Author: [Machao6] Something I'm working on | #WIP

[Machao6]

This is a segment from a story I'm writing. It won't make a huge amount of sense but I'm happy to answer questions if anyone manages to read it all. It's the first part of a chapter, I'll post the next part after this has had some time for digestion. Might not seem relevant to begin with but the second half, I hope, will be quite appealing.

To offer a tiny synopsis, a fictional world is racked with war. An ancient jungle has served as a strategic barrier for both sides for centuries, consuming whoever ventures inside. But in their desperation to survive the Four Nations alliance sends a ragtag team of reluctant volunteers into the jungle to investigate reports that their erstwhile nemeses, the Larinthian Empire, are pouring troops and resources into the region for purposes unknown. By all accounts, there is something in that jungle, and the enemy is diverting massive war materiel to get at it...

This chapter concerns one character, a young lad from the technologically advanced nation of Dafne, who was assigned to the mission because his powered suit was the only armoured support that could be air-dropped into the jungle with the rest of the team. He is the sole survivor of a training cadre that were bombed by the Larinthians and as a result, his "unit" consists of just himself and a staff officer who got reassigned elsewhere, leaving him with nowhere else to go.

The plane gets shot down and the main characters get seperated. This picks up Dexter's story.

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Dexter Malliard was the last person to leave the stricken Walrus, and his jump distance was a mere three hundred feet at a peculiar angle. His suit's parachute deployed just in time to slow his fall to a manageable speed, and a quick-release in mid-air allowed him to bypass a particularly mighty conifer tree. Natalya landed with a metallic crunch and hissing hydraulics. Dexter winced, then opened one eye to see if there was any permanent damage on his screens. Apart from severely draining the hydraulic intensity on the legs, which was really only used for powered leaps and kicks, the apperatus was in fine condition.

The jungle climbed all around him, though he had landed on a dirt road. Tyre and track marks ran through it and he knew this was enemy territory. He decided to move off the road, which circumvented the foothills of a mountain range that were layered with forest so that from the sky, the trees seemed as waves on the ocean, rising and falling. He maintained radio silence as he trudged down hill, listening to friendly channels which were silent, and Larinthian channels which were very lively. So they were here after all, and in force.

He decided, for lack of anything better to do, to triangulate the origin of the transmissions. Before long he had mapped a network of outposts reporting to a central hub, only a few kilometres away from him in a valley. The land seemed well nourished with mountain streams and rivers, and although the ambient temperature was a sweaty thirty six degrees centigrade, he could still see snow on the mountaintops. He made his way toward the enemy base, picking his path carefully so he could see the road. Natalya's skin shifted to a green and brown mess of abstract foliage. Sure enough, the road led him toward the base, and as soon as that became apparent he ventured uphill in search of a clearer view.

He found it abruptly. The ground started to become rocky and Natalya's skin changed again to a gritty, marble-like texture to blend with the mountain stone. He was still two kilometres away but he could see the base clearly with the suit's visual magnification. The jungle around it for a good five hundred meters had been cleared and burned to provide fields of fire. Squat bunkers provided sturdy firing platforms for ground troops, each flanked by sandbag field gun emplacements. On each corner a fortified watch tower provided good lookout over the surrounding area, with snipers and machineguns and probably artillery spotters. There was way too much security for the Larinthians to be alone in the jungle, so evidently there was a third party at work here, a powerful one that made them want to dig in. There were landing pads at the base, four of them, and even as he watched a Vulture gunship was touching down and its ground crew rushed out with munitions trolleys to re-arm it. The base had an armoured storehouse, maintenance bay, barrack blocks and there seemed to be stairs that led underground. He knew a base of that nature would have patrolling elements twenty-four-seven, but there also seemed to be a motor pool at the base and a frequent traffic of trucks in and out. Vehicles would turn up, be loaded with equipment, then drive out again. Some came singularly. Others were under armed escort, with a Halftrack, jeep, or armoured car.

Dexter took some key photographs of the defences and activity at the base and was just about to turn in search of running water to recharge the suit, when something new caught his eye. A Mecane crawler carrying its compliment of drones, all packed in neatly like goods in a store. It was too big to fit inside the base and he watched as its team of black-overalled technicians quarrelled with the gate guards for a while before the latter reluctantly agreed to send out a team of mechanics to overhaul their machines. A guard of armoured Truebloods formed a perimeter with heavy weapons around the vehicle. It stood to reason that House Mecane would find work in this environment. Robots didn't tire easily and were completely dispensable, allowing them to cover a huge amount of ground no matter the cost while greatly reducing upkeep. Their presence here made operations considerably more dangerous, since there was no telling how far and wide their advanced machineries could roam in this environment and their fighting units would put the enemy on an even keel with Natalya's capabilities. He watched the Mecane crawler depart the way it had come, then left in the opposite direction.

Dexter rounded the mountain until it presented him with a stream, then followed that downhill until it joined a river, which he stood Natalya in and powered down to try the air with his own lungs. But while he was enjoying the climate and the cool, refreshing water on his bare feet he heard something. Music. Drums. Voices. Like a party or a chant, or maybe some spectacle with a crowd. He searched for the origin of the noise. It was from upstream, and he walked up the waterway toward it. The stream was one fork of a larger outlet running off the mountain above, and the water flowed more powerfully here at the junction. He stepped away from the unsteady stream and onto an island that separated the two forks of the stream, hiding behind a fallen tree where his rusty overalls would blend in better. A wooden footbridge crossed the water and there was indeed a spectacle taking place upon it.

