The Island
By motif88
Part 2 - Rebellion

Lydia stalked through Coromitas dusty main street like a shark swimming 
amongst a school of tuna. Although her skin was as tanned as any 
islanders, the blonde soldier stood out glaringly amongst the crowd, her 
lightweight white silk shirt, ruffled at the wrists and collar, tight 
black trousers and black calf length boots contrasted sharply with the 
more colorfully garbed, dark haired natives.  But most notably, the 
slender rapier dangling from the wide leather belt about her trim waist 
told volumes more about her status than her clothes. 

Casually, she scanned the street as she strode at a brisk pace toward a 
group of tall whitewashed buildings which rose imposingly from the 
native's smaller wooden dwellings.  The four stone structures which 
housed the invaders governmental and military offices formed a large 
square where merchants set up their stalls.  The dusty avenue fairly 
bustled with native women, some leading their men who carried trade 
goods to and from the market.  A small smile touched Lydia's thin lips, 
seeing people avert their eyes as she past by.  Everywhere she went, her 
reputation preceded her. 

The crowd became thicker as she neared the town's busy marketplace, 
where most of the island's commerce was conducted, and Lydia noted with 
satisfaction the way people parted before her.  The hot tropical air was 
filled with the sounds of islanders and soldiers bartering with foreign 
merchants and redolent with the heavy smell of spices, cooked food and 
sweating human bodies.  In the middle of the square on a tall pedestal 
stood a bright marble statue, a memorial to the invader's conquest of 
the island. 

Her smile broadened as she paused to admire the statue, her gaze drawn 
to a barely noticeable dent next to a shiny brass plaque on the statue's 
base.  Lydia herself had caused that dent on the very day the statue was 
erected; which was also the day the native peoples made a last desperate 
attempt to destroy their enemy. 

--------------------As she stood in front of her squad, the blonde 
officer swore to take up the issue of lightweight uniforms with the 
captain just as soon as this stupid ceremony was over.  

Standing at attention beneath a broiling tropical sun Lydia itched and 
sweated in her full dress officers uniform.  The heavy cotton cloth, 
dyed a particularly unattractive shade of brown, was utterly unsuited to 
the climate and the unfortunate soldiers standing rank upon rank in the 
shadeless center of Coromita's market square sweated rivers into their 
uniforms.  In addition to the heavy cloth coat, shirt and trousers, 
Lydia was required to wear a tall, plumed, perfectly ridiculous helmet 
that managed to provide a minimal amount of shade from the sun while 
producing a maximum amount of heat.  

Still, she reflected, it was better than hunting guerrilla rebels. 

Since the battle that only a year ago had destroyed a large part of the 
native warriors, those left who still had the will to resist the 
invaders had taken to hiding in the dense tropical forests of the 
island.  These would-be rebels were largely untrained young women who 
tried to make up in enthusiasm what they lacked in skill.  Still, much 
to Lydia's disappointment, with their intimate knowledge of the forests 
they were difficult to catch.   

Occasionally though, the rebels managed a successful raid on one of the 
several plantations the invaders had begun building.  Usually at sunset, 
the rebels would charge howling out of the forest, their naked brown 
bodies painted head to toe in alternating black and white diagonal 
stripes.   After brutally slaughtering everyone who didn't flee the 
attack, native and invader alike, the rebels would quickly gather up 
whatever weapons and supplies they could find and then set fire to the 
half-constructed buildings before fading back into the jungle.  Guns 
were especially prized by the young freedom fighters. 

Before the assembled troops, who were in turn surrounded by a crowd of 
surly natives and curious foreigners, a large sailcloth hung limply over 
a huge object in the center of the market.  A thick rope ran from the 
top of the tarp to a low wooden platform where Lydia's captain stood, 
along with a small group of dignitaries.  The captain's broad, handsome 
ebony face shone with perspiration under a helmet that was slightly 
larger and even more ridiculous looking than Lydia's, but her commander 
stood unmoving and ramrod straight despite the sweltering heat. 

