The Ten Inch Journey Step 01

He remembered the day he'd managed to hide out and read for five whole hours before his guards found and ravished him. He'd seen images; reflected pictures somehow recorded on paper that showed the lives of the Ancients. What puzzled him the most was the way men in that time were permitted to wear clothing, and were almost never restrained. It seemed to him as though women and men could pass each other going about their business, and the woman would not be driven to capture and ravish the man. It was unthinkable; but then....it was a different world.

He'd learned much; he'd read about science; and chemistry, and genetics....he had studied the old writings about genes....cells....heredity, biology. And moreover, he'd learned something about what changed; what had destroyed all that. The Ancients had triggered a great war; a war far vaster, far deadlier than the petty tribal squabbles of today. Biological weapons of awesome power had been unleashed, as his ancestors fought against terrible demons from beyond the Sea. After suffering these assaults, the Ancients tried to repair the damage done by fabulous medicines they possessed. But they made mistakes; underestimated the complexities of life, and the extent of the damage done. Their gene-ravaging weapons were both more unstable than they had feared, and the ability of life-forms to adapt had been greater than they had imagined; and their mighty civilization had dissolved into chaos.

Apparently, a devastating virus had mutated and proliferated; this pathogen seemed to totally destroy the Y-chromosome on Earth. Or...almost all of it. From medical reports and scientific papers published before the collapse of society, Ten-Inch had learned that 99% of all male life-forms on Earth had perished or become sterile. The reports were so old that he was uncertain, but the Ancients had described the effects of this pathogen, this VY-rus, as they named it. It seemed that traces of the VY-rus genes would linger for generations, destroying new Y-chromosomes during conception. That seemed to be....must be the reason why the birth of male children was so rare these days. It seemed that their was only one boy born for every 100 girls. It must have been very different in the Ancient Age.

And so he dreamed of recovering what was lost; perhaps if he had the freedom to learn, work, and create on his own, he might find a way to restore some of the wondrous knowledge of the past! He knew that the Ancients possessed something called.....Dollars... and with these "Dollars" they were able to conjure up food, clothing, and weapons as if by magic. With the power of Dollars, it was possible to travel a thousand miles in a day, and to watch people from distant lands as if they were in front of you. Nothing like that was left in the Northern Wastes; but would it be possible to find, or recover this ancient power?

Not if he was a Breeding-Slave for the Rock-Snake Tribe, or the Black-Tiger Tribe, or the Star-Fire Tribe..... The Star-Fire Tribe! They were still close, still searching! He saw tell-tail signs of their encampment. They had tried to cover their tracks, but Ten-Inch recognized a regularity in the sand before him, and he had heard from the Black-Tiger warriors of how these people tried to hunt for their men.

Now, there were two Hym'enaria parties in hot pursuit of the fugitive breeder. A prize such as him, if captured alive would make any of them champions of their people! For the young huntresses, he was worth killing and dying over. And perhaps that's just what he should let them do....

He had a plan, a desperate gambit that just might save him, just might buy him one more day of freedom. Perhaps one hunting party he could elude, but two? Could he outwit and evade two bands of man-hungry minxes that would kill for his cock? He didn't like those odds; and Ten-Inch preferred to avoid risk unless he could tip the balance in his favor. Thinking quickly, he made his decision; still sprinting fast across the desert, he unwrapped part of his ashen coverings, and removed a shawl he kept close to his body. Quickly, he tore the grey fabric in two and discarded one of the strips as he ran.

Here, yes...Ten-Inch had arrived at a deep ravine carved by centuries of desert wind, which winded sinuously for miles in either direction. He knew the Star-Fire Tribe Hym'enaria had come this way, searching for him he was sure. Well, time to give the people what they want. With swift, sure motions he began unwrapping his coverings.

**********

He was nearly naked. All according to his plan. His head scarves were removed, revealing his smooth-shaven head, dark skin the color of polished mahogany, and firm-set jaw below the piercing gaze of his brooding eyes. Also uncovered was the magnificent organ that in the Northern Wastes, was worth so much strife and conflict. The great phallus was not yet fully erect, yet enough of his size and girth was still apparent to justify his proclaimed status as Prime Breeder.