His eyes lit up as he saw that the entire gathering was of gobsmackingly attractive girls wearing essentially nothing but swimwear. Their bodies were full and enticing, toned and tanned. In fact, they unanimously seemed to be very athletic, with solid abs and clear, supple quads. The musculature was best exhibited by the objects of the spectacle – two girls straining on what looked to be a tree trunk with iron bars through each end for hand grips. It was like an extreme tug of war, the sort of thing he expected Myrmadon strongmen to be doing once a year, but here were two young women finding each other to be the most challenging part of this feat. The girls around them shouted and bayed and whooped and cheered, but the competitors seemed to be in deadlock. Their bodies shone with sweat and their gorgeously defined bodies were rippling with muscle – not the inflated, veiny brawn of bodybuilders, but the quiet power and complimentary growth of people who honed their bodies constantly. It was any kid's, and many men's wet dream come true, but to Dexter, it was difficult to believe his luck.

Transfixed, he watched the competition. On the left side of the bridge was a girl who might have been just past twenty, with long, wavy brown hair that spilled out behind her broad shoulders. Her skin was tanned to a bronze complexion, and she braced against her opponent in a rock solid posture that gave away absolutely nothing. She wore a barley-coloured bikini that seemed specially fitted to cope with her heavy bust, which shuddered deliciously as she exerted herself on the trunk.  Her opponent was by comparison paler and thinner, younger by a year or two at least, but still very strong with arms that bulged with raw power. Much of her body was covered by a skin-tight purple one-piece that shaped her body perfectly. Her hair was bright red and gathered into a ponytail that stretched past her buttocks. She strained against the other girl tenaciously, trying to wear her down with ragged heaves. Dexter lost himself in the battle, hopelessly turned on by it, and he felt the guilty excitement of voyeurism. The girls pulled against each other tirelessly as the crowd grew more and more intense and excited. The audience seemed to be willing the competitors to greater feats of endurance and fortitude, cheering the staying power, rather than for a decisive stroke.  Back home in Dafne, they'd have gotten bored and changed channel after five minutes without a victor.

He took a moment to study the crowd. Some of the girls wore pieces of armour – tassets around the hips, scandalously 'light' breastplates, shoulder guards, bracers and greaves. There was no uniformity, in fact their skimpy outfits and patchwork armour, though clearly crafted with care, seemed to be designed to be as bright and distinctive as possible. Some carried weapons, simple spears or axes, clubs and hide or wooden shields. A couple, one on each side in fact, wore disappointingly modest robes that were still outrageously daring by his own culture's standards. These wore thin garments of wispy sheer or silk that hung from ornate belts or chokers, sometimes pinned in place by metalwork or jewellery. All of the girls were tall, beautiful and strong looking. He willed himself to reconnoitre the surroundings more carefully, and saw that behind the girls who were blocking off the bridge into an impromptu arena, were small gatherings of men who seemed very short and frail by comparison. They talked conspiratorially and gestured at the crowd, and he could plainly see they were assessing the qualities of the girls in the contest, as well as the assets of members of their audience too. They wore loose-fitting garments of an unfamiliar style, made from locally sourced materials – weaves of flax and hemp, fur and hides cut into simple, heat-efficient garments. The men seemed far less comfortable with their bodies, preferring to stay mostly covered up except for bare arms or bare chests, no doubt due to the interminable heat.

Some dramatic event caused the crowd to erupt into a frenzy of activity, and Dexter looked to where the girls were still heaving against each other. The younger girl with the long red hair had started a protracted pull against the other girl, causing the older woman to lean forward almost on one leg to fight back. As the redhead in the purple leotard hauled away the crowd seemed to collectively step forward in excitement, and both girls were audibly desperate to secure victory. Dexter's heart raced as they moaned and grunted, but just when it seemed certain the 'little' redhead would win, she slipped onto her backside. The older girl with brown hair heaved back on the trunk and dragged her painfully across the floor, fighting every inch but losing hopelessly. At the last minute she rose to her feet and stopped the runaway win just short of the halfway mark, which was a simple white ribbon. For another minute or two, the girls growled and strained, but the redhead was off-balance and could only make her inevitable defeat harder for the other girl, which she did up to the last second when a tremendous pull dragged her up onto her toes and then flat on her face behind the dragging trunk. The girls gathered around went bananas for the exhausted victor, crowding around her and lifting her into the air. They left the beaten redhead to rise slowly to her knees, where her posture sank and she seemed to weep into her hands.

Malliard tried to piece together what it was all about. As the victor was carried away and uphill, something stirred. The unseen drums were stopped and from the ledge above the bridge, a man in white overalls that looked very out of place stood from where he had evidently been seated and was led by one of the robed women toward the victor, who wrestled herself free of the crowd and rushed toward him, grabbing him in a tight hug and lifting him helplessly into the air. Then they kissed. There was some sort of exchange of words, an inaudible ceremony. Then the crowd cheered again and the drums started up once more. The brown haired girl carried the man off as the crowd celebrated behind them. They went uphill, the music fading as they walked.

Dexter saw that the crying redhead composed herself and stood tiredly, dusting herself off. She seemed to linger a moment beside the fallen trunk, the object of her humiliation, then picked up the entire thing and pressed it overhead before hurling it with an angry grunt. To his horror and amazement, the log, which must have weighed half a tonne at least, sailed directly toward him, passing just overhead to crash through a thin sapling and continue its rampage down the hill. When he looked back, the girl was staring right at him, her lips parted in silent surprise. She cocked her head as if to check he wasn't a peculiarly shaped tree branch or bush. Dexter felt his body dive into cold dread as he considered the ramifications of discovery, or being caught peeping by a girl of such power. His only response was to run.


(part 2 available)

[Machao6]

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[Machao6]

Very good start!

Thanks sunny, sorry it took a while to get round to the 'relevant' subject matter.

