****** Cloud Warriors by R/Dave ******
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Cloud Warriors


The early morning dawned on the quiet waters as the fleet of fishing boats
slowly heeled towards the oncoming tide and out into the open sea. The thick
morning clouds clung to the water surface with a moist embrace, bringing a
chill to the hearty folks that voyaged within. Beneath the gray surface of
still waters, the morning's bounty awaited their rendezvous with fate, darting
in amongst each other in their own private search for food. The scene that has
repeated itself since the beginning of time was once again repeated in a
symphony of clanking anchor chains and net cables. The sun would eventually
dissipate the clouds into moist tendrils spiraling ever upwards to again reform
over the nearby mountains, bringing their life-giving dew to the diverse forms
of life that thrived there.

By late afternoon, with no sign of the fishing fleet's return, the alarmed
families dispatched several utility craft out into the now fully awakened sea.
Within a few desperate hours, the anchored fleet was found with their nets in
disarray and their dead male crew members strewn about with their genitals
removed. The few female crew and young boys that had ventured out that morning
had disappeared. Onboard there was overwhelming evidence of desperate
struggles; most all of the crew members died with some type of weapon nearby,
and some were found with small strips of animal skins or human hair in their
clenched fists. Peppered about the vessels and across the corpses were small
burn signatures, unique in the way they seemed to burn through human flesh,
while leaving all other materials discolored yet unharmed.

Local authorities became quickly puzzled when their investigations revealed
more mysteries than solutions. Federal agencies were soon dispatched, and after
a week of carefully guarded research, it was announced that the ill-fated crew
members had all fallen victims to a bizarre virus that compelled them to kill
one another. The somber ceremony beside the mass grave was marked with both
disbelief and resentment. All but a few of the seasoned vessels were auctioned
off, and soon the once bustling village became a whispered memory. Even as the
fractured families tried to start anew, another fishing fleet on the opposing
seaboard was setting out into the gathering mists in anticipation of their
evenings' catch. Their disappearance would strike the term "unique incident"
from the research teams transcripts and replace it with "recurring phenomena."

Bob Hill had only worked for NOAA for two years but he knew there was something
going on. He had seen the same atmospheric phenomena several times before in
the previous month at different locations across the Northern Hemisphere. The
tiny eddies always seemed to originate high in the atmosphere over the Amazon
River basin, and would travel at remarkable speeds through the upper air
currents only to disappear as suddenly as they began over the coastline of
North or Central America. They appeared to move with definitive certainty, and
they always dissipated at a different coastal location within 24-hours of their
onset. Bob took it upon himself to unravel their mystery, with the approval of
his supervisor who didn't care to spend his time breaking in a new scientist.
But it wasn't until late one night, as Bob was dozing in his favorite chair
with the wife and young ones already asleep, that he heard the brief
announcement about a fleet's disappearance that would launch him into the
center of the investigation. When Bob revealed the atmospheric phenomenon he
had found coincided directly to the disappearance of the fishermen, he was
instantly promoted and, with barely time to answer all the questions he was
fielded, was on a flight to Rio.

Several thousand miles north, Randy gingerly guided his Father's fishing boat
along the cloud barrier floating just above the water's calm surface. A plugged
fuel filter had delayed their departure, and left their normal preparations in
disarray. As Randy steered the sturdy craft into the dense fog, his Father
prepared the nets, humming to himself as his confidence in his young son's
seamanship continued to improve. Suddenly, a deafening crash came from the
wheelhouse, and a large form swept over the craft, bathing it in brilliant
light and warmth. Randy spun the wheel frantically away from the point of
impact as the ship rolled violently onto its side, only to mercifully right
itself several desperate seconds later. Securing the helm and disengaging the
churning screws, he darted aft to find his Dad slumped over one of the winches
with blood dripping down his pants legs and a look of sheer terror in his now
unseeing eyes.

Randy stared at the lifeless form for several minutes before returning to the
wheelhouse and fingering the transmit key on the radio. Not fully knowledgeable
in its operation, it took him several minutes to contact the Coast Guard after
his attempts to contact the remainder of the fleet had failed. The helicopter
that was dispatched abruptly disappeared just after it had radioed the location
of the stricken vessel and the ominous cloud formations that lie just ahead.
The cutter arrived several hours later as the fog was lifting to observe the
eerie spectacle of an anchored fleet void of life and strewn with mangled male
bodies. Randy was the only survivor recovered, and it was several weeks before
the shock abated enough for him to give a sketchy rendition of the events that
led up to his Fathers' demise.

Bruce threw the folder filled with assorted papers back into his in box
precariously perched on the edge of his cluttered desk, sending it toppling to
the floor with a noteworthy crash. An ex-Marine, called to serve the FBI based
loosely on an outstanding war record and the ability to retain his perspective
when everything about him was crumbling, Bruce longed for the days in the
trenches rather than at this lackluster desk where he spent his professional
life sifting clues. Unmarried, and happy, Bruce spent all of his free time on
his 32-foot Chris Craft that doubled as his home and his recreation center. He
was still a decade from full retirement, although he often considered weighing
anchor and disappearing south of the border. If it wasn't for his security
classification, he would have exercised that option years ago.

