Kingdoms: Amazonia 10

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Kingdoms: Amazonia 10


Amanda Bynes, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Michelle Trachtenberg, Bridget Regan, Alyson Hannigan, Alexis Bledel, Brittany Daniel, Marcia Cross, Lyndsy Fonesca, Amy Acker, Sarah Chalke, Charisma Carpenter, Anna Popplewell,


FF, anal, squirt, F-solo, voy


This is a work of fiction, obviously there is no such place as Amazonia and the celebs doing nasty things in this story probably aren’t doing them in real life, though for all I know they may be having lots of lesbian sex with each other.


Amanda Bynes gave a moan of satisfaction. She was lying naked on a table, her chin resting on her hands. In the corner a musician played a slow, but cheery tune, whilst a singer sang a tale of Gypsies and romance. That wasn’t what had produced the satisfied moan, but the fact that her ladies in waiting Sarah Michelle Gellar and Anna Popplewell were giving her a deep massage.

There was no doubt, thought Amanda, she deserved it. It had been another long day preparing her armies for war; she hadn’t realised how complex it was bringing the host together. One aristocrat couldn’t bear to be camped near another, two more disliked being so far apart, there were arguments about pay, about provisions, about whether a perceived favourite was getting better wine or whether a minor noble should be allowed to fly her own standard as well as the Queen’s. And that was before they even discussed strategies – Amanda was besieged by suggestions, wait until spring, go now, take all the women and go slow, take a light striking force and go fast. She listened to them all with, if she was lucky, Lady Marcia Cross standing beside her making suggestions and tactfully turning away the more outlandish.

No, thought Amanda, she didn’t just deserve this massage, she needed it. In the midst of all her troubles it was gratifying to discover that both Anna and Sarah were skilled masseurs, rubbing away all her tensions. Anna had her head down to the bottom of her back, Sarah had from the soles of her toes to the top of her thighs. The Queen’s buttocks were shared, and for some reason, both her ladies seemed to be concentrating their, squeezing and massaging her ass. Amanda gave another satisfied groan and vaguely wondered whether it would be too much effort to reach out and take a grape from the plate in front of her. She decided it was.

She closed her eyes, just seconds before there was a knock at the door. The music and massage stopped in surprise; Amanda had given instructions she wasn’t to be disturbed short of an emergency. She sighed and called out, “Come in.”

A yellow-clad pre-pubescent girl came in, one of the Queen’s messengers. She bowed to the Queen. The girl was new; Amanda couldn’t remember seeing her before; she looked nervous being in the presence of the Queen. Amanda smiled at her and asked, “What’s your name?”

“M… M… Melinda your Majesty,” the girl stammered and went red.

“You have a message, Melinda,” Amanda said kindly, the nerves would soon pass, at least she hoped they would. Messengers needed clarity and the arrogance to let everyone know they were the Queen’s voice – stammering messages out didn’t help that image.

Melinda almost came to attention, “Your Majesty, from Lady Marcia Cross. Bridget Regan has arrived from the Firth of Wolves; she has a message for the Queen, er you, and refuses to talk to anyone else.”

Amanda gave a sharp intake of breath, “Bridget Regan in St Stow; she must not be fond of her head to return from exile to the Firth,” she paused, Queen Teri would have probably ordered the luckless Bridget to hang without seeing her. Amanda thought differently; she might still execute Bridget, but if the young woman had risked her life returning to the capital it must be an important message. With a sigh she got off the table and reached across for her shirt, “Tell Lady Marcia to bring Bridget Regan to the throne room; I’ll be there shortly.”

“Who’s Bridget Regan? And why is she in exile?” asked Sarah handing Amanda her trousers.

The Queen hesitated, “She’s Queen Sylvia’s illegitimate daughter,” she said.

Sarah did some quick calculations, Queen Sylvia had been Queen Teri’s Mama and Queen Amanda’s Grandmama, “That would make her your aunt,” she said.

“Yes,” Amanda pulled up her boots, “Which means she has a call on the throne, which is why my Aunt sent to her to the Firth of Wolves rather than allow her anywhere near it.”

“Is she dangerous?” asked Anna.

Now that was the question, thought Amanda, was Bridget Regan a danger or was she a loyal subject unfairly slandered? She turned to Anna and shrugged, “I don’t know, I haven’t seen her since I was small. But she hasn’t much of a following, if any. The good thing about her being born the wrong side of the blanket is that most people never knew she existed. Queen Teri sent her into exile with her Mum and a small stipend, told her not to come back again if she didn’t want to feed the crows. Last we heard was that was in the Firth, not raising rebellion.”

She buckled her sword round her waist and allowed Sarah to place the small golden circlet on her head, “Let us go meet her,” ordered the Queen.


