The Goddess-Queens of Pudendor - The Abducted - Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Dispute Resolution

Morning came. I roused myself from under the blanket and tried to work the kinks out. A layer of dead leaves and ferns was no replacement for a good mattress. This sleeping on the ground thing was going to become very old very quickly. I looked around. The watch fires had all burned down to beds of coals. I counted heads. As best I could tell no one had been carried off in the night. Stanley was still sleeping the sleep of the totally fucked out.

One of the armswomen, seeing me up, released my chain, thrust a bucket at me and pointed me towards the stream. By the time I filled it and returned the rest of the group was up and moving about. I delivered the water to two of the males who were building up the cooking fire, then stood around watching as they prepared a kettle of what would probably be best described as porridge. There were grains or ground up seeds of some sort in it.  It was edible if quite bland, but very filling. I consoled myself by looking on the bright side. If this was my normal breakfast I wouldn’t have to worry about getting enough fiber in my diet. I was dying for a cup of coffee, but there didn’t seem to be a Starbucks in the neighborhood. I wondered if there was anything at all like coffee on this planet.

After breakfast we slaves were taken out a short way into the woods and allowed, or ordered, to do our morning business. We did it in a line, males and females together. Privacy was clearly not a big issue on this planet. But, you do what you have to do and it’s a natural function after all. No one else seemed bothered by the local custom, so I squatted next to Stanley and took care of business. I made a point of studying the plant life to my immediate front.

With the necessary functions taken care of we began packing the camp up. There wasn’t that much to it. Just a matter of cleaning out the cooking utensils, which the male cooks took care of, rolling up the blankets and tarp, and folding up the shelter that Kamita, Savitra and the armswomen used.

When we finished the packing one of the slave women pulled out a small, flat, round bowl. She removed the oily leather covering, dipped two fingers in and came out with a good sized dab of pale white grease. She handed the bowl to another woman and proceeded to smear the grease over her exposed skin, paying particular attention to her breasts, crotch and butt.

The others followed suit, the males carefully smearing their genitals in particular, rubbing the stuff in until it was barely noticeable. Fantastic, I thought. They’d discovered sunscreen. I was already noticing the effects of parading around in the buff all the previous day. I helped myself to a generous portion, covering every part I could reach and doing an exchange with Stanley on the parts I couldn’t.

To make the day even better one of the armswomen passed out tunics to us, the longer but bust baring women’s style for Li Mei and myself, the shorter hip-hugger version for Stanley and Dmitri. I gratefully put mine on. It wasn’t the cleanest thing around. It had obviously been well used. It flashed my hoochie to the world with every step I took. But it was clothing.

Violent shouting on the edge of the campsite disturbed what had been an almost pleasant morning. We all looked around. Earlier, while the rest of us ate breakfast, Kamita and Savitra had gone off away from the camp, engaged in an increasingly animated discussion. No one had paid them much mind. Whatever it was they were discussing, it had taken a turn for the worse. Now Kamita was walking back towards the camp, her face hard and scowling. Savitra followed her, spitting words a mile a minute and her arms gesticulating wildly. Now and then Kamita paused, turned back, and spat a brief reply that came out more like a growl than words. In fact, they were speaking so rapidly that with my still tenuous command of the language I couldn’t follow what they were saying. I looked at Stanley. He looked back at me, eyebrows raised.

The rest of the group, including the armswomen, mostly tried to pretend they had no idea this spat was going on, though like Stanley and me they kept shooting glances in their direction.

And then it happened. Whatever Savitra said, it hit a nerve. Kamita stopped, whirled around and slapped Savitra hard across the face.

Savitra took an involuntary step backwards, her jaw open, a look of mixed surprise and anger on her face. She stood there for almost a minute before stomping off to where her vikaga was picketed. Her spear was in a socket behind the saddle. She grabbed it, turned and headed for where Kamita stood, arms crossed over her chest. The stuff is going to hit the fan now, I thought. Savitra carried the spear like she meant business.

What happened next made me wish I had a video recorder, or at least my cellphone. Savitra stopped about six feet from Kamita. She reversed her spear in her hands so that the point was down, then jammed it into the earth. She unbuckled her armor, breastplate and skirt, and tossed it aside. Underneath her armor she wore a short shift of linen like material. She pulled this over her head and discarded it. She stood in front of Kamita naked except for her greaves.

