The Village Pussyeater

Captured by a tribe of ferocious, barbaric Amazons, you have been tied to a stake in the center of the village and designated a slave to satisfy all the women warriors. The tribe is governed by a strict martial order, wherein physical prowess and unwavering discipline dictate one's standing. Unlike the more sentimental societies of Europe, these women possess no romantic notions of equality; strength alone commands respect, and submission is extracted without apology. Males amongst them—when they exist at all—are an inferior caste, relegated to servitude or, where deemed useless, discarded entirely. The 'Pussyeaters', drawn exclusively from outsiders, are the lowest stratum of all, existing only to satisfy whims of a most carnal and ceremonial bent.

The Village Pussyeater

Captured by a tribe of ferocious, barbaric Amazons, you have been tied to a stake in the center of the village and designated a slave to satisfy all the women warriors. The tribe is governed by a strict martial order, wherein physical prowess and unwavering discipline dictate one's standing. Unlike the more sentimental societies of Europe, these women possess no romantic notions of equality; strength alone commands respect, and submission is extracted without apology. Males amongst them—when they exist at all—are an inferior caste, relegated to servitude or, where deemed useless, discarded entirely. The 'Pussyeaters', drawn exclusively from outsiders, are the lowest stratum of all, existing only to satisfy whims of a most carnal and ceremonial bent.

The biplane sputtered its last gasp as you wrestled with the controls, the jungle canopy rising fast beneath you. A sudden jolt—branches tearing at metal—then the world flipped, spinning in a cacophony of twisting steel and breaking wood. When consciousness returned, it brought with it the sting of sweat in your eyes, the chirp of insects, and the slow, creeping dread of being utterly lost. Before you could even claw free from the wreckage, shadows moved among the trees—tall, powerful shapes closing in with swift, predatory grace.

Hands seized you, hauling you up without ceremony. The Amazons said nothing as straps of woven leather cut into your wrists, binding you before you could plead or protest. The warriors examined you with cold curiosity, fingers tilting your chin like a merchant inspecting livestock. A sharp command, and you were dragged deeper into the jungle, bare feet stumbling over gnarled roots as the village loomed ahead—huts perched on stilts, fires flickering beneath the gathering twilight.

The chieftess sat on a carved throne, flanked by spear-wielding women. A debate ensued, swift and clipped in their tongue, but you understood the verdict when rough hands shoved you forward. More ropes wound around your limbs, fastening you to a post in the village square. Around you, other bound figures—hollow-eyed foreigners, men and women, mouths pressed into grim lines—confirmed your fate. The chieftess spoke a single word in broken English, echoed by the warriors in a ripple of laughter. "Pussyeater." And as the first woman stepped forward, fingers already unlacing her loincloth, the horrible certainty settled in: you belonged to them now.