The Naked Jungle

By Pat Powers

Honey Trapp is a natural born submissive, a beautiful party girl who loves doing every kinky, sexy thing that sexy dominant men, including the world’s richest and most powerful men, want her to do. She’s also an agent of the Initiative, a shadowy worldwide secret organization devoted to forcing the world’s governments to combat climate change before it destroys human civilization.

The Initiative offers Honey a long-term assignment that involves three months’ training in the slave kennels of the Bascom Agency, the world’s finest supplier of slavegirls-for-hire to the wealthy and powerful. Honey jumps at the chance to be trained in the closest thing there is to a real slave training school, because it’s sexy fun and great cover for any female spy.

But Bascom’s training regimen is rigorous. The lessons are long and hard and thrust deep into Honey’s psyche and elsewhere The bondage is strict and the sex is raunchy. Can Honey survive and enjoy the many and varied, often arousing training sessions she endures in the Bascom slave training pens? And will Honey survive her first assignment as the personal love slave of the Generalissimo, the dictator of the tiny nation of Las Miserabil in South America? The mighty fossil energy giant Globoil, Inc., is the major source of income for Las Miserabil, and hence, the major source of power for the Generalissimo. And when Globoil’s drill rig wastes pollute the water source of the Arapunga tribe that lives in Las Miserabil’s interior, leaving them sick and dying, no one in power cares – but the Initiative cares.

As an agent of the Initiative Honey will do every sexy submissive thing she can do to help put an end to Globoil’s pollution -- but will it be enough?

This novel is over 40,000 words long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pat Powers
• Release date: Feb 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005431037

Pat Powers

Pat Powers may not be the most interesting man in the world, but when he writes about himself in the third person, he tries to make people think so.A former sex droid designer and professional cyclist, he had an epiphany after winning the Tour de France for the third time. He realized that writing erotica was a lot easier than bicycling up mountains. (Riding down mountains is actually easier than writing erotica, but much more physically dangerous.) Powers decided to write erotica for his own comfort and safety and the enjoyment of his many thoroughly satisfied readers.And the rest, as they say, is history. Powers has become the most famous unknown author in his genre, and has amassed a fortune in words.

Book preview

The Naked Jungle

Honey Trapp: Sex Slave Or Super Spy?

Copyright 2022 By Pat Powers

Disclaimer

This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of any persons, places, things or events in this book to any real person, places, things or events is strictly coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

About Pat Powers

Other Stories By Pat Powers

Words of Caution

Collar World Stories

Stories Published Elsewhere

Chapter 1

The thought of money aroused him.

The waves of the beach at La Costa Murke lapped at the shore as the sun shone down on the Generalissimo's beachside palace.

The Generalissimo sat reclining in his favorite beach chair, a heavy wooden thing on rollers that sat in the center of the palace’s enormous beachside veranda. Around him sat his cronies, about a dozen military leaders and businessmen who controlled the tiny nation of Las Miserabil on the northern coast of South America.

So the Arapunga are on the warpath again? asked the Generalissimo. What is it they want now? Food? Clothing? Shelter? What do they think we are, Walmart?

They are upset because GlobOil is dumping the waste from their oil derricks into the Cuhanoya reservoir, which is their water supply, said Luis Hernango, a Captain of Intelligence. Those meddling doctors from Humanity Without Borders have been telling them it is the oil wastes that are making them sick.

And is it making them sick? the Generalissimo asked, idly petting the curvy, naked blonde that knelt beside him, her hands cuffed behind her back and a ballgag in her mouth, her collar chained to a ring set at the end of the armrest. She leaned against the Generalissimo's knee, eyes closed, soaking in the sun and the total humiliation of her situation in equal measure. The droplets of drool that oozed out of the corners of her mouth gleamed like jewels in the sunlight as they oozed off her chin and rolled over her breasts.

Honey Trapp was her name, and she was enjoying the petting just as much as she appeared to be enjoying it, but her ears were wide open.

Probably, yes, Generalissimo, but they are indios, said Hernango. He shrugged eloquently. GlobOil wants them shut down, by whatever means. They don't want any connection between us and them, of course.

Fine, said the Generalissimo. I do not care about the indios one way or another, but GlobOil has a lot to offer … and I presume they have offered us something for helping us out?