Erm, quite a lot of dialogue in this bit. It's a little cringeworthy but hey, I'm writing erotic fantasy for myself, I don't think there's a way of making it realistic

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He splashed back down the stream to where Natalya waited with open cockpit. Jumping inside, he clumsily strapped himself in as the door closed and the startup sequence initialised. He switched to thermal vision and scanned the way he'd come, but there was nothing there. Breathing a sigh of relief as he circled away from the bridge, he decided he had to map the area and find where those people had come from. There was evidently a village nearby, uphill somewhere. Miserably damp, he trudged wide to try and avoid the girl in case she was still watching in his direction. The hill was well chosen as a place to live, it was defensible. Too steep even for Natalya to scramble up, he had to resort to hydraulic jumps just to gain ground. Circling any wider would take hours.
He finally reached the summit of the hill and found himself looking at a deserted stone circle with boulders of varying sizes, dominated by six the size of truck cabs. This was evidently a meeting place, as there were footsteps all around and traces of discarded food, tools and scorch marks in the earth where fires had been lit. Chopped stumps of wood were scattered around, perhaps for seating. Beyond this meeting place, he saw a settlement made from simple wooden structures. It was fenced off with upright planks bolstered with more giant stones, but above the fence he could see houses built onto the forks of the giant trees that formed an impenetrable canopy overhead. It seemed deserted, and Dexter guessed that whatever they were celebrating had drawn everyone out of their homes for the occasion.

He was considering closing in to investigate further, when his proximity sensors alerted him to someone sneaking up behind the suit. He jumped up onto the nearest boulder and turned to face his adversary, but was appalled to see it was the red haired girl from the bridge. How had she managed to sneak up on him? She rose out of the long grass, where she had been creeping like a tiger, and balled her fists defiantly. Dexter had no intention of fighting her, but she was almost certainly more mobile than Natalya, and if her strength was evenly distributed she would have no trouble catching up to and out-maneouvering the suit if he ran. Perhaps he could knock her out?

The girl surged like lightning toward him and he dithered, aiming the 50mm gun at her but unwilling to use it. She slammed into the boulder with the force of a car crash and succeeded in rolling it over, toppling Dexter's suit onto its back. Then, as he was staring up at the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the tree canopy, she pounced on top of him and hammered down with a fist. The impact shook the entire frame and set off his collision alarm. If she kept it up she would eventually get through his visor or dent the suit so badly the integrity would be compromised.

"Ok lady, you asked for it..." He muttered, swatting her away with a backhand strike. He'd tried to do it gently but his suit was capable of lifting 2.5 tonnes and, being made of metal, delivered fairly hard blows even in glancing. The girl was knocked flying and skidded ten meters away, sending dust clouding up from her passing. Dexter rose and watched her push herself up off the floor angrily. He was sure he'd made a mistake. He backed away cautiously, hoping the girl would allow his intent to leave, but she advanced purposefully. She broke into a run and leaped a good three meters up to deliver a hammer blow, but an urgent boost to the right gave her nothing to connect with. Dexter could have followed up with something but wanted to make himself clear. Now the girl picked up a stone with the dimensions of a coffee table and threw it at him. The stone hit and sent the suit reeling backwards, then she closed and grabbed his armour plating.

"No, fuck off...!" Dexter murmured irritatedly, slapping the girl across the back and pancaking her between the suit's hydraulically assisted arm and its unforgiving metal body. He was treated to the sight of her breasts slammed against his view port and her pained expression gave him a guilty pique of pleasure, but to his amazement she simply shrugged off the arm and used her new vantage point to try and lever the suit open, bracing with her legs and heaving with her arms. Natalya creaked at the seams as the redhead began to exert her strength on the metal joints.
"Seriously, fuck off!" Dexter punched the girl lightly in the side, but she kept her grip. He escalated but overstepped in his frustration, sending her staggering toward a rock which she had to lean on momentarily to recover. Yet she advanced again. Dexter swung an arm round but this time she blocked and caught it, which was impressive in itself, then turned her body inside his arm and flipped the entire suit by its arm joint. She slammed the suit into the rock, moving both with the impact and causing Natalya's instruments to flicker. Malliard tried to grab the girl with both hands but she blocked each with one of her own and they wrestled for a time.

She seemed surprised by the suit's strength, which threatened to collapse her guard, but then she bared her teeth and fought back defiantly. Even though the suit had pressed her back several yards, she dug in and pushed back, bringing them both to a deadlock. She worked toward gaining purchase on the suit's hands for a throw, so Dexter fired a hydraulic-assisted kick that sent her bouncing off the boulder behind her and back into his reach. Winded, she was caught unawares when the suit's hands clasped around her, pinning her arms to her waist. She kicked and wriggled in its grip as Dexter lifted her into the air and prepared to throw her somewhere far away so he could make his escape.

But the girl had other ideas. She resisted so energetically that Malliard was forced to squeeze some of the fight out of her, causing her to cry out in pain. Then he threw her into the softest thing he could find – a palm bush – and turned to jump down from the plateau. As he calculated his landing however, a massive strike tipped the suit forwards and over the edge, sending it and Dexter crashing to the floor thirty feet below. With no way to land on his feet, he could only close his eyes and try to relax as the shattering impact gave him whiplash. Stunned, the suit lay on its back, a snapped tree branch for a pillow. He watched in horror as one of the giant boulders was edged toward the precipice above him, and got out of the way just in time before it put a two-foot indentation where he had been lying. As soon as it dropped however, so did the girl, landing on top of Natalya with a blow that destroyed his communications system and caused integrity alarms to blare out. Something hissed unhealthily inside the cockpit and he guessed it was the air containment system - no more air conditioning or NBC protection. The girl proceeded to hammer the carapace until he ripped her off and hurled her as hard as he could into the ground. Face down, she immediately began to press herself up, but he stamped on her back mercilessly, driving her back down with a moan of pain.

"Goddamn it bitch just leave me alone!" He cursed, hoping to flatten the last strength out of her, but to his astonishment the suit creaked and wobbled. "You have got to be kidding me..."
Snarling through bared teeth, the girl pushed up from the floor even with the weight of the suit on her back, and the armour pilot backed away to avoid being floored again. Slowly, she turned to face the suit again, puffing with rage. Then, predictably, she ran at him once again. Dexter met the attack head on. The two crashed together, the strength of her driving them toward the next ledge, the power of the suit slowing them to a deadlock. As the dust rose between them he kicked her harshly in the abdomen, then smashed both hands down on her back, eliciting a winded gasp. Yet again, the girl – who was dwarfed by the suit – rose immediately into another attack and this time slammed herself against its torso, low, beneath the reach of its flailing hands. Dexter felt a mixture of astonishment, excitement and dread as the entire suit was lifted into the air. He couldn't see her but he heard the girl's guttural roar of triumph and effort as she carried him to the precipice.

