Amazon Island by Lance Edwards
From the Age of Exploration hails this tale of lost souls, lands and creeds. Sent on a Pacific expedition by his licentious wife, a naturalist from Amsterdam barely survives a shipwreck. Washed ashore on a volcanic island, he is immediately seized by the inhabitants ” a civilization exclusively of women. Somehow these Sapphic savages have survived and even thrived by sacrificing males to their mountain-goddess.
Condemned to The Hunt, this member of the outlawed gender is tortured, terrorized and deliberately debilitated before being run through a gauntlet into the jungle. Facing hideously fatal rituals upon recapture, he flees into a labyrinth of primeval creatures and treacherous pitfalls. With a thousand fearsome females howling on his heels, the worst seems certain.
Yet the perversions of this particular criminal have unleashed unease in the people. Existing rivalries, curiosities and even apostasies have come into play. A chase with little challenge and a guaranteed gruesome end is soon complicated by sexual issues and appetites at once deviant and delightful, heretical and wholesome. Forces and needs as monumental as they are irresistible drive the fugitive and those vying to claim him on to a cataclysmic climax.
Warning: Those blessed to become the playthings of Amazons should expect to endure constant bondage, beatings, branding and other burning, along with ruthless domination including urinary degradation ” not to mention sexual assaults of all kind. Also includes humiliation, cock & ball torture, chastity devices, degradation, piss drinking, face sitting, dildos, milking, bastinado, breath play, anal and oral sex.
Despite the scant amount left to me, time crawls along with torturous slowness.
Agonies unameliorated by exaltation excruciate my helplessly pinioned body. Every brand that decorates me flames with residual pain; every outraged joint screams with stress and every ring or hook gouges into me remorselessly. Worst of all of course is the hideously intrusive device that relentlessly stretches my nether entrance. That agonizing ‘pear’ now serves as a constant reminder of the far worse and eventually eternal horrors soon to be visited on that poor orifice. The only relief from my usual afflictions is far from welcome: my penis dangles limp and limitlessly chagrined.
No spiked cage in necessary to deny its excited swelling now. Its wounds scabbed over, it hangs uselessly in condemned quiescence. Emaciated and desiccated, I blubber the long hours tearlessly away, all the mad anticipation of my sacrifice turned to terror. In the extremity of fear that grips me I can conceive of only one escape.
Once freed, I must somehow make it back to the beach. Floundering out past the reef to where the sharks can tear me apart with merciful swiftness, or my weakness lead to a quick drowning, now seems like salvation to me. It is this possibility I cling to throughout the interminable few hours of life I have left. And so I hang thus broken and bereft until the light of the last day I ever expect to see comes in thin streamers through the wall. Then a growing bustle of activity outside my dungeon leads to the door being thrown open at last.
Charged with the excitement they have robbed from me, a number of my captors enter at last, all of them already stone-girded for rape. Nera is in the lead, a razor-sharp blade of chipped obsidian in her hand. Behind her arrive two unknown Amazons bearing a large tub of water and sponges, followed by a fourth carrying a wreath twined of flowers. The pungency of these assails me even at a distance, their perfumed effluvia making me retch weakly in my inanition. Two hulking praetorians mount a guard at the door; more can be glimpsed waiting just beyond this. Sadistic delight personified Nera steps up to me, knife at the ready. Her taunting and gloating makes my skin crawl worse than the skating of that blade as she sets about shaving me.
“Finally, you criminal shit! Today you pay for splattering me with your repellent seed! Thanks be to Gora that Moba made me wait for this. I did not wish to; I wanted to be sure that I would be the one to slay you. But now I swear that I will be the first to hunt you down!
“I will be the one to cut the last slice of that disgusting organ from you. I will be the first to pound my phallus into your nicely stretched ass. Ah sacrifice, I can’t wait to watch you trying to scream with a red-hot spit down your throat and another up your rectum as you rotate endlessly about, turning a nice crispy dripping brown. And if skill and fortune don’t desert me I will be the one to finally dine on your toasted gonads!”
