The Amazonians
Chapter 1
It has been three weeks since I woke up in this place. I flew down to Quito, Ecuador for a friend’s wedding, and thought I would explore and hike, and take in some of the beautiful scenery of this part of the world. Then I got lost. Being the arrogant man I am, I figured I could hike these mountains by myself. While I was lost, a storm came and the rain was relentless. I slipped and fell on some rocks, and must have knocked myself out.
When I woke up, it was morning, and I had bandages on my right thigh and around my head. My vision was blurry, but I made out multiple figures wandering around me. They were tall, slender, and caramel-colored. As my sight returned, I saw that they were women. They were all women. Tall, strong, breathtaking warrior women. They brought me water and changed my bandages.
As I wandered in and out of consciousness, some of them cooed gently and stroked my face, reassuring me I would be okay. I began to be able to distinguish their different touches, but they all had a certain level of firmness as they tended to me.
At times, I swear it felt like their touches would linger longer than normal, and their fingers would wander towards my midsection. I remember the cool breeze on my naked body when they’d change my bedding. I had figured, considering the compassionate care they’d shown me while I was injured, that they would simply allow me to go on my way once I was healed.
But, they had other plans. By the time I was well enough to walk, they had me performing odd tasks and duties. Chopping wood, fetching water, whatever they needed at the time. At first, it seemed only fair that I provide them with some labor for saving my life. However, I was provided with no context or timetable for when I would leave. I thought often about fleeing, but I had no gauge on where I was. It would practically be suicide to run away and try to survive in this wilderness.
While I was recovering, I was provided with a thin sheet to cover myself. Now, however, I was given no clothing whatsoever. Any kind of cover was never offered to me. The women’s standard attire seemed to be a low cut top that barely covered their nipples, and a basic, minimal loincloth. The loincloth had two flaps, one on front, and one in back, connected by a thin string. The women’s defined leg muscles could be easily observed as they walked and ran about.
Both seemed to be made of animal hide. It was not unusual to see some of the women without tops or completely nude sometimes. There was certainly a sense of ease when it came to the human body. Nobody seemed ashamed or embarrassed. All of the women were in superior physical shape, all could undoubtedly be world-class athletes back home. Still, the shapes of their bodies varied. Some had large, puffy areolas, and others had long, pointy nipples. Some had stretch marks, although it didn’t seem to be a result of childbirth. From labias to pubic hair, their genitals were unique to each individual.
I, though, was naked all of the time. It was not a choice for me. The temperature was always what I would have considered “room temperature” back home, so there was not a concern of being too cold. There was, however, the concern of modesty. I never thought of myself as the prudish type, but living completely naked around dozens of goddess-like women served as a harsh reality check.
As a fertile, relatively young man, I am prone to the occasional erection, even if it’s unprompted. This became difficult to contain, especially as I began to feel better physically. At times, I had to continue chopping wood or carrying pails of water despite a raging hard-on. The women would gawk and stare. Some would laugh and giggle, others wouldn’t show any expression. A few looked ravenous.
Communication was difficult. They never came across as mean or cruel, but I never had the sense that they were asking to do anything; they were telling me. Most of the communication occurred through hand signals and gestures. A few of the women spoke basic, broken English. The phrase most commonly said to me was, “You no leave.”
While the women were intimidating in their stature and strength, they were stunningly feminine and breathtaking, too. They were graceful and limber. I was never sure whether I should be completely aroused or terrified of them. Most of the time, I was both. When I was allowed my daily bathing session in the river, I’m guessing for about 15 minutes, I would relieve my tension in the water, hoping it would make the sporadic erections less of an occurrence.
My assigned tasks have evolved over three weeks. The hard labor and grunt work from before turned into more personalized, more intimate assistance for what I assumed to be some of the most influential of the tribe. I think they quickly learned that they could perform physical tasks more efficiently and quickly than I can. I also believe they learned to appreciate my more personal, hands-on abilities.
