Captive
By Littlesilverstar, silverstar222b@yahoo.com
My story of being captured by a female warrior


WARNING: This story contains extreme violence, gore, violent femdom, and dirty
and offensive sexual scenes. This story is not for children or sensitive
adults. If you're a fan of gentler femdom, some of my other stories will
probably be more up your alley.

SOMETIME IN THE FUTURE, IN A NAMELESS WAR...

It should have been easy. There were twelve of us, and one of her. She was,
from the nonchalant expression on her face, apparently completely unaware of
our presence, while we were in position, ready to ambush her...

I should have known better, of course. Nothing in this war was easy. The war
had devolved from grand armies battling it out to isolated bands of desperate
soldiers in the wilderness, fighting just to survive. Well, on our side,
anyway. We were losing, every week being driven further and further into the
badlands, losing men every day to ambushes, snipers, disease, starvation,
desertion, and suicide. It was because the enemy had recruited female soldiers
into their ranks, doubling their manpower (or womanpower), while our so-called
"leaders" stubbornly kept our army male-only. My suggestions to copy the
enemy's tactics because they were actually working had fallen on deaf ears. I
was just a grunt, a private, a nobody.

She was on horseback. Just the horse meant food for a month. Small bowls of
tasteless gruel had been our breakfast, and we'd been lucky to have breakfast.
In contrast, as she drew closer, we could see that the woman was well-fed,
with a shapely and muscular body, signs of someone who could afford a
well-balanced diet. She was very beautiful, with long wavy dark brown hair,
large brown eyes, the high-cheekboned face of a model, and very dark brown
skin. Her skintight camoflauge pants, black military boots, and tight camo top
left little to the imagination, with the top being tied back to reveal a set
of armor-like six-pack abs, and the sleeves rolled up to display a pair of
massive, heavily muscled forearms, adorned with a spiked black leather
bracelet on each large wrist. Captain's bars on her top were the only
indication of her rank.

She must be crazy to go out alone like that. Sure, she was well-armed, a
submachine gun by her side, many extra magazines of ammunition at her waist,
and a revolver holstered on her hip. In contrast, we were desperately short of
both weapons and ammo, and only half of us even had a firearm, mostly just
pistols. But still...

She was almost close enough now. We could practically taste victory. The
horse, the guns, the ammo, the packed saddlebag clearly full of precious
supplies...all of that should be ours in a minute. And the girl...She would be
most useful as a prisoner, to be exchanged for our poor saps who had been
captured...We should be able to get several men at least for an officer like
her. And while she was in our custody, she would be ours to take full
advantage of...

She knew. Somehow, she knew. A split second before our commander, Lieutenant
Nichols, could give the signal to attack, her submachine gun was in her
leather-gloved right hand, spraying bullets. The first burst killed the
lieutenant, along with Griff, our best sniper, armed with our only rifle.

The ten of us that were left were frozen with shock. How could she have
reacted with such speed and skill? Should we still try to capture her, or
should we start shooting?

She took full advantage of our indecision, firing her machine gun again, the
next burst sending three more of our men to the ground full of holes. Her
control of the fully automatic fire was excellent, her thick wrist obviously
enabling her to handle the recoil effortlessly even shooting one-handed.
Despite my fear, I found myself growing hard over her markswomanship, recoil
control, and brutal efficiency at killing.

"Shoot back, you fools! Kill that bitch..." The words of the speaker, Sergeant
Williams, were abruptly cut off as an expertly aimed three-round burst from
the girl impacted his forehead, splattering his brains all over the place.

There were only six of us left now, and only two alive had guns. I wasn't one
of them. Perhaps it was for the best. The two armed men began shooting with
their pistols, but the woman was already performing a high, powerful front
flip off her horse, easily dodging our fire. She landed and immediately went
into a one-arm cartwheel followed by a series of one-armed back handsprings,
firing her machine gun in her free hand as she tumbled like a pro-gymnast. Our
guys kept shooting, but she was elegantly backflipping so freakishly fast that
she was just a dark brown blur, impossible to hit. A few seconds later, both
of our shooters were killed by the girl's well-placed bullets. She finished
her tumbling run with a high back tuck, landing neatly on her booted feet.

I and two of my comrades, Jones and Claythorne, raised our hands in surrender.
The last man, Burger, began running for his life. The woman smiled, calmly
drew her revolver, took careful aim, and fired a single shot. The bullet
nailed Burger in the center of his back. She laughed aloud at her
markswomanship as he fell dead like a sack of potatoes.

She turned her attention to us, slinging her submachine gun over her back and
training her revolver in our direction. I was quivering with terror. After
all, the only reason the war was still going was that we knew what the enemy
did to men they captured. They were either worked to death as slaves or simply
butchered for meat. If we had any chance of being treated with humanity we all
would have surrendered long ago.

As she came closer, I saw how tall she was, probably 6'1", towering over all
of us. I could also smell the scent of her sweet, feminine perfume. The barrel
of her revolver swept across my face from a few inches away and from the size
of it I could see that it was a very large-caliber weapon. Despite the
situation, or perhaps because of it, my erection was still present. She
glanced down at my crotch and smirked briefly before turning her attention to
other matters.

She spoke for the first time, addressing Jones, who was in the center, aiming
her revolver at his head. "Where is your camp?"

Jones foolishly decided to try to play the tough guy. "Private First Class
Morris Jones, serial number..."

She pulled the trigger. The powerful magnum round completely destroyed Jones'
head, splattering a massive amount of blood and brain matter all over
Claythorne and myself.

She aimed the gun at Claythorne's head. "Where is your camp?"

He pointed wildly. "Over those hills, in a little valley, right by a spring! I
can give you more details if you want, Miss..."

She backhanded him across the face, the razor-sharp spikes on her bracelet
leaving several deep wounds on his cheek. "That'll do, boy." She took out a
radio on her belt and spoke quickly into it before turning her attention back
to us.

She punched Claythorne in the nose, breaking in and sending him to the dirt.
As she turned to me, my heart skipped a beat as she looked down at me, as I
was five inches shorter than her. She grabbed me by the shoulders and almost
seemed to smile before suddenly ramming her knee into my stomach. I doubled
over, feeling like I had been hit by a truck. She grabbed me, straightening me
up, then headbutted me, sending me to the ground seeing stars. I groaned,
dizzy. There seemed to be no purpose to her violence other than establishing
who was clearly in control. It was working.

"Get up," came her voice. I tried to obey her, but my wounded body failed to
obey my brain. Her size 11 military boot stomped hard on my face. As I
struggled to a sitting position, I saw her kick Claythorne hard in the side. A
sharp CRACK indicated that she had broken one of his ribs.

I managed to get to my feet. Claythorne was having a harder time of it. "I
said get up, BOY." She kicked him again, breaking another of his ribs. He
finally managed to stand up.

"Now march." She herded us at gunpoint back to her horse. Producing some rope
from her saddlebag, she tied our hands and feet.

"Stay," she ordered, as if speaking to a pair of dogs. She went back into the
shrubs, reappearing a few moments later with whatever of our meager weapons
and supplies she apparently deemed useful. Placing the items into her bag, she
untied our feet, then attached us with more rope to the horse. She mounted
with a graceful backflip, landing perfectly in the saddle, and tugged at the
reins, pulling us behind the animal.

She kept the horse at a pace fast enough that I could barely keep up. I still
fell down a couple of times. Claythorne, with his more serious injuries, had
it worse. He fell at least a dozen times, covering his body with bloody cuts
and bruises.

Finally, we reached the enemy camp. It was far larger, better equipped, and
better organized than ours (which was probably being wiped out right now,
anyway). Two machine gun nests, each manned by an attractive young female
soldier, guarded the front entrance.

The captain dismounted her horse with another graceful backflip. She detached
us from the animal, then barked a sharp order to a male soldier standing
nearby at attention. He quickly saluted and began leading the horse away.

