The Ridge, Pt II (with slightly amended epilogue)

[knobarius]

Hunda and Vara shared a large tent that was loaded with expensive rugs, cushions and other luxuries fit for royalty, honestly acquired a few months before. The two partners had boldly attacked and plundered a convoy escorting a beautiful rebel noblewoman, and in doing so had killed the noblewoman, her guards, and most of her servants, keeping two lovely servant girls for themselves after knocking them unconscious and carrying away their stripped bodies. These two slave girls, Musa and Clonia, waited obediently outside of the large tent as their mistresses arrived. Musa was a young girl with dark flowing hair and olive skin, while Clonia was bit older, with bright blonde hair bound in a single braid at the back of her head; both girls were dressed in short, sleeveless white tunics provided by their mistresses.
Vara dismounted as the procession came to a stop. She carefully unslung the black herder boy’s comatose body from her horse and laid him out face-up and naked on the grass, then motioned the two servant girls to assist her in lowering Achillea’s heavy body from Hunda’s horse. The Amazon legend limply came off the horse with limbs flopping as the three girls lowered her naked to the ground onto a blanket. “Unload the rest of these horses. I’ll go see about our prize money,” Hunda then ordered, riding off to meet with the camp’s appraiser. Since Achillea was so famous, she thought – correctly -- that the appraiser, who had once seen the renowned Amazon fight in the arena, would be glad to visit her tent to see and register her dead body on the spot rather than oblige Hunda to haul it with her, and give her payment for the other bodies on the spot as well.
Vara nodded, stepping over Achillea’s naked corpse, and turned to an eager Musa and Clonia, who were to oil and wash the bodies, applying the ointment that would keep them fresh and supple, and to attend to the unconscious slave boys. “Let’s clean these dead bitches and slaves for the party,” the Kushite girl said with a wink and a smile.
***
Musa hung her head low as she briskly walked passed howling, drunken male mercenaries. It was already dark and she hated wandering the camp without her mistress, especially at this time when there were so many drunk and carousing mercenaries out and about. But after finishing her highly enjoyable work of tenderly administering to Hunda’s new slave and parting his red hair to examine the bruise at the back of his head, she had been ordered by Hunda to seek out Yao, and had risen reluctantly from the unconscious herder boy’s muscular nude form, giving a last caress to his bare bottom and leaving him lying on a bed of furs belly down, eyes closed and mouth slack against the clean white sheet beneath his head.
As she entered the east side of the camp she noticed a large open tent into which scores of mercenaries, both male and female, were crowded. Musa looked toward the large tent, curious to see what was going on, then counted the tents that bordered the outer edge of the camp. The fifth one, she had been told by her young mistress, was owned by Yao; but as this tent was close by she figured it wouldn’t hurt to see what all the commotion was about before seeking out the golden-skinned mercenary.
The servant eased her way through the crowd, careful not to get too close to some of the male mercenaries, who might knock her unconscious and kidnap her for their own. Suddenly she was under the large tent. There were two swordsmen dressed as if they might be Imperial soldiers; however, their armor markings identified them as elite mercenaries belonging to a mysterious body known only as the “Order”. They stood watch, keeping the crowd at bay and in order. Musa noticed their commander nearby, a shaven-headed, well- muscled man clad in a heavy black leather loin cloth and thick black waist belt bearing a silver- tipped scabbard for his silver hilted sword. He stood next to a buxom woman in a short grey tunic and sandals, a gold-hilted belt dagger her only weapon, who stood auctioning nude bodies, alive and dead, to the crowd.
