tagNonHumanEnter the Amazon

Enter the Amazon


This story and theme was suggested and inspired by a fan, who asked me to make his vision a reality. XXXecil can perform his magic for others, if desired.

Part 1: Rewritten Loyalties

"Is she still at it?" Private Matthew Bellows asked the security officer, a Corporal, in the chair beside him, as both of the blond, crew-cut soldiers glared with unabashed delight at the image displayed in one of dozens of screens linking every security camera in the east wing of the lonely, black-budget bunker. One of the screens, on the upper left corner in the 3rd row displayed the inside of a holding cell more secret than Top-Secret. Bellows nearly gagged on his coffee; ice blue eyes widening as he beheld the occupant.

It wasn't their fault; the Quartermaster had more than enough of the flimsy, hospital-style gowns for everyone, yet she absolutely refused to wear them, or anything for that matter. Her toned arms violently shredded the garments as if the mere notion that she should cover up her nudity was an affront. But she was cunning, with a wily intelligence burning behind those jade-green eyes which were only occasionally opened as the prisoner writhed in her self-inflicted ecstasy. The cloth they had wanted her to wear, along with strips of smooth plastic and other unidentified objects had all been woven together into an simple but effective dildo, which she used upon her naked flesh with a relish even greater than those who voyeuristically observed her.

Her nude form had an oiled sleekness common amongst competitive body-builders and some professional models to emphasize their curves and muscles, yet the ripeness of her upraised ass and the rippling bounce of healthy breasts gave an impression quite different from that of an athlete. An obscene rhythm began; from the hastily cobbled sex-toy grinding a liquid path through the gaping welcome of her womanhood, and between the sway of those glistening breasts as the prisoner squatted on all fours; masturbating herself furiously amidst feral grunts. At first, as Private Bellows watched wide-eyed, it seemed as though there were two jiggles of her bosom with each hard thrust into an ever moistening cunt. But as the lurid captive spread her legs further upon her simple bunk, the pattern of her indecent exercise changed more towards rapid thrusts, a quicker grinding of her dildo, so that the jiggling, throbbing action of her slick, naked boobs had almost been outpaced by the frenzy between her legs.

"And I thought I'd seen it all; what's the story on this piece of ass?" Bellows asked Security Officer Maxwell.

"Ehhh....access to her files....." one of the screens lit up with plain, white text on a black background. "Jane Louise Simcox, of Phoenix Arizona....Age...age 59...?"

" 'The Hell? You got the right file?" Bellows crinkled his brow with incredulity. "Look at that slut! Not a wrinkle, not a grey hair, no sagging, she's got the body of a porn-star! Err....maybe a runway model...either one! There's no way she's a day over thirty!"

"I hear you, but that's the file on the prisoner in this cell." Maxwell added defensively. "Think about it," he mused. "This bunker is out in the middle of nowhere, and Uncle Sam uses this dump to lock up all the deepest, darkest secrets that can't be allowed to see the light of day."

"Yeah, I guess so. But...wow...Lookit her, I mean that face alone could get her a modeling contract in a snap!" The young private observed.

"Naw...check out those tits; I'm sure they're real, but those prissy weirdo fashion model types don't like girls with anything over a C-cup." Officer Maxwell sagely noted. "Our gal has at least five...maybe six inches of pure boob jiggling around on her chest, D-cup for sure. Maybe double D."

"Soooo....there's something out there that turns 59-year old grandmothers into randy little exhibitionists with bodies like college Co-eds, supermodel faces, and the sex-drives of....of....some....way horny nymphomaniac slut." Matthew concluded.

"And it's a threat to National Security."

"Heh! A part o' me kinda hopes we've got a pandemic!"

Her orgasm was, in a word - transcendent. There was no doubt when the climax seized her; her ample hips leaped, and her toned and taut belly rippled as she humped the shaft and hand that held it. The expression in her green - too green eyes was like religious conversion. The glistening sparkle of her moist skin seemed more pronounced as she blushed and flushed with erotic fever. Where her breasts jiggling only from her own thrashing upon the bed, or where her twin mammaries possessed of some sexual energy all their own? Matthew Bellows unconsciously allowed his jaw to droop, filled with a sudden instinct to kiss, fondle, and suckle these succulent gems of womanhood bobbing and wobbling before him.

