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Evolution/1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: REPOST: Evolution / 1
Date: Mon, 20 Jul 1992 19:33:19 GMT
[Note: Schedule change. The conclusion of this story (parts 10-21)
will follow the repost of Evolution / 9 and Evolution (extras) on or
about July 24. The reposted segments will appear at the rate of 2
each day.]
Note from the author:
Back in the 1950's and 60's, and to some extent even after this,
there's been a definite science-fiction subgenre which involved itself,
somehow, with the battle of the sexes-- as a "tease" to its audience,
one or more female antagonists threaten to somehow destroy, enslave, or
otherwise torture their male counterparts-- usually with some
overriding sexual overtones to keep the audience's interest.
In many cases, the males' intended proposed fate was justified; in some
cases the territory of an isolated group of women was violated; in some
the antagonist has suffered some kind of abuse that justified her
terrible wrath.
These stories, and even the parodies which followed, all shared the
same conclusion, though; in the inevitable happy ending, the male
protagonists successfully defend against the women's apparently
scatterbrained efforts to change their lives; the suddenly-"evil"
females, soundly trounced, slink back to the repressive shadows from
which they came, and the world quickly returned to normal. The "50
foot woman", having exacted her revenge on her cheating husband, is
electrocuted. Martian women, plans in ruins, are abandoned
on their own planet. Ultimately, not much has happened; after all,
it's been a "tease" to the audience all along.
What might happen if the outcome were different?
Disclaimer/Copyright:
This story is placed in the public domain by the author and was first
published on Usenet beginning on March 24, 1992. Adult content (FDMS,
W/S, more). Feel free to reply with any comments.
Evolution / 1
September 11, 2013. A young boy, just ten years old, arrives with his
mother at his pediatrician's office, for his regular checkup. The checkup
is routine; forms are filled out, polite talk about how much he's grown
passes between his mother and the doctor. He receives, with hardly any
resistance, what his mother is told is an immunity booster shot.
He doesn't learn the whole truth about that event, until...
September 27, 2025. A man is leaving work quite late on a Friday
afternoon. He notices, at curbside across the tree-filled front lawn, a
blue van, with a flat tire next to the open side door. As he approaches,
a tall, attractive woman appears from behind the van carrying a scissors
jack and handle; she sets these down in the van, and then stares at the
fairly heavy tire for a few seconds.
George doesn't always get involved in charitable causes, and doesn't look
forward to hefting dirty tires into vans while wearing his nice clothes.
But the case seems clear; he proceeds over to the woman and asks if he can
help. This time he won't get any of his hopes up, he tells himself. A
woman this attractive would never see anything in him; he hopes that she
won't degrade herself by implying that he'll get rewarded for his efforts.
"Oh, thank you very much," she tells him. "These things always happen to
me... it's not even my van." That made sense. It didn't seem like much
her style-- a blue mini cargo van, electric, but fairly beat up.
George lifts up the tire, and the woman points to the plastic rack mounted
inconveniently behind the drivers' seat where the tire belongs. He sets
the tire down just inside the door, slides it in, and climbs up after it.
He hears a sound. There's another woman hiding in the van's cargo area--
holding something-- Suddenly the door slides shut behind him. Something
covers his face; he struggles for a moment. Suddenly he feels faint; then
darkness surrounds him. An equally fateful day had begun.
George awoke about an hour later to find himself naked, lying on his back
on some kind of foam plastic mat on the floor, his limbs outstretched. He
didn't recognize the room-- a windowless area with only one door-- as any
place he had ever been. The woman with the flat tire, and the other
woman who he vaguely recognized as the one who had ambushed him, were
here. The taller woman still wore her stretch top and black, feminine
jeans; the shorter one, who appeared considerably stronger, and attractive
in a less-demure sort of way, had on a simple white sweater and blue
jeans. This was the one who had her hands on George's erect penis,
amusing herself with the freedom she had in touching it.