Zula, the fiercest warrior, had me massage her feet every night. Sometimes I would massage her legs, glutes, back, or wherever she was sore that day. She may be the strongest person I’ve ever been around. Despite her staggering strength, she was still feminine and alluring.
Mesma, the softest, most compassionate of them, made use of me to help her bathe in the river. I would disrobe her, and lay her top and cloth to the side for cleaning later. She would then lay on the sandy bank of the river’s edge, and I would lather her in the tribe’s herbal soap. I was expected to be thorough, to wash and scrub even her most intimate areas.
What made Mesma different was that she would wash me in return. When I was finished with her bath, she’d look around to make sure no one was watching, then she’d lay me on the elevated bank used for river bathing. Her tender touch would feel soothing to my sore muscles. Inevitably, I became highly aroused while she washed me. She’d lather and rinse my balls and cock, and I’d groan. She would maybe give one more stroke than was required for cleaning, then she’d move on to other parts of my body. I always had the sense she was willing to do more; that she wanted to do more, but feared she’d be caught being so generous to me.
After I began performing the hands-on tasks, I started to make more observations about their culture. I wouldn’t describe them as a cold people, but there was virtually no touch between the women. Occasionally, they would embrace when emotions were elevated, or they were celebrating a kill after hunting. But, there was not much intimacy in their touching, if any. I began to realize that I was slowly becoming their vehicle for feeling human connection. I started to wonder if they ever had intimate connections, if they had mothers, or other family. I wondered how they got here in the first place, and why there were no men or boys.
Chapter 2
Then there was Anka, the unquestionable leader of the tribe. Anka was maybe in her late thirties, but her eyes suggested she’d seen a lifetime’s worth of struggle. She had difficulty with her mobility some days, which seemed impossible when you take in the majesty of her figure. Anka was not the tallest or strongest of the women, but she was certainly one of, if not the most beautiful. Her calves, thighs and behind were round and curvy. Her wide hips cinched into a narrow waist. Anka had some of the fullest, most alluring breasts of any of the tribe’s women.
On days where she struggled to move, I was like her personal assistant. I’d help her out of her sleeping hammock in the morning, then I’d wash her entire body with a bowl of soap and water. We always stayed in her upper class, finely decorated hut. I assumed it was because she did not want the other women to perceive her as weak if she needed help walking to the river for bathing.
At night, I would often massage Anka. The massages usually ended with me sexually pleasing her with my fingers, and sometimes my mouth. It was a strange feeling. Here I was, pleasuring this unearthly attractive woman, yet I’m also being held captive. I knew that if I were to try and escape, the archers along the perimeter of their land would take me down. The archers were always on duty, and they never missed.
Last night, it seemed as if it would end as many others had. I was in Anka’s large hut, and my tongue was flicking her close to orgasm. Her shimmery brown legs quivered as the rush of pleasure was close to washing over her. Then, abruptly, she pulled my head up from between her legs, and she pulled me by my arms up onto her body. It was incredibly easy for her to, despite her poor health. She reached down to my cock, which was rock hard and ready to explode.
Her hazel eyes peered into mine and her intentions were unquestionable. She was the ultimate decider, but her gaze looked questioning; she was seeking my permission. Then she directed my hard shaft into her hot, wet opening. We both let out moans of relief and pleasure. She took my hands and placed them on her bare breasts, where her dark brown nipples were hard and erect. Anka’s arms and legs wrapped around my body, and she guided my hips up and down, while she thrusted up from her missionary position.
It was tender and intense. I thrusted her deeply while looking into her galactic eyes. It was intimate and sincere and time seemed to slow down. For a moment, her touch felt soft, loving even. It was the first morsel of human connection I’d experienced since being held captive. I learned quickly that I am not to look them directly in the eyes. Reality then returned, and she grabbed me by the bottom and shoved me into her as she pleased.
