Enter the Amazon Book 4

Part 13: PERSONAL VICTORIES

Ramon had never been a cowardly man; yet it was a fine balance of priorities that told a man how to choose between fight or flight. He was right to conceal himself inside the secret passageway within the lacquered mahogany walls of his employer Marcos' office; the bolt-hole that the smuggler and power-broker had prepared in case an unbribable government came to power with cause to move against him.

But it was not police or army that made Ramon grip the wood panels in fright, it was these impossible, unwholesome women. Yes, any man with any manhood would be tempted by their brazen charms, but the wiry, scarred henchmen had seen sights in the past few days to curl the black hairs of his scraggly goatee. Yes, there was a price to be paid for enjoying the carnal delights that these new women offered. Heh! That was too gentle; He had the distinct sense that these sluts were so consumed with passion, that any man not seduced by the mere splendour of their naked presence would be raped.

He shuddered as he watched his boss, employer, and mentor devolving into a shell of a man. Marcos did not bother to wear pants these days; his vigorous cock was now longer than his forearm, and it seemed almost constantly erect. From a small crevice, concealed by the secret door; Ramon beheld the display that was a sickening as it was arousing. The pudgy, fiftyish crimelord was no longer having sex for pleasure, as he pumped furiously into the strange woman with the golden robes, bending over upon his desk, it seemed as though the criminal mastermind could no longer be at peace unless his manmeat was inside a woman's cunt. He rarely spoke anymore, simply grunting, groping...grasping at the nearest proffering of slick, supple girlflesh that was now in ridiculous abundance throughout the estate. His only joy in life was that transcendant moment when he was in the crotch-grinding act of penetrating a woman. No, it was not for pleasure, but rather for relief. Sweating, heaving as he thrusted, it was clear that he had become an animal.

".....And the Government Bonds from your banks in Rio de Janeiro;" instructed the wide-assed, lurid Priestess, producing documents from the shelf beneath the desk, offering them to Marcos, even as he plunged his meat deeper into a moist, warm slit. He scribbled down his signature without even the thought of examining the situation. In the past few minutes that Ramon had watched; the smuggler had signed away tens of millions of dollars worth of property and financial assets to this mystery woman due to her own....assets of a more....physical kind. And there was no regret; only savage joy that he was being allowed to copulate again. Not that these women had high standards....sluts.....all of them.....

SLUT...he had been using that word quite a bit lately, yet in this case Ramon could not help but pause in wonderment at how absolutely true that word had become. These eerie plant-women gave no thought to the appearance, status, or behavior of any man; they simply tackled anything with a penis and began to demonstrate their arousal with hands, lips, and breasts. The plant-women never wore clothing, (save the Priestess) had no thoughts other than sex, and acted as though...each copulation were a personal victory. Their feminine faces were masks of glee and triumph whenever a penis was inside them, which was often.

No...Ramon would NOT meet his employer's fate! Turning down the tunnel, he resolved to continue with his plan to simply flee; run away and not look back. For good cause; he could not simply refrain, resist. Their allure was too powerful; he had no illusions. Ramon had given in to their charms before, and would do so again. Even if he did not; he was increasingly certain that these she-beasts had the ability and urges to simply force the sex!

The tunnel in which the erstwhile minion made good his flight connected to the attic of the central mansion, and the considerable, illicit wealth that made the estate possible had also made it feasible to install a covert surveillance system within this bare, grim corridor of dull cement. Prudent, the small screens in the first alcove would have allowed Marcos to monitor each part of his estate for threats or intruders - except that these intruders had been welcomed; and the wealthy smuggler and crime boss had been their first victim. Ramon had to stop to adjust his pants; walking was becoming ever more difficult! For he too, had partaken of the brazen offers of these unwholesome, fast-breeding whores and... well, that wasn't quite it, he had simply not resisted when they confronted him with jiggling breast and hungrily-moist cunts. As a consequence, his cock was more erect than he had ever believed possible. His beefy rod had almost doubled in length, and would soon be half as long as the barrel of the AK-47 slung across his shoulder for protection. And he had been hard all day! Sure, a 'morning flagpole' was not unusual for him, but he'd been awake for six hours today; and his penis had never softened, never lessened its ardor in that time. If anything, he was only growing harder...longer....bigger!