Looking into the tent Musa noted several bound and unconscious nude slaves – and two naked female bodies hanging by their ankles from noosed ropes tied to the overhead support of the tent, eyes closed, mouths agape, arms dangling limply, fingertips gently swaying a few hands’ breadth from the hard ground. One dead girl was a blonde, the other a bald, golden-skinned Eastern girl. Their naked bodies were fit and athletic; Musa thought they looked like two of the slain warrior women from her mistress’s expedition that morning, confirmed in her view by the small blue tattoos freshly stamped on each naked girl’s left thigh -- symbols marking them as kills tallied and paid for, so that their bodies could not be submitted for a second bounty. She quickly snapped out of her trance, tore her gaze from the two naked bodies hanging upside down, and hastily ducked through the crowd and out of the auction pavilion.
She approached Yao’s modest tent and was about to open the flap and enter when she recalled what Hunda had told her. Yao was very alert and keen to her surroundings; if she failed to identify herself to the Eastern archer she might have an arrow through her sweet breast before she knew it. Musa stepped back from the tent, scratched at the flap, and bowed as she called out, “Mistress Yao, it is I, Musa, obedient servant of my mistress Hunda.” She waited and heard nothing.
Then a calm voice came behind the flap. “What is your business, servant of Hunda?”
“I am here to bring Mistress Yao to my mistress’s tent for a celebration,” Musa answered, adding quickly, “-- of your very successful raid this morning.”
“You may enter, servant of Hunda,” Yao replied. Musa opened the flap to the tent, now strangely eager to enter. The tent was round, and much smaller than the tent that Musa shared with Clonia, her mistress and Vara. The floor was thickly layered in bear hides and a single frame bed blanketed with tiger skins sat directly in front of her; lying on the bed were a young male and a female, both nude, and wrapped in each other’s limp limbs in a lover’s embrace. The girl was slender and beautiful, with long brown hair; she surely was not a mercenary but a bed-slave, as was the handsome young man. Both seemed unconscious. “Welcome to my tent, servant of Hunda,” said Yao, stepping out of shadows with her polished bamboo bow drawn, and with a silver-tipped arrow aimed at Musa’s breast.
Musa had only heard rumors from the other servant girls in camp of the great and silent archer known as Yao. She was deadly with the bow and could track anything or any one down. She was a former bed-slave and as a result (so the slave girls said) was a young woman who found herself in heat more than others. Now Musa saw her in person, and chills went up her back on seeing the arrow aimed at her, and behind it the bald, nearly naked Eastern woman, clad only in an orange silken cloth wrapped around her waist, covering her legs to the ankles. “Please, mistress,” Musa pleaded, dropping to her knees, the yellow girl following her with the bow to maintain aim on her heart. “I only come to bring you to mistresses Hunda and Vara‘s celebration. I mean no harm.”
Yao relaxed the cord of the bow and lowered her weapon. “Very well, we shall leave then,” she replied with calm gravity. She donned a sleeveless red tunic and sandals and slung the bow over her shoulder along with her full quiver of arrows. She leaned over her bed, kissing both of the unmoving occupants before covering them from ankles to breasts with a soft deerskin robe, then turned to gaze on Musa with her serious dark eyes. “Lead on, servant of Hunda.”
