Conquerors and Concubines
by cornishrugby@aol.com
The Heroic versus the Helpless


Comments cornishrugby@aol.com

Volume I: Roman Invaders in the Land of the Amazons

Chapter One

Marcus stood at the prow of the vessel, peering into the shadowy mists of the
forbidding jungle. He could feel the ship moving almost imperceptibly beneath
his feet, barely swaying as it cut through the smooth waters of the river.
Behind and beneath him came the splash of the oars slapping into the dark,
glassy waters, as the slave crew toiled at their labors, pushing the ship ever
onward towards its meeting with destiny.

They had come far, so very far - farther, in fact, than any of their
countrymen had gone before them. Though Marcus could not know it - and though
history would take no notice of their voyage - he and his men had traveled
farther than any others in all of human history. They had discovered a new
continent a millennium and a half before Columbus would make his own
discovery, a thousand years before the Vikings would cross the same ocean.

He turned to look back at what remained of his fleet. His hundreds of sailors
had marched from Rome to the port in Florence, and then boarded a dozen
vessels to set sail on a trip into the unknown. Their journey was founded on a
legend whispered into the Emperor's ear, a mythical story of a land across a
vast ocean, a nation of wealth and riches, populated by a tribe of female
warriors. Like every man who'd sat on the throne in Rome, this ruler craved
riches and yearned for greater power. The mighty Roman Empire was not enough -
and this tantalizing tale of beautiful seductresses guarding hoards of silver
and gold was too much for any Emperor to resist.

Marcus sighed as he studied his fleet, wondering for the thousandth time if
the legends could be worth the hardship and heartache - if the legends existed
at all. He had no idea why the Emperor needed more money or more power, but
that lust and greed seemed inherent in the rulers of his people.

Gold and silver were not the reasons Marcus had agreed to lead this
expedition; not even the promise of feminine flesh more perfect than Helen of
Troy herself had led him to his current state. Instead, it had been the lure
of adventure, the thrill of the unknown, the prospect of battle with a new
enemy. Marcus was above all else a warrior, crafted in the mold of Achilles,
and he lived for the blood of battle. Riches and women could not lure him away
from his homeland, but the rumors of the ferocity of these Amazonian warriors,
of their unmatched skill in battle, had piqued his curiosity. He had defeated
every breed of warrior he'd encountered in the far reaches of the empire, and
he'd grown almost bored. These new warriors - even if they were just little
women - might be just the challenge he'd been seeking.

Of course, the promise of a share of the booty hadn't exactly hurt. And that
promise had made gathering a crew for the ships rather easy; each of the men
who survived the voyage would be rich beyond their most fevered imaginings.
Even the slaves working below decks had been guaranteed something valuable:
their freedom, the richest of all prizes, and a small share of the loot, as
well.

Those promises had kept the men quiet as the fleet of a dozen wooden vessels
had sailed through the calm waters of the Mediterranean and past the coast of
southern Spain out into the rough and uncharted waters of the storm tossed
Atlantic. The crossing had taken months. This impossibly wide body of water
they'd sailed was almost entirely unknown to Marcus and his navigators - they
had just kept heading west, sailing into the setting sun.

By the time they'd reached the coast of this strange new land, the dozen boats
of his little fleet had become just five. The rest were lost to the waves and
water. Strangely, the crew had not despaired; many of them were
not-so-secretly pleased that there'd be less men with whom to share the
bounty. Such optimism in the face of grave danger was typical of his soldiers
and sailors, and it made Marcus proud.

Chapter Two

Marcus had no map with which to lead the voyage. All he had were those
whispered rumors and half-remembered legends of a land across the wide waters
and a river that dwarfed the Nile itself. His remaining five vessels finally
reached the eastern shore of an unexplored land - just as the legends
prophesized - and rested in a harbor for a full week as the men feasted on
fruits and nuts and replenished their stores.

After the sailors, soldiers, and slaves had recuperated from the long voyage,
they began to explore the area. Discovering a tribe of small, dark- skinned
natives, they attempted to question them about the legendary Amazon warriors.
Communication had been difficult, nothing but grunts and whistles and crude
sign language. But if Marcus had understood the village chieftain correctly,
the story of the Amazon warriors was far from a mythical fairy tale - these
strange, fierce women seemed to actually exist. According to the intricate
hand gestures of the primitive natives, the women were indeed real - and they
were apparently stunning to behold and rather curvaceous.

Marcus knew he might have misunderstood the native creatures, but he didn't
think so: he knew lust in a man's eyes when he saw it, and this little dark
people clearly lusted after the Amazons they described. But they just as
clearly feared them, too. Motioning with his hands, the native chieftain had
mimicked fierce swordplay and firing volleys from a boy - it seemed the
Amazons were equally skilled with either weapon, and equally eager to use
them.