A few moments later, Linda bolted into the room, tripping over the mess and
tumbling to the musty carpet, barely saving her dignity as her regulation skirt
ripped up the seam. Barely able to conceal an untimely burst of laughter, Bruce
reached over to grab a cigarette, lighting it slowly between the disarming
smile he almost always wore. She was a new "recruit," eager and ample as they
always were, but sadly lacking in experience and patience - both critical
elements for "field work." In a surprise move she was assigned to Bruce in a
marriage that would hopefully teach her the intricacies of his experience while
giving her mentor some of her unbridled enthusiasm. To date, he remained
unshaken, much to her frustration.

They were a study in extremes, with Bruce large and burley, and Linda frail and
delicate. His muscles rippled firmly beneath the suit that barely concealed his
taught body lines, intimidating his male associates while charming his
counterparts. Although his demeanor was authoritative, he rarely responded to
emotions and was never known to have lost his temper. Linda, on the other hand,
was an impulsive young charmer, with dark flashing eyes and a voice that could
melt butter. Although well-conditioned, her size reflected femininity, and she
was often pursued by her male counterparts in the Bureau.

"While you're down there, could you see if you could find my pen; it's a black
Skilcraft," he quipped awaiting the emotional response he knew it would
trigger.

"Find it yourself," she hissed as she rose to her knees; "It's a wonder you can
find anything in here with this...!"

"Watch it now, show a little respect for my filing system, would ya?"

"I came in to see if you're all right," she offered, hoping it would trigger a
sympathetic response to her awkward position.

"Better than you are right now I reckon," he responded softly as he glanced
over the carnage in search of another file. "Has the Coast Guard followed-up on
their initial report yet?"

"I'll check on it," she uttered as she struggled to her feet while trying to
preserve the few threads of modesty that remained.

"Please, and check with NOAA concerning the atmospheric phenomenon after you
get yourself put back together, would you - apparently there is some guy that
believes he's found some link in the atmosphere over the Amazon."

He rose and escorted her to the door, partly in sympathy, and partly to insure
there wouldn't be another ungraceful diving performance. Turning to scoop up
the disarrayed paperwork, he wondered how he would ever be able to return them
to their original folders. Just then, the annoying inter-office buzzer sounded
on his desk phone. It was the chief with a note of urgency in his voice that
explained the priority and precedence of the investigation. Within a few hours,
Bruce and Linda were aboard a chartered jet on their first field assignment
together. There first stop was the hospital where Randy was recovering. After
an informative interview and their heartfelt reassurance, the lad volunteered
to accompany them to Miami where a meteorologist was to join them for a fact-
finding mission into the Amazon. Several other agents joined them in Miami as
they boarded the flight to Rio, and soon the whole party was seated together in
the first-class section comparing notes and strategies for finding guides and
transportation to this river valley shrouded in mystery and superstitions.

As they boarded the helicopter that would take them to a small village a few
miles from where the computer simulations had pin-pointed the origins of the
phenomenon, they received word from the Bureau in Washington that another fleet
had been found emasculated off Nova Scotia. The attacks were becoming more
frequent now, and the press was threatening to publish the story. When the
chopper arrived at the clearing shortly after midnight, the guides campfire
could be clearly seen by the flight crew, but once the investigating team was
on the ground and the helicopter disappeared beyond the treetops, they realized
they were alone. When the guide's body was found in the early hours of the
dawn, he had been emasculated and tossed into an overgrown ravine a few feet
from the now sputtering campfire.

Bruce tried to contact the helicopter to retrieve Linda - this was certainly no
place for her; but she insisted on remaining with the party, assuring them that
she was the safest of them all with genitals that were far more difficult to
remove. With only a compass and general idea of where they were headed, the
team forged into the dense undergrowth as a tightly knit unit with Bruce at
point and the two security men taking the rear. They would be the first to
disappear, and within moments the remaining survivors heard two distinct gut-
wrenching screams. Moments later, as the party huddled under some large ferns,
the hushed whisper of motors could be heard overhead, signaling the approach of
a large aircraft. Bob leapt to his feet and started waving his arms wildly
until Bruce tackled him and pulled him back under cover just as a large
crystal-clear dirigible passed overhead. Linda could clearly make out at least
fifty women clad in animal skins that barely hid their femininity lined up on
either side of the sleek structure that was suspended underneath. Randy began
shivering violently and curled up in a fetal position next to Linda while Bruce
and Bob stood up to observe the barely visible tail section as it disappeared
over the trees. Without words, they all stared at one another, and for the
first time in years, Bruce found himself at a loss. Off in the distance, a dull
ascending roar shook the tree tops, sending the birds fleeing in a collage of
noisy protests.

