STRIPPED IN EVERY SENSE


The women had decided that they needed their own island. But they knew none 
was available in the region.  So they would simply have to take one. 

Aquanto Island was nice. It was less that a day's sale from the mainland. 
It was easily defensible. It was lush with growth. But, of course, all 
these characteristics made it attractive to the men, too. The Aquantos had 
taken it two generations earlier and had fought off all challengers ever 
since. 

The women decided to leave their horses behind. They knew the Aquantos had 
plenty. 

The men watched from cover as the women sailed landward and docked their 
single boat at the shore. At first, the men thought they were under attack. 
But when only scantily clad women came ashore, the men started to expect a 
business proposition. The women were beautiful, after all, and were dressed 
alluringly, in outfits that covered only their bottoms and bosoms, and did 
that not very well. 

As a few of the women pulled the boat the last few feet up onto the coast, 
the men delighted in the view this presented of enticing asses. 

The women were barefoot. Their long hair blew in the sea breezes, either in 
pony tails or completely unencumbered. 

The women stood near the shore now, their hands on their hips, surveying 
the land confidently. 

Leader Mocsan waved the men to follow him, and he walked down the rocky 
slope to meet to meet the women.  Eighty of the men road down on horseback  
to meet the 30 women, whom they formed a circle around. 

The men wore little more than the women, though their feet were covered in 
simple sandals or mighty boots.  They had bows and arrows mounted on their 
horses, and long knives hanging from holsters at their waists. Those knives 
were there pride. The tribe was known throughout the islands and the 
mainland for its prowess with knives, for the sharpness of the knives, for 
cutthroat willingness to use the knives, and for the work each man put into 
the shaping and sharpening of his own knife and the design of a holster. 

The men, too, had long hair that either blew in the wind or was restrained.  
Their physiques ranged from mighty and youthful to soft and aging. 

"Why do you come to our island, beautiful ladies," Mocsan said.

Said Sansy: "We have been denied our own island too long. We will take 
yours if you cannot defend it."

At first, the men were stunned. Then, of course, they laughed.

Sansy walked toward a fellow who was among the most enthusiastic laughers. 
She stood at his sandaled feet. He was young and muscular, and she eyed his 
body hungrily, as he did hers. 

"Do you find my ladies attractive, Laughing One," she said?  He laughed 
some more. "Pick one who especially appeals to you," she said. 

The man shrugged his shoulders and looked down at the women and pointed to 
Ambrella.  She had unusually large breasts and generally breathtaking 
curves under her eye-catching red hair.  The men laughed and clapped when 
he picked her.

Leader Sansy motioned to Ambrella to separate herself from the rest of the 
girls. She did so, as all eyes watched her walk away to an open patch of 
sand. She turned back toward the men and  women, and she looked at the hunk 
who had picked her.  She curled her finger languidly toward herself in an 
indication that he should come to her. 

The hunk looked uncertain, but his comrades encouraged him to accept the 
invitation, and he got off his horse and walked toward the luscious girl. 

When he got there, Ambrella said, "I will make you naked, pretty man."

The men roared with laughter, and the hunk forced himself to smile. But 
before he knew it, the girl had whipped his knife out of his holster. She 
was holding it to his nose. 

He stopped smiling.  But Ambrella's smile was big and infectious. At least 
the other women found it so. 

Never taking her eyes off the man's, Ambrella ran the knife slowly down his 
bulging chest. She got to his navel and pressed a little. The man knew that 
any pressure would bring blood, his knife being so sharp. So he felt he had 
better get the knife off him. So he took a swipe at it. But, as he did so, 
Ambrella lowered it swiftly. It cut through the top of the thong that was 
covering his crotch. The clothing fell away. The man's hands tried to catch 
it before it fell to the ground, but he failed. So his hands stayed fixed 
at his crotch. He was standing so that his back end was not facing any of 
the people present. It was his front he was worried about. 

Ambrella stood back and surveyed the man with satisfaction.

The other men were silent. The women were smiling. 

Then Ambrella threw the man's knife out into the ocean with a long backhand 
motion.

