Editor's note: this submission contains scenes of incest or incest content.

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SYDNEY BREMNER'S LOG

ENTRY #12 - 02/09/202X - 09:45 AM

Landfall at Okumaru Island at 07:26 AM (CST).

The Erebus anchored 2 nautical miles from the shore.

The ritual went as described, left us drained and dumbstruck but no complications except for a crash of the navigation system. After reload, the coordinates had changed to those indicated in the journal (98°52.6′S 223°23.6′W). Captain very nervous.

The passage felt as described: the ship going through an invisible membrane separating deep sea from a microclimate.

Anomalous weather: hot and dry. Clear sky. Dead calm sea.

Sun path anomalous.

Mom and I, and the 2 decoys, are about to disembark.

===========

ADDENDUM TO MY MASTURBATION JOURNAL

I guess it will be my last entry before long.

117^th session of the year. 1 orgasm.

For the first time of the journey I forced myself to hang around naked for a moment instead of hopping straight in the shower. Despite the absence of portholes in my cabin, it's unnerving to be completely nude somewhere other than my apartment. Could not turn the feeling into some exhibitionist thrill. I should have started doing this way sooner although I doubt it would have changed anything.

I washed off the sweat that stank me all night (also the remains of blood on my hands), then I shaved, then I made myself cum once with the showerhead, standing, spreading my labia with my hand. Had to stay quiet.

Slid two fingers in just before orgasm to ejaculate. Failure.

Once again, pleasure mild and frustrating due to the environment and the proximity of the crew. Mechanical overall.

I imagined it was Tassia doing it to me. I think she noticed how I look at her. I better stop before it turns sour.

*****

I close my laptop, put it in my bag and my hands are shaking.

It was very unusual of me this inability to write down my lust more thoroughly. I can't blame it on being exhausted; I often filled dozens of pages of my diary while still catching my breath from a whole weekend of masturbation. The slow process of the analyze has been—it seems for the first time of my life—piled up with all kinds of fast-paced thoughts I don't know how to process, the long night, the fear, the next twenty minutes ahead... It's as if my mind is trying to get ready, to adapt for the mission, to switch my body to something outward. I don't like it.

I can't like anything right now. Before I go out I see the slippers they gave me to wear with the bathrobe and feel some kind of bitterness. The terry cloth already feels so much like sandpaper on my goose bumps I might just go barefoot. And I do.

The captain has sent the whole crew to their quarters, in hope that a deserted deck would help put us at ease. That was forgetting about the giant sigil charcoaled on the platform near the bow. We had left it there, still warm and glowing, too stunned to get rid of it, even though at this point the revelation had already fallen down on mom and I, of what stain of the mind dark magic is the instant you find out it works. That it's real.

And now as I arrive at the rendezvous point, flushed and twitchy in my stupid robe, without my stupid slippers, the sincere countenance of that man—one he maintained the whole crossing, one that has reminded us time and again he's the right choice for this mission—has no weight against the unexpected staring of that damn hexagram.

We don't really say anything to each other. He helps me put the gear inside the motorboat and then mom is here.

Tassia and Ana follow shortly after, a little late because they forgot to remove their nail polish. It makes mom realize she's still wearing her contacts. She throws them overboard and then reaches for her wedding ring before remembering she has not worn it for over a year.

Because of that, the four of us re-check that we're now really wearing nothing but our bathrobe, listing out every body part, anything we could have forgotten. This cold scrutiny makes me feel the absence of my piercings. Pulses in the hood of my clitoris.

Same for Ana, unconsciously she looks at the healed holes in her nipples. Thank God our eyes don't meet.

Once it's done, the real discomfort begins, our bare feet tapping the rust of the ground in the windless silence of the afterdeck. There's the island in the distance, like another staring waiting to happen. It's the two girls who know what to say first:

"Come on, it's only a little more than what you'd show on the beach!"

"A French beach!"

My polite chuckle falters as they both undress.

They too were the right choice. While being absolutely gorgeous (even without any makeup on, any bodycare products at hand), no one could guess they are porn actresses. No bimbo vibe, no tattoos, no scalpel ever gone near Ana the tall redheaded Russian and Tassia the short raven-haired Columbian. They perfectly matched the girl-next-door tag we found them under.