The hall was crowded with spectators, artisans and labourers standing at the back, aristocrats and merchants seated at the front next to the stage. On the stage itself six naked young women sat in kneeling positions, their hands chained to the floor. Alyson Sutherland, nee Hannigan, studied their form, five were well known suckers, the sixth was an outsider, recently arrived from the provinces but with a reputation of being able to last a long time without gagging. She glanced at the outsider, she was heavily tattooed with thick lips, always, in Alyson’s view, a good sign. The waitress came by with Alyson’s wine, “Are you ready to bet my Lady?” she asked.

Alyson nodded, “Four sovereigns on number three,” she pointed to the newcomer. The waitress took the bet and waited for Alyson to put over the coinage before scribbling a receipt and handing it to her. Alyson tucked the note into her cleavage and waited. The rules of the game were simple – six women were throat-fucked, the last one to keep the strap-on in her mouth won.

The announcer came on stage and began to speak. Alyson ignored her, it was the normal verbiage, long enough to allow the last few punters to stop delaying and place their bets. Instead she studied the form for the match after this; she felt she was on a winning streak tonight. It had been a bit of bad luck her investment in the wine hadn’t paid off, but she should easily make enough tonight to cover it and hopefully to pay for that new dress she’d just bought on credit. It was low cut and sparkling, even with Lady Kristine Sutherland being busy preparing the fleet she was bound to notice her wife in it. Alyson smiled at the thought.

The crowd began to clap as the six riders came on, each one dangling an eight inch strap-on in front of them. The announcer read out their names as if they were gladiators, Alyson waited for the main action to begin. The riders slid the cocks in the regulation inch and took position, some grabbing the back of their mount’s head, others their shoulders, with one confident or foolish rider doing neither, but instead placing her hands on her own hips.

The announcer moved to one side to allow the punters a clear view of the action. She raised her voice, “On your marks, ready…” there was the traditional pause, before she shouted out in a voice of shrill excitement, “Get sucking! Get fucking!”

The crowd exploded in a cacophony of yells as the riders began to throat fuck their mounts. Alyson screamed in excitement, ordering her mount to keep it in. The first rider threw back her head, gasping for air, then the second, the third and fourth following almost in unison. Alyson squealed and banged her fist on the table. Her mount was gallantly taking it all in, despite the froth dripping from her mouth and her tear filled eyes. Suddenly she threw her head back, putting up her hand to ward off further thrusts. The toy seemed to droop. The winner suddenly aware she was the only left, spat out the cock and raised her head in triumph.

Alyson took the receipt out of her bet and tore it up. There was another five matches to go, she would easily make her money back.


Alexis Bledel, also known as, at least to some, as the Kitten leaned back in her chair and put her arm round her squeeze, Brittany Daniel. Brittany was looking especially ravishing tonight, with her hair done up and her bosom almost falling out of her dress. The expensive necklace she was wearing was a present from the Kitten; who had to admit it went very well against her lover’s skin. Brittany gave a shriek of enjoyment, which turned to a groan as her mount spat out the cock. She turned to Alexis, “Can I bet on the next race?”

Alexis nodded and pulled five sovereigns from her purse, sliding them across the table to Brittany. The young woman snapped them up, as a waitress quickly came over; it didn’t do to keep the Kitten and her woman waiting. Alexis looked round, the hall was full, business booming. Though most of her ventures were on the wrong side of the law; this was one of her strictly legitimate ones; it allowed her to pretend to the law that her income came from business rather than crime. Of course, the law knew otherwise, but greasing enough palms and the odd knifing in a back alley, kept them from acting on their suspicions. But the best thing about owning this place was that even if Brittany lost her bet, Alexis would still get the money in profit; a definite win-win.

The head waitress came over, “Ma’am,” she lowered her head so that she wouldn’t be overheard, “Lady Alyson Sutherland is asking for credit. She already owes one hundred sovereigns, the house limit.”

Alexis stared across the room to look at the redhead sitting alone at her table. She gave a smile and turned back to the head waitress, “Extend it to two hundred, no make that five hundred.”

The head waitress audibly gasped and seemed about to say something, when she decided it was not a good idea to question the Kitten. Instead she nodded and went to give Alyson the good news. Alexis watched her go; Alyson was wife to the High Admiral and given the Kitten’s less salubrious business activities included fraud and smuggling having Alyson in hock to her seemed a small investment.


Sarah Michelle Gellar watched with interest as Bridget Regan was led into the throne room. As she was Amanda’s aunt she had been expecting the woman to be older, instead she looked in her early twenties about the same age as the Queen; the strands of her hair and her face were muddied – none of this detracted from her obvious beauty. Amanda leaned forward on her throne, “Untie her hands,” she ordered, before turning to Sarah, “Stop staring and close your mouth.”

Sarah blushed, the ripped shirt had been revealing a shapely bosom and it was only natural she look. However, she tried to concentrate elsewhere, the firm midriff on show seemed to be an excellent place to start.

“You have a message,” the Queen spoke.

Bridget nodded and bent down, armed guards immediately surrounded her, their swords pointing at her throat. She carefully stood up again, “If you allow me?”

