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The Savage Land Imbroglio	By : Ksennin Category: X-men Comics > General Views: 9884 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: The following story is an adult-themed parody of the Uncanny X-Men comic book. The X-Men and all related characters are property of Marvel Comics. No profit was made from publishing it.

Chapter List
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The waterfall poured a curtain of water into the cozily small lagoon, stirring up the waters before letting them escape into a thin stream that dwindled down through the jungle, providing a brief, cool drink for any animal passing. The lagoon itself--all sixty feet of it--provided a comfortable home for a multitude of shimmering fish, their scales seeming to laugh visually as they caught the light that didn't bounce off the sparkling water. In the sweet spot of the lagoon, halfway between the white waters of the waterfall and the quickening torrent that became the throat of the river, in the middle of the water where it was as placid and wavering as the dunes of the Gobi Desert, there laid some kind of insect atop the lake surface. It moved only slightly, fitting its great size, and this interested the fish of the lagoon greatly. One detached from its school, swimming up with impressive speed to gobble the insect down before it left.
The next thing it felt was the lure's hook skewering it.
Zar watched as Shanna reeled the fish in. 'Fly-fishing,' as she called it, was quite strange to him, he and his tribes being used to spear-fishing. They never fished in the lagoon, despite its dense population, because the fish there were simply too fast to spear. And yet as counterintuitive as Shanna's method [c1] seemed, baiting a trap and then waiting for a fish to come to her, it was effective. Not as much fun, but effective. And spending a great deal of time with Shanna with nothing to do but wait for some dumb fish to bite was fun enough for him.
"Doc showed me how to do it. It's a very old tradition where he comes from," Shanna explained for perhaps the tenth time. She was as shy a conversationalist as Zar, which heartened him a little. The girls of his tribe seemed to have an opinion on everything from the color of the sky to the length of each others' hair, and he could only describe in stilted words how much he had liked observing a wild boar going about its business the past day, the stalking preparation for another hunt.
"Maybe if many of them fish this way at the same time, it is not so boring. Someone would always be getting a bite!"
Shanna nodded in thought. "I prefer the spear too."
As always, she saw right through him. It shouldn't bother him--she still spent a great deal of time with him, despite surely knowing what colored his heart every minute of every day, but he could not help but be embarrassed. Because surely, if she knew his feelings about simple fishing, then she also knew why he looked at her the way he did.
It was something Zar tried desperately to curtail. It wasn't as if her clothing, dainty as it was, covered any less than the woman of his tribe. They often went topless or fully naked, so long as it wasn't a ritual-day. And there were many great beauties among his tribe as well. Korza, with her long strong legs; Quinta, with the halo of curled hair she maintained so artistically; Jorla, whose thick arms and back let her toss around any man. Some of them even thought Shanna was displeasing to the eye--her pink skin might as well be the green of the Saurians, her yellow hair made it look like her head was catching fire, her blue eyes made it seem like her insides had frozen. Zar thought some of them must be jealous, because to him, Shanna was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, of any color.
And of late, she'd become impossibly, intolerably erotic. Her breasts and hips, any man's delight in women, had once been the size of the common tribeswoman. Now, her breasts strained at the covering that had once held them fully, while the back of her panties (as the outsiders called it) disappeared between firm, round buttocks whenever her loincloth flipped up. Her blonde hair (as the outsiders called it) seemed brighter than before, like it was metal and had been polished to gleam. Her skin was clearer, her scars only detectable by the faintest touch... and ever since she had told him Dr. Elsa was showing her something called 'make-up,' her lips appeared fuller, her eyes darker... on and on the perfections piled, until she seemed less mortal than god. A fertility goddess, holding the wondrous curves of the tribe's matrons with also the hardness and sleekness of the warriors.