Not until the orgasm had fully subsided did she seem to notice them. Yet both young men had a sense that the entire display was for their own benefit. Her green....green eyes stared fixedly at the security camera in her cell, as if to announce her awareness, her eagerness to whomever might be watching.

And she began to dance; yet...it was more than dance. It was primal, scintillating rhythm of thrusts, grinds, and caresses of her skin that seemed to touch something inside each male. From the first shifting of her round, shapely ass, it was apparent that this was no less than a mating dance; yet somehow more.

"Ha, the slut knows we're watching and....and she thinks...she thinks we're gonna let her go?" Maxwell was incredulous; it was a ridiculous notion!

"Are...are we supposed ta get so horny that we'll let her out of her cell? What a stupid.....slut..." But Bellows' voice had begun to trail off as his eyes riveted his attention to the screen where the creature that had been Janet Simcox gyrated with indecent abandon. Her movements were far more than what they appeared to be; as both soldiers leered at her, something had clicked inside their minds. The Dance awakened a baser, primitive cycle that went beyond reason, or logic. How could the mere swaying and turning of her broad, womanly hips seduce them so?

"She's...crazy...we won't....let her go.....not....for a dance..." slurred Maxwell, the agonizing tightness in his uniform pants almost, but not quite enough to rouse his drugged mind to full consciousness.

"Won't.....let her....go....won't...." droned Private Bellows.

In fact, the instincts being awakened by her mating dance began to shut down their minds. They didn't know it, couldn't explain when and where the shift happened, yet soon they were no longer thinking, no longer reasoning. All they could see was the careening throb of delectably buxom D-cups, their minds held no thoughts save the joys that could be found between her naked, gyrating thighs.

They didn't remember leaving their posts, didn't remember shuffling down the blank, concrete corridor. A potent, overwhelming instinct had strangled their minds, leaving behind only images of breast....lips....cunt...

Perhaps if some of the other guards had challenged them, demanded identification they might have awakened. Yet they were well known, and neither Private Bellows nor Officer Maxwell were restricted from this part of the Bunker. Wordlessly they passed...down into an elevator...down into holding cells... past disembodied brains sealed in vats....past cages with animals long believed to be extinct....past cells that contained human prisoners the public believed had been assassinated....The two blond, wiry-muscled soldiers saw none of it, comprehended none of it. In their world, there was only Breast....Lips...Cunt....

Maxwell tore upon the door as if the answer to all of life's mysteries was within, and for these two it was indeed.

The she-creature had once been Janet Simcox, but she had grown so far beyond that menial identity. Now she was whole...now she was complete; and soon every human on this base would find similar fulfillment. But she needed to plan carefully. As the lust-addled soldiers burst into her cell, she immediately selected the younger Private to be her mate, and her delicate hands tore effortlessly through his uniform as her cunt widened on instinct to accept his meaty reward. But the other....

She grasped Corporal Maxwell by the back of his head and thrust him towards the buoyant delight of her firm, wide-aureoled breasts. A turgid nipple slipped into his mouth; and with no hope of escaping the urges that seized him, Maxwell began to suck. It was not milk, no not in the normal sense of the word.

The young officer nearly swooned from the richness of the nectar that he drank; burying his face and mouth into her perfect breasts, he suckled her bounty and surged with joy as a tingling rush passed through him. The taste was not unlike Honeysuckle, yet with a sweet tang reminescent of some rare, South-American fruit. He reveled in the intoxication of her. While Maxwell himself yearned to penetrate this forbidden sex-pot; he found to his surprise that he felt no jealousy as she tore off the pants of Private Bellows, licked his firm and rigid eight inches of manmeat. Nor was Maxwell angry that he was not the one whom this she-devil straddled, using hand...mouth... and tender caresses from her naked thigh to tease and tantalize her mate's cock ever harder.