George fought off initial fright upon waking to this scene. They hadn't
harmed him, yet his arms and legs were bound to the floor; his first guess
was that this was a planned rape. His mind already started racing; his
imagination already saw the women undressing, the shorter one with the
strong legs wrapping an undoubtedly powerful, wet vagina around him, the
taller one finding other ways to use him for her amusement. No, this was
fantasy. If a rape were impending, there was a reason. Perhaps they both
intend to impregnate themselves! Once his semen had disappeared inside
these two women, he'd have lost control of his own life. They could
disappear-- with his growing children inside their bellies-- or, worse
yet, actually hit him up for child support. Men were "never" raped; he'd
never be able to convince anyone that it happened this way...
It didn't make sense for this to be a kidnap for ransom, as there was
nobody to which he was particularly valuable... plus, why would they have
taken off his clothes?
George's mind continued to race. Maybe it's just a pair of psychos, or...
Finally he had to ask. "What do you plan to do with me? Rape me?"
The shorter woman spoke. "I'd like to introduce myself. I'm Marcy, and
Dara, here, is one of my best friends."
George couldn't wait for the answer. "If you just let me go, I'll forget
all about this."
Marcy ignored the plea. "I'm afraid I can't tell you just yet. Let's
just say... you're important to us."
"Rape you?" Dara asked, incredulously. "Dear George, we're hardly the
kind of women that would need to kidnap someone to have sex with!" She
ran her hands down her sides, sliding them over her hips.
That seemed logical to George. He found himself suddenly disappointed.
Marcy took over. She was obviously the dominant personality here.
"George, I'm going..."
George was still catching up. "How did you know my name?"
"We know quite a bit about you. That's why you're tied to our floor at
the moment. Please don't interrupt again, or we'll see fit to punish
you." Marcy pressed her knee into his side, causing obvious discomfort.
"I don't want to hurt you. In fact, we're about to make your life a lot
easier." She turned to Dara. "Gosh, we might as well just tell him now."
"What if he does get away?" Dara answered.
"I doubt it. Not this way, at least", Marcy replied, pointing to George.
"And... if it doesn't work?"
Marcy thought a second, and nodded. "Good point. Sorry, George, at the
moment it's for your own good."
George was still working on previous sentences. "This way?"
"Shut up," Dara commanded.
George was fearful at the moment. What would happen if "it" didn't work?
Would they have to "rub him out"? Was it all just a joke? Did someone at
work set him up for this? Someone who hired these two women to...
Marcy brought both hands to her belt buckle. "Well, Dara, ready?"
"Oh, yes, quite ready," Dara answered. She unsnapped and started to unzip
the side-zippers on her tantalizing black jeans, revealing the sides of
her equally-black panties. George was becoming excited again; maybe he
would be raped after all, as he had found himself hoping a moment ago.
His hormones were winning out over intellect for the moment.
"Good. George, we're hoping to unleash something that's been inside you
for a long time. That's why we've kept you... oh, 'secured' here. We
can't very well expect you, yet, to cooperate with your captors."
Dara, who had removed her jeans and panties, added: "We'll even give you a
hint, George. How'd you like these?" She lifted her stretch top,
revealing two well-developed breasts under the braless top. Then she let
it snap back into place, the fabric quickly tightening itself around her
bosom and restoring her perfect silhouette.
Marcy scowled a bit at Dara, who was giving too much away. Then she
smiled. "Well, then, would you like the honor of 'going' first?"
"You don't mind? Why thank you, Marcy!" Dara straddled George's chest,
facing him, and started to squat, exposing her pussy to him.
Being only the second woman who's genitals he'd ever seen, he was riveted.
He had been fantasizing about what this woman's body would look like only
hours ago. His "unofficial" girlfriend, Karen, who spent quite a bit of
time with George although refusing to go "steady" with him, had been the
only other woman to treat him to a similar sight. They had made love
several times, she obviously more experienced than he, and she had gone
out of her way to teach him about her body. He never could have predicted
the subtle variation from one woman to the next. His brief glimpse at her
breasts told him more than he wanted to know; the fit of her top, he
realized, did give away the real shape of its contents. But he really
couldn't take his eyes off of her sex, which was slowly approaching him.
"Gosh, it's like he's never seen a pussy before," Marcy commented.
"Well, once or twice..." George mumbled.