And they are remarkably professional, as they are proving it again; just as the captain, who stays impassive; mom, inscrutable; and me, I feel like the creep here as I can't help but leer at Tassia in the corner of my eye.

The two naked girls send a sympathetic smile toward mom and me. It only makes us tighten our belts.

"Ok," mom starts, "one more time I wanna thank you both for your participation in this mission. After what happened last night—" She shudders. The sigil is staring at her. "—you must now think your pay well justified. So here's your last chance: Are you still willing to go on this island?"

"Yes."

"Anywhere but this fuckin' boat!"

"Doctor?" mom asks me.

"I am ready, Mrs. Bremner."

All of us are only half-surprised at our sudden formality. It's the best strategy for this aberrant moment: to use the thin veil of workplace relationships and rely on rank rather than bond.

So it's Mrs. Lauren Bremner, EVP of Störme-Sterne Pharmaceutical, who announces:

"Ana, you will be Ms. Vertov. You'll be my assistant. Tassia, you're Ms. Borges, you go with Sydney."

Shit

Lauren takes a deep breath and unties her belt. The bathrobe drops down. My eyes too.

I have never seen my mother nude before.

Nothing happens. We don't react, we don't speak, we just catch on to the possibility of a hidden sense in the no-clothing rule of the island. Maybe it's not just sexual. It's something even more perverted. Something that would have to do with trueness.

We're in trouble.

All the unwanted attention on me, I take my own robe off and fold it meticulously. There's no watertight cabin around me this time, only empty space, open air and four people embracing my nudity. I abandon my tight square of cloth to the hands of the captain. Mom had not seen me either since I was a little girl. I think I read pride in her eyes but then she imperceptibly brushes her pubes as she notices I'm as neatly shaved as the two actresses.

Tassia giggles. "You two are fucking hot! Stop worrying!"

Ana adds an awkward "MILF alert!"

I can only agree mentally. My mother is a beautiful 50-something-year-old as far as I can glimpse, sculpted by decades of corporate toughness. Looking good is as much her job as Tassia and Ana. And there is no doubt her ass had a part in why she had been chosen (or aggressively convinced) to lead the expedition.

And me, I don't know, I sure hit the gym a lot. I've been away from the game too long to tell if I'm attractive or not, objectively. All I can say is I have the biggest breasts of our little crew and it's like I can hear their jealous minds. The girls present nice B-cups that would make me wet in different circumstances; mom probably used to be like me but breastfeeding has to take a toll on a D-cup.

She says "All awkward things come to an end. Everybody, sit your perky butts in the boat," and I sit mine at the helm while they crawl among the bags and the metal cases.

We salute the man, he lifts us down to the water, I turn the engine on and when we hear him say "Godspeed," over the radio, the island is already a shape that grew too tall and menacing on the horizon to look anywhere else.

*****

All the details of the shore unveil. It's a parcel of paradise, enclosed behind magic. Columbus, in his own log, suggested that they had found the closest thing to the Garden of Eden and I understand him now, what he really meant, that you can only be expelled from a place like this, not invade it. We have no place here. Our nakedness is mere costumes.

But it will go right this time. I want to believe so. We bring only questions, not answers. Even if we represent the SS-P, they're not here, they will never be here.

"No one's waiting for us," Lauren says, looking through binoculars.

In fact, no signs indicate the island is even inhabited. No smoke, no boats, no traces of cultivation. It's just huge and green and says nothing else.

I slow down. It's my turn to speak. "Girls, have you ever heard of futanari?"

"Yeah, the Japanese cartoons?"

One more supernatural discovery doesn't make any difference to them now: "The natives of Okumaru Island, if they do exist, if they're actually here, they're all futanari."

"No pussy?" Tassia asks.

"No."

"So dickgirls then."

"Whatever. Please don't call them that." Lauren has taken the floor back. "They use the term to translate into English their...race?...species?...I don't know."