No...no...mustn't think about his cock, that would only make the urges worse! It was as though a hot coal had been slipped inside him; a furious burn that inflicted seething pleasure upon his nether regions. Clutching his own shoulders, he grunted as another spasm overtook him, the magnitude of his cravings were so great that his body was suffering....what he might describe as withdrawal symptoms. All of Marcos' men were familiar with such, for cocaine trafficking was a chief enterprise of this criminal operation, yet...it was these women! Their touch was addictive! And continuous indulgence would ruin a man just as surely as the most potent intoxicant. Lips quivering, he struggled to adjust his pants to make more room for his enflamed, incorrigible penis. But he dare not slow, he must check upon his contact; the other with whom he was planning to escape.....there, in the screen on the upper-left corner in the alcove filled with surprisingly advanced electronics to monitor the sprawling grounds. Yes...Maria was there and....no...they got to her!

The plain-spoken, late-fiftyish house maid was thrashing upon a bed, tearing at her clothes that had suddenly fallen slack. Once, her aging plumpness had widened her body beyond the parameters of what almost any man could find attractive; yet Ramon could see her figure visibly contracting in the glowing screen, as she jerked and arched her back. The contortion of her ruby lips spoke plainly of her hoarse screams. And when her firm hands tore open her blouse and white apron, the man watching was taken aback - such breasts were not possible! While there might be some rare women whose breasts might approach the size of soccerballs as hers did, surely none could be so...so high....so perky! And of course, she was younger, wrinkles melting until she seemed right at the first cusp of marriageable age. No, her breasts were not growing larger still!? Surely not! The way the bronze orbs hung upon her heaving chest, so high and firm....what of gravity! The weight of such vast bosoms must be considerable! Yet Maria, the transforming house maid possessed blossoming boobs that defied normal physics. In seconds, she collapsed in a quivering heap; and even on the small screen, Ramon could see the moisture within her sleek thighs that bespoke of a successive onslaught of female orgasms.

In moments, she would regaim her composure, and as Ramon had seen before these past few days, she would go down into the yard for lesbian sex. But....but she knew him, knew that he was planning to escape; now that she was one of....them.....she might report his movements! What could he do!?

There, near the center screen of the surveillance station; he saw Jorge, among his best friends; but he....no, there was no hope. He could never rely on Jorge in a situation like this; the portly, but well-muscled thug had come to Marcos because he could no longer find honest employment elsewhere; Jorge had always been driven by a passion for women so great that he could not stop fondling any girl he found attractive, had made one to many overtures towards tempermental women with powerful husbands; angered too many people in Brasilia. Plus, his receeding hairline gave him the aspect of an older man; and Jorge lacked the appreciable wealth that might make such a man attractive. Yet here, none of that mattered.

In the chamber with him, there were at least seven of the horrible plant-women that Ramon could see on the screen. They were rubbing, caressing their own tanned bellies, which seemed to be...no...no they were not swelling with pregnancy!? Were they? It seemed so; the naked sluts grimaced as their wombs grew visibly larger, more gravid in seconds as yet another generation of feminine abominations grew. Ramon had heard doctors talking about strains of bacteria that could reproduce several times in an hour; and he feared, feared not only for himself, but for all men. His plump friend however, was filled with nothing but glee, as he himself filled yet another of the women with his own virile rod. And her face snarled with wild triumph; as if each blast of sperm was a personal victory. Perhaps it was. She...they were a plague! A plague like nothing the world had known....a plague that not many would want to resist! Certainly not Jorge, as the throbs of his pelvis reached a high point, buried doggy-style into his latest slut, both of them manic with lust and the gratification of lust. In Ramon's experience, it was easier for men to enjoy sex than women, yet he could not tell which of the pair was the most crazed with this perverse Breeding Lust.

And the wiry voyeur watching this lurid drama on screen thought of his own cock, thought of the way that ejaculating into these women did not allow a man's meat to soften, of how soon he was ready for action after his first encounter. It seemed quite possible that Jorge had fathered the young of all seven women that could be seen, as their bellies thrust up ever higher with obscenely fecund pregnancies. He nearly jumped then, as if his own cock had a mind of its own, becoming electrified by the prospect of so much girl flesh.