She looked at us, speaking a single word. "Sit." She pointed to a bare, rocky
spot in the burning sun.

"May I please have some water, Miss..." Claythorne began.

Her response was a vicious high kick from her booted foot to his face, sending
him to the ground hard and shattering several of his facial bones. Her
flexibility was amazing for a woman of her massive size, her leg reaching a
full 180 degree vertical split at the highest point of her devastating kick.
Claythorne rolled over and moaned. I quickly sat down next to him. I tried to
tend to his wounds, but the woman backhanded me hard across the face with her
spiked bracelet, ripping several nasty wounds across my cheek. She shook her
head at me sternly and I nodded in submission, leaving poor Claythorne alone
despite his continuous moans of agony.

I observed the camp as we waited. Soldiers, mixed male and female, milled
around with their duties. Some acted as overseers for the slave-prisoners, who
were whipped liberally, often for seemingly no reason. A terrible stench came
from one side of the camp. A large building with two smoking chimneys was on
that side. That must be where prisoners were butchered for meat. I shuddered.

About an hour later, a loud procession entered the camp. A platoon of soldiers
escorted about fifteen new prisoners in. I recognized them as my comrades who
had been back at our camp. There had been many more of us...These must be the
only survivors. Some of them were clearly wounded, and one even had a
white-feathered arrow sticking out of his ass.

An attractive, muscular, darkly tanned blonde woman, slightly taller than me,
in a lieutenant's uniform stepped forward. She had a recurve bow and a quiver
of white-feathered arrows slung over her back.

"The mission was a total success, Captain," said the blonde. "We took them
completely by surprise, annihilated the whole camp even though they
outnumbered us three to one. We slaughtered about fifty of them. These
pathetic remnants we brought back with us. The supplies we looted are coming
in right behind us. Two of our men were slightly wounded."

"Good work, Lieutenant," said the captain. She yanked Claythorne and me to our
feet and shoved us to the back of the line of prisoners.

"Time for the selection." The captain cackled evilly, rubbing her
leather-gloved hands together and licking her lips. She made her way to the
front of the line, her tall, heavily muscled, darkly tanned body in sharp
contrast to the shorter, skinnier, paler male captives. After years of poor
nutrition, none of the men came close to her in height or weight. She gave
each prisoner a quick examination before shoving him into one of two groups.
As the groups were formed, it became clear that one was comprised of those
with more meat on their bones, to be butchered, while the other was made up of
the ones considered too skinny to be good eating, to be worked to death as
slaves instead.

"I claim one prisoner for personal use, as per our trophy rules," said the
blonde lieutenant. She yanked the man with the arrow sticking out of his ass
out of line.

"As do I," said the captain. She stared at Claythorne and me before shoving
Claythorne into the butcher group and grabbing me. "This one is mine."

My heart was pounding. What would happen to me? It couldn't possibly be worse
than being butchered for meat or worked to death as a slave...could it?

The lieutenant looked at the men who had been selected to be slaves. "The life
expectancy for prisoners in the work section of Auschwitz was about a month,"
she informed them. "Here, it's about three weeks. But after the first day,
you'll probably wish you'd been selected for meat. Now report to that woman
over there, she'll give you your assignments." The blonde began shoving the
men one by one, kicking the last in the back.

The captain motioned for a male sergeant and two privates to escort the other
group of prisoners to the butcher. She then turned to me. "Come with me,
slave. I'll give you a tour."

The stench inside the meat room was even worse than outside. The prisoners,
tied and helpless, were quivering in pure terror at the sight of blood and
human meat everywhere. I tried not to throw up. Uniformed men and women worked
at meat slicing, while slaves wiped away the blood that was continuously
dripping onto the floors.

A woman stepped forward. She wore the standard camoflauge pants and boots, but
only a skimpy black bra up top that only partly covered her obviously B-cup
sized perky tits. She was Asian, about 5'6" tall, and very beautiful, with
long silky black hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a slender but muscular body.
Her flat, defined stomach was on full display between her bra and low-cut
pants, and both her clothes and her tanned skin were stained with massive
amounts of blood. A hat with a single gold lieutenant's bar was on her head,
and a long sword was sheathed at her slim waist.

She saluted. "Welcome, Captain. Looks like lots of fresh meat today."

"Yes, Jill. A good day," the captain replied as she returned the salute. She
shoved Claythorne forward. "Start with this one, he runs his mouth a lot." A
powerful kick to Claythorne's back from the captain's booted foot sent him
flying helplessly.

Jill smirked, drawing her sword as the doomed male came at her. She greeted
him with a graceful, fluid low swing, slicing off both of his legs at the top
of the thigh. Ignoring his screams, the Asian hottie swung her sword again,
moving with such speed that she was able to cut off his head before it could
start falling. The decapitated head continued screaming for several more
seconds before falling silent. She kicked the head into a large tub filled
with other decapitated heads, then bent down and separated the arms from the
torso with two swift swings. Finally, she expertly severed his penis and
testicles, keeping the balls attached to the cock, and tossed them into a
bucket filled with other cocks and balls. She motioned to two male workers and
they quickly hurried over, picking up the legs, arms, and torso and placing
them onto separate conveyor belts for the next step in the butchering process.

Some of the prisoners began puking. I almost did. "Next," ordered Jill calmly.
The male sergeant shoved over the next captive. I turned away.

The captain looked at me and laughed. "Want to stay for some more, boy?"

"N...no, that won't be necessary, Miss..."

"My name is Kara, but you can call me MISS Kara."

"That won't be necessary, Miss Kara."

She snickered. "Then let's go, boy." She shoved me out the door and slammed it
behind her. Even so, the high-pitched male screams from inside sounded very
clear.

"Let's swing by the archery range before we go to my tent," said Kara
casually, as if she was talking in the most mundane of conversations. "We can
see what Lieutenant Irina is up to."

The blonde lieutenant was alone at the archery range. About forty yards away
stood a row of man-sized dummy targets...Wait a minute. Those weren't dummies,
I realized. They were actual men, tied to posts! Most of them were long dead,
pierced with dozens of arrows from various "practices" over the weeks, left to
rot where they stood. One, however, was still alive and moaning. It was the
man that Lieutenant Irina had selected as her personal property a few minutes
ago. He had an arrow in each foot, knee, hand, and shoulder, along with the
one in his ass, for a total of nine so far.

"Oh, hi, Kara," said the blonde. "You're just in time. I have two arrows
left." She inserted one into her bow, took careful aim, and fired. The arrow
flew right into the helpless man's testicles! His screams, already loud, grew
even louder. Both women laughed sadistically.

Irina inserted her last arrow. She was so skilled that she turned to talk to
Kara as she fired, not even looking as the arrow nailed her male victim right
in the heart. "Nothing like a good kill with a bow. Personally made nine of
them today during the raid on the camp, but ten's a nice round number."

"Be glad she's not up for number eleven," Kara said as she marched me away. On
the other side of the camp, we came to a large, rather luxurious-looking tent.
With a hard shove, she forced me inside. The tent was furnished with a
lightweight but comfortable-looking travel bed, along with a desk, chair, and
dresser.

A male slave, clad only in his underwear, thin, pale, and frail-looking, with
a body covered with partially healed wounds, was busy scrubbing the desk. Upon
seeing Kara enter, he immediately dropped to his knees. "Mistress Kara. I am
at your service."

She savagely kicked him in the face, breaking bones and knocking a couple of
teeth loose, and smirked. "Was that supposed to impress me? You'd have been of
more use continuing to do your chores."

"I'm sorry, Mistress Kara!" The slave began turning back to his cleaning
supplies, but she stopped him with a quick snap of her fingers. She then
attached spiked brass knuckles to her leather-gloved right fist. The spikes
were covered with dried blood.