I resume: "My theory is they are a different species of humans, like the Neanderthals. It would be why they can interbreed with us. But that's not the matter. Our real big problem is they are described as a hypersexual society. Your role now will be to "protect" me and Lauren by diverting any sexual activity they will propose. I said divert, not necessarily partake in. Your experience with transgendered actors was a decisive asset in your selection."

The two sex workers smile proudly. I bet they also get a kick knowing we had to watch so much porn to find them. If only they knew how many times they made me cum these last six months. I'll calculate the number when I'll re-read my notes.

"What about STDs? You know people are tested in porn, right?" Tassia again.

"They don't have STDs on this island. What part of Pharmaceutical don't you understand in this expedition?"

"Mom what the f..."

I see her shoulders slouching suddenly. This too is a first.

"I'm sorry, I... I apologize Ms. Borges. I'm... We're all very tired."

"So anyway, Tassia, do you know anything about science?"

"I went to high school."

"What about cameras?"

"This yeah. I love chatting with the crew when I shoot. What do you use?"

"I brought two Canon 5D, nothing too original I'm afraid. Lighting... tripods... some mics... You'll be of good help!"

Ana feels the need to cut in: "I've read Heart of Da—"

"Get ready," Lauren interrupts.

We hang on to anything we can. The last meters go in tense silence and then the flat hull softly slides on the beach to come to rest on the fine white sand. There mom jumps feet first into the crashing of the turquoise waves, gentle and quiet, like a kiss around her ankles. It's a solemn moment, we respect that. We let her play conquistador.

She makes a few steps forward and stands there, thoughtful I guess. I only see her back, I have no idea what her expression could be at this moment.

I have the surprise to see her turn around and say "It's beautiful."

Unanimously it becomes our first conclusion. Then applying sunscreen is our first act. But there's no time for a sunbath, the day will be very, very long.

A coffee break at the very least.

Lauren calls me aside.

Our civilized steaming papercups and the distance of the Erebus can't protect us from the gravitas of being completely naked in front of each other. We don't know where to look. But she always knows what to say:

"Got any sleep?"

"Nope. You?"

"I dreamed of the ritual. Every single moment, it's like I lived it twice in a row, it was awful."

I don't wanna think of the implications, I simply comment "And super weird..." then: "You feel ready for the trek?"

"Yes. And also... now that there's no turning back, will you finally tell me why you volunteered? It's not money and definitely not a taste for adventu—"

"You, why did you volunteer? Kelly Berger could have gone."

"How does Störme-Sterne-Bremner sound?"

"Oh mom please, you're too intelligent to believe this bullshit."

"Berger has implants. Sydney, your presence makes everything more difficult for me, for both of us actually, you're too intelligent not to know that, so I do hope you have a real, strong motivation behind, one that won't crumble the moment you realize we're not diplomats here."

"I think I showed plenty of motivation during the ritual. And no, I'm not here to get in your way, Lauren, I'm not here to prove you anything either, I'm not 12, Jesus Christ!"

"Then drink up, time to get the move on."

Without even a glare, I go take my bag, my GPS receiver and we gather for some more late truths:

"Two years ago, the company got its hands on a journal. The woman who wrote it spent a long time on this island and described everything in great detail; the location, the portal, the nudity..."

The only reason I heard about this diary is because my mother is so close to the top. If it wasn't for her I would still be in my little lab right now, doing nothing, writing reports for Mr. Störme or Mrs. Sterne or their paper shredder. It was so secret the intel team put me in a locked room to read it. And when I felt the paper under my fingertips, the imprint of the ink, I knew the rumors weren't exaggerating. Hadn't I been monitored and filmed, I would have started touching myself on the spot reading about these mythical women with cocks.

Instead I decided the story of this woman would become my lifework.

It's me who cross-referenced its content; me who found other accounts of other women around the world; me who demonstrated it was all real, that the hexcraft described had nothing to do with the crap they sell at the new age shops; me who first speculated then proved that her regular contact with futa semen had made her live to an abnormally healthy 150 years; me who made the board of directors fund a new sex research division, a special one, with me at the head.

I caused so many money movements, prompted so much secret paperwork, I lobbied so hard to be part of this expedition it quickly got out of my mother's control. She's not in control. I am the heart of the project. She doesn't even know that. She never knew anything about me.