Bruce idly fumbled with the transmit key for a few seconds before raising the
radio to call for the helicopter's return. This was no longer a task for an
investigating team, but rather, for full scale military intervention. But
before he could utter a word, he dropped the radio to his side upon realizing
they were all surrounded by beautiful, almost naked women who were pointing
small but evil looking weapons at them menacingly. Without words, they motioned
the four to their feet where they were stripped, gagged, blindfolded, and their
wrists were tied securely behind their backs. Feeling the painful sting of one
of the hand held weapons on his buttocks for the first time, Bruce lurched
forward, followed by his three terrified companions and escorted by an army of
female captors.

After stumbling through the jungle for what seemed like hours, they were forced
down to their knees with their backs up against a large tree stump. Their
ankles were then tied with damp vines that synched even more securely as they
dried. Mercifully, then, their blindfolds were removed, and they found
themselves staring into the unsympathetic eyes of scores of muscular women
illuminated by several nearby campfires. The three men immediately felt the
eyes of the tribes on their flaccid genitals, and tried to conceal them as best
they could. Linda, became flushed with anger, wondering what these women wanted
with her, and how she could effect an escape to get help.

After a few moments, one particularly large and beautiful woman stepped
forward, her large breasts barely concealed by the thin strip of animal skin.
Her abundant pubic hairs sprouted freely from around the small patch of cloth
that barely covered the obscenely bulging lips of her vulva. Sweat-streaked the
body that was the epitome of muscular conditioning, and her hard features
reflected an uncompromising approach to those who defied her desires. She
studied the four slowly and deliberately, sizing up every inch of their bodies
with blatant distaste; intimidating them intentionally. Randy began to sob, and
Bob mumbled something about peaceful intentions and both were immediately
silenced with small bursts from the hand held weapons to their shriveled
scrotums. They cringed in agony, struggling desperately to break their bonds
and shelter their burning gonads. True to form, Linda launched a flaming
outburst of vehement obscenities, and was silenced with a more intensive burst
from one of the weapons. She slumped over where she would remain oblivious to
her precarious position for some time.

The burly queen snapped her stubby fingers and pointed to Randy. Several of the
other women darted to his restrained form and freed him quickly, assuring that
the blindfold was firmly in place before dragging his trembling body off into
the darkness. Another older woman, fully adorned with a montage of feathers
pointed to Bob, and he was soon gone also. Bruce and Linda now sat back-to-
back, and as Bruce once again tried to review the options he didn't have, he
figured he would probably meet his maker without collecting so much as one
penny of his pension. The Bureau owed him big time if he ever got back to the
comfort of his desk again! As he continued to brood silently, a frail white
girl stepped out from the remaining group and pointed to him. With a swear word
muffled under his breath, he was blindfolded and escorted to a small hut deep
in the darkened forest. His concerns for his partner would shortly be replaced
by far more pressing matters. A little later in the evening, some of the
captors poked and probed Linda's lifeless form with their fingers, and once
satisfied, they disappeared to their perspective huts.

Randy began to whimper openly as he was pulled to the largest hut in the
complex by his sagging shoulders. The head of the tribe showed little sympathy,
kicking him brutally in the ribs until he lay silently on the floor of thatched
palm leaves. She rolled his body over slowly with her foot, studying the
youthful innocence of his pale skin. Drawing one of the lit oil lamps close to
his manhood, she knelt next to him and gingerly fingered the flaccid organ,
studying the glans and shaft with genuine interest. Next she moved to his
hairless scrotum and slowly manipulated the two small gonads within, forcing
them to slide between her fingertips slowly while she savored their smooth
texture. Then, without ceremony, she withdrew her hunting knife that was nicked
and rusty from neglect. Ever so slowly and skillfully she used her left had to
pull the young mans organs away from his abdomen, then jabbed the knife point
directly into the juncture where the urethra disappeared into the young mans
body.

Randys' eyes shot open, and his entire body tensed, as his torso arched into
the air and his hands clawed at his genitals. She threw down the knife and
slapped him forcefully, then resumed her surgery; slowly moving the large blade
in short sawing motions around the base of his manhood as the delicate skin
pulled free from the sparse hair on his pubic mound. It took over a minute for
her to complete the emasculation, and as the last tendrils of skin pulled free,
she smiled in satisfaction. Gingerly cradling the mutilated organs in the palm
of her hand, she stood and studied her latest conquest unemotionally. The blood
dripping between her fingers awoke her from her trance, and she dropped the
lifeless flesh into the empty half of a coconut shell before returning to
Randy's now quivering form and kneeled down over his open mouth with her now
dripping pussy. She dragged her massive pussy lips across his teeth roughly,
rapidly climaxing fitfully as Randy breathed his last. It had been good for
her, and as she summoned two of her sisters to remove the corpse, she studied
her knife blade carefully, silently promising to give it the maintenance it so
desperately required on the morrow.

The local medicine woman tied Bob's body to the frame of her eerie abode with
his arms at his side and his legs spread to their fullest extent. Around the
shadowy interior of the hut were numerous feathers covering the walls, broken
only by one small opening and rows of shelves filled with an assortment of
dusty bottles, vials, and flasks containing every type of extract and potion
imaginable. In the middle of the room was a small fire with several discolored
flasks gingerly stuffed in the coals. Several oil lamps dangled from the
ceiling, swaying to and fro in the evening breezes. She hummed to herself as
she stepped over to a dark rustic table next to her cot, and began fumbling
with some of the implements laying there.

