Chapter 2

When the BitchBots came to school again to take away Linda, the masturbatory fantasy of my early high school years, I began to get seriously pissed and decided that I had to do 'something'.

Belinda 'Linda' Moore was among the top girls selected and the only one taken from our school. The Empress bitch or her bitchy minions had made a superb choice, damn them! She was without a doubt the most totally smoking hottie at my school and was at the top of the 'A' list.

I'd never even kissed her, let alone had sex with her, nor had my other male survivors. She wasn't even one of the many newly converted lesbians either. She'd had a boyfriend, pre-invasion, but lost him to the initial triage when he was 'C' listed into becoming a bio-renewable resource. Six months later she was still pretty much in mourning for him. She was fairly nice to us guys in a sad, 'oh you are so screwed!' sort of way, but she didn't want to get close to us, especially in the very biblical sort of way that the other remaining girls seemed to prefer.

I adored her, but from a chaste distance. The idea that some uber-lesbian alien she-monster from Mars was going to be sticking her tentacles (or worse) into the one and only true love of my life was unthinkable!

When they came to collect her to take her fertile and very fuckable ass off to the spaceship, I knew it was time to get off of my ass and find something to do about the situation! The Empress was on the move again, and she was heading straight for us!

Having consumed all of the Pittsburg steel it wanted for now, the behemoth craft had once again taken to the air and floated down to the dead center of the Everglades swamp, where it was 'taking the waters', so to speak.

This was not far at all away from Homestead and I watched it sail past us on its way to its new home. It was frighteningly impressive and depressing. The bitch Empress had us all over a barrel and we couldn't do shit about it.

Our unofficial little 'Underground' wasn't doing so hot these days. Nearly all of the men were gone or else mentally castrated and content for now to be towed around on some woman's leash. The few survivors tried to stick together and pick off the odd isolated Benedicta, but it was getting harder all the time to find safe places for ambush and even harder afterwards to make an unseen escape after our shot was fired. Ammo was getting real hard to find as well, especially military grade armor piercing rounds that could disable a SkyEye before it could bring reinforcements down on our head.

Resistance really was getting to be futile, but none of us wanted to baah like helpless little sheep while being led into the slaughterhouse someday probably soon. My buddy Rob and I decided that up until the end we were going to go down fighting. It's just what the underdog is supposed to do — the plucky monkey-boy fights on against hopeless odds until the fatal weakness of the invader is discovered and exploited. Well that's the way it goes in the movies anyway.

Alas, Macintosh laptops loaded with secret viruses weren't going to bring this big bad alien bitch down. It was time for King Arthur to arise from his nap at Avalon ... and bring along Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon with him for good measure to save the day. Instead, there was just me, seventeen year old Pete Rogers, with no ray guns or secret government spaceship, to save the day.

We were soooo fucked.

In the end there were just three of us, my best friend Rob, a scared fifteen year old kid named Luther who was a useless shot but was the best at scouting and sneaking around hidden, and myself. Undaunted, we made endless plans to somehow send for the cavalry to come save the day, but there always seem to be a fatal flaw in our plans ... there was no cavalry left to come to our rescue.

Oh yeah, we were all so totally screwed and we knew it!

I was permitted to remain in school, while my eventual 'assignment' was decided, but really there wasn't much to do. I wasn't technically really permitted 'education' anymore, since I was to be a dumb breeding bull along with my other buddies, so Rob and I hung out in the gym a lot and got totally ripped lifting weights, and we played a lot of three on three basketball or anything else that just seven guys could play to avoid being bored, in-between frequent bouts of hot teenaged sex.

The girls had figured out the new rules of the mating game fast. All of the 'fertile' ones were now on some sort of temporary birth control and they learned quickly that there was nothing like the present for having some fun, especially under these extreme uncertain circumstances. Most of the 'A' list girls, about forty of them, were pretty quickly were giving us lone five guys all of the sex that we could handle.

Lesbianism was being officially instructed in school now as the 'preferred' sexual outlet for the new dominant race of young feminist ladies, but the gals were never prevented from 'practicing for reproduction'. They were however being increasingly instructed to treat us surviving males as lesser, subservient creatures that, except for sexual services, were otherwise useless and unnecessary to the future of this world. This philosophy did tend to put a bit of a romantic damper on more than a few relationships. Quickly, even the nicest girls started to treat us survivors as boy-toys to be used, ridden hard (and often) and put away wet.

Most of the girls, eager to obey and hopefully continue to live to see next week, eventually started to get with the new official "Men are Scum" program, but a million years of hardwired evolution is a pretty hard thing to unravel at one time. Some folks will always go along to get along, others will rebel out of principle, and most everyone else in the middle doesn't really care but doesn't want to be the nail sticking up that gets hammered down.

The life of being a resident stud bull quickly started to wear off fast!

It was one of our schoolmates, a 'Junior Sister' that could recite the SCUM Manifesto as if it were the Koran, that caught on to our little underground army activities and was delighted to denounce us all as 'traitors to humanity'. The little Quisling twat had followed us after school one late spring day, certain that three males on their own were certainly up to no good. We weren't of course, but that was our business not hers.