Amanda nodded and waved to the guards to stand back. They reluctantly did so. Bridget slowly bent down, being careful not to make any sudden moves. She pulled a thin roll of parchment from her boot, “From Lady Alexa Shepard.”

Amanda nodded to Lady Marcia Cross and the redhead strode down the steps to take the paper from Bridget. She unfurled it as she returned, passing it to the Queen. Amanda read it silently at first, then out loud, “Your Majesty. I bring dire tidings. Battle was joined with the Lesbosians, not to are advantage and Lady Cybil Shepard is [the words were heavily scrubbed out and replaced with] missing. Lesbosian forces surround the Castle and we cannot hold long. I beseech your Majesty to bring forces and lift the siege. Lady Alexa Shepard.”

There was silence in the room. Rumours had been coming in for several days now, but this was the first confirmation. Amanda leant forward, “How long can Lady Shepard hold?”

There was a shrug from Bridget and then she shook her head sorrowfully, “Truthfully Amanda,” the courtiers and guards gasped at the effrontery of calling the Queen by her name, but Amanda waved them into silence and gestured to Bridget to continue, “truthfully… not long, indeed I think they’ll have already fallen.”

Amanda leant back, digesting the news. Finally she turned to a messenger, “Melinda, go bring Lady Sutherland here.”

The messenger sped off as Amanda turned to Bridget again, “The question is what I do with you. My aunt ordered you into exile for life, punishable by death if you returned. I have not rescinded that decree.”

Bridget didn’t reply, she just gave Amanda a look of defiance and stood a little bit straighter. Amanda sighed, she had enough problems, “Consider it rescinded; we’ll find you a room in my castle,” she paused and gave Bridget a strong a look as the other woman was giving her, “But Auntie; if I doubt your loyalty for a moment you’ll die on the gibbet.”

“I understand, your Majesty,” replied Bridget and gave a bow.


Sarah Michelle Gellar gave a curtsey as she entered the room. Bridget didn’t bow, partly because she was in a tub, but mainly because she chose that moment to dunk her head under the water. Seconds later she re-emerged and shook her long, dark hair so that it whirled round her head sending splashes of water everywhere.

She grinned at Sarah, “That’s better. Now I feel like a woman.” She eyed Sarah to see if the teenager had got the double entendre.

Sarah hadn’t until she saw Bridget’s wolfish grin and arched eyebrows. She blushed. Bridget’s smile got wider as she noticed the blonde teenager’s reddening cheeks. She winked and got out of the bath. Sarah couldn’t help, but gulp as the full extent of Bridget’s body was exposed to her. The Queen’s aunt was firm and muscular where it was needed, but with generous titties and a charming smile. Her skin was pale, decorated with a small tattoo of a bird beneath her left breast. The woman must have known the effect she was having on the younger teen, but she seemed unconcerned, stepping slowly out of the tub and sauntering over to pick up a towel.

Sarah put down the pile of clothes she was holding, “Her Majesty sent some new garments, with her regards.”

Bridget gave that roguish charming smile again; she dried her hair leaving her naked body still free for Sarah’s inspection, “Thank Amanda – we haven’t been introduced; what’s your name?”

“Sarah Michelle Gellar,” replied Sarah, her eyes flicked down to the cute hairless pussy and it was an effort to bring them up again to look into Bridget’s face.

The woman nodded, “Sarah, I’ll remember that” her voice oozed with sexuality and the blonde felt her legs quiver with excitement. Bridget grinned and stretched, dropping the towel on the floor she walked over to the mirror, positioning herself so that Sarah could see the reflection of her front. Bridget picked up a brush and began to untangle her hair. In the mirror Sarah could see her foxy smile, before she turned and addressed the Lady in Waiting once more, “Tell me Sarah, do you fuck?”

Sarah didn’t know whether to be affronted at the aspirations cast on her morals or ill-tempered that she had some. She compromised by a stiff, “I’m not married.”

Bridget didn’t seem put off, by the starkness of the reply. She turned round “That wasn’t the question.”

Sarah gulped, faced with Bridget’s charms it was hard to not think morally impure thoughts, “No, I don’t fuck,” she forced herself to say.

“Shame,” smiled Bridget and Sarah was forced to inwardly agree that it was.

“I better go, if you need anything there is a maid down the hall,” Sarah backed towards the door, aware that if she stayed she might do something she regretted, like opening her legs.

Bridget nodded, her charming smile burning itself into Sarah’s brain, “I’ll be seeing you Sarah.”


It was late when Marcia Cross got home. Lyndsy Cross, nee Fonesca, was still awake when her wife entered the bedroom; she never slept well until Marcia was cuddled up beside her. She sat up in bed, the silk negligee she was wearing barely covering her tits; “You’re home late.”

Marcia gave a sigh and began to undress, “I won’t be back tomorrow or for some time after.”

Lyndsy’s face fell and automatically her hand slipped under the cover to her belly, as if to cover the unborn child’s ears, “Why?”