When they were ready to sail again, the downsized fleet headed south - because
the natives had pointed in that direction. In less than a day, they stumbled
upon the mouth of a mighty river, indeed so vast and wide that it dwarfed any
river Marcus had seen before. It bore the name of the Amazons they sought and
it was the pathway to the Amazonian kingdom, if the legends were right.

They'd been traveling up river, slowly, for three days. Staring at the
jungle-covered banks of the river, staring for some sign of these legendary
women. Marcus had posted watches on both sides of each vessel, with orders not
to take their eyes off the dense green forests.

He needn't have bothered.

On the morning of the fourth day, it was the Amazons who found them.

Chapter Three

Without warning, a flurry of arrows flew from the jungle on the starboard side
of the fleet, slapping into the wooden hulled vessels. There were so many
arrows that they blotted out the sun. Half a dozen sailors were fatally
struck, some of them falling into the water, food for the hungry, lurking
crocodiles.

"Sir, we're under attack!" blurted a young captain, Marcus' second in command
on the flagship.

Marcus looked at him without emotion. "I can see that," he said. Several
arrows impaled themselves on the deck of the ship, right at his feet. Marcus
barely flinched, trusting his armor - and the Gods above - to protect him.

"Your orders, my lord?" the captain implored.

"Give the signal for the ships to group together and move towards the port
side of the river. Raise the sails and make haste!" Marcus commanded.

In moments, the order was passed to the other commanders with waved flags and
semaphores. The ships moved into formation with military discipline, quickly
outdistancing the arrows from their unseen enemy.

As they sailed around a bend in the river, the hidden warriors let lose a
deep-throated howl that chilled Marcus' blood. It was a distinctly feminine
victory cry.

It seemed they had found their quarry.

Another league upriver, the Romans discovered an inlet on the starboard bank.
The water was shallow, the beach wide and sandy. On Marcus' order, all five
ships dropped anchor just yards from the beach. The water was only chest-deep,
and the men jumped over gleefully, happy to be on dry- land for the first time
in days.

Marcus called together his officers and quickly drew up a plan. It was the
height of simplicity: they would form the men in ranks, circle behind where
the archers had fired upon the ships - and destroy their enemy.

The men formed quickly, shields and swords ready, the slaves helping them slip
into their armor. Marcus bellowed an order and the lines of Roman warriors
began to march forward.

And stopped in their tracks.

It seemed that before they could find the enemy, the enemy had found them.

Chapter Four

Three young women stood on the trail before the Romans, glaring up at the tall
soldiers with fierce defiance. They were still adolescent girls, none of them
yet eighteen years old; the tallest among them was dwarfed by the shortest of
the Romans.

Yet they stood there, unafraid and unbowed by the mighty armor of Rome.

The girls wore no armor, just simple tunics made from a single piece of thin
fabric. The material clung to their young, nubile forms, revealing tantalizing
hints of their young flesh.

The men had been aboard ship for months; the only women they'd seen had been
the natives on the coast - who were nothing at all like these young, ripe,
tender lovelies. Marcus looked at his men with a stern warning glance, certain
for a moment they would mutiny in the face of this seductive temptation.

Marcus took a step forward, hand on the hilt of his broadsword.

To his surprise, the smallest of the girls spoke to him. Her accent was
foreign and strange, but she spoke in perfectly clear Latin.

"Are you the leader of these men?" the girl demanded haughtily.

"That I am," the warrior responded. "I am Marcus of Rome, traveler of the high
seas and slayer of all that have dared oppose me. And who might you be, little
girl?"

Behind him, several of the soldiers chuckled. A glance from Marcus silenced
them.

"I am Leila, Princess of the Amazons and emissary of my people," the girl
replied, her pale blue eyes still glowing with fierce pride.

"Was it your people - these "Amazons" - who fired on my ships?" Marcus
demanded.

"You have indeed seen the power and accuracy of our arrows," Leila answered.

Marcus angrily drew his sword. "Then you must answer for the deaths of my
men!" he bellowed, preparing to charge and slaughter the young waifs.

"Stay your hand, warrior!" Leila commanded in a voice far more powerful than
one would have imagined coming from her slender form. "I come in peace, with a
message from my people. You Romans do honor a truce, do you not?"

Reluctantly, Marcus sheathed his sword. "What is your message?" he demanded.

"You have seen the power of our bows, warrior. If you attempt to defeat us in
battle, you may win ... but many of your men will die."

"They are not afraid to die," Marcus growled. "And Roman legionnaires have
nothing to fear from little girls." He paused. "Nevertheless, we will hear
your message."

