Chapter Two

The jungle heat was suffocating.

The morning sun had barely risen, yet Faye’s body was already damp with sweat as she crouched before the temple wall, brushing dirt from the newly uncovered reliefs. But it wasn’t just the heat—it was the lingering fire from last night.

She still felt open, as if her body hadn’t quite settled from the dream… from what she had done in the dark.

She wiped her brow, her pulse quickening as the latest carvings were revealed beneath her fingertips. The imagery was even more graphic than before—a woman, thighs spread wide, her body stretched around a massive stone phallus. Another lay on her back, legs splayed, gaping, as if in some ritualistic bliss.

The moment she saw it, something inside her tightened.

She couldn’t stop staring, heart hammering in her chest. The smooth, worn curves of the relief felt almost alive beneath her fingertips, as if the stone itself pulsed with memory. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, but it did nothing to ease the deep, aching warmth building inside her.

“Jesus,” Jenny’s voice cut through the thick air, startling Faye.

Faye jerked her hand back from the stone as her assistant stepped up beside her, hands on her hips, peering down at the carvings.

“These are really something else,” Jenny said, exhaling, her eyes tracing the erotic imagery. “I mean… damn, they weren’t subtle, were they?”

Faye couldn’t speak. Her throat was too dry, her face burning. She forced herself to inhale slowly, to compose herself, to push down the twisting heat inside her.

“Fertility iconography,” she managed, forcing her voice to stay academic, her own arousal betraying her beneath her damp shorts. “It’s… uh… common in—”

“In ancient cultures, yeah, yeah.” Jenny waved a hand dismissively, eyes still locked on the relief. Then, with a casual, almost teasing tone, she said, “Y’know, the women in these carvings kinda look like you.”

Faye felt her entire body seize.

She turned sharply, staring at Jenny, her stomach twisting. “What?”

Jenny was still studying the reliefs, completely unaware of the way Faye’s mind had just short-circuited.

“You know, curvy, big tits. You’ve got the same vibe.”

Faye’s skin prickled with heat, a fresh pulse of arousal surging through her so fast it made her dizzy. Jenny had noticed.

Noticed the curves of the stone bodies.

Noticed their likeness to hers.

She tried to think of a response—anything to deflect the conversation—but nothing came. Her tongue felt thick, her brain fogged with too many feelings at once.

Jenny finally glanced at her and frowned. “You okay? You look kinda out of it.”

“I just—” Faye swallowed, then quickly shook her head. “It’s the heat. I—I think I need to lie down for a bit.”

Jenny nodded in understanding, already distracted by another section of the ruins. “Yeah, makes sense. You don’t want to get heatstroke.”

Faye barely managed a reply before retreating to the tent, her legs unsteady, her entire body on fire.

Inside the tent, the air was just as thick, just as stifling, but at least she was alone. She sat heavily on her bed, wiping the sweat from her forehead, her pulse still erratic.

She couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The reliefs.

The way Jenny had looked at them.

The way Jenny had looked at her.

And at the other end of the tent, it sat there. The massive stone phallus, still untouched since they’d brought it inside, its presence undeniable, looming, powerful.

She was so wet. Her body felt strung too tight, every nerve buzzing, begging.

She needed relief. Now.

Her gaze darted to one of the supply crates, where they had stored smaller artifacts. Not as massive as the one in the corner… but still big. still thick.

Her breath shuddered as she opened the box and pulled out a smaller phallus, still ten inches in circumference, its polished surface cool against her trembling fingers.

She hesitated, her rational mind screaming this was wrong—an artifact, a piece of history, not a toy. But the ache between her thighs was relentless, the memory of the dream too vivid. With a shaky exhale, she stripped.

Her tank top fell to the floor and then her shorts followed. She peeled off her damp panties, stepped out of them, and caught the scent of herself in the humid air.

Her body was soaked, glistening in the dim tent light.

Faye knelt on the floor, spreading her thighs, positioning the smooth stone tip against her slick, needy entrance. The moment it touched her, she shuddered.

She dragged it slowly against herself, coating it in her wetness, teasing herself with the anticipation of what was to come.

Then, finally, she lowered herself onto it.

Her head fell back. Her mouth parted in a silent moan.

The stretch was exquisite, her walls clenching around the firm, unyielding stone, filling her completely. Her hips began to move, rocking against the phallus, riding it the way the women in the reliefs had.

She reached for her clit, circling it with a trembling finger, the pleasure spiraling higher, hotter, the humid air thick with the scent of her arousal.

She was so stretched. So full.

The images flashed through her mind—the dream, the reliefs, Jenny’s voice saying she looked like them.

Her body convulsed as the climax tore through her.

She gasped, back arching, toes curling, as waves of pleasure crashed over her.

She shuddered, her entire body trembling as she slowly, shakily lifted herself off the phallus, feeling so empty, so open, her slickness still coating the polished stone.

She collapsed onto the bed, spent, sated for now. Her fingers fumbled to stash the glistening artifact beside her, her breathing still uneven. Within moments, exhaustion took her.