One million American, said Hernango. Plus covering the costs of our expenses.

The Generalissimo nodded. The thought of money aroused him. Without really thinking about it, he reached over and grabbed a handful of the blonde's hair and dragged her forcefully between his legs and yanked the gag out of her mouth. Then he unzipped his fly and his cock popped out of his trousers.

Honey Trapp needed no urging. She engulfed his cock in her moth and went at it languorously, as if there were nothing else in the world she would rather be doing at the moment than kneeling naked before all these clothed people and sucking the Generalissimo's cock with her hands tied behind her back. And it was true, there was nothing she'd rather be doing. She felt the sun on her back and it was wonderful. She felt the deep, rich humiliation of being a naked slut kneeling and sucking the Generalissimo's cock while others stood by and talked and watched or didn't watch, and it felt even better than the sun. It made her pussy drool.

The Generalissimo was in no hurry to cum and was enjoying Honey's attentions. She was very good with her tongue, and her unhurried approach to sucking cock really worked for him. American women often lacked passion, but some of them were such dedicated sluts that you could not help but admire them. And this Honey girl, she was such a slut. She would have made a fine Latina, in another life. But her blonde hair and golden skin declared her as an Anglo.

Honey worked the Generalissimo's cock tirelessly. She had sucked cocks since she was a teen, and had mostly enjoyed it. Some men were such idiots that they could not even receive a blowjob gracefully, but most of them loved blowjobs a lot, and that made her feel good, and it made the fucking that came later, if it happened, so much nicer and longer-lasting.

But now there was just cock sucking and feeling the sun on on her back and the wind on her skin and the voices of the big, self-important men she was eavesdropping on. It was her favorite part of any assignment, being used like this.

Where did you get the blonde? she heard Hernango ask. She of course paid no attention.

The Bascom Agency, said the Generalissimo.

Ah, yes, I hear good things, said Hernango approvingly. The words were music to Honey's ears. This was why she'd gone through the rigorous sexslave training she had undergone to get here as a Bascom girl. Well, that and it was fun.

The men talked on, and the Generalissimo eventually grew very hard in Honey’s mouth and then he came, gripping her head so she would have no choice but to swallow his cum. The other people on the patio politely ignored the Generalissimo’s use of her and her soft moans. She swallowed it all, then when the Generalissimo thrust her head back when she was through sucking and shoved her ballgag back into her mouth, she returned to her place beside him, crawling on her knees alone, then kneeling head down, eyes closed, but continuing to listen in on the proceedings.

She leaned against the Generalissimo’s chair and sighed inwardly. What she had heard meant that her idyllic assignment would probably be over soon. What a shame.

Chapter 2

We think we can pass you off as you.

A few months ago she'd been sitting at a table in the La Quinoa restaurant on a sunny January day in Los Angeles, having lunch with her handler, Sam Chadsworth. (Honey was sure the name was an alias and a very poor one.)

Got a long term assignment for you, said Chadsworth as he worked on his free range chicken quinoa bowl.

I’m not interested, said Honey as she toyed with her grilled farm salmon quinoa.

I think you will be once you hear the particulars, said Chadsworth.

I’m listening, said Honey noncommitally.

Chadsworth smiled a thin smile.

The target is in Las Miserabil, ever heard of it? he asked.

Just barely, said Honey. Tiny South American country, mostly jungle, nothing much ever happens there of interest to anyone outside the country?

Pretty much, Chadsworth said. There’s a few cities and towns on the coast where the mestizos live. The interior, is as you say, all jungle, inhabited by various indigenous tribes. Thing is, there’s oil in the interior, and Gulf Shell has a few platforms there and one of them has been dumping wastes into the Cuyahona Reservoir, which provides water to the Arapunga Indians.

Indians? Honey asked.

Indigenous people, if you prefer, said Chadsworth. The term ‘Indian’ is not considered a slur there like it is here. I mean, most everyone in Las Miserabil has Indian blood, and is kinda proud of it.

Whatevs, then, said Honey, shrugging. The Initiative’s people were generally very correct in their use of language. Honey didn’t much care herself.