Leila smiled, and for the first time Marcus felt uneasy. There was power in
that smile, the sweet siren song of seduction. He felt his courage waver. No
man on Earth could weaken Marcus' determination, but that innocent face, the
promise of untold pleasure in her eyes ... it was almost more than he could
bear.

And it was clear that the young girl was aware of her power.

Her smile grew wider. "Marcus of Rome, we offer a wager of sorts. Rather than
make war with each other, we offer our greatest warrior to face your mightiest
champion in solitary combat. Should we win the day, you will leave our lands
forever."

"And if - when - our champion defeats yours?"

The girl cast her eyes downwards. "Should that happen, we will surrender to
you. You may do with us what you will."

Marcus didn't know if the girl understood the double entendre in her message,
the promise of sexual ecstasy and utter submission, but his men certainly did.
He could hear them muttering behind him, and he could feel his own sudden
arousal.

He turned to his most trusted advisors, warriors almost as experienced as he.
Both men met his gaze, and nodded.

Marcus turned back to Leila. "We have a deal, young princess."

Leila's two companions smiled and giggled, clapping their hands excitedly.
Without a word they rushed forward and grabbed Marcus by the hands, pulling
him forward.

"What is this?" he asked.

Leila laughed, and the sound was like magical music. "We are taking you and
your men to a banquet feast, to fill your bellies before the battle begins."

Marcus frowned, wondering if this was a trap. But his men had heard the offer.
To refuse would invite a revolt among the soldiers and sailors.

Finally, he nodded. "We will follow you."

And the platoon of Roman soldiers followed the half-naked young girls deeper
into the jungle, watching as they skipped happily ahead.

Chapter Five

It was a short march, just a mile or two from the bank of the river. The men,
with Marcus leading them, crested a hill and looked down into a clearing. What
they saw took their breath away.

Hundreds of the Amazon girls were sitting and standing in a semi- circle,
waiting for them. An array of foods had been laid out, fruits and berries and
salted meats covering blankets and tables. But it was not the food that left
the Romans stunned.

It was the Amazons themselves. All of them - each and every one of them - were
beautiful beyond compare, like nothing they'd seen in their previous travels.
And they were all so very young; as far as the eye could see there was nothing
but scantly clad teenage flesh, brazenly on display. None of the girls seemed
to be older than 20. Most seemed closer to 15. They all wore tunics similar to
those worn by Leila and her comrades, simple sheaths of clothing that clung to
their bodies, revealing lush hips and pert breasts, nipples clearly visible
against the thin fabric.

The tunic left little to the imagination. Each time one of the Amazons moved,
her flesh jiggled underneath the thin cloth. The men stared, slack-jawed,
hunger all but forgotten.

They were suddenly consumed by a very different sort of hunger.

Marcus noted that many of the girls wore short swords at their sides; others
had bows slung over their shoulders and quivers of arrows on their backs.
Despite their youthful appearance, they were clearly warriors, and they stared
at their new enemies with steely gazes.

But it was not yet time for battle.

"Come, let your men enjoy the feast before our champions do battle," Leila
urged.

Marcus nodded, and signaled to his troops. The men let out raucous whoops of
joy and flooded into the camp, grabbing food and drink in both hands,
mesmerized by the beauty that surrounded them.

Leila herself approached Marcus.

"Come, Marcus of Rome. Sit by me," she whispered softly.

Marcus was helpless to refuse. Besides, it would have been impolite. And after
all, he was hungry. The girl's sensuous body had - almost - nothing to do with
it.

Chapter Six

The men feasted as they'd never feasted before, gorging themselves on exotic
fruits of a thousand flavors, sampling meats from beasts they'd never
encountered before, until their bellies were full to bursting. As the men
satisfied their hunger, the lithe young girls mingled among them, pouring
their glasses full of sweet berry wine.

But that wasn't all they were doing. As Marcus watched, the girls - dozens of
them, maybe hundreds - were cautiously, carefully, but very obviously working
to seduce his men. They were all so young, so fresh and ripe, so sweet, that
the men could do little to resist their charms.

What these angelic creatures were doing was subtle - but not subtle that
Marcus couldn't see the devious genius of their plan. It was a touch here, a
laugh there, a shared whisper. As the men began to finish their meals, their
attention turned to the young wenches serving the wine.

And Marcus could see that if he didn't act soon, the beautiful young creatures
would soon have rendered his men useless as warriors. As Leila and her helpers
knelt beside him, feeding him grapes and keeping his own goblet full of
intoxicating wine, Marcus could feel his own iron-willed discipline weakening.
Leila smelled like summer wildflowers, and her gentle touch, her bare leg
brushing against his muscular thigh, was impairing his judgment far more than
the wine.

Marcus shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"What is wrong, my lord?" Leila whispered, her breath soft against his cheek.