The island's governess-general, an older, dusty looking Caucasian woman 
whose off-white dress hung unflatteringly from her tall bony frame, was 
giving a speech in a loud monotone voice.  Directly to her left stood 
the natives new matriarch, Mylyamaui, a lovely young auburn haired woman 
in a high necked, brightly colored dress which hugged every curve of her 
youthfully voluptuous body.  Her pretty oval face was set in an 
unreadable expression.  Next to her stood the captain, and behind the 
trio a few miscellaneous officials shuffled and fidgeted, as unimpressed 
with the governess' oratorical skills as the rest of the crowd.  

After what seemed an interminable length of time the governess finished 
her speech and, gripping the rope in both hands, gave it a sharp yank.  
The tarp slid slowly to the ground, reveling a life size marble statue 
of a soldier with her sword raised in triumph and her foot on the 
recumbent body of a slain warrior.  Peering closely at the monument, 
Lydia noted with amusement that the statue bore a vague resemblance to 
the governess, whom she knew had taken absolutely no part in the 
fighting.  "Oh typical." she muttered disgustedly under her breath, 
"Just typical!" 

Turning her contemptuous gaze back to the assembled dignitaries, Lydia 
was suddenly seized with a feeling of unease.  Something looked wrong 
about the tableau to the sharp eyed officer, as if their positions had 
subtly changed.  Her hand drifted unconsciously to the brace of pistols 
tucked into her belt as she studied the women on the platform, trying to 
discern what had changed.  The governess had resumed her droning speech, 
maundering on about the honor and glory of the empire.  To her left and 
a step behind her, Mylyamaui stood with her head bowed slightly, her 
face obscured by her long, lustrous dark brown hair.  Next to her, the 
captain stood and sweltered in her bulky uniform, ready to give the 
signal for her troops to cheer. 

Too late, Lydia realized what was wrong. 

The tall governess-general's droning voice abruptly stopped, the look of 
dull satisfaction on her narrow face abruptly transformed to one of 
bewilderment.  She seemed to be standing on tiptoe, her thin body 
suddenly rigid, her back slightly arched, her arms raised a few inches 
from her sides.  She jerked once, then again and a small sigh escaped 
her thin lips that was clearly audible even above the quiet murmur of 
the crowd.  Then, ever so slowly, the governess collapsed face down on 
the platform, a bright red smear splotching the white dress between her 
shoulder blades. 

In the deathly silence which ensued Mylyamaui stepped forward and to the 
full view of the stunned crowd raised a long thin bladed knife high 
above her head and proudly placed a foot on the still twitching body of 
the governess.  The young matriarch's pretty face shone with savage 
triumph as she raised her free hand to the neck of her tight dress and 
with one swift motion, ripped the garment from her body.  The crowd 
behind the stunned soldiers breathed a collective sigh as all eyes gazed 
at the wide black and white slashes of paint marching down Mylyamaui's 
magnificently proportioned body.  A pair of large perfectly round 
breasts thrust defiantly from her broad chest, one colored by a deep 
black stripe, the other a chalky white.  The stripes marched down her 
abdomen and gently curving stomach, wrapping around her wide flaring 
hips and high firm buttocks.  Her legs, slim and strong looking, tapered 
down surprisingly long feet, one of which was planted solidly on the 
corpse before her. 

The defiant matriarch looked over the crowd, savoring the moment, then 
drew a deep breath and let out a long, wailing war cry.  Her triumphant 
shout was immediately answered by the bark of half a dozen muskets 
exploding the from the surrounding roof tops and the echoing war cries 
of rebel warriors.   More screams arose from the crowd as scores of 
striped rebels charged into the square in response to their matriarch's 
signal while others, hidden amongst the crowd, ripped their clothes from 
their bodies and attacked the few foreign civilian's amongst them. 

Lydia saw her captain's helmet fly from her head as a sharpshooter's 
bullet spanged into the tall headgear.  Simultaneously, a musket ball 
kicked up a puff of dust as it impacted into ground at her feet, another 
fortunate miss.  "Smart." she thought calmly , even as she quickly drew 
a pistol and raised her blue-green eyes to scan the roof tops.  "Their 
going for the officers first."  Around her other brown uniformed 
officers screamed orders to their squads, or just screamed as a 
sharpshooters miniball found it's mark.  