“We have heard Lady Shepard’s castle is under siege, the Queen intends to relieve it,” Marcia sat down on the bed and slid off her boots, “We’re taking about half the army and going by sea. The Queen hopes it will wrongfoot the Lesbosians.”

“Do you?” Lyndsy couldn’t keep the fear out of her voice.

Marcia turned her head to smile at her wife, “If we go by land the roads are too muddy at this time of year to get anywhere with any force, if we go by sea it’ll be quicker and with a good wind we can take them by surprise.”

“And if it’s a bad wind?” Lyndsy bit her lip and looked deep into her wife’s face for any signs.

Marcia didn’t answer. Instead she stood up and picked up Lyndsy’s favourite strap-on from the dresser. She slid it up her thighs and waggled the toy, “If it’s my last night with you for a while we better make up for last time.”

Lyndsy looked accusingly at her, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“No,” admitted Marcia, she got onto the bed and sat on her knees, “Do you want to suck it first?”

There was going to be no answer to the question Lyndsy realised, though that was an answer in itself. She sighed, the Goddess was on the side of the just, so it would probably be alright. She closed her eyes momentarily and forced a smile, “A bit of lubrication would be good.”

She pulled back the sheets and crawled forward. On her hands and knees the teen licked at the cock, running her tongue over the grooves and ridges. Marcia ran a hand through her dark locks as Lyndsy opened her mouth and took the toy inside. Her dark head bobbed back and forth as she sucked the cock, her large lips playing along the outside. Even as she sucked, her hand moved to her pussy and the brunette rubbed vigorously, sometimes spoiling herself by putting a finger inside. Marcia gave a groan, “I’m going to miss your cocksucking,” she murmured, “I think that’s enough it’s plenty wet now.”

Lyndsy pulled back her head and smiled upwards at her wife, “It’s not the only thing that’s wet,” she said mischievously. The young woman spun onto her back and spread her legs, her cum glistened in the light of the lamp, “Nice?”

“Very nice,” agreed Marcia. She knelt down and kissed the velvety softness, briefly sliding her tongue into to taste her wife. She brought her head up and looked at Marcia, the teenager’s face was filled with lust. Marcia grinned and took hold off her wife’s legs, spreading them apart and pushing them up at the same time, until the small hole of her ass was clear.

Lyndsy gripped her thighs and waited until Marcia was in position before lowering them on her wife’s shoulders. With her hands now free she was able to grasp her titties and push them together, “Fuck my ass,” she moaned as Marcia guided the toy into her back-hole.

There was a brief moment of stiffening from Lyndsy as the foreign object entered her, before she relaxed and let Marcia slowly push it in. The teen tried to control her breathing, keeping it nice and even. But as the toy pushed deeper in and played havoc with her g-spot her breaths became more dramatic; short spurts and quick in-hales. She could feel Marcia’s body slowly moving against her, the delicious feel of her wife’s smooth skin against hers. Her asshole expanded as the dildo went further in, until it felt like her entire body was stretched. The teen let out another burst of air, quickly sucking in a new gulp.

Marcia began to move faster, pushing the cock in deep. Lyndsy groaned in excitement as the toy rammed her. Sweat formed on both their bodies as Marcia energetically pumped.

“Yessss, yessss,” squeaked Lyndsy. The toy was filling her completely, driving everything else out of her mind apart from the ripping waves of pleasure. Above her Marcia grunted as she slammed back and forth, every now and then, pausing for less than a second to wipe a strand of red hair away from her sweaty brow.

“Oh Godddesssssss, yesssss,” Lyndsy came in a burst of pulsating energy. Her body arched as if hit by lightning and her brain evaporated, being replaced by a myriad of lights and feelings. Marcia continued through the orgasm fucking the teen’s limp body back into wakefulness. Lyndsy gasped in more pleasure as her body was afire with lust. The toy tore against her anal G-spot, never allowing it time to recover, but instead sending waves of stimulation through it.

It didn’t take long for her to orgasm a second time, just as powerful as the first. Her hands gripped the bed clothes, pulling them up and covering them with sweaty palm prints. Marcia continued, her grunts of exhaustion were loud and she was slowing down, but she was still hammering powerfully away, driving her wife to a third.

Only with Lyndsy so wracked with orgasms that she could hardly speak did Marcia pull out. They lay in each other’s sweaty bodies, until the coolness made them get under the covers. Lyndsy spooned herself into Marcia’s arms. She lay still for a few minutes, before speaking, “Marcia – you will be alright? You will come back?”

There was silence from the redhead; she was asleep. Lyndsy closed her eyes and tried to follow her example.


“This is the life,” Amy Acker lay bath in the large, warm, bath-tub in what had a couple of weeks before been Shepard Castle.

“You say something?” Sarah Chalke sprang up from beneath the water like a nymph of legend, sprawling herself over her lover.

Amy Acker leant down and kissed the blonde, letting her lips shove against the other womanise and their mouths open and close against each other as there tongues grappled. Sarah’s tits pushed into her, the hard nipples indenting into Amy’s own bosom. Sarah had only arrived from Lesbos the night before and the two lovers had hardly stopped fucking since. Eventually Amy broke the kiss, “I said I’m the luckiest woman alive.”