"Forget it, BOY. I have your replacement right here." With incredible speed
for a woman so big, she backflipped over to him with a roundoff followed by
two back handsprings, landing right in front of him, and yanked him to his
feet. Lifting him effortlessly by the throat with her left hand, she prepared
her right fist.

"Goodbye, BOY." With that, Kara swung her large fist at his forehead. The
spiked knuckles simply pulverized everything in their path, leaving three very
large holes in his skull. But even though she had executed him with a single
lethal blow, she didn't stop there. She punched the lifeless male again and
again with her spiked brass knuckles until his skull was completely
annihilated - there was literally nothing left of his head when she was
finished. Red and brown goo dripped from her gloves onto the floor of the
tent.

"I like to have one male as my personal slave," she said to me casually, as if
slaughtering men was a daily thing for her, which it clearly was. "I replace
him when he shows incompetence, or if he gets too weak to work, or just if I
get bored. That one lasted two weeks, which is pretty average. My best one
lasted almost four months. The worst, thirty seconds. Let's see how long you
last, BOY. Now for your first chore, clean up that mess."

"Yes, Miss Kara." I dragged the headless body out of the tent, then gathered
up the late slave's cleaning supplies and scrubbed away the stains of blood
and brain matter.

"Good boy. Now sit." She pointed to a small, dirty dog bed that sat next to
her bed. I quickly obeyed.

She stood over me and crossed her ultra-thick forearms in front of her. I'd
never seen a woman with forearms that large or heavily muscled. In fact, I'd
seen very few men with arms like that.

"When I captured you, I saw that you had a hard-on. What caused that?"

I took a deep breath. My life literally depended on answering her question in
a manner that would please her.

"Good news is, you've already passed the thirty-second mark, so you won't set
the record for worst slave ever. Bad news is...well, I think you know. Now
start talking, BOY."

"Well, Miss Kara, it was several things. Your muscular body. I've always been
attracted to powerful women, especially those with thick wrists and huge
forearms like yours that are so much bigger than mine. And your ultra-dark
brown tan. I love the sharp contrast with my pale skin. Your expert
markswomanship and skill with firearms, and the way you can handle the recoil
from automatic fire so well. And those insanely fast gymnastic backflips you
did to dodge all our bullets. All of those things combined...you're just so
powerful without losing any of your femininity. My body reacted to that."

Kara remained silent for several moments, then laughed. "I don't know if
you're really fucking brave or really fucking stupid. Probably both." She
flexed her huge biceps, which were easily twice the size of mine. "I could
destroy your head with one punch, and I wouldn't even need the spiked brass
knuckles. But I won't. Not yet. At least you have some balls, boy. I get tired
of slaves that think the best way to please me is to blubber and squeal as
loudly as possible."

"Thank you, Miss Kara," I said, trying to keep the shaking out of my voice.

"Don't thank me yet, slave." With absolutely no shame, she removed her boots,
camo pants, and black underwear, and pointed to her crotch, which had a wild,
hairy dark bush. "Use that tongue of yours for something other than talking.
You have three minutes to make me cum."

As her crotch came close to my face, a terrible stench that resembled rotting
fish hit me. She obviously hadn't washed for weeks down there. She snickered
at my reaction, shoving her slit closer to my mouth.

I got to work. It was all I could do not to gag violently and start puking my
guts out, but I soldiered on. It was my only chance to survive. I licked
frantically as the minutes ticked by, wondering if I would be good enough...

She suddenly came without warning all over my face, drenching me with sticky
girl-cum that smelled as vile as three-week-old garbage. Some of it went down
my throat and this time I did gag, coughing violently.

Kara was laughing again. "Nice work, BOY. Two minutes and thirty-seven
seconds. Cutting it a little close, but you know what they say. Close only
counts with horseshoes and hand grenades." She sniffed. "Need to wash that
face, boy."

I looked around for a wash basin. "Don't bother, I'll take care of it." She
suddenly squatted down and urinated all over my face, soaking me with her
powerful golden shower. The urine flowed down onto the dog bed.

"Don't bother cleaning that, that's your bed. Your job is to clean my things.
Now get to work on my boots."

The rest of the afternoon was spent doing various chores for Kara. When
evening came, she ordered me to join a group of other slaves in preparing and
serving dinner to the officers.

There were platters of various types of meat, roasted potatoes, fresh
vegetables, loaves of freshly baked bread, butter, platters of fruit and
cheese, and plenty of wine and liquor. I thought back to our dinners at our
old camp, which typically consisted of hard biscuits and a few (barely) edible
roots we dug up. Occasionally, someone might bag a squirrel, although
Lieutenant Nichols had frowned upon that, as he'd considered it a waste of
ammo...

The noise jolted my mind back to the present. The officers in the dining hall,
about half of them female, talked and joked loudly as they ate and drank. We
slaves were required to keep silent at all times except when answering an
order. I took the opportunity to observe the people in the room. All of the
officers, male and female alike, looked like they could be professional
fitness models. The enlisted soldiers I'd seen at the camp were in far better
shape than we were, of course, but it seemed that in this army, officers were
selected for their physical strength, aggression, and ruthlessness. Kara,
Irina, and Jill seemed to be at the center of many of the conversations.

The slaves, in contrast, were skinny, half-starved male creatures...and these
guys were way better off than the slaves laboring outside, most of whom were
little more than walking skeletons. The indoor slaves were clearly
well-trained, none of them even looking at the food, even though they had to
have been even hungrier than I was.

When the meal was over, we began the cleanup. "Standard distribution for the
leftovers, Miss Kara?" one of the slaves, an older gentleman, asked.

"Right, boy. The best remaining cuts of meat for the dogs, and the freshest
vegetables for the horses. The rest of the food on the table can go into
tomorrow's stew for the enlisted soldiers. After the table is cleared, you
slaves can help yourselves to the food that fell on the floor."

"Thank you, Miss Kara." We quickly got to work. When it was time for us to
eat, I noticed that the slaves, although quick to grab food, did it without
shoving or fighting. Clearly, they had learned at the school of hard knocks
that pushing and shoving would be punished. I managed to grab myself a piece
of bread, a few carrots, and half of a tomato. I wolfed the food down eagerly.
It was better than anything I'd had in weeks.

"Has anyone ever tried dropping food on the floor?" I asked the older slave.

"Yes. Once. Miss Kara punched him in the gut with her spiked brass knuckles.
He died real slow. Screamed the whole way."

"What if someone drops food by accident?"

"Happened a couple of times. Miss Irina gave one several arrows to the
stomach. The other guy, Miss Jill disemboweled with her sword. They died as
slow and painful as the first sap. Those girls don't care if mistakes are
honest or cheatin'. They treat 'em exactly the same." I gulped.

"We indoor slaves are considered a privileged lot," the old-timer continued.
"We're hungry, but we don't starve. We work hard, but our backs don't break.
It's a hard position to get, and a harder one to keep. There's zero tolerance
for mistakes. But if we meet our masters and mistresses' high standards, we
can survive a long time...I've been here almost a year. Never thought I'd make
it that long."

He looked at me. "You're Miss Kara's new personal boy, aren't you?"

"That's right."

"Good luck, kid. You'll need it." I gulped again.

Kara re-entered the dining room. "Get to work wiping down the kitchen,
slaves." She looked at me. "You stay here, boy."

"Yes, Miss Kara." I watched as the others headed into the kitchen.

"Are you still hungry, boy?"

"Yes, Miss Kara."

She took out a piece of meat from her pocket and tossed it to me. "Thank you,
Miss Kara," I said as I began chowing down.

"That was your friend Claythorne. I think that was part of his left arm," she
remarked casually. I stopped and stared for a moment, then continued eating.

"What, no outrage, boy?"

I looked up at my Mistress. "Crying won't bring Claythorne back to life. And
declining to eat him will just make me hungrier."