Turning aside from the fertile horror, he saw another screen in the lower right side of the electronics booth, with a camera to the outside yards. A section of soil had been cleared into a flat bed of mud dozens of meters in length on either side, and it was filled with these she-creatures. Naked limbs and engorged sex organs thrashed with a lurid intensity beyond the control of reason or restraint. There must have been close to one hundred of the females. The passion contorting their elegant face was only partially obscured by the slick mud the throngs reveled in. The palpable emotional intensity seemed appropriate only if these women were fighting a war through lesbian sex. The fury, the consternation, the lip-quivering grunts and groans were much like those of a life or death struggle. Yet the struggle here was for orgasm.

The colors of their hair and skin mostly obscured by mud, yet Ramon could still make out a few dominant individuals amongst the erotic horde of aurburn-crowned, coconut-like breasts, and cinnamon-tanned skin. One lovely had grasped the feet of a shorter girl, pulling them behind each other in an X-shape, while using her victim's toes to masturbate her own cunt. Another taller slut held a girl upside down by the curves of her own hips while smothering her prey's face in her pussy, and her head in the mud. Another gorgeous abomination seemed to have pinned three beauties at once by using her knees against their chins to grind them into the mire, all the while grazing her engorged labia over the plump breasts of all three, a sextet of erect nipples so hard and firm that they provided surprising tittilation to an overly-sensitive femalia. And others, and still others. A forest of bobbing breasts, and pussies that seemed to gape like predatory mouths, so severe were their yearnings.

Ramon closed his eyes, grasping his renegade penis through his denim pants, as if pinching off the mighty shaft would lessen the urges bombarding him. But it was as if a steel crowbar was encased by his underwear; his zipper beginning to slide loose from the pressure, and the besieged criminal had no doubt that his penis was still growing.

Yet when he looked again, he could not help but notice a screen on the middle-left of the central panel, showing the other side of the backyard, were grass had been cleared to make way for...for ferns? Yes, they had the stems and crosswise leaves of ferns, yet each of the dozens of plants seemed to gleam with rainbow irridescence, like nothing Ramon had ever seen. A brain-washed teenaged boy, his penis chronically erect, was gingerly working to harvest the plants while intact. No doubt he too, was a sex-addict and the women could force his labor by withholding sex. Those ferns....so strange, and they were being removed and potted with such reverence and respect, that it was clear that somehow the plants were crucial to the terrifying fertility of these women. He was not a biologist, but there was no doubt that the women were not human, they were...creatures of some sort, exploiting man's need for sex. The ferns....somehow they must be related to the life-cycle of these libidinous non-human females.

No more....he had seen enough! Ramon would not glance at the next screen, he would not study the live footage of the odd, bush-like cocoons buried in the ground, growing like plants, from which three more naked women emerged like snakes from an egg. He would not stare at their nude, oily flesh; already ripe with full, sexual maturity. And still another! Her hand pinching her own nipples as she kicked free of her cocoon, urges so powerful she could not wait to be born before starting to masturbate.

But even if they never caught him, his own growing libido would soon become so powerful that he would simply surrender himself to the naked mud-wrestlers. He would fail to escape merely if his resolve to run lessened. It seemed a critical moment; Ramon did not believe he could survive even one more mating with these creatures. One more jet of his sperm, if his penis was bathed in girlcum once more; he sensed that his mind would snap, and he would pursue the women directly, rather than simply not resisting their own nymphomaniacal overtures. Once that happened, he would be lost; like Marcos was. He would gladly surrender anything, agree to anything to retain the freedom to plunge into a dripping cunt whenever he felt the need, which would be almost constant!

PART 14: A NEW LEAF

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Deon Duvalier was accustomed to the wild and eccentric tourists; those with strange misconceptions about dress and behavior for visiting Caribbean islands like Grand Cayman, where he had lived and worked all his life; more recently here in airport security. Despite the new regulations and focus on security, the dark-skinned, grizzled old man did not anticipate any serious danger or trouble. He read his newspaper nearby the security metal detectors; scarcely aware of the strange uproar and grumbles of disbelief from the lined-up passengers crawling their way through the security process.