"No, no, no...!" the pilot cursed despairingly as she made to heave the suit over the edge. In desperation he clung to the girl using everything he had, firing a snare that caught around her neck, hooking the suits clumsy limbs wherever he could around her body, trying to discourage her from making the final push for fear of taking herself over with him. Natalya shook and rattled as the girl, enraged, sought to shake herself free from its embrace, but all this did was put her in range of Dexter's arms, which he used to bearhug the girl brutally. A final scream of frustration brought them both to tipping point. The drop was forty five feet, and her effort was so great that they had spun head over heels so she was beneath, bearing the brunt of the fall. Dexter could only watch helplessly as the antithesis of his intentions played out. The girl's red ponytail stretched straight up in the air as they fell, and she issued an uncertain whimper when she realised she was going to be under the suit at the point of impact. They smashed into the earth with a dull thud, the girl's squeal of pain piercing through the alarms and clamour inside its metal confines. Natalya was bounced clear of the girl to roll, one arm flailing by its wires, back onto his feet and then off them backwards to careen against the hill face.

Dexter could feel blood pouring out of his nose and a cut on his forehead was bringing tears to his eyes. The suits power was knocked out, but through the vision slit he could see to his wonderment that the young woman was writhing on the floor and trying to pick herself up. He hastily re-initialised the startup sequence, but as she forced herself to stand, the look of suffering on her brave face made him lose all sense of aggression. Disgusted by his actions, he popped the hatch and staggered out of the suit. Her face dropped, somehow, from a look of pained desperation to speechless surprise. He crossed carefully toward her and stopped a safe distance away. Something about his expression caused her to look up at him apprehensively. He could scarcely believe he had done anything to hurt this beauty, this tenacious and brave young lady who fought with the strength and speed of a red tiger. He'd had a multi-million buck powered suit and she had fought it to a complete standstill. He felt horribly ashamed of himself, of what anyone would say of him if this story were ever to get out – not that he'd failed to kill her, but that he even considered or entertained the idea.
"Uhh...are you alright?"

"You're...a boy?" She exclaimed abruptly in perfect Dafnese, her voice awestruck like a child. Then she seemed to remember they had been trying to kill each other and her face hardened again.
"Stay away from me, Larinthian! Don't think that because you're out of that tin can I'm not going to rip you open anyway..."

Dexter closed his eyes for fear of her rebuke. "I'm...I'm not a Larinthian." 

"You're who I saw on the bridge, aren't you? You were spying on us!"

He nodded guiltily and tried to clear his passages so he could speak. "I heard the drums and wanted to see what was going on. When I saw..." he hesitated before continuing, unsure of how she might react to the truth.

"What did you see?" She asked calmly. When he opened his eyes again her expression had softened considerably.

"You." He admitted seriously, and for a moment their gazes locked. "You were in some sort of contest. You were about to win it, but you slipped, and lost. Everyone cheered the winner and left you behind."

She sat upright and hugged her knees, resting her chin on them grumpily. "Yeah. It was my trial of maidenhood, and I blew it. Now Sasha gets to go off and impress a master while I have to wait another year and do another twenty trials I can do when I practice, but not when it really matters..."

She noticed that she was dangerously close to confiding in her erstwhile enemy and, looked at him guardedly. "I chased after you when you ran off, but all I could see was that thing. I thought you were one of the Larinthians' machines. What were you doing?"

Dexter collapsed next to her and she sat up on crossed legs to listen to him. "After I saw there were people here I needed to find out whether you were Larinthian sympathisers or not. I've never been here before and to tell you the truth, I'm quite lost."

"Well couldn't you have just introduced yourself and asked?"

"Not really. I'm not supposed to be here. I needed the suit to perform quiet surveillance." She looked at the sparking heap of nuts and bolts and snorted incredulously. The youth carried on despite her. "What if you'd been with them, huh? My goose'd be cooked for sure."

The girl nodded in concession and looked him over. "So you thought you were being sneaky? Stomping around up there in that giant thing?" clutched her stomach, evidently bruised and sore. "That's why you were fighting so strangely. Like when you threw me into the palm bush instead of off the cliff. I wondered about that but thought I'd just gotten lucky. You did that deliberately, didn't you?"

Dexter didn't look at her, but simply nodded guiltily. "Yeah. I'd tried to brush you off but I think I misjudged a few things. Hurt you. Made you mad. I didn't realise you speak Dafnese, otherwise I'd have just asked you to stop."

She laughed and bit her lip. "I don't think that would have worked little man, I was pretty angry. And convinced you were a Larinthian. So if you're not from Larinth, where are you from? And what are you doing here if you're 'not supposed to be here'?"

Malliard sighed. "Well...let me just be clear. You're definitely not a Larinthian, and you don't have anything to do with them, right?"

She leaned forward and spoke clearly for emphasis. "No. They want to kill, rape and enslave us. I'm not on best terms with them."

"Ok, just checking. In that case, I'm part of a special mission that was sent here from the Four Nations Alliance to find out why the Larinthians are pouring armies into this jungle. We were supposed to drop in by parachute, but the plane got shot down, so I just kind of...dropped in."

The girl laughed incredulously. "You just fell out of the sky? All by yourself?"

"Pretty much. But I wasn't alone. There were some pilots who got royally owned by Mecane drones, and some infantrymen who have probably been scattered to the four winds and eaten by giant plants or something. I was supposed to meet up with everyone on the ground but...suffice it to say, I have no idea where anyone landed or even where we were supposed to meet up."

"Gosh, that's awful...so how long ago was all this?"