Now that his penis was exposed, it would not be long now; he would either outwit the female hunting parties; or be captured and relegated to everlasting sexual slavery. He wished he had someone else to turn to for tactics, but there were no other men anywhere nearby, nor did Ten-Inch ever have a friend of any sort with which to share his thoughts. He wondered, while waiting for the hot winds to carry the scent of his exposed penis, how men of the Ancient Age would have solved this dilemma? Were men oppressed in like manner in that distant time?

Physically, he knew he was like them. If Ten-Inch wore clothes as they did, he would appear much the same as many of the men in that lost eon. He'd seen in the reflected images many like himself, and knew that he was a rare genetic bastion of that primordial, nearly-extinct humanity. Males of the Northern Wastes did not carry the same sort of extreme genetic mutations so common amongst the females, his studies of the ancient science of biology gave him reason to believe that the Y-chromosome blocked many of the radical alterations that made the Tribes what they were today. So much of life, all life was transformed, it seemed that the distant time of the Ancients was irretrievably lost to-

"YEAAAH!" he yelped, feeling a sharp prick in his leg. Looking down, he saw a row of fine needles, spines of some sort, embedded in his flesh. Dark eyes darted, and he saw the culprit.

The plant had the broad, plump sections of a small, desert cactus of the type that had existed for eons untold. Yet the sections of this plant were throbbing, pulsating, an occasionally spewing forth spines with lightning speed.

"By the Black Sands! How could I have missed it!? I...I..." Ten-Inch felt woozy for a moment, blinked his eyes, and started chuckling. It was a Pleasure Cactus. The spines that had shot into him did not inflict the pain that might be expected; rather they produced a potent enzyme that carried the exact opposite effect. Being pierced with the needles actually produced a calming, soothing, erotic sensation. If unprepared, it could make a man laugh out loud as the euphoria rushed through his veins.

"Pleasure Cactus....oooh....It has....sensitive chemical receptors....must have detected my testosterone...." Ten-Inch knew that there were no semen-feeder species in ancient times; another relic of the VY-rus and the resulting cascade of radical mutations. The hallucinogens hit then. The renegade sperm-donor stumbled, rubbing his eyes as he covered up his precious member.

A pang of seething lust slammed into him, clouding his mind, his awareness. The landscape blurred. It no longer seemed like a craggy, rock-strewn desert loaded with boulders and sand-dunes, but in his chemically-altered perception, the world seemed like a fleeting, pink haze of erotic imagery. Sand dunes became collossal, tawny-colored breasts, capped off by sandy aureoles, beckoning to him. The ravines and crevasses that festooned the wind-scarred terrain instead became moist vaginas large enough to engulf his entire body, throbbing as if to beckon him with erotic promise. Stumbling, his foot hit a smooth rock, yet with the exotic compounds that were pickling his brain, he saw instead a gigantic clitoris, above the warmest, most inviting cunt he could imagine.

The surges of stimulation rocketed to his groin, and his cock was erect in less time than it took to speak of it. The burning heat of pent-up passion increased as he stumbled closer to the Pleasure Cactus, yet Ten-Inch vowed he would not give in. The plant needed him to masturbate; to relieve his male organ any way he could, for should he spill his seed anywhere within about five square feet of the plant, its elaborate root-system would be able to extract the nutrients and genetic material so crucial to the new, semen-feeding life forms of the Northern Wastes.

But Ten-Inch knew better; there were stories of men who had stumbled into entire patches of the salacious vegetables and died from the repeated orgasms that were possible under its chemical influence. So the Pleasure Cacti waited; delicate senses tuned to the proximity of testosterone, erotic weapons unleashed if any male organism passed close enough. And this was but one of many such creatures.

Gripping his penis tightly, he forced himself to walk with steady, deliberate steps in the other direction. More spines struck, but his shawls blocked them. In small numbers, these cacti were rarely a threat, but the main danger of semen-feeders was that, if they succeeded, he would release his sperm into the open air, and if that happened, every hunter for miles around would be alerted. No trick, no deceit could cover up the scent of fresh semen. Should he ejaculate out here, the only question would be what sort of monster would capture him first; would it be the intelligent, female hunters from the Tribes, or some savage, semen-feeding predator craving his chromosomes? Ten-Inch wouldn't wait to find out.

The Sulphur helped somewhat; there were components in the Pleasure-Cactus hallucinogens similar to the pheromones exuded by the women of the Tribes, and by shoving the noxious powder into his face, he was able to find the strength to force his legs to walk away from the indecent vegetation.