Swiftly she lifts every scrap of hair from my body. Not the slightest twitch of arousal stirs my meekly shriveled penis as she bares my groin to match theirs. Hackles raised by terror I feel every little hair on my arms and legs erected as they are shaved away. The small thatch on my chests and those under my arms are stripped off next, and finally the sparse beard I have grown in captivity is shaved away. Feeling that impossibly keen blade sliding over my throat urges me to lurch forward in hopes of opening a fatal wound. But of course the strap across my brow and those securing that ring between my teeth allow for no such easy suicide. Only the hair of my head and eyebrows are spared. Then Nera steps back and the two with sponges move forward.
Roughly they scrub the front of me clean. Months of sweat and grime are sluiced away. Dried blood comes off and new trickles begin as whip welts, burns, and hundreds of little punctures reopen. Neither this once-erotic stinging nor the memories evoked can provoke my perverse arousal to return – not even the bathing of my genitals can compete with the huge stone cocks girded about every crotch, and the thought of the pointed iron spits waiting to skewer me. I can only hang there and shiver, mewling with terror and quailing under Nera’s sneering detestation as they bathe me from head to toe and even comb out my shoulder-length locks. The moment that pear is collapsed and retracted at last, I expect to seal up tight in puckering horror. Unfortunately the stretching of my flesh is slow to depart, and I sob miserably as a sponge is thrust into me and spun back and forth, cleaning even this cringing recess.
The guards step closer then, unnecessarily brandishing weapons as I’m freed of my shackles and collar and lowered from the wall. Completely unrestrained for the first time since being bound on the beach I remain as helpless as ever surrounded by these brutes. And anyway my bondage is swiftly re-established. Once my backside is bathed my wrists are again shackled behind me. That garland of flowers is hung about my neck, their overpoweringly sweet perfume making me gag again and stagger with sudden dizziness. At last Nera steps forward again and knots another barbed and flowering malvin vine about the base of my genitals. Holding this as a leash she jerks me into motion.
“Let’s go, sacrifice. Gora is impatient for us to add your eunuch soul to her ever-growing harem. And I can’t wait to see this criminal thing cut off one thin slice at a time.”
Finally the long anticipated transcendent experiences I so insanely embraced on the beach and publically begged for are upon me. And now they hold nothing but horror. Despite the yanking tug on the organs that so foolishly ruled me so completely these still dangle and flop meaninglessly. Pain and bondage, once such potent aphrodisiacs, now give rise only to a weary despair. The gloating of my captors fills me with terror; the perverse thrill of subjugation is gone. Blubbering like a baby and staggering in my weakness I stumble out of the dungeon, trying frantically to conjure up the mad arousal that led me to this. It’s no good however. Even the memories of Rooni playing with and suckling me have been subsumed by the thought of her waiting for me outside, a stone cock upon her crotch and her lovely visage as savage for my suffering as anyone. Led by Nera on that leash and surrounded by heavily armed warriors so huge I barely reach the level of their enormous breasts I stumble up flights of stairs and down passageways as terrified and despairing as any condemned felon on the way to the gallows.
Indeed my misery surely surpasses that of any other: what more blameless soul has ever faced a more gruesome end? This is further impressed on me as Nera drops her gloating at last to actually coach me on the dangers I’m about to face. It would be a cruel joke on them if I succumbed to some avoidable natural death before they recaptured me.
Of course her warnings about crocodiles and giant leopards, deadly snakes and spiders only make me realize that sharks and drowning aren’t the only escapes open to me. Yet surprisingly I suddenly find I don’t wish to fall to any of these deaths either.
What I want is to live, period. Moments after contemplating cutting my own throat, suicide has somehow lost its appeal. What I really want is to thwart these Amazons’ intentions utterly. I want to escape into the depths of the island as this apostate they talk about has apparently done, eke out a subsistence living and avoid them for so long that they fail the challenge sent by their mountain-Goddess. Perhaps then she will lose patience with them, withdraw her favor and maybe even erupt and efface their sick society from the Earth altogether. Let no more men be hounded to a grisly death! Nursing this nascent determination I at last manage to stop blubbering and raise my head to face the coming test like a man. When I do I see that this resolve has come just in time. Shackled and leashed, barefoot and naked, terribly debilitated and garlanded for slaughter, I’m being led out into the sunlight again at last.
