Time Travel and Amazons

Seems like we're having a bit of a science fiction run lately... I'm totally okay with that.

Today, we talk about time travel. And, of course, female domination. Which means Amazons.

Enjoy.

Finding Her Again

There's a lot of stuff that shouldn't be possible that quantum physics lets us do anyway. I don't pretend to explain it. All I know is that I figured it out. I figured out how to do something that can't be done.

I figured out how to travel in time. And not just that, I figured out how to travel to the past, without creating a paradox, and without destroying the fabric of time and space. I was careful. It was just an experiment, an attempt to see if I could do it. I had to test the theory before I went public. The last thing I wanted was to be locked up for my insane theories.

But I knew I couldn't bring something back with me as proof. You can carbon date something that traveled through time. If I went back a billion years and grabbed a rock, that rock wouldn't age a billion years on the way back. It wouldn't age at all. So the dating didn't work.

I had some ideas of how to prove that I could travel to the past. But before I could do that, I had to know that it would work. And I had to know that I could do it without danger.

Which meant something small. Something simple. Something that would be worth doing, even if no one ever found out about it.

That's why I decided to travel back to the most intensely matriarchal society in history. To the Amazonian warrior women. Did the potential of being dominated by woman who had never even considered the possibility of men being in charge play a part in the decision? Of course it did.

I was careful. Nothing I went back with would remain back there. Every part of me was entangled on a quantum level with every other part of me. When I returned, so would every part of me. Sweat, hair, tears, everything. And if my blood left my body in any way, I would automatically return. One drop of blood, and I'd be back to the present. For the first twenty four hours, though, the only thing that would send me back would be my death. I couldn't risk something simple as a scraped knee when I landed ending my trip too early. So I was careful, but realistic. I was as careful as I could be.

I do wish I hadn't been quite so careful.

I ended up completely naked, dragged by my hair through the woods and tossed into an empty dwelling of some sort. She didn't speak to me; I wasn't worthy of her words. Didn't matter, really. I couldn't possibly have understood her.

She left me there for hours, naked and sore from being dragged through the forest. My skin was scratched from underbrush, making me glad I had my twenty four hours before having to worry. The tooth she had knocked out with her fist when she first found me was gone, but I had to assume it would follow me back to the present, hopefully back where it belonged.

When she came back, she came back with questions. Questions I didn't understand.

But I understood the impact of her foot. I understood the slap of her hand. I understood my skin getting hotter. And I understood that she was demanding something from me. She was asking me something. Demanding something. She shouted in my face, she spat in my eye, and she punched me with force beyond anything I'd imagined possible. I don't mean that in a sexist way. I don't see the strongest boxer of any gender hitting as hard as she hit me. I know at least three of my ribs cracked. I know I was lifted off the ground, and that my knees hit the floor hard enough that I couldn't have gotten up if I wanted to.

She pressed her foot on the back of my head and pressed my face into the mud. She shouted at me, but I didn't understand her. She picked me up by the throat, lifting me off my feet and cutting off my air with the same ease as I might lift a pencil.

I thought she was going to kill me. My twenty four hours weren't over yet, and so there was nothing I could do if she had. But she never stopped demanding things. Never stopped looking at me with expectation. As my vision darkened and I reached up to pull at her hands, as effectively as if I'd tried to rip a car in half, she kept asking questions. She listened carefully to hear me beg her to stop. She listened to my words, but could no more make sense of them than I could make sense of her.

I passed out wondering if I would wake up at all, and when in time I would be if I did.

I woke up with my hands lashed to my ankles, sore all over. Nothing was bleeding, obviously, but under my skin, the bruises were definitely making themselves known.

She grabbed my hair as soon as my eyes opened, and she lifted me up onto bruised knees. And she talked to me again. But her tone was different. It wasn't as angry. Wasn't as demanding. It was curious.

I tried to be as clear as I could, relying more on tone and body language than anything else. I prostrated myself in front of her, I put my face to her feet. I kissed her toes, which earned me a pleased sound from her. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. When she raised a hand, I flinched away. She pointed back to her foot and said a word I didn't understand. But with the way she wiggled her toes, I had an idea.

She said the word again and pointed to her leg, and I kissed there. She pointed up between her legs, and I kissed there. She patted me on the head. Then she said another word and showed me her tongue.

I did not need that explained. And I did not need the words she said translated as I worked my tongue against her clitoris, as I licked her to orgasm. I didn't need to know what she was saying.

Slowly, though, I learned some of her words. When she grabbed my cock and squeezed, I thought I knew what she meant. When she squeezed my balls, I was pretty sure. Then she grabbed my throat and said the same thing. Then my hair.

Eventually, I figured out what she meant. She was claiming me. The word she was using. Mine.

I nodded when I understood. She smiled. I smiled when she smiled. When she frowned, I felt pain. She'd pinch me. Or trample me. Nothing ever broke the skin, but that didn't reduce the pain. It only kept me in the past.

She taught me her language like I was a simpleton, like I was her pet. I learned to come, to sit, to stay. I learned to serve. Eventually, she brought me to meet others of her tribe. They were tall, exotic, and all so gorgeous that none of them looked out of place. They all seemed plain, compared to one another, but they were all the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.

I was left nude. I was never given anything, not even a collar. And I stayed on my hands and knees. Standing up the first time led to an abuse of my balls that made me worry that blood would spill. I couldn't stand for hours, and had no desire to stand even when the pain receded. She smiled at me then, pleased I could be so easily trained.

When I really pleased her, she let me cum. Sometimes she let me do it myself. Sometimes she did it, her hands rough and calloused, giving me a mixture of pain and pleasure that made me groan in a way that made her smile.

Sometimes, when she wanted more than my tongue, she would push me down and mount me, fucking me like I was just a sex toy to her. She fucked me until she came, and then she got off, whether I was done or not. The one time I finished early and tried to push her off, she knocked me out and continued to have her way.

It was ideal, honestly. She beat me sometimes, but not severely. She made me cum when she wanted to, and I made her cum when she wanted to. I was learning her language, learning her commands. I was learning to be the perfect slave for her.

It was perfect, and I loved every minute of it. I loved when she showed me off to her friends, like a favored pet. I loved when she told me to demonstrate my skills on them. I even loved when she let them take turns slapping me.

But then, one day, one of them hit me with a closed fist. She hit me, and I felt my jaw and my nose both break. I felt the blood gush out of me.

And then I was back in my lab. My clothes were back where they should be. My bones unbroken. My bruises gone. My tooth back in place. I had back everything I'd lost, but I'd lost everything I had.

I've been trying, ever since, to get back there. I don't care about proving that time travel works. I don't care about the money or the power it could bring me. I just want to go back to where I was. I want to go back to her, to my amazon goddess. I want to be hers again, to be her slave, and to spend my life there, a mass of bruise and orgasm, a servant to a giantess who was as gentle as she was cruel.

I want to go back there. But I can't find it. I can't find her. I've made a dozen trips back, all to the same time and place, but she's never been there. Her tribe wasn't there. I must have been off, somehow, in my initial calculations.

I want to go back. It's all I want.

And I will keep trying.

Someday, I'll succeed. Someday, I'll get back there, and I'll disable all my safety devices. I'll go back there, and I'll stay there forever.

No one will know I'm gone, and no one will realize that I don't even want to come back.