Marcus grimaced. "I know what it is you are trying to do, evil little woman.
And it stops now!"

Marcus stood and bellowed a command. His sailors and warriors glared at him,
on the edge of open disobedience. He pulled his sword from its sheath for the
second time that day. "Any man who refuses my command will taste my steel," he
growled.

The men moved, still slowly and reluctantly, far too slowly for the usually
diligent and disciplined Roman soldiers.

But at least they were away from the temptresses. For the moment.

As the men formed ranks, Marcus turned to Leila. "Enough of this drunken
debauchery, little girl. It is time to settle this, and time for you to begin
your new lives in bondage. Now bring on your champion!"

Leila looked up at him with a mischievous twinkle in her pale blue eyes. "And
who will be fighting for the Romans, my lord? Who will be your champion?"

Marcus raised himself up to his full height, towering over the girl. At almost
half a foot past six feet, Marcus was a giant among men of his era. Even among
the Roman soldiers, few stood tall enough to look him in the eye; the little
waif was almost two feet shorter, her head barely up to his mid-chest. He
growled once more, baring his teeth and clenching his muscles, veins and
tendons standing out like cords of iron.

"I will fight for my army, young one. No go find your champion. Go find a
grown up for me to do battle with, while I prepare to slay your warrior,"
Marcus said in a low, dangerous voice.

He stomped over to his warriors. With a snap of his fingers, several men
sprang from the ranks to help Marcus adjust his armor. His sword was quickly
polished to a high sheen, his leather-padded steel armor tightened, his
crested helmet strapped under his chin, his copper shield buffed so brightly
it shone like the sun.

When he turned to face the Amazons, he was a terrible, awesome sight, the
mightiest of warriors from the greatest military power the world had ever
seen.

He walked into the clearing where the banquet had been set. The other soldiers
quickly broke ranks and surrounded him, eager to find a good vantage point to
watch the action.

But there was no champion to face him.

Just the young girls, the dozens of young Amazons, seated quietly on the
colorful blankets they'd set out earlier. Only Leila stood there, looking at
him. She wore no armor. At her side, she had only the short sword she'd worn
earlier. All that had changed was her tunic: while the other girls still wore
the pale lime green that seemed the standard uniform of the tribe, Leila had
changed into something soft and pink, almost peach in color. The cloth was, if
any thing, thinner than the other tunics, almost entirely transparent. It was
shorter, too, barely falling below the gentle curve of her taut, supple
bottom, barely covering her sex.

Emotions raged in Marcus' heart, his sudden lust competing with his angry
fury. He felt himself stiffen - and felt himself weaken, as desire threatened
to overpower his discipline.

But he was a Roman soldier, a champion born of heroes. And he was the master
of his own desires. Even before a beauty as delectable as this.

He drew his sword, pulling it from its sheath with a wicked metallic shriek.
"Enough, girl, where is your champion? I tire of this!" Marcus was eager for
battle, his blood boiling.

The Amazons all began to giggle and titter, mocking him. Leila stared at him,
her gaze unflinching.

"You are the leader of your people and you fight for them. I am the leader of
my people, and I will do the same," she said simply.

There was a moment's silence, and then it was the Romans' turn to laugh. The
soldiers guffawed loudly, some actually holding their sides.

"You?" Marcus asked, incredulous. "You're going to fight me?"

The brave young girl drew her short sword. "I am. And I'm going to defeat
you!"

This time the Romans' mirth was almost uncontrollable - and entirely
understandable. As the two warriors began circling each other warily, the
difference in their size and strength became even more evident. Marcus was
more than simply tall and muscular: he was perfectly sculpted, a statue of
perfection brought to life, the masculine ideal in the flesh. His leather and
steel armor left his arms bare and his legs exposed below mid-thigh, and his
muscles glistened in the jungle sun. His limbs were thick, bulging like
pythons dangling from the trees, the skin burnished to a deep bronze from the
months at sea. His arms were like tree trunks made of flesh, rippling with
muscle; his legs seemed like roots to the same might tree, anchoring him to
the ground. He was a Goliath, a Hercules, the sort of man that bears and
tigers feared to face. The only thing more frightening than his Olympian
physique was the fiercely sculpted, angular features of his face, and the
black, angry stare of his dark eyes.

Few men would ever dare face him. Among the few who had, none had survived to
tell the tale. And this little, half-naked girl challenged him? The laughter
of the Romans was well-founded. This was no battle; it was slaughter.

Leila was indeed little. No more than five feet in height - and that was
probably stretching the truth by a handful of inches - she was still short
even by Amazonian standards. Many of the girls were taller, though none would
come close to looking Marcus in the face. They had chosen their smallest and
weakest to face him.