She laughed. "A logical slave. Haven't seen one of those in a while. Keep it
up, you might even last four whole months. Maybe set a new record. Now come
on, it's feeding time for the slaves in the pen."

She marched me outside, to a holding pen. The outdoor slaves were being herded
into the pen for the night, driven in by brutal whip blows from soldiers. One
of the indoor slaves that had been in the officers' dining room with me stood
waiting at attention by the pen, holding a small basket. He looked skinny and
weak, but even he seemed healthy next to the starved, bony male slaves in the
pen.

"You may begin, boy," Kara instructed. The man nodded, took a rotten potato
from the basket, dropped it in a pile of dog feces that was on the ground,
picked the potato back up, and tossed it into the pen. The starving men inside
fought like bloodthirsty savages for a single bite of the shit-covered, rotten
potato. Irina and Jill appeared, standing next to Kara. All three women
laughed loudly at the scene.

"I don't think this will ever get old," smirked Irina.

"Yeah," agreed Jill. She turned to the man with the basket. "Toss another one,
boy."

"Yes, Miss Jill." He repeated the process. Again the slaves in the pen fought
desperately for a morsel of the foul food as the sadistic women watched,
roaring with laughter. Some of the weaker men were already lying helplessly on
the ground, bleeding. It looked doubtful that they would last the night.

Four potatoes later, Irina turned to the indoor slave. "How many left, boy?"

"Just one, Miss Irina."

"Hmph," said Kara. "You may have that one for yourself, boy."

"Thank you, Miss Kara." The slave carefully picked up the rotten potato with
his clean hand and began eating.

Kara gave one last chuckle, then pushed me in the back. "Back to my tent,
boy."

In the tent, I was still shaking from having watched the poor saps in the pen
be tormented. Kara noticed and snorted. "You offended, boy?"

I said nothing, looking down. She savagely slapped me across the face. She was
so freakishly strong that her slap almost broke my jaw. "I asked you a
question, SLAVE."

"I'm seeing this for the first time and I'm not used to it," I said, choosing
my words carefully.

She snickered. "You'll get used to it fast enough. Believe me." She grabbed me
by the shoulders, looking down at me. "You'll learn the new rules in this new
world order. And you'll learn them fast, if you know what's good for you.
Might makes right and know your place. If you don't, you get demoted. And you
don't ever want to get demoted. Hierarchy is all in this brave new world.
Officers above dogs, dogs above enlisted, enlisted above pond scum, pond scum
above indoor slaves, indoor slaves above plague-causing viruses,
plague-causing viruses above outdoor slaves. You think I'm bad? You should see
some of our colonels and generals. Some of them, especially the girls, make me
look like a cute soft kitten. There's no nepotism, no corruption, no REMFs
among our officers. You want a high rank, you gotta fight to get it, and then
you gotta fight to keep it." As she ranted, a fanatical gleam appeared in her
dark brown eyes.

"But enough about that. I'm horny. Strip, slave."

I stripped. She took off her clothes as well, leaving her spiked black leather
bracelets as the only thing she was wearing. Her massive, heavily muscled body
stood in sharp contrast to my skinny male body. Her breasts were glorious,
all-natural double D's that still pointed upward despite their size, thanks to
her large amount of chest muscle. Her thighs looked like they could crush
steel, and her armor-plated abs looked like they could stop bullets. And her
arms...the insane amount of muscle development in her massive upper arms was
visible even when she wasn't flexing, and the muscles in her huge forearms
rippled whenever she made the slightest movement. Yet despite her size, her
wasp waist was shockingly small, probably smaller than mine. It didn't take
long for my cock to reach its maximum length of six and a half inches.

She looked down at my groin and nodded. "Not bad for a 5'8" skinny boy.
Remember that slave who only lasted thirty seconds? I killed him for having a
four-inch cock. Stomped his tiny dick and balls into paste while wearing my
razor-sharp five-inch stiletto-heeled boots and left him to bleed to death. A
guy with a cock shorter than my stiletto heel is so pathetic. Well, you pass
the size test, now let's see if you can pass the stamina test."

She effortlessly threw my 140-pound weight onto her bed, then cartwheeled onto
me, landing hard. I grunted in pain at her bulk. She must weigh over 200
pounds of solid muscle, I guessed.

"Ooh, am I too heavy for you, baby?" she said mockingly. "Bet you wish you
were being fucked by some skinny model instead. Well, you're stuck with a real
woman with real curves and real muscles. Now here's the rule. It's real
simple. You don't cum before I do. Ever. The first time a guy cums before me,
I rip him in half with my thighs. That's the most common way my previous
slaves have died, in fact." I swallowed very hard.

Kara impaled herself on me and began savagely fucking my brains out. She
repeatedly punched and slapped me as she screwed me, the razor-sharp spikes on
her bracelets leaving painful, bloody wounds with each impact. Her vaginal
muscles were so powerful that I feared my cock would be crushed into paste
inside her.

Despite the gruesome pain, there were so many things that were getting me wild
- her huge, rippling muscles, her glorious tits, her long feminine wavy dark
brown hair flying everywhere, the sheer contrast between my pale skin and her
ultra-dark brown skin, the graceful, dancer-like cartwheel she had just done,
her skill and markswomanship with a machine gun she had displayed, her natural
ultra-dominant personality - that I was terrified that my throbbing hard-on
would explode and doom me. I closed my eyes and in my mind began reciting the
starting lineups of all the World Series-winning baseball teams that I could
remember, starting with the most recent year (before the Series had been
permanently canceled thanks to the never-ending war) and going backwards from
there.

I had gotten all the way back to the 2020 Los Angeles Dodgers when Kara came
hard, shrieking like a banshee, her entire massive body shuddering. That was
it. I came hard right after her, shooting wave after wave of semen into her
cunt.

She smirked as she lifted herself off of me. "That was close, boy."

"Horseshoes and hand grenades..." I replied.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and for the briefest of moments, a
faint spark appeared in her dark brown eyes, a tiny glimpse of the humanity
that must have existed in her before she became the ruthless warrior she was
now. She could have been an ordinary girl once, sharing a moment of playful
banter like this with a lover...

The moment passed and her expression hardened. She backhanded me across the
face with her leather bracelet, the spikes opening up several new bloody
wounds on my cheek. "Clean your cum that's dripping out of my pussy with your
tongue, slave. Then you can get to sleep on your dog bed."

"Yes, Mistress Kara."

* * *

I quickly got used to my new life over the next few days. Kara was a brutal
Mistress, and she always made sure to hit me at least a couple of times each
day, no matter how well I performed my duties, just to remind me who was in
charge. New scars and wounds appeared continuously on my body before the old
ones could heal. Yet she was always careful not to do any permanent damage.
Apparently I was useful to her, and I was determined to keep things that way
for as long as humanly possible.

I never gave any serious thought to attempting to escape. I knew it would be
hopeless. Even if Kara, who seemed to have a superhuman sixth sense for
anything amiss, didn't catch me before I even walked out of the tent, I knew I
would be pumped full of holes by a sexy female markswoman before I made it ten
yards. Some foolish slaves did try. The ones who were mown down by machine-gun
fire were the lucky ones. Others were brought back in chains and nailed to
crosses to die slow, gruesome deaths. Kara proudly told me once that not one
slave had even come close to a successful escape in the entire history of the
camp. Considering the sheer skill of the female warriors guarding the camp, I
could believe it.

My days consisted of doing various mundane chores for Kara, as well as helping
the indoor slaves with their duties. The indoor slaves, though mercilessly
punished with a brutal execution for the slightest transgression, at least had
to have done something wrong before being killed. The outdoor slaves were not
so lucky. The officers and soldiers in the camp would sometimes slaughter one,
or two, or three, just for fun. Kara, Irina, and Jill all seemed to
particularly enjoy this gruesome "hobby." On my second day at the camp, Kara
punched a slave in the head for no reason, her huge fist going all the way
through his skull and coming out the other side. After laughing loudly, she
had ordered me to clean the mess up. In addition, about ten or twelve slaves a
day died from starvation or overwork. I had a pretty good idea of the body
count because one of my most common duties was disposal of the corpses. New
slaves were continually being brought in from raids and battles to replace the
dead ones.

