The Warrior's Story

Note:

This story was originally written to form a basis for a sexual fantasy within another story. I decided to submit it as a stand-alone. Since it was extracted from that other story, expect non-sequiturs and such. Poetic license, so to speak.

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Another world

Introduction:

On another world in our galaxy, the people have always been at war with their neighboring states. The armies consisted at one time of men; however, after many generations of war, the male population has dwindled to a small percentage of the population. Now, women are the warriors and battle each other. This has been the result of a change of mood. The battles are less about feuding and land grabs and more about entertainment, television entertainment.

The few men left are doing the 'heavy lifting' as heavy machinery operators and such; being inseminators in a male brothel; or occupying some military positions. There are no other occupations for them. This is now a matriarchal / lesbian society, perhaps with too many women; therefore, the hostility continues.

Those few men who have been chosen have gone through military training as company commanders. They are of officer rank and do not engage in the actual fighting. They are far too valuable as inseminators. The first few years of their service, they are in the rear echelons at headquarters learning newer aspects of battle and participating in the planning of logistics and television entertainment. When they have been promoted from 2nd Lieutenant to 1st Lieutenant to Subaltern, they take the command of a new company of sixty women warriors: six units of ten women each. A third of the units do not fight on the front line, but they have logistical duties and guard their encampment while other warriors are on the battlefield. A few are medics.

Each unit consists of five veterans and five rookies who learn from the veterans. Each pair of vet and rookie lives together in a tent. Until she has known battle, the rookie belongs to the vet as her bitch and services her tent-mate. After her second battle, if she survives, the girl is no longer considered a rookie and sex in her tent flows in both directions.

She has been raised as a warrior and knows no other life. She wears no makeup or is even aware of the more feminine aspects of her womanhood; she wears her hair in long, thick braids which she coils under a padded leather helmet to further protect her head in battle; in camp and in public, she wears a short, wrap around skirt tied at two corners. She wears a scarf around her neck that hangs down over her breasts.

In battle, she wears mid thigh leather boots; a leather jacket that reaches almost to the boot tops; heavy padded gloves; long padded leather cuffs on her forearms; and a leathern cape. The leather has been impregnated with chemicals to make it as hard and almost as impenetrable as a light metal.

To indicate that she is a warrior, she wears wrist, ankle and midriff straps of the same meta-leather. The wrist and ankle straps are approximately three cm's wide and the waistband is slightly more than five cm's wide. The last two cm's are raised and chemically bonded together, and a permanent locking ring is inserted through the two cm ends. The bands are not removable. She is instantly recognized in public as a warrior, looked up to, and given certain privileges. She is considered a television star that will provide entertainment in battle.

In battle, she is not that fortunate as she may be killed, badly wounded, or captured and used as her captor chooses.

The women battle each other using a two-meter wooden mace or cudgel about five cm's thick. One end of the mace is blunt; the other end is sharpened to a point and crowned with a conical overlay of bronze - a very sharp piece of bronze. Her only other weapon is a foot long knife she wears on her belt.

The battles are stylized and almost choreographed. Protocol manages almost every aspect of the fighting. They march into battle nude with the exception of their color-coded scarves designating their army, company, and unit; they are followed by horse-drawn wagons that carry their gear, rations, and other equipment. Just before reaching the battlefield, the five drovers/medics disseminate gear, which is donned prior to battle. One fourth of the company, fifteen warriors, has been left behind in case the camp is attacked. Each of the four other companies has also left fifteen warriors behind to protect the entire encampment.

A soldier from Earth would never recognize the type of warfare in which these women participate. They march in a single woman phalanx no more than a company, forty abreast, against an equal number of enemy troops. They clash one on one and fall back to the rear if there is no single combatant to engage. As a company is beaten or retires, fresh troops fill the gaps, but the front line remains a single file; there is up to a depth of ten to their battle line if there is more than a single company participating; however, only the front rank does battle.

This would seem to be more a sport than a military encounter IF there weren't wounded, unconscious and dead left on the field. These stylized battles are televised and are a major source of entertainment to the more bloodthirsty populace. The opposing armies do not have access to the broadcasts. The television broadcasts are aptly named, "War Games."

