Chapter Five

The drive to the village was long and hot, the jungle stretching endlessly on either side of the dirt road. Faye gripped the wheel tighter than she needed to, her knuckles whitening, her jaw clenched. She’d tossed and turned all night, the tent’s humid air thick with shame. Jenny’s wide eyes burned in her mind, watching her ride the phallus, slick and stretched, her body splayed open, vulnerable. The thought gnawed, her stomach twisting. She’d barely slept, her skin prickling with the memory of the stone filling her, her own ragged gasps haunting the dark.

Jenny sat beside her, quieter than usual, her fingers tracing slow patterns on her knee. She wasn’t bouncing, but a restless energy hummed off her, her gaze flicking to Faye, then away.

After a stretch of silence, she spoke, voice soft, curious. “Last night… what you did,” she started, hesitant. “It felt… special, didn’t it? Like there’s this energy around you—something tying you to the reliefs.”

Faye’s cheeks flared, heat creeping up her neck. “Jenny…” she mumbled, voice tight, trailing off. She couldn’t meet her eyes. The memory of Jenny’s awe, her “It’s okay to finish,” seared her. What had she been thinking, giving in like that? She was a serious archaeologist, not some reckless woman lost to strange urges. Her thighs shifted awkwardly.

Jenny tilted her head, studying her. “I keep feeling it,” she said, quieter, almost to herself. “Like what you did—it’s part of this place. The festival… maybe it’s more than we think.” Her eyes glinted, curious, searching Faye’s face.

Faye swallowed, a lump in her throat, staring at the road ahead, her grip tightening. She couldn't find the words to respond.

By the time they arrived at Luz’s apartment, Faye was still tangled in her own thoughts. The scent of incense hit her the moment they stepped inside, thick and musky, curling through the air like a living thing. The dimly lit space was filled with sketches and paintings—phalluses, bodies entwined in ritualistic poses, fertility symbols inked onto parchment with practiced hands. Luz stood in the center of it all, dressed in a black silk robe clinging to her curves, a knowing smile on her lips.

Faye cleared her throat.

“What exactly happens at this festival?” she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Luz’s dark eyes glinted. “It is a celebration,” she said smoothly. “Of life. Of pleasure. Of Tierra Viva.”

That phrase again. Faye’s skin prickled. Luz gestured toward the table, where three gold goblets sat, the liquid inside a deep, rich amber.

“An ancient tonic,” Luz explained. “It prepares the mind. Heightens the senses.”

Faye hesitated, but Jenny, ever fearless, grabbed a goblet and took a long sip. She smacked her lips. “Mmm. Spiced honey?”

Luz smiled. “And more.”

Jenny nudged Faye. “Come on, professor. We want to learn about the Zan’quara, right?”

Faye stared at her goblet. She had already crossed so many lines. What was one more? Slowly, she lifted it to her lips and drank. The effect wasn’t immediate, but within minutes, she felt it—a warmth spreading through her limbs, an almost electric awareness humming beneath her skin. The room seemed richer in color, the incense more intoxicating.

Luz studied her with knowing eyes. “You feel it now, don’t you?”

Faye exhaled. “What exactly am I feeling?”

“Tierra Viva,” Luz murmured.

She led them to a small altar in the corner, where a stone phallus stood, surrounded by flickering candles. “This is a taste of Tierra Viva,” she said, her voice low. “The Zan’quara believed the earth speaks through our bodies.”

Faye’s pulse quickened, the incense wrapping around her

Stepping forward, Luz ran her fingers lightly down the edge of Faye’s sleeve. “Now, you must prepare. Undress. I have some robes for you to wear.”

The air in Luz’s apartment was charged, heavy with incense and something else—something more primal. Faye’s skin tingled as the warmth from the tonic spread through her, making every sensation sharper, every breath deeper. She felt the fabric of her clothes clinging to her, the humidity of the jungle still trapped in the cotton.