"You know, I'm a scientist too?" offered Bob, hopeful that they may share
common interests including the preservation of life.

"Shhhh" she responded as she turned to him with her eyes ablaze.

Bob bit his tongue as she approached him with a glowing wooden handled knife in
one hand and a scrap of dripping material in the other. With shaking hands, she
grabbed his scrotum with the alcohol soaked rag, and brought the knife deftly
just under his penis, severing the sack and suspended contents so quickly, he
was barely aware of their loss. But as the searing pain ripped through his
torso, he tilted his back and screamed the long high pitched wail of the
damned. She slowly slid the knife blade along the bloody incision, using the
soaked rag to dab the blood away from the open wound. Bob blacked out. A short
time later he awoke on her cot, with a throbbing sensation where his scrotum
used to be. She was spooning a distasteful concoction of animal and plant
extracts and into his mouth, while muttering something undistinguishable under
her breath. As his awareness returned, he struggled to bring himself up onto
his elbows and examine the carnage between his thighs. She patted his chest
reassuringly, and eased him back onto the straw filled pillow. Somehow he was
calmed by her touch, and soon dozed off into a blissful sleep.

He awoke some time later, and studied his captor from behind as she worked
fervently over the stained tabletop. She turned abruptly when she heard him
shuffle his feet and approached him cautiously, knowing that he was untied and
had ample opportunity to strike out against her. But Bob never had that type of
demeanor, always trying to dispel conflicts with words rather than aggression.
It was one of the primary reasons his wife had been drawn to him in college
along with his seemingly fathomless compassion for young children and the
elderly. Sometimes she wondered if he wouldn't have been happier working in the
medical field rather than weather guessing; but his income was more than
adequate for the young family, and she hadn't been required to work thanks to
his tireless efforts to support them. In perspective, Bob was fortunate also,
as his wife truly appreciated him for what he was, and allowed him the freedom
to pursue his career without her interference. It was a happy marriage for them
both, although recent developments would most certainly curtail any opportunity
for future offspring permanently.

"Why?" It was Bob who spoke first.

"It is the law of our tribe," she whispered in perfect English. "I regret the
pain you endured and hope it will not affect our scientific relationship."

"It could, but I'll try to let it pass as soon as the pain vanishes," he
responded warmly to her, relieved that he was in the company of a fellow
scientist who would undoubtedly attempt to preserve his life. "Are you behind
the atmospheric phenomenon that originates from this area?"

She froze. "You know - how many others know?"

"With our disappearance, I suspect the whole world," he replied. "We came to
explore the source and provide some answers to our nations' administration."

"How long before they arrive?" she asked, obviously gravely concerned.

"Shortly, I suspect, and they'll probably come with a substantial military
presence."

"Damn." Her face suddenly reflected her youth and beauty.

"How did you ever develop this technology to alter the weather, and build a
literally invisible aircraft," he pressed. "It's remarkable."

"We didn't; we discovered several vials in the Nazca Plains during a recent
expedition that contained all the information we needed to construct the
necessary devices." Her eyes lit up with excitement as she began to describe
the small rockets propelled by animal waste that deposited the simple chemical
compound required to trigger the phenomenon. She then went on to describe the
basic construction of the "Crystal Ship," and its components, including the
deadly hand held weapons that never required rearming. Her face glowed with
excitement as she finished her brief descriptions, and her infectious
enthusiasm made Bob forget all about his testicular trauma, but rather to focus
on the significance of their discovery. They briefly fell silent, basking in
the afterglow of the moment before Bob finally spoke.

"But why is it employed to kill fisherman. This type of technology could
virtually eliminate drought and famine"

"It was our Queen's decision - you know, the one who took the youngest member
of your party. Sadly she destroyed the source documents and only entrusted two
of us with the information I have shared in part with you. It was her idea to
panic a small group of your males who rape the resources of our planet so
irresponsibly. We hoped to send a message to your cultures but I fear we have
evoked its wrath instead."

"Indeed," Bob responded, "when were the mutilations to end, anyway?

"As soon as the Queen was satisfied," she replied. "Where... where did you
learn to communicate with women so well?"

"I'm no different than anyone other guy," he mumbled shyly, "Where did you
learn to speak such fluent English?"

"I used to be a Doctor at John Hopkins. One vacation some time back, I set out
to explore the Amazon with several of my friends and after meeting my sisters
here, I fell in love with the life and never returned. It was the class case of
a vacationer becoming a victim. Would you make love to me?"