At night, Kara would display her high sex drive, though not always with me.
She took many lovers, officers and enlisted soldiers alike, and both male and
female. Both Irina and Jill were among her most frequent fuck partners. She
was gentle with her female partners, rough with male officers, and even
rougher with enlisted men. She would make me watch, sometimes ordering me to
masturbate to the fuck sessions, other times strictly forbidding me to touch
myself. She fucked me on occasional nights, with seemingly no pattern. I
always looked forward to that, even though I knew she would brutally kill me
if I came before she did just once. Never in my life had I had the chance to
be screwed by a woman that hot. The fuck sessions soon after the times she had
made love to another woman were my favorite, because she always made sure to
wash herself down there before doing it with another girl.

Kara would also fuck - well, rape was a better word for it - other male slaves
on occasion. Sometimes she would peg them up the ass with one of her
collection of terrifyingly large dildos, other times she would fuck their
actual cocks. But no matter which way she did it, after screwing another male
slave, she would always kill him at the moment she climaxed. Over the weeks, I
saw that she liked to mix up her methods of execution - she might rip him in
half at the waist with her legs, or crush his skull between her thighs, or
destroy his head with a single blow from her spiked brass knuckles, or simply
finish him with a single shot from one of her many firearms. The sheer power,
dominance, and brutality of those fuck sessions always gave me a raging
hard-on, even though I was terrified that she would someday do that to me.

Sometimes, Kara would rent me out to other owners for the day. The first time
this happened, I was rented out to Jill, the sexy Asian lieutenant who
commanded the butcher shop platoon. My duties that day consisted of joining a
group of indoor slaves in wiping away the blood that continuously dripped onto
the floors, making sure that no one slipped on it, disposing of intestines and
other inedible body parts, and hauling boxes of human meat to the big
refrigerators. Jill herself personally sliced and diced the incoming slaves
with her sword, just like she had done the first day I had visited the
slaughterhouse. A male sergeant and a female corporal watched over us slaves,
the female corporal occasionally whipping us when we didn't work fast enough
for her standards.

At the end of the work shift, Jill ordered us all to stand at attention. She
snapped her fingers and two male privates dragged in the heavily mutilated but
still alive body of a slave, dropping him on the floor at Jill's booted feet.
His arms, legs, ribs, and facial bones all seemed to be broken.

"Last night, I caught this slave eating a piece of meat," the Asian beauty
began, drawing her sidearm as she began her speech. "I interrogated him as to
where he got it. He told me after I broke the first bone. Then I broke about
thirty more of his bones just for fun."

I suddenly noticed that the male sergeant who had been supervising us was
sweating like a whore in church, eyes darting around wildly. He began to run,
but the female corporal tripped him to the floor, then kicked him in the groin
with her steel-toed military boot, sending his testicles back up somewhere
into his body.

"That's right," continued Jill. "This slave here was kind enough to tell me
that YOU gave it to him, Sergeant."

"No, please, Lieutenant! I'm innocent, I swear! Please, Miss Jill, I dindu
nuffins..." His pleas were abruptly cut short when the corporal stomped hard
on his face, shutting him up.

"You pathetic, weak little bitchboy," sneered Jill. "Not only did you show
compassion towards a slave, you're not man enough to confess when you've been
caught red-handed." She suddenly fired two quick but expertly aimed shots from
her pistol. The first blew the slave's brains out. The second shattered the
sergeant's left kneecap. "His suffering is over, but yours is just beginning."

Jill turned. "Corporal!" she ordered.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"Deal with this traitor as you see fit. Just make sure of one thing. Make sure
he suffers even more than this slave here did. When you're done, come get me
and I'll inspect your handiwork. If I believe you did a sufficiently good job,
I'll promote you to sergeant."

A wicked grin appeared on the female corporal's attractive face. "Yes,
Lieutenant." She grabbed the sergeant, who was now unable to walk courtesy of
his shattered kneecap, and placed him over her shoulder in a firewoman's
carry. "Let's go...bitchboy."

She carried him into a side room and shut the door behind her. A few seconds
later, a high-pitched male scream began, and didn't stop. All the men in the
slaughterhouse, slaves and soldiers alike, swallowed very hard.

"All right, back to work," ordered Jill. "Clear down and make sure
everything's ready for the next shift."

"Might makes right. Know your place. New world order." Kara's words that she
had said to me that night seemingly so long ago echoed over and over in my
brain as I wiped the blood off a conveyor belt, trying and failing to ignore
the screams coming from behind the door.

Another day, I was rented out to Lieutenant Irina. She greeted me by looking
me up and down carefully, not saying a word. I looked down at the ground,
fearful of her gaze, and she snapped, "Look at me, boy."

I obeyed, watching as her piercing blue eyes continued to examine me. She
looked to be about 5'9" and 150 pounds, so she was only slightly taller and
heavier than me, although because of her extreme level of fitness her biceps
and forearms were much larger than mine and her wasp waist was smaller than
mine. She wore the standard camo pants and black military boots, but for her
top she wore a sleeveless white blouse with large buttons down the front,
showing off her muscular but feminine arms and the darkness of her tan. She
was very dark for a blonde, almost as dark as Kara. Her long blonde hair
looked perfectly coiffed and contrasted sharply with her muscles and masculine
pants and boots. Long black leather gloves, going halfway up her forearms and
making the parts of her forearms that were showing look very thick from the
effect of having the thinner parts covered up, completed her outfit.

"Guess you'll do, boy," she said. "I'm going hunting today. Your job will be
to carry my food, water, extra arrows, and other supplies, to keep quiet, and
to do any other tasks I need you to do. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Miss Irina."

"Good." She then reached for her bow, a beautiful, elegantly carved recurve
bow, the one she'd had when she'd returned to camp from the successful raid on
our doomed hideout. She noticed me looking at her weapon. "Want to try it,
boy?"

"As a slave, Miss Irina, I'm forbidden to touch weapons..."

She snickered. "True. But with this it won't matter." She placed the bow in my
hands. "Try to draw it back."

I tried to pull the string back, using all my strength, but it barely moved.
The blonde laughed loudly. "Weak little boy. Now here's what a real woman can
do." She snatched the bow away, inserted an arrow, and effortlessly drew the
string all the way back. Aiming at a bowl of fruit across her tent, she fired.
The apple that was on top of the pile was utterly pulverized by the perfectly
aimed shot. The arrow continued and embedded itself in the far wall of the
tent.

"A weapon like this that takes real muscle to use has a couple of advantages.
First, slaves are too weak to use it even if they get their grubby little paws
on it. Second, like you just saw with that apple, it's extremely powerful.
This baby can send an arrow right through body armor. Believe me, I've tested
it many times." She flexed her biceps as she spoke. "I'm only a little taller
and heavier than you, but I'm probably three times stronger than your wimpy
ass, slave. Now get a good apple from that fruit bowl and add it to my lunch
bag. I'm almost ready to go."

"Yes, Miss Irina."

We made our way into the wilderness. It was the first time I'd been outside
the camp since my capture, and I found myself enjoying the fresh air, the
scenery, and the (relative) freedom. I looked up at the hills, out towards the
badlands where our old hideout had been, and I wondered if I'd ever taste real
freedom again...

A sudden, vicious pain in my stomach caused me to double over. Irina had
donkey kicked me in the gut with her big black boot. "Keep up and quit
daydreaming, slave. This ain't no joy-hike." She hadn't even turned around
during the whole sequence, clearly having the skills, training, experience,
and intuition to detect what was going on behind her. I had already been far
too terrified to try escaping, but this solidified my decision even more. I
knew that any attempt to do a runner would lead to a lethal arrow in my back
from the blonde hottie in about two milliseconds.

