Kingdoms Amazonia 16

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Kingdoms Amazonia 16

FF, anal

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.


Kristine Sutherland, Bridget Regan, Sarah Michelle Gellar, Marcia Cross, Amanda Bynes, Alexis Bledel, Alex Kingston, Kate Beckinsale, Lyndsy Fonseca, Kirsten Dunst, Amy Acker, Brittany Daniel, Michelle Trachtenberg, Amber Benson

“Ship ho,” the lookout called.

High Admiral Kristine Sutherland exited her cabin, it was only just dawn and the light was still dim, but she it was still lighter than inside. She blinked and turned to her captain, “Ship?”

“It must be a merchantwoman,” the captain said, “we’ve got the fleet here.”

Kristine looked round. The other ships of the Queen’s fleet were swaying at anchor in the Bay of Skeggi, as they waited for the Queen’s army. It must be a merchant, she nodded, if it wasn’t… well they were trapped inside with the wind blowing towards them. They could barely manoeuvre, certainly not as fast or as sharply as the incoming fleet. It would be a massacre

“Two, three, I count twelve masts, no thirteen,” called the lookout her voice cracking in either excitement or fear, “fourteen, oh my Goddess, there’s twenty.”

Kristine felt her stomach sink to her feet. She turned to her captain, “Beat to quarters. Warn the other ships to prepare for battle.”

The drum began to rat-a-tat as a trumpeter’s began to blow the warning to the other ships. Bare feet and leather souls cracked on wood as the sailors hurried to their positions. Below them, under the decks, the ship’s women at arms dragged themselves out of their bunks and began to put on armour. Kristine turned to her cabin to put on her own plate. She still hoped it was a mistake, perhaps some trade convoy from distant lands putting in at the wrong landing or sudden allies come to join them. The hope died as she opened her door.

“They’re flying the Lesbosian colours,” shouted the watch, “Sixty or more of them.”

Not only trapped, but outnumbered, thought Kristine. Her servants helped her into her armour. She picked up her sword and stepped outside onto the deck.

The Lesbosian ships were nearer now, near enough for there to be no mistake that they had known the Amazonians were there. There decks were crowded with armed women and their boarding planks were ready to be lowered. There was a crack of a Bastilla being fired. The large bolt shot across the space between the ships, Kristine watched with satisfaction as it tore into the crowd decks of the nearest Lesbosian. Even with the distance, the crash of waves and the creak of wood Kristine could hear the screams of pain.

“Aim lower,” she shouted, “Hit them below the waterline.”

Even as she gave the order she knew it would be too late, the Lesbosians would be amongst her fleet before they could do more than make their ships spring a few leaks. She waited calmly as the enemy approached. Her archers began to pepper the incoming ships, the Lesbosian crossbowwomen replying in kind. Few, on either side, hit, ships bobbing in the sea were not the most stable platform to aim from.

A Lesbosian ship bore towards them, dropping its boarding planks as it did so. They landed with a large bang on the ship. Kristine looked around, she could see other Lesbosian boarding other ships; it would come down now to hand to hand, woman against woman. She turned again to look at the boarding ramps. There was a brief silence, as if the Lesbosians didn’t want to come across.

The silence was broken with a scream of rage and the Lesbosian women at arms streamed down the gangplank. Their sailors gripped ropes and swung across, daggers clamped in their teeth and short swords tied to their chests. Some were dropped into the water, but most got across. Kristine raised her sword and chopped downwards. The unarmoured Lesbosian sailor screamed and fell back, her arm a bloody stump. Kristine stabbed again, feeling the vibration shoot up her arm as the sword connected with metal.

But there were too many Lesbosians, they pushed the Amazonians back, over a wooden deck slimy with blood and entrails. Kristine swore, hacking away, until her armour was red and her arms hurt with effort. Slowly, despite everything she was forced back until she could feel the side rail. She leant against it and skewered a Lesbosian. The woman screamed, but plunged on, slamming hard into Kristine. There was a snap as the rail broke.

Scholars debated whether someone who fell overboard in full plate drowned or whether they sank so quickly the pressure killed them. Lady Kristine Sutherland found out, but unfortunately she was no longer alive to settle the argument.