It is considered a 'foray' when a unit or company, attempts to infiltrate an enemy's encampment or meets an enemy patrol; a 'skirmish' when five to ten companies -- two to four hundred fighting women - fight; and a 'battle' if there are four thousand warriors on each side. The depth of warriors could reach one hundred if the entire armies are on the field. Only a small number are killed, but many are wounded or beaten unconscious. Then they are left until the battle is over. A very few who are still conscious and captured must decide whether to capitulate and yield or be dispatched; those that yield are taken prisoner as worker and sex slaves for the rest of their lives.

Our heroine has been indoctrinated in training to fight until she is unconscious or dead, and she has been told horror stories about what happens to captured women. She has the battlefield choice of death or capture which ends her previous life either way. She has also a third choice, but this may be the worst. She can offer up her breasts as war trophies to the woman warrior who captures her alive and conscious. She can then return home, but is then considered a pariah and given menial military tasks. She often returns to battle and allows herself to be killed. The new owner of her breasts has gained much face as a hero at her encampment -- and on TV.

If the warrior falls, dead or unconscious, her victor will open her leather jacket and plant a three cm pennant in each of the prone woman's breasts. The plastic V-shaped piece reflects the victor's army, regiment, company, unit and tent by color coding, lettering, and numbering. The lower one cm contains a barb that is not easily removed once planted.

Should the warrior fall still conscious or is otherwise incapacitated, she must decide between servitude and death. She puts her arm over her eyes, which indicates that she prefers death. To live and accept capture, she supplicates by holding her arms out to her victor and pleads for her life: "I yield."

She removes her jacket and other armor; she sits and uses two snap rings, that she has carried in her pack, to connect her wrists to her ankles and lies back, unable to stand or run away. Her victor plants the small pennants in her breasts, and she remains where she is until her victor returns to take her captive. While she waits, she may think twice about being a slave and request to be dispatched or offer up her breasts to be set free. Of course, there is also the possibility of one of her comrades coming back through enemy lines to free her. Not likely. However, a designated warrior, an umpire, on each side walks through her enemies' ranks and checks fallen warriors. If the downed woman is dead, the umpire will put the deceased's scarf over her face and the body, sans nipples, will be picked up when the battle is over.

Unconscious or wounded warriors, sans scarves, will also be picked up and taken back to their units.

If she is killed in battle, her nipples will be taken by her foe as a way of counting coup. Her nipples will be soaked in chemicals to retain their original texture and bonded as a pair on a narrow backing. The victorious warrior will wear them as a necklace or from her waist belt. They are a source of pride for the warrior as they indicate how many of the enemy she has dispatched.

Nipple (or breast) removal and/or a coup de grace will be televised for the 'enjoyment' of the populace.

While little metal is wasted on the military, this is not a backward planet in terms of technology. Civilians have television in their homes. War Games are the prime time shows.

Should the warrior be knocked unconscious, the victor will take her scarf as a war souvenir, another way of counting coup. To her humiliation, the beaten warrior will return to camp without her organizational scarf. Her bare breasts will bear testimony to the fact that she had been bested on the battlefield. She will feel disgrace, humiliation, and loss of face among her fellow warriors. She must take a foe's scarf and nipples in a succeeding battle before she can wear regimental colors again. Until then, she may wear a plain black scarf, and her comrades will consider her as dead until she has proved herself in battle again.

The Warrior's Story

Battle

Kai'la's thoughts:

This is my third battle in this past year, and I finally feel the confidence to become a great warrior. I have fought and won seven individual fights. I have scarves hanging in my tent and nipples hanging from my belt to show my prowess.

This is my third fight in this battle, and I'm a bit fatigued, so I better stay on my toes and not get too cocky. This warrior I'm fighting now looks young and fresh, so this may be her first battle, maybe her first fight. She looks young enough to have just graduated this spring from a military academy. I'm confident that I can best her, but I better not be over confident. We're always warned about that.

