The Jungle Goddess & The Tiger Men

"No, brother. Never us. But she knows us not so well."

"She is testing us, then. This is part of the test."

"Indeed, I think it is."

Jace couldn't think of what to do. Couldn't think of anything further to say. Nothing that would help, at least. Nothing they would believe, or accept.

Worst of all, she was wet. She was! Just as they said, just as they could smell. It was true. Dew overflowing her petals, indeed, just as the one had said. Slick and sticky between her thighs. Somehow she hadn't realized it was happening, until they spoke it aloud. But now she was aware of it and the sensation was overwhelming. Deeply frightening, and embarrassing as well. How had this happened to her? The smell of them—was that what had triggered this? She couldn't think of any other explanation. "Fair moans," just like Carrie had described. She'd breathed them in, and they'd taken control of her body and aroused it, for mating.

What she did next, she did without choosing. Without a plan. She acted without thinking—she acted rather than thinking. She acted so she wouldn't have to think, or so she wouldn't be able to.

She jumped up, whirled around, and ran. She sped into the forest like a terrified rabbit.

And the predators pursued her, howling. They were happy howls, though—she couldn't help but notice. Not howls of rage nor of dismay. She hadn't angered them by doing this—by running away. Not at all. They were delighted.

"It is to be a race, brothers! She has chosen!"

"A race! A race! A hunt! A hunt!"

They thought she was playing with them. Testing them, like they wanted.

She wondered if they were right. She wondered if that was exactly what she was doing.

6.

Jace was no innocent. Far from it.

Despite her youth, as well as—no doubt more crucially—the relative isolation and solitude of most of her ongoing existence in the Last Jungle, at least in human terms, she had nonetheless experienced a surprising and varied number of intimate relationships, over the past few years... and soon after her own accidental arrival in this realm, Carrie had become Jace's latest mate. Probably the best and most important in Jace's life, so far. Based on her hazy and only half-understood understanding of such matters from her childhood, their bond seemed to be becoming a proper romance, in a recognizable Earthly sense. Unless it was already? All Jace knew for sure, she felt a closer attachment to the woman than anyone else she'd previously paired with. So she hoped this relationship would last longer than the others—provided she could keep her partner alive. With Carrie's amazing knack for stumbling again and again into desperate danger, that was proving no simple feat.

Carrie herself had been rather scandalized, when she discovered Jace wasn't what she called a "virgin." She had tried to hide her shock and horror, but not very successfully. Though this reaction was exceedingly puzzling for Jace, intuition guided her to tell her new lover as little as possible of her past couplings. Carrie had wanted to know more, or said she did, questioning her about these things over and over. But Jace trusted to her instincts and continued to keep back the majority of it.

She felt what might hurt Carrie most was the fact she herself was not exclusively attracted to other females, as Carrie said she was, most of the time—though strangely enough, Carrie had told her she had never allowed herself to act on her desires, until she came to the Last Jungle. She explained that she always "repressed" herself, whatever that meant, until she met Jace. But she was never able to make clear why that was necessary, or had seemed to be, back in her old life on Earth. She said she was afraid, but she wouldn't or couldn't explain what it was that made her afraid. Nor why she was no longer afraid in that way in this other reality—even though the perils of the Last Jungle actually gave her so many more tangible and immediate reasons to be fearful. "But no one can judge me here," Carrie would say, "Except you, and you never would. Not like that." And Jace would nod back at her like she understood this statement, but she probably never would. Not fully.

If in human terms, as Carrie explained, you lost your "innocence" when you first mated—if your first mate "took" that from you, in the process—than hers was taken by a man from yet another version of reality called Darran Slan. He had crashed in the Last Jungle almost the same way she had, in a vehicle roughly the same size and shape as hers had been, but he told her it was a spacecraft, not an airplane. And unlike her, he had flown alone in it, except for a mechanical parrot...