This was the ultimate insult, harsher even than the girl's denuding of the 
man. The man simply had to take action now. When this story was told in the 
future -- as it would be -- he could not be portrayed as passive. Seething 
with rage and embarrassment, the man lunged at Ambrella, his big, hammy 
hands coming to her graceful throat. But he was not facing her head-on. He 
stood off to the right a little bit, so that she would not have a clear 
shot at his naked crotch with a knee or foot. He was no dummy. 
 
So, in response, Ambrella went for the man's throat, too. Unlike the man, 
though, she used only one hand. Actually, she used only two fingers, not a 
whole hand. Her fingers came up between his arms and shot into the soft 
flesh below his Adam's apple. Once was not enough to stop him, but twice 
was. He backed off, his hands coming to his throat as he coughed. 

The girl smiled at him, lowered her head and rammed into his belly. Her 
hands went behind his knees, and she pulled toward herself, upending the 
man.  As he fell to hard sand, she easily pulled each sandal off his feet, 
leaving them bare. 

She stood back and raised the sandals in the air triumphantly, as her 
comrades watched calmly, not cheering, but smiling. 

She paraded around the man slowly and scornfully as he tried to gather his 
breathe and his wits. The man -- mortified at having been stripped entirely 
naked by this girl -- had no choice but to climb to his feet. She was 
behind him as he did so. She grabbed his long hair, wrapping her hand in 
it, and yanked it hard backwards, so that he fell back on his ass. Her hand 
still wrapped in his hair, she began backing up, pulling the man after her. 
He screamed in pain, and his hands went to his hair. But she continued to 
pull him, now using both her hands. Her fine forearm and upper-arm muscles 
became visible, and she pulled the man in no particular direction, just 
backing up in circles along the sand, demonstrating her control. 

Now the women were laughing and clapping. The men watched in stunned, 
humiliated silence. 

Ambrella then did a jumping somersault from her position behind the man. 
Her back came down on his body, knocking the wind out of him. She had never 
turned his hair loose, so she also wrenched his neck violently, causing him 
to wonder whether she had broken it. She turned over him on him, still 
holding his hair. 

He was stilled. 

She wrenched his head violently to her right, and when she had him in a 
suitable position, she planted a long, sensuous, probing kiss on his mouth. 
Meanwhile, she was wrapping her long, thin legs around his muscular limbs 
and was spreading them as wide as they would spread. He was in pain at his 
upper thighs before he realized what she was doing. 

But pain was not the only feeling he was experiencing. With the girl's hold 
on his hair having become a sensuous caress accompanying her kiss, he was 
becoming unmistakably aroused. The whole audience -- male and female -- 
watched his crotch change in shape and size. The girl had positioned the 
man perfectly for this show. 

His hands instinctively came to her breasts, fondling them through the thin 
material that covered them haphazardly. Feeling this, Ambrella stopped 
kissing the man and looked down at him, amused. She brushed his hand away 
and pinned them to the sand over his head as she leaned back into the man, 
burying her lips on the side of his neck. As her long, soft, well-tended 
red hair brushed sensuously across his face, she planted a hickey on him 
that would last for days. 

Then she leaned back again and reached behind her back and began to untie 
her top. The man's hands came up toward her breasts, but she suddenly 
stretched her legs out as wide as they would go, and the man yelled in 
agony. She continued to untie her top, controlling the man now with no 
hands. 

No hands was the condition she had in mind for her hunk. When her breasts 
were naked, she leaned down into the man, pushing them aggressively into 
his face. Meanwhile, she tied his two hands together with her garment. Then 
she stood up, pulling the man to his feet with his bondage. Instantly, 
then, she swept his feet out from under him, and,as he fell to his back, 
the girl pulled his legs into the air and the tied the end of her garment 
around his ankles. 

Then she let him go and put her bare foot on his face, mashing it into the 
sand. 

She looked in turn at each group of the men on horseback, bullying them 
into eye contact. As she did so, her female colleagues were clapping 
rhythmically and singing wordlessly. They created a sensuous -- yet martial 
-- sound to which the victorious combatant began to dance. Slowly at first, 
then more violently, she made her way around the fallen male, her light 
garment flapping in the wind and exposing her enticing bottom. The dance 
was clearly a celebration of her body and its combination of allure and 
strength. She would stroke herself enticingly, then kick up violently, her 
long leg describing an arc that ended directly above her head. 