That brought a smile to Sarah’s cheek, she reached up and stroked Amy’s cheek; the one with the scar. Once that would have made Amy shudder and turn her head sharply away, but with Sarah she didn’t mind. Was that what love was, she wondered, allowing the other to see your blemishes and flaws and not caring. If so, she was in love. Her hand moved under the water, until she could feel Sarah’s smooth cunt. She ran her finger over the crack and Sarah giggled. She gave a louder noise as Amy extended a finger and threaded it into the hole. Amy pushed until she hit the clit. Sarah gave a startled, “Oh!”

“I’d almost forgot how cute your pussy was,” grinned Amy as she moved the finger up and down.

“I’m glad you remembered,” gasped Sarah. Her mouth opened and she let out another gasp, before moving her head down to suck on Amy’s tits. Her teeth bit lightly as the nipple as she pulled backwards, before letting it go and putting her entire mouth round it. Amy noticed that Sarah sucked harder the faster she was fingered, she sped up, ramming the digit hard against the clit. Sarah slurped at her tits, ramming her tongue hard at the nipple.

The door opened and a blast of cold air entered as Kate Beckinsdale strode in. Amy hadn’t seen her in days and truth be told she hadn’t missed her one bit. Kate looked down at the lovers and gave a snort; she seemed impervious to the need for female companionship. Amy sighed as Kate bent over and picked up Amy’s shirt. She made to throw it, before deciding that there was a good chance that as Amy was intertwined with her lover in the bath she would miss. Instead she held it in front of her and spoke, “Come on hurry up; the Queen’s wrong footed us. She’s landed on the coast.”

Amy took one last look at Sarah and groaned. Duty always called at the worst moment.


St ‘Long’ Anna was a legendary figure in Amazonia, though why she was nicknamed ‘Long’ was lost to history. She had come out of the wastes preaching the tale of the Goddess when the Amazonian’s had still been warring tribes and practising human sacrifice to false deities. It was her death that had made her a saint; as she was put to death on an altar the sky had darkened and the false priestess had been stricken with plague. It was no surprise that there were half a dozen villages, spread throughout Amazonia, which were named after her. But it was the one twelve miles from the Firth of Wolves coast that would see the next battle between the Amazonians and Lesbosians.

In a church tower Queen Amanda Bynes shivered. Snow swept in through the open window and stung the bare face of her skin. Beside her Lady Marcia cross wrapped her cloak more tightly round her. Both of them looked at the Lesbosian army, just visible through the snow flakes, a mile away, probably less.

“I was hoping we might have got further before they reacted,” Amanda said.

Marcia shrugged; war was fill of hopes and might haves, neither helped – you could only deal with what is, “If it is any consolation your Majesty it is bad luck. This isn’t their main force, too small; I think we just stumbled upon an outpost.”

“They’re still too large for us to leave in our rear,” Amanda wiped a snowflake from the end of her nose, “It was lucky the scouts spotted them.”

Marcia nodded; only a fool went to war without light cavalry. They were useless in the main battle, but invaluable as reconnaissance forces. The last thing any Queen wanted was to find an enemy where you weren’t expecting them. Still, knowing where the enemy was wasn’t the end of things by a long way, you still need to either fight or retreat. She looked at Amanda, the Queen wasn’t the retreating sort, “We give battle then.”

Amanda nodded, “We do.”


The blizzard had stopped by the time the two armies had lined up. But its after effects covered the battlefield; snow a foot thick, sometimes two, made walking exhausting – especially in armour. It also meant the battle would be purely foot, the snow would slow the horses down; shock needs speed and without shock cavalry are just big targets.

From late morning until early afternoon the armies just stared across at each other. Neither willing to begin the gruelling walk to engage the other. But standing in cold metal armour is not good for morale, eventually one side or the other would have to advance or retreat. Finally Amanda nodded to Marcia, “Send the archers forward, two hundred yards. Let’s see if they’ll stand under bowshot.”

The archers floundered forward, cursing as they stumbled through the freezing snow, careful to keep their strings from getting wet. From the enemy lines there was movement as their crossbowwomen started to advance to engage the enemy. It was the crossbows that let loose first, at maximum range. A few archers fell, what looked like red dye splattered across the white snow as the casualties sank out of site.

“Let loose,” hundreds of arrows arched into the sky falling with pitiless speed onto the Lesbosians. More bolts were loosed and the whiz of missiles filled the air, interrupted by thuds and screams as arrow or quarrel hit home. Amanda watched; she tried to force the feeling from her stomach. As Queen she had to remain dispassionate, but that is damned hard to do when it is your orders which have brought so many women to this point of death. Gradually the duel became more and more one sided, both crossbow and bows were hard to load and let loose with numb fingers, but the it was more so with the crossbow, already slower to load. More and more of the crossbowwomen dropped or staggered back to seek medical attention in the rear.