"Why are men banned from here if they all have a dick?"

"We don't know. Competition?" Lauren shrugs.

"So how do they have children then?"

"The woman gave them two babies before going back to the continent. Twins, born futanari. That's how they reproduce: tourism."

"Where is she now?"

The answer should be obvious.

"She's dead. Let's go."

I take the lead and we disappear into the forest beyond the beach.

*****

Botany has never been my forte, or my major, but I know enough to instantly observe how everything here is wrong. Not different: just slightly wrong. The jungle is thick and lush but it's a light stroll to go through; nothing feels aggressive against our bare bodies. And the deeper we get, the more it gets palpable, like a damp or a darkness but it's not humid and rays always shine through. The green and the air around us suck out all the effort. Our sweat is good sweat. Our aching muscles a good ache. There won't be any weird insect under our soles, any edge to cut us open or break our bones.

When we take a break at noon, barely hungry, we sit our butts on the humus without any second thoughts, it's cozy, and friendly... and it's our industrial sandwiches that feel like a trial.

It's wrong; nature is never associated with the word friendly. I try to explain that as we go back on our way and I only get distant nods.

I eventually warn that the village of the natives is near after we have walked for three hours, which felt like three minutes and during which the sun has not budged one bit.

We slow down.

A blue dove flaps its wings across our path like a welcoming vision and we spot the outskirts with an ambivalent excitement, as reassuring as distressing.

Our legs step out of the tall grass and land on a strange hard-packed surface that makes for the whole ground of the strange expanse before us.

Our feet are clean. Three hours in the mud and they're cleaner than when we left the Erebus...

This is sexual, isn't it? We don't dirty ourselves so we're always ready for sex?

I'm not like mom. I can't turn around and say it's beautiful. I have to overthink everything. And I'm scared. She's not.

The place is empty. It's more a town than a village. The silence reminds me of the ship. It's the moment I pray Lauren didn't hide a gun in her backpack.

My Westerner's eyes have a hard time making sense of the majestic assemblage. We're walking on the main square, but there's no main building, only statues and trees and fountains and arches and spires and small structures in concentric circles. Up on the hill beyond, lies a web of hundreds of...not huts: houses, welcoming, open, rich. And so clean.

"Wakanda forever!" one of the girls says.

"Why the fuck'd you say that?! that's so racist!"

"How is that racist? Their village is fucking awesome!"

"Dr. Bremner, are they black futanaris?"

"We don't know."

"Are they Japanese? Okumaru is Japanese, right?"

"The documents gave no name, I chose one myself. And I like my Japanese cartoons."

"No one's home," Lauren says, again peeping through her binoculars. "Their houses look like bachelor pads with no roofs, that's really not what I imagined."

"I guess you don't really need concrete when it's a steady 95° all year and you spend your days having sex."

"Nah, it's different, it smells like money!" Tassia says gravely, before joking: "Mrs. Bremner, are we here to steal uranium and commodities?"

"Shut up."

"The grotto should be somewhere around," I say.

"The what?"

"HELLOOOOOO," Lauren shouts around just before a thundering quake startles the four of us.

The center of the place raises and collapses into a large opening. The entrance of the grotto. It's the second time in the last fifteen hours we see magic at work and it's impossible to get used to it.

A woman, as naked as we are, steps out and greets us in a faintly accented English:

"Hi guys, welcome to Pau Grande Island! What the hell do you want?"

Tassia whispers to me: "I think Pau Grande is French. I hope they shower."

Lauren walks to her, trying not to stare at the flaccid penis hanging between her legs. Our first futanari is exactly like we could have expected from the look of their town: magnificent, perfect and very unsettling.

"We want to meet with the head."

The futa giggles like a kid. "My head? You say it cause I'm uncut?" and without any pause, she pulls her foreskin back to expose a crimson glans that swells at the attention.

"N-no, we want to meet with the head of the island."

"I know! Follow me, we're all down there."

She turns around and saunters back into the cave, showing a butt that puts Tassia & Ana to shame. Or lust. We follow her slowly.