Bob began choking; the very thought of having sex was the furthest thing from
his mind right now. With a flood of performance anxieties stemming from the
recent loss of his gonads, he could only shake his head no. She appeared
visibly saddened and he reached out to her in consolation, giving her the
warmest embrace he could muster amidst the thoughts racing through his head and
the throbbing pains in his pelvis. She snuggled into his embrace like a child,
gently pulling at the sparse hairs on his chest. It was obvious that she had
missed the comfort of a male counterpart during her stay in the jungle, and Bob
couldn't help but sympathize with her. They held their embrace for an intimate
eternity, allowing the rhythm of their breathing to put their hearts to rest.
After a time, they slept.

As the first strands of dawn began to filter across the sky bringing color to
the darkness, she slowly reached down and began to fondle Bob's flaccid manhood
with the tenderness of a soul mate. Somehow, his body began to respond to her
gentle caress, and he soon found his lips seeking the smooth contours of her
neck and small breasts. His mouth continued to explore her now sweating torso
with gentle kisses and tongue twists and worked its way down towards her
heaving tummy amidst her breathy sighs. She responded quickly, removing her
animal skins without once opening her eyes, and then guiding his head down into
her pelvis and the secrets therein. Bob let his tongue become the active player
in his love making, tasting every freckle and wrinkle of her smooth coffee
colored skin. By the time he found her erect clitoris with his tongue, she was
aroused far beyond her fondest recollections.

With a mere swipe of his tongue, she tensed with the first of a series of
orgasms that continued to grow in intensity as he buried his face deeper into
her treasures. Her sighs became moans as she forced her pubis ever deeper into
his mouth with her hands, scraping her clitoris against his teeth with her
passion. Soon she became completely engulfed in the warmth of erotic sensations
spiraling from her genitals, allowing her orgasms to engulf her being in wild
abandon. Her body swayed from side to side, her head was tilted towards the
ceiling with her mouth wide open and her eyes squeezed tightly shut, while her
firm breasts bounced tautly as the growing crescendo of spasms swept over her
in waves of long awaited fulfillment. She was the epitome of ecstasy and became
so lost in the intense sensations that she totally forgot about her lover until
he began gasping for breath.

She rolled off of him onto the dusty floor amidst a flurry of breathy apologies
as her quivering body began the slow descent back from euphoria... Bob wiped
her abundant nectar from his face with the back of his hand, grateful to see
the light of day and to feel the life-giving air surging back into his starved
lungs. He curled into a loose fetal position, protecting his manhood that was
now fully erect, despite the waves of pain that were radiating across his
thighs and abdomen. His satiated captor slowly stirred and lifted herself on to
the edge of the cot, gently caressing his back with her fingertips and kissing
his face with gratitude.

As he began respond to her caresses, she spied his rigid manhood and
immediately moved her face down to the purple head, slowly savoring the
secretions that trickled from the throbbing organ. Her mouth gradually engulfed
him without pulling on the raw skin where his ball sack had until recently
resided. She continued to gently bathe the tender organ in the warm cavern of
her mouth, using her tongue to stimulate the sensitive underside of his manhood
until, without warning, his semen exploded into her throat and his hips arched
high into the air. She drained the last of his seed passionately, watching his
face intently as his orgasm waned. They embraced tenderly; and dozed in each
other's arms, while, just outside, the Queen continued to rub her clitoris
frantically while fantasizing about the orgasms that Bob had given her aloof
scientist. Later, as she silently returned to her home, she mused over her
options, and knew she would miss the scientist that had given her the tools to
complete her world conquest along with so many fulfilling orgasms in her bed.

As Bruce was muscled into the darkened thatched hut, he struggled violently to
free himself of his captives, and was almost successful until a blow to the
back of his head left him momentarily stunned. He was roughly tied to a chair,
and left to the auspices of his frail captor. As she turned up the light from a
large oil lamp suspended from the cross member of the ceiling, Bruce glanced
upon her fragile nakedness momentarily before fully exploring the environment
in his field of view. The inside of the structure was draped with white fabric,
including the floor which had several blood-stained areas on the otherwise
unremarkable surface. Outside of the chair on which he sat and a small pile of
skins next to the door, there were no furnishings and no windows. His captor
watched him intently, as he completed his survey with just the hint of a smile
on her beautiful face.

"This is our conception area," she stated as she folded her arms under the
small mounds of her budding breasts, and you will provide me with your life
giving seed before I loose interest and castrate you." She let out a small
chirp and two of her sisters appeared immediately at the doorway, armed with
evil looking knives.

"Let's take a moment for me to consider my options," he replied calmly,
stalling for time to develop an escape plan.

"You simply have no options," she returned, "Your fate is entirely dependant
upon your cooperation, and my desires. Please don't bore me with your
chauvinistic crap; I really don't want to remove that disgusting organ before
it has had one final opportunity to perform for me."

"You have no idea how erotic this discussion is," he mused, focusing his
attention on her small upturned nose, "I might just cum right now amidst your
sensuous seduction."

She ran to the door and grabbed one of the larger knives, then ran back over to
him and held the knife to his manhood with one hand while roughly fondling the
flaccid organ with her other.

"Aha, you're left-handed," he observed, and she froze with the blade a mere
inch from his still flaccid manhood and her face directly in front of his. He
could feel her quick warm breaths on the stubble on his chin.

