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.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/iygqmm/the_amazonians_ch_1_cfnm_femdom
Death. By Snu Snu.