Carefully, deliberately, he picked his steps as he navigated the dry gulches, and rocky ravines criss-crossing the deserts, and he suspected that his ruse would work. His exposed penis, while less compelling than the scent of fresh semen, would still alert the refined senses of many predators. Taking the other half of the scarf he had torn, he laid it upon a smooth, flat boulder of shale. That should be enough, but then...moments later....the Wave hit him....the ringing in his ears.....the throbbing in his groin...

"*GGRRRN*... The...The Star-Fire Tribe....their....psionic powers! Can't give in...." That was another adaptation that apparently had caught the scientists of the Ancients by surprise. As unprecedented biological weapons confounded the chromosomes of every living thing, there had been incredible changes in neurobiology; or so the scientific papers had reported that Ten-Inch had once read. Among these changes was the power to reach out with the mind; to project brainwaves into energy, or effect the brainwaves of others. He felt the effects now; as remote, evolved intellects battered away at his mind and body with exotic energies. Clutching his skull, the runaway breeder reflected on what he knew about the Star-Fire Tribe: Their psionic powers only functioned during the throes of orgasm.....

**********

S'syndy stopped short. She felt a twinge, a tingle in the back of her mind. She had just donned her halter top again, while shifting uncomfortably as her aroused vagina continued to release her feminine juices.

The tingle was familiar, accompanied as it was by the eerie ringing in S'syndy's ears. Any warrior of the Northern Wastes had to learn to accept such attacks as this. If anything the moistening of her wet crotch only accelerated; and the leader of the Hym'enaria saw that her sisters were in similar distress.They all felt the ringing in their ears, the flashes of heat that shot from head, to breasts, to groin again and again. It was the Enemy; there could be no doubt.

While she had ordered them to continue chase without loincloths, that their mating musks could spread out farther to ensnare the Prey, most had attempted to return their ample teats to their leather halter-tops. Those mammaries now rebelled against their confines, vast melons of girlflesh spilled up and over the meager constraints, as the wave of power rushed over them, assaulting their minds and bodies.

"Stand strong my sisters!" Proclaimed S'syndy, attempting to bolster her troops against this subversion. "True Hunters of the Rock-Snake Tribe can resist assaults such as this! Do not...do not let them....turn our bodies....against us!" But in truth, these were not seasoned, capable warriors of their people; though the Elders had post-poned their Hym'enaria until they had reached the advanced age of eighteen, they were in fact inexperienced girls, most with no recollection of this sort of attack.

Quickly, bosoms swelled in size, returning to the previous dimensions within range of grapefruits, essential for Breast-speak. Nor did they stop there. In tremulous, quivering bursts nipples rose higher, and flesh blossomed in tanned peaks above the cups formed by their meager garments. The would-be warriors continued running, as best as they were able, over the craggy, sandy terrain, frequently stumbling as their anatomy became increasingly top heavy.

Liss'sah, the shortest of the band, and who often challenged S'syndy's authority slowed, mumbling in ecstasy; this perstilence overcoming her. She stopped to grip her mighty mammaries, bosoms swelling in several, quivering moments until each teat had grown from grapefruit-size, downwards and out....filling up and rising in great swells within their confinement....until each was at least the girth of an eggplant or small squash.

Liss'sah stumbled, colliding with a sand-weathered boulder, falling on her naked rump into a patch of sand. Gurgling in forbidden bliss, the auburn-haired, mutant huntress began to finger her naked twat, feminine juices slathering her taut thighs, even as her breast-flesh enlarged towards the greatest size her body would allow.

"WE MUST FIND THE STRENGTH TO FIGHT ON SISTERS!" Ordered S'syndy, arms clasping her own renegade mammaries. "WITH AN ATTACK SUCH AS THIS; THE ENEMY FEARS THAT WE WILL DISCOVER OUR PREY! OUR GOAL, HIS COCK IS NEAR! HIS COCK IS NEAR!!!!" She shouted; hoping, praying to the Mother-Goddess it was true. Though young, S'syndy knew that a leader should never show doubt.

**********

For the moment, it would serve. Myshel threw herself into the task; threw herself into the moist, throbbing cunt of Elyse, her sister-in-arms. She eagerly nuzzled the groin of the other woman; years of practice put to good use as the young warriors drove each other towards the precipice of pleasure. Amongst the hunters of the Star-Fire Tribe, the ancient art of cunnilingus was a much-needed skill. For it was only in ecstasy, only in orgasm that their telepathic abilities activated.