It did not take long before we were both coming. Anka’s screams must have been heard throughout the valley. I shot several streams into the depths of her body. I had never felt so emptied before. My rushed ejaculations into the river were not sustaining my sexual appetite. As I slowly pulled out of her, I watched the globs of my white hot come ooze out of her flushed pussy.
Anka kept me in her hut that night, where she held onto me tightly until the sunrise. I never fell more than half asleep, not knowing whether this newly forged connection would save or kill me. A line was crossed, that was certain. There was a sense in the community that the others were picking up on Anka’s weakness. Any fondness she were to show of me would only add to her vulnerability.
It was yesterday that I lay in Anka’s hammock with her as she woke for the day. Her initial look was peaceful and calm. As she woke, the harshness of her reality crept in and the fatigue and sadness returned to her face. Of course, I hadn’t really slept. I had a fraction of adrenaline that continued to fuel me, but mostly I was running on fumes.
“You. Go,” she directed me. As I made my way out of the hut and passed the two guards on watch, I could hear her grunting as she stepped out of the hammock. My impulse was to turn back and help, but I was afraid I may be castrated by the women wielding spears.
I went about my normal chores. My responsibilities had ebbed and flowed, but I always had to chop wood and haul pails of water. By the time I completed my essential tasks, most of the women were awake for the day. At this point, I was free for whomever may need me.
Chapter 3
Lepsa was the the first to request my services. She was perhaps the least desirable in the tribe. Lepsa is shorter and squatter than the others. Her dark, frizzy hair was often unkempt and it didn’t look like she tried. Her loin cloth was always misaligned and she almost never bothered to wear a top, allowing her lopsided breasts to sway freely. Back home, if she were to have a shower and set of decent clothes, she would be considered attractive. Here, she was practically homely.
First, she instructed me to clean her modest tent. The tribe didn’t have much in terms of belongings, but Lepsa found a way to litter her tent with trash. She watched me labor and sipped what I assumed to be an alcoholic beverage I often saw them drinking. This made sense, as she often seemed tipsy while she strolled aimlessly along the village paths.
I couldn’t be sure, since I can’t stare directly at them, but I could swear she was touching herself while my naked body sweat, bent and lifted in front of her. I’d catch glimpses of her biting her lip. While my back was to her, I’d hear her moan and groan.
Next she directed me to the river for her bath, which was a relief to cool off after the strenuous workout. Lepsa removed her bottom cloth to reveal her fully natural, wild bush. Her pubic hair was wiry and spread to her inner thigh. She laid down on the shallow bank of sand that was often used for bathing.
As I lathered her chest with soap, she gently arched her back to raise her large, rounded breasts higher. Her tanned nipples were already hardened with arousal. I worked the lather down to her eager mounds, and her breathing deepened. Her eyes were closed and she leaned into my hands as they covered her top half with soap.
Again, I was faced with strange, conflicting feelings. Objectively, Lepsa was an attractive woman. Any straight man would jump at this opportunity if offered. However, after seeing her tribemates for a few weeks, and learning of her unsavory personality, my feelings were not enthusiastic.
While I touched her torso, her body seemed desperate to guide me straight to her pleasure zone. When I reached her waistline, she was nearly panting, and moaning softly. I ran my hands along her groin. Trying to make the most of the situation, I closed my eyes and pretended she was one of the other women. Mesma or Anka, maybe. My fantasizing worked, and I was able to encourage a hard erection. I felt relief, as I did not want to upset her.
Lepsa guided my fingers between her pussy lips, and I stroked her clit. She grunted with pleasure. My cock pointed directly at her face. Her eyes seemed to suggest she wanted to taste. I softly groaned as I washed the folds of her labia. I paid extra attention to her stiffened clit. She seemed to be on the edge of coming. The Amazonian women could be temperamental and unpredictable, so I decided to continue with the bathing to try and avoid punishment.
Her breathing slowed while I washed her thick, muscular legs. She turned around and I washed her back. Then her arms. Lastly was her ass. This part of the bathing ritual was typically thorough, but quick. I had the feeling, however, that Lepsa would want my focus there.