And then she woke to the sound of Jenny entering the tent.

Faye sat up too quickly, drawing the thing sheet against her body, heart hammering. Jenny barely glanced at her before wrinkling her nose.

“It smells funny in here,” Jenny said, sniffing the air. “Like… like pussy.”

Faye’s stomach dropped. She scrambled for an excuse, but before she could speak, Jenny cut her off with a smirk.

“No need to apologize,” Jenny said with a knowing look. “Everyone needs relief sometimes, right?”

Faye’s face burned, but before she could reply, Jenny’s eyes landed on something.

Faye followed her gaze—and her stomach lurched.

Her panties. The ones she’d taken off earlier, lying crumpled on the floor—stained with her dried secretions.

Jenny bent down and picked them up, holding them between her fingers.

“Damn,” Jenny muttered, tilting them toward the lantern light. The dried white patches were unmistakable.

Faye could have died.

Jenny simply tossed them at her, smirking. “Guess that reminds me—we should probably get our laundry done.”

Looking away, Faye’s face flamed.

“Hey don’t be embarrassed. I’m only kidding with you.” Then, to Faye’s utter disbelief, Jenny dug into her own laundry bag, pulled out a pair of her own stained panties, and tossed them onto the bed beside her.

“See mine aren’t any better.” Jenny grinned. “If we don’t take care of this soon, the whole damn tent’s gonna smell like pussy.”

Faye stared at her for a moment— catching a whiff of her younger colleague’s scent—then, despite herself, she laughed.

Jenny joined in, shaking her head. “We’ll head into the village tomorrow.”

And just like that, the tension diffused, but Faye’s pulse still pounded beneath it all.

Chapter Three

The drive into Pueblo de las Piedras was long and sweltering, the late morning sun turning the jungle roads into shimmering waves of heat. Faye had the windows down, hoping the warm breeze would do something to cool the sticky dampness clinging to her skin. It didn’t help much. Every inch of her still felt flushed, sensitive.

She kept replaying the dream from the night before—the ancient temple, the women in a circle, the slow, deliberate movements of their bodies. The woman with a body like hers, meeting her gaze in the moment of climax.

She shifted in her seat, adjusting her legs. She was still wet.

Jenny exhaled beside her, fanning her shirt. “God, it’s hot,” she groaned. Then, after a moment, she said, “I’ve been having the wildest dreams lately.”

Faye tensed, keeping her eyes on the dirt road ahead. “Oh?”

Jenny turned toward her, pulling one leg up onto the seat. “Yeah. Super erotic. Like, crazy vivid.” She hesitated, then laughed. “Honestly, I wake up soaking wet.”

Faye’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel, flustered by her colleague’s raw honesty.

“Must be the jungle heat,” she said, forcing her voice to stay even.

Jenny hummed. “Yeah… or maybe those carvings are getting to us. There’ something about them I can’t explain.”

Faye felt her stomach lurch, but she just gave a non-committal nod. No way was she admitting she’d been having the same kinds of dreams.

The village was small, the roads dusty, the air thick with the scent of grilled meat, ripe fruit, and sunbaked stone. They parked near a modest storefront, where an older woman was setting out baskets of freshly washed laundry.

Inside, the shop was dim and cool, with a crude stone floor, lined with wooden shelves stacked with folded linens and tubs of soaking clothes.

Jenny chatted with the washerwomen in Spanish as they handed over their heavy sacks of laundry. Faye, standing back, let her gaze wander absently—until she noticed one of the women holding up a pair of her panties.

She was an older woman, mid-fifties, with graying hair tied back in a bun. She lifted the cotton undergarment between her fingers, examining them with a smirk before bringing them up to her nose. She inhaled deeply, then said something to Jenny in a teasing, knowing tone.

Faye’s stomach tightened.

Jenny blinked in surprise, then grinned.

“What… what did she say?” Faye stuttered. Her Spanish was faltering, unlike Jenny who was practically fluent.

“Oh, uh… she says your… well, she says your... cunt smells strong and fertile.”

Faye’s face burned.

The washerwoman laughed, the lines on her face deepening, rubbing her fingers across the crotch of the panties.

Jenny translated again. “She says with your scent you should be careful. Men will never leave you alone.”

Faye’s jaw clenched. She grabbed the nearest piece of folded fabric—someone’s clean towel—and threw it over the pile of laundry. “Let’s go.”

With the washerwoman laughing in the background, Jenny followed her out.

Needing a distraction, Faye found a public phone and dialed home.

Her mother picked up first.

“Faye, finally,” she sighed. “I was starting to think you’d vanished into the jungle.”

Faye smiled despite herself. “Sorry. Reception’s been impossible out here.”

Her mother gave a knowing huff, then called for Beth.

“Mommy?” The little voice on the other end made Faye’s chest tighten.

“Hey, baby,” she said softly. “Are you being good for Grandma?”