It was a few minutes later when Irina suddenly held up her leather-gloved
right hand, the muscles in her thick forearm rippling as she did so, signaling
me to freeze. I looked around as she inserted an arrow into her bow. There was
a flash of movement in the trees about a hundred yards away. Was it a deer?

No, it was a man! A slave, released from the camp for Irina's hunt. Of course.
A woman like her wouldn't waste her time hunting animals when humans were
available to hunt.

She took aim and fired. The arrow embedded itself in the center of the man's
back and he dropped like a sack of potatoes. The blonde giggled. "I had four
slaves released for me to hunt today. I'll do the others more slowly, but I
always like doing a quick kill on the first one to satisfy my lust for
snuffing out a worthless slave's life."

I stood rooted to the spot, nervous and uncertain. Irina noticed and
backhanded me hard across the face. Although thankfully she wasn't wearing
spiked bracelets like Kara loved to do, the strength of her blow combined with
the rough leather of her glove opened up a nasty cut on my cheek. "If you've
got a problem with this, BOY, I'll be happy to make you my next target."

"No, Miss Irina! I have no problem with this!"

"Good, SLAVE. Now go over there and bring me back my arrow. Also, while you're
there, cut off that slave's head and put it in that empty bag you're
carrying." She handed me a knife, looking at me completely fearlessly, both of
us knowing that she could effortlessly defeat me in a fight even if I had the
knife.

"Yes, Miss Irina." Knife in hand, I made my way over to the body, feeling the
deadly blonde's piercing gaze in my back. As I got close, I prayed that he was
already finished. Luckily, he was. Irina's powerful and perfectly aimed arrow
had not only penetrated his heart, but gone all the way through his torso, the
razor-sharp tip sticking out of the front of his chest. It took some effort to
remove it.

I stared at the body as I prepared myself mentally for the second part of my
task. Thankfully, I hadn't known this poor sap, but I still found myself
wondering what his story was, how he had been captured, what had led him on
his long journey far from home. I said a little prayer asking for forgiveness,
then grabbed him by the hair to begin my gruesome chore. Luckily, the knife
was sharp.

I made my way back to my blonde Mistress, the head in the bag. I bowed as I
gave her back her arrow and knife. She gave me an intense look.

"You don't know how close you came, boy. When you hesitated with whatever
praying for forgiveness or moral worrying you were doing, it wasted MY time. I
gave you a countdown. If you'd been three seconds slower, I would have shot
you." I swallowed hard at that.

Her expression suddenly brightened, almost as if she was bipolar. "But like
Kara always says, horseshoes and hand grenades. Now let's go. It's a beautiful
day and I'm doing my favorite kind of hunting. Oh, and don't worry, I won't
ask you to kill anyone. Any killing today is going to be done by me."

She shot the second slave in the buttocks, then just continued on her way,
leaving him for later. "The ass shot slows them down a little. Not too much.
Still available for more fun. And the humiliation from them having an arrow in
their arse is always hilarious," she explained to me casually.

She gave the third slave an arrow to each leg, letting him crawl painfully for
a few minutes before finishing him off with her trademark shot to the heart.
The fourth slave received an arrow to his testicles that must have completely
destroyed them, from the high pitch of his shrieks. Irina finished him with an
arrow to the head that shattered his skull and sent blood and brain matter
flying. "Don't bother collecting that head, it's ruined," she said, still
casually. "Just get the other one. And make sure to get all my arrows."

"Yes, Miss Irina." As I did my work, I couldn't help becoming turned on by her
markswomanship. She had made all her shots from at least a hundred yards away.
I had never shot a bow, except for those little fake toy ones at summer camp,
and even at that I'd sucked. This beautiful girl being so skilled and deadly
with a bow...I just couldn't help being aroused by that, even though she was a
psycho bitch who was murdering helpless men for sport.

She soon caught up to the man she had shot in the butt. He turned around as
she approached, raising his hands, begging for mercy. Her face expressionless,
she shot him in the shoulder, the arrow going all the way through him and
pinning him to a tree right behind him.

Ignoring his screams, she fired arrow after arrow into various parts of his
body - his arms, his legs, his feet, his groin - making sure that none were
immediately fatal. When her first quiver was empty, she wordlessly held her
leather-gloved hand out to me and I quickly handed over the second one. She
continued shooting arrows into her helpless male victim, this time
concentrating on his thighs, shoulders, and stomach. A burning glare appeared
in her bright blue eyes, as if she had lost someone very close in the war and
was taking out her rage.

With two arrows left, she finally used her penultimate arrow to shoot him
through the heart and mercifully end it. She simply nodded at me to indicate I
should do my usual chores of head and arrow retrieval. I swiftly obeyed,
knowing she had saved her last arrow in case I tried any funny business.

"Well, that was fun!" she said as I returned with her arrows and the next
gruesome trophy in the bag. "Killing makes me hungry. Give me my lunch, boy."

"Yes, Miss Irina." I handed her the lunch-bag and she took out a
delicious-smelling roast beef sandwich, a bag of potato chips, a piece of
chocolate cake, and the apple I had packed. As she ate, I looked away, trying
not to smell the delicious food. My breakfast had been the typical one for us
indoor slaves - a small bowl of tasteless gruel. At least we were fed better
than the outdoor slaves, who got no breakfast and were only fed rotten,
shit-covered potatoes once a day, if they even got that...My mind drifted off.

"Hey, boy. You hungry?"

I looked up to see that Irina had polished off her sandwich and was noisily
crunching down on her apple and potato chips. "Yes, Miss Irina."

She took a few more bites of her apple. There was only a little bit of fruit
left now, around the core. She suddenly dropped it onto the dirt, then reached
into the bag and dropped a few potato chips onto the dirt next to it. "You may
have those, boy. Now what do you say?"

"Thank you, Miss Irina." I quickly began eating, not really caring about the
dirt at this point. Clean food was mostly an unaffordable luxury for us
slaves. She watched with amusment for a few moments, then finished off the bag
of chips and began eating her cake.

"That was a good lunch, don't you think?" she said when she was finished,
giggling. She stretched casually. "Killing makes me hungry for two things.
Food, and sex. I had the first, now it's time for the second." With that, and
with absolutely no shame, she began unbuttoning her white blouse. She wasn't
wearing a bra, and her impressive, firm, natural 36C tits became exposed. They
were tanned the same golden brown as the rest of her - no tan lines for this
chick.

I froze. Kara had made it very clear that I was her personal property, and was
not allowed to have sex with any woman but her. Irina had already removed her
boots, and was now in the process of taking off her low-cut, hip-hugging,
tight camo pants. "Start stripping, boy."

"Miss Irina," I began. "You're one of the most beautiful women in the world,
and under any normal circumstances having sex with you would be a dream come
true. But I'm Miss Kara's personal property, and she's forbidden me to have
sex with other women."

She looked at me sharply. "Is she here? I don't see her. Now start stripping,
BOY. Do as you're told like a good little SLAVE."

"Miss Irina, please. I obey Miss Kara, my mistress, above all else. Please
don't put me in this awkward pos..."

She suddenly punched me in the face. "Are you rejecting me? How fucking dare
you, SLAVE. Now I'm going to have to rape you." Grabbing me, she suddenly
headbutted me, hard. I fell, seeing stars.

When the dizziness had cleared from my head, at least somewhat, I sat up and
discovered that all my clothes had been removed. Irina was nude as well,
standing over me, her tanned, muscular body with its hourglass figure and
long, wild blonde hair in all its glory. Her pubic hair was blonde and wild as
well, her carpet matching her drapes. Apparently she didn't get much
opportunity to shave down there, or just didn't like to.