For Maxwell, as he slid back against the wall of the cell, there was only a blissful awakening. Something...some potent agent in the nectar he'd drank had reached his brain, and he could feel his thoughts being altered...expanded....shifted. There were voices then, and a sensation unlike anything the junior officer had ever imagined. Pressing down upon his consciousness was series of great needs, great hunger, hopes and urges. It was like....like a living group-mind, but so large...so powerful....he knew in an instant that he was now linked to an Over-instinct; a living expression of the Will of Nature. It was a global force that existed within every living creature, and all creatures existed within it. Its desires were as insistent as they were gentle, as irresistable as it was delicate. The beefy, blond Corporal chuckled to himself as he felt his attitudes, his loyalties being rewritten. What a curiously giddy experience to feel your own mind rewired even as you contemplated the wonder of it!

The Urges, the Great Instinct told him what he must do; he must return to his post and divert suspicions; tell any lie, falsify any information to conceal what just happened to him and Private Bellows. Within this impression came a promise that a Lady would be along soon to give him the gift that was even now being bestowed upon Matthew Bellows; and Maxwell's ecstasy would be no less for having to wait a few hours.

So all there was to do was compose himself and try to act normal. And try not to envy Private Bellows for the delicious mating that was being forced upon him. It was odd though, the honey-blond sex-fiend exerted total control over the horny, yearning male. She pressed him down upon her cot, toying with his penis and sliding her moist body up and down his. Yet the Private was clearly consumed with a pulse-pounding, red-faced sexual excitement impossible through normal brain chemistry; yet the female was clearly in control. She seemed far stronger than any 59 year-old grandmother had a right to be; in fact she seemed a great deal stronger than any late-twenties fitness model had any right to be. Though her mate yearned to mount and penetrate her, that he might vent his lusts within her as fast as possible, she forced him down, straddling him as she impaled herself upon that rigid rod.

Yet the savage craving that lit up the face of the creature that had once been Janet Simcox seemed a mask of lip-quivering, grunting frenzy that no normal woman could ever know. Maxwell knew that this impossible harlot desired the mating even more than did her male partner! As Maxwell closed the door on the happy couple, he could see the tensing...the thrusting that indicated the first mighty spurts of seed from the Private's tormented rod. Even from afar, it was plain to see the white splashes that escaped from the juncture between the two sexes as they joined....thrusted....ground together. As ravenous as the Simcox she-beast was, she still could not fully contain the full bounty of male reward that shot from the over-stimulated Private.

Maxwell's last glance at the pair showed the full lips, and elegant face of a woman with no right to possess such youthful beauty, licking clean her fingers to savor each morsel of delight her male partner was able to spurt.

But for her, for the creature that had once been a frumpy, poorly-aging housewife, her work has just begun. It was an impressive display of her powers, that she had so easily unlocked the primal instincts of the two young men, but there were merely the first step in her mission. What mattered more was what occured below her current floor. In the bunker, below her where high-level officers and generals whose Awakening would accomplish her true objective. Below her....

"Your wish...*URRNGT* will be granted....soldiers....*NYAAH*!" That which changed me....Awakened me....will indeed spread!" Promised the sweat-slicked sex-pot in between rhythmic thrusts, as Private Bellows spewed more cum into her than his body had produced the entire week.


"Gentlemen, I've believed we've isolated the source of the invasion, the 'Patient Zero', as it were." Explained Colonel Caldwell, in the crisp and clean-cut style that matched his personal appearance as he addressed the conference room of balding heads, wrinkled brows, and critical eyes. On the overhead screen behind him, a portrait appeared; apparently a Driver's License photo.

"Dr. Lisa Sorrentino, 38 years old, Professor of Paleobotany and the University of Syracuse, New York." The image on the screen was that of an olive-skinned, proud woman with patrician features and raven-black hair neatly tied into a solid bun behind her head. Next to the first image on the screen appeared a second portrait, one of a woman apparently younger. She had sultry brown eyes and high cheekbones suggesting hispanic descent, with a tousled crown of auburn hair orbiting her head. "Dylsia Jimenez Age 24, a Graduate Student also at the University of Syracuse, and the assistant of Dr. Sorrentino. They are both active members of Greenpeace, who sponsored passage to the Brazilian Amazon rainforest to protest the activities of local Diamond miners." The room full of bushy brows, sagging jowels, and wrinkled-lined eyes shifted with the discomfort and suspicion of the aging generals as they silently contemplated what schemes might be brewing.

