(The Theme of this story was determined by a fan who then secured XXXecil’s services as a writer.)
Part 8: Botany Lesson
“I….I don’t understand.” Muttered the naked woman, golden-brown skin glistening vividly as she writhed in libidinous hunger upon the white linoleum.
“That is because you have not fully embraced your racial memory; the new instincts filling your mind.” She seemed to be some sort of eerie, jungle-dwelling sexual cultist. The golden-embroidered patterns on her glittery robes were a panoply of spiders, sun-images, and odd-looking runes. The naked women still grappling with her transformation remembered something from her past: Many of those ancient patterns were….Incan? Yes…that was knowledge possessed by Celeste de Lourdes, The nude creature, compuslively fondling her swollen, rosy-capped breasts was no longer Celeste, she was no longer truly human. But she didn’t understand yet, not fully.
“Your…..transition may be confusing,” The raven-haired mystic explained as she ran her slender hand across the burnished sheen of Celeste’s sleek belly, down below her Venus mound, to diddle a bit with her engorged, reddened clit. “I have been birthing spawn as fast as possible, and there it is easy. The mind when young is blank, open, and empty. The natural race-memory, the instinctive patterns of knowledge imprint without difficulty. But you…..” The mystic brought her plump, strawberry lips close to the changing woman’s ear as she whispered tantalizingly.
“You have decades of knowledge, experience…all must be bent, shaped, transformed. You are no longer, and never again will be Celeste de Lourdes, it will be interesting to see what you do eventually become.”
“B-but..but why…why do I need…to touch…..so much?” The new creature asked, as she slipped her hands inside the open robe of the mysterious, mother priestess, fondling the full, silken globes of hard-nippled mammaries before moving further down, down to grip in both hands the bulging hemispheres of a tense, warm buttocks. The green eyes of the breeder-mother narrowed in response to her question, then her expression turned quizzical for a moment. If anything, she was soothed by the lurid fondling performed on her by the writhing she-creature.
“Tell me, child: How much do you know about……Botany? What do you know about the ways plants reproduce?”
“N-n-nuh…not much…..almost…nothing….the human….Celeste….she was trained in….Journalism…n-not biology.” The creature confessed; though the face was basically the same, internally the feminine entity could no longer pretend to be the same person. The Priestess nodded.
“Consider this: During sex, with any creature, any entity that reproduces with two sexes needs a way to….stimulate growth after fertilization is complete.” As she spoke, the dark-haired mistress bedecked in Incan symbols straddled the quivering pelvis of the new entity, their mutually engorged vaginal folds mingling…caressing….teasing themselves and each other. “The growth of the young mustn’t occur too soon, or too late – but when conditions are right, life must begin, the embryo must begin its life, its maturation. And plants have some unusual means to kick-start their young into growth.” While explaining, the Incan harlot pinched the nipples of the female that had once been Celeste. She grasped the rosy nipples rhythmically, methodically, as her sopping cunt began a rocking motion to grind the two sexes together.
“There are some long-lived conifers that actually require a forest fire to remove an outer layer from their seeds before those seeds can grow; there are many plants that depend upon animals eating their seeds before those same seeds can fully germinate. Many ways to awaken, provoke plant seeds to begin their lives….and the organism…that wonderful organism that has infused both of us with her DNA also has…particular requirements for her seeds.” Celeste arched her back beneath her mistress, unleashing a passionate grunt as a rush of sensation burned in her womb. It was as though a million needle-points of liquid pleasure were exploding out of her cunt all at once.
“They…They will come for you…Priestess…” murmured the short, half-naked man tied and handcuffed to steel loops in the west wall. He still wore his many-pocketed Safari-style shirt, but his pants were long gone. Obscuring his manhood was a young woman who looked like nothing so much as a nude porn starlet 8-months pregnant with triplets. Beneath her nut-brown skin, the muscles in her throat were outlined as she greedily deep-throated the man’s rigid penis.
“N-now…that the Trust has been broken, all will know of you….soon, all will know of the horror…you have unleashed…upon the World!” One of these horrors squealed with delight as she felt his hard cock twitching with readiness within the liquid silk of her moist mouth as she fellatioed him with a tongue-twisting expertise matched only by the most jaded of whores. Yet the expression on his broad face was one of anguished exertion, strain and tooth-grinding denial of the sensual assault taking place between his legs. But the dark-haired Priestess only chuckled.
“You will….not laugh when they come….with guns…and tanks…and bombs….they will use force…as much as needed….to stop plagues…epidemics…” The bound man shook his head as he held his eyes closed even while admonishing his captor. It seemed he was denying, resisting the natural reflex that must result from the tender ministrations of a naked woman with lips like the caress from a rose, and tits that wobbled like wide-aureoled, over-grown coconuts.
“Oh Pablo….dear Pablo….” crooned the Priestess mockingly. “That is why we are here; that is the first step in the plan!” Her teasing of Celeste’s nipples increased in speed as the new entity shimmied and shook with orgiastic delight. “By controlling Marcos, with his political connections, I will have access to the corridors of power in this country! We shall penetrate the inner workings of this government – through the cocks of those with the power! Before they ever learn the truth; it will be far too late!” She punctuated her statement with musical laughter.
“They will not come with guns; silly man….YOU will! You will cum inside the mouth of my spawn! You will jet your seed into her yet again!” Her lips twisted with a sardonic sneer as she taunted her male prisoner.
“NEVER! I…have given you enough of my seed! I have failed myself enough today….not one more drop!” Insisted Pablo, muscles straining with corded futility against the constraining handcuffs that bound him to the wall. “I….shall not….must not orgasm….must not….climax…..your…abominations shall no longer use me!” Beaded sweat dribbled down his furrowed brow with the intensity of his attempted resistance. The nude, pregnant female servicing his raging member rose up a bit higher, cooing as seductively as she could with the thickness of his engorged rod entering her mouth, and thrusting down her throat. Was her womb growing, throbbing with life even as Celeste watched?
As if responding to Pablo’s challenge, the nude slut rose up from her hands-and-knees posture to more of a sitting position, rising up as she gently raked her fingernails over Pablo’s ass. A long tongue – too long it seemed looped and wrapped around the pulsing shaft of manmeat between her lips. She opened her lips wider, blowing cool air around inside her mouth and over his wet cock, adding extra variety to the cornucopia of sensations that whittled away at the nature guide’s rigid resolve.