On the platform Mylyamaui raised her bloody weapon and with a wild 
shriek threw her self at the captain who, having no time to draw a 
weapon, met the young warrior's charge barehanded with a defiant roar of 
her own.  The shorter uniformed woman caught her foes wrists as they 
swung down and the two struggled back and forth in front the terrified 
officials, frozen in horror at the sudden death struggle taking place 
before them.  

The events on the platform went unnoticed by the blonde junior officer.  
Shouting to her troops to form a square, Lydia carefully aimed a pistol 
at a sharpshooter who, instead of ducking out of sight, was carelessly 
reloading her musket atop a nearby roof in full view of the square 
below.  The young rebel paid for her mistake with her life as Lydia's 
shot punched through her narrow chest and exited between her shoulder 
blades, splashing  red spots over her small painted breasts and back as 
she dropped lifelessly to the roof. 

More snipers were shot from the rooftops by vengeful soldiers on the 
ground, but still they'd accomplished their purpose; only one other 
junior officer besides Lydia was still standing. Additionally, they drew 
the soldier's fire long enough for their comrades on the ground to 
charge through the panicking crowd and reach their foes practically 
unmolested.  A dozen uniformed women were cut down by charging rebels as 
they aimed skyward and many others were hard pressed to defend 
themselves as the battle became a wild melee with numbers clearly on the 
rebel side. 

By the time the rebels reached her troop, Lydia had her soldiers formed 
into a double ranked defensive square.  When the native women reached 
her squad's position their charge was blunted by her soldiers concerted 
volleys and the few painted young warriors who managed to reach the 
square were invariably spitted on the soldier's bayonets.  In the center 
of the square, Lydia calmly fired and reloaded her pistols while 
shouting orders to her small unit.  Clouds of grey-white smoke soon 
filled the square and the marketplace rang with the screams of combat 
and the stench of gunpowder and spilled blood. 

Lydia's troops soon became the focus of the rebel's attack.  Groups of 
berserk warriors charged out of the thick smoke to assail her unit and  
her soldiers had little time to reload their weapons as they repelled 
attack after attack.  Corpses began to quickly pile up around her 
troops.   The bodies of painted warrior spattered with deep red blood 
lay mixed with brightly clad civilians still clutching makeshift weapons 
and the occasional brown uniformed soldier to made a grisly defensive 
rampart around her gradually shrinking square. 

A particularly large mob of rebels slammed into the left side of Lydia's  
square, almost overwhelming the defenders with their numbers.  As one 
red haired soldier wrenched her bayonet from the stomach of a dying 
native, a huge warrior suddenly loomed out of the haze and with a 
vicious overhead swing buried a bailing hook into the surprised 
trooper's chest.  The tall, massively muscled fighter's scream of 
triumph melded with agonized shriek  of the smaller stricken soldier as 
with a mighty heavy she wrenched the weapon from her enemies body and 
slammed a fist into her foe's head, clubbing her to the ground. 

As the victorious warrior stepped over her fallen enemy, her massive 
sloping breasts heaving on her wide painted chest, Lydia whirled and 
fired both pistols.  The huge fighter emitted a loud grunt of surprise 
as the bullets slammed into the soft slopes of her enormous breasts, 
twin spurts of crimson fountaining from the nickel sized holes in her 
chest as she stumbled back and promptly tripped over the still writhing 
body of her former opponent.  The huge warrior screamed hoarsely and 
fell backward with an impact that shook the ground, strong hands clawing 
at her blood spattered chest, thick fingers digging into the soft, 
supple flesh of her large painted breasts as if she were trying to dig 
the bullets from her body with her bare hands.  Lydia avidly watched the 
tall warrior's death throes and a familiar warmth flooding her body 
until, with a last massive heave, the huge woman lay still on the bloody 
ground. 