"Lie on your back with your hard cock pointing up in the air," she ordered me.

"Miss Irina, no, please..."

She rammed her knee into my face, releasing a spray of blood and knocking me
down. She jumped on me. Her sheer hotness, her bulk on top of me indicating
her power and strength, and the raw contact of a male body to a female's got
the blood flowing to my cock, despite my protests.

"That's it, boy. There's that nice hard-on growing. See, you know you want
this." I was still wriggling and struggling. She punched me in the face
several more times while using her muscular body to subdue me and forcibly end
my struggles.

"Mistress Irina, please." I looked up into her piercing blue eyes. "Please
don't do this to me. Please don't rape me. Mistress Kara will destroy me. I
promised to keep myself pure for her. Please don't take my purity, I'm begging
you!"

The blonde simply laughed, bitch-slapping me brutally hard across the face as
she mounted me. Her well-muscled vagina began doing its rhythmic work on my
now fully erect cock.

She taunted me as she screwed me, her big tits bouncing. "Your mouth says one
thing, but your large, throbbing boner says another. You know you want me,
SLAVE. You just can't help yourself. Now stop whining. You're not a man,
you're a BOY and a SLAVE. You're just an object to be used for my sexual
pleasure..."

She continued fucking me hard, her grunts and moans growing louder as she
neared orgasm. "Yeah, that's it. Almost there. I can feel it...I'm gonna
cum..." And cum she did, loudly and hard, her entire muscular body shaking. I
shot my load into her a few seconds later, pumping wave after wave of semen
into her.

I lay there as she climbed off of me, trying to process my tumultuous
emotions. Had I really been raped? Hadn't I enjoyed it? And worst of all, what
would Kara do to me..."

Irina looked at me. "So was it good for you too?" she smirked. "Now clean
yourself off and put your clothes back on. We have a long walk back to camp."

I was quivering all evening as I did my usual duties with the other indoor
slaves, serving dinner to the officers. Irina kept looking at me and winking
when no one else was watching. As for Kara, I was unable to meet her gaze at
all.

When we were back in her tent, Kara ordered me to sit on my dog bed. She stood
over me dominantly, crossing her huge arms in front of her. "Did you have sex
today, boy?"

I took a deep breath. Should I tell the truth? Should I lie? Should I spin the
story to make myself look as good as possible?

"I'm waiting for your answer, SLAVE." Her booted foot kicking me hard in the
stomach jolted me back to reality.

"Yes, Miss Kara," I said softly.

"I see," she said slowly. "But I didn't have sex with you today. So who did
you have sex with?"

"I had sex with Miss Irina when we were out hunting. She forced herself on me.
I tried to stop her, but she was just too strong. She raped me."

"Is that so, boy? And are you going to tell me you didn't enjoy it?"

I swallowed hard. "Mentally, I didn't enjoy it. I couldn't enjoy it. I
promised myself to you and I intend to keep that promise. Irina raped me, no
question about it. So no, I didn't enjoy it mentally. But physically...I'm
afraid I did enjoy it. My cock got hard and I couldn't control myself."

Kara said nothing for a few moments, then reached for her spiked brass
knuckles, attaching them to her leather-gloved right fist. I trembled in
terror, preparing to meet my maker. I knew that neither running nor begging
would work. All I could do was pray.

She flexed her bulging biceps, drawing back her fist. Then she began swinging
it towards me, the massive, razor-sharp, blood-crusted spikes flying closer
and closer...I closed my eyes.

I felt nothing. Had her blow destroyed my brain before I could feel a thing?
Was I in heaven?

I opened my eyes. Kara had taken her brass knuckles off and she was sitting on
the bed, trying to hold in her giggles. When she saw my opened eyes, the
laughter burst out like the floodwaters from a dam. She held her sides for
several seconds before finally regaining enough control to say, "Irina, you
can come in now."

The blonde entered the tent. She was snickering as well. The realization
finally hit me. "You set this up! You planned the whole thing from the
beginning."

"Way to go, Einstein," Irina smirked. "You finally figured it out."

Kara stood up. "I wanted to know just how loyal you were to me. So Irina and I
made an agreement and set up a little test for you. Make no mistake, if you'd
had sex with Irina willingly, if you'd lied about having sex with her, or if
you'd tried to placate me with some stereotypical bullshit lines like we only
did it once, it didn't mean anything to me, I was thinking of you the whole
time, etc., your brains would be splattered all over the carpet right now and
my spiked brass knuckles would have somewhat more of a red and brown stain on
them. But luckily for you, you passed the test."

Irina's expression actually softened, the smirk disappearing. "At least you
have some balls, boy. More than I've seen from a slave in a while."

"As a reward, you may masturbate while watching me and Irina fuck each other,"
Kara said.

"Thank you, Mistresses."

* * *

One morning a few days later, Kara ordered me to be extra thorough in cleaning
her uniform before she put it on. "We're having a special visitor today."

A general assembly of the camp was called. All present, officers, enlisted,
indoor slaves, and outdoor slaves, stood at attention, positioned by rank.

The sound of a helicopter came from the distance. I hadn't heard that sound in
months. Thanks to the extreme shortage of fuel, especially aviation fuel,
helicopters and airplanes were reserved for the most important of missions or
people.

The bird landed in the center of camp. Two male junior officers got out first.
They turned and saluted in the direction of the chopper's door. Then *she*
stepped out.

The first thing I noticed about her was her beauty. She had long, fiery red
hair that went down to the middle of her back, green eyes, and the classic
elegant, high-cheekboned, model-like face. Despite the fact that red-haired,
green-eyed people usually had pale skin, this woman had a beautiful dark brown
tan, almost as dark as Kara's.

The second thing I noticed was her size. She was huge, bigger than Kara. This
woman was probably about 6'3" and 230 pounds, with muscles bulging everywhere.
Despite her bulk, she still had a feminine, hourglass figure with a wasp waist
that looked about the same size as mine, even though I weighed almost a
hundred pounds less than she did. She wore skintight camo pants, a black
sports bra that barely contained her double-D jugs, and knee-high black
leather boots. As if she wasn't tall enough already, her boots had razor-sharp
five-inch stiletto high heels, boosting her height to 6'8". An assault rifle
was slung over her broad back.

Kara noticed my reaction and smirked. "That's Colonel Stacy. Think she's big?
You should see some of our female generals."

The entire assembly reacted quickly as the colonel stepped out. The officers
and soldiers saluted, while the slaves dropped to their knees. The last slave
to get to his knees was suddenly and casually beheaded by Lieutenant Jill,
wielding her katana in one hand. Colonel Stacy nodded at the decapitation as
she returned the salute, it apparently being the standard punishment for the
last man to drop to his knees.

The redhead turned back to the helicopter. "Bring him out!"

Two enlisted soldiers, a man and a woman, appeared, dragging a man between
them. They dumped him unceremoniously on the dirt a few feet away from Stacy.
I looked at the poor sap. He was clothed in tattered rags, and covered with a
combination of bloody wounds and scars. Horribly thin, he had clearly been
starved and tortured for weeks. Yet as I looked at him more closely, I saw
that he was quite tall, and had the frame of someone who had been strong and
muscular before he had been starved.

"This is Major Daniels," said the colonel. "Or should I say, ex-major." She
spat down on him as she spoke. "For the unforgivable crimes of showing
compassion to prisoners and daring to suggest to the High Command a policy of
moderation to get the enemy to surrender faster, he has been found guilty of
high treason. He has spent the past several weeks being punished accordingly.
Now, it is time for the final phase of his punishment." She savagely stomped
on his groin with her insanely sharp high heel as she spoke, laughing at his
screams.

"Captain Kara!"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"It is time."

"Yes, ma'am." Kara stepped forward. She was wearing her highest heeled boots
today, the knee-high black leather ones, similar to the colonel's, with the
razor-sharp five-inch stiletto heels. I had made sure to polish them very
thoroughly this morning.

