Chapter 12

Trellis could just make out the shape of the low stone building through the swirling mist, as Rosseena and the stockade women led him on to the boats they hoped would be awaiting them just a little further ahead. His owner smiled visibly on noting the structure herself.

“The seamonk hide store, not far to go now...” As they approached it and the bold woman swung a creaking door open, Trellis couldn’t resist taking a sniff at the aroma from the plethora of furs within it, the scent rewarding him with an immediate boning erection. Rosseena jerked him away with a curt smile, her cunt blossoming itself, with the delectably aphrodisiacal scent.

“You’ll see my whip as soon as we’re comfortable again, but no time for it now ... we need to make haste.” The other women grinned as she showed her authority over him, and he, though un-castrated and therefore still filled with wanton sexual spirit, obeyed meekly like a eunuch, their contempt for him enjoyed thoroughly on noting his erection sustained at the promise of a whipping. Rosseena did her best to take his and her mind from the pleasures to come, haste in her mind, as one of the women saw to it that the door was closed firmly.

“Those hides will have been there for some considerable time, curing nicely ... the owners of the skins no longer free to scuttle about the dunes, and a good thing too...” She smiled at Trellis as she tugged him toward a far cove just visible occasionally through the mist.

“ ... when this conflict is over, perhaps we’ll return here to put an end to some more of the little menaces ... though we wouldn’t want to eradicate them completely, would we?” The women laughed as Trellis stumbled along, erect and more than willing to know that scent again ... mingled with that of his Mistress’s cunt as they lay upon those furs.

Some ten minutes later, they traversed the dunes and then scampered down across slippery rocks to the cove, delighted to find several long boats there. Commandeering three of them, they turned a fourth and smashed a hole in its bottom, making it un-seaworthy before pushing the other three into the surf and boarding them. Trellis shivered as he sat, wet from the salty ocean, the women sneering at his feebleness, none of them showing any sign of discomfort, their robust nature illustrated once more to the pathetic male, Rosseena taking the tiller of their boat as the small mast was fitted, and the modest sail hoisted.

We’ll head for mainland over at Cape Heaven, not far across the water, then double back ... hopefully our pursuers haven’t seen us and won’t realise the trap till the women of the Atalanta arrive. She knew they were coming, but not where they were, and scanned the misty skies for signs or sounds of aerial craft, but there were none ... Zeeta was intent on having her sport, despite the reservations of her friends Skara and Avra. Trellis shivered again as the boats with their twenty or so occupants each, bucked on the thankfully gentle waves, and the land behind them disappeared in the swirling mist.

...

Margo was becoming more and more aware of the fact that the land they were on was no more than a promontory ... and that her somewhat needless pursuit of the stockade women could result in her downfall. As they passed the hut and then reached the cove with the upturned boat, a venture a little higher up the rocks telling them that there was nothing but sea not far ahead, Margo’s mind turned more to self preservation than further pursuit of prey ... which had vanished. The fresh splinters about the upturned boat had her realise that this had not been the only vessel, and she kept Trulia close to her, as the distinct sound of the murmurings of an approaching force echoed through the dunes, getting ever closer.

Margo stood firm as a group of younger female warriors, hell bent on receiving some satisfaction through achieving a kill of some kind, dashed recklessly back through the dunes toward the approaching force. She could just see the flashing of blades, the cries of the women once loyal to Blackball or Gelding House, and now loyal to her, as they were cut down mercilessly by Zeeta’s advancing female warriors, Zeeta herself joining in the fray, hell-bent on the satisfaction of absolute annihilation of any opposition to her takeover of Vulvador. Margo clutched at Trulia, willing to give up her own life for her, as through the mist in the near distance they saw those loyal warriors brought down with aplomb with the use of blunt weapons, held wriggling on the ground as Zeeta herself enjoyed the sport of beheading each one, her cunt riper on seeing each head roll, her lust to see Margo’s deathly ecstasy as hers rolled in the dirt, driving her impatience with the sword.

Her desire to know the ecstasy of each decapitation, impeded their progress somewhat, allowing Margo to retreat further down the promontory. As not much else but sea no more than 300 yards ahead greeted them, she gave Trulia a long kiss and lifted a dagger, preparing to kill her lover and then herself rather than give Zeeta that satisfaction, as they staggered down with the remnants of her force to one of the last coves. As Margo’s heart raced while holding the dagger high, Trulia grabbed her arm, not for fear of dying, but with the thrill of something else. Margo saw her eyes leave hers and stare across her shoulder.

