CAPTCHA Island Ch. 01

Editor's note: this submission contains scenes of incest or incest content.

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SYDNEY BREMNER'S LOG

ENTRY #12 - 02/09/202X - 09:45 AM

Landfall at Okumaru Island at 07:26 AM (CST).

The Erebus anchored 2 nautical miles from the shore.

The ritual went as described, left us drained and dumbstruck but no complications except for a crash of the navigation system. After reload, the coordinates had changed to those indicated in the journal (98°52.6′S 223°23.6′W). Captain very nervous.

The passage felt as described: the ship going through an invisible membrane separating deep sea from a microclimate.

Anomalous weather: hot and dry. Clear sky. Dead calm sea.

Sun path anomalous.

Mom and I, and the 2 decoys, are about to disembark.

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ADDENDUM TO MY MASTURBATION JOURNAL

I guess it will be my last entry before long.

117^th session of the year. 1 orgasm.

For the first time of the journey I forced myself to hang around naked for a moment instead of hopping straight in the shower. Despite the absence of portholes in my cabin, it's unnerving to be completely nude somewhere other than my apartment. Could not turn the feeling into some exhibitionist thrill. I should have started doing this way sooner although I doubt it would have changed anything.

I washed off the sweat that stank me all night (also the remains of blood on my hands), then I shaved, then I made myself cum once with the showerhead, standing, spreading my labia with my hand. Had to stay quiet.

Slid two fingers in just before orgasm to ejaculate. Failure.

Once again, pleasure mild and frustrating due to the environment and the proximity of the crew. Mechanical overall.

I imagined it was Tassia doing it to me. I think she noticed how I look at her. I better stop before it turns sour.

*****

I close my laptop, put it in my bag and my hands are shaking.

It was very unusual of me this inability to write down my lust more thoroughly. I can't blame it on being exhausted; I often filled dozens of pages of my diary while still catching my breath from a whole weekend of masturbation. The slow process of the analyze has been—it seems for the first time of my life—piled up with all kinds of fast-paced thoughts I don't know how to process, the long night, the fear, the next twenty minutes ahead... It's as if my mind is trying to get ready, to adapt for the mission, to switch my body to something outward. I don't like it.

I can't like anything right now. Before I go out I see the slippers they gave me to wear with the bathrobe and feel some kind of bitterness. The terry cloth already feels so much like sandpaper on my goose bumps I might just go barefoot. And I do.

The captain has sent the whole crew to their quarters, in hope that a deserted deck would help put us at ease. That was forgetting about the giant sigil charcoaled on the platform near the bow. We had left it there, still warm and glowing, too stunned to get rid of it, even though at this point the revelation had already fallen down on mom and I, of what stain of the mind dark magic is the instant you find out it works. That it's real.

And now as I arrive at the rendezvous point, flushed and twitchy in my stupid robe, without my stupid slippers, the sincere countenance of that man—one he maintained the whole crossing, one that has reminded us time and again he's the right choice for this mission—has no weight against the unexpected staring of that damn hexagram.

We don't really say anything to each other. He helps me put the gear inside the motorboat and then mom is here.

Tassia and Ana follow shortly after, a little late because they forgot to remove their nail polish. It makes mom realize she's still wearing her contacts. She throws them overboard and then reaches for her wedding ring before remembering she has not worn it for over a year.

Because of that, the four of us re-check that we're now really wearing nothing but our bathrobe, listing out every body part, anything we could have forgotten. This cold scrutiny makes me feel the absence of my piercings. Pulses in the hood of my clitoris.

Same for Ana, unconsciously she looks at the healed holes in her nipples. Thank God our eyes don't meet.

Once it's done, the real discomfort begins, our bare feet tapping the rust of the ground in the windless silence of the afterdeck. There's the island in the distance, like another staring waiting to happen. It's the two girls who know what to say first:

"Come on, it's only a little more than what you'd show on the beach!"

"A French beach!"

My polite chuckle falters as they both undress.

They too were the right choice. While being absolutely gorgeous (even without any makeup on, any bodycare products at hand), no one could guess they are porn actresses. No bimbo vibe, no tattoos, no scalpel ever gone near Ana the tall redheaded Russian and Tassia the short raven-haired Columbian. They perfectly matched the girl-next-door tag we found them under.