But he would no longer surrender to them! He would not look upon that pixie-perfect, elegant face of the unwholesome bitch that should not be, the bitch slathering his cock in an ardent quest for his semen. Celeste turned to behold the lurid contest, as her mind continued to shift. Curious, the entity thought, as her pussy quivered against the sex of the Priestess straddling her. The human, Celeste de Lourdes would have been appalled at this impossibly perverse display. But the new Celeste felt only a twinge of excitement and a jealous craving. It was as if The Priestess read her thoughts.
“Oh no….not for you, young one. You have a more pressing need!” Her mistress thrust several fingers into Celeste’s quavering cunt. “Look,” she brought her hand back into the new girl’s vision, the probing hand had been covered with shimmering, tiny silvery sparkles. Like cosmetic glitter, but brighter. “You are now part of a fantastic life-cycle, and it is time to play your role!” With that, the Priestess smeared the silvery glitter-spores upon the throbbing, baseball-sized tits of the new Celeste, and rose. Grasping the girl by her shoulders, she helped her stand up again.
Outside the white living room, beyond a glass sliding door was a manicured lawn where the grass had been cleared to make way for a squared slick of brown, wet mud. There were three more of the abominable spawn standing here; their youthful faces darkened with savage cravings and dark desires. The first two had the same, raven-black hair, a taller girl in the middle had an auburn brown cascade over her green-within-green eyes that shone with illicit cravings. Their skin too, had begun to sparkle with that silvery glitter from the breeding spores of the plant whose life-cycle they were intended to complete.
Celeste snarled, why should these kids have bigger breasts than she!? They didn’t have the right to bear plump mounds of girlflesh larger than a man’s clenched fist! And so high! The taller girl, in the center had boobs thrusting up proudly, bulging below her coffee-cup aureoles. The two in the center had splayed breasts, their bodies screamed with the suggestion of a muscle-clenched mating, voluptuous forms to incite men’s desire and bear their young smoothly, and often.
“Follow your urges; obey your instinct!” hissed the Priestess. But it was not a matter of resisting or succumbing to the sharp desires that seethed in Celeste’s blood; her brain was still changing. Neurons were rewritten, transfigured and altered until the she-creature had no thought except to engage these new spawn.
Rushing through the open sliding-glass, New Celeste tackled the sisters, and the four of them collapsed naked into the mud. Writhing, squirming, entwining nude legs and bare breasts. It was each slut for herself as the grappling began; each female driven by a maniacal urge to use the bodies of each other as hardpoints to masturbate themselves. Pussies widened amidst a perverse thrashing of mud, buttocks, and wobbling juggs that jiggled with tremulously swirling trajectories with each grasp and thrust.
“NOOOO!” Pablo howled. Why did he look!? WHY?! If Pablo had not seen the thrashing, naked, mud-wrestling sex-pots as they thrust their genitals against each other, he might have held out longer! But there was no denying the truth; The image of a sleek, wet ass and wobbling breasts were burned into his brain, and the damage was done.
With each spurt, there was a tiny sob, as jet after creamy jet of hot semen rocketed from his well-lubricated rod through the puckered lips, past the tittilating tongue, and down the throat of the pregnant breeding slut assaulting his member. He could feel the truth; the terrible ecstasy that came from coupling with these….these unwomen grew greater each time. Soon, the pleasure would become so intense, that he would no longer be able to even dream of resistance. Soon, Pablo knew, he would no longer be sane.
Part 9: Wet Dreams
It was like drowning, immersion in a deep, warm sea. Yet the General was not struggling for breath. He did not want to escape from the soft, soothing grasp from any urgency to survive, but rather from a desire to emerge into a world of new, and exciting possibilities.
But swimming would not work; direct propulsion from kicking limbs would not send the General to the surface any faster. Rather, it was pleasure that would send him up….upwards. It went without saying that he felt more alive than ever before, acutely aware of his body….had he been losing weight? Must be; for his beer-gut had been replaced by smooth, toned flesh. A hand shot to the General’s crotch. Was it his own hand, or that of another all was blurred, and uncertain.
What was undeniable were the shooting streams of raw pleasure coursing outwards from his crotch. As though…as though a nugget of electricity was embedded deep below, between the legs, forcing him into heights of ecstasy never dreamed possible. Higher….Higher….he felt himself moving upwards towards the light, with every caress, every teasing touch of physical enticement. The General knew he must rise higher…to fulfill the mission. But…what was the mission….?
It was…..a training exercise as part of a cooperative venture between the governments of the United States and Brazil….not exactly routine, but it had been an uneventful assignment….and then…then…something had happened; there were strange mechanical complication on the return flight…..taken hours before the plane had been cleared for takeoff…and then…then something incredible had happened. It was difficult to remember. The General recalled a burning surge of desire, passion and fury that was beyond reason or logic.
The last thing the General could remember was a fiery urge to wallow naked outdoors while procreating, mating with an endless parade of women who were too gorgeous to be real. As he rose upwards on a rising tide of carnal bliss he almost gasped with the remembered drive towards copulation, his career did not matter, National Security did not matter. The weighty international issues and global threats he had grappled with for decades seemed…..trite. All that mattered was sexual release and the fertilization of new life. It had happened, he knew. The General felt alive, fertile, in a way that he had never experienced and did not make sense to the rational mind.
But the concern that normally would have caused the General to stop and examine the situation was gone; replaced now not by a mandate to defend, serve, and protect, but by a gratification over successful fertilization, coupled with a burning mandate to breed with others, and then others.
The chest was the first spot on the General’s body where the pleasure exploded into an awesome jolt that commanded his attention. It was more than just the pleasure of a gentle, erotic touch; it was as though something was…emerging…bursting forth…. and then, the pressure, the bliss, the tingling fire throbbed between the General’s legs, and he felt freer, lighter, liberated and energized as he rose up through a warm, watery limbo of altered consciousness.
He did not yet understand the first set of images, those images where he had somehow merged with those animals, from past and present, becoming different creatures, different people. Reptiles, birds, extinct, ancient life-forms from the sea…he’d been them all…he’d also lived life through the eyes of a jaded, New York prostitute on her back with an aroused client raging inside her wet slit. That image, especially seemed crucial and noteworthy for reasons that would be clear in moments.