The girl could not weigh 100 pounds; Marcus neared three times that, all of it
muscle. This girl was thin, shapely but slender. Her legs were svelte, clearly
defined with ropy, sensual muscle, but so thin that Marcus doubted they were
bigger around than his own wrists. Her stomach was flat and toned, her breasts
small and high; her nipples were tiny and pink, sharply erect and poking
against the thin tunic, covered by no armor to protect the tender flesh. Her
blonde hair, as pale as the Norse women Marcus had met in the mountains of
Scandinavia, was cut short now, almost as short as a man's. Her upturned pixie
nose was covered with a splash of girlish freckles.

She was so young, so sweet. And desirable. As she moved around him, feinting
with her tiny sword, her flesh jiggled beneath the tunic, and Marcus found
himself staring at her breasts rather than at her sword. Desirable, yes. But a
warrior? Hardly.

It would be a shame to kill her.

Chapter Seven

"Very well, young princess. Can I not dissuade you from this lost cause?"
Marcus asked, hoping to spare her.

The girl answered with her sword. Moving with the speed of a cobra, she thrust
forward, her sword aimed at his heart. Only in the last instant did he deflect
the blow with the edge of shield.

"To the death, then!" Marcus bellowed to the cheers of his men.

He watched the girl circling him, waiting for an opening. When it came, he
struck with a speed that was almost magical for a man of his size and
strength. He swung with all his might, a blow that would cut the girl in two.

To his utter surprise, by the time the sword reached her - she was no longer
there. Seemingly moving without effort, she danced backward, his blow
harmlessly fanning the air in front of her tender young breasts.

Leila giggled. "Are you sure you're the best warrior Rome has to offer? That
wasn't even close!"

Marcus was enraged. He charged like an angry bull elephant, sword raised high,
determined to cleave her in two.

But all he struck was empty ground. Again, she danced to the side - this time
slashing forward with her own little sword, leaving a bright red bloody line
on his bicep.

"Missed me again!" she laughed. "But I didn't miss you, did I?"

Marcus paused, wiping the blood from his arm. He'd rarely been wounded so
easily. The cut was shallow - but she'd drawn first blood.

Her skill was impressive, and he decided to stop underestimating her ability.
He lowered his stance and moved forward cautiously, bringing his own skill
into the battle.

Marcus swung, and the girl ducked under the blow. As she did, her tunic fell
forward, and Marcus found himself unexpectedly staring down the front of her
little dress, her breasts exposed to his view. They were tiny, little nubs of
flesh, topped by cherry nipples that he suddenly longed to touch and taste.

That glimpse of her flesh froze him in his tracks. He stumbled, and the lithe
little warrior struck again - and again she left him with a slash across his
thickly muscled arm. Blood tricked down his forearm.

"Naughty, naughty, warrior!" Leila grinned. "I think you were distracted there
for a moment."

The Roman soldiers had fallen silent, baffled by the battle. It should have
been over by now. Marcus looked at his wounds in bewilderment, then turned
back to Leila. He grimaced. "You are good, little girl. And you use your
seductive assets rather cleverly. But you aren't good enough."

With that, Marcus pounced again, this time concentrating on the swordplay. He
swung and she dodged aside, thrusting her sword towards his face. He parried
the blow easily and stepped back. Leila spun and swung for his exposed throat,
but again he raised his sword to block the blade.

She could not penetrate his defenses, not when all his skill was brought to
bear. He smiled grimly. It would not be an easy battle, perhaps the hardest he
had ever fought. But he would win.

Leila slashed and probed, dancing and spinning, her strikes so fast that they
seemed a blur to the naked eye, but Marcus was able to stop them all. The girl
was tiring. It was time to end it.

After parrying a flurry of blows, Marcus aimed a straight thrust at her
delicate throat, sure it would be the death blow. In a stunning display of
athletic prowess, the girl jumped into the air and actually flipped over his
blade. Ignoring his own awe at her skill - and ignoring the warm flesh of her
backside that had flashed past his eyes as she pirouetted through the air - he
aimed another thrust at the girl's heart.

But this time she didn't step back. Instead, she stepped forward to meet the
blow, bringing her own sword up to meet his steel. She spun her wrists in a
complex blur of circles, and suddenly his sword was flying skyward. It landed
point first a dozen yards behind Leila, right in front of the watching
Amazons.

The watching soldiers gasped. Marcus had never been disarmed in combat before.
Ever.

Grimacing again, still unbowed, Marcus raised his hands. He would beat the
girl to death with his bare hands if he had to.

To his utter shock, the little beautiful girl smiled and tossed her sword
aside.

"Now that wouldn't be fair, would it?" She asked, giggling again.

Chapter Eight

The Romans began laughing again, although this time the laugher was tinged
with uneasiness. The girl was unbelievably skilled with her sword, but facing
Marcus in hand-to-hand combat? Surely she as doomed - as soon as Marcus got a
hold of her.