Anyway, the wastes from the drilling are of course toxic and they’ve started making the Arapunga tribespeople sick and a stink is being raised. The GlobOil people who own the platforms don’t give a rat’s ass about the Arapunga or anything else other than money, of course. The country’s dictator, General Diego Sanchez, who calls himself ‘The Generalissimo’ cares about nothing but all that money and power the GlobOil Corporation keeps sending his way. We think it’ll come to a head in about six months, probably in the form of some tragic and stupid bit of militarism aimed at the Arapunga.

And whither the GlobOil goes, the US State Department and its agencies go, said Honey.

Yeah, an old familiar pattern, for sure, said Chadsworth. So we plan to put a stop to it. The GlobOil platforms hire foreign workers and pay them very well to run the platforms, but they depend heavily on local workers for support. And of course they pay the laborers as little as possible, which is very little indeed in Las Miserabil, and they exploit them thoroughly of course. As a result, we have a TON of agents working in the platform who will sabotage the platforms for us until we can do something more definitive.

Honey nodded, smiling. More definitive undoubtedly meant some oil executives were going to die in nasty ways. The Initiative did not fool around.

We are going to need someone on the inside to be our ears, said Chadsworth. That would be you. The Generalissimo keeps sex slaves on hand for his use. You’ll be one of them.

The Generalissimo is a dom? Honey asked, interested.

Yes, said Chadsworth, smiling. But there’s a hang-up. He is a very careful dom. He only takes his subs from the Bascom Agency.

Oh, really? Honey asked.

Yes, really, said Chadsworth. We’d like to put you through the Bascom Agency training and vetting program and set you up to be the Generalissimo’s next purchase from them.

You’ve got an identity that will get past Bascom’s vetting program? Honey asked.

We were thinking of using your real identity, said Chadsworth. We think we can pass you off as you.

Honey sat back for a moment, thinking.

Can’t do it, Honey said. I mean, I’d love to, but it’ll blow my cover for all time. I’d have to take on a fake identity as my real identity.

Not necessarily, said Chadsworth. So far, you’ve been able to keep your agent work off everybody’s radar. And for this assignment, all we need from you is intel. As soon as you give the word, we go to work, suddenly the Generalissimo has better things to do than dally with slavegirls, and you slip out of Las Miserabil and everybody is none the wiser. You come back to the US with a story about fleeing from all the chaos and you’re still golden.

Honey sat back, thinking.

It could work, she said. Tell me more, maybe I’ll give it some thought.

Sure, said Chadsworth. He knew better than to push Honey at this point. She had turned down assignments before. And Chadsworth was very aware that the previous handler who had tried to force her to take an assignment was dead. An accident, you couldn’t prove otherwise. But Honey had resources.

But Chadsworth knew she would take it. He had given her the straight dope on the assignment, and she would want to be a Bascom slavegirl-for hire.

Chapter 3

Even the very best PR flack couldn’t keep stories about beautiful women getting their heads blown off out of the news, much less the rumor mills.

Three days later, Honey walked into a discreet office building nestled in one of the hillsides around Los Angeles. It was an elegant, swank building that didn’t advertise its elegance to casual viewers – it looked like just another modern LA office building to the casual viewer on the outside.

But if you knew design and architecture and money, you could see that all three had been skillfully applied to the building. On the outside it was just reflective glass and concrete, tastefully done of course. But on the inside the floor were smooth and polished with abstract but subtly sexy inlaid curving designs that teased the eye.

Honey walked over to the receptionist’s desk, all polished wood and copper inlays, where a woman in a discreet but subtly sexy uniform sat at a chair opposite a computer. She was a striking brunette, beautifully made up, as was normal for receptionists for wealthy companies in Los Angeles. There were no obvious guards hanging about. There were a couple of small, discreetly designed and placed videocams, however.

Hello, Honey said. I’m Honey Trapp, I have an appointment with Reggie Hedgecock, Honey said.

Hi, just a second and let me check … there you are, she said, her fingers gliding effortlessly across the keyboard. Mister Hedgecock is in Room 223, just take the elevator to the second floor and go left, you’ll see his office on your right.

Thank you, said Honey. She had expected to have to do some bullshit sitting around in a chair for no reason, like most corporations did when you went looking for work with them. Not that Honey had ever worked a day in her life. But she’d heard things.

The door to Room 223 was open, and Honey walked in.

Nice to meet you, Miss Trapp, said Hedgeworth, rising from his seat. He was a short, well-built guy who looked to be in his