Lost In The Jungle

By Maria Zerva

Gina finds herself in a hostile jungle, populated by ruthless adventurers, hidden treasures, and sex-crazed monsters. Her journey begins in a small cave, home to a tentacle-monster. Then, she meets Hank, a ruggedly handsome adventurer, whom she decides to help in his race against his ex-wife to retrieve a valuable artifact. However, Gina quickly realizes that nothing is as it seems and she can trust no one, as she encounters more people and discovers the dangers hiding in the dense jungle, while trying to do the right thing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maria Zerva
• Release date: Feb 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463598405

Maria Zerva

A philosophy student at Athens University, who likes writing erotica stories in between studying Kant and Aristotle.I love writing about various kinks and themes, which means that each of my stories has something different to offer; I am writing a lot and I hope to publish more and more stories.Feedback, reviews, and comments are always welcome, as I love knowing what my readers like and what they don't.

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Lost In The Jungle

Maria Zerva

Copyright 2019 Maria Zerva

Smashwords Edition

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This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Lost in the Jungle

Part 1

Part2

Part3

Part4

Part5

Part6

Part7

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Lost in the Jungle

1.

A dark tiny room all there was; a faint trembling white light stood in the corner, illuming a full-body mirror. She stood petrified in front of it, gawking at the mirror and at the rapid changes occurring to her body via nothing but fleeting thoughts.

She just had to think of having larger breasts and they grew to the desired size; reaching near damn impossible cups. Prancing about the tiny room with a pair of massive, and extremely heavy, MM-cups felt bizarrely sensational; at the same time, arduous as hell.

Standing seven feet tall was also vastly different than being her normally petite stature of hardly five feet. Inasmuch, altering her weight from skinny as a skeleton to extreme obesity proffered her a more diverse perspective of the world.

She turned her hair pink and long enough to brush the floor; then, she became a blonde with a buzz cut; traded it for her usual shoulder-length hair but in the colors of a rainbow.

She even inserted herself in a fully-equipped male body, with an average penis. Then, she transformed the organ into a fat monster that dangled below the knee—kept enlarging it until it reached inhuman length and girth, big enough to satisfy a blue whale but impossible to drag around to take even a single step.

It was too tempting to stay in the room forever, toying with the myriad of possibilities.

From the innermost depths of her mind, the need to make a final decision rose. After all, spending all her time in the dark room was not the point, no matter how entertaining the rapid transformations were.

In the end, she went with pretty much her regular self, only upgrading her breasts from a C-cup to a hefty E-cup and giving herself the six-pack abs she always had dreamt of—and never had the time, nor the willpower, to spend hours in a gym to acquire.

She grabbed the outfit hanging next to the sturdy wooden door—she stole one last glimpse of herself in the fur bikini top and short fur skirt, shifted her brown hair to bleach blonde, and put her hand on the doorknob.

Confident about her choices—unable, however, to stop pondering the plethora of possibilities available—she opened the door.

Last chance for changes, a metallic, robotic voice stated.

She closed the door behind her and stepped into the murk. She felt up the damp walls girdling her and wiped her sticky fingers on the fur skirt with a wince.

There were no artificial lights to guide her; the faint sound of running water from somewhere down the pathway was the sole sign that she had not been trapped in a void of nothingness. Holding on to both sides of the narrow walls, she took one small step at a time.

Her bare feet quickly turned sore from stepping on the rocky, moist ground and her arms grew tired and numb.

The pathway took a sharp right turn—had she been going any faster, she’d have crashed on the wall—and a sigh of relief escaped her half-parted lips when a faint flittering light broke the absolute darkness.

She frowned when the light, which grew brighter the closer she got to its source, revealed that the sticky stuff stuck on her fingers was radiant green mold. More hesitant now to touch the mold-covered rocks, she clumped forth in the same excruciatingly slow pace.

Another sharp turn, to the left this time, appeared and the light became even brighter—breathing heavily, she followed the narrow linear pathway, and the light, to a small opening.