She would present the fallen man with a breathtaking view of her pert 
bottom, then would deprive him of it and glare in his eyes until he looked 
away in another defeat. 

She would bend at her waist until her long hair stroked the stand, leaving 
its mark. Then she would straighten violently, and her hair would flap back 
over her head with the apparent power of a weapon.

The men envied the sand. But the fallen one needn't have. Soon he was 
taking its place. The girl danced above him, then suddenly snapped her head 
downward, and her hair landed on his torso. He flinched when he saw it 
coming, then felt foolish, for it touch was wispy and sensuous. 
The girl stroked him teasingly as she danced, back and forth. Then she 
slowly began to -- in one long stroke -- bringing her hair from his legs up 
toward his head. It aroused and it tickled, and he wanted it to stop and to 
go on forever. She paused when his face was hidden from all those present 
by her red cascade. Then, even more slowly, she step farther and farther 
behind him until it gradually lose contact with his face. By then everybody 
could see that his eyes were closed. He opened them skittishly to see 
hundreds of other eyes upon him.

The girl warrior danced over to the devastated and horny man's horse, in 
the midst of the other men, and she jumped onto it gracefully, claiming it. 

At that point the clapping ceased to be musical and became applause for her 
martial, then musical, show. 

The men didn't know what to make of this. They had heard stories about 
women with extraordinary abilities, and they had heard those abilities 
attributed to all manner of things.

One fellow near the back of group had apparently seen enough. He suddenly 
pointed his horse away from the assemblage and made it run as fast as it 
could. 

The women's eyes turned to leader Sansy, who smiled and looked at one of 
the girls. The latter was tall and slim and beautiful, with flowing blond 
hair. Then Sansy nodded her head in the direction of the fleeing man, and 
the other female went into action. 

She was Elabra, 16 and eager to demonstrate her fitness for combat. She 
smiled enthusiastically at being given the assignment.  

She needed a horse to give chase, a fact she dealt with by taking three 
running steps and leaping onto the back of the best looking horse she saw. 
The horse was, of course, already occupied by one of the male warriors. 
Seated behind him, Elabra reached around his waist to his crotch and 
squeezed. The man crumbled until he was lying flat atop his horse, at which 
point the young girl simply pushed him off. He was glad to fall, feeling 
that he could crumple more completely and satisfyingly on the ground than 
on the horse. 

The girl's smile broadened, and she was off. 

When she caught the fleeing man, he had reached a ridge and was riding 
along the edge of it, overlooking a steep drop. When the girl pulled 
alongside of him, he kept going, at an absence for anything else to do. She 
smiled at him. He thought she looked incredibly young, but he  decided his 
eyes were tricking him.  

She pulled about a half length in front of him and stood up in her 
stirrups. They rode along like that for a while, the man trying catch a 
glimpse of the bouncing of the girl's rearend as he also tried to keep his 
eye on the road. Then Elabra took her right leg -- the one nearest him -- 
out of the stirrup and sort of pointed it at him sideways. 

They rode along like THAT for a while, too, with the man tempted to look at 
the young girl's crotch from this new perspective she was providing him. 

Suddenly her naked foot snapped out and slapped him in the face. He never 
saw it coming, but he knew afterwards what had happened. When his vision 
cleared, there was the young girl's smile, broader than ever. He pulled his 
knife out of his holster and prepared to slash at the girl. Her foot 
flashed out and hit his hand. He almost lost the knife but managed to hold 
on to it. As he was resecuring his grip, his face got another slap. 

Still he stayed in the saddle, still holding the knife. The girl nodded in 
appreciation of his ability to withstand what she was dishing out. 

Now he prepared to throw the knife at the girl. But the girl flicked at his 
hand with her foot again and, on virtually the same swipe, brought her heel 
into his belly. He let out a grunt and crumbled slightly. She slowed for 
just an instant, long enough to allow the man's horse to catch hers, and 
she grabbed the knife out of the man's hand. 

He hadn't expected that. 

