The Biggest of Bongos 2

“I wouldn’t go after them,” Kon told her, eying the little swathes of green that flecked the muddy water. Crocodiles, their twitching tails sweeping them along.

Knockout counted the other trunks. “One, two, three… okay, we’ll have to count on good hunting instead of canned goods and I’ll be wearing a lot of bug spray, but we still have everything we need for acquiring the specimen.”

“You want to keep going?” Kon asked in disbelief, though he didn’t feel as shocked as he should be. Knockout had struck him as indomitable from the very start.

“We’ll radio in our coordinates. The authorities will send someone to take care of the party. Otherwise, nothing’s changed. It’ll just be more of a hike than we expected.”

“You’re the boss,” Kon relented, wondering how he’d be able to take a month in the jungle with her not only looking like that, but wearing that little.

***

Carving a path through the jungle was a workout Kon had gotten used to. And blazing a trail kept him in front of Knockout, where he couldn’t torture himself. Look but don’t touch: good policy, but hell on a man with a healthy libido and not so much as a barstool slut to vent it in the tristate area. The exertion pushed even the memory of her looks into the recesses of his mind. He could make himself believe her tits hadn’t been that big, that what remained of her shirt didn’t look like it could be torn away with a single crooked finger.

Then he made a mistake. He stopped to guzzle from his canteen.

“Good work,” Knockout said, stepping past him and snatching the machete from his hand as easily as a pickpocket swiping a wallet. “I’ll take it from here.”

And she did, muscles heaving, clothes shifting about on her laboring body. The seat of her pants was fully halved, showing him the pink panties that covered one buttock. Her ass jiggled ripely with every slash she made into the foliage. It was big and looked soft, like a neat serving of cotton candy, but there was no looseness to it. There was fine muscle filling out that lovely moon. He had to wonder how it would be to touch it: decadently giving or toned to the point of firmness.

Kon shut his eyes for a long moment, then forced them open. It wouldn’t do to blunder into a poison dart frog just to avoid temptation. And at least behind Knockout, there was no way for her to see the massive swelling that challenged the tightness of his dungarees.

***

Eventually, the hike took them up a grade, and Kon was under too much of a strain to think much of Knockout. The blood that’d been swarming the inside of his cock was needed elsewhere. They were making their way up the slope of a mountain, the rainforest giving way to cloud forest.

After a long day’s hike, they made camp in a cloud forest: high enough off sea level for low-hanging clouds to trade chilling wetness with the mists. In this clime, it was always drizzling somewhere—white noise that bit into everything they said and made Kon unable to hear his own breathing. It smelled of decay and though there were less vines to bar their way, water from the melting icecaps had cut trenches into the ground. They had to watch their step, jumping across or climbing down and up. Kon found a clearing between a delta and convinced Knockout to make a camp in the protection offered there. He followed a rabbit trail to a burrow; it was full of dry grass he used to kindle a fire.

They rested. Kon’s dreams were of Knockout, he didn’t remember them. He woke up with an erection, but he’d had one when he went to sleep too.

The next morning, they set up cameras in the trees. Kon came across a warthog. He shot it, cooked it, and they ate it. Kon didn’t know if it tasted good or bad. All he saw was Knockout’s succulent lips, embracing one bite after another.

Kon’s ardor was dampened some by ire as he went through the survivalist tricks they’d need for food and shelter, while Knockout just watched her tablet, switching constantly from one feed to another. But he didn’t let himself get too bent out of shape. He’d done this sort of thing plenty when money was tight. Setting up snares and fishing lines while being paid twenty thousand dollars—that was good business. And no matter how hot Knockout was, there was only so long you could nurse a hard-on when you were gathering berries, gutting fish, and salting meat.

His radio crackled: “Kon, get back here! I need you!”

And his hard-on stubbornly insisted on its readiness. Kon ignored it. He’d been about to snap the neck of the guineafowl caught in his snare, but he guessed it got a stay of execution.

Coming back to the camp, he found Knockout standing, pacing, the tablet wrapped in white-tight fingers.

“You got it on camera?”

“No, no,” Knockout said, irritated. “It’s avoiding the cameras, it must be.”

“Or it’s not there.”

Knockout showed him the tablet. “It took one of the cameras down. It’s filming things.”

Talk about a cliché: even the Ta’moona really wanted to direct.

“It’s in Sector 3,” Knockout continued. “Go get it!”

“Sector 3?”

“Two klicks to the east!”

“Klicks?”

“Just go! I’ll radio when you get there!”

Kon grabbed the dartgun and took off at a run. Knockout had three goals.

Studying the Ta’moona.

Capturing or killing a Ta’moona specimen.

Proving the Ta’moona’s existence with video or photographic evidence.

What she’d like was a tranquilized and chained up specimen to take back to civilization. What she’d settle for was a carcass.

Kon would like a nice, sleepy White Ape. What he’d settle for was blowing its head off before it ripped away his.

But he’d try to hit it with a tranq dart. After the day-long stripshow Knockout had inadvertently given him, it was the least he could do.

Knockout’s voice purred over the radio. “You’re leaving Sector 1 now… entering Sector 2… keep going… you’re almost to Sector 3…!”

She sounded excited. Kon was in no danger of getting a stiffy, not now, but he felt her voice searing its way into his memory. He wondered if he could get her to talk about what she was wearing, so long as she sounded so out of breath.

With every step, the world was a new kaleidoscope. The boiling colors of the tropical flowers, the green leaves, the bright blue sky, the black ground. It seemed impossible that there was no white to be seen, but his eyes couldn’t lock onto any. It was all clouds, snatches of mist, insubstantial. Kon wondered if Ta’moona had ever been anything but a trick of light. He also wondered how well a seven-foot-ape would take being poked with a tranq dart.

“Stop, Kon, stop there! You’re there!”

Kon skidded to a stop. He gripped the dartgun tightly; had to relax his grip before he broke it. The jungle Knockout had directed him to seemed like just more jungle. Nothing special, only more leaves and a nagging sense that he should be able to find something hidden in this morass of rotting vegetation and tangling vines.

It felt like he had to pry one hand off the dartgun to get it to the radio, but he pressed the call button. “Where is it?”

“It has the camera trained on you! It’s looking right at you!”

Kon resisted the urge to whirl around; instead, he held very, very still. His eyes moved, poring over the shifting leaves, the swaying trees. He tried to remember where he’d planted the camera. Or had it been one that Knockout had set up? He could’ve laughed—one of them had done a helluva job concealing the thing.

“It’s to your left… up a bit… no, stop moving your head, you should be—it’s figured out how to work the camera, Jesus, it’s zooming in!”

Kon heard the dartgun squawking from the pressure he was putting on it. He couldn’t bring himself to relax his hold on it. “Where?”

“It’s pointing the camera right at you. It’s looking at your clothes, no, at your belly, it’s…  it’s showing me your penis.”

“What?”

“I’m looking at the screen right now and it’s full of your bulging penis.” Knockout sighed exasperatedly. “How can you be hard at a time like this?”

“I’m not. This is me soft.”

“Oh,” Knockout muttered. “That’s… wow. Did something sting you?”

“Sting me?” Kon asked, just as he heard a rustle and the camera dropped out of the canopy.

He dropped to one knee, jerking the dartgun up, but all he got was a flash of white motion and then the treetops stilled. Leaving no sign of anything but a few falling leaves.