They had several adventures together, before they became mates. He was a good companion and a good fighter, but arrogant and reckless. He got snakebit and went mad. She had to kill him. The mechanical parrot shut down soon afterward—its batteries had worn out and the rechargers on the spacecraft no longer worked. Darran had always been talking about repairing his ship and flying them all back somehow through the "dimensional barriers" to his home, but he never managed to make much progress. All he ever seemed to do was to take more and more of its machinery apart, scattering it into smaller and smaller pieces. And even if he could have made the thing work again, she would not have wanted to leave the Last Jungle. Not with him or anybody else. Bad as his end had turned out, at least he'd been spared that disappointment. Or, more likely and perhaps more painfully, facing his inability to ever fix his damn ship.

Later there was Zonthon the mysterious "Mud Wizard", from the Swamps of Secrets, a shadowy, towering, muscular figure who turned out to be a sort of spirit or ghost, which is why he had to sculpt a new body for himself each day out of steaming mud and dark magic. But when they met, he had strayed too long from his native swamp-grounds, and his power to take physical form soon dwindled... Zonthon had literally faded from her life, in the course of three days and nights.

After that she accidentally awoke the gigantic Cyber-Wyrm, while exploring the interior of an extinct volcano. Like with Zonthon, their dalliance was brief and bizarre. Yet the funny creature taught her many strange and wonderful things, before he had become so entranced by some philosophical question she put to him—which she had only intended as a meaningless joke—that right then in front of her he somewhat rudely but irrevocably slipped back into another of his species' meditative trances, which could last eons...

That misadventure was followed by one with the evil clone Prime Evil had made of her, which he gave the idiotic-sounding name Ecaj. Somehow he'd didn't manage to make her as evil as he intended her to be, so instead she turned against him and joined forces with Jace. As happened with Darran, Ecaj and her ended up living together for a considerable period, and shared many great battles and quests, until eventually the clone had sacrificed her artificial life in a daring but ultimately unsuccessful plot to destroy her fiendish creator once and for all. Ecaj was the only one of Jace's mates that she missed, in her heart. Yet at the same time it was the one of her relationships she occasionally felt the most embarrassed about, though she could not have articulated why.

Then there was the Centaur Princess with amnesia and a completely unpronounceable name, soon followed by her sorrowful, poetic brother, who claimed he'd been searching for her for years, pursuing her across a dozen different realities...

There was the sorceress Shodonnashay, with blue wings tattooed on her shoulder blades that could, when she wanted, extend out of her body into real wings, made out of fiery metal, and enable her to fly—she had promised to give Jace wings like that, but hadn't kept her word. She could extend another metallic device out of her body, in addition to the wings... She had called it her wand.

None of these dalliances had frightened her, the way the Tiger tribesmen frightened her now.

Perhaps that wasn't true. Not entirely. It was something she hadn't known or recognized about herself, until Carrie came into her life... That she didn't always tell herself the truth. Jace didn't like to think about when she was unhappy, or uncertain. When she looked back at the past, she only wanted to look at the good parts. Carrie had noticed that when they talked over things that had happened, Jace skipped over things. All the bad or embarrassing moments. Arguments they had, or times one or the other of them made a mistake or got in trouble or injured. Jace erased those moments from her memory, as much as she could. She did it deliberately, yet without thinking about it. Like spitting out bad food. Carrie thought that wasn't healthy. Jace wasn't sure she agreed. But Carrie thought it prevented you from learning things, "in the long run." That it caused them to have the same arguments over and over, and sometimes push each other into dangerous situations without meaning to.

It wasn't the Tiger Men themselves that scared her. It wasn't what they wanted to do with her, either. It was her own feelings or instincts—her own sense of want. And the sense she couldn't control it. She couldn't make the urge go away. It was infuriating, and it was embarrassing. And it was terrifying, too. She needed to be strong, and this was making her feel weak. She needed to be smart, and this desire made her stupid.

Because she couldn't stop thinking about fucking. She couldn't think of anything else. Her best friend—her mate—her lover—was in dreadful danger, and she needed to save her. Right now that was, or was supposed to be, the most important thing in the world, her sole focus. Only it wasn't. Her determination hadn't wavered, but it still didn't stop her wanting to fuck the tribesmen—and wanting to let them all fuck her. Just to feel it. Just to know what it would feel like, good or not-very-good... And more than likely, with the urge in her so strong, it would turn out feeling good. Very good. Very very good.