I'm going to be somewhat defensive until I can learn her strategy and then go on full attack. I'd love to take her prisoner and use that pretty mouth to full advantage, but in any case I'll take her nipples. I wonder if she'd give up her breasts instead of becoming my sex slave. Her battle vest is molded around her breasts and would indicate that she has fairly large ones. They'd look great hanging from my cudgel stuck in the ground just outside my tent.

OOPS~! That hurt. My arm is a bit numb from her attack. I've got to keep my mind on what I'm doing, or she might get within my defenses again.

There~! I rattled her cage with a blow to her thigh. She limped a few steps back and may have been hurt more than it would seem. I'll be careful, but I'll press my advantage. I want this bitch. I can almost feel her tongue up inside my pussy. Just a little more pressure and then I'll try to trip her by shoving my cudgel between her legs and turning quickly. I could probably dispatch her more easily, but I want her flat on her back with my knife at her throat and hear those sweet words: "I yield." I'm getting aroused just thinking of all the things I'll have her do when she's my prisoner and sex slave.

Ouch~! That was just a glancing blow to the side of my head, but it made my vision blur for a moment. Got to be more careful and watch for her change of pace. She's a bit better than I gave her credit for at first. Her tent mate has taught her well. She didn't learn that trick from the academy.

Caught her again with a slash to her thighs. I may have -- yes, I did; she's bleeding from that blow. My cudgel must have slipped inside her armor. Good, she'll begin to wonder if she's going to lose. She'll begin to make mistakes, and I'll bring her down.

I've been watching her maneuvers carefully, and I can see an opening when she goes through a stepped up attack and then retreats. I'll wait through her regimen and go for her legs at the right time. When she's down, I think I'll sit on her face and have her suck me out. I must be pretty ripe after all the exertion and sweat from marching here and the fights I've already won. That thought makes me even hornier.

Steady, Kai'la. Wait for the opening. It'll come soon, and I'll have that pretty face between my legs, right here on the battlefield; her sucking my pussy as the battle rages all around us. That's not protocol, but I want her tongue up inside me as soon as possible.

After she's down, and I've had her suck me out, I'll flag her breasts, secure her and go back to take the nipples I've earned. I won't remove my pennants from her breasts until we're back at camp, and I've paraded her around naked with my pussy juices drying on her pretty face. I should get a lot more respect from my comrades then. Or maybe, she'll yield her breasts, and I'll hang them from my cudgel and show them off around camp. Stop it Kai'la~! Keep your mind on the fight, not on your pussy.

Damn it~! I missed. She stepped back and my cudgel point missed her belly by only a centimeter or two. She's trickier than I thought, but soon, real soon, I'll be coming in her mouth.

Here it comes. She's nearing the end of her routine, and there'll be an opening for me to trip her. All it'll take then is a flurry of blows, and she'll be flat on her behind. I haven't had a chance to look at her bottom, but by her narrow waist and broader hips, she must have a nice inverted heart shaped rear. I can just see myself biting her butt cheeks and even the inside of her young, soft thighs. I'm sweating from the exertion, but I'm getting even hotter thinking about fucking this pretty bitch.

NOW~! An opening. Go for it, Kai'la. Shove your cudgel between her legs and rush to her left. She'll go down, and I'll have her.

Damn~! My ears are ringing and my vision is red and blurry. Crap~! I'm lying on my back, and I've lost my cudgel. She caught me across my temple when I tried to trip her. Holy Novae. I'm her prisoner. My heart is racing and feels like it's going to explode inside my chest. Her cudgel point is at my throat. NO~! NO~! Don't thrust it. I don't want to die. "I yield. I yield. I YIELD!"

Galaxy help me~! I don't want to be her sex slave, nor do I want to give her my breasts. Perhaps I shouldn't have yielded and let myself be killed quickly and suddenly while I was still stunned. Now if I chose to be dispatched, I'll know it's coming. How can I choose that?

I need time to think; I'm taking off my armor and putting it a pile; I can't find my cudgel. She must have kicked it away when it was knocked out of my hand. I've found the snap links in my kit and have snapped my right wrist to my right ankle and snapped the other one on my left wrist. She is snapping my left wrist to my left ankle, and I won't be able to walk away.