She brushed her hair back and smiled at the small river running wild in front of her and the rejuvenating fresh breeze that blew on her face; the exit had to be near.

She gasped and jumped backwards when she noticed the source of her guiding light—a torch stuck in the sand next to a skeleton. Her heart thundered behind her ear when she reached for the torch, flinching away from the macabre sight.

A machete lay next to the body, the bony fingers of the wizened hand still wrapped around the handle.

Her stomach tied to a knot, she squinted and freed the machete from the bony grip, the cracking sounds echoing thunderously both in the tiny opening and in her head.

She took as many steps as the confined space allowed away from the skeleton and felt the machete up—she slashed the air and held it in various ways until it felt comfortable, and as if belonging, in her grip.

The torch and the machete had both a comforting and alarming effect on her psyche; she could see more clearly and had something to defend herself with but, at the same time, had no way of holding on to anything were she to slip.

With no other way out than through the river, she’d have to continue on the same tiresome, slow pace, careful of slippery rocks and fighting the powerful torrent of water hell-bent on pushing her away.

She drew a deep breath and stepped into the water; her brief cry caused by the river’s numbing coldness bounced off the stone walls—her heart fluttered and she peered about, unable to shed off the strong feeling of another presence somewhere in the vicinity.

She hovered the torch over the splashing waters—no fish nor other lifeforms swam around. There was nothing but the frigid stream, inviting her to take a leap of faith and move forth.

Sharp needles pierced her legs and she had to force her legs to take every single step; it was the only way out and she could not stay in the tiny opening with the skeleton.

Splashing sounds reverberated in the narrow space and she froze; she pricked her ears and raised the machete over her head. Holding the torch in front of her, she took another step forth, growing desperate to find a way out of the crepuscular cavern.

The splashing grew louder, closer. Constantly peering about, and panting heavily, she squinted but could see nothing but darkness and the reflection of the weak fire dancing on the torch’s top on the water and the glistening mold-covered stone walls.

What the… She gasped when something slimy and algid slithered around her ankle. She tried to kick it off, but the suckers had already glued on her skin.

She plunged the machete forth, hitting air, and almost lost her balance, barely avoiding falling facefirst into the water. When her other ankle was grabbed, her grip loosened and the machete fell into the water, creating a small fountain of pure despair. Holding on to the slippery walls with one hand, while clenching her fist around the torch with all the strength she could muster, she kicked her legs in despair.

She lowered the torch close to the water and gawked at the dark-purple tentacles that were girdling her calves, tightening their grip around her legs. Almost immobilized, she peered about and flung the torch around, trying to discover whence the tentacles came—the moment she saw their owner, she wished she had dropped the torch instead of the machete.

A humongous octopus emerged out of the water, its massive, round eyes—rivaling in size a football—bore holes into her soul. Petrified, she stared at the humongous creature that appeared to be giving her a sinister, wicked, all-too-meaningful grin.

More tentacles came her way and she tripped and landed into the freezing water as she attempted to avoid them. With the torch dying out the moment it went underwater, the only thing that illumined the cavern was the octopus itself, which emanated a hellacious putrid green light that managed to break the darkness. The tentacles slithered around her arms and waist and pulled her out of the water that had soaked her to the bone and shot jolts of horrendous, numbing pain across her body.

She writhed and struggled against the tentacles that held her up in the air spread-eagled; shivers crawled up her spine as more and more tentacles touched her shivering skin. Quite swiftly, her clothes were torn off her body and hurled into the water—following the machete and torch to wherever the torrent of water led.

Despite the sense of impending doom that overwhelmed her, her heart drummed in excitement; a massive tentacle, dwarfing the rest by a large margin, flew out of the water and slithered slowly and with determination through the air. She gawked at it coming close and her spread legs quaked wildly when it first came in contact with her drenched, crawling skin.

Seemingly as if the octopus deliberately teased her, the massive tentacle rubbed against her thigh