He couldn't believe what she was doing to him. She had actually disarmed 
him. 

Now she had the knife in her teeth as she smiled at him. Again, she rose in 
her saddle and brandished her long, lovely leg at him. She faked at his 
gut, then at his head. Each time, he flinched, almost pulling his horse off 
the edge of the cliff. 

He made a grab for her leg, but he could not get it, and she took the 
opportunity to smack his face. Then, without ever withdrawing, she did it 
again, catching him by surprise. She plunged her naked heel back into his 
gut again. Now he was defenseless, trying to catch his breath and clear his 
vision. 

The young girl was enjoying beating up the male warrior this way. But she 
knew she should get back to the beach. So she simply claimed the man. She 
slowed her horse until it was alongside his, and she reached her arm across 
his back, locked it under his far arm and pulled the man toward her, off 
his seat, toward her horse. She was not gentle. The man found himself 
sprawled in front of the girl on her horse. He was lying across it on his 
stomach. His legs hung off of one side and his head off the other. His 
rearend presented itself to the girl, and she rested her hand on it. 

He was at her mercy. She could fling him off the horse at any time. Or she 
could cut him at will with his own knife. 

She turned her horse around and grabbed the reins of the other so that it 
followed as she galloped back to the shore, with the man having resigned 
himself to being the prisoner and package of this slim young girl. 

After Elabra had ridden off after the frightened man, Sansy, who had the 
attention of the men, addressed them thus: 

"You have seen our ability. Our Ambrella has disposed of one of your 
strongest warriors and done so with great ease. Soon you will see another 
of your men brought back under the control of our youngest fighter. You 
will have to make a decision: Will your defeat by us be accompanied by 
bloodshed, or will it not? For make no mistake: We will defeat you. We are 
your betters. You have great strength, but we have already taken some of 
it, and we will take more. The more determinedly you oppose us, the more we 
will hurt you. You have greater numbers  than we, and you are doubly armed, 
while we have only our bodies. And you are on horseback and we have only 
our legs. You can use your advantages to delay your defeat and to endanger 
your lives. Or you can use your brains and concede your helplessness 
against my girls. The decision is yours."

Then Elabra a came back with their warrior lying ass-up in front of her, 
and with his horse coming manlessly behind. During the ride back, the 
teenager had stripped the man of his clothes and had used them to bind his 
hands behind his back. She and the natural bumps of the ride had abused him 
enough that his only concern was getting free of his torment. She 
ceremoniously dumped the man onto the man who had suffered a similar fate 
at the hands of redheaded Ambrella. Elabra 
did this by putting her arm under his thighs and lifting, while pushing 
with her other hand on the back of his head. 

Smiling broadly, the young girl cantered slowly past some of the men, 
toward the  circle of women warriors. She claimed both the horses -- and 
the bows and arrows on both -- for the women. 

The men buzzed, and Sansy said, "You have five more minutes to make your 
decision. I see no difficulty in it, no complexity."

This goading had a predictable effect: It angered the hotheads among the 
males into a fast response. Bellowing an obscenity, an overweight one with 
a beard made his way to the front of the pack. Drawing his knife, he spoke: 
"Enough talk. No woman talks Gratblack into surrender. I will take the one 
who tries and show her and all others what a woman is for."

The woman nearest Gratblack was Diorna. She stood to his right and ahead. 
She grabbed the reins of his horse and swung her legs under the horse's 
neck and back up to Gratblack's left side, the side away from his knife. 
Her bare foot hit the man in the neck and knocked him from his horse. 
Gasping for breath both because of the blow and because of his hard 
landing, the man let his knife go flying. Diorna retrieved it without hurry 
and walked over to the gasping fat man. She seated herself on his upper 
thighs, facing him, and she said: 

"Diorna claims Gratblack." With that, she carved a large D on the large, 
hairy belly in front of her. Gratblack tried to stop her with his hands, 
but he still hadn't regained his strength. When she increased the pressure 
of her knife on his flesh, he knew that he must not anger her. She 
completed her project, drawing much blood. Then she stood above the man and 
used his knife to remove the clothing at his mid-section. When she was done 
so, turned the now passive man over onto his belly and tied his hands with 
his garments. 