"About six hours." The pilot admitted nonchalantly.

The girl shuffled closer, interestedly. "Well, how long were you supposed to be here? How are you going to get back home?"   

Dexter simply looked at her blankly, biting his lips. "I think I'm here to stay, miss."

She made a sympathetic noise and shuffled next to him, examining the cut on his forehead with a gentle touch. "Was I hitting that hard? It felt like I was hardly making a scratch in the thing."

Dexter gaped at her. "You fell forty feet with a tonne-and-a-half landing on top of you, and you're sitting here fawning over my papercut here? Nevermind that, how is your back? And your ribcage?"

She felt herself tenderly, causing the lad to watch with interest as her hands navigated her bruised breasts. "Fine, I think. Maybe a couple of fractures. It wasn't a hard landing, we fell into the soil. I was so annoyed when you wrapped that string around me at the last minute."

"But you pushed us over anyway? You're crazy."

"Well I knew just hitting you wouldn't work. I had to try and break it open and get to all the stringy bits inside." The pilot blinked at her worriedly. "I didn't know you were inside, I'm sorry!"
Dexter laughed, even as a tear ran down his cheek. The one became several. After all his worries and shame, she was apologising to him. She even put a hand on his shoulder warmly.

"Hey, did I say something to upset you? I said I was sorry..."

"I know I'm covered in blood and we just nearly killed each other and all, but...would it be weird if we hugged? I feel like we've covered a lot of ground today and we might be at the hugging stage of our relationship."

Taken aback, the girl smiled, then laughed, then flung her arms wide to receive him. Dexter threw himself at the girl one more time, this time with affection, not aggression. She held him back fiercely but not uncomfortably, and he found the idea of her checking her great strength just to avoid hurting him immensely gratifying. He squeezed her as hard as he could, knowing it would be almost nothing to her supernatural body, but hoping she could feel his genuine remorse in their embrace.

"I'm not crushing your ribs, am I?" He joked, hoping she would take him seriously.

"No! You're holding me just right. You must have practiced before we met."

"Actually...this is a first for me. It's kind of why I wanted to try it, after all we've been through together. And, you know, almost dying."

She laughed and squeezed him again, and Dexter realised this was a rare feeling to experience. Appreciation. Affection.

"Where does your back hurt? Is it here?" He asked, resting a hand on her spine between her tall shoulder blades.

"No...lower..." She whispered, and seemed to crush into him as he ran his hand down to rest in the small of her back, just where it curved out to meet her buttocks. "There. Are you sure you've never done this before?"

"Yep. I'm a seventeen year old nerd who spies on semi-naked women from his giant robot. I don't get out much." He was rewarded with another warm laugh.

"Well, you fight like a horny Larinthian!" This made them both giggle. "It was pretty brave of you to just get out and start talking to me. What made you so sure I wasn't going to splat you?"
Dexter paused to enjoy the feeling of her rubbing his back the same way he was caressing hers. "Nothing. I was actually thinking I'd kind of deserve it if you did. I never wanted to fight you, but you were way too quick to run away from. After the fall I thought I'd really hurt you, and I just wanted to stop fighting. I didn't want to hurt you anymore than I had done up to that point." 

She stopped and put her face in front of his, challenging him. "You stamped on me!"

"Yeah. You wouldn't stay down. I got a bit pissed off. I'd tried everything and you just kept coming back at me. I just needed you to stay where you were long enough for me to leave, you know?"
She grinned. "Well, I'm sorry to have disappointed you." 

"You really didn't. When you started to get up anyway it was actually really exciting. When I battered you down and you just charged in and picked the whole damn thing up, it felt really good. I was kind of happy for you in a way, that you had all this courage and strength and energy that wouldn't be kept down. I mean, underneath my frustration about getting my ass kicked by a half-naked girl, my fear of being thrown of a forty foot drop, and concerns about my liability insurance for the damage to the suit, I was happy for you."

"You were happy when I threw you off the cliff?"

"Happy for you. There's a difference. It was pretty impressive to experience. Being in there gives me a certain detachment from events, it wasn't so much like you were fighting me, but the suit. It was like watching someone do something amazing, you know?"

She played with her ponytail again, flicking the end coyly. "It was pretty heavy, but mainly it was hard because you were fighting back." She fixed a playful gaze on him. "So if you enjoyed it when you felt detached, I wonder how you'd feel about...this!"

Dexter could only make a questioning gasp as she stood up, bringing him with her effortlessly, then hoisted him up with her arms straight under his armpits. He was completely powerless in her arms, and could only look down at her in awe and excitement as she laughed back from below. Her happy face seemed lovelier even for the mud and scrapes across her pale skin. He felt himself becoming uncontrollably aroused and, where his package was level with her face, she couldn't help but notice with an amused giggle. She let him drop a few inches to rest on her bust, crushing his erect member against them with her arms wrapped tight around his thighs. "I think you were happy for yourself, that time." She declared with a lick of her lips.

"I am so glad I got out of the damned suit..." He breathed, and she giggled again.

[NinjaStar]

This was a little hard to get into at first because it seems like we're thrown into the middle of a story and there's something missing that I can't quite place, but reading it a second time and with the new addition helps.

I like what I've read so far. This is clearly written from a very creative standpoint with some thought to the world building which is greatly appreciated. So these Amazons are inhabitants of the DMZ between the four nations? One thing I liked is how the girl actually had to work to fight Maillard's powered suit. Most stories dispense with 'realism' and would've made the girl radically overpowered and invincible, but you took the time to fully realize that it's impressive that she's strong enough to stand toe to to with a guy in powered armor, and though she took a beating, she kept on fighting. I don't care much for invincible characters, but most stories don't bother making female characters relatively human. And Dexter isn't a total pushover, which I also appreciate. Male characters are all too often poorly realized. I also liked the dialog, which is natural and easy to read. I can't stress enough how bad dialog can ruin a story.