Just a little higher, a little further, and he would understand the images, understand the feelings, the impressions, the whispers from a vast, over-arching web of instinct, intent, and primal urges. These last two ideas were most important; crucial to the General’s future. A whore, racking her nails down the back of a moaning client, the man’s back arching as he spurted into her… or rather into a condom; such a waste the General thought. What an odd thought? Why should he…she….think such a strange thing?
With a lurid groan, the freckled red-headed woman arose to a sitting posture, fully awake, her breasts wobbling like coconuts waving in a tropical breeze. She felt the coarse sting of clothing – she hated it! She began to shrug out of the dull, green jacket she wore. It had markings, medals, strips and labeling. One label read “Gen. McWorter” Her green eyes narrowed. Ah, now she remembered; the human male that she had grown from had a significant rank in his society. Yes….the memories….his expertise were still there – now under the control of a slick-skinned woman who seemed scarcely older than 20, with a ripeness of figure and gracile elegance of face that could earn her a millionaire income in any country on Earth.
She caressed a taut nipple, moaning as she ran her legs over the fabric of the floor near the seats that were now filled with copulating pairs. She could easily become the whore she’d dreamed of, yet she must not be bound by the rules that restricted other such women, to waste sperm in a condom!? Ridiculous! She would open herself to any man, all men! What a thrill, a delicious thrill to contemplate the life of an unabashed, unrepentant slut. More than that, the curvaceous red-head would be too restricted by the life of a whore; that would mean turning away some men if they lacked cash!
Her musings were interrupted by a moan, and a tackle from behind. A dark-haired woman with wide, sky-blue eyes and more conical breasts greedily thrust herself against the body of the red-head. The newcomer too, had just shrugged off a military jacket, but there was no way to recognize the man she had once been from the smooth, clear features of the wanton hussy, whose tongue was expertly weaving a trail down to the red-head’s dripping cunt. There was a profound rightness to the sex act. Both women obeyed the urgent need to bury face and tongue in the pussy of the other.
Yes, all the women felt the over-instinct, the web of life that now filled their minds. But there was more; both soon discovered that by coupling, arousing one another, a deeper communion was possible. The brunette with the sky-blue eyes began forcing her tongue into the open, welcoming slit of the red-head, who herself began to lick the copious, girl-cum from the pussy above her face as the two continued their inverse coupling. This closeness of contact allowed their connections to Gaia to extend….into each other. The feelings and thoughts of each woman extended to the other as they gratified themselves.
What a joy then, to discover a wantonness to match her own, in the mind of the other, transformed neo-woman. For now, Lesbian sex was the will of Gaia, but very soon would come the time to spread their gift to other men. The two discovered that they shared the same attitudes, the same perceptions. These women did not evaluate men individually, did not consider whether a man was ‘worth it’ or not; all mankind was the same. All mankind looked to them like a great pool of nectar, a fruit tree defenseless and ripe. It was a prize to be won, a great cornucopia to be consumed for their own pleasure, and the benefit of the Earth.
Part 10: An Onerous Dilemma
He must have missed something. Alfonso Lusenchi, co-pilot of Air-Italia flight-69 must have ignored some crucial detail. What the short Italian with his curled hair and ebony moustache did know was that there had been strange cries of…passion from the cabin of the plane, a nearby intercom had been peppering the cockpit with inarticulate cries of what must have been great pain, a few muffled cries of … “attack”, and something that sounded like ‘hijack’, but now all the young pilot could hear were eerie moans over a panoply of…of…what was that? slurping? wet, and slithering sounds could reach the intercom, amidst the incoherent grunts.
“The emergency transponder signals are – ” but Alfonso was interrupted.
“BELAY THAT!” hissed his captain and superior, the coldly aloof, by-the-book professional woman. Her firm features and finely lined cheeks seemed contorted in..in…the sensation that played across her middle-aged features was too euphoric to be pain, yet too urgent in its intensity to reflect gratification. “There’s…n-no problem…” The captain grunted. Her hazel eyes fluttering. Her left hand tightly gripped an aluminum container of generic orange juice, elbow quivering from the arthritic stiffness that had plagued her since her thirties.
“How can you say that Daniella;” Lusenchi demanded, using her first name to grab her attention. “The…the screams, the cries, I could have sworn I heard the word ‘Hijack’! And the stewardesses! They do not respond when called!”
“M-m…Marshall…leave it to…the Air Marshall…if there’s a problem.” Was she listening to him? Was she listening to herself? “And you…will refer to me as Captain Shremf in flight!” Well, that was like her. The tight-ass Ice-queen that guided the massive commercial jet was…or had been, a characiture of didactic rigidity and adherence to regulation. Never letting down her guard, always remaining professional, did she even know his first name? Titles and designations were critical to the way she ran the show. But now?
“Even if the Marshall can save us, there are distress procedures that we must transmit! Maybe the Hijackers will win, perhaps not, regardless we must alert the nearest authorities to our situation!? I cannot believe I must tell you this!” Why were Daniella Shremf’s eyes rolling back into her head? Why the grimace of secret desires plastering her face? Was it…was it her beverage? She had seemed…inordinately happy since partaking of what must surely have been a thoroughly ordinary can of orange juice. And, Lusenchi remembered something odd; the can was aluminum, and should have been pressurized, yet there had been no sound of gas release when opened. Where the food and drinks onboard flight contaminated? Tampered with? Yes…that could answer the questions that had plagued him…that just might make sense.
“Danie – Captain Shremf, I believe you have been intoxicated, you must relax and try to think clearly.” His words were slow, measured and concise. But the delirious Austrian did not meet his dark eyes, she seemed scarcely aware of him, or the instrument panel. Her partially-graying hair began to escape the tight bun she normally kept it in, as she tossed her head to and fro in the grips of some persistent delusion; some eerie imposition upon her awareness of the world around her.
It was an impossible, onerous dilemma. The sort of decision that no one should have to wrestle with. Daniella Shremf was flying her airliner, as usual. But this was not the Atlantic Ocean; not any place on Earth she knew. She flew alone in a cockpit over clear, warm waters as calm as the horse latitudes, with a jutting island-cliff before her. It was not the first time she had been here; her plane had made sweeps of the island several times.