After rinsing her glutes, she began moaning again when I touched the top of her crack. Moving down, I slowly circled her forbidden hole, and continued under, back to her pussy. She raised her hips, encouraging more.
With more soap lathered, I teased her asshole more convincingly. Her moaning turned to grunts, and she uttered words under her breath in her native language. Her tailbone peaked up high while I rubbed her hole. More of her native words suggested she was growing impatient with me.
Hoping that I had interpreted her correctly, I plunged my middle finger into her asshole. A guttural groan escaped her throat, and it seemed to be what she had wanted. The rustling of a small group of women approaching interrupted the fingering. Lepsa stood quickly, and briskly walked me back to her hut.
She grabbed a bowl of oil and layed down, her body begging for more. I squeezed and massaged her ass, and admired how firm and toned it was, considering she was one of the least athletic of the group. Again, her pelvis raised towards me, inviting me to enter her.
This time, I let my finger slip into her eager pussy. She accepted gladly. Her hips bucked and gyrated, and her moans became louder. Lepsa reached back to grip my pulsing cock and she directed me to penetrate her with my hardness.
As if it were another chore, I mounted her, and eased my length into her desperate hole. Her moans were more like screams now, and I didn’t think of it at the time, but they were sure to attract attention. Unaffected, I thrusted into her tight, slippery hole and quickened my pace.
The sound of her cries were orgasmic by themselves. Near her tipping point, Lepsa reached her hand back to stroke her asshole. She seemed frustrated with the angle, so I took over and sunk my middle finger back into her other hole. I was optimistic I’d stay on her good side.
She howled so loud it seemed to shake the tent. I was nearing my edge, and I could feel her muscles constricting around my finger. Once she let out her first screams of relief, I let myself loose, and felt my rush of hot liquid approaching.
I shot my seed deep into her. I thought about how the force of this orgasm wasn’t nearly as enthusiastic as the one I shot into Anka last night. Lepsa’s breath slowed and her muscles relaxed. I laid there for a moment, catching my breath. I heard faint footsteps approaching, then a soft knock on the door.
A soothing, high pitched voice spoke in the native tongue. I recognized the voice as Mesma’s. I felt relief at the sound of the friendly voice, and I hoped Lepsa would be willing to release me. Lepsa laughed and motioned with her hand, suggesting she was done with me. When I took too long to respond, she lifted her head and yelled in her usual, annoyed tone. I quickly scrambled and ran out of the unsavory tent.
Breathing with relief, I laid eyes briefly on Mesma’s face. She was much more accepting of my gaze than the others. She grinned, the pity on her face unquestionable.
Mesma took me to her tent. Even the surrounding tents where Mesma lived were cleaner looking than where Lepsa lived. Mesma’s tent resembled her personality: warm, clean, and inviting.
She brought me to a corner of her tent and sat me down. She began showing me pieces of thick, rough cut paper with charcoal markings. After she made some gestures, I realized she was showing me her drawings.
It was like her version of a sketchbook. Her materials were primitive, but her abilities astute. I sorted through the thick parchment, where drawings of animals, plants, and people filled the jagged pages. I looked up and smiled at her, showing my appreciation for her sharing her art with me.
Mesma began to collect the pages, almost as if she was rushed, in some kind of hurry to get the pages hidden once more. Before she was able to put them back in their leather portfolio, I noticed a few drawings that weren’t in the first pile she showed me. They were people. People…fucking.
As quickly as the pages were in my sight, they were gone. I was able to infer that they were sexual. What I wasn’t sure about was who the people were. The poses looked like one dominant partner and one submissive. The strange part was that the dominant one looked like one of the tribe women. Did these women have sex with each other somehow? Why was she hiding this from me?
Chapter 4
Mesma carried on as if nothing had happened. Despite her fondness for me, she had to keep up with appearances, and treat me as a servant in front of the others. “Water. I need,” she said, and pointed over to her empty pail.