Marcus tossed his own shield aside. "You fight with honor, little girl. But
without weapons you have no chance!" he said.

Leila curtsied to him, lifting her tunic high enough for him to see that she
wore nothing covering her sex. "We'll see," she giggled. As Marcus approached
her, she raised her right hand and snapped her fingers.

It was clearly a signal to her followers. The Amazons stood together and
spread out, encircling the camp. Soon there were Amazons standing in groups
behind each of the Roman warriors. Marcus watched carefully, but noted that
none of them were armed. They were no threat to the Roman soldiers. He turned
back to Leila.

"All right, girl. Let us finish this!" he announced, then charged again.

Leila ducked under his grasp, but he managed to catch a wisp of her tunic; his
fingers clenched the material, and it ripped. She pulled free, but when she
turned to face him, much of her tender flesh was exposed. Her right hip and
thigh were now bare, brazenly exposed; her left breast now dangled above a
tear in the tunic.

Marcus was mesmerized yet again. His knees felt weak once more, and he felt
strange, uncertain tingling sensations running up and down his spine.

What was this?

He was brought to his senses when the girl sprang forward and delivered a
sting blow to the side of his face, her tiny fist leaving a red welt.

Marcus laughed, even as he shook his head once again to clear his mind. "Is
that all you've got, Princess?"

She grinned up at him. "Oh, I've got lots more than that. Come and see."

They circled each other for a few moments. Marcus threw straight rights and
lefts, aiming his mighty fists at he frail face, but again she ducked his
punches. Finally, he faked a vicious hook to her mid-section, and as she
dodged to the side, Marcus reached out with his other hand and grabbed her
around the shoulders, pulling her close to his body.

The cheers of the Roman soldiers were deafening. This was the end of the
Amazons, the moment they'd waited for since the beginning of their turbulent
voyage. Riches and power were at hand, not to mention the enslavement of this
tribe of willing young nymphs!

Marcus pulled the girl close. Her back slammed against his thick chest,
knocking the breath from her lungs. Marcus wrapped his muscular fore- arm
around her neck, holding it to her throat like an iron bar, and began
squeezing the life from the girl.

"Now you die, little one. I wish it didn't have to end like this," Marcus
murmured softly in her ear.

The girl twisted in his grasp. "I'm not ... dead ... yet!" she gasped.

He held her tight as she squirmed, ignoring the flailing of her hands, just
squeezing her neck, waiting for the loss of oxygen to render her senseless,
and then unconscious, and then dead.

It was finished.

Chapter Nine

Or was it?

The girl's squirming had not been aimless. Her arms, slick from sweat,
wriggled in his grasp, and she reached behind her, reaching for something.

What she found was his cock, still stiff and hard beneath his leather
loincloth. With a skilled, practiced hand that displayed a talent even more
impressive than her swordplay, the girl squirmed her hand beneath his armor
and found the flesh of cock.

Her tiny fingers wrapped around his shaft, making him instantly fully erect.
With a tender touch, she began teasing his prick, stroking the underside of
his shaft with her fingertips.

Marcus gasped - and suddenly the girl spun free.

There was an echoing gasp from the soldiers. How had she done it? Her fate had
been sealed, yet somehow she'd gotten free.

None of them had seen her unseen hand, working its magic.

And all around the clearing, there was more magic at work. The Amazons moved
forward a step or two, closer to the Romans. There was no touching - not yet -
but the closeness of all that young flesh, the sweet scent of the young women,
had already rendered the warriors weak and senseless and distracted.

Marcus took note of this carefully choreographed action and nodded his head,
his face a mask of fury. He turned back to the barely clothed Leila, intensely
conscious of her long, thin legs, her bare breasts, both of then now dangling
fetchingly.

"So that is your plan, Princess? I understand now. You knew you could never
defeat us with sword and spear and bow, so you decided to use your feminine
wiles on us?"

Leila giggled. "Something like that, warrior!" She grinned "And there is
nothing you can do about it!"

Enraged, Marcus sprung at her, his fists flying through the air, whistling
past her face. She ducked under his arms and dropped below his grasp, her
hands once again finding his manhood.

"Warrior, you're so hard, yet so soft to my touch. Don't you want me to touch
it? Don't you want me to see? Don't you want to see all of me?" she whispered,
her head bent close to his cock. He could feel her breath on his skin.

Suddenly, the weakness consumed him. His knees wobbled, and the world went
gray and dim. Her touch was sapping his will, obliterating all but his lust.

With a final valiant effort he reached down to grab her again, his hands
clenching around her upper arms. But once again, she stepped back, to quick
for him to hold; once again, he found only her tunic, and when she pulled back
it ripped loudly, falling to the ground in shreds.