A steep descent takes us deep, so deep we have lost track when we reach the bottom. And eventually from the narrow darkness around us we surface into a red sky of earth above us. An underground dome of unfeasible proportions, lit by a thousand fires. All over the flat bedrock beneath, dozens of houses the same as those outside and hundreds of futanari blocking the view to a throne of stone at the very center.
Our guide has already joined them. They were waiting for us, still and silent, and they make way to the royal altar with a bemused expression.

None of them are wearing any kind of clothing, nor jewelry; their skin—and now ours—is only wrapped up in the suffocating atmosphere.

I'm already scrutinizing as much as I can as we push through the crowd. There's everything: over the astonishing canvas of gorgeous women, there hang astonishing penises, big, short, girthy, veiny, soft and hard, oversized for most and for each a reason to pause. I see dual penises, triples, pair and pairs of testicles moving in their sack, a urethra gaping to the size of a fist, and horse-penis-shaped penises, and clit-penises, and beaded penises, and penis-nipples. I know I have to stop staring when I see one of them ejaculating in the air without any apparent stimulation, without any sign of pleasure on her face beside the smile they all display.

Passing her by, we can only hear the crackling of the torches and the splat of her cum falling on the ground. All eyes are on us. Following.

"Hurry ladies, you kind of came up in the middle of something!" someone by the throne shouts.

In a few swift steps, Lauren takes the lead and presents herself to whoever said that.

The boss of this place is leaning on the left arm of her throne. Lauren's face turns ashen, there's someone's head bobbing between her thighs.

And she doesn't slow down, she sucks and licks and strokes her cock with the intensity you would save for when your man is about to cum. It's actually impressive as the receiver is as expressionless as everybody else here, staring right into us, reading us and evaluating.

With a tap on her head, the servant tones down her moans and her slurps to let Lauren speak:

"Are you the head?...of this island?"

"Well I'm sitting on this stupid chair so it must be me!" the futanari sneers.

She stands straight with a push against the throne and rubs the red mark it left on her butt cheek, before gently shooing off her lover with a sloppy kiss on her slick mouth.

She comes forward to shake our hands. Lauren is visibly taken aback. As an EVP, she has often dealt with those with power—the coldness of assholes, the condescension of cunts, but also the brilliance of some—this ruler is different.

Nothing really differentiates her from the others. Neither her age, nor her size(s). She has no distinctive mark, is wearing no crown except for the one of her penis head which is no more or no less surprising among the variety around. But that's not it. It's the almost childish candor that emanates from her that bugs Lauren Bremner. It does not make her seem weak or easy to influence. She is not a child, but we are the toys.

"So are you guys here to talk about Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?"

"Maybe they're here for the WIFI!"

"Shut up Linda!"

I mentally roll my eyes at the Reddit humor while it completely got over Lauren's head.

"More seriously, welcome to Grosse Bite Island. I'm Neitocris, I'm the 'Queen-for-a-time'. We haven't used the word head for years, sounds too silly. Please sit down, be my guests."

She squats at the foot of her throne and we do the same, our crotches resting in a dirt that feels like fresh, clean bed sheets.

"Gross beet is Swedish, I think they're fucking with us," Tassia whispers to me.

The servant comes back to work the ever-hard cock. I'm gonna get wet. Despite the tension I'm gonna get wet. This is the sluttiest blowjob I've ever seen, and it's not on a computer screen, it's right in my face.

"My name is Lauren Bremner; I work for a pharmaceutical corporation, the SS-P. We found Joan Daniels' diary. I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news. She passed away on August 202X."

"Bullshit," Neitocris says calmly.

"Wh...?"

"If Joan was dead, we would know. How did she "die" exactly?"

"Car accident. We found her journal through a rare books network."

"The black market you mean."

"Yes. The company paid a lot of money to acquire it."

"She's alive. Your boss lied to you."

Every futa with an erection has shrunk soft. Except for the queen whose servant is now looking at us grimly, lips sliding over the cock.

"Mara, Lucy, come over here! Your mother's dead they say!"