"And..." she sputtered.

"Left handed people are rumored to be superior lovers," he responded quickly,
hoping the mock sincerity in his voice would mask the sudden panic he felt.

"I wouldn't know, and why should I care?"

"Because you're probably not very good at much else," he gambled, hoping to
evoke a defensive response."

"How dare you!"

"Well, how dare you!"

"Look, I'm the one with the knife here..."

"Yep, and I've got the sperm."

She paused then turned abruptly and dismissed her two sisters with a wave of
her hand. Turning slowly to face him she straddled his legs and sat on his hips
facing him as her face softened. She studied his face wordlessly, tracing her
fingers over his features gently before letting her hands drop to support her
weight on his bound legs. Her gaze dropped to his muscular chest and abs,
savoring the contours of his masculinity before proceeding down to his still
soft manhood. Her left hand found its way to the shriveled glans, gently
circling it with her index finger as a drop of spittle fell from her cherry
lips onto his thigh. As Bruce felt the silkiness of her touch, he became
aroused for the first time in years, and closed his eyes as the delicious
sensations began to build slowly. She then grasped the organ with both of her
hands and began to stroke it more evenly, bringing it to its full glory in a
relatively short time. Her eyes became wide and her breathing shallow and rapid
as she felt the throbbing organ spasm involuntarily in her hands.

"My turn," Bruce whispered.

"What?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"My turn - free my hands so that I can treat you in a manner befitting your
beauty."

So overwhelmed was she by the moment that she reached behind him and deftly
untied his hands. She had to rise up to reach over him, positioning her vulva
directly in front of his lips. The scent of her femininity drifted up his nose
and he sucked the virgin flesh into his mouth, savoring her essence in an
erotic tongue-fest. She became overwhelmed almost immediately pulling his head
into her pelvis forcefully as she tried to remain standing despite her
quivering legs. Bruce took advantage of her compromised position and, after
securing her tight fanny in his massive hands, slowly rolled off of the chair,
taking her down to the floor gracefully, without breaking his tongue hold on
her femininity. She gasped in momentary surprise, then spread her legs further
to allow him better access. It was the moment he waited for, and, grabbing the
knife, he rolled off her and bolted through the door, slashing one of the two
guards immediately, then sparring once with the other before landing a crashing
blow to her head. As he turned towards the slumped form of his partner, two
simultaneous bursts of energy slammed into his back; sending him sprawling and
senseless to the jungle floor.

When Bruce awoke several hours later with his limbs bound and a roaring
headache, he found himself in a small, tightly thatched cage accompanied by his
bound companions and at least twenty female captives. Bob looked pathetic with
blood still oozing from his groin while Linda appeared as if she was still
unconscious. Bruce still had his genitals attached, but he mused that was a
temporary oversight, and knew that his escape attempt may have seriously
jeopardized his teams survival. It took but a few moments for him to realize
that the tattered prisoners in the small cage with him were undoubtedly the
survivors of the fishing fleet. Perhaps they were kept alive because of a
tribal restriction to harm other women, or perhaps they would undergo some form
of conditioning to join those on the other side of the cage; Bruce could
scarcely imagine. He turned to Bob who was trying to cushion his recent surgery
and get comfortable in the cramped space.

"How bad is it Bob?" Bruce asked with concern.

"Could be better..."

"Shut up in there," came a harsh bark from outside the cage, a small burst from
one of the hand held weapons sizzled past Bruce's ear and burned a small
pinhole in Bobs left thigh.

This was the second time Bruce was directly responsible for bodily injury to
his companions, and he immediately decided to abstain from any type of
provocative behaviors until reinforcements arrived. Bob rolled on to his side
in agony, silently cursing while putting as much distance between himself and
Bruce as he could. It just didn't seem fair that Bruce should be unscathed
while the other males were either permanently disfigured or dead. The two men
agonized in silence, huddled around the supine form of Linda and surrounded by
the other subdued female captives. As the minutes dripped into hours in the
sweltering heat, they felt their hopes of escape dwindling into vapor. With no
food or water, they became lethargic and complacent, and soon drifted off into
troubled slumbers. The flies began a silent feast on their tender skin.

It wasn't until early the next morning when, amidst a flurry of activity
outside of the darkened cage, the door was flung open and the three newest
captives were pulled into the clearing at the center of the camp. Some time
during the humid night hours, Linda had awakened, but was too disoriented to
struggle and simply returned to her dazed slumber amidst the rumblings of her
empty stomach. The Queen stood over them with contempt, gloating at these three
souls who had been so much trouble. She wanted to repay their efforts with her
own special brand of fatal torture, but had been convinced to extract as much
information as possible from them first by her council. With a brutal kick to
Linda's ribs, she silently signaled two of her subordinates to drag this now
awakened and protesting captive to her chambers. She followed them, turning to
stare vehemently at the other captives twice before disappearing into the
darkness. The scientist quickly hustled Bob back to her quarters, whispering
heart felt apologies in his ear as he was led away. Two other warriors grabbed
Bruce roughly, and kicked him in his stomach several times before dragging him
back to the conception room.