Deon's field of view was blocked by the newspaper, but he could still see a pair of bare, feminine feet walking through the metal detector. He ignored her, yet the outraged cries continued. Slowly, Deon's eyes went higher...higher up sleek calves and unclad thighs, up to...the woman had no pants! He was staring at her bare womanhood! And then her firm abdomen, up towards jiggling mountains of tit with no traces of tanlines, nor did these perky breasts seem to have any need of a bra.

She was a velvety dream of voluptuous peaks and hard curves. No woman should have been able to retain the luscious bounty of hips, ass, and bosom while maintaining such a slender standard to her waist. Her legs were sculpted from a cream-colored dream, her boobs hung firm and ripe, nipples seeming to angle forward as through to recriminate Deon for not lusting after her even more than he was. Between her legs, a coppery bush seemed to present itself to the light from the way her hips swayed; and Deon forgot to be embarrased or shocked; her pussy seemed only to cry out a welcome towards anything with a hard cock.

And her breasts! They were of course, larger and higher than they should have been, Yet he was not sure whether his hands could encompass them in their entirety. Would it take one hand, or both to cup either jugg? Their apparent softness would no doubt flow through his grasp even while firmly maintaining an impossibly enticting shape. But no, she was not wholly naked: A flimsy, gauzy white veil draped over her bronze hair. It had intricate lacey patterns and embroidered designs that for a moment seemed almost....religious?

"I surrender..." the woman said; red lips raised in a crooked smile.

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"Why do you fear them?" the strange, crazy woman asked in a sneer. Deon thought he detected traces of an Italian accent. "Men crave the chance to stare at, to gaze upon, and to touch breasts like mine. Yet you cover my nudity with this ridiculous blanket! As if all do not know that I have glorious, naked breasts beneath this pathetic covering!"

"Eh- please c-come with us the security station...." Deon asked, as he and another islander working at the airport hustled the madwomen through a side door.

"What, do you feel that you are not deserving of more than one glance at my bosom? Wrong, my son. I want you, desire you to enjoy these tits upon my chest!" Her shimmering eyes turned sideways to rivet him in their depths; did Deon see a faint, passing green glow? "You must trust me when I tell you; a woman does not present herself in the nude unless she wants to inspire the lust; women of my sort, that crave the attention of a man's roving eye, we want you to enjoy us. It gives us pleasure when you take pleasure. Why do you not wish for all of us to be made happy?"

"P-please ma'am, there are children watching, come with us into this room so that we can - "

"THEY DESERVE THE TRUTH! NUDITY IS THE HIGHEST, PUREST TRUTH!" she hissed in rage. "AN END TO THE LIES AND DECEITS WE MASK OURSELVES WITH!"

What happened next was a blessing in a way; when she pounced upon the older, greying security guard, the way she wrapped her legs around his pelvis, and her arms around his neck obscured her indecent, thrusting breasts from passersby. Still, it was hard to walk with this naked nymphomaniac hanging off him, but Deon eventually succeeded in stumbling through the non-descript doors off the main concourse that would lead to the security station. His first attempt to remove her came as the door closed, and the two of them grappled each other in the narrow, sterile hallway leading to a communications center to the right, 20 feet ahead, and another door far off at the end of the passage.

He tried, tried to pry her off of him without causing damage; yet those slim, perfumed arms encircled him like bands of velvety steel, her strength as improbably great as was the lofty swell of her gravity-thwarting bosom. He would have attempted to keep talking, to calm her down, yet Deon could form no words with her tongue thrusting all throughout his mouth. And she did not even know him! It must be some new drug; yes that made sense. Some terrible new narcotic that turns naive European tourists into sex maniacs. What else made sense?

Finally, the veil-draped slut paused, rising from the security guard's mouth as if coming up for air.

"Ah, I see how it is;" she purred, green light dancing in her mischievous eyes. "You are a healthy man, but at your age you are experiencing...performance problems!" She tittered in that European accent, was it Italian? Well, that was the last straw, the naked woman was clearly unarmed, and unlikely to be a threat to security, but she had no right to speak to him that way!