Crap~! She's squeezing and twisting my boobs to get my nipples erect; damn the Universe, she's going to plant her pennants directly into my nipples. It really hurts now, but I can imagine what it will feel like when the barbs are pulled out.

She has signaled her supply wagon medic to spray my wounds with an antiseptic. I hadn't realized I had a few open slashes. She's spraying her own wounds to stop the bleeding. Where's she going now? Oh, she must have won another fight and is going back to collect a scarf or someone's nipples. I'll have time to think about making a final decision as to what I should opt for.

Drat~! I had visions of having her suck me out, and now it appears that I will be the one sucking pussy. I wonder if she will have me suck her sweaty, dirty pussy or at least have the decency to wash before I have to eat her out. Curses~! I know what I would have done. Yuck~!

I hadn't realized how uncomfortable it would be lying on one's back, wrists fastened to ankles and having one's ass and crotch open for the entire world to enjoy. I can see the camera blimp overhead taping my exposed crotch and me. I suppose women all over are watching the camera feeds and enjoying my plight.

Why oh why did I get so careless and allow this to happen to me-- to ME?

I have to pee, but if I do, I don't know where it will go while I'm in this position. When I try to roll over on my side, the drover/medic warns me that she will use her whip on me if I don't stay on my back. I've told her I have to pee, and she said, "Go ahead. The stream may arch away from you, or it may come back over you and onto your face. Keep your mouth open when you do let go, or I'll use this whip on your pussy. I'm curious to see where your pee will go. Bon appetite." I've decided to hold it until my vanquisher comes back.

The drover says she's bored and wants me to suck her out. I warn her that I haven't decided to vow fealty yet, and too, the warrior might not like getting my tongue second hand. She is looking me over wondering what other mischief she can inflict on me.

She has seen my bush and seems intrigued. She leaves and comes back with a pair of needle nose pliers and proceeds to pull out my pubic hair one at a time. It is excruciating, but I bite my lip from saying so. She might find something else to do to me that would hurt more and do more damage. Occasionally, she reaches up and flicks the pennants stuck in my nipples. That REALLY hurts. I have always liked having a bush, but now I wish I had shaved it before battle. Maybe not. She'd just find some other way to torture me.

My vanquisher has returned and stopped the drover from pulling out any more pubic hairs.

"Well?" She asks. "You've had time to think. You have the right to ask to be dispatched. Otherwise, you're my prisoner, my sex slave, or are you going to ask to have your breasts removed and go back home? I can slice them off with little effort, cauterize your wounds, and your own drover can take you home, free as a bird. What's your decision? I like the shape of your tits, so I'd prefer to take them, but it's your call. I'll abide by protocol."

I was speechless. I couldn't make up my mind. Having a choice was not having a choice to be as I was before I fell. I sputtered but couldn't bring myself to decide.

"The battle is over, and I've collected a scarf and a pair of nipples, so I want to get back to camp as soon as possible. The drover is waiting and the overhead blimp cams are recording. Decide. NOW."

The drover came over and whispered in her ear. My vanquisher placed the butt end of her cudgel into my vagina. She said, "I'm going to pummel your uterus until you decide. Eventually, it will be out of your hands, as you will bleed to death in a great deal of pain. She pushed the cudgel up against my cervix and pressed hard. I winced with the pain, but knew I had to opt before she began to ram the cudgel into my womb. "I yield again. I'll swear fealty to you." I made the pledge as I learned in military school: "I agree to be your slave and will accept whatever you have me do and do to me. I will do so without hesitation, complaint and with great enthusiasm. Otherwise, I expect to be punished or sold."

She told me to put my tongue inside her to show that I was now her property. I did so; gratefully acknowledging that she hadn't asked me to suck out her sweaty pussy. The drover asked if she could have me lick her, but my owner said no. The drover complained bitterly that not being able to capture a woman of her own wasn't fair. My owner told her to be grateful that she didn't have to die in battle or be taken prisoner herself.

The snap rings were removed, and I was able to stand and walk. My owner told me her name was Kit'n, but I must call her 'Miss' from now on. She told me to forget my own name, as I would henceforth be addressed as 'bitch'. I would be allowed no possessions, not even my name, except for the wrist, ankle and waistbands that I already wore.