And they are remarkably professional, as they are proving it again; just as the captain, who stays impassive; mom, inscrutable; and me, I feel like the creep here as I can't help but leer at Tassia in the corner of my eye.

The two naked girls send a sympathetic smile toward mom and me. It only makes us tighten our belts.

"Ok," mom starts, "one more time I wanna thank you both for your participation in this mission. After what happened last night—" She shudders. The sigil is staring at her. "—you must now think your pay well justified. So here's your last chance: Are you still willing to go on this island?"

"Yes."

"Anywhere but this fuckin' boat!"

"Doctor?" mom asks me.

"I am ready, Mrs. Bremner."

All of us are only half-surprised at our sudden formality. It's the best strategy for this aberrant moment: to use the thin veil of workplace relationships and rely on rank rather than bond.

So it's Mrs. Lauren Bremner, EVP of Störme-Sterne Pharmaceutical, who announces:

"Ana, you will be Ms. Vertov. You'll be my assistant. Tassia, you're Ms. Borges, you go with Sydney."

Shit

Lauren takes a deep breath and unties her belt. The bathrobe drops down. My eyes too.

I have never seen my mother nude before.

Nothing happens. We don't react, we don't speak, we just catch on to the possibility of a hidden sense in the no-clothing rule of the island. Maybe it's not just sexual. It's something even more perverted. Something that would have to do with trueness.

We're in trouble.

All the unwanted attention on me, I take my own robe off and fold it meticulously. There's no watertight cabin around me this time, only empty space, open air and four people embracing my nudity. I abandon my tight square of cloth to the hands of the captain. Mom had not seen me either since I was a little girl. I think I read pride in her eyes but then she imperceptibly brushes her pubes as she notices I'm as neatly shaved as the two actresses.

Tassia giggles. "You two are fucking hot! Stop worrying!"

Ana adds an awkward "MILF alert!"

I can only agree mentally. My mother is a beautiful 50-something-year-old as far as I can glimpse, sculpted by decades of corporate toughness. Looking good is as much her job as Tassia and Ana. And there is no doubt her ass had a part in why she had been chosen (or aggressively convinced) to lead the expedition.

And me, I don't know, I sure hit the gym a lot. I've been away from the game too long to tell if I'm attractive or not, objectively. All I can say is I have the biggest breasts of our little crew and it's like I can hear their jealous minds. The girls present nice B-cups that would make me wet in different circumstances; mom probably used to be like me but breastfeeding has to take a toll on a D-cup.

She says "All awkward things come to an end. Everybody, sit your perky butts in the boat," and I sit mine at the helm while they crawl among the bags and the metal cases.

We salute the man, he lifts us down to the water, I turn the engine on and when we hear him say "Godspeed," over the radio, the island is already a shape that grew too tall and menacing on the horizon to look anywhere else.

*****

All the details of the shore unveil. It's a parcel of paradise, enclosed behind magic. Columbus, in his own log, suggested that they had found the closest thing to the Garden of Eden and I understand him now, what he really meant, that you can only be expelled from a place like this, not invade it. We have no place here. Our nakedness is mere costumes.

But it will go right this time. I want to believe so. We bring only questions, not answers. Even if we represent the SS-P, they're not here, they will never be here.

"No one's waiting for us," Lauren says, looking through binoculars.

In fact, no signs indicate the island is even inhabited. No smoke, no boats, no traces of cultivation. It's just huge and green and says nothing else.

I slow down. It's my turn to speak. "Girls, have you ever heard of futanari?"

"Yeah, the Japanese cartoons?"

One more supernatural discovery doesn't make any difference to them now: "The natives of Okumaru Island, if they do exist, if they're actually here, they're all futanari."

"No pussy?" Tassia asks.

"No."

"So dickgirls then."

"Whatever. Please don't call them that." Lauren has taken the floor back. "They use the term to translate into English their...race?...species?...I don't know."

I resume: "My theory is they are a different species of humans, like the Neanderthals. It would be why they can interbreed with us. But that's not the matter. Our real big problem is they are described as a hypersexual society. Your role now will be to "protect" me and Lauren by diverting any sexual activity they will propose. I said divert, not necessarily partake in. Your experience with transgendered actors was a decisive asset in your selection."

