Ramba

Every now and then there's a truly inspiring picture, one that 
immediately suggests a whole fantasy; this story originates in such a 
picture, Ramba1.jpg, posted on alt.amazon-women.admirers not long ago. 
(Anyone know the model's name?)

Usual warning: this is a purely imaginary story of male masochism and 
contains sex and extreme violence.


When we first spotted her, riding warily on horseback through the 
forest, a machine-gun ready at her side, we thought ourselves lucky: 
the twelve of us would jump down from the trees and overpower and 
disarm her, and capture her and take her back to our camp, where we'd 
decide on a ransom (principally food, its shortage was our most urgent 
problem) and tie her down naked for us to take our pleasure from her 
huge, muscled body... in delightful expectation, I pressed my erecting 
penis to the branch on which I was hiding.

    Then all went wrong. By some mysterious powers of superior 
intuition, she knew that she was about to be attacked, and the first 
round of bullets she shot into a tree brought down at once three of our 
men - before the rest could react, she was shooting into other trees, 
sometimes empty ones, but most often bringing down one or two men in 
less than a second, and before the minute had passed, ten men were 
lying on the grass around her horse, writhing in agony - she would not 
waste ammunition to finish them off.

    Only two of us were still in the trees, absolutely immobile to save 
our lives; she stopped shooting and started looking intently through 
the branches - her piercing glance fascinated me and I found myself 
wishing that she'd look me in the eyes, even though that would mean 
certain death. Suddenly she noticed the other survivor, slowly aimed 
her gun to bring him down with a single shot, and laughed aloud at her 
markwomanship. Then she turned grim again, probably suspecting that the 
job was not quite done yet...

    All was lost for me, but rather than to be shot down from the tree, 
I jumped to the grass and started running for my life, knowing that she 
could easily shoot me down at any moment; but the prospect of a little 
man-hunt must have amused her, for she just spurred her horse on and 
pursued me, not even caring to pass me, while I was frantically failing 
to discover a way through which she would be unable to follow.
  
    Then I hit something and fell flat down - a bullet grazed my hair 
and I heard her command: "Stay down!" - I obeyed. She jumped from her 
horse and came to me and violently kicked my backside: "Arms and legs 
spread!" - I obeyed - and then: "Turn over!" So I did, slowly, not to 
provoke her, but when I was about half-way she abruptly brought down 
her right foot (with its military boot) on my genitals, to complete my 
rotation, and I cried out in pain, but then she silenced me by pointing 
the gun to my forehead. My penis, though bruised and trampled, erected 
under the pressure of her boot, and maybe that could explain her brief 
smile.
  
    Next, she took away her foot from my penis, and walked around me to 
stand beyond my head; then she placed, with majestatic slowness, her 
right foot on my face, positioning the sole of her boot with a little 
grinding motion to pin me down completely under her weight, and said: 
"Take off your clothes, boy." I obeyed, with a wild hope that she might 
have called me "boy" because of some pity she felt for me, and I 
hurried to get out of my patched military rags and offer the whole 
vulnerable nakedness of my body to her.
    
    She took away her foot from my face (leaving the muddy imprint of 
her boot on it as a temporary sign of ownership), impatiently kicked my 
side to have me get up, and with a shower of playful slaps guided me to 
her horse; she tied a rope to my wrists, cutting off almost completely 
my blood circulation by the tightness of her knot, and fixed it to her 
saddle; then she jumped back on the horse, with an admirable flexion of 
her well-trained muscles, and spurred it on, making me run as fast as I 
could by the traction of the rope.
    
    Soon we reached the Amazon camp - the enemy's camp, where captives 
were tortured for pleasure, as rumour asserted in our ranks; and not 
without reason, for, as she took me in private triumph along the 
West-Eastern alley, to show me off (most likely in jest) to her 
friends, we passed by the butcher's shack, where the body of a 
decapitated man was suspended upside down, to bleed him completely and 
hang the meat for maturation, before the butcher's slaves would come 
and quarter him and dole out the parts, according to merit, to the 
different Amazon clans.
    
    We stopped before her lodgings - a summary cabin, but luxury in 
view of the usual hardship of military life - from which a young boy 
(just the minimal age to be legally mentioned here) hurried out to 
kneel on all fours next to her horse, offering his back as a step to 
his Mistress. She ignored his grovelling, gave a aimless kick into his 
stomach, and told him in cryptic terms to take care of me, while she 
entered the cabin to make herself more comfortable.
    
    The boy got up, and I noticed that he was wearing clamps on his 
nipples and testicles and halfway the shaft of his little circumcised 
penis, clamps that were weighed down with small lead balls for 
increased punishment; at the common base of his genitals, he was 
wearing a thick grey metal ring, engraved most probably with the name 
and rank of his Mistress; he also wore an wide, iron slave collar; 
otherwise, he was naked.
    
    He took the whip from next to the saddle (his own body showed no 
trace of whipstrokes, only bruises, some of which even revealed the 
shape of his Mistress' hand), untied my wrists, slapped my face, kicked 
my genitals with his knee and pushed me down to the soil; he placed his 
right foot firmly on my neck and whipped my back half a dozen times to 
demonstrate his total authority over me.
    
    He made me kiss his feet, and then had me crawl before him into the 
cabin, where he guided me, prodding me with the end of the whip, to a 
back room full of weapons and torture instruments, among which four 
wooden poles with metal rings. I had to lie down on the floor between 
them, arms and legs spread, on my back, and he tied my wrists and 
ankles to the metal rings, gradually forcing up the tension. Then he 
stepped on me and trampled me for a while, now and then pressing the 
sole of one of his feet to my face, to have me kiss it and implore his 
mercy.
    