As was becoming a habit Bridget Regan damned Sarah Michelle Gellar. Given that the beautiful young bottom had come within a hair’s breadth of being raped and/or murdered Bridget thought she would remain within the safety of the camp. But, no, damned Sarah had decided that after a hard day riding in a luxurious coach, she’d take an evening stroll. Bridget cursed as she walked through the trees, it almost certainly was safe the patrols had seen no further signs of either bandits or Lesbosians and it was turning into a lovely evening, warm, but with the first hint of a full-moon coming out. But still, damn Sarah Michelle Gellar.

She could see the blonde ahead of her. She was sitting on a rock dangling her feet into a small gushing brook; she looked damned sexy. Bridget walked up, coughing so as not to surprise Sarah. The blonde turned to look at her and smiled, “Hello Bridget.”

Bridget put on a scowl, hard to do when the Lady-in-Waiting looked so beautiful, “You shouldn’t be out, it’s not safe.”

Sarah gave a coy smile, her dress had slipped down her arm, exposing both the flesh of her shoulder and the top of a shapely tit, “I knew you’d be here to protect me.”

Bridget blushed, “How?”

“You always are,” Sarah smiled again and patted the rock beside her. Bridget didn’t move, she wasn’t going to encourage Sarah to take evening walks. Sarah just smiled and stood up, she walked over to Bridget, stopping in front of her, “I’m ready.”

“Well let’s head back to camp,” Bridget nodded, she had half expected an argument.

Sarah shook her head and smiled, her hand reached out to touch Bridget’s, “That’s not what I meant.”

Confused, Bridget frowned, “What did you mean?”

In answer Sarah reached up and pulled down her dress, it fell to her waist revealing her perfect, pert titties and toned sexy midriff, “I’m ready for you… to make me a woman.”

It was ironic that as Bridget had been trying to get into Sarah for months, now that she was being offered it on a plate her conscience wanted a word. Sarah was too good for a cheap roll in the woods, she was a lady and should be treated like one, “I haven’t got a strap-on with me,” shrugged Bridget, “I left mine back in camp.”

Sarah smiled and reached down into a small bag beside her. She came up with an eight-inch strap-on, holding it in her hands like it was a gift she presented it to Bridget, “I borrowed it from Lady Marcia,” the blonde paused and blushed, “she doesn’t actually know I borrowed it.”

Damn Sarah Michelle Gellar, thought Bridget as she took the toy. Sarah’s hands were fiddling at Bridget’s trousers, undoing them and pulling them down. She dropped to the floor and unlaced the woman’s boots, before looking up, excitement in her eyes, “Kick them off,” she pointed at the undone footwear.

Bridget did so, thinking fast as Sarah started to undo her shirt. She let the blonde take it off and drop it to the floor. Sarah stood back and wriggled the rest of the way out of her dress. The bottom half was just as sexy as the top, with her cute shaven slit and firm toned thighs. Sarah was admiring Bridget as well as she moved forward again and removed the trousers so that Bridget was as naked as she. The blonde lent forward and kissed Bridget lightly on the lips, before gesturing at the toy Bridget was still holding, “Are you going to put it on?”

The words made up Bridget’s mind. She put her finger to Sarah’s lips, stroking them slightly and gesturing the teen into silence, “I’ll take you on one condition…”

A pout crossed Sarah’s face, it didn’t detract from her beauty, merely adding to it, “What?”

Taking Sarah hand in hers Bridget dropped to one knee. She looked up into Sarah’s radiant face, “That you agree to marry me…”

Whatever condition Sarah had been expecting it wasn’t a proposal. Her face went through a multitude of expressions in an instant. She snatched her hand back, decided that was the wrong move and returned it to Bridget. Her mouth opened and closed, as she breathed heavily. Bridget smiled and stood up, “You have my condition, yes or no?”

Sarah flapped her spare hand in front of her face as if had suddenly got very hot, she was blushing furiously and her brain still seemed to be having difficulty connecting with her mouth. Eventually she managed to squeak out, “Yes, yes, yes.”

Bridget just had time to drop the strap-on before Sarah jumped into her arms, sliding her legs round her new fiancée’s back and kissing her. Bridget held her under her ass, kissing back. She could feel Sarah’s tits press against her as the young woman’s mouth opened to allow Bridget to slide her tongue in. As Sarah bobbed in her arms Bridget could feel the wetness of the teen slit riding against her stomach. She pulled back her head and smiled, “I haven’t a ring.”