We have emerged on the opposite side of the temple. Across a vast expanse of jungle rise the carpeted slopes, craggy reaches and finally the cone of Gora herself. Blinking uncomfortably in the bright morning sunlight, I feel a stab of atavistic terror that sends shivers running through me. This first sight of the volcano in all its terrifying grandeur makes it more impossible than ever for even a former atheist like me to disbelieve.
Perhaps my mind has been broken as well as well as my libido. But I can no longer entertain any doubts: there sits the power that flung me from the doomed Dolphin, preserved me from the sharks and the sea, delivered me into the hands of these Herculean Amazons, vastly expanded my perverse inclinations and spoke words of condemnation and promise to its chosen people through my mouth. Now it intends to take the vengeance of outraged femininity on me throughout eternity – once I have been put through the most grisly rites of sacrifice conceivable. But then these metaphysical perceptions are interrupted. A roar of savage exultation greets my appearance. I drop my eyes from the Goddess looming above me, and see the preparations that have been made for that sacrifice.
I stand on a wide stone terrace. Unlike the raised plinth at the front of the temple, this spreads out at ground level. To my left is a great rectangular fire-pit. Flanked by thick, pointed iron spits connected to a turning mechanism, the air above this is already shimmering with the heat-haze rising from its enormous bed of smoldering coals. To my right is a heavy wooden frame fixed with shackles and chains. Here I am to be secured stretched out and bent over: forward for the thousand or so rapes and backward for the incremental unmanning. A smoking brazier sits nearby, the amputating blade already glowing red in the flames.
Another yank on my leashed manhood drags me stumbling forward to where High Priestess Zela waits. Flanked by her guard, clad ceremonially in gleaming gold and with her especially prodigious phallus again strapped about her, she carries a scepter of gold as well. Beyond her I see a closely packed arc of warriors: the hundred chosen hunters. All are armed as they were on the beach, with spears, bolas and knives, and all wear those terrifying stone phalluses. I see Moba prominent among them and Rooni as well, her lovely face shining with the exact savage zeal I’d imagined. Behind these on all sides, surrounding the terrace and preventing any hope of escape are the entire rest of the people, all of them also already girded for rape.
My knees weakened to the brink of collapse at this spectacle, it’s all I can do not to begin gibbering with panic. I feel my bladder let go, yet thanks to my dehydration only a small drizzle splashes my feet. Likewise my still extensively stretched sphincter loosens further, and only the fact that my bowels are empty keeps me from disgustingly soiling myself. Not a hint of a twitch stirs my shriveled member as I’m yanked repeatedly forward by it, and by the time I reach that towering potentate I am cowed utterly. All is terror and despair, with my determination to survive as a fugitive as forgotten as my former sexual exaltation. As Nera unleashes my penis at last and takes her place among the hunters I’m but a breath from collapsing to the ground and curling up in fetal defeat. But then High Priestess Zela raises her scepter. Her voice rings out powerfully over the suddenly hushed crowd.
“Hear me, sisters! Here we have the most criminal yet propitious member of the despised and defeated sex to ever fall to us! Today we prove our devotion and worth to our benefactor beyond any question by performing the sacred rites laid down for us like never before. First we have the ritual hunt! This pitiful male will be freed, allowed to flee, and then be reclaimed for retribution and sacrifice.
“Whoever is first in its recapture shall be first to perform that deed upon it that its kind has ever subjected us to! She shall wield the heated blade that finally severs the last scrap of the organ that most offends us! And she shall have first choice of the delicacies on offer once the sacrifice is finished. Sisters, hear me again: let the hunt begin, and Gora reward the most resourceful among us!”
Suddenly the shackles are released, falling to the stone behind me with a clatter. An unseen whip whistles, its lash cutting into my buttocks and almost causing me to collapse at the unexpected flare of agony. The crowd has parted down middle, opening a narrow avenue to the interior of the island. Ahead, Gora looms monstrously above us all. In one communal shout a thousand voices join the cry of the reigning potentate.
“Run, sacrificial one! Run for your balls and your prick and your sinful life, until the best of us claim them from you!”
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