***
Musa held open the flap to the large tent and Yao stepped in, ducking her head instinctively, though the tent was huge compared to her own, and much better furnished at that. The ground was covered with animal robes and rich, thick carpets woven in the capital city. Lamps and a cooking fire illuminated the tent, catching the gleam of silver-chased weapons and plundered armor. Piles of silken cushions were spread throughout the large space. A large square table, placed on short wooden supports that allowed banqueters to sit cross-legged or place their legs under the table as they dined, was set with a feast worthy of a king. Musa lowered the flap and joined Clonia at one side of the tent where they would await their mistresses’ pleasure – and where each girl had a dead slave to have fun with for the night. The two dead youths, one blonde, the other with longish dark hair, were each limply supported by piles of cushions in a seated position, their splendid naked bodies already oiled and cleaned.
On a pile of furs near the tent opening, the slave girls had laid four more slain trophies, toes up, similarly washed and oiled. Their breathless bodies were stretched out full length, nude, eyes closed and mouths slack, the two bronze-skinned youths flanked by the slain brunette sentry and the dead Negress. But the mischievous slaves had arranged matters so that the back of the black girl’s left hand lay touching the flaccid manhood of the dead slave boy lying next to her.
At the head of the table sat dead Achillea. Her body, like the others, was lightly oiled and gleamed by the lights of the tent lamps and fires. The veteran warrior sat with her inert arms at her sides, resting against the mound of pillows supporting her limp body, and with legs spread wide to expose her sex. Her head leaned back slightly, graying locks on the pillow behind her, her inviting lips slightly parted. Her hair had been carefully combed, and the jewelry she wore included pieces that Yao had not seen earlier among the plunder from her dead body -- including a slim golden slave collar, to mark Achillea’s utter defeat and surrender in death. Hunda and Vara, bejeweled and barefoot in sleeveless silk tunics of green and sky-blue respectively, sat at opposite sides of the table. Vara was flanked on one side of her pile of cushions by her new black bed-slave, his bald head thrown back and his legs wide. Apart from his dark erect manhood, he looked as dead as the flame-headed Northern girl whose pale, freckled body sat naked on Vara’s other side, her lifeless head slumped sleepily against the black girl’s bare shoulder. Hunda sat across from her, slightly closer to Achillea, with her redheaded male sex slave who sat slumped at her side, nude and comatose, as she played idly with his flaccid sex.
“Welcome, Yao!” cried Hunda in greeting, raising a crystal glass filled with plum-colored liquor. “Welcome to Achillea’s party.” She gestured towards the dead woman, who looked even more naked with the shining jewelry that adorned her limp arms and strangled neck. The blonde fighting girl reached forward to slap the older woman’s left breast.
“Come have a seat and enjoy this great meal – and then you can have your pick of any of these prizes afterwards,” Vara said, gesturing towards the four nude bodies laid out in the corner of the tent. She rubbed the bald head of her unconscious black slave, and bent to kiss his half-open mouth.
Yao sat down and began to eat silently. Then Clonia poured her a glass of the plum liquor, and Yao raised the glass in Achillea’s direction. “To Achillea.” She said seriously. Hunda and the others broke into laughter.
Hunda, getting up from her spot, crawled on all fours over Achillea’s dead legs towards Yao, having consumed too much of the liquor already. She sat up again near Yao who eyed her curiously while she ate, knowing it might be some time before she could enjoy a feast like this again. “Yao,” said the short-haired blonde girl quietly, “you are the most skilled warrior in camp -- next to me and Vara. As you can see, we collected a large bonus from today’s work. I think if we form an alliance of some sort for future raids we could celebrate like this every night. We’ll split the bounties equally, three ways.” Hunda smiled, but Yao remained serious. “And until we sell them,” she added, “you could have all the sex you want with the prizes we take, male or female.” Hunda knew that she had hooked the archer when she saw a slight grin form on Yao’s greasy lips.
***
EPILOGUE