She flipped him back onto his back and stood straddling him near his head. 
He looked up at her expectantly and fearfully. She bent and grabbed his 
long beard. Wrapping her hand in it, she then hauled the man over to the 
two-man pile of defeated warriors. 

Then she claimed his horse. 

"Who else thinks his knife can protect him against the Amazons?" she said.

The men did not necessarily need hand-to-hand combat to defeat the women. 
They could use their weapons as missiles. But none of the men wanted to be 
first to attack, fearing being singled out for humiliating and dangerous 
assault. 

The women had by now positioned themselves so that each of the men was 
within pretty quick reach of one female or another. No man could go for his 
knife -- much less his bow and arrow -- without risking being spotted.

Tired of waiting for the men to respond to the latest challenge put to 
them, Sansy said: "Enough. We have given ample warning. Take them over."

The women attacked as if unleashed. Belisha, for example, a plump young 
woman with breasts that seemed on the edge of exploding with their 
abundance, leaped as if uncoiling. One of the men found her suddenly 
sitting on his horse with him, face to face. He didn't know how she got 
there, and he didn't have much time to focus on the question. What he 
focused on, almost despite himself, was her bosom. As he stared at it, she 
pulled his head hard into it, rubbed it there, and suddenly pushed him away 
and off the horse. As he started to fall, she grabbed at the garment around 
his waist. Now he was practically suspended in mid air by her grip. He was 
almost upside down. She yanked, and gradually the man slid down out of the 
garment. He fell to the ground naked and shaken. His clothes were in the 
girl's hands, knife and all. 

Belisha then stood on his horse and surveyed her surroundings. She saw a 
man going for his knife as he looked at her. She jumped at him, and they 
fell to ground together. The girl's substantial weight combined with the 
force of the blow to leave the man winded. He lost track of his knife. The 
girl had her knife at his throat. He looked up at her in fright. Then, with 
her other arm, she girl simply hauled off and slugged him in the face. Once 
was enough to put him away. She cut off his clothes and looked around. 

She saw her sister Besandra engaged in a knife confrontation with the most 
beautiful men she had ever seen. His muscles bulged like mountains, yet he 
moved with agility. And he had perfect blond hair atop a long body. 
Besandra's top had come off, revealing her equally large bosom, though 
Besandra was not as heavy as Belisha and was taller. 

The two fighters bent in preparedness, each armed with one of the mens' 
knives. Belisha thought that Besandra must have taken one off a  man. 
Besandra bounced and smiled a little, as the man watched her movements. 
Each combatant swung out a couple of times, but with no contact. 

Belisha couldn't watch for too long. She was engaged from behind by one of 
the men she had felled, stripped and disarmed. He had found a knife and had 
come charging at her. She sensed him at the last moment. She bent forward 
and stuck her foot out backwards. It caught him in his large belly and left 
him bent over at the waist. Belisha grabbed a nearby piece of cloth and ran 
it around his neck and one ankle. She tied it deftly with an amazing 
quickness, and he was now standing there, bent over, his head tied to his 
ankle, his ass sticking out preposterously. 

Belisha moved on. 

Besandra and her foe were still at it. The beautiful man, who had a reach 
advantage on her, had managed to cut a little swath on one of her breasts. 
But she had done the same to him, across his chest, which, in its way, was 
as impressive as hers. Now, as her sister looked on, Besandra went for the 
man's clothes. She cut one swath, and it yielded her a piece of the 
garment. But still the man was covered. But his face turned red. Besandra's 
glowed with excitement. 

As she sparred with man, she looked around, wondering if she was shirking 
her duty by focusing on one man. She had disposed of another earlier, but 
she felt the need to reduce at least three to helplessness before events 
proceeded too far. 

She saw Magdella holding of three at one time. Each of Magdella's men was 
wielding a knife, and the girl was not. Still, she was landing occasional 
blows with her legs as they attempted to surround her. 