Amanda turned to the shivering ten year old beside her, “Melinda, go forward and tell the Lady Helena to target the Lesbosian women at arms now.”

The young girl darted forward, or at least did so as fast as one can do when the snow is half way up your thighs. There was a brief conversation between the messenger and the leader of the archers, before some shouted orders, their exact wording difficult to hear. The result was obvious, the archers moved forward another twenty or so yards, raised their bows and let loose a further volley. The arrows whistled down landing amongst the armoured women. Few penetrated; the range was too great and the armour too thick, only a few unlucky Lesbosians hit at a chink or a weak point floundered forward to fall into the snow. But standing under a hail of missiles is difficult to sustain, the buttock clenching fear as they bounce of armour that the next one will go through a joint, is too morale sapping to stand for long. The Lesbosian infantry started to advance.

The archers held their ground, letting loose arrow after arrow. As the enemy neared more began to tear through chain and plate armour and Lesbosians began to fall. But not enough of them. They were getting nearer to the archers, who wouldn’t stand a chance in hand to hand. Amanda gripped the pommel of her sword as beside her she could hear Marcia muttering, “Come on Helena pull them back, pull them back.”

Amanda felt her breathing slow, there was no way a messenger could get to the archers in time. Suddenly there was a shouted order and the archers began to pull back. Amanda exhaled, “That was close.”

“Cut too fine,” said Marcia sourly, “though we got away with it.”

The Lesbosians stopped about fifty yards from the Amazonians, so close that Amanda could hear the orders as they re-straightened the line. It was now or never, fifty yards through snow to get to the enemy before they repositioned or got their breath back. She slammed down her visors, “Women of Amazonia, advance.”

It was an ungainly trot through the snow, but the gamble paid off. The Lesbosians were still struggling into a defensive formation when the Amazonians cut into them. Amanda cut down, feeling a vibration travel up her arm as her sword sliced in mail and through flesh. Her guard stabbed and parried, creating space around her. Women screamed in agony and fear as the snow underneath was turned into a mush coloured by mud and blood.

It was exhausting, brutal work, but the Lesbosians couldn’t stand. At first it was a few on the periphery who started to sneak away, then more in the middle as they realised that those behind had gone and suddenly it was the whole Lesbosian army in panic stricken flight. The defeated were throwing away weapons and shield, tugging off armour anything to lighten their load and make them run faster.

Amanda looked round, some bodies were still, others struggled pitifully as loss of blood and freezing cold finished what a sword thrust had started. There were more Lesbosians than Amazonians on the floor, but there was enough of her people for Amanda to have to quickly turn her head away so she could rub away a tear.

“We won,” Marcia’s voice was matter of fact, rather than triumphant. She looked too tired to feel any pride or sense of achievement; indeed if she was like Amanda all that was inside was a sense of numbness.

“Yes,” replied Amanda, what else could be said. When she returned to St Stow people would expect rousing words, but not here, not now, not among the stinking carcasses of the dead.

A small group of horse riders galloped, or tried to, through the snow. Amanda looked at them as they approached; at their head was Bridget Regan. The young woman dismounted in front of the Queen, despite the cold both she and her horse were sweating. She briefly bowed, but didn’t waste any time with preamble, “The Lady Shepard’s castle has fallen.”

Amanda felt like she had been punched in the gut, after all this butchery she was too late anyway. She felt that some stirring words were needed now, but she couldn’t think of any, instead she said, “It was always a slim hope.”

Bridget nodded, before adding, “They know we’re here, we saw the army round the Castle preparing. They outnumber us two to one.”

Amanda looked at Marcia; the redhead shrugged – any decision had to be the Queen’s. Amanda sighed, “Pick up the injured, we head back to the ships and St Stow. We will come again in the Spring, with more women.”

The victorious army began to shuffle back the way it had come.


There weren’t many compensations to Lyndsy Cross, nee Fonesca, to her wife going to war. But the bag of sovereigns Marcia had given her, hinting strongly that a squirt bukkake party would cheer her up, was one of them. Lyndsy had faults, but being a poor party organiser was not one of them. Even before Marcia had sailed Lyndsy had sent one of the servants to see how much Charisma Carpenter charged for private parties and another to hire a dozen squirters. Other servants had been sent to scour the markets for the tastiest morsels and finest wines, whilst yet another had been sent to buy a large selection of toys for her guests.

Normally, when she hosted a party, Lyndsy had Marcia behind her, striking off those friends who were not in political favour or were too bad an influence on her young wife and adding various bigwigs with whom Marcia wanted to do business with in a conducive atmosphere. But with her gone Lyndsy was free to invite who she wanted – her friends; or to put it another way – the sexiest young aristocratic bottoms in St Stow.