This has a much grander scope to it than most stories posted here, scaring off people just looking to jack off which is why there wasn't much of a response, but thanks for writing it.

[Machao6]

I've lurked on here a long time and know you're a difficult one to please, so this means a lot to me. Thank you.

I also tire of the trend for "effortless" strength - personally the struggle is the bit that turns me on so I've tried to basically come up with a developed excuse to throw amazons into difficult situations the whole time.

There are other characters who are more helpless (one is a pilot who gets shot down, his entire forte is flying not fighting), but yeah, the big war scenario was to keep me interested in writing it basically. There are five principle characters and each has their own corresponding amazon encounter. The idea was for them to all join up eventually. Lots of opportunities for strength feats and struggles on land, sea and air.

I'm glad you enjoyed it. I will try and post more manageable chunks in future.

[NinjaStar]

I'm not so much difficult to please as much as I'm easily annoyed. All I ask is that people try, so thank you for putting forth effort.

[Jaguar]

To tell the truth, I was put off by the "Something I'm working on..." title.

This is clearly written from a very creative standpoint with some thought to the world building which is greatly appreciated. So these Amazons are inhabitants of the DMZ between the four nations? One thing I liked is how the girl actually had to work to fight Maillard's powered suit. Most stories dispense with 'realism' and would've made the girl radically overpowered and invincible, but you took the time to fully realize that it's impressive that she's strong enough to stand toe to to with a guy in powered armor, and though she took a beating, she kept on fighting. I don't care much for invincible characters, but most stories don't bother making female characters relatively human. And Dexter isn't a total pushover, which I also appreciate. Male characters are all too often poorly realized. I also liked the dialog, which is natural and easy to read. I can't stress enough how bad dialog can ruin a story.

I totally agree.  And think about the real world of real heroes, there needs to be real challenge and real risk in order to show bravery.  If the fights are easy, if there is no risk to oneself there is no heroism.  (They don't hand out Medals of Honor and Victoria Crosses for shooting toddlers.)

And look at great fiction generally.  It is usually about underdogs overcoming the odds.

Most of all, I like character development and a story that takes its time.


I go looking on Amazon Kindle and Kindle Unlimited.  They don't just carry regular books, if you look in the Kindle section repeatedly over weeks you'll find they have a wide variety of erotica carefully hidden away just for those who show they prefer it. 

For the explicit ladies romances, historical romances, gay cowboy, gay navy seal, billionaire bachelors, hot wives; and for guys hot wives, gender changes, futanari, BDSM, you name it.  Lots of long short stories, short story collections, and short novellas.

But no much in the way of FMG, realistic superior females or fantasy muscle growth -- almost nothing, like a half-dozen.

The about this story, only thing I'd change is the mention of age.  Let each reader decide the male's precise age for himself, so we can identify as him. Just a little thing.

[Jaguar]

I almost forgot, fellow readers, place click applause under Machao6's name.  Show him some appreciation with kudo 

[Machao6]

The about this story, only thing I'd change is the mention of age.  Let each reader decide the male's precise age for himself, so we can identify as him. Just a little thing.

Thanks for that one, I see your point and agree. When dealing with fantasies, it is probably best to leave room for people to make it their own as well.


The working title of the thing is "Warmachine" since it goes into the creation of the amazons and all that jazz...but I wanted to make clear its an excerpt not a finished product. I've never ventured for feedback on this as, to tell you the truth, I was kinda embarrassed that I wrote it. But after developing my interest in the fetish and accepting that this is a thing I am inexorably turned on by, I thought this would be as safe a place as I'm going to get to share it!


Thanks for your appreciation

[JerusalemTulip]

I liked it.  I would have actually preferred to not have the synopsis at the very beginning, and see how long it would have taken me to put two and two together between Natalya and the suit.  Seeing those two words in such close proximity make me wish for an update to a different story, but I suppose that is neither here nor there.

The action sequence was terrific.  In contrast to your worries, I don't think there are any problems with the pacing at all; especially considering the kind of story that you are introducing.  There is a bit of a wait before getting a taste of femuscle content, but there is plenty of stuff going on under the hood so to speak.  There are  a handful of stories here that do have genuine pacing issues, where literally nothing of consequence seems to happen in a chapter, but yours has nothing in common with them. 

I too am impressed at the amount of work you must have put into wordlbuilding.  I'm equally impressed at how smoothly you integrate those details into the story.  I've read paid SFF (by that I mean an abbreviation for make-believe in general) content that spends pages and pages at the outset trying to shove in background in a style more reminiscent of an encyclopedia article than a story. I'm glad that you chose to handle exposition in a manner that is story friendly and doesn't underestimate the reader.

Everyone has different tastes in dialogue.  I think you're being unfair to yourself in describing it as cringeworthy.  Some expressions like "gobsmacked" and "goose-cooked" seemed kind of off in a seventeen-year old to me, and make me a little curious about your own background, but overall  I thought it was fine.

I do hope you are motivated to continue the story and share it with us.  Thanks for posting.

[Machao6]

I'll see what I can do boss thanks for the feedback, its very useful to me.

[tdg]

Great story! Finally a story with a female amazon who is NOT a man-hating psychopath, but instead actually friendly, sweet and feminine in her mannerisms. 

[Machao6]

Yeah man, I don't go in for all the "Hurt me please" stuff.

But I'm not saying there aren't characters who don't...hm...abuse their advantages?

[Machao6]

Another segment, from another character...

This poor fellow starts the story as a captive of the Larinthians, who as it happens are not without their own amazonian figures...Also, now it seems like I was lying about the "Hurt me please" stuff


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *



Jal Kericho balled his fists obsessively as he awaited his fate. His wrists were shackled with a Cryer containment device. Any attempt to tamper with them would result in his hands being severed. The Zephyr had given him a smooth ride but his arse was numb from perching on a cold metal bench. The sack over his head concealed much he knew there were guards. The question was, were they lame conscripts, Truebloods who were brutal but at least had personalities, or the damned Cryer clones who were unfeeling and implacable?