“Fuck the ring,” replied Sarah. She blushed as she realised she’d just let out an oath. Bridget smiled and Sarah returned to kissing her passionately.

Suddenly the blonde pulled her head back, “Well now we’re engaged do you want to wait for our wedding night?”

For a second Bridget thought she meant it, then she saw Sarah’s naughty smile. Bridget laughed, “You damned cheeky minx Sarah Michelle Gellar, you got what you want and now I get what I want.”

She lowered Sarah to the floor as the young blonde laughed, “What we both want,” corrected Sarah and paused, “in both cases.”

Picking up the strap-on Bridget pulled it up her thighs. Sarah was right, both of them wanted Bridget to bang Sarah until she was screaming with pleasure, but they also both wanted to be together for ever. Not that Bridget was going to admit that, she already proposed, if she told Sarah she was right the blonde would be insufferably smug in the morning. Instead Bridget said, “I’m going to fuck that tight little virgin pussy of yours and when you’ve cum so often you’re screaming for me to stop, I’m going to fuck it some more.”

“Now there’s a challenge,” Sarah bit her lip seductively and opened her legs, “Come into me baby, make me yours.”

Lying on top of Sarah Bridget began to kiss her sexy fiancée, first her neck, then her chin, her lips, her nose, her forehead. As she did so she moved one hand up the blonde’s side, soothing the toned flesh and enjoying the feel of Sarah’s flawless skin under her palm. The teen’s bosom dug into her as Sarah arched and groaned under her lover’s touch. Bridget drew back her head, Sarah was so beautiful, the moon had appeared and gave the blonde a silvery glow; she looked so damned sexy. Bridget wanted her so badly, more than she thought possible. She took hold-off the toy with her spare hand and guided it into the pale pink snatch. Sarah gave a small start and moan as it entered, before her mouth loped upwards in a smile, “Love me Bridget, love me,” she murmured.

Bridget lowered herself down. Sarah was tight, but willing, the blonde moving herself against her fiancée to allow the toy better access. Her legs clamped round Bridget, her heels digging into the brunette’s back. Slowly, to allow Sarah to get used to the intruder, Bridget pressed herself up and down. Sarah moaned pleasurably as the toy slid down her cunt, pressing at her erogenous zone. Little glitters of juice appeared on her lips as the cum lubricated her cunt and the toy pushed back the wall. Bridget began to move faster, going deeper and with greater strength. Sarah’s head pushed back and her heels scraped along Bridget’s back, the blonde moaned, “Yes, baby, baby, baby, baby.”

Bridget smiled. Her sexy fiancée tried to smile back, but she was no longer in complete control of her mouth. Her hands reached behind Bridget’s back, pawing and rubbing at the sweaty skin. Bridget hammered down, slamming deep into Sarah’s pussy; the teen may have been a virgin, but she was a fast learner, reacting to Bridget’s thrusts so that there two bodies merged in a rhythmic movement.

“Ohhhh, yessss,” Sarah gripped at Bridget as her body arched, her eyes fluttered and from her mouth came guttural gasps of orgasmic bliss. Bridget hardly waited for her to recover, before she was going down again pushing the toy hard against her love’s clit. Sarah groaned and gripped harder, sweat staining her forehead as she was pounded against. Harder and harder the brunette slammed, bouncing her body against Sarah so that their tits were bouncing. Sarah gasped again as another orgasm hit her, her cheeks red as blood shot around her body like horses stampeding, “Aaaarrghh, that’s it baby, that’s it please. Oh you feel so good.”

Bridget was panting, she needed a break. She pulled out and collapsed on her back. For a second Sarah lay still, before rolling over to snuggle herself into Bridget; “I don’t think I screamed for you to stop,” Sarah teased, running a finger over Bridget’s nipple.

There was a grunt from Bridget, “Don’t be so smug,” she chided, “Who said I’ve finished?”

“Mmmnnn,” replied Sarah as she lent over to kiss Bridget’s tits, her hand snaked down to rub at the top of her lover’s pussy, “Good…”

The young blonde’s ministrations did wonders for Bridget’s stamina and it didn’t take her long to recover her strength. Sliding her hand under Sarah’s chin she lifted the blonde’s head so that she was staring into her beautiful eyes. Bridget smiled, “Ready for another bout.”