She stood before him now, naked and bare. The Roman soldiers cheered, but
their cheers were muted ... because the Amazonians had moved closer, and their
hands were now touching and teasing, soft kisses raining down on cheeks and
necks and arms.

Marcus came close to despair. His warriors were being left as weak as he now
felt; they would be no help in this battle. Despite their discipline, the
young girls were proving too much temptation.

He was truly on his own.

But the battle was not yet over. He had the strength of ten men. He could
defeat this child.

"My, warrior, you don't seem as strong now as you did before! Whatever could
be the problem?" Leila taunted.

He grinned back, acting far braver than he felt. "At my weakest I can defeat
you easily, little one."

"I guess we'll see about that, won't we?" Leila teased. She suddenly jumped to
the side, sprinting around him, and leapt onto his back like an untamed
monkey. Her arms and legs encircled him, and he began to spin in a circle,
trying to fling her off.

But then her lips found his neck, and she began to whisper.

"Warrior, can you feel my bare little breasts against your back? Can you
imagine touching them, touching me all over? Wouldn't that be nice?" she said
softly.

Marcus struggles were weakening. The arousal was building to a point where it
eclipsed all else, even his rigorous training.

Leila continued her torture. "I want to touch you, warrior. I want to see your
cock in my hand."

Marcus reached back desperately and his hand found her golden hair. His
fingers locked, grabbing powerfully, and he prepared to throw her from his
back like a rag doll.

But then ... just as he was about to throw her to the ground, hopefully
destroying her once and for all ... she reached down into his loincloth and
found his stiffness once again. This time her hand moved quickly, fingers
around his shaft, stroking his cock all the way up and down his length.

Trying to ignore the sensation of pleasure that was far beyond any he'd ever
known, he pulled with his arm with all his mighty strength, sure he'd rip her
head from her shoulders.

Instead, she just giggled and clung to him even more tightly. "Ouch, warrior!
That hurts a little! Why are you pulling my hair?" She released his cock for a
moment and reached up to easily slap his hand away.

When she reached down again, searching for his cock, he found her wrist and
held on, trying to keep her from touching him again. But suddenly she was
strong, immensely strong, stronger than any man he'd ever met.

With all his muscles straining, he tried to hold her hand still, tried to
crush her frail arm with his powerful grip. But she pushed downward, and all
his strength couldn't stop her. In seconds her hand was buried beneath the
leather again, teasing his throbbing hardness.

How had she found such strength?

It didn't occur to Marcus until much, much later, as he pondered his shameful
loss at the hands of these little vixens, that she hadn't gained strength at
all. Instead, her skillful touch had simply drained him of strength, leaving
him as weak as a newborn kitten.

Chapter Ten

Her hand continued to work its magic, slipping and sliding up and down his
hard member. He tried to grab her, but she wrapped her arm around him, holding
him still. Try as he might, he could not break her grasp.

Marcus' struggles grew feebler with every passing second.

Leila giggled at his helplessness. She still stood behind him, but lowered her
feet to the ground. The giant man still dwarfed the young girl, but she was
clearly in command of the battle.

"Are you ready to surrender yet, warrior?" she taunted.

"Never!" he growled.

Her lips kissed his helpless arms, leaving trails of soft wetness, sending
thrills up and down his spine, making him harder, more desperate, and ever
weaker.

"Well, then ... let's just see what's hidden down here, shall we?" Leila
whispered. Her talented fingers released his cock and instead began working on
the leather straps that held his armor in place. Marcus' strength began to
flood back, and he spun to face her, ready to push her away and pummel her
into the ground.

But she was too quick and too skilled. By the time his hands found her throat,
his garments fell free. He was as naked as she was, bare to the world, his
cock exposed to the watching eyes of a hundred eager young girls. Before he
could snap her frail neck, both of her hands fell to his cock - which sprang
free and pointed skyward, swaying back and forth like a tree in the wind.

She began to stroke him with both hands, her fingers wet with sweat, creating
a slick friction that allowed her to rub him even faster. He moaned, and she
dropped one hand lower, cupping and fondling his balls.

His powerful hands weakened, and he released his grasp on her thin neck. His
mighty arms, those tree trunks of muscle and sinew, fell to his sides
helplessly.

"No!" he groaned, somewhere between ecstasy and despair. For the first time,
he realized that he was destined to lose this battle.

"Yes!" Leila whispered. She leaned close to him, still fondling him with her
right hand. He looked down at her body, really studying her for the first
time, taking in the sight of her small breasts pressed against his flat
stomach, seeing the plush curve of her young ass, so luscious and round.

"Do you like what you see, warrior?" the girl teased.

"Yes," he whispered helplessly. "Oh, yes."