Across from her, Jenny was already unbuttoning her shirt, fingers quick and unbothered. She shrugged it off, revealing smooth, sun-kissed skin. The subtle lines of her collarbones stood out in the dim light, the soft rise of her breasts barely contained by her simple, practical bra. She wasn’t curvy, but there was something undeniably sensual in her lean, taut frame—the way her stomach flattened before the slight flare of her hips, the way her body moved with an easy confidence.

Faye was suddenly aware of how different they were. She hesitated as Luz’s dark eyes landed on her, expectant and knowing. She reached for the hem of her top, peeling it upward. The fabric dragged against her damp skin as she pulled it over her head. Next, she unclasped her bra. Without support, the weight of her breasts settled—hanging low.

The warm light caught the faint stretch marks, subtle lines across soft, pale skin. Her nipples, dark and full, stirred in the cool air. She felt exposed. But at the same time, she felt seen. Her hands trembled slightly as she pushed her cargo shorts down over her hips. She wasn’t lean like Jenny, wasn’t taut and effortless—she was something else. A body that had carried life and changed with it. Her stomach wasn’t flat; it curved slightly, a natural roundness leading down to the dark patch between her thighs. She hadn’t bothered to trim in weeks, too preoccupied with the dig, and now the untamed hair stood stark against her skin, damp with the heat of the jungle.

Jenny’s gaze flickered over her, unreadable, lingering for a moment too long before she looked away.

Faye’s pulse pounded in her throat.

Luz smiled slowly, stepping forward. “You have a body made to be worshiped, Faye,” she murmured, her fingers grazing lightly over Faye’s bare hip before trailing downward, just enough to make her shiver. “You will feel Tierra Viva soon.”

The sun scorched the village square, the midday heat a relentless fist pressing down on Faye as she stepped from Luz’s apartment. Sweat streaked her face, pooling under the black silk robe that clung to her damp skin like a second layer. The air was thick—humid, salty, reeking of sweat and jungle rot. The crowd packed the open space, shirtless men glistening, women in loose dresses fanning themselves, their voices a rising tide of shouts and cheers.

Jenny bounced beside her, her robe sticking to her lean frame, her cheeks flushed with heat. The crowd’s noise swelled as they spotted them, a hungry edge cutting through the clamor.

Faye’s pulse thundered. The tonic churned in her gut, a molten heat licking up her spine, making her thighs quake. She was wet—God, so wet—but she couldn’t tell how far it had gone.

Two women emerged from the throng, their black robes shimmering in the sun. One tall, silver braids flashing; the other broad-hipped, swaying with purpose, her skin slick with sweat. They flanked Luz, who strode forward, her robe rippling as she raised a hand.

“Remove them,” she said, her voice sharp over the din.

The crowd roared, men’s voices barking with lust, women’s softer with awe. Faye’s hands trembled, the tonic surging, her body screaming with need. She was shaking—aroused, unmoored, teetering on the edge.

Jenny grinned, yanking her robe free. It hit the dust, baring her taut, sun-bronzed body—small breasts high, stomach flat, a neat patch of hair glistening faintly. She stood tall, sweat shining on her collarbones, the crowd’s cheers spiking—men hollering, “Look at that tight little thing!”—women murmuring, “So alive!”

Faye’s breath stuttered. Jenny’s ease was magnetic, but Luz’s dark eyes pinned her, expectant. Her fingers fumbled at her robe, peeling it off in a sweaty rush. It dropped to the ground, her full breasts spilling free, swaying heavy and low, nipples stiff in the sticky air. Sweat streaked her belly, dripping into the dark, matted curls between her thighs.

The crowd erupted. Men jeered—“Look at those hips!” “She’s a real woman!”—their voices crude, dripping with want, while women chanted—“Fertile earth!” “Mother’s blessing!”

Faye’s face burned, the tonic drowning her shame in a flood of raw need.

