Women replace men as the world's masters, but some things never change
Amy sips her coffee in the cool spring air. She fingers the coarse material of her olive drab fatigues, and tosses her glorious long golden hair over her shoulder. At least they let us keep our hair long, she consoles herself. At 21, the 5 foot 7, blue eyed Amy is a strikingly beautiful young woman. Her uniform commits injustice by hiding her luscious curves and constraining her bountiful d cup breasts. As she sips her bitter tasting ration coffee on this morning in the year 2036, she reflects on all the cataclysmic changes that she has witnessed in her young life.
Man had finally driven himself off the cliff. The Global War had pulled in every last country on the planet. Unlike World War I and World War II, there were no neutral nations to serve as possible places of refuge. The frenzied insanity of the world’s leaders dwarfed even that of Hitler in the second war, and made the ambitions of Kaiser Wilhelm in the first war look like laughable child’s play by comparison. Only the world’s women keep their heads. Communicating secretly at first, they eventually establish a world wide network called Women United, with members in every nation. With their one word slogan, “Enough!” they swell their ranks and dedicate themselves to one unwavering objective; returning the world to peace. Finally, with 80% of the world’s male population wiped out, the women make their move. Numbering in the tens of millions, women take to the streets in every capital city in the world and brush aside the now enfeebled governments of men. The world’s armies, pushed past the point of exhaustion, and now freed from the insane control of their political leaders, lay down their arms. “You are no longer capable of ruling us, or even yourselves,” the International Congress of Women proclaims. “The world now belongs to us, and we shall rule it in unity!” National boundaries are eliminated. Missiles, tanks, artillery pieces and military aircraft are all reduced to scrap metal. It seems that the world has entered a truly new age! There are from the first, however, some troubling undercurrents. Men cannot be eliminated entirely. The human race must still be propagated and men are a necessity for achieving this goal. A worthy byproduct of the propagation of the race is satisfaction of the carnal appetites of women. The older a man gets however, the less he desires pussy and the more he desires power. Power is a dangerous thing in the hands of men, as the Global War has so recently demonstrated. Therefore, all surviving men over the age of 30 are done away with by lethal injection, and the International Congress decrees that no man shall live past his 30th birthday. Similarly, older women still have the pattern of subservience to men ingrained within them, whether they know it or not. To start afresh, all women over the age of 40 are disposed of as well. It will now be a young woman’s world, a world of peace and happiness!
Predictably however, the utopia cannot long survive. Women begin to divide into factions. Animosity develops between the factions, and animosity leads to conflict. The reasons for conflict are old and familiar. Power. Pride. Fear and hatred of The Other. Have we really done any better than men? Amy wonders. We were killing each other over our fucking hair color! she thinks, remembering the brief war between the Blondes and Brunettes. Now, five years after the Women’s Revolution, the women of the world are waging war upon themselves. The Latinas have split into two factions at war with each other. The Africans have split into multiple warring factions. The Brunettes and their Redhead allies are locked in combat with the Union of Mediterranean Women. The women of Southern Asia have broken away from their northern sisters to form the Southern Coalition, which is now locked in a nasty little guerilla war with the Subcontinentals. It is the Northern Asians, led by their charismatic Leader, who are now at war with the Blondes.
Amy surveys her platoon roster. She is relieved by the absence of red marks next to the names on the roster. Good. None of my girls is having her period this week. I’m going to need them all to be in fighting trim these next few days. The sergeant is proud of her platoon. They have all been living and fighting together as a unit for almost six months now, and her girls have become her second family; in fact, the only one she has now. I have the hottest platoon in the army, she thinks with pride, reflecting on the bevy of beauties under her command. There’s Katie, her tall 20 year old corporal with d cup breasts almost as large as her own. Barb, tall and slender, is the senior trooper in the platoon, and handles the M-60 machine gun. There’s the petite Janine, the sadistic killer with the face of an angel, and the equally petite Michelle, teased by the other girls for her tramp stamp. There’s Jan, with her long legs and sultry face, and the laughing, blue eyed Julie who regales her fellow troopers with stories of her skill at fellatio. There’s big titted Marilyn, envied by all the other girls in the platoon for her perfectly rounded ass. There’s Ellen, with the biggest tits in the platoon, nicknamed “the Asian” by her fellow troopers for her taste in Asian food and interest in Asian culture, neither of which prevents her from cold bloodedly slaughtering Asian women on the battlefield. There’s the big titted, slow witted Donna, the quietly beautiful Linda, and the gorgeous, perpetually horny Debbie, who is counting the days since she last had sex. All with their personality quirks to be sure, but all part of a great fighting unit, Amy reflects with pride. Amy is also pleased that there are no girls under the age of 18 in her platoon. All are seasoned veterans between the ages of 18 and 21. The Blonde Army is now throwing 16 year old girls into combat as the war consumes more and more young women. The President and her Executive Council are even considering conscripting 15 year olds, Amy thinks with a shudder. Mere girls. War is a woman’s game. The casualty rate among the 16 year old recruits has been appalling. You would think that we would learn from the Asians, whose teen cadets are slaughtered every day like sheep.