"Are you willing to admit defeat?"

He shook his head slowly side to side. "Never."

"Never will come sooner than you think, Roman!" Leila taunted. She encircled
him again, pressing her breasts against his back, the soft fuzz of her pubic
thatch brushing lightly against the back of his thighs.

Marcus closed his eyes as she started stroking him from behind. Her arms felt
like vises around him, her hand like an iron clamp, somehow both holding him
firm and stroking him with such invincible tenderness.

With the last of his energy, Marcus cried out to his men for help, ordered
them to slay the women and come to his aid. Honor, be damned! He would win
this battle by any means, fair or foul!

But there was no answer to his cry.

"Open your eyes, Roman. See why your men cannot help you!" Leila whispered,
her hands never slowing as they teased and fondled his pulsating flesh.

Marcus looked around the camp. And everywhere he looked, his eyes found the
same scene. The Amazons had done to his warriors what Leila had done to him.
They were all stripped of their armor, and in front of each man was at least
two or three Amazons, taking turns stroking the cocks' of his warriors.

Some of the men were still struggling, but their efforts were to no avail. The
Amazons were too strong ... and they were too weak.

Even as he watched, the men began to falter and fall. One by one, they fell to
their knees in front of their tempting tormenters. The girls, so young and
innocent, continued their ministrations even as the men fell, never releasing
their grasp on the Roman cocks that had become their ultimate weakness.

Chapter Eleven

One by one they fell, until only Marcus remained standing.

"Your men cannot help you now, Roman. Nothing can. You are at my mercy," Leila
whispered.

"No," Marcus moaned, now praying for release, either from the climax of
orgasm, or from his own death. Anything to end this torment.

"On your knees, mighty warrior," Leila insisted, her smile now wide and
arrogant and unforgiving.

"Never!"

Leila motioned to a pair of watching Amazons. Both girls were young and
smaller, even younger and smaller than Leila, still barely into their
adolescent years. As if they'd practiced this maneuver for years - and Marcus
realized later that in fact, that was exactly the case - the two young girls
dropped to their knees before him and began helping Leila to pleasure him.
Their small hands encircled him, stroking and fondling him.

His knees buckled, but he kept himself standing by sheer force of will.

"Surrender, warrior," Leila whispered.

"Surrender," both of her young helpers echoed.

Marcus' will finally faltered and his courage left him. He collapsed, and for
a moment he stayed on his feet, held up only by the power and strength of the
Amazon Princess. But then, falling slowly like a mighty tree felled in a
forest, he slid downwards, his face brushing against Leila's firm breasts as
he slipped to his knees.

Chapter Twelve

Consciousness faded to black.

When Marcus awoke, he found himself lying on the jungle floor, bound by a
hundred vines. His arms were held firm to his side. Around his neck was
another strong vine, like a dog's leash.

He struggled to sit up. All around him, his men were in a similar state. All
were naked, their armor and weapons vanished. All were bound. All were
helpless.

Leila stood in front of him, still naked, her sword pointed at his throat.
Behind her were just half a dozen of her warriors, the smallest and youngest
of their tribe. All the rest of the Amazons had disappeared into the dense
jungle.

"I should slay you now, Roman. But we had an agreement. Will you honor your
promise? Now that you've been defeated by nothing but a few young girls, will
you leave here? Will you take your fleet and never return?"

Marcus painfully climbed to his feet, looking down at the Amazon princess with
anger and humiliation painted on his face. "I am a Roman warrior. I am a man
of my word. We have been defeated, and we will leave as promised, never to
return."

Leila nodded, and then smiled. "Tell your countrymen about this battle. Make
them know that they can never come here. We will not be so merciful next
time."

Marcus hung his head. "I understand."

Leila giggled, and then unexpectedly kissed his cheek. Her hand once again
snaked down to find his cock, stroking it for a few seconds, again leaving him
weak and helpless. "Farewell, warrior," she whispered - and then was gone.

Epilogue

The three smallest, youngest Amazons led them from the jungle back to their
ships, pulling on their leashes along the way. When the men resisted, they
simply reached down for their bare cocks, their tiny hands stroking their
flesh until the Romans were once again helpless and meek.

At the water's edge, the girls vanished, leaving the Romans to find a way to
loosen their own bonds.

The mighty Romans, never defeated in battle before, sailed eastward.

They kept their word. Except for one thing: all of the men vowed never to tell
this tale. They agreed to tell the emperor that the mission had failed, that
they had never found the Amazons.

And in his own soul, Marcus swore to himself that he would return, that he
would find a way to defeat the Amazons. That he would never forget the tiny
princess who bested him. That he would always remember her naked body, the
scent of her hair, and the feel of her magical touch.

He would return.

THE END