"Well, then," Dara said, moving up towards his face, and spreading her
knees as she squatted back down. "Let's give you a good view." Her labia
parted, which indeed did give him a good view. "Watch that little tiny
opening just in front of my vagina." Dara looked up at Marcy, and both of
them snickered at each other.
The location of Dara's vaginal entrance was obvious, but George couldn't
quite see the... Suddenly he realized what the women were snickering
about.
"Are you going to..."
Dara looked down. "Pee on you? Why thanks, George, what a good idea...
Just watch!"
Marcy laughed outright.
George, responding to the threat, suddenly struggled with all of his
might, tightening the straps around his wrist. He kicked violently-- but
was unable to move any limb more that a couple of inches.
They were laughing at him! Angry, he tore his eyes away from Dara's
genitals. Breaking out of his "trance", he looked up at her face. She
was taking a deep breath, and was obviously about to begin urinating.
They were right to giggle, George thought; what a fool he was! There he
had been, gaze locked obediently where Dara told him, and now she was
about to pee! She still didn't realize that he broken the "trance" for
the moment, so he "harrumphed" at her. This successfully distracted Dara
from the act she was ready to perform. She let out her breath, and looked
down at him.
George was steadfast, defiant, and stared right into Dara's eyes. Dara
looked right at him, and he realized he hadn't decided what to say. He
just stared intently, feeling his own anger build. Dara turned her gaze
away and started to take another breath.
"I'll get you both for this... somehow. You just think about that",
George said, attempting his steeliest voice.
"I don't think so," said Marcy. "Once your whole body is soaked, you'll
feel much different. Besides, you're being awfully macho for someone
who's about to be pissed on by a woman!"
Indeed, Dara's bladder was tightening. "Here it..."
Suddenly, everything went wrong. George's right hand, free of its bonds,
grabbed Dara's ankle and twisted, sending her tumbling to the side. She
landed on her left knee and opposite shoulder, screeched in pain, and
shouted to Marcy.
George didn't relinquish his grasp, intent on causing Dara pain. That was
a big mistake; since he didn't immediately release the other bonds with
his free hand, Marcy was on it in a second. With his forearm between her
legs, she sat, forcing George's arm to the ground and breaking his grip.
George felt Marcy's moistness around his arm; she was obviously aroused.
He ignored this and strived to keep struggling, fighting...
This time, Dara took no chances. She crawled on top of George, this time
facing away, and backed her tail directly into George's face. A good
wiggle buried his mouth and nose in her twat.
Marcy had no problem refastening George's wrist.
Dara quickly cleared the anger and frustration from her face, and the
blank stare returned. She was again focusing on her attention on her
bladder.
George felt the muscles around Dara's pussy move against him, tighten, and
then release. He knew what was happening. He needed to distract her
again, but he was himself distracted. The short hesitation was all that
was needed for Dara's sphincter to relax. "It's coming!", he heard her
say.
A relieved smile appeared on Dara's face as her urine made the short trip
from her bladder to her urethral opening. A muffled gurgling noise came
from underneath her; although much of the hot, yellow pee was splashing
out in both directions, soaking George's hair and forming a puddle around
his head, it was also filling his mouth.
Marcy took one tug on George's arm, just to test his bonds, and stood up
just as Dara's growing puddle reached her heels. She walked around Dara
to get a better view; the wicked grin on Dara's face led to a pert, coy
smile on Marcy's.
As soon as she felt him swallow, and a mouthful of her urine entered
George's body, Dara tightened her PC muscle, stopping the flow. She
stood, still straddling George, and shook her hips several times. Drops
of pee which were clinging to Dara's pubic hair, sparkling in the light,
relinquished their attraction to Dara's body and fell to George's chest.
Dara turned and looked behind her, examining her work, and gave George a
huge grin and satisfied laugh. "That'll teach you not to resist," she
told him. "Your turn, Marcy. Let's finish him off."