Carrie would never forgive her, if she could see this. Carrie would never understand. It had nothing to do with her. It changed nothing between them. But Carrie wouldn't accept that. She would cry and cry. She would think Jace didn't love her and didn't want to stay mated with her. She would think she didn't make Jace feel good enough, when they fucked.

Then again, wait. She was a scientist and knew all about "fair-moans" and what they did. The only reason Jace knew anything about them was from what Carrie told her.

Wouldn't Carrie have to accept that explanation?

Jace hadn't got excited by choice—she knew now in her guts it was only fucking fair-moans that were responsible for this starting, not her. She had no control over these feelings. This was science! Biology! A reflexive reaction to a stimulant. Blaming her would be like blaming someone for getting feverish, after a bugbite or from germs in the air. Fair-moans flew up your nose and infected a girl the same way.

7.

Finding a stream, very shallow but wide, she tried the old trick of running along in the middle of it for a good ways, so she wouldn't leave a trail for eyes or noses. And then eventually pulling herself straight up out of the water on to an overhanging branch. Except there weren't many potential candidates, of the right size and height. In fact there were hardly any. Allowing one of the Tiger-Men to anticipate her. Fucker had guessed exactly which tree she would use—not the first possibility nor the second but the third. So he was waiting for her on the other side of the trunk, when she climbed down. Probably there was another man shadowing all the other possible choices, the whole length of the stream in either direction.

Shit, she thought, when she saw the man below her. But another part of her relaxed—some of the tension in her belly. Not all but some. The question was settled now. As she looked the man up and down, another voice in her head said "So this one is the one?"

She swiped at him with her knife. But she wasn't serious about it. It was almost a mere gesture, for form's sake. She wasn't committed to the strike inside her mind, the way you always had to be in a fight. So it was a clumsy, sluggish move, and the Tiger Man easily avoided it and then caught her wrist in his hand and twisted it. Forcing her to drop the weapon. He was still laughing. In his mind, she had just been playing. Making a gesture, just like she had thought of it herself. In a real fight, in her right frame of mind, she would never have allowed any opponent to disarm her as easily as that. At least she certainly hoped she wouldn't.

There was no sense defending herself any further if she was too conflicted inside to commit to it and give it proper effort.

The fact was, she didn't want to resist any longer. She really didn't. She was aroused, and she wanted to satisfy that arousal. She'd become heated, just like they all kept saying. Their noses weren't lying to them. It was ridiculous to keep protesting about it. And it wasn't just her body now, beneath her awareness. The heat had reached her conscious mind, and her spirit too.

It was a hassle that this had happened. And it was embarrassing the way it was triggered, without her knowledge, without conscious choice. It was an inconvenient and embarrassing weakness—finding herself susceptible to Tiger Men fair-moans. Her will and her rational sensibilities cruelly undermined by raw animal lust. But now that she understood what had occurred, the best, smartest and most efficient course of action was to satisfy the awakened desire and thus ease it off. If one is weakened by hunger, one should eat. If one is weakened by fatigue, one must sleep. If one has an itch, scratch it and relieve it. By the same logic, if one becomes weakened or distracted by lust, then one should answer that need as quickly as possible, and it will cease to distress one, and distract from more important matters.

And they were right about camping, too, in this place. It would do more harm than good to keep traveling through the night, exhausting all of them. The better strategy was to rest until dawn.

Provided they let her get any actual rest... Then again, tense and jittery as she was, she wouldn't be able to sleep anyway in this state. Some sex would purge those feelings, hopefully. Allowing her to settle down, soon as they got done.

"All right," she said to the Tiger Man who had found her, "It seems you're the winner. You have caught me, and disarmed me, fair and square."

"Yes. I have."

"You've proved your prowess and worthiness. I shall allow you to mate with me."

She started to turn and lower herself down to the ground, assuming that was the position he would want to do this in, on her hands and knees. But he stopped her. He had a different idea.

Also, he put his head back and roared, loud as he could. A victory call, as well as a summoning...