And above the rocks, crags, and jutting daggers of ominous stone, there lay within a shady valley a bucolic wonderland that would be demeaned by the word ‘Paradise’. The trees and plants in the valley below her were greener than green, with colors so vibrant they seemed to deepen in richness the longer one gazed upon their leafy canopies. And their were people in the valley; women to be specific. Perfect, naked women with bodies to shame a pornstar frolicked carefree with each other, and amongst the soothing greenery.
“N-no…” The Austrian pilot hissed to herself. “This…this can’t be real…it must be… a hallucination…You’re hallucinating Daniella! Stop it! Stop!” This island…those women…it must be a dream, wasn’t it? She needed to escape back to reality, she kept flying…away, far away from the craggy island of nude women at play. Yet before the land was entirely out of sight, another object appeared on the horizon…
“The same…the same island..” Sure enough, in whatever direction she flew, she would yet return to this same isle, the same jutting pillars of jagged formations to split open any manmade vehicle. Yet again, that same valley; the lush utopia of verdant bliss where females cavorted. Yet, instinctively Daniella knew that the creatures below were not females like her; though she should not have been able to see them with any clarity from her height, at this speed; she had visions of flawless physiques unmarred by the common ravages that afflict humans. There seemed no disease, no pain, no…aging. She brushed a hand unconsciously through the graying hair above her ears and below the dirty blond tresses bound into a tight knot as secure as her own discipline. But her right arm jolted with the flash of pain and stiffness of her arthritis; and she knew, sensed, believed that these naked jungle women could cure her.
“No…It’s not..not real…impossible…” But her mind began to examine, analyze what she might have to do to join them. Her heart yearned to become one with then. But…the rocks, the crags…. she scanned the island, but this plane; her plane was so large and ponderous; how could a landing be possible? There was no safe spot on this tropical fantasy to plausibly land a plane of the size she flew.
So she flew onwards…onwards….and was disturbed by the sqwauking cries from…somewhere distant….a harsh voice speaking of protocols….procedures…emergency hijacking transponder signals… a familiar voice from afar…could be Air-traffic control…but she didn’t need them. How much of this vision was reality filtering through, and how much was imagined?
Though her plane had been flying at maximum speed away from the island, Daniella saw it again on the horizon in less than a minute. She could not help but look, could not help but study the remarkable place. There was the annoying male voice again, grunting something about ‘emergency’, and ‘hijacking’, but that must be some other plane. Most flights today had Air Marshalls better equipped to think about such matters than a pilot, so why bother her about someone else’s problem? Forget them, forget the foolish male voice, as he whined about someone being intoxicated. The island was what mattered.
Flying lower and slower than a jetliner of this size should have been capable of, Daniella drank in what she could see of the carefree inhabitants through the windows. It was a life of absolute gratification; governed by a purity of instinct as seductive as it was irresistable. Stress or worry did not touch the lives of these creatures. They felt, they lusted, they acted. Many had begun coupling with legs outstretched with each other, some had begun to impale their femalias upon odd, phallic-shaped plantlife. Leaves and blossoms with a shape fitted and moulded to inflict perfect pleasure upon a woman’s sexual core. That was how these creatures viewed males, she understood. Faceless donors of pleasure and seed. There were no relationships, no commitments; only the sensual satisfaction from skin upon nude skin in blatant rut, driven by the ever present imperative for fertlization. It was a wondrously erotic spectacle of females struggling to breed new life again forevermore, unburdened by the doubts, uncertainties, and fears that made human women so selective. And she would have this perverse peace forevermore. She could remain for the rest of her days in an idyllic, sexual playground, existing in a haze of pleasurable urges and instincts. These women did not doubt, or worry, there was no anxiety or trepidation, only the fulfillment of groin-throbbing urges.
The Choice then, was terrible because the Austrian would have to sacrifice her mission, her ship…the one thing any responsible pilot would swear never to even consider. A life of paradise, or acknowledgment of duty? There was a narrow path, she could see. Between the crags, rocks, and jutting blades of igneous deposits, she could see a slim corridor that could just barely accomodate her plane. Of course, the wings and engines would likely sustain crippling damage, and it would be impossible to ever take-off again, but she could see it, she could see a means to deliver herself and her vehicle into the feminine paradise. But…the passengers! Her crew and her duty and her mission! They would be lost! Honor her duty, or give herself a life of joy at the cost of her charges?
But first, she shook her head, trying to dispel the annoying voices. There was that male voice again, she knew him…perhaps…but could not think of his name. She head his voice from afar, and he seemed to be saying….intoxication….impairment…something about her..the male voice seemed to be accusing her of hallucinating. Yes, that was likely. But Daniella Shrempf found herself lost; what was real? What part of her vision was an illusion borne of hallucinogenic intoxication? All that she was seeing could not be real, but what! What was the truth!?
In a flash, she realized a different truth, a perfect truth. There was no sacrifice, no choice. When she delivered her plane to the island of frolicking lesbians and phallic plants, she knew instinctively that everyone onboard, all passengers, all crewmembers would join them, and be changed, perfected. It was not a problem, no dilemma. She decided that her fears, her doubts, and the self-imposed dictates of duty and discipline where the illusions, the hallucinations. So there was only one course to plot: towards her new friends. She would deliver herself and the entire complement of Air Italia Flight 69 into the delicate hands and soft bosoms of the awesome females so close to her. She laughed at the male voice warning of danger, admonishing her for not thinking clearly, saying her mind was clouded by drugs. No….. as she flicked a knob, and disabled a security protocol on the control panel, she had never felt more certain.
“CAPTAIN!” Shrieked Co-pilot Alfonso. “You’ve disabled cockpit security!” The thick, vault-like doors that protected most cockpits in light of the depradations of terrorism should have protected both of them from whatever madness was occurring in the cabin – until the typically straight-laced and by-the-book Captain opened the door, in flagrant violation of clear procedure. But…she wasn’t herself…it was clear that Shremf was drugged; something was slipped into her orange juice, a strangely powerful hallucinogen he surmised. That might explain the starry look in her far-staring eyes; the middle-aged Austrian did not seem to be seeing this cockpit they both knew; not only was her mind far away, it seemed apparent her ability to perceive the world was confused. Alfonso Lusenchi had not had anything to drink, and so…so…wait! Something was wrong; the fine wrinkles and creases in her flesh – on her cheeks and under her eyes, where….melting?