The two sex workers smile proudly. I bet they also get a kick knowing we had to watch so much porn to find them. If only they knew how many times they made me cum these last six months. I'll calculate the number when I'll re-read my notes.

"What about STDs? You know people are tested in porn, right?" Tassia again.

"They don't have STDs on this island. What part of Pharmaceutical don't you understand in this expedition?"

"Mom what the f..."

I see her shoulders slouching suddenly. This too is a first.

"I'm sorry, I... I apologize Ms. Borges. I'm... We're all very tired."

"So anyway, Tassia, do you know anything about science?"

"I went to high school."

"What about cameras?"

"This yeah. I love chatting with the crew when I shoot. What do you use?"

"I brought two Canon 5D, nothing too original I'm afraid. Lighting... tripods... some mics... You'll be of good help!"

Ana feels the need to cut in: "I've read Heart of Da—"

"Get ready," Lauren interrupts.

We hang on to anything we can. The last meters go in tense silence and then the flat hull softly slides on the beach to come to rest on the fine white sand. There mom jumps feet first into the crashing of the turquoise waves, gentle and quiet, like a kiss around her ankles. It's a solemn moment, we respect that. We let her play conquistador.

She makes a few steps forward and stands there, thoughtful I guess. I only see her back, I have no idea what her expression could be at this moment.

I have the surprise to see her turn around and say "It's beautiful."

Unanimously it becomes our first conclusion. Then applying sunscreen is our first act. But there's no time for a sunbath, the day will be very, very long.

A coffee break at the very least.

Lauren calls me aside.

Our civilized steaming papercups and the distance of the Erebus can't protect us from the gravitas of being completely naked in front of each other. We don't know where to look. But she always knows what to say:

"Got any sleep?"

"Nope. You?"

"I dreamed of the ritual. Every single moment, it's like I lived it twice in a row, it was awful."

I don't wanna think of the implications, I simply comment "And super weird..." then: "You feel ready for the trek?"

"Yes. And also... now that there's no turning back, will you finally tell me why you volunteered? It's not money and definitely not a taste for adventu—"

"You, why did you volunteer? Kelly Berger could have gone."

"How does Störme-Sterne-Bremner sound?"

"Oh mom please, you're too intelligent to believe this bullshit."

"Berger has implants. Sydney, your presence makes everything more difficult for me, for both of us actually, you're too intelligent not to know that, so I do hope you have a real, strong motivation behind, one that won't crumble the moment you realize we're not diplomats here."

"I think I showed plenty of motivation during the ritual. And no, I'm not here to get in your way, Lauren, I'm not here to prove you anything either, I'm not 12, Jesus Christ!"

"Then drink up, time to get the move on."

Without even a glare, I go take my bag, my GPS receiver and we gather for some more late truths:

"Two years ago, the company got its hands on a journal. The woman who wrote it spent a long time on this island and described everything in great detail; the location, the portal, the nudity..."

The only reason I heard about this diary is because my mother is so close to the top. If it wasn't for her I would still be in my little lab right now, doing nothing, writing reports for Mr. Störme or Mrs. Sterne or their paper shredder. It was so secret the intel team put me in a locked room to read it. And when I felt the paper under my fingertips, the imprint of the ink, I knew the rumors weren't exaggerating. Hadn't I been monitored and filmed, I would have started touching myself on the spot reading about these mythical women with cocks.

Instead I decided the story of this woman would become my lifework.

It's me who cross-referenced its content; me who found other accounts of other women around the world; me who demonstrated it was all real, that the hexcraft described had nothing to do with the crap they sell at the new age shops; me who first speculated then proved that her regular contact with futa semen had made her live to an abnormally healthy 150 years; me who made the board of directors fund a new sex research division, a special one, with me at the head.

I caused so many money movements, prompted so much secret paperwork, I lobbied so hard to be part of this expedition it quickly got out of my mother's control. She's not in control. I am the heart of the project. She doesn't even know that. She never knew anything about me.

"Why are men banned from here if they all have a dick?"

"We don't know. Competition?" Lauren shrugs.

"So how do they have children then?"