The war between the Blondes and the Asians is now in its third year, and is the most bitter and bloody of all the world wide wars now fought between women. Both sides use hollow point ammunition to inflict maximum damage to the bodies of enemy soldiers. No one can now say for certain who committed the first atrocity, but now neither side takes prisoners, or more accurately neither side keeps prisoners. A Blonde trooper captured in battle can expect to be ordered to her knees to receive two bullets to the back of her head, while captured Asian infantrywomen and cadets are processed out with a bullet through the heart or a bayonet thrust to the belly. At the end of each day, Blonde troopers happily compare stories about who killed the most Asian girls that day. The Asians, for their part, speak contemptuously of the “blonde animals,” only fit to be skewered on bayonets. What makes the war even more savage is the lack of heavy weapons on either side. With the mass destruction of all artillery, tanks and military aircraft after the Women’s Revolution, the combatants must rely on close quarters infantry weapons only. It is only recently that both sides have begun to deploy a few hastily manufactured artillery pieces, and these are the weapons that have pulverized the city Amy is now fighting in. The big guns are no longer heard in the city; both sides have shifted them to other sectors, so Amy and her troopers must rely only on their rifles and machine guns, as must their adversaries. But that will change, Amy reflects. Even now the Blondes are finalizing designs for the new M5 main battle tank, while the Asians work feverishly to develop their Type 100 counterpart. In fact, Amy muses, the President and her Executive Council are considering a reform to allow men to live to the age of 40, so that they can be put to work in the defense plants after the age of 30, freeing up valuable womanpower for the battlefield.
Amy cannot share the hatred that most Blondes feel for their enemy. She finds much to admire in her Asian adversaries, including their discipline, bravery and stoic determination to sacrifice their lives, in great numbers if necessary, for their cause and Leader. She is also an admirer of the beauty of the Asian woman. Blondes are the most beautiful women in the world, she reflects with pride, but Asians are a very close second. It’s a shame that we have to slaughter each other like this. Such thoughts, however, do not get in the way of Amy’s sense of duty. She is a ruthless and efficient killer of Asian women because it is her duty to be one. Besides, she reflects, the more of them we kill, the sooner this war will be over.
Amy thinks back to her last weekend of leave, nearly a month ago. Her sperm donor that weekend had been very well hung, and had brought her to orgasm numerous times with his deep thrusting. Hopefully, I’m pregnant, Amy thinks to herself. As a sergeant, she has once a month access to sperm donors, and has also taken advantage of the privilege of getting off birth control. She will find out for sure if she’s pregnant when she goes on leave again in about a week and is pregnancy tested. If I am pregnant, they’ll promote me to Ensign and assign me to staff duty behind the lines so I can raise the baby, she muses dreamily. And, I think that’s what Headquarters has planned for me anyway. On my next leave, they’ve assigned me three sperm donors. I’m going to be a busy girl that weekend she giggles to herself.
Amy can’t feel too sorry for the plight of men in this new world of women. Sure, we process them out when they reach 30, but it’s by injection and it’s completely painless. It’s not like when we shoot or bayonet prisoners, she reasons. They get to celebrate their 30th birthday, and then the next day, we just put them to sleep. And while they live, they get the best food, the best housing, and an unending supply of pussy. And pussy is all men really want, Amy tells herself knowingly. If she feels sorry for anyone, it’s the girls of her platoon. Ranks below sergeant have only limited and irregular access to sperm donors. Katie hasn’t been with a man in almost six months. Some of the girls in the platoon haven’t had sex in almost a year. Depriving horny young women of penis is a sure way to bring out their inner demons. No wonder her girls take out their frustrations on the enemy by slaughtering them with such vengeful zest.
Amy and Karen are now standing in front of the video conference screen, receiving their orders from their Captain. “Karen, your platoon is being shifted to the western sector effective immediately. Amy, you are to hold your current position with your platoon.” “Captain, the enemy is sure to attack us immediately. This position can’t be held by just one platoon,” protests a shocked Amy. “You will receive reinforcements within 48 hours,” replies the Captain. “Right now we need Karen’s platoon in the western sector.” “But, Captain,” Amy begins to protest. She is cut off immediately. “You both have your orders. Carry them out,” the Captain closes the conference and the video screen goes black.
Amy and Karen embrace and bid each other farewell. They have fought many battles together, and Amy’s spirits have always been brightened by the unquenchable cheerfulness of her friend. “Don’t worry. We’ll straighten out the western sector in a couple of days, and then we’ll be back to help you wipe out the enemy here. If you haven’t done it already all by yourselves!” she buoyantly reassures Amy. Amy takes one last admiring look at her friend’s long golden hair, tumbling out from beneath her uniform cap, and her blue eyes, and tall, slender body. She watches with regret as Karen and her platoon stealthily blend into the gathering darkness, and begin their long dangerous move to the western sector. The worst part of this whole thing is, that with their superior communications equipment, I’m sure the enemy intercepted our video conference with the Captain, Amy realizes, with a growing feeling of dread. They have to know that our platoon is now holding this position all alone.