Lydia grunted in satisfaction as she saw the remaining rebel warriors 
cut down by her soldiers.  Automatically, the blonde officer reached 
into her ammo pouch and cursed as her hand came out empty.  She shook 
off her heavy dress jacket and moved to grab the dead soldier's 
ammunition bag but before she'd taken a step another mob charged howling 
out of the haze.  Drawing her sword, Lydia took a fast head count and 
estimated that a little more  than half of her troops were still 
standing and able to fight.  "CLOSE RANKS!" she bellowed above the 
screams of the charging warriors and her well drilled troops quickly 
obeyed, moving to form a smaller square. 

A ragged volley from the beleaguered troop barely slowed the native's 
charge and soon Lydia's outnumbered soldiers were engaged in a vicious  
hand-to-hand fight.  Her sword darted past the shoulder of one of her 
troopers, desperately parrying the savage slashes of a pair of warriors 
with her musket.  The tip of Lydia's sword took one of the warriors in 
the throat, who dropped her weapon and staggered back, futilely 
clutching at the spurting wound.  As the other warrior paused her 
attack, shocked at the sudden death of her comrade, the trooper gripped 
the barrel of her weapon and swung, slamming the musket into the side of 
her foe's head, sending her reeling to the ground. 

As Lydia moved to help another of her soldiers, a charging warrior leapt 
wildly from atop a heap of bodies, just clearing the heads of the line 
of struggling soldiers and landing directly in front of the blonde 
officer, who immediately thrust her sword through the athletic fighter.  
The lithe young warrior's painted triangular face contorted in surprise 
and agony, her machete thudding on the ground as her hands opened 
convulsively.  Lydia's thrust had taken the smaller woman low in the 
belly and the curved tip of her sword jutted from the small of her back. 

Lydia's eyes shone as she regarded the young rebel skewered on her sword 
like a shish-kebab.  The painted woman was perhaps half a head shorter 
than herself, slimly built, maybe fifteen or sixteen at most.  Her 
shoulder length black hair was sweat plastered to her head and face, 
partially hiding a pair of dark oval eyes wide with shock and 
astonishment.  

For a long moment the two fighters stood as still as statues joined by a 
short length of sharp steel, seemingly unconnected with the battle 
raging around them, their gazed locked on each other's face.  The young 
warrior's generous mouth moved in soundless protest as she clutched at 
the blade buried in her soft stomach, her pretty eyes twin moons shining 
with pain and disbelief.  Opposite the stricken woman, the blonde 
officer watched her impaled foe avidly, her pale blue-green eyes eager 
and unblinking, drinking in the wounded fighter's every twitch and 
grimace. 

Finally, a low moan escaped the painted warrior's full lips and a 
trickle of blood welled from her mouth, painting a bright red streak 
down her pointed chin.  Her youthfully slender body spasmed 
uncontrollably, sending a shiver along the length of steel jutting 
obscenely from her belly and on up her attacker's arm. 

At the other end of the sword Lydia shuddered deliciously, her already 
aroused body trembling with sudden delight.  Heavy sweat soaked clothes 
rubbed maddeningly against flushed sensitive skin;  her trousers seemed 
to constrict around her hips and thighs and insistently aching crotch 
while her brown cotton shirt lay heavily against her small swelling 
breasts and scraped erotically against their sensitive pink nipples.  
Baring her teeth in a savage smile, her face glowing as if lit from 
behind by some interior light, Lydia sharply twisted her extended wrist. 

The native warrior let out a choked gasp as she felt the blade turn in 
her belly, bright bolts of pain shuddering through her trembling young 
body.  Her face twisted into a hate filled mask of agony as she glared 
helplessly at her tormentor, more blood flowing down her chin to spatter 
upon her small, raggedly heaving breasts.  Her slim, smoothly muscled 
legs trembled with the effort of staying erect as she stood slightly 
bent over the blade skewering her tender lower belly, every nerve in her 
body alight with searing pain. 

With a savage cry that was half pleasure and half triumph, the blonde 
foreigner wrenched her sword from her victim and raised it above her 
head to deliver a killing stroke.  But the sudden jerk of the blade 
leaving her body caused the agonized young warrior's legs to finally 
give way and her arms to open convulsively as she landed on her knees 
before her attacker.  Before the officer could bring her sword down, the 
moaning, gasping fighter had flung her arms about her waist, wrapping 
her attacker in a desperately tight embrace. 