Sarah nodded and rolled away so she was lying on her front on the mossy ground. She spread her legs and turned her head, “You’ve done my front, now take my backdoor.”

Bridget didn’t need telling twice, she moved over to Sarah and took the teenager’s cheeks in her hands. She pulled them apart and slid her tongue down to touch at the top of the blonde’s hole. Her tongue slid out and she wetted the top, letting her saliva dribble down. Sarah gave a moan and rubbed her body against the moss as Bridget just allowed the tip of her tongue to enter the puckered chute; “Oh baby,” murmured Sarah.

“I think you need something harder and bigger down there,” Bridget grinned as she moved her pelvis into position so that the tip was between the cheeks and touching the hole.

“So do I,” agreed Sarah. She gave a whinny as Bridget started to ease the toy in. If Sarah’s slit had been tight, her ass was even more so. Bridget gently pushed herself in, pausing to allow Sarah to get used to it and adjusting the teen’s posture so that the dildo could fit more comfortably. Slowly the strap-on disappeared into Sarah’s ass, the hole opening to swallow it. The teen groaned lustfully, her hands scraping at the moss as the toy penetrated deep into her, “Oh,” she moaned, “That is so good.”

Bridget paused as the last of the toy went in, lying herself across Sarah’s naked form. Sarah sighed happily, moving herself slightly to accommodate the thick dildo, “I love you baby,” she said happily.

“I love you too,” laughed Bridget lifting herself up, “and I’m not going to stop until you cry for mercy.”

She plunged in, slamming the toy down. There was still friction, but that was good as it meant the strap-on rubbed against the blonde’s erogenous zone sending sparks speeding through her. Up and down Bridget hammered, banging the toy into her love’s cute ass. The cute butt cheeks bounced as Bridget rammed into them. Sarah gasped and cried, running her slit over the moss. Bridget pressed down, pushing the toy as deep, hard and fast as she could. Soon she was sweating and panting, as was Sarah, their groans loud and passionate and their perspiration mingling in pools in the arch of Sarah’s back. The blonde gave a high pitched scream as the pleasure became too much to contain, rising in crescendo, before falling to small sobs of lust. Bridget could feel herself tiring, but the insatiable Sarah so no sign of giving in, everything Bridget could give the blonde was taking and enjoying. Bridget rammed harder, feeling her perspiration drip down, matting her hair and getting in her eyes. Below her Sarah was grunting as the toy ripped against her anal G-spot.

The blonde squealed again, as another orgasm rent her body, “Yessss, yessss, yessss,” she hammered her fist into the ground.

Bridget could feel her heart beating wildly as she went as fast as she could. Each beat seemed to pound against her chest with the same force she was giving Sarah. The blonde was in a constant state of orgasmic bliss, screaming and writhing with each thrust. Bridget loved pleasuring her, but she knew when she had lost the challenge. She girded herself and slammed in for one final effort. Sarah’s back stretched so much as she came Bridget feared a vertebra might snap. The brunette pulled herself out and collapsed exhausted beside Sarah.

For a few moments neither of them were capable of saying anything. Eventually Sarah’s panting died down and she giggled, “I haven’t cried for mercy yet.”

“Don’t be so smug,” said Bridget. She rolled next to Sarah, took her face in her hands and kissed her tenderly.


“Something wrong Marcia,” Queen Amanda Bynes twisted in her saddle to speak to her friend.

“Nothing, your Majesty,” glowered Marcia Cross.

Amanda raised her eyebrows, it was obviously a lie. Was Marcia missing her wife? Lyndsy would probably have given birth by now. Probably not, Marcia had been away before for long periods, duty was her real love, though Lyndsy and her daughters might come a close second. Was she not liking the lack of camp comforts, now they’d left the baggage train behind for quicker movement. It was unlikely to be that either, it had been Marcia’s suggestion that they leave them – spies might see the main encampment and believe the army was paused, to say nothing of the fact they could double their speed and get to the Bay of Skeggi before Lesbosian agents noticed the Royal Fleet was moored there. Amanda racked her brains, “By Royal Command what is the matter.”

Marcia growled, she was silent for a moment, before eventually letting the matter out, “Damn it your Majesty. It’s Sarah Michelle Gellar and Bridget Regan.”