"Tell me about the invasion force," the Queen commanded, as she rose her foot
as if to stomp Linda's pelvis brutally.

"There will be many men," Linda chided sarcastically, "And they will come with
machines that are impervious to your weapons and your cries as they turn your
village and all your accomplishments into snake sod."

"You impertinent bitch." The Queen stomped down fitfully, forcing the air from
Lindas' lungs, "The truth or you die."

"You want the truth - you're ugly, and no man would ever want you," she gasped
fighting to get air. "That's why you're here minding the mindless rather than
helping the hopeful, sister." The words were biting, and struck home. "Maybe we
live in a man's world, but we don't have to stoop to degradation and
emasculation to unify our genders and we have a future - do you?" With that,
Linda collapsed breathlessly, the room spinning around her as she fought for
air.

The queen turned to the table, where the brown and shriveled gonads of Randy
lay in the shell. She moved them idly with her fingertips, thinking about the
look of terror on his face as they were severed, and reminiscing about the
explosive orgasm she had experienced after listening to the passionate sounds
of Bob's lovemaking to her trusted scientist. It was a study in extremes. The
Queen had never known and deeply longed for love, but knew that surrendering to
its powerful embrace would usurp her authority. She quietly scooped the two
shriveled gonads into her mouth, and bit down forcefully, savoring the
explosive burst of creamy male essence that coated her palate and slid down her
throat. She could never surrender the pleasure of this moment, and hardened
herself, silently cursing for the momentary weakness that she had just
displayed. Turning curtly, she leveled another brutal kick in Linda's ribs in
anger, silencing her for the better part of an hour.

Bob gently touched the cheek of his captor with his fingertips, as she dabbed a
soothing balm into the small burn on his thigh. He knew that she had been
instrumental in his release, and was grateful for her devotion. He pondered
telling her of his loving wife, wondering if the information would evoke a
jealous response or endanger their fragile relationship. He decided it best to
leave well enough alone, and intensified his caresses as she noiselessly
responded to his touch. Again without a word, she stood up and removed the tiny
vestiges of modesty and climbed on to the cot next to him, caressing his
erogenous zones in reawakened desire. Bob returned her caresses, focusing on
her slightly sagging breasts and dampening vulva that she had apparently just
trimmed in hopes of such an encounter. He couldn't believe the responsiveness
of this lovely creature, and was grateful just to have the opportunity to
please a woman once more before his apparent demise at the hand of the sadistic
Queen.

Bob buried his face into her with tenderness and compassion, covering her
quivering flesh with loving kisses. Her arousal was immediate, tempered by
thoughts of their earlier encounter, and she couldn't disguise her desire as
she forced her hips up to his lips forcefully. Her climax was immediate and
spontaneous, flooding his mouth with her nectar as her breasts strained towards
the ceiling. Almost savagely, she reversed their position and grasp his manhood
brutally, forcing the still limp and mangled organ into her vagina while
grinding her pelvis against his in wild abandon. Her whimpers were soon
replaced with guttural groans as wave after wave swept through her, leaving her
speechless and spent. She soon collapsed in exhaustion atop her captive,
completely oblivious of the agony he was experiencing. Bob swore that if he
ever got out of there alive, he would pursue another, far more mundane
profession.

Bruce was forced in a kneeling position in front of the pristine creature he
had left frustrated on the same floor hours earlier. There was no sympathy in
her eyes now, and she had an evil-looking whip fashioned from reeds in her
delicate hand. From where he knelt with his back towards the only guarded
escape route, he knew his existence depended solely upon her satisfaction, and
without a word being spoken, he moved forward and buried his face into the now
pungent pussy. Her response was immediate; she threw back her head with her
eyes closed and dropped the whip before grabbing his hair with both her hands.
Although it had been years since his last oral encounter, the technique was
never forgotten, and soon he was giving her the tongue bath of a lifetime. Her
gasps provided the encouragement he needed to bring her to the first of several
orgasms that made her knees shake and her resolve waver.

Finally, with a muffled sigh, she pulled his head from between her trembling
legs, and spasmed involuntarily for several minutes from the absence of the
warm and powerful suction. Bruce gratefully caught his breath as he watched his
captor collapse on the floor and succumb to yet another orgasmic release. She
had a beautiful countenance about her, almost a childlike innocence that begged
for acceptance and fulfillment. Her smooth skin, silky hair, and delicate
femininity aroused him unconsciously, and before she could fully recover to
stasis, he crawled over to where she lay on his knees and elbows, and buried
his head, once again, into her saturated womanhood. She inhaled sharply in
surprise, then opened her legs completely, surrendering herself to the man she
was sworn to kill. After a brief respite, her youthful body once again ascended
toward its orgasmic plateau, quaking uncontrollably in response and
anticipation. The subsequent orgasm was so explosive that she lapsed into
unconsciousness for several moments.