“Look! ... look Margo!” The haughty woman turned, as several of her rearguard made toward the direction of Trulia’s sight ... toward a boat. Margo virtually dragged the girl to it, as several of the others pushed the reasonably sized longboat into the surf, its mast and sail aboard, ready to be erected at their liberty. Rosseena and her party had not counted on any boats being further down from where the rest of the fleet was berthed, and this boat had been berthed there by chance, when its owner had been caught in an approaching storm - any suitable haven chosen. Rosseena need not have had any fear at this juncture however, as Margo’s intention was now purely one of escape.

Veen erected hard, involuntarily, at Varnella’s cruel and contented smile as they stepped amongst the severed heads, he aghast at the carnage but aroused by both Zeeta’s obvious sexual satisfaction in serving her enemy with a delighted and final justice, and by his Mistress’s curt pleasure in viewing the grim half-smiles upon the faces of the vanquished, she turning heads which faced downward, to marvel at expressions of seeming contentment at having met with the severest of punishment. Zeeta’s bulging cunt receded just a little, as one of her warriors, farther ahead, so the boat going out through the mist.

“Quickly Madam Zeeta ... they have a boat!” Zeeta rushed toward the cove, after demanding that all the rebel women caught and not yet dead, were bound to await her personal pleasure with the sword. Veen and Varnella watched from a high position on the rocks, just able to perceive the escaping boat through the swirling mists, the commotion reaching their ears as they watched the Blackhall and Gelding House women struggle through the surf to reach the boat, their colleagues helping as many as possible aboard as the boat moved out through the waves, Margo not assisting, but standing tall and defiant aboard the boat, her cruel smile toward Zeeta noted, as they made their escape. Some of her loyal warriors stood firm in the shallows, hindering Zeeta’s warriors before succumbing, those meeting with blades turning the surf red, those clubbed or brought down with staffs, dragged ashore and bound for further sport.

It was now Zeeta’s time to the the fact that no aerial support had been made provision for, as her desired prize of Margo’s head remained firmly upon the neck it belonged to, her defiant smile as the boat with she and some twenty-five of her ilk disappeared into the mist, galling her somewhat. Veen watched, still hopelessly erect, as Zeeta vented her dominant spite upon the captured rebels, stripped naked then bound at wrists and ankles, the captured women watched, some weeping as their garments of warfare were thrown aside like rubbish, and they were made to kneel before their Victor for dispatching. None begged for mercy, going to their deaths almost willingly, Zeeta savouring each neck and having every defeated rebel woman perk their nipples as she toyed the blade against those slender necks before delivering their prize.

Veen watched, as the ruthlessness and pure feminine dominance of the women of Vulvador was brought home to him in no uncertain terms, as Zeeta lifted her sword high on countless occasions, and with the smiling Arna looking on with each, smugly content that those kneeling women would never know the sexual affection she’d enjoy, each expertly delivered sweep of her sword delivered a sinewy thwack receiving hearty applause as the head was taken cleanly. As the last was sent to her death to rapturous applause, Zeeta paused with her bloodied sword to stare wistfully out to sea, but then smiled toward Arna, her aroused cunt sorely in need of the girl’s attentions.

“We’ll camp here for the night before returning...” She looked out to the sea once more.

“We’ll have that bitch’s head one day...” She smiled curtly at the gape of the last head, looking up at her in contented submission, she then looking to her warriors.

“Gather all the heads and arrange them in a circle around my berth ... we’ll have them view my enjoyment at their defeat.” Later, Veen looked on at the eerie sight, as Zeeta mounted Arna and obliged her anally with a generous strap-on, oblivious to the obvious overlooking of their carnal passion, the writhing of their bodies in the flickering light of the camp fire, also witnessed silently by the ring of severed heads, the half-grins on their faces seeming to echo the pleasure the two women moaned out, as Arna lifted her buttocks high and wide in loving acceptance of her Mistress’s thrusting, the nub of the strap-on ensuring Zeeta’s worthy and fulfilling orgasm.

Varnella’s eyes turned to Veen’s obvious erection, and she wagged her finger at an equally aroused, Skara and Avra, who closed in on him, stripping their garments. His redheaded Mistress stood over him and splayed her broad buttocks wide before descending.

“Lie back slave ... you’ve three cunts to satisfy.” Veen’s cock responded with a grateful pulsing as Skara’s hand took his erection and stroked him, whilst Avra toyed with his balls, his nose taking in Varnella’s rich spices, his tongue probing eagerly as her wet cunt enveloped his face. Dominated as usual, he’d shoot his mess in submission three times that night, some of those severed heads witnessing the defeat which echoed theirs.