Amanda’s brow creased, “I think it’s sweet, they obviously love each other very much. In a time of war it’s nice to be reminded of happier things.”

Marcia scowled, “Amanda… your Majesty,” her anger momentarily getting above her decorum, “Bridget is your aunt and in line to throne. Sarah is your Lady in Waiting. They should have asked you first, not just popped in at breakfast time and say ‘we’re getting married.’”

Amanda laughed, “I said it’s sweet. Perhaps they should have asked my permission, but I’d have said yes. Anyway cheer up, we’ll soon be at the Bay of Skeggi. A short sea trip and we’ll be behind these heathen bitches. They’ll wish they’d never been born.”

They crested the ridge and looked down at the bay. There were no sign of the fleet there. Marcia frowned even deeper and looked at Amanda, “They’re late.”

Amanda spurred her horse, “The High Admiral is never late.”

The two women rode down the hill, the Queen’s bodyguard close behind. As they got nearer it became obvious what had happened. Wooden wreckage floated in the surf and all along the beach bloated bodies lay at the mercy of the waves. Amanda dismounted, as she walked closer she could smell the decay and see the sword cuts on the rotten corpses. This was no shipwreck, but a battle. She turned to Marcia, “We have been betrayed.”

Marcia had no answer.


“I should never have agreed to smuggle in these boxes,” whispered Lady Alex Kingston. Alexis Bledel looked at her dispassionately and shrugged, there was no need to whisper, the sound of wooden boxes being opened and metal weapons being dropped on the floor was loud enough to attract any watchwoman who were prowling the docks. Not that there were any, the two who hadn’t accepted bribes to stay at home tonight was lying in alleys their throats cut by the Kitten’s women. Alex scowled at the lack of response, “You never said it was treason,” she whispered again.

“A treason you are being well paid for Lady Kingston,” Kate Beckinsale strode over and the Kitten shivered. She could cope with Alex’s histrionics, but she still feared the woman in front of her.

Alex obviously felt the same as she bowed deeply, her face pale, “I meant nothing of it Lady Kate.”

“I am not an aristocrat,” corrected Kate. She smiled and the Kitten felt her legs go weak and her mouth dry. They went weaker and dryer as Kate turned from Alex to her, “You know the plan.”

For a second Alexis was rooted to the spot as if the woman’s eyes were tearing into her very being and gripping her soul. She forced herself to nod and keep her voice level, praying it wouldn’t betray her and break into terrified sobs, “One group heads to the port and takes the watchtower their from the High Admiral’s woman. The second group is let in by your woman on the inside, overpowers the castle guards. When we’ve taken the castle we fly the Lesbosian flag and the fleet comes in, they’ll take the gates and any further resistance.”

“Exactly,” Kate patted her arm. Alexis wasn’t sure whether it was meant to be a gesture of comfort or a warning of what would happen if she failed. Kate’s smile gave no clue either.


“Lady Lyndsy, wake up please, Lady Lyndsy,” the maid shook Lyndsy Cross, nee Fonesca’s, sleeping form.

The young aristocrat turned over on her front and buried her head in the pillow, “Five more minutes.”

“My lady,” the maid persisted, “the Lesbosians are here.”

Slowly Lyndsy turned round and opened her eyes, “They can’t be,” she murmured, her head still fuzzy.

“They are ma’am,” the maid hurried over to the window and opened the curtains, “Come look.”

Lyndsy got out of bed and tottered over to the window. Her new baby woken by the noise started to cry. Lyndsy would have shushed her, but she was staring at the Queen’s Castle across the river. From the rampant where the Queen’s standard normally flew was the standard of Lesbos fluttering in the early dawn wind. She looked out to the docks, ships were sailing in, thirty or forty of them, each with the Lesbosian flag flying brazenly from their masts; there was no resistance from the Port’s watchtower.

For a few seconds Lyndsy remained still as fear encased her. She was the wife of Lady Marcia Cross, any Lesbosians would find her and her daughters a great prize. She gulped, aware that the maid was looking at her for instructions. Lyndsy breathed deeply, forcing down the panic, “Get Penny from her room and dress her, I’ll take the baby. Hurry now, we need to flee the city before someone takes the gate.”