Midnight. Hunda and Vara sprawled in a dead-drunk sleep among the cushions, tits up, mouths open, legs shamelessly spread, completely nude save for their jewelry, as the moon shone bright through the tent’s smoke-hole. Each beautiful, unconscious fighting girl lay with her head resting on the muscular thighs of the other girl’s comatose and well-endowed bed-slave, also quite naked – a pleasing contrast of white and black bodies.
The equally drunken Yao, intending to stagger home to her own tent, had instead slumped senseless and nude across the row of four stripped bodies near the tent entrance, her golden cheek against the smooth dead chest of a bronze-skinned slave boy, outstretched hand resting on the dark right breast of the knifed Kushite girl. Of the fifteen bodies in the tent, eight lay naked and dead, and only two of the remaining seven were conscious.
The slave girls Clonia and Musa took up the dead flame-haired girl’s strangled body – lying sprawled out nude with mouth slack and red head pillowed on the dark chest of Vara’s slave -- by her legs and under her arms and (very quietly, lest they risk waking the intimidating Yao) left her lying stretched out at the naked feet of the other bodies near the entrance. “Sleep tight, freckle-face, ” whispered Clonia, arranging the dead girl’s naked limbs gently and impudently stealing a kiss from her silenced lips.
The once-stately Achillea they had left as her slayer and ravisher Hunda had last positioned her during the night’s final fierce pleasuring – her muscular, strangled body no longer seated, but with several small pillows placed under her bare back so that she lay sprawled on a bed of skins with back arched and arms outflung, dead tits jutting proudly at the tent ceiling, head tilted back and open mouth slack, legs spread wantonly wide -- a bunch of red grapes placed between her large breasts. But the slave girls had carefully stripping the jewelry from her limp corpse and consigned it to Hunda’s strong-box, leaving the older woman as naked as she was dead. After removing the last piece -- the golden slave collar -- from Achillea’s throat, Clonia had paused only to place a small piece of purple silk over the upper portion of the dead woman’s face, so that her nostrils and invitingly parted lips remained uncovered. Her naked flesh gleamed in the lamplight.
The slave girls extinguished most of the lamps in the tent and gathered up the leftover wine and food before going behind the silken partition that divided the servants’ quarters from the rest of the tent. Their services were no longer required that evening, and soon the two giggling girls had pulled off their tunics, stripping nude save for small white loincloths, to take their lifeless lovers in their arms, Each bound about her temples a band of white cloth to confine her hair, and round her waist a slim belt, hung with a scabbarded dagger. With weapons borrowed from their comatose mistresses, and the neatly strangled nude bodies of the first two herder boys Vara and Hunda had so gleefully killed that morning, they proceeded to enact a drama of female warriors dispatching young male sentries.
Barefoot, a length of oiled leather cord in her hands, Clonia stealthily approached her long-haired slave boy as he sat dead and naked against his cushions, hands loosely resting on the spear across his knees like a carelessly sleeping sentry. She quickly looped the cord over the dead boy’s head and and garroted him, placing a bare foot on his shoulder and pushing repeatedly until his lifeless head fell forward onto his bare chest and his nerveless arms fell from the spear to his sides. She yanked the youth’s head back by his bushy hair, placed her dagger’s blade against his throat, then whispered, “This one’s finished.” Soon she had pulled him onto the rugs so that he lay on his side, long hair partly shrouding his boyish features, his handsome nude corpse moving slightly as the grinning blonde slave girl stripped off his waist belt and scabbarded knife. She took her new plaything in her arms, kissing the murdered youth’s cool slack mouth and running her fingers through his wild hair, wrapping her bare legs around him, feeling the muscles of his naked chest.
As Clonia “strangled” her victim, Musa with a suppressed war cry lightly struck her own dead slave boy on the head -- with the same ball-headed wooden club Hunda had used to knock her unconscious during her own capture a few months before—and then clapped her hand over the boy’s half-open mouth, propping his blonde head and upper body upright in a sitting position, close to her own naked breasts. “Sleep!” she hissed. “Die!” She removed the sword from the dead youth’s nerveless fingers, and delivered three blows to his throat with the edge of her hand “to make sure.”
Finally Musa removed her hand from the blonde slave boy’ slack lips, roughly stripped the sword-belt from his trim waist as his head lolled backward with mouth agape, pulled his limp nude body toward her, and let his handsome head fall sleepily forward, lips parted as though uttering a silent moan, between her full tanned breasts -- his soft lips kissing her naked bosom, his eyes closed. The girl held him close, caressing his bare shoulders and short yellow hair, cupping his manhood and hefting his male parts as though to judge their weight..
The giggling blonde girl, twining her lovely legs around her prey’s nude body, checked the pulse at the wild-haired slave’s youth’s bare throat and chest, and naturally found none. “Good! This one’s dead,” Clonia whispered dramatically, and glanced over her shoulder toward her young friend. “Musa! Kill that sentry! >>Silence him!”<<
Sweet Musa lifted her own slain bedmate’s lifeless head, gazed into his sleepy face, traced the outline of his parted lips with a teasing finger, and then let the dead boy’s blonde head fall once again between her warm breasts, with a soft plop.
“He is silenced,” the dark-haired girl intoned.

THE END

[esercito sconfitto]

Knobarius, thanks for being back after so many years

please next time just write something more focused about female on female stripping sentries/soldierettes

Knobarius, I believe that with your "stripped senoritas" you started the genre , inspired Charlie06...and here we go

now, please write another adventure of "Seminole Jill"

this is a request

I am waiting from 2006

remember... Seminole Jill, alone vs a fortress

and now start writing

[knobarius]

I'll have to consider Seminole Jill (who I think would do well with a half-naked Apache girl as an accomplice in sentry-silencing), but first I want to do a Vara and Hunda tale. It will include a good deal of stripping, of males and females alike, but also feature Hunda stripping the dress from a pleasure-slave's limp form and I think three dead female guards whose armor and clothing are required for impersonation...

[simon4242]

a bit too close to necrophilia for my liking but hey ho lol

[jaffa]

Very good work! I've read through as much of your back catalogue as I could find on here and elsewhere and I must say your stories are of the highest quality.