The normal wrinkles one might expect in a woman her age, they seemed to be vanishing right before him! He stared dumbfounded at her eyes, fine lines smoothing away in an instant! No intoxicant he’d ever heard of was capable of that! Unless he was the one hallucinating?! But then Daniella jumped in her seat, tugging at her uniform.
“This…this is more serious, this poison – I must assume whoever attacks this flight – “
” ‘Attack’ is such an ugly word,” Maria declared, as she slipped through the now unlocked cockpit door. “We do not destroy, we awaken, we heal…” But this was not the Maria that Alfonso had known for three years, the face was much the same, yet it seemed strange she would find time for a salon-quality makeover since the last time he’d seen her. But more was different besides the delicate color accents her face now had, she was nude from the waist down. And even above the waist, she wore only her deep blue, flight attendant jacket with no blouse, shirt or undergarments of any sort.
The corrupted stewardess was blatantly seducing him; her proud breasts jutted forcefully forward; conical mounds of feminine tittilation that she presented in a way not so much to invite the lust of others, but the way her brown, thimble-like nipples and widening aureoles seemed to aim at him…. there was a sense that her sexuality was confronting, accosting the male co-pilot. Was this allure a deliberate attempt; or was Maria being driven forward by her own outrageous libido now unleashed in a way Alfonso had never imagined possible?
“Maria!! Have you gone mad!!? Are the hijackers compelling you in some way? Put some clothes on!” Insisted the flustered co-pilot, running a hand through his curled hair.
“WHY!?” Maria demanded angrily; a strand of her coppery-brown hair draping over her amber-colored face. “You have lusted after me for years, making your subtle remarks, your sly passes…” Her dark eyes smouldered with a twisting mixture of disdain and craving. “Men yearn for our bodies, yet constrain us in unnatural garments!” This seemed an atrocity from her acerbic tone. “No more, Alfonso! I will suffer this hypocrisy no longer!” She discarded the stewardess jacket, allowing nothing to obstruct the pilot’s view of her thrusting, threatening boobs. Grunting wildly, Maria began shaking her shoulders, and her aggressive teats began to jiggle with obscene promise; her male target could not decide whether her sumptuous rack seemed more like a pair of soft, angry footballs, or engorged water balloons eager for a target, and that target was him.
Still, he knew that whatever was going on, the authorities ought to be notified, he needed to change the transponder frequencies so that…so that….the breasts….so firm….ripe…bouncing in front of me…breasts…no! He couldn’t stare at the soft valleys and plump curves that jiggled with a pliant promise of tactile pleasure. No…he wouldn’t forget his duties just because Maria was thrusting boobs in his face he….he saw…next to him, another dark-haired woman, completely naked was straddling Captain Shremf, and forcing a nipple in her mouth. He had to…had to…..ooohh….breast…no..something was wrong…why is that strange woman suckling Daniella? He should have said something, done something but….Maria…breasts…..No, he couldn’t be mesmerized, paralyzed just from Maria shimmying, dancing, gyrating before him? Could he?
“Something’s wrong;” Lisa announced, as she straddled the female pilot of the 767, after giving her ample chance to suckle from her even more ample teats. The human was thrashing, moaning in a way that was only slightly more severe than that of the other transformations; but the Mother of the Ladies of Nature could sense instinctively that not all was as it should be. Glancing near the control panel for the elaborate flight gauges and monitors, she saw a small bottle of arthritis medicine.
“I see now; this human has an overactive immune system, it is resisting the infection from my ovum spores much more vigorously than is typical.” Still, Lisa stroked the Austrian’s hair, encouraging her to continue suckling from a firm, jutting nipple.
“But….could the Captain resist the infection?” Asked Maria, in between thrusts and shimmies of her own plump hemispheres.
“No. I don’t believe any human could repel the infection, but this one…this pilot, she will become a mutant. To change her, the spores will combine and rearrange her genes in ways never seen before…” Lisa slipped a hand inside Daniella’s uniform to feel firsthand the changes in her breasts.
“Not like….like me?” Queried the coppery-haired, Italian flight attendant, whose augmented boobs where rapidly hypnotizing copilot Lusenchi.
“No, in all populations, there will be some individuals that respond differently to infection, a few capable of surviving, coexisting, defeating any disease. The human body won’t defeat the ovum spores of Gaia, but some will be able to -” Daniella began bucking then, hoarse grunts accompanying swift ruffles and surges under her sky-blue uniform shirt. The human arched her back, thrusting shoulders forward against the yielding softness of Lisa’s ripe curves, as the buttons in her shirt began to separate further, and further apart. An inch…two…finally three inch gaps began to appear as her garments strained under a rapidly blossoming payload of mammalian bounty that widened in fertile leaps and starts within the torn wreakage of her bra.
“N-No-nuh…” Daniella struggled and grunted, disengaging from Lisa’s sweet nipple as she grimaced as though in agony. “Not…N..N-nnn..need…need to…CUM! Must…Cum!!!” Lisa shook her head in sadness.
“Poor dear, by this stage she should be into her sixth orgasm; but the Turning is more difficult in her, the process has changed for her. The sexual tension must be sheer agony!” Musing in between sympathetic flicks to Daniella’s throbbing clit with her left hand down the human’s pants, Lisa’s eyes narrowed. “We may need help flying the plane…”
Part 11: Riding Out the Storm
The mood back in the cabin of flight 69 had turned less towards the mischievious frivolity of loosed sexual inhibitions, and more towards a dedicated mission of copulation and impregnation. Each of the transformed females possessed innate hypnotic abilities that paralyzed the fit and virile military men before any of them could think clearly enough to mount a resistance; and with the spores in their drinks, their libidoes had been heightened to the point that resistance was the furthest thing from most of their minds.
Rhythmically, the youthened and ripened nuns ground their groins against the hardened rods of the officers. Most still wore their habits, a symbol that they were no less devoted now, only that their devotion had changed. Sleek, glistening skin dripped with sweat as this sisterhood of lust millked the seed from all the men who were still men. That it seemed, lent a certain urgency to their couplings.
Clenching ass-cheeks and hot pussies churned upon erect, engorged penises with disciplined, rhythmic efficiency, each nun desperate to feel as much cock as possible before they ran out of men. If the corruped clerics hurried, each would still receive many more loads of semen before the plane had nothing but females. The task was made slightly easier by that fact that the transformed former men seemed obsessed with lesbian sex, at least for now.