The maid curtsied and ran from the room. Lyndsy bent over the cot. The baby cooed happily, she hadn’t yet named her; it was traditional not to agree a name until the night before the Christening, which wouldn’t happen until Marcia returned. Lyndsy picked up the small child, there was a time for tradition and a time for new thinking, “Come on Liberty, let’s get you dressed,” she smiled.

It was a hope for the future, a name given as St Stow fell.


“Hey girls, get a look at these,” Kirsten Dunst pulled down her top and waggled her tits at the Lesbosian soldiers below. They cheered and hollered until a sub-senator yelled at them to get a move on.

The Blue Pygmy’s madame hurried out onto the balcony, “Kirsten, Suzie, Caroline, inside now and take a bath.”

“A bath?” Kirsten raised both her eyebrows and voice quizzically, “There’s an army outside, shouldn’t we be opening for business.”

“A bath,” the madame said sternly, “this isn’t a low class knocking shop for the common soldiery, but for the ladies of quality. We open at the normal time, but half price,” she saw Kirsten’s face fall and patted the young woman’s arm kindly, “Don’t worry my dear I’ll pay normal wages, I’m taking tonight as a loss leader to drum up custom amongst our new rulers. All this week in fact… now hurry up the three of you; bath and then your sexiest outfits.”


Amy Acker lent against a column and rubbed at her scar. In the courtyard below the Lesbosian and Amazonian traitors were enjoying the spoils of war. Taking the castle had been incredibly easy with only half a dozen or so dead, at least amongst the victors. But it had still been taken by force and tradition said that anything and anyone in that case belonged to those who had taken the keep. Buxom kitchen maids and young grooms were being gangraped in the courtyard, their terrified screams mixing with laughs and shouts.

From behind her there was a wail. She turned, one of the Lesbosian soldiers was dragging one of the Queen’s messengers by her hair, she was ten, perhaps eleven at most. The Lesbosian pulled her down the steps, “Look who I got,” she dragged the young girl up as if she was a trophy.

The girl screamed again and staggered backwards as the Lesbosian hit her. The woman ripped at the messenger’s dress and the torn yellow tunic fluttered to the ground. The girl sobbed in her nakedness, trying to cover herself before the Lesbosian pushed her to the ground. Seconds later the Lesbosian was on top of he grinding her body against the child’s whilst slobbering over her.

“Animals,” Kate Beckinsale stood in the dark of the entrance hall watching, a look of disgust on her face.

Amy shrugged. Taking the enemies women was as old as war itself. She would have been down their herself taking a choice servant, if she didn’t know Kate disapproved. It was strange, that the cold, cruel, Kate Beckinsale who would happily butcher anyone who got in her way disliked the rape and pillage, but there it was. At least this time she didn’t look she was going to do anything about it, instead she turned to Amy, “The city is yours?”

Amy nodded, “The city is ours.”


The streets were in uproar, the gates closed. Lesbosian women at arms stood grimly in front of them barring the way. The bodies of the defenders still lay where they had fallen, few had even had a chance to get their weapons or armour before they had died.

Lyndsy Cross counted to five slowly.

“Mum,” Penny tugged at her hand, “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” Lyndsy tried to smile. She gripped Penny’s hand tightly, terrified she would loose her in the jostling crowd. In her other arm she held Liberty, thankfully despite the crush the baby remained asleep. She looked around for the maid, she was nowhere to be seen. Lyndsy pushed her way back, past the refugees, there was no escape that way. She tried to count to five again, there must be another way out of here, she thought. None came.

“Auntie,” the voice was soft and Lyndsy didn’t think it was for her, neither of her sisters were yet at age where they had children.

“Auntie,” the voice repeated and a young woman walked over to her, “Auntie Lyndsy… I’m Brittany Daniel, Marcia is my Mum’s sister.”

Lyndsy just stared. She had heard of Brittany Daniel, anyone married to Marcia Cross had some knowledge of the scum of the underworld. But in all Marcia’s invective laden descriptions of the girl friend of the Kitten she had somehow forgotten to mention they were related. She looked at the young woman, she wasn’t lying, she could see that in her face. It was at times like this that Lyndsy wished the little book of etiquette equipped you better for these types of situations, “Hello,” she said politely as if they were meeting on the dance floor.

Brittany curtsied in turn, “Come on Auntie, follow me. Shall I carry one of my cousins? I’ll take you somewhere safe.”