“Yes, okay. Nice English,” I replied. “You’re getting better,” I said with a smile. She grinned back, a hint of blush crossed her face. She handed me the pail and we set off for the river.
The village was like an oasis. Surrounding it were walls of thick, dense vegetation. The women had created a clearing, where they built their tents and huts. Gravel paths connected everything, and were always kept neat and tidy.
The engineering and planning of this town were advanced. This was a culture built on efficiency and utility. There was even a latrine in the far west corner of the village. They irrigated a shallow stream that carried the waste away, downstream. I’m assuming towards the Pacific Ocean, which would put me west of my original hiking place. There were virtually no unpleasant smells or experiences associated with the latrine. It was a self-contained system that required little to no maintenance. Despite the communal toilet seats, it was as good as one could as for in the middle of the jungle.
Mesma and I passed other women and their huts. The vibe was leisurely most of the time. Women would be out, performing odd tasks like cleaning their weapons or patching up their tents. We passed the medical hut before exiting into the thick forest. The medical hut was where I spent my first few days. It was larger than the other structures, and had healers available at all hours.
I carried the pail and walked a few steps ahead of Mesma. The activities of the past few hours had my adrenaline and libido spiking, and for some reason, I thought she may want a view of me walking in front of her. My instincts were correct, as I noticed her checking out my ass out of my peripheral vision.
I had made my way to the water collection site many times. Without a thought, I followed the path as it banked to the north, when Mesma called me back. “This way,” she said with pointed finger towards the west. “We go this way.”
I furrowed my brows and looked at her questioningly. “Come on,” she encouraged, then led the way down the overgrown path. It looked like what used to be a walking path, but had been unused and nature had taken back over.
Vines and overgrown bushes made it difficult to walk while carrying the pail. Hints of panic began to stir in my belly as we hiked the unfamiliar path. Could I really trust her? Did I let my guard down too easily? Where the hell was she taking me?
It seemed like a long time had passed before Mesma disappeared out of the brush. The panic hit with full force at that point. I’m naked and lost and completely vulnerable. I continued forward, bracing for speeding arrows or a fall off a giant cliff.
The opening occurred suddenly and dramatically. The loud crashing of a waterfall filled my ears, along with a gleeful, skipping Mesma. I stood in shock, staring at the pristine site. The plants were greener than green, and the air the most refreshing I’d ever breathed. The familiar river wound in front of me in a soft curve, but before it was a breathtaking waterfall.
Maybe 50 feet high, the clear, cool water fell through jagged rocks down to the rushing river. “Come on!” I hear, and look over to find the bronze beauty removing her limited clothing. First her tan bikini top, revealing round, curvy tits. Then her minimal bottoms. I observed she had been doing some upkeep on her nether regions. Her pubic hair was shaved down nearly to the skin. I wondered if that was for me.
She loped toward the moving water, and I hungrily watched her curvaceous hips and glutes sway with her movements. She dove into the water headfirst, and rose a few feet into the river, brushing the water away from her face and pulling her dark hair back.
I removed my make-shift sandals, and walked carefully into the nearly unbelievable water, almost as if I didn’t quite trust what I was seeing. It was orgasmically refreshing. I hadn’t realized how warm I was until the chilled water cooled my overheated body. Slowly, I made my way farther into the river and closer to the Amazonian. The cool water felt especially refreshing between my legs.
When I met Mesma in the middle of the river, about 20 feet from the waterfall, she grinned widely and looked around, as if suggesting, “Isn’t this amazing?” I followed her lead and took in the scene. The place was majestic. It could have been the real garden of Eden. The realities of indentured servitude and never knowing if I’d go home again and potentially dying at the hands of Amazonian beauties slipped away slowly.
