Everything Under the Sun Ch. 01

After waking in the new forest on Day 6, I lit out for some hills I saw in the distance. I should point out that after my ordeal, I have quite literally nothing but my naked body. Everything I had is buried under a thick network of roots at the base of a large tree. It is unsettling to think that this eventuality was expected, which is why my journal is memetic and not physical, but I digress. I set out through the steppes, careful not to step on sharp rocks or terrain that would harm my unshod feet.

This wasn't difficult, not compared to finding shelter against a dust storm that kicked up. I managed to find an opening in the side of an outcropping in a hill, and waited there somewhat protected for about a quarter hour. When it ended, and I began trying to walk, is when I noticed a strange sensation in my clitoris. I pulled at my mons to open the flesh for a look and was greeted by a red beetle sitting on my clitoris, fitting perfectly under the hood, which it held by its tiny pincers. Naturally my first instinct was panic, but this was quickly interrupted. It began to "sing," a clicking-buzzing noise, a feat it achieved by vibrating fiercely. This immediately overwhelmed my senses to the point of collapsing. It only lasted a few seconds, but was resumed quickly, again overriding my concentration as I tried to stand. When I reached to remove this overly-friendly insect, an interesting thing happened. As soon as I touched it, my hands and arms crossed behind my back of their own accord. The beetle then began to sing again, once again causing me to fall against the rocks for support. I then began to walk, driven forward by an insistent, slavish urge to migrate.

The creature was mind-controlling me.

Whenever I would try to remove the red beetle from my clitoris, whether it was tormenting me at the time or no, my hands would immediately close into fists and fly behind my back, and I would only walk, breasts thrust forward, after which it would return my hands to me following a period of about an hour until I learned the arduous task of simply leaving it be while it stimulated me. So long as I was walking and not trying to dislodge it, the creature was content to only torture my clit and otherwise leave me be. It proved I did in fact have something to lose, namely my own arms, legs and mind.

As I marched along with my new slavemaster, having to learn to walk even in the midst of intense pleasure (and before long, repeated orgasms), I surmised that the creature was extracting and feeding on my orgasmic energy, much like the plants. The glow on my skin seemed to flow gently toward it when I experienced one of numerous orgasms under the ministrations of the thumbnail-sized insect. It didn't seem to care where I was walking (or if I collapsed or stumbled every so often from it stimulating me), so I continued toward the hills. As I arrived at them, I ascended the first by climbing a steep incline, also difficult given the circumstances, until I reached the top. Once there, before I could get a good look at the landscape, my legs suddenly gave way, and not from the now-constant climaxing, but the same impulses disabling my hands or forcing me to walk. When I managed to rise again, I was much dismayed to find I'd picked up two more passengers, each affixed to my nipples, which began buzzing and singing prodigiously. This was too intense for me. Mentally I refused to walk any further, but nonetheless found myself suddenly walking upright with my arms submissively behind my back. With the three of them combined, and apparently working in tandem, I was now allotted very little control over my own body (though allowed to scream freely, which I did with each). I was forced to endure the mind-numbing stimulation of the beetles, which seemed to be communicating, and gradually syncing up. Finally I was punctually and quite mercilessly overstimulated for ten seconds in sessions three seconds apart, like clockwork. I glowed very brightly and obviously at each interval until the sun went down, which curiously enough caused my passengers to gradually reduce and finally cease their activities, and I was allowed to collapse and sleep.

The following morning I was awakened screaming and shivering once again to resume my migration to parts unknown. I was their slave, their means of conveyance and subsistence for two more days. I am forced to remember every shattering orgasm with perfect clarity, and my tortured body now pays for three solid days of walking and cumming. My every muscle is sore and my throat is hoarse. But I give credit to the red beetles for one thing: they knew their way.

They led me to water, and contrary to the proverb, they could make me drink. They led me to food, mostly fruits with the same coloration (and psychotropic qualities) as my first taste of surface vegetation, which I ate without urging. It is only now that I look back upon and remember the species of plant I saw sporadically cast about the wastes, occurring more frequently now. I was slowly but surely leaving the desert.

It seems in order to rid oneself of a parasite in this world, the only reliable method is to find a more powerful one. I had been largely avoiding any more plants that didn't have fruit, but I quite literally fell upon one anyway. It was well concealed, I have to say. When I stepped on the patch of ground that looked like rock, it turned out to be a thin membrane that tore under me, and I found myself in a fleshy pit. It was only about two feet deep and just as wide, but my legs sank into the fleshy center up to my hips with enough suction to keep me there. The edges were lined with tentacles. A livid purple, they were tapered, coming to a point that might be sharp were they rigid, but they lashed to life freely, scattering a thick mucous over my lower body. This was not a plant. It was a...well, not a plant. It was warm.

First its tendrils lashed around my arms, holding them out to either side. As they pulled I was drawn down so my hips disappeared into the center of a sphincter of some sort, where my legs slid down either side of a divide until I was held securely in a living saddle. The mucous lubricated me so I sat right down on it...penetrated with no trouble. The larger of two protrusions entered my vagina. A smaller, finger-sized one easily entered my anus. This feeling produced a vocal protest from myself. I was held in this manner for some time, left to get used to the things inside me. They were most certainly alive. They had a pulse. Squirming in my bound position, the sun beating down, I waited.