Major Jason Baines was a curious, cunning officer with an eye for detail and analytical ability that had impressed his superiors to put him on a promotion track even with only limited combat experience. Ordinarily, Jason would have been the first to remark upon the incongruous nature of the transformations; some of the fallen soldiers turned into female versions of themselves, but about half had hair or eye colors completely different from what they’d been as men. Yet Major Baines was unable to register this fact, consumed as he was in the throes of his own transformation.
The dying embers of his rational mind told him that he should have resisted this horrible, erotic attack that had gotten him in this mess. But, for all his discipline, he was still a man..for now… and..and something in his drink…there was some weird additive, impossibly sweet, and whatever it was, it had gone straight for his groin, searing him with a sexual yearning more powerful than his will to live, his seven-inch cock had bulged with such steely hardness, that it seemed strong and taut enough to use as ammunition. And in the end, the nun had been the aggressor. He could have sworn the woman had been a dumpy old forty-something abbess frought with worries and wrinkles, yet the dimpled creature with a mole between her breasts, revealed as she tore open her own habit in front of him seemed scarcely old enough to buy alcohol. To Jason’s credit, he did put up momentary resistance as the youthened slut tore open his pants and began to deep-throat him. But his rough, gnarled hands upon her raven-black hair soon changed from a restraining, pushing motion to the encouraging strokes that signalled to the woman her fellatio had suceeded.
What could he have done when the dark-haired goddess leapt into his lap, impaling her womb upon his slickened shaft with an aggression matched by none but the most skillful whores? What recourse was there? Indeed, the only thing Jason could have done was to cum, to cum with more force, more accompanying grunts of feral gratification than he ever imagined possible. His body and penis beyond his control he spurted, jetting virile strands of fertilization into the feminine sheath devouring his member in a dripping wet cavern of velvet pleasure. But then she had cum; as if the act of ejaculation, the feel of his seed inside her triggered a different sort of climax. Eyelids fluttering, the depraved nun dug her fingernails deep as she pressed her cunt ever tighter against his raging meat. It was almost…almost as if HE was the one being seeded.
And so here he was, writhing upon the carpeted floor of the cabin, dodging the thrashing legs and prostrate bodies as he felt his manhood, indeed his humanity slipping away. Before he knew it, all body hair had gone, and Jason could feel the inflating tension in his chest, nipples already sprouting to a feminine, thimble-size as he felt the quivering tremors heralding the expansion of his chest. The pleasure was so overwhelming, so consuming that it caused his body to tense and grimace as though it were pain, yet he never wanted that delicious sensation to end. Wallowing in the throes of the Change, Jason made the mistake of running a finger over his crotch, the intensity of the stimulation was like an electric jolt, Jason quivered and lay barely moving for several moments, unable and unwilling to slow or resist the transformation. Had the pleasure not been so severe, he might have marveled at the way his own blond crew-cut had darkened towards just a shade lighter than black, but he was not aware of this as the sensations grabbed hold and strangled his reason, morality, and logic.
What he did notice was that some of the men, the older generals had passed out during their Change. Was it better or worse to be conscious during the Turning? No…he…he had to fight this! They were…somehow they were turning him into a woman! His hands slapped to his smooth chest, where C-cups were emerging in plump ripples even as he clutched them. But the feel of hands grasping these tits, the teasing feeling of growing nipples pressing Jason’ hands….it sent another paralyzing shudder through him, and all he wanted to do was lie back and ride out the storm. No…no…couldn’t…couldn’t…give in…no…no…
Eyelids fluttering, mind growing dull, Jason clutched his medals, clutched at the nametag on his jacket…Baines it read…Jason Baines….he was Jason Baines…Baines…but…but…it all seemed so silly. The popping sound that came from the abrupt opening of her new cunt was almost drowned out by a feminine shriek of delight. How ridiculous; her name was Jocelyn! All this military junk seemed so meaningless! She giggled with innocent glee as she ran her hand through her groin, contented that her pussy had come in at last.
But the needs within Jocelyn’s freshly-minted cunt had not abated; there were still cravings, overwhelming urges…she ran her hand over the tiny mole between her grapefruit-sized boobs as she grappled with a strange bombardment of images as her racial memory asserted itself. In a rush, she absorbed the nature and mandate of Gaia, rapidly adapting to her circumstance and new role within Earth’s ecology. But there was more, more she needed besides sex with men, something that went beyond the lesbian orgy that was surrounding her, a new need was – *OOF* The girl that leapt atop Jocelyn must feel the need too, for a newcomer had just embraced the feminized Major with a determination in her brown eyes; a singular receptiveness in the way she opened wide her legs and purposefully pushed her sex against Jocelyn’s. Yes, this would be Captain Jamal Gainsmore, once a short but densely muscled black man with a trace of Irish on his grandmother’s side; now become a wanton, female slut with wavy hair just a touch on the red side, even as the expression on her face showed just a touch of human sanity amidst the frothing cauldron of Gaia-lust.
Jocelyn was dominated and stimulated all at once; pinned down by her new lover as their sexes seemed to lock in place. She did not know precisely what would occur, yet she was driven now by a ferocious aggression to submit to the advances of this fellow soldier. These two drives creating a delicious contradiction that made her erect nipples tingle all the more.
No, not the Lesbian sex she was growing used to, their coupling was something more intense, deeper. The labias seemed to seal, adhering to each other in a way that should not occur during purely human sex. A hot tension built in each crotch, as unique hormones surged into the brains of both women, eliciting a mind-fogged haze of erotic grunts and hungry snarls. As the woman that had been Jamal squeezed the bottom swells of Jocelyn’s tits, the sharpness of the sensation made her gasp, and the explorations of her own fingers as they teashed the terrain of her partner’s jutting ass provoked a similar exhalation of glee that was more intense, more sublime than it should have been. It was apparent in mere moments; with pussies locked together in this manner, every touch, each pleasurable caress was magnified, amplified. It would be possible to orgasm from nothing more than a gentle touch of her own nose, so acute was the delight. Yet it was nipples and crotch that received the attention.
And soon, a competition became apparent; each female felt a deep need to drive themselves to climax. Who would succeed first? Which pair of roving hands would push the sweat-slicked flesh of her paramour over that sweet precipice first? Which pair of hardening nipples would so shock their owners that the only response would be a hip-thrusting female orgasm? In this, the new slut that had been Jamal seemed to dominate as well, and with a yelp, her pussy began to spasm against the splayed sex of Jocelyn, ripples of pleasure and grinding humps heralded an explosion of wet bliss and animalistic gratification. Jamal had come first, and at some instinctive level, Jocelyn knew that her lover had won. But won what?