Besandra took to maneuvering her male opponent over toward this other 
venue. The beautiful man had no idea what the beautiful girel was doing. 
But suddenly he saw her reach behind her and grab one of the three men by 
the neck from behind. Without looking at him, she pulled him around until 
she held him in front of her. Meanwhile, she kept her knife on the 
beautiful man. Slowly, the man she held sank to his knees under the force 
of the girl's throat hold. She stepped on his head and pushed it into the 
sand, and though she hardly looked down at him, she took his knife from his 
hand and cut his garment off -- still holding the beautiful man at bay. 
Then she flipped the knife to Magdella, who nodded her thanks and beamed a 
big smile as she now faced off against her two remaining contenders feeling 
a good deal better.

Then Besandra stepped over the man at her feet toward the beautiful man. 
She delivered one final backwards kick at the face of the fallen man, her 
bare heel robbing him of what little consciousness he had left. Now the 
beautiful man had her undivided attention again. 

Elsewhere, some of the men were still on their horses. Crisantha -- dark 
haired and sleekly muscular -- saw a man on a horse going at a woman 
warrior whose back was turned to him. His knife was drawn, and  he was 
leaning from his saddle, intent on stabbing the woman in the back. 
Crisantha quickly jumped on a horse that was already occupied by one of the 
male warriors. Sitting behind him, she took control of the horse and headed 
it in the direction of the man who was charging the standing woman. 
Crisantha intercepted the horse of the charging man,  whose knife came into 
the belly of the man on Crisantha's horse, who fell to the ground bleeding. 

The man on the other horse looked at his fallen comrade in shock, and then 
at the brunette who had caused this to happen. He raised his bloody knife 
at her. She grabbed his wrist with both of hers, and they fought, still 
sitting on their horses. Slowly, Crisantha was able to lower the knife 
until it was near the man's belly. Though he still had one hand around the 
handle and the other nearby, the knife was slowly cutting him. Crisantha 
was in control. The man looked at her in utter horror and confusion as she 
continued to slice him. He could slow her down, but he could not stop her. 
Eventually the knife was at the man's crotch. It was cutting at his 
garment. He wanted to bolt, but he could not risk taking a hand away from 
the battle at his crotch. He tried to make his horse run, but he couldn't, 
and the battle continued. 

Finally, Crisantha was done. The man had been stripped naked by his own 
knife in his own hand.

Then Crisantha yanked the knife from his hands and put it between her 
teeth. She then grabbed the cut and bleeding man and pulled him over onto 
her horse in front of her. His face and crotch were facing up, with his 
legs and head hanging over opposite sides of the horse. He thought his back 
was going to break. Crisantha turned her horse to look around. She saw a 
man staring at her in amazement and horror over what she had just done to 
his comrade. He was holding a knife until her bare foot lashed out and 
spanked it from his hand. 

She backed him up against another horse until he had no place to move. She 
removed the knife from her mouth, and, without pointing it at the man, 
said, "Remove your garment." He stared at her in amazement until her foot 
socked him in the jaw. Then, hoping to God that nobody could see him, he 
complied.

Then Crisantha leaned down and threw one arm under the standing man's 
crotch and one around his neck. She then pulled him up onto her horse and 
splayed him in front of her, on top of the other man, also face up. 

And she surveyed the scene. 

The women were no longer out numbered, because so many of the men had 
fallen. The women were fighting now with joy and abandon, rather than 
concern about unseen and heavily armed foes. Naked male bodies lay 
everywhere. Some were bleeding. Some were unconscious. But some belonged to 
men who had simply lost the will to fight. Some in the latter category 
still had access to knives and bows and arrows. But that was not enough 
incentive for them to continue the battle. 

Soon so many of the men were beaten or frightened into submission to the 
women warriors that Besandra and the beautiful man were drawing a crowd of 
female spectators. 

Sweat beaded on the brows and bodies of both the warriors. Both showed 
signs of the battle in their breathing. Both had scratches. The man was 
bleeding slighting at both his chest and abdomen. He was breathing harder 
than the girl. 