Was it any wonder Zar could barely control his power-of-man when she visited him? He tried everything, sitting cross-legged, heavier loincloths, thinking of the most savage sights the hunts had to offer--even the time he'd seen Doc bathing in the lagoon--but she made his power-of-man so strong that it overcame all obstacles placed before it. She always seemed to realize, giving him a look both curious and knowing, and even if his power-of-man was dormant, that look would bring it to life. Sometimes he even had to think up excuses to end their hunts early, so he could go somewhere private and perform the polishing-of-the-spear upon himself.
Some of the other hunters, older but not wiser, had realized her hold on his power-of-man. They callously asked why he did not simply ask for her blessing with a kiss or a brisk touch to the behind (their suggestions became progressively cruder from there), as if she could not simply refuse him and make him forever shame-faced. And him knowing for a fact that those same hunters were harangued by their mates day and night, either in hopes of receiving their blessing upon their power-of-man or because the women did not find their power-of-man sufficient to their blessing!
No. No, he would track his prey, learn its tracks, its spoor, its movements and habits, so that one day he could flush it out into the open and--
His power-of-man had been summoned again.
By then, Shanna had reeled the fish in--this was also strange, as she seemed to spend as much time allowing the fish to attempt escape as she did pulling it to shore. Zar sat down quickly by the fire he'd prepared, crossing his legs to hide the power-of-man and focusing on how she gutted the fish for the fire-pan. Getting so deep inside the fish--this was not helping.
"I hope the taste is worth the effort," Shanna said, tossing the bones aside with one hand while tossing the flesh into the pan with the other. It sizzled explosively and she licked her fingers clean of blood. That also did not help.
Go away, power-of-man, I have no use for you! he thought desperately, but it would not listen to him. Only Shanna. That... that she-devil!
"I'm sure it will be," Zar said. She looked at him and laughed. She only seemed to do that around him. Like so many things, Zar did not know if that was for good or ill.
"I like your hair," she added, as her laugh became a smile became her usual set expression.
"My hair?" he asked, reaching up to touch it as if he hadn't noticed it before. He'd never quite liked it. Although he'd lived nearly twenty eclipses and been on his first hunt, he still had not slain a raptor and earned the right to wear his hair in the hunters' dreadlocks. It remained a wedge of wispy curls that defied all control, like a woman's. He would've liked to shave it off, as did ‘Billy’ of the soldiers, who many of the tribeswoman spoke of lovingly, but the shaman told him that would offend the spirits.
"Yes. It looks very soft, but also... not like the soldiers' hair, when they don't care. Not unkempt," she added, in the rigorous tone she always got when remembering Dr. Elsa's language lessons. "May I touch it?"
Zar could've sworn his power-of-man spoke to him then. Say yes, YES you idiot! If she touches you, perhaps you can touch her! The shamans say never to touch without permission, but why would she deny you permission when you have given her yours?
"Yes!" he blurted out, rather too excited, and felt a dread in the pit of his stomach and a stirring in his loins as her eyes dropped down momentarily. That. Knowing. Look.
She-devil.
Shanna reached out, leaning across the fire, and Zar lost his breath as he realized he could see directly down her top-covering, seeing almost all of her breasts but the nipples themselves. He looked away hurriedly--from the way the soldiers spoke of them, he knew breasts had a great deal of religious significance in the outsiders' culture--but the only other thing to see was her face. She looked at him with the same stern intensity she regarded an opponent, or prey. All that was lacking was the joyful anticipation of victory she wore before violence. In its stead was... trepidation.
He had never known anything to make her nervous before.
A-ha! his power-of-man cried. She fears the reaming we will give her once permission is given! Let her fear! Fear and want!
Shut up, power-of-man, Zar thought, because Shanna's hand was in his hair. He liked the way it felt around; her touch itself made his hair seem softer, more luxurious than he would've believed. And when she didn't just feel, but reached down to his scalp and touched--oh, he should worry he would melt underneath her fingertips, but even were that to happen, he wouldn't fret over it at all.
"May I touch yours?" he asked, eying the gleaming gold hair that marked her as strange both to soldier and tribesman.