The sharp tingle in her buttocks inspired her to disengage from the coupling, as she reveled in the widening, plumping sensation. She should have been more surprised as her skin darkened a shade into a bronze-brown, and as her hair slipped into an ink-black hue. Yet the knew changes seemed so perfectly, completely natural that there was no concern. That seemed to be the way with Gaia’s changes. Everything that happened was the will of the great life-web that encircled the Earth, the very embodiment of the natural order; no matter what it did to the living beings that writhed beneath its power, such changes would feel wholesome, inevitable, and perfectly desirable.
Jocelyn had changed dramatically, the other woman had imprinted herself as if she had been Major Baines’ own mother; like a portion of her own genes were now being expressed, diluting Jocelyn into a mixture of herself and this other female. With hands and eyes alike, she examined her renewed body. She was much like the voluptuous vixens that one might see on the arm of a Gansta rapper, or in one of his videos. Her ass was so firm and ripe that she could have rested a half-dollar-coin atop each hemisphere while standing up.
She gasped in shock and puzzlement at the speed with which her attitudes and preferences transformed. Any trace of the normal, male sexuality of Jason Baines had been erased; leaving behind only a raging cauldron of nymphomania with D-cup breasts and a Ghetto booty. The very thought of it…another shudder passed through her as raw estrus battered its way into her mind.
Jocelyn screamed from the biting shock of her burning libido. She was suddenly possessed of a frantic need for male penetration more severe than any drive or desire she had ever imagined. Normal humans with urges this powerful would devote their lives to their passion, suffering any hardship or loss, including their own death, to see their dream realized. And Jocelyn’s dream was to be bathed in the semen of ten-thousand studs, to be speared upon penises like a sweaty, naked pincushion.
Before, in the first few moments of her transformation, she would have happily submitted to any man that had been nearby, but in that singular moment, her lusts had taken on a new urgency. She had truly become the new breed of nymphomaniac that Patience the Abbess had described earlier; not the passive female that merely permitted men to penetrate and ejaculate into her; that would not be enough to fulfill the purpose of Gaia. She had become a true Aggressor-slut, a sexual huntress that would fixate upon men and sex through any means available. It no longer mattered whether she must club a man over the head and ravish him through force, or whether it would be best to lure him into her clutches through gyrations of her ample assets. She would go to any lengths to compel men to copulate with her. Force or fraud, she would use both means.
Dylsia saw, and while her rational mind did not understand, her new instincts born of Gaia soon gave her an understanding of the unique orgy in the carnal cabin of the aircraft. The transformed officers first had become voluptuous women seemingly caught between the pinnacle of a woman’s beauty and fertility. Yet after the new form of female intercourse compelled by instinct, some of the women began to change; their color and facial features shifting. But not all; during the frantic, lesbian mating rituals, the first woman to climax seemed to imprint her genes upon her partner, and the women who had yet to orgasm changed; adopting the appearance of the victor as if she had become the daughter of the triumphant slut.
But Gaia understood; and now Dylsia did too. She and Lisa, women who still had some trace of fertility would change, but still be recognizable as themselves; thus they could continue their old lives, and then subvert those around them. But those who had been transformed, men who had been infected by the ovum-spores and forcibly converted into sex-crazed women could not go back to their old lives.
There was a green-eyed red-head howling as she impaled her womanhood upon the hard rod of a dark-haired, fortyish officer who appeared to be the principal aide to the four-star airforce general that the girl had been mere minutes ago. No one could possibly believe that this girl no older than a college freshman and the general where the same; nor would anyone believe that a young slut with breasts nearly the size of her own head could have attained any significant military rank; this officer’s career was over.
Yet that anonymity itself could be a powerful weapon. Dylsia had seen these women changing their form and faces; and that would make it all but impossible to identify them. The most determined search from the most experienced law-enforcement agencies would be unable to track them. They could blend in, spread Gaia’s gift to thousands of men, who would then spread their lusts to thousands more, before anyone understood the threat. The greatest difficulty for these women would be containing their explosive passion for male sperm long enough to wear clothing and move to the next mate; but that was a problem for Dylsia as well. It would take considerable force of will to suppress the maniacal breeding lust, to resist the urge to rape any man in sight. Yes…the lust…the breeding lust was…wait…no…there was something wrong…
Dylsia’s hand shot to her naked belly, where she felt an odd, gentle fluttering beneath her navel. The strange pulses where accompanied by jolts of raw, animal pleasure; just intense enough to be distracting. What the – what did it mean? This did not seem to be happening to anyone else on the flight? Why Dylsia?! Then, the busty latina remembered her past life; just before she’d left for the Amazon…..she’d……..yes! That must be it!! Her hands probed her belly, as her mind probed the web of instincts that encircled the Earth.
Dylsia was pregnant.
Part 12: Voyage of the Ice Queen
“HE’S MINE!” snarled the creature that had been Daniella Shremf, enraged at the way Maria was tantalizing her hypnotized prey, the copilot Alfonso, with her naked cunt hovering mere millimeters above his raging cock. So the transformed pilot rose with triumphant purpose, away from the pilot’s chair, away from her old life, and old insecurities. Her breasts, Phoenix-like, tore through the few loose buttons remaining on her jacket. Her carnal mountains rode high and ripe upon her sleek, bare chest like beige canteloupes spelunking their way from darkness into naked, erotic light.
She pushed Maria off the copilot with an angered shove. “No….this one is mine alone!” she growled. Struggling through the erotic haze, Alfonso fixed his attention upon the one that had claimed him. One of the women, who seemed to be their leader had said something about Daniella mutating, her immune system was too strong, so that when she was infected, something different would happen.
Her hair flowed down in a liquid cascade, pure white rather than brown or blond. Not the pale, withered color of great age, but a vibrant mane that shone in the light, spilling across shoulders and between spectacular breasts like a shimmering glacier melting with glamour. Her eyes, so deeply blue that the color spilled out into the whites of her eyes fixed upon him, and Alfonso felt as though Winter itself was lusting for his cock. Her pale, toned flesh had become a masterpiece of robust curves entwined with feminine grace; but the glistening moisture of her skin gave the appearance of an ice-sculpture beginning to melt with her own lust. An Ice-Queen come to life, cold perfection on the hunt for a mate.
