

The Elder stood, appraising the Pale One. She was very comely for her kind. Her skin almost moon pale, and unmarked. She had no hair between her thighs.

Unnatural,

he sniffed,

and improper. Her cleft indicates good breeding potential, were she of The People.

He noted with interest her hair was just as black as The People's. Her eyes though,

Most amazing. Like storm clouds against the blue sky. Could she have come from there?

It was possible. He'd heard stories of intruders floating down from the sky, under clouds. Some suggested they might have something to do with the strange birds that passed occasionally over the island. He dismissed that nonsense. Right now The People needed to deal with this one.

The Pale One started to speak, gibberish of course. He let her go on, waiting for the women to arrive with the oil.

The boy returned, the women accompanying, including the Elder's wife, and a jar.

The wife's eyes widened upon seeing the Pale One.

"Another one?" she asked.

"She was persistent. Very annoying."

"It's been a time for someone such as this to arrive. Interesting eyes on her. Can't understand a word she's saying."

"Gibberish," the Elder snorted. "Incomprehensible. Anoint her so we can give her to the Other Ones."

"Better tie her up first, and get rid of those leggings she's wearing."

The Pale One made some outraged squeaks when they tied her wrists. She fought. The men had to hold her legs to keep her from kicking.

The Pale One was then led to a Banyan tree, where the rope was looped over a branch.

They hoisted the Pale One by her arms until her feet barely touched the ground.

The men stepped forward and grabbed her legs. She kicked again, but the men were strong and pulled her leggings off.

The women stepped forward to begin the anointing.

The Pale One was slathered, head to toe, in the holy oil (if Natacha were a trained botanist, she would have identified the oil as from a rare, hitherto undiscovered species of Sandalwood), and then taken down.

The anointing blushed the Pale One pink. The women took great care to slather her breasts, back passage, and the flower between her legs, to attract the Other Ones.

The Pale One expressed great agitation at this act, and made loud noises.

The Pale One continued this annoying cacophony (the Elder snorted,

I shall be glad to be rid of this one. Maybe the Other Ones will eat her.

) while the people led her to the sacrificial clearing.

They tied the Pale One, spreadeagled, to the stakes, anointed her breasts and flower some more, and left. The sun god was on the way to his house, and soon his sister moon would travel her path.

"I have a chicken with yams waiting in the pot," his wife said, to the growls in his belly. He hugged her close. She was a good woman.

"Do you think the

Many-Legged Ones

will get to the Pale One before the Others?" asked the boy. "They love the oil, so I heard."

"There's not much the Many-Legged can do before the Others arrive," the Elder answered. "The Pale One's only worry is if they enter her cave. It will complicate things for the Others."

"Oh," the boy said no more.

Hours later, Natacha lay, squirming in the moonlight. The centipedes had left, and now she was cursing her predicament.

Her mind cycled back to that tree, where the women, every bit as wiry and tattooed as the men, slathered the strange, sweet-smelling oil, paying extra attention to her intimates.

"Merde! Not there! Get away from me you..." She stopped herself. One, they wouldn't understand what she said anyway. Two, she was the stranger here.

Still, looking back,

I acted the stupid tourist idiot, didn't I?

Only entitled tourist types, she herself despised, used loud speech, threats of arrest, offers of valuables, etc...

Merde! I acted like a spoiled rich kid!

Natacha's mortification stemmed from personal experience growing up among the entitled, oft with literal titles, relatives included. Her adventures were attempts to get as far away from that crowd as possible.

And now I'm acting just like them, idiote!

Something came by earlier.

A dog maybe. It sounded like one at least.

Whatever, it watched her for a few moments,

At least it felt like it,

then ran off, barking loudly as it left.

Then the centipedes came.

Maybe those were what frightened the 'whatever' away.

It was easy to see why. These weren't just regular, ordinary centipedes. These creatures were prehistoric.

She'd shrieked at their touch. Natacha noted, wryly, in hindsight, that she probably discovered a new species,

Or rediscovered a very old one,

but didn't think of that at the moment.

It wasn't like earlier, with the tinier, normal-sized insects.

Giant centipedes swarmed her body, countless legs tickling, crawling, driving her to near madness.

If only they'd stopped at the tickling, it would have been enough, but no, they got worse.

The oil acted as a delicacy, and most of it, and as such, the centipedes, concentrated around her nipples, and clit.

They provided the true insanity of her peril; tongues and mouths from previous lovers had given those areas attention, but centipedes...?

She yelled and screamed herself hoarse. Her body squirmed and wriggled on the ground beneath.

It was torture. The centipedes licked... and licked... and licked... and Natacha shuddered... and the centipedes stopped.

Natacha lay exhausted, covered in oil, sweat, and centipedes, quivering in near total mortification.

Dieu Merci, that no one saw, and no one's going to know... if I get out of this.

It took a few moments to realize the reason they stopped. Their antennae were raised, as if listening for something. Then, in less time it took to blink, the creatures scampered off her body, into the undergrowth.

What was that about?

The woman lay, slightly panting, nude body gleaming in the moonlight.

Then she heard it; a rustle at the edge of the clearing. She looked, she saw, she cursed.

"Putain!"

It was big, mostly in shadow, but standing on two legs. It looked humanoid.

She could hear its heavy breathing, vaguely reminding Natacha of a bull.

It approached her slowly, on thick, heavy legs thudding the ground.

Natacha remembered a movie she saw as a child:

Forbidden Planet.

The thrill she felt watching the

Id Monster

approach its victims.

But this is real,

and she was naked, exposed, spreadeagled, her womanhood wet and wide open to the thing. The explorers' fear of the monster was her own now.

Her heavy breaths matched those of the creature.

"I'm going to be eaten," she thought. "Ripped to bloody shreds because I was such a putain d'idiot!"

She'd weep from her idiocy but Natacha was not a crybaby. She'd never been one.

Nor could Natacha say she had anything to be sorry about, nor any apologies to friends or families.

Pas d'excuses, aucun regret.

The creature rumbled a deep growl. A low, deep vibration resonating with Natacha's belly.

A growl, from some mysterious creature of the jungle alone, would be terror enough for the Parisian. The creature's step brought it into a patch of moonlight, and Natacha received a full view of an abomination of nature.

"Mon Dieu!"

God, however, could have created such a monstrosity, accept as a joke, and the Deity was never known for a sense of humor.