From somewhere in the trees, a jarring horn sounded. Suddenly a great number of women on horseback came thundering into the wide tribal camp. Morgan and his team had only been there for a matter of hours, and they were no more ready for it than the tribesmen. Violence broke out sharply and instantly where the horses met the men. The women had nets and clubs, stun guns and riot pistols. Non-lethal but for the cruelty with which they used them. Morgan watched Kei take a strike to the shoulder from a police nightstick and sit down clutching it with a sort of child-like daze. Chris was caught in a net and twisted his leg, nearly breaking it as he fell. As a woman rode up to Morgan with a gun brandished, he simply put up his hands and sat in place. She smiled and took a net from the back of her horse, tossing it over him almost perfunctorily.
They seemed to be women, but just as the men hadn't looked how Morgan expected, the women didn't either. They stood multiple heads taller than the stunted tribesmen, each easily crossing seven feet, but they also had thick-built frames to support their size. Almost uniformly rippling with the kind of muscle that would have made them one of the strongest human beings alive back on earth. They seemed unconcerned with covering their chests and their genitals, the ones who wore tops covered one breast if they even covered the one, seemingly no more concerned about their tits than they might be their arms or their necks. But their clothing seemed almost purpose-built to draw attention to what was between their legs. Morgan almost hadn't believed the sight when the one who netted him dismounted. She wore a sort of leather sling about her waist which rose above her hip bones and then down to her crotch like a thong, holding and protecting her testicles while her shaft was allowed to swing free. And swing it did. The excitement of victory, as well as what bloodshed there had been, had made her cock hard to the point of throbbing. She breathed heavily and looked man-to-man, eyes as wild as an animal and brandishing her homemade-looking gun, perhaps looking for somebody to bury herself in or some excuse to shoot somebody else with another rubber bullet. It seemed like penetration would have been a biologically impossible feat. Her uncut dick was at least a foot long, and as thick around as one of her muscular forearms, possibly as girthy as eight inches in diameter. The delicate, wavy ginger bob that framed her face, as well as her pale skin and feminine features, seemed transplanted less from a different person and more from a different species.
One of her comrades came from the trees on foot, wearing a chest binding and a crotchless pair of khaki shorts that let her apple-sized black balls and flaccid cock hang freely almost to her mid-thigh. She was the first of them that Morgan had seen who wasn't completely covered in muscle, having a bit of pudge and large breasts that the binding couldn't fully restrain, as well as broad hips that filled out her shorts. She clapped the soldiers on the shoulders as she passed them, making notes whenever she came to one of the captured men with a look of satisfaction. One of the men sprang up at her, having played docile, but a single woman was enough to overpower him. She twisted the crude wooden weapon out of his hand and forced him to his knees by wrenching his arm uncomfortably. She slapped her oversized cock against his face and laughed. The note-taker laughed as well, patting the man on the head condescendingly. Morgan could see the soldier pressing her tip against the man's lips and pinching the man's nose, but right at the moment he heard a wet pop and loud gagging, the note-taker had stepped over toward him and obscured his view.
"Hm, different complexion," As she spoke, Morgan immediately realized that she was likely a scientist. None of the women had the same moronic affectation and vernacular that the tribesmen had shown, but none of the soldiers talked like she did. "Also looks taller than the rest."
"Me and my party aren't with them," Morgan started, "We're on a scientific mission-"
"Speak when spoken to!" One of the soldiers kicked Morgan in the gut and forced him to bend so that his face was between his knees.
"Better diction as well," The scientist didn't seem any more moved by Morgan's plea than she was by the casual violence of her colleague. "I'd guess runaway slave, but I don't see any marks on him."
"Runaway from another Futa civilization?" One of the soldiers posited.
"Could be," The scientist seemed curious, "I'll want to keep a close eye on this one. Mark him for me."
"With pleasure," One of them said as she took a step forward, striking her club against her hand.
"Mark him gently, you ass." The scientist sighed, "It'd be just my luck if you killed him."