Luz led them to a long, sun-bleached wooden table in the square’s center, its surface hot against Faye’s palm as she followed. Luz shed her robe mid-step and climbed up, lying back. Her legs splayed wide, knees dropping open, and her hands reached down, pulling herself apart—wide, wet, obscene, glistening in the brutal light. Her body echoed Faye’s—broad hips, a soft stomach etched faintly with stretch marks, heavy breasts sagging with age. A mother’s body, raw and open.

“Do it,” Luz commanded.

Faye’s heart slammed. The tonic roared through her, stripping restraint. She hauled herself onto the table, the wood scorching her knees, and lay back. Her thighs parted—slowly, then wider—until the humid air kissed her swollen flesh. Her fingers shook as she reached down, spreading herself, her arousal spilling out, but she couldn’t gauge how far, how much. She felt wet, needy, but the full sensation eluded her.

Jenny settled beside her, legs splayed, fingers parting herself with a smirk. The crowd’s shouts sharpened—men growling, “She’s tight as hell!”—women cooing, “So perfect!”

With her faltering Spanish, Faye caught fragments about herself too—men snarling, “That’s a loose one!” “She’s been stretched good!”—women intoning, “So abundant!” “Tierra Viva’s own!” Her clit throbbed, her body aching, but she couldn’t see it yet, couldn’t feel the truth.

Then she looked up and caught it—a bronze ceremonial disc glinting nearby, its surface a cruel mirror. Her gaze darted to it, and there she was—raw, exposed, her reflection a shocking expanse. Her flesh yawned, deeper and wider than Luz, slick and pink, laid bare under the sun’s glare. She was wetter than she’d ever imagined, a cavern of glistening flesh. Beside her, Jenny’s reflection was tight, neat—a precise slit against Faye’s wide opening.

Her breath stopped. She should be mortified—most women would die before revealing this, a loose pussy laid bare for all to see, a secret no one admitted. But the tonic hit her like a wave, flipping shame into a blazing thrill. Her clit throbbed, a desperate pulse, and instinctively, she clenched—her walls fluttering, trying to grip something that wasn’t there, aching for something massive to fill her.

The tonic surged, amplifying the sensation. She spread herself wider still, fingers digging in, stretching until her hips ached.

She wanted this—wanted them to see. Her voice burst out in a hoarse, unhinged cry she’d never have imagined—“I want them to see my cunt!”

Her thighs quaked, sweat pouring down her body as she clenched again—uselessly, beautifully—her pussy exposed, wet and alive, unable to shut against the world’s gaze.

The crowd exploded. Men roared—“Fuck, look at that hole!” “She could take the whole damn village!”—their voices thick with crude lust, while women gasped—“So vast!” “The earth herself!”

Jenny’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide, and she rasped, “Holy shit, Faye, you’re a fucking legend.”

Faye trembled, her chest heaving, the tonic amplifying every shout, every pulse. She held herself open, her flesh gaping under the sun, slick, alive with need.

Then a deep gong rang out, reverberating through the square. The crowd’s noise cut off, swallowed by silence. As one, they dropped to their hands and knees, foreheads pressing into the dusty earth, a sea of bowed figures in the blazing light.

Faye froze, fingers still spreading herself raw. Sweat poured down her spine, pooling beneath her.

Luz sat up slightly, her own body still open, her voice steady. “They honor your fertility,” she said, eyes glinting. “They pay homage to Tierra Viva, the living earth. You embody her today.”

Jenny let out a breath, her fingers trembling as she held herself apart.

The silence stretched, heavy and reverent. Slowly, the crowd rose, faces solemn, sweat-streaked, and drifted away into the village’s edges, leaving the square empty under the merciless sun.

Faye lay there, heart pounding, her body still open, still soaking wet. The tonic thrummed in her blood, her reflection seared into her mind—loose, wet, wild, and seen. She’d bared everything, shouted it, and they’d worshipped it.

And in the distance, the jungle’s pulse answered, low and alive.