He wanted all his buddies to come and stand around them and watch. She hadn't expected that. She'd thought he would want it to be just the pair of them—to have her all to himself. But no, he wanted an audience. He wanted to show off.

It was rather alarming, but she didn't object. If that's how he wanted to do this, then that's how they'd do it. It would be additionally embarrassing for her, a little—but more embarrassing if she admitted feeling that way. Her shyness at this stage would either further baffle the Tiger-Men, or—a far worse possibility—they might mock her for it. They might lose much of their respect for her.

She also realized, embarrassed or not, she wanted to show herself off in front of all the others. She wanted to torment them a little, if she could. It would maybe make up in a small way for the minor torments they'd inflicted upon her, with their wretched fair-moans. She knew they would all enjoy watching the winner mate with her—but they would be envious, at the same time. It would be a mixed experience. Same as for her. That made her feel better about the idea.

Only this one chap was going to get to totally enjoy himself, without any reservations.

"What is your name?" she asked him.

"I am called Farsight."

It was a surprisingly nice name. She wondered if it was meant literally or figuratively.

He was still tightly clutching her wrist, holding it up between them. Now with his other hand he unbuckled her knife belt and jerked it from around her leg. "Turn around, Beautiful Fierce Creature," he told her. She did, though he made it a little awkward for her, since he still wouldn't let go of her arm... "Give me your other hand." When she did, he used her own belt to bind her wrists together, against the small of her back. The empty sheath on the strap stuck up awkwardly there, jabbing into her skin. It felt irritating but wasn't hurting her.

She said: "That's not necessary, you know. Not now. I won't try to run away any more. I give my word."

"You are my Catch," was his response.

He didn't tie her very tightly, which she was grateful for. But the loop held firm when she tested it.

A shiver went through her, and she gasped. Jace was sensitive about being tied—or rather, being tied made her sensitive. The distressing anxiety from it had a heightening, magnifying effect on all her feelings. The few times it had happened to her in the past, she found she had additional strange reactions to the experience. She didn't understand why this happened to her—and stranger still, these feelings were not unpleasant, not entirely. Not even when Prime Evil or some of his vile minions had done it to her... For some reason she could not have put into words, it felt thrilling to strain against the hold of ropes, without being able to break loose. To know she was defenseless and imperiled. That was terrifying—but at the same she always enjoyed the terror, a little bit. Worst of all—and best—it was very arousing. It stiffened her nipples, when they weren't stiff already, and brought heat to her pussy and made it moisten. She had no idea why—and it made her ashamed, so she tried not to think about it too much. She made herself forget the feelings afterwards, as much as she could. But they would all come back in a great giddy rush, the next time some foe managed to bind her. Like was happening now.

"You are my Catch," he said again, "Beautiful Fierce Creature, I have caught you and you shall not escape."

"Yes," she answered, testing the loop again and again. And it held firm, every time she strained. And each time it did, another thrilling shiver rushed through her. Through her naked and defenseless body. Her toes curled involuntarily, digging into the moist jungle dirt as if trying to anchor her in it, like the roots of a tree. "Yes you have. I am your Catch, Farsight. But how long do you think can you hold me?"

"I will show you, Beautiful Fierce Creature."

She suddenly felt a hot dribble escape her gash. She was afraid she'd let some piss leak out of her. But it wasn't piss. She could tell from the feel of it, when her thighs squirmed against each other, smearing the stuff on her skin between them. It was too thick and oily. Her gash was seeping more sex honey, thicker stuff than earlier. Before it was like dew—this was honey. It didn't often stream out like that, not on its own. Not as much as she could feel it doing now. So thick and steaming.

When the rest of the group had gathered around them, Farsight moved close behind her and held up her left leg (her rooted toes could not prevent him lifting it, though they tried their best, dug in as tight as they could). He was now supporting it beneath her knee, and gripping her opposite hip with his other hand, to keep her balanced. He lifted the leg as high to the side as he could make it bend. (She spread and wriggled the toes of the suspended foot, to free them from dirt and leaf litter, and then curled them tight once more.) Now he had her standing rather precariously on one foot, leaning backward slightly against his torso, with her tied hands trapped behind her between his belly and her lower spine.