Two futa approach, perfect twins indiscernible from each other, no older than 20. The sight of their huge cocks makes my nipples twinge. I know such consideration is absurd in this place but: they are easily the most beautiful women I have ever seen in my life. It was a mistake going here, it's impossible to concentrate, it's impossible to reason, and it's already going badly.

After a little curtsy for us (and after the queen whimpers because her servant has slid two fingers in her asshole), they explain they have some kind of mental connection with their mother. Her heart is heard beating loud and clear even from across oceans and, I guess, dimensions. The sisters seem amused by the situation and being so close to the royal fellatio have their members flexing so hard they curse under their breath.

"So what are you here for exactly, Lauren Bremner?" Neitocris says between moans, "when we saw your ship this morning we knew you guys were not coming for unbridled sex."

"We want to study your semen."

"Of course! Why did I even ask? And you brought these prostitutes to be left alone while you do your little experiments."

"We're adult actresses!" Ana protests.

"No offense, you two. I apologize."

We're a bunch of fools. Lauren can't think straight, not here, she can only bumble at this point:

"She's buried in Seattle, I visited her grave, I..."

"The answer is no."

It is final. All the rambling about cures for cancer wouldn't work.

"You can suck my dick though."

"Please, there's no need to be hostile!"

"I wasn't being insulting, I really mean it, you can suck my penis and eat my cum. It brings prescience and longevity. You deserve it after all, it's a long way to the island."

I see Tassia moving. "You don't have to do this," I tell her. "Let's go back to the ship—"

"I traveled half the planet, crossed a satanic portal, I ain't gonna refuse a taste of the magic load from a queen straight of a fairy tale! Besides I haven't been this horny since I did my scene with Danny D!" She turns around: "Ana?"

"Sure..."

"And I want the diary back," Neitocris tells Lauren.

"I want a sample in exchange."

"Mom!"

"She's your mother?!"

"One sample and we leave, and you have the diary."

"Like you haven't scanned it from cover to cover anyway. You're not losing anything in the trade."

The servant steps aside for the two girls who are shivering with lust.

They kneel on either side of this incredible twelve-inch cock, balls tuckered beneath an anus overflowing with saliva and grool.

There is a short moment of silence. The two girls give us a last look like Lauren and I don't belong here.

Tassia starts with shy pecks over the tip while Ana takes care of the shaft. Their lips connect into a ravenous kiss around the leaking peehole. They suckle on all the precum they find loudly.

They both laugh together at this first contact. Unreasonably giddy.

Mom and I inexorably retreat closer and closer until our shoulders bump. I catch a look on her face that says after all that's what we paid for.

"I go first," Tassia says and she engulfs five inches of futa dick not without effort. Ana leans down tongue first straight at the exposed asshole. She licks it like a pussy, the balls brushing against her forehead and her nose.

Neitocris is already miles away from our little palaver, arching her back, easing the access for her two new lovers. Four hands run over her perfect toned legs, the sensual curve of her feet, they open her cheeks to tongue deeper, they fondle to bring more salty fluids out.

I see my pretty Tassia in a way I had never hoped to see. She may be watched and surrounded by strangers, there are no cameras here, no audience, and she's not acting. For the first time I can see her being not just a series of tricks and techniques, the selfishness, the attention, the curiosity she throws on that cock goes right to my cunt, because, less than two feet from me, Antonella 'Tassia' Borges is being a slut, just for herself. And it's beautiful. And all around us there's the rhythmic sound of members being stroked.

Mara and Lucy, the twins, are jerking each other off. They catch me looking at them and smile gently.

"Let me do my magic," Ana says, pulling Tassia off the giant head. She grasps the base and impales her throat slowly, her gags tearing yelps out the mouth of a queen. Soon I can only see her red mane between her legs. It's those deepthroating skills that got her the job.

Meanwhile the brunette kisses her way up the futanari's chest, tasting her nipples, then tasting her trembling lips. She keeps an eye on her co-worker, fingering herself, waiting for another shot at that delicious cock.

Neitocris puts her hands on the back of Ana's head and thrusts her hips forward. She murmurs to Tassia: "I'm gonna shoot my load into your friend's stomach but don't worry, my orgasm will last long enough for you to take her place and swallow as many mouthfuls as you want. Then I'd love to cover you both from head to toe."