Surges of testosterone pulsed through my veins, and I suddenly forgot the context of where I was. I saw the tanned beauty before me, surrounded by paradise, and I recognized the look in her eyes. I approached her slowly until our bodies gently touched. Our breathing slowed and synchronized, our gaze faced downward and our foreheads met.
I softly grabbed her chin and lifted, pulling her lips up to meet mine. She accepted, her body melting into mine. Our kiss was gentle and tender. It had no shortage of sexual charge, but also restrained and composed. When our tongues met hesitantly, a surge of electricity shot through us both.
My hand reached for the back of her head and I pulled her in closer. When I wrapped my other arm around her back and squeezed her against me, she whimpered. Then I felt the water moving around my thighs and then her hand wrapped around my hardening cock. This time, I whimpered.
She tugged a few times and then I pulled back, desperate for her but also wanting to be sure this was okay. We held each other, her hand still on my shaft, and we peered into each other’s eyes for an extended moment. She took a long, deep inhale, then took my hand and began wading through the water, toward the falls.
I followed her without question. She seemed more determined than ever. Plus, at this point, what more do I have to lose?
Chapter 5
The roaring waterfall offered moderate resistance to our trekking upstream. We passed under the sheet of falling water, and behind the waterfall was a flat, rocky surface, completely enclosed by the falls. The slate colored stone had a gloss that made it equally as majestic as the green on the other side. In the middle of the opening was an elevated piece of rock, maybe 2 meters by 3 meters. It almost looked like an altar. Or a bed. The granite rock sloped upwards in a dramatic, cathedral-like fashion, and plenty of the sun’s Equatorial rays shone through the rushing water, illuminating the altar.
Mesma walked me to the elevated center, and she laid herself down on her back. The surface of the altar was plenty smooth for one to lay down their bare skin. She took both of my hands, interlocking our fingers and whispered, “Take me.”
My caveman brain was fully activated, and I never bothered to think of the potential consequences. I kissed her again, more deeply this time, and let my body fall onto hers. I took my hard, aching shaft, and split her labia, which was wet and swollen. She moaned as I rocked gently up and down, teasing her clit with the ridge of my circumcised cock.
Soon, it seemed right to enter her, slowly. Her opening was so tight, it took my breath away initially. Had she never been fucked by a man? I played with her nipples and nibbled on her neck as I pushed my rod deeper and deeper into her.
As I built momentum, she put her hands on my chest, running her fingers through my dark chest hair. It was as if she was allowing herself to explore a man’s body for the first time. She teased my own nipples in return before clawing into my back and pulling me towards her. I was completely inside her now, her tight opening finally able to consume all of me.
Time stood still at this point, where we heaved deeply and I thrusted her deliberately. It was passionate and sweaty, yet the mist of the waterfall cooled our skin. I felt as if my stamina had dramatically improved, and I thought to myself how impressed I was I’d been able to last this long. We were in the heat of the moment when she stopped our rhythmic rocking.
“Wait,” she said.
My emotions flipped so quickly, my brain was trying to process the sudden stoppage. Was I doing something wrong? Was I hurting her? Despite calling for a halt, she continued holding me close and I remained deeply embedded inside of her.
“You need to see. You must know,” she said cryptically. Her legs still wrapped around me and beads of sweat dripping between her bronze tits. Her hazel eyes looked up at me sheepishly, as if confessing to a secret. “You trust?” She asked.
I certainly didn’t trust all of the tribe, but I felt I could trust her. “Yes,” I stated after taking a deep breath. She pulled away from me and propped herself up to standing.
“You, down,” she pointed at the altar. I did as she said, half scared, half aroused. She straddled her legs around mine, and lined her puffy lips against my still hard shaft. She pressed forward, my hardness dividing her lips and I could feel the warm slickness of her. She felt so good.
What happened next would change everything I thought I had known about Mesma and her mysterious warrior woman tribe.
Original, rough draft post: https://www.reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/hcyx7h/the_amazonians_cfnm/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ngi2gr/the_amazonians_futas_of_the_rainforest_part_i_ch