She nodded tightly, a hint of that old violent anticipation in her eyes. Bolstered by both her approval and his always-approving power-of-man, Zar reached out and ran his finger down a strand of hair that had fallen cross her forehead. He tried to, at least. In his clumsiness, he more batted it around like a cat with a piece of string. She smiled, and imitated the motion, swiping her finger through the bush of his wiry hair.
Somehow unfretted, he circled his finger until the lock of hair was whirled around it, amazed at how fine and delicate it seemed. Was there anything else he could touch so slender that would not be ripped apart by the gentlest breath? It seemed as impossible as balancing a rock on a spider-web, but there it was, wrapped around his finger.
"Touch more of me," she said, and it wasn't either a command or a question, but a bit of both. Zar unspooled his finger from the curl he'd put in her hair, moving his hand down over that wonderfully balanced face, its symmetry both delicate and stone-hewn, the eyes tipping it from the innocent challenge of a girl-child to the aggression of a tiger. Her skin was even finer to the touch than her hair, and he envied all who would come to touch her for being able to feel this for the first time.
Her lips parted. Her tongue peeked out of her mouth. And then she said the worst thing she could have said "Your loincloth is moving."
Zar looked down, though there was no need. "I'm sorry, my power-of-man comes sometimes when it is not needed..."
"Cock," Shanna said simply.
"What?"
"It's a cock." Her hand opened. "I know what to do with cocks."
Even his power-of-man was silent as she reached down and pulled aside the flap of his loincloth, exposing his full length. Zar hoped she did not find him too unsightly. He knew her people tended toward smaller endowments, and could only hope she did not find him grotesquely oversized. What if she told him he would not fit!?
"I'm sorry, I forgot to ask. May I touch you there?"
Zar's power-of-man roared back to life. "Yes!" it said through his lips.
Trepidation leaving her, she smiled confidently and grasped him. Immediately he was shocked into ecstasy. He had always enjoyed his own touch during the polishing-of-the-spear, but Shanna seemed to know how to touch him better than he knew himself! Her grip was both soft and sure, growing warmer as she clenched and relaxed her hold to get comfortable. He groaned and bucked his hips without meaning to. And seeing his delight, Shanna started to rub.
Zar closed his eyes. He did not think he could stand both the sight of Shanna in all her glory and the way she was touching him. She easily surpassed his own awkward fumbling for orgasm with a swift, sure hold that ran up from the base of his cock, tapered down the head, and then ran back down the shaft. It was exquisite, her curled fingers seeming to give every bit of his manhood wonderful attention. She knew exactly how to hold him, stroke him, caress him, and pleasure him. And she soon learned that moving her hand faster just made things better on his end. Shanna liked making things better for him.
"You may touch me as well," she offered, drawing up the flap of her loincloth to reveal her own needy sex, carefully shaven to resemble the women in the hidden magazines. "Sometimes I become wet down there when I think of you. I am wet right now. I hope it doesn't bother you."
Zar didn't hear her question. Zar wouldn't have heard a T-rex roaring three feet behind him. He was dead to the world, all the consciousness in his body dragged out of its proper flesh to be crammed into his cock (as the outsiders called it). Shanna was stuffing him in tighter and tighter, her hand making a sweet prison for him, and it was shaking apart as she went faster. Zar could never remember being so hard, his power-of-man so loud, an inarticulate scream to possess her and worship her and punish her and mate her. The thinnest strand connected it to the feeling of the polishing-of-the-spear, but it was so much more intense, there was no way to compare the two. He thought he might die, it felt so good.
And he wouldn't have cared one bit.
"Zar, are you alright?" Shanna asked, and when he opened his eyes to see that lovely concerned face and fine young teats and the ready pink lips of her femininity, his power-of-man roared louder than ever before. Like the great volcano he erupted, his seed flung mightily, landing as high as Shanna's shoulder and as far as the water of the lagoon. His man-roar seemed to last an entire moon, draining him of all lifeforce even as it freed his spirit to expand back into his body and feel the aching pleasure encasing him. But finally, he was himself again, and his indefatigable manhood lay fallen against his thigh, a waning drip of seed the only sign of life.