From his shoulders upwards, George was drenched. Dara's urine was in his
mouth, eyes, nose, ears, and hair; and of course he couldn't free himself
from it. A vaguely feminine scent surrounded him, as the warm urine
soaked into his flesh. Defeated, George lay there, limp and
expressionless, no longer struggling, no longer defiant. Proteins in the
urine were already starting their work, activating a long-dormant
biological program within his body. Some of his spirit returned quickly
enough, however, as Marcy straddled him. She calmed him quickly, in a
friendly tone. "George, George, it's alright. It's all going to be
alright. We're going to take very good care of you. We're not going to
hurt you. Just relax."
"Relax? How can I..." George trailed off. Something didn't feel right.
"I'll get..." He seemed unable to complete his thoughts.
"George, it WILL be okay. Please. Just let me finish," Marcy pleaded, as
if there was anything George could do to stop her.
George summoned his resolve one more time. "Listen, when I get out of
here, I'm going to..."
"Listen, George," Marcy commanded. "Don't try to tell us that we've had
you pegged wrong all this time. Sure, we'd expect some resistance. But
you're going to need our help. You better stop fighting. Dara's pee is
already working on you, and in a few seconds, my pussy is going to soak
the rest of your..."
"No! You can't do it! I'll.."
"Oh, George, you can't stop me now, can you? You couldn't stop Dara from
drenching you..." Marcy stepped up, now over George's chest, and dragged
a toe through Dara's puddle and snickered. "That's obvious to all of us.
And now it's my turn."
George was squirming. "Look, I give up. End this game now. Can we make
some kind of deal?"
"Sure. Just relax and when I'm done going to the bathroom on you,
I'll..."
George attempted his steeliest expression and voice. "You know what I
mean."
"Umm, Marcy, why don't you just..." Dara said.
Still looking at George, Marcy answered. "Because I like torturing him,
that's why. I think he even likes it. He even has a hard-on." Turning
her gaze to George's face, "Maybe the last one he'll ever have."
Dara giggled.
"Look, you..." George insisted.
"Look, Marcy, he's still arguing, but he can't take his eyes off my twat!
He knows I'm getting ready to piss on him. He just doesn't know when it's
going to come..."
She was right; George was fixated on Marcy's pussy. Marcy was straddling
him, her legs parted. A soft, warm, gentle, yet powerful organ was
nestled between those smooth legs, its lips now quietly parting; waiting
for its owner's command.
Marcy intentionally tormented him now. "...splashing across his helpless
body. Helpless as my pussy soaks him from head to toe. Defeated by a
woman at last." George squirmed at the thought.
"Wow," Dara commented. "This is great. You're really good."
"Thanks, Dara. Watch how I can aim it anywhere I want. What should I
target first?"
"His cock," Dara answered immediately. "Definitely. Make it sting."
George protested, using all his strength and still struggling against his
restraints. The two women were now ignoring him.
Marcy moved back a bit and took aim. "Like this?"
"Looks good."
George, still fixated on Marcy's pussy, managed a quarter-sentence. "Why
you..."
Marcy smiled at George, and her bladder tensed. She looked straight down,
between her legs, at George's penis. Her labia parted. Finally, Marcy's
urinary orifice, normally invisible, puckered slightly, and opened. Her
sphincters relaxed, and the urine began to flow.
A long yellow stream shot from between her legs and hit George squarely in
the crotch, where the hot liquid seemed to sting him severely, if only
from the thought of Dara's last suggestion. She continued to pee, and
started to swivel her hips; causing her endless stream to dance across
George's writhing body, defiling him as it left behind the liquid evidence
of its trip. She soaked him thoroughly before stopping the flow.
"Ahhh... that felt good. George, how do you feel?" Marcy inquired.
George seemed to be very weak now. "I... It's just... What you've
done..."
"Okay, Dara, he can't fight any more. Untie him. Let's get him rolled
over."
The two women released George from his bonds and helped to roll him to his
stomach. George, who was indeed quite weak, turned his head to the side.
A foot appeared next to his head; he turned a bit to see it belonged to
Dara, and Marcy had taken a similar position further down, straddling him
about halfway down his body. The muscles in Dara's shapely leg tightened,
and George knew that both women were squatting. He closed his eyes just
as their urine hit his back, and fell unconscious a moment later.
[continued]
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