She placed her hands upon his heaving chest, reveling in the feeling of chest hair that was thick enough to convey a savage sense of animal passion, but did not obscure the masculine tautness of healthy muscles that conveyed Lusenchi’s viability as a mate and father to a woman’s young. Why had she not realized his value sooner? It seemed disgusting to her now; the confusion and uncertain vacillation of normal, sexually-repressed women. Sex was to be savored; mankind was her new playground.
Swiftly, she licked his penis with a sloppy caress that gave both of them a sense of the other. Alfonso tightened; that simple touch affecting him in a way that was more intense than anything Maria had done to him so far. Yes…they had said that Daniella would be different; she did not yet understand everything that was happening to her, but she would not be the same as the others transformed by Gaia.
And so his penis throbbed, was it growing larger than his current eight inches? As her fingers gently caressed his member, it certainly seemed to grow tighter. But Lusenchi was for her, a sex-toy for her pleasure and procreation; and her new instincts gave her ideas. She withdrew and returned, naked to the pilot’s chair, wrapping her arms around the back of the chair to thrust her bosom forward while her legs spread to expose the gleaming heat of her hungry cunt. Her feet perched upon the arm-rest as she postured herself for mating. The over-instinct that now filled her thoughts gave her new ways to seduce her intended partner; who was already hypnotized by Maria’s gyrations; which manipulated the instincts of a male at a subconscious level.
“Rrrrrrrnhhh…” she snarled, blue lips curling. The low throaty grunt triggered Alfonso’s most primal urges; changing him from passive pawn to rutting beast. He rose on unsteady feet drunk with lust; rational mind and reasoning abilities were locked away, deep inside his brain. The urges reflected in his narrowed, beastial eyes seemed not unlike the breeding drives of male insects that compel them to willingly surrender their own lives for the chance to inseminate a female; and indeed, the co-pilot would have happily walked across burning coals or stinging scorpions in order to plunge himself into the welcoming womb laid bare before him.
For her part, Daniella wanted him, preferred him that way. She was somewhat different from the other Ladies of Nature; they wanted to chase down men and force them into sex, but Daniella still wanted men to come to her; she still wanted that confirmation of her attractiveness, but she was no less a slut, that was clear.
“Time to fly the friendly skies, Lusenchi….” she chuckled as he lunged.
Alfonso grappled her, and she clung to his chest, wallowing in his hairy masculinity as she wrapped her legs around his torso, both pelvises working in concert, to ease his penis within her slippery folds. Daniella savored the ferocity of his lust, as Lusenchi held her aloft, arms gripping her shapely ass as his tongue slathered and teeth nibbled upon her bosomy bounty.
Cold…colder… The raging beast that had been Alfonso Lusenchi felt the heat, the warmth draining from his flesh. There was only her; his mate was warm, and warmer still. Her cunt, her skin, her breasts…so hot, steaming hot…his own body ached with a deep, numbing chill. His only hope was to plunge deeper, more vigorously into her simmering heat.
Yet he only seemed to lose heat, his legs were shivering from cold, even as his mate continued to grow warmer, until she was almost blistering. He squeezed the muscles of his buttocks as he tried to plunge yet deeper into the frothing, feminine heaven that had entrapped his member, for him this woman embodied the deepest, animal desires for warmth, comfort, and procreation, on every level, Lusenchi was wild with desire for her.
But as Daniella scratched her nails down his muscled back, arched her back to take advantage of the way he sucked her nipples, her instincts told her that his climax was imminent. She knew that when a man climaxed inside her, the daughters of Gaia could infect him, turning him into one of them. She was not entirely sure what would happen with her own womb, but she wanted to savor this man a while longer; she’d worked with him for years; wasted the time they could have had in each others arms due to her confused, meaningless standards and reluctance so common among women.
Instead of allowing him to spurt himself inside her, she leapt from his arms, grasped his penis; harder than before, more rigid than should have been possible, and nestled his manmeat between the velvety chasm of her melon-sized boobs. She jiggled each tit, squeezing them together with her hands for added friction. Her cleavage was enough to contain his manhood all except the head. Teasing, touching the tip of his cock with her tongue, she carried him through the valley, through the darkness, into the glory of explosive orgasm.
The first spurt of his sperm came at her with the speed and power of a dive-bombing jet. It seemed to harden, to freeze as it oozed and flowed in pearly rivers across the fertile expanse of her plump bosom. It was a narcotic ecstasy; somehow her body was drawing strength, nourishment from his ejaculate. Gaia told her, Gaia understood. Semen contained numerous sugars and nutrients; Ladies of Nature could survive on it as a food source. No longer would they need to destroy life to nourish themselves, their needs could be met only by the rich spew of men in orgasm. She shut out all else, all but the glory of orgasm, of his semen upon her curvaceous breasts. All she needed was water, sunlight, and to be bathed in sperm. Nothing else mattered, not the turbulence that rocked the airliner, with both its pilots so preoccupied with each other than tending to the instruments was all but impossible.
A sumptuous black woman with tightly braided hair and sleek mahogany skin slid to the controls. The jutting splendour of her nude, grapefruit-sized breasts suggested that she had already become a daughter of Gaia.
“As the human Neomi Fox, this body was trained and certified to pilot vessels like this; and I retain the skills of this human now that I have joined Gaia…” assured the naked technician. “But I’ll want a taste of his cock in return for getting us to land safely.” A reasonable request; but the she-beast that had been Daniela Shremf did not want to share her prize. She wanted this one all to herself. But realistically she could not prevent all her sisters from raping this man if they wished – she would have to enjoy him while she still could.
With impressive agility, Daniella threw her legs around the neck of Alfonso, hoisting herself up to put her face level to his still erect cock. Though he had just had a spine-tingling orgasm, his penis could not deflate; for Daniella had unusual abilities due to her mutation, and after her touch, it was not possible for his cock to rest. Eagerly, the male ground his face into her hot pussy, hands firmly seized her hips as he suckled upon the aroused wetness of her lower lips. And she herself pistoned her head back and forth upon his cock, lips in an o-shape as her tongue danced with superhuman agility upon his already well-used manmeat in a standing 69-position. Could she coax more cum from him so soon? If possible, she intended to do so.