She had killed his power-of-man!
Shanna seemed satisfied with his... outburst, daintily licking a dollop from her shoulder and swishing it around her mouth to know its taste. Her verdict didn't show on her face; she only nodded to herself. Then she shucked her top-covering and laid down upon the beach, her spread legs easily overcoming her loincloth's modesty. He could see all of her, from the grand red nipples that crowned her glorious breasts, to the blessing-of-woman that blazed like a setting sun with her own arousal. He even saw the small puckered hole of disposal, which some hunters claimed could be pillaged as pleasurably as the breeding-hole, or more so. Shanna, all of her, was laid out before him like a tender roast on a spit, the meat only needing the lightest bite to be devoured.
"And now touching?" she asked, licking him from her fingers just as she had the fish-grease. Evidently, his taste met with her favor.
But Zar's power-of-man, which sometimes rose three or four times no matter how hard he polished the spear, would not wake. He was afraid. Afraid of not being able to give her the same pleasure she had just given him, afraid of her coyly knowing look turning to one of disgust when she learned what kind of touching he so deeply desired--afraid of not being able to fit. He could not summon the courage, and even if he could, his power-of-man would not obey him. He had to leave, leave before she came to remember him this way, a scared little boy of no real hunts who had not the power-of-man to mate a woman in the proper fashion.
Scrambling in a sudden panic, Zar adjusted his loincloth so it once more covered him. "I must go!" he said quickly, and when she looked at him quizzically, he repeated himself even faster, to sound like a bird squawking. "Imustgo!"
And he ran into the jungle so fast that Shanna looked around for the raptor swarm that must have scared him so. There was none to be found.
Remembering Doc's lessons on modesty, Shanna once more draped herself. She licked her shoulder clean, like a cat would, deciding that although it was a very new taste, she quite liked the flavor of the sap that came from cock.
She wondered if all men had such tasty sap inside them.
***
Zar could not believe his own stupidity. He wanted to run back to the lagoon and see if Shanna was still there, beg her to disregard his ridiculous cowardice. Certainly, his power-of-man had been exhausted… that did not mean he couldn’t have used his fingers or tongue upon her. Hadn’t he always thought to himself how diligently, how lovingly he would attend to a woman’s pleasure in such a way, if only a woman would deign to have him? Not like the older hunters, who merely wanted to satisfy their power-of-man and then cast aside their women like dirty rags. Well, at least those hunters gave their women some small measure of satisfaction. All he’d given Shanna was probably a sore wrist!
What was wrong with him? Something had to be wrong with him. He was handsome enough—he thought. Long limbs, some muscles, he washed his hair each day… he wasn’t even that bad a hunter. He could probably bring down a Gallimimus by himself if the older hunters weren’t there to beat him to it. So why was it that when it came to Shanna, he went down like a compy in a tar pit?
All the other hunters got to be predators with their mates—wooing them, courting them, seducing them. With Shanna, he felt like the prey. Blinded like he’d gotten a face full of Dilophosaurus bile. It wouldn’t be so bad—nothing about what Shanna had done to his power-of-man had been bad, except the idiot he’d made of himself after—but didn’t Shanna deserve a hunter? A big, strong man to protect her and take care of her? Well… a strong man, at least? Zar could do nothing about the few inches she scaled over him.
Zar had just resolved to return to the village and practice with his spear until he was worthy of Shanna, when he heard a rumble behind him. A deep, almost volcanic rumble.
The growl of the sabretooth tiger.
Zar was not such an idiot that he did not carry his trusty stone knife with him at all times. His hand dropped to his hip, where it was strung to his loincloth. Carefully, he began to draw it. An insane part of himself that sounded much as his power-of-man had spoke excitedly of how this was sure to impress Shanna… assuming he survived.
Then he heard the second growl coming from alongside him and knew the only way he would impress Shanna was if he left behind a good-looking corpse.
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The Savage Land Imbroglio