And certainly, the girls put on a good show. The sandy pit wherein they camped was a tangled mass of sleek, muscled legs, reddish-yellow hair, breasts bigger than each girls' own head, and sweat-slicked purple skin. Raising her head from her tangy, slippery task for a moment, Myshel straddled Elyse while arching her back, deciding to grow out her breasts....just a bit more. The Elders never let them forget how important breasts were in the Hunt. It was a tenuous balance; smaller breasts resulted in greater ease when running, shooting, or fighting. Yet it was larger, full mams that lured the males.

Myshel utilized the natural powers of her mutant physiology; the gifts from the Mother Goddess as her people described it. Her bright, violet-colored skin gleaming in the sun, she shook her chest amidst throaty grunts. Her murmurs were in part from the sensual bliss of shifting mass inside herself, expanding her sexual characteristics, yet mainly from the expert pussy-licking she received from Elyse, as her Tribe-Sister thrust deep into Myshel's moist depths with a curled tongue. In seconds, her boobs were no larger than would be necessary to contain her own head inside them. Concentrating, her ample cleavage shimmered and shimmied, flesh rippling as bosoms achieved greater size, yet remained buoyant.

Even should their exotic sexual weapons fail, often times merely the site of bosomy, sweaty, naked women writhing in orgasm was itself enough to draw men out of hiding. Myshel slapped the shapely, purple-skinned ass squirming before her, giving a swift lick to the labia with the edge of her tongue. It was just enough to stimulate without satisfying. The owner of the sex in question twittered appreciatively at the contact, her own lips fastened around the dark red aureoles encompassing a hardened nipple of the appointed leader of this Hym'enaria.

From beneath Myshel, Elyse grasped a thick, white rod from a leather pouch and caressed in gently. This rough tool was shoved unceremoniously into Myshel's drooling snatch, and twisted with skill.

"GODDDESSSS!!!!" Myshel swore, as the Sacred Rod ground into her slippery, purple cunt. It was a Dildolarius, a ceremonial sex-toy issued to all war-bands, hunting-parties, and Hym'enarias. Ivory wrapped in fibers from a rubber plant, it was designed to bring about swift orgasms from texture alone, yet it was also covered with a particular blend of mind-altering herbal mixtures that strengthened the psionic powers of the recipient.

Perhaps it was the euphoria triggered by the Dildolarius in her sex, but Myshel felt more confident and optimistic than at any time during this quest. They had managed to track the cunning, runaway male for days, and were closing in. It was true; this was the Prime Breeder! Said to be a potent, powerful male who engineered his own escape from the Black-Tiger Tribe, and evaded all their patrols. Myshel gurgled with delight at the thought of his capture. A man that strong and clever; imagine what strength he could give to her daughters! No doubt, his seed would be shooting into her womb before this week was past! Too often her people had grumbled with dismay upon visiting the Black-Tigers; so happy and smug, almost every belly bulging with child! His children, sired from the seed of the one called Ten-Inch! No male the Star-Fire's had ever captured had spawned even half so many young! A man of this value could not, must not be lost; whatever plot he was brewing in his inscrutable male mind must not succeed. His penis, his seed, was the envy of the Northern Tribes! He must not be allowed to escape....

**********

It was his first. The Shaman had been so proud, she had screamed, and jumped, and leaped with joy and pride. The short, dark-haired female had hurried him out to show to the Chieftain. Like all females of the Black-Tiger Tribe, she possessed mutations which gave a vaguely cat-like appearance. Eons of genetic trickery from synthetic virus-weapons unleashed by the Ancients had spliced, sliced, and reshuffled almost every lifeform on Earth. The Shaman specifically, had a paper-thin, downy layer of yellow and black spotted fur covering her voluptuous frame save only for face, bosom, and extremities.

He was ready, he was strong. Their sowing had borne fruit; it was the day of his first erection. They had been watching him for months now, the boy hadn't known what to do, or expect, but now he understood. There would be a ceremony; the grand festival. The Tribe would prepare the Phallurrala - when a boy becomes a man.

It seemed too easy. He had expected to...do something....prove something to show that he was ready to be called a man. But amidst the sex-starved females of the Black-Tiger Tribe, all that was necessary was an erect penis.