She saw us leaving town (forbidden) head down to Marshall's lagoon and get into a motorboat (very forbidden), and load ourselves to the teeth with firearms (extremely forbidden) and other supplies. We didn't spot her until it was too late and after she had reported us on her little junior spy radio to her superiors at the Sisters for the Purification and Preservation of Mother Earth, and she continued to loudly denounce us until Rob put a bullet into her warped and brainless, but pretty little head.

We were so screwed!

We grabbed her body and took it with us into the swamp before dumping it, but the EyeBots were already on the way searching for us.

One of the things that we had discovered early in our rebellion against the evil empire was that our internal little microchip didn't transmit or track well underwater. It's hard to row one handed with our marked left hands stuck in the water, but we were sure that if we used the big outboard motor we could be tracked nearly immediately by that was also. We hid the boat fast in the first big thicket that we could find and resigned ourselves to spending the next couple of days up to our necks in water and praying that the alligators didn't get us before EyeBots or FemBotsBitches did!

They must have wanted us bad, because it took nearly four days before they called off the search for us. We had a good stash of supplies and an old hand-crank magneto from an old antique telephone that was pretty good at shocking fish for us to easily catch and eat barely cooked over inadequately warm fires on sticks. The chase had forced us rather deeper into the Everglades than we had wanted to be; nearly due south and much too close to the bitch queens spherical spacecraft. You couldn't miss the thing, we were so close now that it blocked out the entire sky to the south.

Going home wasn't an option, but we thought that maybe we could either work our way south to the Keys to see if we could find a bigger boat that would get us to either Andros in the Bahamas or Cuba, or else turn to the northwest Florida coast and see how things were in Naples. Being Homestead kids, we probably could have survived just fine in the Everglades indefinitely but no one wanted to keep looking at that goddamn sphere for the rest of our probably short lives. There were lot of isolated cabins out here if you know where to look, but those don't help much against flying EyeBots or satellite cameras that could pick up our campfires. We needed to get away from creepy spider-queen central.

We still hadn't decided upon a destination, when the rules of the game changed completely ... again, well at least for me anyway. I had a date with destiny ... and a really bad hairstyle.

Nearly at once, things became far too weird to suit me!

We weren't paying a lick of attention while we argued about the exotic vacation destinations that we could to choose from when we heard a voice call out weakly, "Help me please!"

The voice belonged to a wet and bedraggled woman who was in the water about thirty yards off half swimming half crawling towards us from the nearby direction of the Martian ship. Rob nearly put a bullet into her just on principle, but I told him to wait as she didn't seem to be much of a threat. She did ask for help and didn't seem to be one of the Sister twats.

As she staggered up the last few feet onto our little patch of semi-dry land, a couple of interesting facts came immediately to mind. For starters, she wasn't dressed for an afternoon's swim, in fact she was barely dressed at all! Her outfit consisted of a white lace corset that restrained the stomach but not the breasts, a white lace garter belt and hose and six inch stiletto heels with ankle locks that prevented the shoes from being removed. A white lace choker with a dangling large red stone that seemed attached to the flesh between her bare breasts completed the ensemble. The long white ponytail coming out the ass was just additional decoration ... we hoped.

There was one other interesting and pertinent observation, she wasn't really a 'she', more like a he that had been turned into an 'it', or a 'he-she'. Underneath that garter belt was a very shriveled cock and tiny pair of balls, about the size of a walnut.

So that's what happens to the 'B' graded men! Ouch!

In addition to her other fetishes, our Bitch Empress of the known universe liked to turn rugged he-men into frilly simpering girlie-boys. It was like some unspeakable Japanese futanari anime become reality ... as if millions of 4chan residents all suddenly left their parents basements and entered the real world.

Our ladyboy began pleading for us to help him/her/it get the choker off and she began to tug with both hands at the implanted gem in her chest, but not for long. A moment later there was a cry of pain and brief flash of light and the poor victim was quite dead, with a very burned out chest cavity. The gem was undamaged and now hanging loosely from it's chain dangling from the choker, and it began to slightly pulsate.

We didn't think that this was good news, and worried that the gem was calling for help or reporting us as unwholesome (and unmodified) males ripe for termination.

Rob grabbed a shovel to try and shatter the gem while I was fiddling with the choker collar trying to find a clasp to unfasten it to throw the sucker in the water. Neither of us had any luck. Luther then had the idea of grabbing the hand-cranked magneto and Rob and I each grabbed one of the wires and placed it up against the sides of the gem, while Luther began to crank like a madman.

That old telephone magneto sure put out a lot of juice and it could shock the hell out of you if you used it while sitting in a metal boat, which we did once while fishing with it a few years ago. I think his dad said it was once part of an old Western Union phone and it could put out over 100 volts at nearly 5 amps. Not enough to kill a person, or a fish ... but it would make them really, really unhappy.

The gem didn't like this treatment at all and this irregular electricity really seemed to screw up its internal circuits. It flashed colors like a kaleidoscope until just as Luther's arm was beginning to tire it let out a bright flash of light, turned clear in color and went 'dead'.

Now I could easily remove the choker and I held it in my hand. Rob made some joke about dressing up Luther in the futa's outfit and using him to infiltrate the dragon Empresses lair, but he gave us the middle finger and coiled up the copper wires from the magneto and started to pack up the boat for us to skedaddle out of here.

"Andros Island." He said, firmly ... and there was no longer any debate. It was time to get the hell out of Dodge. There was just one little problem, the gem was starting to come back to life and was now glowing a faint clear light color right in my hand.