Jungle AM
A single ray of golden sun pierces the canopy of trees as the mists of the morning burn away. Threading its way down the hundred feet through the rainforest the ray reveals a brilliant gold and purple butterfly clinging to a twig. We see its wings flex in the light, as brilliant as stained glass and delicate as a soap bubble. It flutters and floats away from the twig, rising into the still air. Our vision, suspended in the air as well, follows the erratic flight of this rainforest wonder as it loops in graceful spirals through the trunks of the giant trees in this green cathedral space. We hear the song of unseen birds high above us. Somewhere something large and powerful blunders through the underbrush, its voice a low rumble, a bass undertone to the dawn symphony of the jungle.
The butterfly, unimpressed by the noises of the waking rain forest, flutters onward. It circles the trunk of a mighty forest tree and comes to rest briefly on a strand of knotted jungle vine hanging against the trunk. Rising again into the morning air it floats onward going about whatever business it has this day.
Our eyes pause, however. The strand on which it rested appears to be no accident of growth. The knots seem to be the work of human hands. Our eye retreats. We see now that this vine, and its companion, have been actually woven together to form a sort of rope ladder. We marvel at the existence of any civilized life in this primitive surrounding. Our gaze travels up the ladder. High above us, stretching across the massive limbs of this ancient tree, a platform has been built. Ascending the path of the ladder, our disembodied eye soon finds that an entire house has been constructed in the top of the tree. The tree house is built of bamboos and vines, thatched with green fronds. It appears open and airy. Passing within and through the tree house, we see that someone has fabricated furniture, and a large sleeping pad from the trees and pants gathered in the jungle.
Out on the other side of the tree house, a sort of porch is built. Its sides surrounded by a low bamboo railing. Our gaze is captivated immediately by the sight of two perfect hemispheres of nearly naked flesh protruding toward us from the railing. Could these be the tanned buttocks of some jungle queen? Indeed it is! Moving closer and to one side we see that this is no ordinary jungle girl. It is in fact Jane, mate of the Jungle King, Tarzan.
Jane is leaning far over the railing. One hand shades her eyes against the rising sun as she scans the treeline. No doubt she searches the jungle for signs of her mate and lover. Jane is a delight to the eye. She is clad only in a brief swatch of bright cloth. Riding up in the rear as she bends over the railing, this wonderfully simlple garment has afforded our eyes the vista of her tanned backside. Tarzan is a very lucky Jungle King.
As Jane searches the jungle below, we see that she is not alone. We see a descending form behind her. A length of great serpent is slowly lowering itself from somewhere above. The body and tail section of what must be a huge jungle python is carefully dropping behind Jane. The section we see is nearly a foot thick, marked in a pattern that would let this beast conceal itself anywhere in the rain forest.
The length of serpent now nearly touches the platform behind Jane. It pauses for a moment and then sways gently once or twice, away and then back. Its muscles tense, ripple, and then in one quick swooping movement the tail flips neatly through Jane's legs. It passes up her stomach and loops around once, catching its own length in the same coil. It pulls upward just as suddenly.
"Akkkk! Hisstah! No!" Jane twists and squirms, frantically trying to dislodge the coils that are drawing snug against her groin and buttocks. She is lifted a few inches into the air. Her feet kick uselessly. "Hissta stop."
But the python seems to have other plans. We see a tension growing in its coils.
A ripple passes through them.
"Ohhhhhnoooooo!"
Jane seems to feel the ripple too. In fact the scales along the belly of the
great snake have begun to rhythmically ripple against her constricted crotch,
massaging, stimulating. And each ripple is punctuated by a little squeeze of
the coil wrapping Jane's middle. Jane squirms frantically.
"Ogod, Hisstah! Donnnnn'ttttttttt!"
The python ignores Jane's pleas. The massage quickens. Ripple. Squeeze.
Ripple. Squeeze. Jane thrashed her head desperately, trying to ignore the effect
this is having on her.
"Eeeeeehhhh.Eeeeehhhhhh," she squeals. She feels warmth growing
between her legs. Ripple. Ripple. Squeeze. Squeeze.
"Ohhhhhhhhmygod. Hisstaaaahhhhhh!"
Jane is losing control to the ministrations of the snake. A fine trembling begins
in her legs. She begins to sweat.
Ripple. Squeeze. Squeeze. Ripple. Squeeze. Squeeze.
She can no longer contain herself. A wave of heat flashes through her.
"AAAAAAEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"
Jane's cry echoes through the jungle. Flocks of birds are roused into
flight. Jane kicks and spasms in the python's grip. Her eyes are glazed
with lust.
A shadow falls across Jane's eyes. Looming up over the porch railing. Tarzan
has arrived.
He frowns.
"Hisstah bad. Tarzan say TELL Jane get ready Tarzan come soon. Tarzan not
say Hisstah GET jane ready Tarzan come soon. Hisstah never get it right!"
By Summer