And he was on the defensive. Besandra was forcing the fight now, making 
clear that her target was his clothing. She wanted to see his beautiful 
body naked. Her eyes glowed hungrily as she stared at his midsection, 
almost as if she wasn't worried about his knife. She would swing at his 
crotch and back him up. Even when she just faked a swipe at it, he would 
jump back. That excited her all the more. Now she was moving the cheering 
crowd around, too, as she stalked the man. The women spectators had to 
occasionally scramble to get out of the man's way. Sometimes they had to be 
jolted into attention by his sudden retreats, so focused were they on the 
allure of his body. 

After one jump backwards by the man, Besandra continued her movement toward 
him and simply slapped him hard across his face, jolting him. 

She was smiling a victor's smile at him now, a smile of disdain. His armed 
arm came up at her face but she blocked it easily with her forearm and 
continued moving in on him. She was almost chasing the big, beautiful 
warrior man around the beach.  

Another swipe by the girl caught more of his garment and reduced the man to 
keeping himself covered by holding the garment up. That left him without an 
arm to guard himself. But Besandra didn't take advantage of that. She just 
wanted to denude him. So she grabbed at his arm that was at his crotch and 
pulled him toward her. As he came in that direction, she stepped toward 
him, then behind him, where she put her knife through a back strap of the 
man's garment and pulled. That left his tight rearend completely exposed 
for all to see. And that brought at big cheer from the crowd. 

Now the women were not so much walking along with fighters as dancing 
along. The were clapping rythmically and singing, and they were turning in 
circles and stepping high as they did so. They would step on some of the 
fallen men and dance right in front of them -- enticing them and flaunting 
their bodies. Sometimes they would swing their athletic legs at male 
genitalia as they did so. 

The one man who was still fighting could not worry about the view that some 
of the women had of him from behind. His most immediate problem was in 
front of him, in the form of beautiful girl who holding part of his garment 
aloft in victory. She was getting in a few dance steps of celebration 
herself. 

Still, however, she came at him. She made three quick feints at the man's 
crotch with her knife, then simply grabbed the remaining part of his 
garment and yanked it out of his hand. 

Pulled off balance, he fell to the ground, naked save for his footwear. 

Besandra danced around him in full abandon now, knowing the man was hers 
for the taking. She stepped on his knife hand and pushed his body over onto 
his side. The knife remained on the sand. She picked it up and held it to 
the throat of the man, motioning to him to get to his feet. He did so. 

Now he faced a woman who had two knives to his one. She tormented him with 
that fact as she danced in front of him, even turning her back on him. Then 
she gave him his knife back. 

In shock, he took it.

Then she flung her own knife aside. And she wiggled her finger at the 
beautiful man in a come hither gesture as she continued to dance. When he 
came at her, she slapped his face hard, shocking him again. She smiled and 
invited him to try again. He did, and this time she caught him with a slap 
with her other hand that was so hard it resounded throughout the beach. 
Then she did it again. And, as he stood in shock, pain, humiliation, 
frustration and fear, she took his knife out of his hand.

Then she gave it back to him and continued to dance around him and stalk 
him. The next time she moved in, one of her hands grabbed the wrist of his 
knife-holding hand. The other reached around his neck and pulled his face 
to hers. She planted a deep, long, probing kiss on him. Visible changes 
happened to his body. Her hands roamed over his body hungrily.  

The woman stood back and let everybody look at him, opening her arms in 
invitation of applause. 

In fury, the man leaped at her. She slapped his face, hard. He leaped 
again, and she slapped him with her other hand. He didn't leap again, but 
she slapped again. And again. 

He was staggering backwards. One more slap and he went down, still holding 
his knife, yet defeated and helpless. 

He was on his hands and knees, and he wasn't worried about who could see 
what. And he wasn't going to get up. 

Besandra wrapped her long fingers in the man's flowing mein of hair and 
pulled until his face looked into a crowd of women. She hurt him and 
continued to do so as others of the women warriors strained to get a look 
that the face they loved so much as it was now: it utter defeat at the 
hands of a woman. 

Then Besandra put her naked foot on the back of his neck and pushed the 
beautiful man's face into the sand. She stood there then, relishing her 
victory and accepting the applause of the other dancing female warriors. 

The women then mounted the horses of their defeated foes and herded the 
naked, defeated, passive, helpless men into a circle and marched them to 
the male headquarters, which the women warriors were going to take over. 

END