Morgan heard the scientist walking away and a second later he was lifted over one of the soldiers' knees, his pants pulled down and then off. She took one of the magazines from her belt and emptied a couple of paintballs from it into her hand, then crushed them until her palm and fingers were dripping red. She reeled back and gave Morgan's ass a harsh spank, leaving a scarlet palm-print that covered the whole cheek, giggling as he yelped. She set him back down and stalked off, following the scientist.
They began the process of shepherding the men through the jungle to a cluster of trucks and carts. As they began the loading, the women confiscated even the meager loincloths and robes of the tribesmen, as well as the remaining parts of the spacesuits that Morgan and his team were wearing. As they did, the women ogled the men's bodies. Chris's wider than average hips and rounder butt made them hoot and rub themselves openly. They laughed and slapped their cocks against their hands, menacing some of the men by grabbing their heads and forcing their faces into their crotches.
The women seemed fixated on cocks, mainly their own. There was an interest in the men's genitals, but only as it related to how much smaller they were than the women's. Kei was better-endowed than most men, but less than a third of the size and girth of the girls so drew very little interest. Meanwhile, the men in the tribe who were substantially smaller than average drew great attention. While most of the men tried to cover themselves, the women did everything they could to flaunt and draw attention to their endowments. They decorated their rods with fabric sheaths and jewelry, rings and piercings alike with some favoring diamonds, as if to make their dicks status symbols. Some had their balls uncovered, others wore what seemed like brightly-colored bras meant to hold and draw attention to them. Some were shaved, others not. Many had tattoos, everything from crude drawings of women sodomizing men to taunts like "Warning: Big Girl" and "Bitch Breaker."
Some of the men tried to run, or offered token resistance, but none of them were close to successful. They were handcuffed or zip-tied and brought to the back of one of the wagons after an extended bout of harassment from the girl or girls who overpowered them. The women's mixture of technology wasn't like anything Morgan had seen in person - horse-drawn carts alongside engines, stun guns and plastic ties alongside wooden clubs and bamboo cages - but it was one of the theorized outcomes of societies that had once had contact with human civilization but that contact was now broken. Assuming that the people Morgan was surrounded by weren't human themselves, just some long-mutated version of them.
It was a shorter ride than Morgan would have expected, perhaps if the tribesmen had been a bit wiser they would have built their camps more than a hour's ride from the city. As the tribesmen babbled to each other airheadedly and lamented their fate, Morgan focused on the conversation of the scientist and the driver at the front of the carriage. They called themselves Futas. They spoke English, the scientist especially good English. Perhaps she was a hanger-on from a human colony who had been changed in some way and gone native. Perhaps she was a translator from the colonial days. At the very least, she seemed much more in place surrounded by motors and the sprawling suburban-looking housing that dotted the outskirts of the city. But the soldiers, while still not savages by any means, seemed far more at home with the mud-huts and lean-tos that were dotted in among the proper houses. Morgan tried to speak to the scientist on a few occasions, but each time one of the soldiers would just rap on the bars angrily. The scientist still didn't seem too concerned about the fact that one of the males could actually talk with her on her level.
The cages were unloaded in the basement of what looked like it had been the settlement constabulary at some point. The Futas didn't bother restraining the ones who weren't already bound, there was nowhere to run. A group of people had come out of their homes to watch the procession pass, and the only non-futas that could be seen in the crowd were the occasional man who seemed to be bound hand-and-foot. As Morgan and the other men were lined shoulder-to-shoulder, he risked getting himself closer to Kei and Chris. Kei's shoulder was starting to show an ugly bruise, but he didn't seem to be in too much pain. Chris was shaken, but otherwise fine. As the men were brought up one at a time, all three of them started to sweat. As much from the collective body heat in the room as well as nerves. Kei fidgeted and Chris bit his nails.
"You don't think they're going to kill us, do you?" Kei mumbled, sounding like he was about to cry.
"Don't even joke about that," Chris snapped loudly enough for one of the Futas standing near him to slap his ass harshly.