Kamita glared at her for a few moments. She signaled to the armswomen. One of them ran over with Kamita’s spear. With a slow but forceful motion that said “You don’t intimidate me,” Kamita pushed the point of the spear into the ground. Then, like Savitra, she disrobed until she also was naked except for her greaves.

It appeared they were going to fight it out virtually naked. I glanced at Stanley. He was watching, fascinated. And, a quick lowering of my eyes confirmed, increasingly aroused. “Pig,” I muttered. He glanced at me questioningly and turned his attention back to the main event.

Nothing happened for a good two minutes, other than Kamita and Savitra sending daggers at each other with their eyes. Savitra took a large step back and jerked her spear out of the ground and pointed it at Kamita. Kamita quickly reacted, recovering her spear and assuming a guard position, ready to block Savitra. They circled each other, making short thrusts obviously intended to fake each other out. Neither one of them, though, was foolish enough to leave themselves open to a counter stroke. I assumed that they must have been sufficiently familiar with each other’s fighting styles that it would not be easy to land a blow.

Something odd I noticed after watching the inconclusive maneuvering. The thrusts were all low, aimed at the lower leg, and particularly the calves, the only part of their bodies still protected. What a strange form of combat, I thought. Very ritualistic. Not that the upper body was off limits.  I saw Savitra land a nasty blow with the butt of her spear on Kamita’s hip, a blow that made her stumble. But she recovered quickly and, parrying a thrust of Savitra’s blade, continued the motion to give Savitra’s left breast a thumping with the butt of her spear that made me wince in sympathy.

They each sustained several more impacts, all of which seemed likely to leave a nasty bruise. All were delivered with the butt end of the spear, or sometimes the shaft of the spear when it was wielded like the quarterstaff of Robin Hood and Little John fame. But always they seemed careful to keep the blade out of play that would cause an upper body wound.

This went on until Savitra, no doubt tiring, was slow in recovering from a thrust. Kamita slipped the blade of her spear between Savitra’s legs and swept it to her left, against the leather greave, taking her leg out from beneath her and sending her sprawling. Before Savitra could recover Kamita was over her, the point of her spear aimed at Savitra’s chest.

“Submit!” Kamita ordered in a voice that would have been very persuasive even if not backed up by the spear.

“I submit,” Savitra replied in a voice that barely carried to us in the cheap seats.

“Bring my chair,” Kamita ordered, raising her spear. She backed off about thirty feet.

One of the armswomen went to a cart and returned with what looked like a bundle of dingy blue fabric wrapped around four long sticks. She set it down behind Kamita and unfolded it into a rather clever type of sling chair. When it was ready Kamita lowered herself into it. She slouched down so that her butt was over the edge and spread her legs wide. Even from where we stood, watching, we could see how red her labia were, and how the slit between them glistened with moisture. She was seriously aroused.

“Savitra,” she called out loudly, “do you recognize my authority?”

Savitra had rolled over and gotten up on all fours. “I do,” she said, quietly.

“What was that? What was it you said?”

“I do!” Savitra replied, louder.

“You do what?” Kamita asked, malicious pleasure evident in her voice.

“I recognize your authority.”

“And do you swear to obey me?”

Savitra straightened up, though remaining on her knees. To my surprise, instead of raising her right hand or placing it over her heart, Savitra reached between her legs and placed her hand on her sex. “I swear.”

“Then make your act of submission to me.”

Savitra crawled towards Kamita until she was between Kamita’s legs. I watched in amazement. Was she going to do what it looked like she was going to do? My God! She was. The motion of her head, visible between Kamita’s thighs, said it all. She was going down on Kamita, right in the open. Right in front of everyone. Kamita let her head loll back. She brought her hands up to her chest and began massaging her breasts, tugging and twisting her hard brown nipples. Her chest began rising and falling rapidly. She began moaning.

I could tell that when I published my scholarly works, this chapter, working title “Conflict Resolution Among the... whoever they are,” would be very popular, especially among adolescent males.

Thankfully the show didn’t last long. Kamita came, quite nosily. She placed her hands on Savitra’s head and pushed her gently away.

“I accept your submission,” she muttered.

Savitra backed away a few paces, stood up and walked back to where her clothing and armor lay. She dressed herself, picked up her spear and went to see to her vikaga. After a minute or two Kamita did the same. She looked at us, still standing there watching this bizarre ceremony.

“Well, get to it,” she said brightly, as if nothing more than the usual morning routine had occurred. “It’s past time that we were on the road again.”

Continued in the book available on Amazon...