He had been here for two hours at least, reliving the ignominious defeat that led to his capture. Fighting in the Dafnese city of Yaris, he and his elite team of special forces had been working to eliminate a high profile target deep within enemy occupied territory. General Vallas had been inspecting the front to get a picture of things with his own eyes, and so Kericho and his ten man squad worked meticulously to infiltrate the city. They passed through ruined buildings and skeletal remains of the city, shattered icons of their country now draped with the flags of their occupiers and echoing with the relentless tramp of marching boots. They ignored idling herds of hated clone enemies, passed artillery firing storms of rockets onto their comrades in arms, and turned away from prisoners being thrown against the wall and shot. And they found their man, surrounded by suicidal defences.

Killing him, his staff, and some twenty five to fifty more of his men was easy. A pair of laser-guided strikes neutralised two heavy tanks and sent them to ground, where he and his men shredded them with silenced weapons. For good measure they threw smart mines across the bloody concrete and rushed for their extraction point. But the noise was too much. They were harried from the first building and every firefight delayed them enough for the noose to tighten. Eventually Kericho and two survivors staggered out into their extraction zone, no ammo and wounded, only to find themselves staring at a platoon of Clones entrenched all around, twenty foot Overseers pointing their gun barrels expectantly at the door they emerged from. They were taken and captured. After an initial interrogation established that Kericho was the leader, his men were disposed of. Then he was sent back for 'special techniques'. Where that was done though, was anyones guess. Flying for ages now, they were well away from Dafne. Probably back toward Larinth.

He heard the Zephyr's engines undulate as it prepared to land, and felt the uneasy change in gravity as it started to descend. It touched down gently and then he heard the doors opening. He was dragged to his feet and half walked, half carried out by two powerful guards, presumably clones. He walked across wooden decking into an oppressive, moist air. The sounds of teeming insects or wildlife abounded, it sounded like the zoo. In the distance he could hear machineries, woodsaws whining, engines revving, aircraft ticking over. He was led through a secure electronic door into a building. He was led through more doors, some security checkpoints that he was made to wait at, and at which his fingerprints were taken. Then he was pushed on down some metal stairs and into a much colder, much quieter part of the complex. Here the floor was slimy and uneven, natural cave. Then he was thrown into a cave while a door slammed shut behind him.

Tugging off the hood he could see he was in an artificial hollow carved into natural rock. It was roughly six by six feet, though the walls were uneven. There was no bed save for a dirty rag, and only an ominous hole in the corner, with a standpipe leading to a hatched hole beside the door. There was no privacy. The 'open' wall of the cave was armaglass, and inches thick by the look of it. In the armaglass a Impact marks made permanent impressions on its surface where something strong and massive had tried to break out. As he looked, the walls of the cavern were marked with damage. Fist impressions, human shaped. Claw marks where prisoners had desperately tried to tunnel through the rock with their bare hands. Someone had widened the latrine hole considerably, revealing only an ominous hole that led to inky blackness. He spat into the hole but no sound came back. In any event, it still wasn't wide enough to fit down. He could get a foot in, maybe. It was warmer than the brig back at Centronom Barracks. There was another cell across the corridor from his own, and from where he was he knew there were other cells but could not see into them. There was no one in the cell opposite. He was here alone, as far as he could tell.

He waited for hours. No guards patrolled, no sounds from above. He took the opportunity to relieve himself while there was relative privacy. Then he decided to try and rest, not knowing when he might get another chance. The floor was cold and clammy, and he quickly relied on the ominously stained rag for its minute comfort. He never really fell asleep, his mind filled with torturous visions of his squadmates and the manner of each of their deaths. He was saved from this subliminal agony by the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and the door opening. As he was raising himself off the floor a pair of Larinthian truebloods rushed in and tazed him. Stunned, a bag was thrust over his head and he was dragged out of the cell and back up the stairs. He could hear people talking quietly, a man and a woman, behind his two jailors.

He was brought to a stop and deposited on the floor, where his feet were shackled separately. Then the shackles from his hands were removed and replaced with cold metal ones that no longer bound his hands together but instead kept them apart.

"Take his hood off" Said a woman with a sharp voice.

His hood was pulled away, revealing a brightly lit room with stainless steel panelled walls and a floor with perforated metal decking. It had signs of old blood caking the holes beneath his feet. He knew from the chains this was a torture chamber. But he could see no implements. No tools. "Leave us" the woman commanded, and the two truebloods left in silence. She stalked in front of him, and he was treated to a gorgeous display. A woman of exotic, opulent beauty stood taller than he thanks to some lethal eight inch stiletto heels on red leather boots that climbed high up her thighs. The legs they encased were muscular, but shapely, and the warm tanned expanse of her upper thigh and buttock undulated with powerful tone. She wore a matching leather one-piece that seemed to rest on her body rather than shape it, displaying the full measure of her dimensions and fitness completely. Flawless flesh bulged from the bodice top, just tight enough to keep a constant pressure on her proud breasts, disguising their fullness with compression. Her shoulders and upper arms were bare, revealing smouldering skin that looked warm to the touch, while long leather gloves ended past her elbows. Her face was a portrait of composed beauty, meticulous make up and hair-setting giving her a regal air. Unfortunately her expression ruined, or perhaps completed, the look. She gave him a moment to basque in her presence before she drew a long breath through her nose, as if quieting a rising temper.

"I won't lie to you, boy. I'm not here to interrogate you. The army have their own people for that." She slinked up to him, running her gloved hands across his sturdy body. She passed behind, her hands massaging his shoulders slightly. "I'm here to enjoy you." Jal couldn't keep a grin from his face, which she seized upon and traced with a leather-clad finger. Then she brought a knee, swift as a scorpion's tail, up into his midriff. It felt like a sledgehammer, rocking him back and forth on the taught chains and causing him to wretch miserably while he fought to recover the air in his lungs.