The actress gasps, too stunned to be able to give some porny comeback.

Sighs and moans are resonating through the dome. One word from their queen and everybody would be doing way more than jerking off. One word from her and they would all be cumming right now.

The twin sisters are face to face, determined to spatter each other.

Neitocris sits up, muscles tensing. She grips the freckled cocksleeve clamped around her and fucks it harder and harder. Ana has yield to the oral pleasure a long time ago.

My clit is snuggled inside my pussy lips. With just a few discreet contractions I could make myself cum. But what if I squirt? Fuck...

Neitocris spits out "I see your friends are getting really uncomfortable so I'll cut it short, I'm gonna cum now! I'm gonna fuckin' fill your throat!" and Ana can't resist anymore: her hand, desperate, reaches for her clitoris to appease an urge that looked like an agony. The lengthy groan that ensues from it is so obscene it makes everybody pause, if her pussy is suddenly orgasming it's her mouth that is cumming, stuffed and properly fucked and about to be filled up with an unimaginable load.

The queen futa wrings her hands inside her red disheveled hair and, closing her eyes, lets herself moan very unqueenly before her bliss detonates, but...

Her face freezes in her lewd motion. Everything stops. She tears Ana away from her like a ragdoll, her throat a gurgling noise of pain, to look at her penis, twitching in the air in what should be a monstrous ejaculation. But there's nothing. Her prostate is pumping on empty and her shaft already falls downwards.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" she thunders, "I knew I couldn't trust you people! There are men on the island!"

Around, all the other penises are dropping soft in an apparent general blue-balling. Tassia comes protecting of her arms the poor Ana lying on the ground.

I turn and see mom's eyes fixed on me, telling I didn't know, I swear to God I didn't know. Which, if it's the truth, is even worse.

But that's until Neitocris finally sits on her throne:

"Rhea, lock the entrance. Primis, call Nursery Islet, tell them to stay on lockdown and to kill on sight. Pepascht, the radio, now!"

What the fuck is happening? What the fuck is happening?

She's given a push-to-talk transmitter and glaring at mom she says: "This is a message for the captain of the Erebus. Your men are dead. Send more and we'll sink your ship. There will be no other warning." She cuts the transmission. "Thméi, take two futa with you—no, three—kill anyone you find, then put their heads in a raft and send it back to their boat, as a little gift."

She turns her attention back on us. I stop breathing.

"You women, you stay here!"

"Neitocris, I swear, I had no ide—"

"Of course you didn't know! You're all the fucking same! Gullible morons... Fuuuuck..." There is something I didn't expect in such a situation: she takes her head in her palms, not angry anymore, more like mildly annoyed, almost sadistically amused. "I hate when it happens!" she sighs.

Her testicles have crumpled to half their size. She's flaccid. Every futa I see is.

Mom still tries:

"Please, you don't have to do that, let me speak with the Erebus. I'm sure we c—"

"Shut up!"

"We're leaving. We leave the island and you'll never hear from us again! You don't have to kill anyone!"

"I said you stay here! The night has fallen."

"It's only 3pm!"

"I tell you it's nighttime. You don't wanna walk the jungle at night, believe me. And you have to undo the mess you did."

"What do you mean?"

"You will give us back our precious semen."

"How the hell would I do that?"

"Oh you'll see."

The queen balls up on her big throne of grey stone, uncomfortable, frustrated, penis shriveled. There's a lot of movements, of footsteps, lots of voices. She's informed that a squad of five armed men was found in the village and taken care of. What the fuck is wrong with my perception of time?

I try to console Tassia who's still holding Ana in the dirt, but her skin crawls away from my hands.

I turn to mom and instantly I know: she's back in her element, of unsaid jousting and unseen violence. She had understood one thing I haven't yet: the queen never stopped speaking in English because she wanted us to know what was going on.

Just like that, control slipped through my fingers and flowed back to hers.

I stand up in the middle of all that mess, horrified, betrayed, and somehow, down there, I can feel I'm still horny as hell.