The Amazonians were marching hard. Amanda sat on her horse, her brain working furiously. Her fleet was gone, should she head back to St Stow or push onto the Firth of Wolves? What would the Lesbosians expect? Which was the better course? Beside her rode Marcia, ready to offer counsel if asked, but wisely not doing so until then.

A bird suddenly flapped from the forest to the side. Amanda watched it fly, jealous that all it needed to do was flap its wings and it was free, free from the responsibility, all it had to worry about was itself and its young. She looked down at where it had taken off from, looking to see if another bird was watching its mate loft into the sky. There was no other bird, but a flash of metal.

“Ambush,” she yelled, “Form lines.”

There was a ragged volley of bolts from Lesbosian crossbow, followed by a harsh series of war cry as thousands of Lesbosians leapt from the forest and charged across the meadow. The Amazonians hadn’t quiet formed the line as they were struck. The road dissolved into a hundred different battles as women struck and counter struck against each other. Dust rose, clogging the air, as hooves battered down and armoured bodies crashed to the ground. The Amazonians cut and thrust, but they were too few and not ready.

Amanda brought her sword down on a Lesbosian head. It split like an overipe pumpkin, showering her leggings with blood and brain. She slammed her shield into another Lesbosian who was trying to cut her stirrup. All around her the army disintegrated, already women were dropping their arms and running from certain death. It all seemed in slow motion, as woman after woman dropped and small groups surrounded fought on as they fell before a pitiless onslaught.

Marcia was grabbing Amanda’s horse reigns, “Ride your Majesty. Ride or you fall.”

It was against everything Amanda wanted, to ride whilst their were still some of her footsoldiers holding on. But Marcia was right, she was no good dead. She put spurs to her horse and galloped away, behind her the battle was already winding down. It had lasted barely ten minutes.


The sight of battle would always live in Michelle Trachtenberg, she had thought war was a glorious thing, admiring tops their moments of glory and lusting over the heroines who could carve their way through the enemy ranks. Now she knew that was a lie. Down below in the valley she had seen butchery, a charnel house in the making. Limbs had been lopped off, inside’s spilt, the screams of fear and pain had driven into Michelle’s brain with the same force as an axe which had split open an Amazonian archer’s skull.

Fighting back a gag at the stink and site below her Michelle stood up. She should have listened to her older sister’s advice and stayed with the rest of the bottoms in the camp. But, no, she had wanted to follow the army and sneak aboard a ship. She had fantasised about surprising Amanda in her cabin and the Queen taking her with her to battle; she had imagined herself succouring the injured after the battle, nothing too gory, scraped knees and sprains. But there weren’t scraped knees and sprains, but gut-wrenching injuries, brains exposed in shattered heads, bloodied stumps where a hand had been, sucking intestinal wounds stinking of shit. And there were few injured either, the victors were moving around the battlefield slitting the throats of those two hurt to have run.

Kneeling down she offered a prayer to the Goddess for the souls of the departed Amazonians, it was her only contribution. She hoped it was enough, that whatever sins the dead down their had committed in life that the Goddess would forgive them and welcome them with open arms. She stood again and cursed her stupidity, sneakily following the army no-one knew she was here and they’d all fled without her. She straightened her back and smoothed her dress, well she had a horse, she would just have to ride and trust to the Goddess.

She walked quickly towards the clearing where her horse had been. There were human footprints in dirt, but no horse. She felt a stab of fear, it got sharper as she heard a voice behind her, “Now look what we’ve got here, Babs, looks like a cute little Amazonian decided to watch the battle.”

Michelle stepped back, her legs literally shaking with fear, as from the undergrowth stepped two Lesbosian scouts. They circled towards her, one approaching from the left and one from the right. Michelle turned and ran.

She almost managed six feet before one of them brought her to the floor. She screamed helplessly as she twisted on her back. The first scout sat on, her pinning the young brunette’s upper arms below her knees. Michelle still tried to struggle, but it was useless. She could hear the rip as her dress was torn open.

“Me first Babs,” said the Lesbosian sitting on her.

Babs shrugged and reached into a pack, she pulled out a strap-on and tossed it to her friend, “I’ll have a go after then, don’t ruin her too much.”