    Finally, when he had gained enough pleasure from this symbolic 
domination (his erection as full as could be, given the weighted 
clamps), he sat down on my chest and advanced his penis to my mouth, 
slapped me as hard as he could and ordered me to suck my "master". I 
obeyed, but I had barely tasted the dried residual urine at the base of 
the boy's glans when the Mistress stormed in, extremely angry: she took 
the whip and struck down the boy with a single blow that left a red 
weal all over his body; then she kicked him away from me, and as he 
tried to protect his head from the kicks of his Mistress' feet (now 
naked, she had taken off the boots to rest herself), she could whip and 
kick his body at will.
    
    Suddenly, though, she changed her mind and stopped punishing him - 
he was crying and trembling with fear before her - and she told him to 
take off his clamps, ring and collar and place them on me; he obeyed, 
untying the vicious clamps and putting them on my nipples and testicles 
regardless of my cries of pain; then he massaged off the thick ring, 
carefully passing each of his testicles separately, and forced it down 
on my (considerably larger) genitals.
    
    The Mistress briefly left the torture room during this transfer, 
and returned with two small objects; one was a sort of wooden anal 
plug, which she rapidly shoved up the boy, the other a rubber penile 
cap, which she fitted over his glans. Then, as he was still crying and 
blubbing supplications, she firmly slapped his face for silence, sat 
down on the side of a torture bench, and opened her legs; she pulled 
him towards her pubes and let him briefly kiss them, then took off his 
collar, smiled and, with a sudden movement, broke his neck and killed 
him.
    
    She carried out his corpse for the next butcher's round (the stop 
and cap served to prevent his excrement soiling the cabin), and 
returned to me - my life was saved temporarily, for she would need a 
slave to perform sundry vile chores for her, and no-one else was 
available.
    
    But she had to tame and break me in first, and set about that 
immediately: she passed the collar around my neck (for a moment I 
feared that she was going to strangle me) and fixed it down to 
immobilise my head completely; next, she appended a conduct to a small 
water reservoir and placed it so that a droplet would fall every two 
seconds on my forehead - a trusted Oriental form of torture known to 
break the strongest just by the continual irritation and the ensuing 
total deprivation of sleep.
    
    Then she pressed her right foot to my face, regardless of the few 
drops that had already fallen on it, and I kissed her sole imploringly, 
but she discarded my efforts with a shrug: "Not good enough by far!" 
and left me spend the night sleepless under the droplets. Early next 
morning she was back and verified the rings that kept me tied - in 
fact, she wanted to know whether I had reached the point of desperate 
revolt, where the victim pulls with all his forces on the restraints 
only to increase his suffering even further, but I had not.
    
    So she just untied me to have me help her into her boots, lacing 
them up all the way and then shining their coarse leather; she pushed 
me away when she thought I'd done enough, and I prostrated next to her 
horse, just like my unfortunate predecessor, for my naked back to serve 
as a step; I fixed her stirrup and begged her mercy while kissing the 
sole of her boot, but it only earned me a kick to my face; then she 
asked her neighbour, a young blonde Amazon of almost equal sturdiness, 
to put me back in the torture room, which she did, and doubling the 
droplets' frequency when I begged her to allow me just a few minutes' 
rest.
    
    After untold war adventures my Mistress was back late in the 
afternoon. She untied me and let me kiss her boots before helping her 
take them off; then she set me to scrub the wooden floor, under her 
close surveillance, while she held the whip and struck out mercilessly 
with it several times to my vulnerable body - her previous boy had 
clearly been spoilt by her laxity, if only she'd whipped him too from 
the beginning rather than limit herself to spanking!
    
    Then it was back to the torture room. I merely cried under this 
injustice, I knew better than to anger my Mistress further by the 
slightest word; when I was tied again, she said: "It all depends on 
you" before pressing her foot to my face again, and I kissed its sole 
with passionate love and supplication; she did seem to allow a slightly 
longer contact than last time, but still took her foot away and said: 
"Nah, not good enough, boy!" and left me for another sleepless night 
under the droplets.
    
    Or so I thought. For sometime in the middle of the night she got 
up, naked, and came to me with two candles; and with a smile of pure 
sadism she pulled up the cords that tied my ankles, thus raising my 
legs and even my backside when she had shortened the ropes enough; then 
she placed the second candle under my genitals, so that the heat above 
it would scorch my testicles, and I felt so injustly tortured and 
humiliated that I broke down and tore at the ropes while calling her a 
whore and a bitch, thus merely increasing my suffering, especially when 
she started whipping my face and chest to silence me.
    
    But after this catharsis, when I was only sobbing anymore, she took 
away the candle and left me under the droplets. A few hours later, just 
before dawn, she was back, to press the sole of her foot to my face; 
and I kissed it once again, but now with a sort of impersonal, 
automatic devotion, and she moved her foot to present her toes and her 
heel to my lips, and I kissed them with the same newfound submissive 
love, and eventually she stepped back and said: "That will about do, 
boy."
    
    She untied me and closed the water reservoir and grabbed hold of my 
hair to pull me into the other room, where she threw me on the floor 
and straddled me; when her pubic hair brushed my penis, I erected as 
far as the clamp on my shaft allowed. Then she said: "From now on 
you're my slave. Now SERVE your Mistress!" and took off my penile clamp 
and got down on me; I penetrated her - she was very tight, having only 
ever allowed very young boys before - and she raped me there for the 
first time of a long and as yet unfinished series.
    
That's all folks! (till the next inspiring picture - hint, hint).