Lyndsy looked out the window, the sun, shining brightly in the crisp winter evening, hovered just above the buildings of St Stow. Soon her guests would be here and she needed to make one last check to make sure everything was ready. In the main hall, the stage had been set up, a squirting table in the middle, around it a series of chairs had been brought in so that she and her guests could recline in comfort during the entertainment. A few musicians, who would play when there was no squirting were setting up their instruments. Lyndsy briefly listened as they started to tune, before quickly moving over to the tables rapidly filling with food and wine. She nodded in satisfaction as she sipped a goblet of wine, putting it down and waving to one of the servants to replace it with a clean one.

She caught the eye of the housekeeper, “Bring in the servants for my inspection.”

“At once my Lady,” the housekeeper curtsied quickly, before rushing from the room clapping loudly and calling the servants together.

Lyndsy didn’t wait for them to assemble, they would wait. Instead she walked into the small room adjoining the hall. Sitting on a stool, her legs spread apart, Charisma was working her pussy in preparation, the squirters were clustered round the room doing the same. The bukkake bitch suddenly looked up as she became aware that Lyndsy had entered, she blushed and stood up to curtsey, “I’m sorry my Lady; I didn’t realise you came in.”

With an imperious wave of her hand Lyndsy gestured to Charisma to sit down, “I’m just making sure everything is ready.”

Charisma looked down at her naked slit and ran her finger over it, taking a small drip of juice away. She slid the finger into her mouth to taste the cum, before nodding, “Yes my Lady, we’ll be ready.”

Lyndsy nodded. But this party was too important to take the word of one of the lower orders. She bent down and slid her finger into Charisma’s cunt; the young brunette made no move to stop her – with the amount she was being paid she knew it was acceptable for the aristocrat to sample the wares. Lyndsy moved her finger around slowly, yes, she thought, Charisma was juicing up nicely. She pulled out her finger and licked it, not as sweet as Marcia, but acceptable. She nodded again, “Make sure you don’t squirt to early.”

“I won’t my Lady,” Charisma reassured her, if she was insulted by the sleight to her professional abilities she didn’t mention it.

Lyndsy turned on her heel and went out the door. In the main hall, the serving girls were all lined up. The teenager looked them up and down; all of them were now dressed or as dressed as they would be giving they were all wearing nothing but suspenders and high-heels. Lyndsy looked them up and down; hiring a couple of beauticians had been money well spent. Each of the serving girls had their finger and toe nails painted and artfully cut, the make-up made their faces blossom – making even the least attractive of them at least passable and their pussies were so bald that you would have believed none of them had grown a Ube in their life. Lyndsy smiled, she suspected that after the party those who had partners would be getting a good fucking. She turned to the housekeeper, “Yes – that’s fine.”

The housekeeper clapped her hands, sending the servants to continue the last minute preparations. Lyndsy walked over to a mirror and admired her own reflection. The pregnancy was hardly showing, apart from in the healthy glow of her face and perhaps in a slight enlargement of her titties, which were straining to break free from the embrace of her dress. The second beautician had styled her hair magnificently, so that it crowded on top of her head, apart from two bangs that slid down over her brow to artfully frame her attractive face.

In the distance Lyndsy could hear the front door opening; so engrossed had she been in her reflection she hadn’t heard the bell ring. Lyndsy gestured to the musicians and they started to play a bitter sweet melody; perfect for women whose wives were away at war. Lyndsy stepped forward to greet her first guests as they entered the hall. The door opened and the maid gestured in Lyndsy’s best friend Anna Popplewell, together with Sarah Michelle Gellar and her step-sister Michelle Trachtenberg. Lyndsy gave a squeal of greeting and ran forward to embrace Anna and then the two sisters.

“My Goddess, you look gorgeous,” she stepped back to admire the three teens. She had been worried that Anna might still be in mourning, black did nothing for her figure. But Anna had obviously decided she had been doing so enough and needed to put herself back in the market, the light blue dress fitted her complexion perfectly, especially as it barely held in her magnificent tits. The others were similarly attired, short dresses that barely covered the top of their thighs, complemented by a low cut, which showed the side of their titties. The only difference was that Sarah’s colour was a pale green and Michelle a darker pink.

“So do you,” gushed Sarah. Her sister and Anna nodded vigorously as they voiced their agreement. Lyndsy blushed in pleasure and snapped her fingers at the nearest serving girl to bring wine. Barely had the servant sidled up than the hall door opened and in came Lady Alyson Sutherland, nee Hannigan.

The redhead repeated the squeal that Lyndsy had given a minute earlier as she and Lyndsy rushed forward to embrace each other, “By the Goddess,” the redhead said, “that dress really shows your titties well.”

“You think?” said Lyndsy modestly, even though she agreed and gave a small twirl.

“I think” confirmed Alyson.

Over the next twenty minutes or so the conversation was continually interrupted by shrieks as Lyndsy rushed forward to greet another guest, until there were about thirty sexy young bottoms intermingling and updating each other on the latest gossip. But even as she greeted and exchanged the latest tales Lyndsy was keeping an eye on the headcount, making sure all her guests had arrived before she introduced the entertainment.