“Yeah,” Beth said. “Grandma took me to the pool. I can do a handstand underwater!”

Faye chuckled. “That’s amazing. Next time we go swimming, you have to show me.”

“When are you coming home?”

Faye exhaled. “Soon. A few more weeks, sweetheart. I miss you so much.”

“I miss you too.”

They talked for a little longer before Beth got distracted by something on TV.

Faye hesitated before hanging up. She thought about calling Ben, her hand hovering over the phone, but then decided against it. Their last conversation had been strained. Lately, all their conversations were strained.

When she found Jenny again, she was lingering near a market stall, flipping through colorful woven fabrics.

“Everything okay?” Jenny asked, glancing up.

Faye nodded. “Yeah. Just… missing home.”

Jenny slung an arm around her shoulder, squeezing. “I understand. Let’s get a drink while we wait for our laundry.”

They found a small cantina, with thick adobe walls, worn wooden tables and a few ceiling fans that barely stirred the humid air. They ordered two cold beers and sat near the back.

Faye took a long sip, savoring the chilled bitterness. But almost immediately, she noticed a group of men at a nearby table staring.

They were locals—four of them, dark-haired and rugged, speaking low in Spanish. One of them said something that made the others laugh, and Jenny raised a brow.

“What?” Faye asked warily.

Jenny smirked. “They’re talking about us.”

Faye stiffened. “I got that. What are they saying?”

Jenny took a slow sip of beer before answering.

“They’re wondering which of us would be better in bed. The big one with the hat, thinks it would be you. He likes your hips and your big tits.”

Faye’s stomach twisted.

“The small one in the T-shirt,” Jenny continued. “He likes me better. Says I’m young and fresher. You look like you’ve had kids.”

“What is it with this place?” Faye sighed.

Jenny shrugged. “But the others prefer you. They like your curves. Lot of people seem to think that about you, huh?”

Faye shook her head. “Let’s go.”

Jenny chuckled, but didn’t argue.

As they stepped outside, walking along the cobbled street, Faye spotted something plastered on a nearby wall—a poster for an upcoming festival.

She moved closer, scanning the image. It was an illustration of a woman—her body full, hips wide, legs spread over an enormous phallus. It was stylized, but still strikingly similar to the reliefs at the dig site. At the bottom of the poster was an address and the words ‘Tierra Viva’.

Jenny whistled. “Damn.”

Faye nodded, her pulse quickening. “Fertility festival.”

Footsteps echoed along the stone cobbles, and a voice behind them made them both turn.

“You are interested in the festival?”

A woman stood there, watching them intently. She was older than them—forties, maybe—tall and striking, with long black hair and dark, knowing eyes. She wore a simple dress, loose and flowing, the fabric clinging in places to her generous curves.

“I organize the festival,” she said in lightly accented English. “My name is Luz.”

Faye exchanged a glance with Jenny before stepping forward. “I’m Professor Faye Sinclair, this is Jenny. We’re archaeologists. We’ve been studying the ruins outside the village. I’d love to learn more about your history.”

Luz’s lips curved in a smile. “Yes, I’ve heard of you. Out in the Jungle all by yourselves. Have you found anything interesting?”

“Images, reliefs carved into walls – similar to the drawing on the poster,” Faye replied.

The older woman nodded. “The people of Pueblo de las Piedras are descendents of the lost tribe at your dig site.”

“What was the name of the tribe?” Jenny asked. “That’s something we still don’t know.”

“Zan’quara is one of the names the tribe went by. Some say there were others.”

Faye gestured to the poster on the wall. “And what does Tierra Viva mean?”

Luz’s lips curled into a sultry smile. “It’s a belief, of sorts. A deep connection to the earth, you might say.”

Glancing at the poster again, Faye was about to ask another question but Luz spoke first.

“If you wan to know the ways of the Zan’quara, then you should come to the festival tomorrow.”

Faye hesitated. “We—uh, we were thinking about it. But we’re mostly interested in—”

Luz lifted a hand, cutting her off. “If you seek the Zan’quara’s ways, you must join us fully

and participate.”

Jenny looked intrigued. “Participate how?”

Luz’s gaze flickered over Faye’s body, then Jenny’s.

“There are many ways,” she said, voice soft, deliberate. “But you cannot simply watch. That is not your role.”

With a curious smirk, Jenny said, “So what is my role?”

Luz took a step closer. Too close.

Faye’s throat was dry.

Luz’s hands suddenly came up—warm, strong hands—settling first on Faye’s hips, then sliding lower, until one rested over the mound between her thighs.

Faye’s breath caught—but she didn’t move. Stunned. Heart racing.

Luz leaned in, her lips close to Faye’s ear.

“You have the body of a goddess,” she murmured. “A body meant to be worshiped.”

A slow heat unfurled in Faye’s belly. She was frozen in shock.

Then Luz stepped back, her smile enigmatic. “I will see you at the festival. My address is on the bottom of the poster. Come early.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving Faye breathless, trembling, and utterly unsure what had just taken place.