Kara performed a tumbling pass of a front handspring, front layout, front tuck
to take her the rest of the way to the fallen major. She rotated through her
front tuck and landed hard on her male victim, one stiletto driving deep into
his chest, the other penetrating his stomach.

She then began splitting her legs, meeting resistance from the major's body,
ignoring his howls of agony as she applied full strength with her thigh and
calf muscles, concentrating solely on her gruesome task. Finally, her raw leg
strength won out and the man's body was simply ripped in half! Kara continued
downward into a full 180 degree split before performing an elegant back
walkover to get back to her feet.

"Excellent work, Kara," Stacy complimented her. "I see that someone hasn't
been skipping leg day." She chuckled. "I hereby promote you to Major. May you
stay strong, unlike the two halves of this weakling here."

"Thank you, Colonel." Kara saluted, then turned to the assembled officers. "To
fill the newly opened vacancies, First Lieutenant Irina, I hereby promote you
to Captain. Second Lieutenant Jill, I hereby promote you to First Lieutenant."
The pretty girls smiled and saluted in turn.

"This calls for a celebration," declared Stacy. Out of the corner of my eye, I
saw the older slave, the one who had talked to me in the dining hall on my
first day, stiffen in alarm. Clearly, he had been here long enough to witness
this before.

"Whatever happens, stay here on your knees, and don't run," he whispered. "We
indoor slaves are usually safe. Usually."

"What does that..." I didn't have time for questions, because Stacy had
already begun doing a series of standing back handsprings, elegantly
backflipping like a pro-gymnast despite her bulk and impossible high heels.
Her handsprings were the epitome of technical perfection, although that was
only visible for her first few flips, because she rapidly increased the speed
and tempo of her handsprings, soon backflipping so fast that she became
nothing but a brown and red blur.

She tumbled into a group of outdoor slaves, trampling the first several to
death underneath her massive weight and razor-sharp heels. Finishing her
tumbling run and landing perfectly on her feet, she continued slaughtering the
helpless men, her high heels flickering with kick after kick, each
cheerleader-style kick destroying a male skull or torso, adding punches to her
attacks, her fists annihilating male heads and bodies as well.

At that point mass panic broke out and some of the slaves tried to run. They
didn't stand a chance. Stacy whipped out her assault rifle and began firing,
expertly aimed bursts of two or three rounds at a time, each burst bringing a
man down, all the runners being shot down in a matter of seconds. The
remaining slaves still on their knees were quivering, begging for mercy.

Stacy swiftly and expertly reloaded her weapon and looked from one group of
slaves to the next. Picking a group seemingly at random, she began firing
again with her assault rifle, holding the powerful weapon one-handed, pumping
round after round into the tightly packed mass of male bodies. Despite the
heavy recoil, she was able to absorb it entirely with her massive wrist, her
recoil control being so good that the barrel of the weapon didn't shake at
all! I found myself developing a raging hard-on at her talent, despite the
fact that men were dropping like flies as she continued the merciless
slaughter, hot lead continuing to spew out from her machine gun.

Her weapon finally clicked empty. Laughing, she casually blew the smoke away
from the barrel. One male soldier vomited from the carnage. She whirled at the
sudden sound, long red hair flying.

She cartwheeled over to him with blinding speed. "What the fuck was that,
soldier...fuck it, you're not worthy of the title of soldier. What the fuck
was that, WORM? Haven't you ever seen blood and guts before?"

"I'm sorry, Mistress Stacy, please..."

She savagely kicked him in the stomach, rupturing and mutilating his internal
organs. "Mistress?! I'm a Colonel, not some fucking domme for your perverted
sexual fantasies. I was going to machine-gun you for barfing, but this calls
for something special." With that, she prepared her huge, leather-gloved fist,
then punched him in the chest. Actually IN the chest! Her massive fist went
all the way through his body and came out the back! She withdrew it with a
squishing sound, revealing a very large hole in the man's torso. The body
stood ramrod straight for a second, then collapsed.

"Anyone else?" Stacy challenged. There was only dead silence, broken only by
the moans from some of the wounded men.

"Didn't think so." She looked around in satisfaction. About 30 men had been
kicked, punched, or stomped to death by her, and another 20 had been gunned
down trying to run. Then about another 25 had been machine-gunned to death as
she'd fired into the kneeling mass of slaves, and about a dozen more lay on
the ground, wounded and bleeding from her gunfire, agonized groans escaping
from them at regular intervals. "Just leave the wounded slaves to bleed to
death. Our troops just captured a large number of slaves in an operation in
the next valley, so you're going to have more than enough to replace these
bodies. In fact, you're probably going to have to do some more purges. I'll
leave that in your capable hands, Major Kara."

"Thank you, Colonel. I won't let you down."

"Excellent." Stacy turned and marched back onto the helicopter, her entourage
following her. The chopper took off, soon becoming a speck in the distance,
leaving us here with all the dead and dying bodies.

"What the fuck are you people waiting for?" barked Kara. "Soldiers, get back
to your regular duties. Slaves, get to work disposing of those corpses."

As we worked, the old-timer and I began talking. "That Colonel Stacy's been
here before," he informed me. "Last time was worse, actually. She killed about
a hundred, including two indoor slaves. One of them panicked and ran when she
started the killing. Got shot dead with her perfect markswomanship just like
all the other runners. The other made the mistake of saluting her instead of
dropping to his knees. She informed him that saluting was a privilege reserved
for soldiers, not slaves. Then she backflipped over to him, grabbed him with
her legs while standing on her hands, and ripped him in half with her thighs."
I gulped at that, but was also turned on by the idea of a woman having strong
enough legs to do that.

* * *

Well, it's been four months now. Last night, Miss Kara informed me that I
broke the record for her longest-lasting personal slave. She rewarded me with
vanilla sex - well, as vanilla as it can get with a woman like her. She was
still on top of me, of course, still almost crushing me with her massive bulk
(I think she's gained even more weight and muscle over the past couple of
months), and her vaginal muscles were still insanely strong. But I think she
held her cunt muscles back a little - my cock didn't feel quite as close to
being crushed as it usually does when I'm inside her. And although she still
slapped and hit me during the fucking, she took off her spiked bracelets
beforehand, so it didn't hurt quite so much.

Over the past few months, there were a few more accidental moments of humanity
out of Miss Kara, like what had happened the first time she'd fucked me
(remember that)? She always recovered back to her regular, brutal self
quickly, though, hitting me after each of those moments just to remind me that
she was still in charge and I was still her slave. I know not to get too
complacent. I still wonder about her, though. What was she like before the
war? Did she have hopes and dreams? Did she have a lover...?

I guess you could say I'm used to my new life at this point. I've resigned
myself to being a slave, and I'm thankful that I'm one of the privileged ones.
I'm in the slaughterhouse right now, stacking body parts in the refrigerator.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the lovely Miss Jill effortlessly
slaughtering slaves by the dozens with her katana. The girls captured a large
number of prisoners yesterday, and there are too many mouths to feed. Some of
the men are trying to run, but Miss Jill is so fast she easily catches all of
them. When she's done, I know I'll have a huge amount of blood to wipe up.

I wonder if the war will be over soon. How much longer can the dwindling
remnants of male weaklings hold out against a ruthless, genetically gifted
army led by the likes of Colonel Stacy and Major Kara? Then again, the victors
seem to be enjoying this so much, perhaps they might prolong it, start holding
back, letting the fight continue rather than finishing off their enemies.

Miss Jill casually finishes off her last victim, effortlessly slicing him in
half vertically from the top of his skull down to his crotch, and nods at me.
"Get to work wiping away the blood, boy."

"Yes, Mistress Jill." I hurry over to my new chore. Just another day in my new
life.

THE END...for now

Contact me at silverstar222b@yahoo.com if you liked this story!