Satisfied that they were all here, Lyndsy disentangled herself from the last guest and skipped to the front of the stage. She clapped her hands loudly, waiting for her friends to finish talking and look at her; “Ladies, ladies, thank you all for coming. Before I bring on the entertainment, I know many of us have wives and Mama’s with the Queen. Let us offer a prayer to the Goddess for their quick and safe return and for the Queen to be victorious against those Lesbos witches.”

The bottoms all lowered their heads and murmured a short prayer.

After half a minute Lyndsy opened her eyes and waited for the final few, more devout than the rest, to finish. Once they’d done so she continued with her speech, “But in these troubled times we need a good party; it is what our wives and Mama’s would want. And what’s a party without entertainment? So tonight, for your pleasure, I bring you one of the most talented up and coming bukkake bitches seen this generation. Please join me in welcoming… Charisma Carpenter.”

The sound of excited voices intermingled with the loud clapping. Many of the bottoms had been lucky enough to see Charisma in action at the Royal Theatre and the others had heard of her. But none of them had been lucky enough to see the bitch in such an intimate setting – there was a general, if unspoken, agreement that hiring her for the evening was a coup for Lyndsy. The teen could tell that her choice had been a popular and she beamed with pleasure as Charisma walked in and onto the stage. The bukkake bitch curtsied at her and Lyndsy gave a much smaller curtsey back, before turning to her friends, “Please girls, take a seat, my servants will come round with toys.”

Lyndsy took her own seat inches from the stage, with Anna on one side of her and Alyson the other. A servant lowered a silver tray piled high with dildos and Lyndsy paused before picking an eight inch red-one. Beside her Alyson and Michelle discussed the merits of the small blue ones verses the larger pink, before choosing the medium sized ribbed green ones.

Strutting sexily on the small stage Charisma waited until the bottoms had chosen their toys before moving onto the show. As the young women settled down she moved forward slipping off her bra, so that it slid to the floor. For a brief second she allowed the audience a look at her tits, before twisting round. With a well practised back-kick she sent the bra skittling from the stage, before bending down and placing her hands on her ass cheeks. She wiggled for a second as the young women cooed in appreciation; straightening up she brought down her thongs to her ankles. She stepped out from one hole, then flicked her other leg sending the thong through the air. There was a shriek of excitement from one of the bottoms as she caught the damp strip of material. Charisma smiled as she could hear the other bottoms, yelling encouragement. She kept her smile in place as she again twisted to the front.

There were a series of excited screams as the bottoms got the full power of Charisma’s dazzling body. Her eyes flicked from side to side, seductively resting on one after another bottom, eyes full of promise to come. But there could be only one target for her squirt; she stepped forward to the front of the stage opposite Lyndsy. The teen was licking her lips, a dildo clad hand sliding under her dress. Charisma moved her own hand to her cunt and began to vigorously touch herself. Inside her the feeling welled up, she moved faster, closing her eyes and giving the audience a sexy purr of pleasure.

The juice squirted out like a flame hitting oil. Lyndsy was waiting, her mouth open. Diving forward she tried to drink in the warm liquid, she mainly failed; it splashed against her face and dress, dribbling down between her tits. Not that it mattered whether she drank it or not; Lyndsy didn’t believe in the superstition it was good luck. However, it was always damn tasty – especially if you hadn’t licked any cum for a couple of weeks.

“She got me, she got me,” Lyndsy shouted in triumph as the cum trickled down her face. The other bottoms called out their, jealous, congratulations – but as it was Lyndsy’s party it was unlikely that Charisma would have been stupid enough to squirt anyone else.

The bukkake bitch had moved to the table. Lyndsy led the applause as the squirters filed out from the side-room. The first one took position over Charisma’s face and began to finger herself. Lyndsy grabbed her dildo and pulled up her dress. As the young women on stage moaned in excitement Lyndsy inserted the toy. If she had looked to the sides, at her friends, she would have noticed she wasn’t the only one sliding a toy up her twat. But she was too engrossed in Charisma’s performance as the squirter frigged herself inches from the brunettes face. Lyndsy found her clit, just as the squirter let loose. A bucketful of cum dumped itself on Charisma’s face, the bitch yelling out in triumph as she tried to lick the juice which she hadn’t caught in her mouth.

The second squirter took position. Opening her legs she squatted over Charisma and began to finger herself. Lyndsy hammered home harder, gasping and squeaking as the toy hit her clit. Around her there were the sounds of thirty other bottoms enjoying themselves. Juice slid from pussies, both on and off the stage, dripping onto floor, dresses and skin. Lyndsy gave another gasp of pleasure as the orgasm welled up within her. She closed her eyes and let loose a scream as her entire body trembled with the explosions let loose within her.

By the time she opened them again, a third squirter had replaced the second. Charisma’s hair was matted to her skull and her face was damp, but she was smiling in excitement and her eyes were lit like beacons. Lyndsy slid her dildo back in, beside her she could hear Anna cumming loudly. The party was turning out to be an absolute triumph.


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