"The woman gave them two babies before going back to the continent. Twins, born futanari. That's how they reproduce: tourism."

"Where is she now?"

The answer should be obvious.

"She's dead. Let's go."

I take the lead and we disappear into the forest beyond the beach.

*****

Botany has never been my forte, or my major, but I know enough to instantly observe how everything here is wrong. Not different: just slightly wrong. The jungle is thick and lush but it's a light stroll to go through; nothing feels aggressive against our bare bodies. And the deeper we get, the more it gets palpable, like a damp or a darkness but it's not humid and rays always shine through. The green and the air around us suck out all the effort. Our sweat is good sweat. Our aching muscles a good ache. There won't be any weird insect under our soles, any edge to cut us open or break our bones.

When we take a break at noon, barely hungry, we sit our butts on the humus without any second thoughts, it's cozy, and friendly... and it's our industrial sandwiches that feel like a trial.

It's wrong; nature is never associated with the word friendly. I try to explain that as we go back on our way and I only get distant nods.

I eventually warn that the village of the natives is near after we have walked for three hours, which felt like three minutes and during which the sun has not budged one bit.

We slow down.

A blue dove flaps its wings across our path like a welcoming vision and we spot the outskirts with an ambivalent excitement, as reassuring as distressing.

Our legs step out of the tall grass and land on a strange hard-packed surface that makes for the whole ground of the strange expanse before us.

Our feet are clean. Three hours in the mud and they're cleaner than when we left the Erebus...

This is sexual, isn't it? We don't dirty ourselves so we're always ready for sex?

I'm not like mom. I can't turn around and say it's beautiful. I have to overthink everything. And I'm scared. She's not.

The place is empty. It's more a town than a village. The silence reminds me of the ship. It's the moment I pray Lauren didn't hide a gun in her backpack.

My Westerner's eyes have a hard time making sense of the majestic assemblage. We're walking on the main square, but there's no main building, only statues and trees and fountains and arches and spires and small structures in concentric circles. Up on the hill beyond, lies a web of hundreds of...not huts: houses, welcoming, open, rich. And so clean.

"Wakanda forever!" one of the girls says.

"Why the fuck'd you say that?! that's so racist!"

"How is that racist? Their village is fucking awesome!"

"Dr. Bremner, are they black futanaris?"

"We don't know."

"Are they Japanese? Okumaru is Japanese, right?"

"The documents gave no name, I chose one myself. And I like my Japanese cartoons."

"No one's home," Lauren says, again peeping through her binoculars. "Their houses look like bachelor pads with no roofs, that's really not what I imagined."

"I guess you don't really need concrete when it's a steady 95° all year and you spend your days having sex."

"Nah, it's different, it smells like money!" Tassia says gravely, before joking: "Mrs. Bremner, are we here to steal uranium and commodities?"

"Shut up."

"The grotto should be somewhere around," I say.

"The what?"

"HELLOOOOOO," Lauren shouts around just before a thundering quake startles the four of us.

The center of the place raises and collapses into a large opening. The entrance of the grotto. It's the second time in the last fifteen hours we see magic at work and it's impossible to get used to it.

A woman, as naked as we are, steps out and greets us in a faintly accented English:

"Hi guys, welcome to Pau Grande Island! What the hell do you want?"

Tassia whispers to me: "I think Pau Grande is French. I hope they shower."

Lauren walks to her, trying not to stare at the flaccid penis hanging between her legs. Our first futanari is exactly like we could have expected from the look of their town: magnificent, perfect and very unsettling.

"We want to meet with the head."

The futa giggles like a kid. "My head? You say it cause I'm uncut?" and without any pause, she pulls her foreskin back to expose a crimson glans that swells at the attention.

"N-no, we want to meet with the head of the island."

"I know! Follow me, we're all down there."

She turns around and saunters back into the cave, showing a butt that puts Tassia & Ana to shame. Or lust. We follow her slowly.

A steep descent takes us deep, so deep we have lost track when we reach the bottom. And eventually from the narrow darkness around us we surface into a red sky of earth above us. An underground dome of unfeasible proportions, lit by a thousand fires. All over the flat bedrock beneath, dozens of houses the same as those outside and hundreds of futanari blocking the view to a throne of stone at the very center.