Amber Benson clutched her money bag tightly, it was heavy with coin. The Queen might have ordered all camp followers to remain behind as she took her army west, but an enterprising young bottom could easily follow them. Tops still wanted pussy and as they stopped for the night it had been easy to find a sentry who was willing to overlook the Queen’s orders about no camp followers, especially for a freebie and a cut from the profits. And those profits had been good, with little competition apart from a few curious village girls who had come to see the Queen’s Army, Amber had been able to charge double her normal rate. Nor had there been a shortage of willing customers, business had been so good she had hardly slept.

She ducked under a branch. It was a shame the Queen’s army had been defeated. She vaguely would have preferred an Amazonian victory, but it didn’t really matter to peasants who was in charge. No, the real problem was that the Lesbosians, flush with victory, would be wanting fucking, but wouldn’t be wanting to pay. Which was why she thought she’d walk through the woods, rather than follow the road.

The scream was high pitched, a terrified cry. Amber ignored it, it was no business of hers, poking her nose around in a war zone was liable to get it cut off. It was every woman for herself, she told herself, whilst trying to push down a small feeling of guilt.

“Help me, please,” the scream was louder. Amber paused and cursed herself for being a soft hearted fool. If she was careful she could have a look, probably wasn’t anything she could do, but it wouldn’t do any harm. As long as she was quick and careful…

“Please don’t…” the scream was louder as Amber approached. So near she could hear the sobs of a young woman. She crouched behind a tree. A Lesbosian scout was standing laughing in front of her. Her colleague was sitting on a teen, trying to both fix a strap-on to her leather girdle and hold down the struggling young woman. If it hadn’t been so distasteful, Amber would have found the scout’s movements comical. The standing Lesbosian had no such scruples and was doubled over at her colleagues contortions.

“Damn you; sit still you slut,” the Lesbosian sitting on the teen slapped her so hard that her head twisted with the blow. Amber could recognise her now, Lady Michelle Trachtenberg, a friend of the Queen. Goddess, knew what she was doing out here. Amber watched as she uselessly to free herself. The movements didn’t do anything, but anger the Lesbosian sitting on her. The woman pulled a dagger from out of her belt and held it to Michelle’s throat, “Listen my pretty, I’m going to fuck you and then my friends going to fuck you. And it doesn’t matter to us whether you’re alive when we do it.”

Something about the callousness appalled Amber. She wasn’t soft, she knew not all sex was consensual. But there was an underlying brutality, a pleasure in inflicting fear and pain that revolted her. She crouched down and picked up a rock.

It was easy to bring it down on the standing Lesbosian. The woman stopped laughing and crumpled. Amber didn’t look whether she was dead or just unconscious, instead she stepped over to woman sitting on Michelle. The wannabe rapist was too busy adjusting her toy to notice that she had company. Again she brought down the rock, this time she knew it was killing force. The Lesbosian dropped, her hair matted with blood and with bits of skull and brain dropping down it.

Amber dropped the rock and heaved the dead body of Michelle. The young teen stood, her face pale and her eyes darting around, “Thank you,” she whispered and sat down on a log to start pulling back her dress.

Still in shock, Amber concluded, but they hadn’t time to wait for Lady Trachtenberg to maker herself presentable. She grabbed the teen’s hand and pulled her up, “Come on, let’s go before their friends arrive.


The Kitten leant over the balcony. Below the docks were swarming with activity. Forty Lesbosian cogs were still unloading soldiers and even more was still sailing in. She smiled in the warm spring sunshine, life was good. She turned as she heard footsteps, she wasn’t worried – she recognised the tread.

Brittany Daniel walked up and kissed her. Alexis felt the young woman’s smooth arms and reached up to stroke her hair, “You found your Aunt?”

Brittany nodded, “You were right she’d headed for the gate. I found her there. I’ve put her and my cousins in your guest bedroom.”

“You’ve made sure there comfortable? I’ll make sure the guards know they’re to have anything they want,” Alexis said, “We’ll wait until things are quieter and smuggle them back to Marcia Cross.”

Her lover nodded, “They’re fine,” her face twisted into a quizzical look, “But Alexis why don’t you just hand them to the Lesbosians, they’d pay well and it would help you cement the relationship.”

The Kitten smiled, she moved away from the balcony, stepping behind Brittany she put her arms round the slender waist and put her head on the young woman’s shoulder, “The game isn’t over yet. Shall we say I’m still hedging my bets.”


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