I crept around the corner of the run down building, trying my hardest to blend into the shadows. I hoisted my bag higher on my back as the Glamazon patrol passed me by. Glamazons. I shuddered. Too many times I had heard stories about what happens to men caught in their traps.
Still, I had to fight to tamp down on my instincts. One of them was ovulating. I could smell her from a block away. Sense the slight rise in her body temperature. I shook myself. Hard. I bolted to my hidden bike, left in a dark space between two buildings. I kicked the electric bike to life, the deep purr and vibration a comfort between my thighs.
Peeling out, I left the edges of the city for the rapidly encroaching woods, and my home in the countryside.
I'm Scott hall, I'm 25, and lean. I stand at 6'2, black hair, hazel eyes. I am a man. One of the last.
I was a young man when it happened. The ayatollah had declared a universal jihad against the 'great Satan', and a virus was released. The entire Islamic world boasted that the virus would leave all white men impotent, reduced in faculty and weak. Unfortunately for them, technology has long been the critical weak point of the Islamic power structure. A small, but critical error was made in the virus. Instead of targeting European genetic male traits, the virus targeted everyone else.
Nearly one billion people on the planet were non Arab white. Out of the seven billion remaining, half were male. Each and every one of them died horribly, blood hemorrhaging from their orfices as their semen turned toxic in their testes. Overnight, the world population had been halved.
As if that weren't bad enough, nine out of ten of the remaining men erupted into pulsating tumors before their cellular structures catastrophically failed. In a matter of days, men had become critically endangered. I remember watching my dad and my little brother both dissolving into slightly slimy water before my very eyes. Then I got sick. And I can remember thinking that this was it. That I was going to die too.
I spent four weeks in a feverish fugue, sweating bullets as my body twisted in knots inside. When I woke up, I felt... different. Stronger. Faster. I felt powerful.
In the aftermath of the plague, civilization barely survived. The loss of so many men crippled the world's governments, especially in the Middle East, Asia, and Africa. The u.s. admittedly wasn't much better, but we were better. Better enough, anyway. At least for a while.
The country rapidly fell apart. The government still held sway over the cities and population centers, but the outskirts were truly lawless. There simply weren't enough civil officers to patrol everything anymore. The city borders quickly became the frontier. Where civilization interacted with lawless wilderness.
It was where men came to trade. And where there were men, there were man hunters. The Glamazons were one of many such groups, whose sole purpose was to grab men for the black breeding market. Which was counter to almost everything a man these days needed.
Something feral had been unleashed when the virus hit. Something ancient. Men these days were almost all white. But all of us had a beast inside us now. If we spent too much time around an ovulating woman, we go into a state of rut, our higher functions overridden by the animalistic need to dominate, to fuck, to inseminate.
When not in rut, we were wild, nomadic. Consumed by a different kind of lust, wanderlust. Captured men slowly lost themselves to the insanity of not being able to wander, tied down and milked for semen until they died.
I had avoided that fate thus far, staying mostly to myself and keeping my senses peeled. I had a small homestead out in the boonies, something I had built myself. A small subsistence garden bordering the woods. Game was plentiful, the hunting was good, and the soil was fertile. Not to mention the hidden traps.
It was as I was going inside to drop my groceries, a set of batteries, replacement solar panels, and other assorted electronics, that I heard the sound that always put my blood up. The trap alarm.
I went outside to check the trap, a small pit under a trapdoor, and my breath caught when I saw her. The ovulating Glamazon. My nostrils flared as my eyes dilated, bringing every detail into sharp relief. She was tall, with slim arms and legs, but thick thighs and a rear end that could only be described as "ghetto booty". She was dark skinned, one of the most dark skinned girls I'd ever seen, almost blue. She had dark eyes that glared up at me as if to ask who the hell I thought I was. Her massive tits strained and bounced beneath her skimpy top as she breathed deeply in and out.
I took in a deep breath and my cock hardened in my pants. She was ripe. She was ready.