It hurt me.

A tentacle whipped my back from behind. It made a whistling noise and lashed across my shoulder blades. I screamed out of course, in pain and in shock. This wasn't at all what I'd been expecting. Then it lashed me again across my breasts, leaving a red welt mark across the tops just above my nipples. Then again, across my spine. I cried out hotly at each, and began to sweat. It beat me terribly. My skin was sore and pink in streaks after a few minutes, and sweat poured down my body. I remember each one. The rushing sound. The crack on my skin, the hot cutting sting that followed shortly after, all of them. And I remember what it did to me. I don't know if it was the sun or the fruit I'd been eating or an inborn tendency of my own. But the whipping spurred me. The creature was not violating me. But the pain. So sweet. It made me wish it would. And after some more whipping, I begged. I doubted it would hear me, but after the frustrating forced orgasms of the red beetles, I needed to be penetrated properly, and my hips tried to do what the creature itself wouldn't. Even being intruded anally had long ago become acceptable, then tempting, then downright irresistible. But still it had its way.

The creatures in this ecosystem, or at least this particular region, seem completely willing to take their time. This one took quite a lot. Finally, at long last, and very slowly as if it was only just feeling charitable enough to do so, the saddle between my legs began to rock. I wailed thankfully and tried to match it, but my arm restraints pulled tighter, and not one but three tentacles lashed me at once. I stood rigid and still. The slimy organs in my orifices began to alternate, and slowly began to fuck. I use that word because that is what it was doing; I was held, and I was fucked. Every time I tried to match the motion, the price would be taken from my hide. My skin burned, but still I held still for it to take what it would. Before long, a squirting orgasm, the fluid of which was absorbed by the creature, and the energy conducted down the tentacles holding me like a conduit. And then of course, another orgasm. When it was obvious I was drained of lubricant to gush onto it (after a total of five), that was when it was ready to end our business. It did this by fucking me harder and faster until my vagina and anus were filled with a hot, thick fluid until it coated my inner thighs.

And with that I was released. It pushed me bodily from its hole, after which all the tentacles joined in the middle, the mucous forming a slimy web between them, which I can only assume will give way to another membrane to entrap another victim.

It is not far from this hole I find myself now, using the last of my energy to record these thoughts, once again wretched and covered in my own and other fluids, once again exhausted, once again further from the dignity and poise I had once. But not at a total loss. The bugs. They're gone. I think the creature ate them, or simply dislodged them in the process of raping me, but being able to walk on my own uninterrupted has the kind of appeal one only finds by having it taken away.

I have chosen to name the red parasites "trainer beetles", and the mantrap organisms "lashers."

I'll rest here. I once again have no shelter, but at least I know where to go to get trainer beetles removed.

---DAY 10

I'm going mad. Every time one of these things happens to me, I change. I've finally taken the time to really look back at what I've gone through. Every living thing I've encountered since I left has raped me. I am as fascinated with these creatures as I am terrified of them. I've been seeing them in my dreams, which are based on indelible, perfect memories, reliving them over and over again in detail. I am obsessed with the words that have surfaced in my mind. "Rape," and "sex." When did I learn the word "fuck" and why do I hear it over and over again in my sleep? How do I know what this "g-spot" is? Was I always like this? Is this what caused me to be thrown to the wastes of the surface? My time alone under this sun is corrupting me, taxing my sanity. I have to find something to hold on to, to keep from slipping any further. And on the horizon I'm seeing what may be just the thing.

I'm seeing signs of civilization.

--They've taken me. They've taken me!

--I tried to just watch them. Tried to hide. I saw them. They were all naked. Women, some with weapons, spears, and bands around their thighs, collars, but all with their bodies exposed. The rest, naked, completely. Except for the chains. Chains and ropes, binding their wrists, sometimes their ankles. Leading them to a caravan. They were breaking camp, tan tents made of hide or burlap or somesuch, packing it up and herding their slaves into wagons with bars on them. They found me. I tried to run but they were so fast, so strong, they took me, put me in chains and took me away on their wagons, pulled by other slaves. They chained me to a rack with ten other naked women. They all looked so different. Some tried to hide their shame, as I did, others looked completely unaffected by this aspect of their captivity. One of them looked over me in a way that made me shiver. Neither my traveling companions or our captors share a language with me. It seems a lot of them don't understand each other either.

We traveled like this, stopping only once. They'd found others! They dragged them back to our caravan wagon, two of them, wearing tan gowns that covered their skin completely, desert attire that protected from the sun. Our captors ripped their clothes off, squealing and protesting, naked and bound and thrust into our cage with us, tearfully hiding their bodies from us as much as they could, turning away, closing their legs.

There isn't much protection from the sun in here...we're getting horny. Another word that surfaces in my mind. "Horny." I'm watching one of the girls, she's spread her legs, holding her hips toward the girl across from her, begging her for something. She's reluctant. She's giving in. What is she doing? She's straining against the chains on her wrists, reaching out with her leg...

I'm watching them, the one is gingerly pleasuring the other with her toes from across the wagon. Some of the others are protesting, horrified, including me, sex acts between women? I know the word for the girl, gratefully receiving the attention she's getting. I think she's a lesbian...or just desperate to escape the heat.

She's glowing. Our captors don't like that...uh-oh...