" In summary, they were approaching the southern edge of the river basin when the....incident occured." Topographical displays appeared next, showing in vivid detail an aerial view of the center of Brazil. "We believe the plan was to meet up with other protesters and stage some sort of a rally. But Sorrentino and Jimenez never arrived. We believe that they encountered something in the rainforest; a contagious phenomenon which infected the two of them, and has the potential to spread further. To the best of our ability, we're going to attempt to retrace their steps, where they went and when. This should better enable us to pinpoint the location of the infectious agent....."


Part 2: Paleolithic Pornography

It was important to remind herself of why she was here. That was ultimately the real reason why Lisa Sorrentino had trekked further, deeper into the jungle. Tomorrow, they were due at the river banks to meet a few other true-believers, where a boat should be waiting to carry the lot of them to the facilities set-up by the Diamond miners, where they'd add their voices in protest.

Lisa brushed a single strand of gray hair away from her eyes, a reminder that someday age would catch up to her, making it all the more important that she contribute something now, today, while she still could. But as she was concerned for the future of herself, and the Earth - she stubbed her toe against a tangible reminder of the past.

Her hard boots thudded against the whitish-grey rock with a jade-like texture, embedded in the rich soil, yet in the instant she glanced down, her dark eyes registered what had to be a carving...

Yes! the gray block had unfamilar runes that must represent written language! In this part of the jungle? There was no evidence of Inca colonization in a region this remote, none of the other indigenous tribes near here demonstrated written iconagraphy. Scrutinizing the whitish slab with a scientist's curious eye, she suddenly wished she had a bit of an archealogy background, and yet...

Grubs and beetles scampered away as Lisa turned the rock over after pushing it free from the dark soil, she had a firm conviction that these fluid, parabolic characters did not match anything Incan or South-American....and while the Paleobotany professor was no expert in this regard, a sudden insight told her that this language system might not match any known culture!

In addition to inscrutable, swirly words there were also clear etchings clearly meant to depict human figures. You couldn't get much detail into a slab of rock, but the carvings were deep enough that even after countless centuries in the humidity of the amazon, the figures were still visible. On the back side was a representation of a human torso, the elongated protrustions were clearly breasts. Under the female drawing was a label written in the unknown language. Closeby were a series of bound ovals that seemed to resemble a flower blossom. But that was all on this stone, a shame that there was not more to...

But wait! Behind that fern; was another similar stone! Could it have....Yes! Another artifact-stone filled with eerie script in the same, unreadable language! But the ancients who carved it also added many more engraved illustrations. Working frantically, Lisa dug, brushed, yanked and cajoled the larger, 5-foot long slab slowly from the soil. To her pleasant surprise, the breakage pattern on this rock seemed to match that of the first record-stone, a continuation! The professor squatted on her knees, heedless of the dirt and debris that would stain her khaki cargo-pants as she studied the drawings.

Another figure with breasts, woman...and another of the flower-blossom symbols, the woman seemed to be taking it, or touching it. More indecipherable writing. One line of the fluid text was larger, engraved deeper than the rest, was this intended as an emphatic statement? Some warning of some sort? Regardless, neither she - nor she suspected any modern linguist could read the words. But the pictures...

In the next drawing, the woman's breasts seemed larger, if it was the same woman. Another etching seemed to show the first female carrying a blossom to another woman, who seemed to have larger breasts in the next frame.

Next came a gathering of men, their stick-like penises emphasized on the etches. Lisa chuckled bemusedly as she studied what must have been sexual depictions that came next.

"They seem like a fun-loving culture..." she remarked, eyes glancing over the weird writings to get to the next etched scene. The female-drawings were coupling with the male figures, at first the positions where clearly Missionary; the males overlapping the depictions of females, the stick-penises noticeably longer than before.

But then the images progressed towards depictions of different, exotic positions. The males coupling with etched-in females in what would be termed doggie-style, the engravings clearly showing penises entering the female-figures from behind as five pairs squatted together.

Moving her glance towards the center of the large record-stone, she saw that the sexual positions had changed again; only this time the female-figures were clearly dominant, straddling the males. (whose stick-dicks where still evident in the etchings) The females where raising their arms, in triumph? While the men seemed to be wiggling arms and legs, in joy over this liason? Or fear?

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