With her muscles tired and aching, she pushed Bruce away with her legs, and
panted silently before rising slowly and freeing his extremities. With a stern
look that Bruce understood immediately, he eased his giant frame atop her while
she guided his manhood deep into her virgin treasure. Tenderly, he eased
himself into her silky womanhood, savoring the gentle muscle contractions deep
within that slowed his progress perceptibly. Upon reaching the partially opened
maidenhead, he jabbed quickly, tearing the remnants asunder amidst a tiny spurt
of blood and her brief startled cry. He then pressed on into previously
uncharted territory, as his conquest allowed the erotic sensations to overwhelm
her completely. So lost in her own sensations was the captor, that she was
scarcely aware of the explosive invasion of the seed that had been bridled deep
within Bruce for so many years. The white cream accumulated in her womb so
rapidly that it began to squirt out around his manhood at the conclusion of
each orgasmic thrust. He rolled away of her frailty just as the first explosion
rocked the camp.

Matt was career infantry, never married, went to the chapel every Sunday, and
scorned anything other than the American ideal. When he received the phone call
dispatching his elite force for a covert rescue mission into the Amazon jungle,
he could scarcely suppress his excitement. This was the culmination of his
training, and the very reason for his existence. Assembling the men quickly, he
gave a brief speech about dedication, the potential hazards, and the ultimate
objectives, while intentionally omitting the retreat and surrender options. A
back-up plan was developed by the administration but Matt had assured them of
his team's success, and boarded the helicopter in full gear before the dawn
broke over the horizon. By early afternoon, the chopper reached its refueling
site less than 20-minutes air time from their objective, and, with the help of
the local officials, fed and rested his team until dusk crept over the humid
jungle. The fully loaded chopper eased off the pad and into the twilight, the
aircrew donning infrared eyewear for the hazardous navigation to the drop zone
they would never reach.

Even as the helicopter turned towards its final approach, the crystal ship
suddenly appeared in front of them, and visible only by the heat signatures of
its engines and female occupants, was virtually unavoidable. The resulting
collision sent the would-be rescuers and the cloud warriors into an explosive
holocaust from which there were no survivors from either craft. The first
explosion was the precursor to several far more violent cataclysms that would
set the forest ablaze and envelop the warrior's camp in a flaming inferno. The
chopper managed to remain airborne for several agonizing seconds, spiraling
down to impact on to the site of where the cloud rockets had been launched. As
the flames moved east with the prevailing winds, the warriors, the camp and the
marvels that were hidden within were destroyed forever; leaving all but a
memory to the fortunate few who survived.

With the first report, Bruce and Linda, now fully awakened, reacted in unison
with calm precision; quickly assessing their options, they grasped the hands of
their captors and bolted for the center of camp where Bob was struggling to his
feet after being knocked to the ground by the force of the second explosion.
Many of the female captives stumbled into the clearing also, frightened and
disoriented. Bruce suggested that the clearing where they first landed would be
the best rendezvous because of the sparse vegetation and the proximity to
water, and Bob and Linda quickly agreed signaling to the others to follow. As
they firmly gripped their counterparts and bolted into the now burning jungle,
the Queen wrenched her hand free and took a few steps away from the group. She
turned to them with a tear-stained face and shook her head.

"I must remain with my people," she asserted, "Please care for my daughter,"
and she pointed to the frail figure next to Bruce before she bolted back to the
burning camp.

"So too must I," confessed the compassionate scientist as she slipped away from
Bob and disappeared into the smoke despite Bob's vehement protest.

"Gotta go now," it was Bruce pointing to the canopy of flames above their heads
that threatened to engulf them momentarily. They ran into the undergrowth with
their eyes and throats burning from the acrid smoke. It would take an eternity
to reach the clearing, and a few moments longer for the survivors to plunge
down the embankment and into the frothy river below for relief from the searing
heat. Once there, they immersed themselves completely into the steamy water,
moving only to dodge falling limbs or animal carcasses. Some time later, they
finally emerged from the bog to the sounds of helicopter rotors overhead;
exhausted, caked with mud, but gratefully alive. As the second assault team
stumbled into the blackened remnants of the once towering jungle on the
directions given by the barely recognizable survivors, they encountered a few
smoldering remains of what had once been but nothing more.

The debrief was a hellish nightmare that went on for days. Although Rayna, the
once proud daughter of a Warrior Queen was timid at first, she soon disclosed
all that she knew about this Amazon subculture, and the scientific marvels they
had uncovered. The scientific community and press corps soon swarmed upon her
tirelessly, extracting any and every little detail she could remember until
finally, in desperation, she requested that Bruce join her prior to any future
questions. The brief and intense relationship that immediately followed
culminated in a loving marriage that Linda swore was due to Rayna's conception
in the camp. Linda would go on to become Deputy Secretary of the Bureau, and
would never marry although she is still actively pursued to this day. Bob
returned home to the loving and accepting arms of his wife with whom he still
shares his life today thanks to testosterone patches and a change of career. As
a fully licensed gynecologist, his frequently explores the depths of femininity
although he has never encountered any as sweet as the warrior scientist who now
permanently resides in the clouds with her sisters.