"I'm here to enjoy you, not the other way round." She rubbed his wounded torso, as if feeling for damage. "Your body...its resilient. They tell me you're a special forces man. You've been trained to resist torture." She slipped behind him again and this time he wasn't grinning. Her arm lashed around his neck and squeezed him to her tightly, choking him. She hooked a leg over his hip and clenched their bodies together tightly. "That's good. I like a man with stamina." She squeezed his neck so tightly he was worried his spine would break. Then as suddenly as she had attacked, she slipped away again, releasing him to consider his predicament further.

"You're in for a treat. Some men pay me riches for what I'm going to do to you. But they pay for the security of living at the end. What I enjoy, is testing the limits. My limits. Your limits. I'm fascinated by the act of enduring. I think its such a beautiful quality in people. This land is full of enduring people. The amazons here, they're..." she sighed sensually, dramatically "...indomitable. I can exhaust myself on them and they still won't break, they still want more. Such a lovely breed, so strong. Of course, most are too much trouble to keep around for long."

She had walked around him again and now her words were in his ears again. Her whisper felt like the eerie closeness of a crawling spider on his shoulder. "You won't last one minute of what an amazon can stand. I'll have to be very gentle with you just to try you out." She crossed in front of him again and stepped right up to him, her bodice brushing against his bare chest. He stared grimly into her eyes trying to read what was going on in there, but she was glassy-eyed, unerringly calm. Serene even. She stretched her arms above him and grabbed the metal rings his chains were strung through, hanging off the ground by a few inches, then slowly and deliberately raised her legs straight either side of his body. She moved with the complete, practiced precision of a gymnast, not a shudder or a twitch of effort. The movements made her muscles definite, and the only exertion she showed was a long, impatient breath through her nose again. She smiled and cocked an eyebrow as her legs touched his sides, and she made a point of showing her control by stroking him up and down with her leather boots. Her legs wrapped all the way around him but still didn't close, curling instead at the knee so she sat in a 'flying lotus' position around his waist, still hanging her weight from her arms on the rings. Jal didn't know whether to find the experience erotic or unnerving. Progressing the hold, her legs coiled like a python around his trunk. She used this position to move him, showing that she had total control of his body. Then, she squeezed.
Jal almost vomited with the overwhelming force she exerted on his lower torso. The pressure was so sudden and so intense that he was paralysed while she clenched, and could only shake and feel himself turning red in the face while the oxygen in his lungs grew impatient to escape. She kept up the hold until the air exploded like a sneeze from his lips. The soldier whimpered feebly as his lungs tried, and failed, to breathe more air back in. Utterly immobilised, the dominatrix smiled warmly and released him, resting her legs loosely on his hips. She made a noise of amusement and satisfaction.


"I love that feeling. The build – the resistance – and then...surrender. Did you enjoy it? Are you in my fan club now?"

Jal retorted breathlessly. "Free BDSM? They told me I was going to a prison camp, not a brothel."

She flashed a wicked smile and wrinkled her nose at him. "Oh this isn't a prison camp, little boy. But I do get paid for house visits..."

She straightened her legs, wide off of him again, then brought them together with such force his spittle exploded out across her face uncontrollably. She simply shook her head and intensified her grip on him, prolonging the most intense pain he had ever felt in his life. It felt for all the world as if he was trapped in machinery, an iron vice. The pressure mounted, slowly, sensually even, until he felt as though his lungs were going to erupt out through his mouth. Each time he thought it couldn't get any worse, she pushed him further, piquing the pain with skilful, gentle, microscopic increases.

After thirty seconds he was gurning audibly and she laughed at him. She let go of the rings above, letting her full weight hinge on her pressure hold, eliciting a growl of pain from Kericho. Then she wrapped her arms gently around his head and nuzzled him into her breasts soothingly, still maintaining the asphyxiating grip.

"Oh, you poor thing. This isn't even half of what I can do to you. Can you imagine twice this much pressure? I'd cut you in half!" Jal groaned unintelligibly. "Oh don't worry about the mess you made. I've had far worse. It always excites me to get a reaction from my playthings. You're really adorable when you're suffocating to death, I'm going to stop now in case I break you." She released him and for a short while Jal was unable to breathe even when she dismounted completely and wiped her face with her gloved hands. Then she knocked on the door and two pleased-looking Truebloods lumbered through to let her out of the dungeon.

"Since I'm here, I may as well ask..." she purred while he shudderingly, desperately, breathed "...what regiment are you in?"

Jal said nothing, just kept breathing. They already knew the answer anyway from his uniform. This was merely powerplay.

"Oh, you're going to be a lot of fun darling. See you later!" And with a blown kiss, her powerful staccato strides echoed away. The two Truebloods watched her leave appreciatively, before turning their whips and armoured gauntlets toward Jal.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

[JerusalemTulip]

I always enjoy seeing multiple points of view in a story.  Nice to see you continue.  I normally don't mention things like punctuation, everyone has their own style after all, but I actually had to re-read the final two sentences in the first paragraph of this section.  If it happened to me, it might happen to others.  You also need to make sure that the auto correct doesn't screw you over (bask/basque).  I realize this is nitpicking.  Keep in mind though, that  when someone hasn't read you before, its quite easy for them to make  lasting snap decisions about whether they want to keep reading you in the future or not.  I've made similar mistakes.

Considering where you're posting this, I fully understand why some dramatic events are narrated quickly rather than actually experienced and a different sort of encounter is selected to be covered in more detail.  I thought you did a terrific job with environmental detail in the cell prior to the session, setting up his state of mind.  Torture doesn't really help me get off so I didn't read the final bit with much precision.  I like that you tried to provide a believable foundation for it though, rather than just shove it in there.

[Machao6]

Thanks mate, really nice feedback.

I read this back just now and I know exactly what you mean, the last two sentences I've missed a word out and the sentence is too long.


Basque/Bask is a hilarious mistake. No autocorrect there, that's me being a berk! Though I'm sure for the most part Basques have the right weather to Bask in.