Cursing and off balance, Lydia fought to stay on her feet as her enemy's  
arms tightened, pressing herself closely against her lower body.  Again 
and again the furious officer brought the hilt of her sword down on the 
top of her mortally wounded foes head, trying to dislodge her hold 
around her waist.  But with every glancing blow, the young fighter 
seemed to tighten her embrace until the muscles fairly bulged on her 
thin arms.  Swearing in frustration, Lydia's free hand scrabbled at her 
foe's head, trying to wrap a length of long, sweat slippery black hair 
around her fist. 

The painted warrior felt her strength waning with every passing second 
as blood flowed copiously from her wounded belly.  Determined to take 
the foreign officer down with her, the pain-wracked young fighter 
slipped her arms down until she was able to sink her fingers into the 
soft flesh of her foe's firmly rounded ass.  As the blonde woman yelped 
in surprise and anger, the wounded native warrior pulled and leaned back 
as hard as she could. 

Lydia tottered forward on tiptoe as her kneeling opponent jerked and 
tugged, fingers grinding painfully into her buttocks.  She tried to jerk 
herself backwards and her sword flew from her hand as her arms flailed 
wildly.  Finally, she felt her enemy lose her grip on the sweat soaked 
cloth covering her ass, but before she could regain her balance, one of 
the young fighters flailing hands caught the front of her shirt.  

Buttons popped and cloth tore, baring her foe to the waist, but still 
the young native warrior tenaciously maintained her grip as her back hit 
the ground.  Hanging on with desperate strength to one flap of her foe's 
shirt, the she glared up at the struggling woman bent half over above 
her.  Unlike her hands and face the foreign woman's torso was still 
untanned and her normally pale skin, shining with a glossy sheen of 
perspiration, was flushed a feverish pink.  Her small round breasts 
perched high on her chest, their tiny, conical pink nipples jutting 
stiffly with excitement.  The wounded young warriors lips peeled back in 
a snarl of pain and hatred and she yanked as hard as she could on her 
foe's shirt, hoping to at least keep the blonde soldier occupied until 
one of her comrades could finish her off. 

With a hoarse angry shriek Lydia fell fully atop her wounded opponent, 
landing hard, drawing an agonized grunt from the young fighter.  
Swiftly, her hands went to her foe's head, trying to slam the native 
woman's skull against the ground.  Their bodies ground slickly together 
made slippery by a grisly mixture of blood, paint and sweat as they 
fought and shrieked in each others ears.  The wounded warriors fist's 
pounded weakly against her enemy's back; while the blonde officers hands 
clawed at her opponent's throat. 

Growling like a wild animal Lydia sank her teeth into a narrow shoulder, 
making her smaller foe scream breathlessly and briefly increase her 
desperate struggling.  Even as she fought to strangle her opponent, the 
blonde officer felt the sweetly intense fire in her lower abdomen grow 
hotter.  The native warriors youthfully slim body writhed sensuously 
beneath her, small immature breasts crushed firmly against her own, 
sending little erotic shivers through her as her small pointed nipples 
occasionally scraped over those of her young foe.  Their bellies slapped 
wetly together, drawing  moans of pain from the dying young fighter and 
gasps of savage pleasure from her killer. 

Trapping one weakly kicking leg between her aching thighs, Lydia ground 
her crotch against her foe's naked thigh.  She lay fully atop her 
wounded enemy's smaller brown body, feeling her gasping breaths hot 
against her cheek, the smell of blood and sweat an aphrodisiac in her 
nostrils.  The coppery-sweet taste of fresh blood filled her mouth as 
she lowered her head bit the young fighter's shoulder and neck making 
every nerve in her deeply flushed body crackle with electric ecstasy.  
Through the sopping wet cloth of her trousers she violently ground her 
urgently engorged vagina against her opponent's leg, sending waves of 
pleasure rolling through her slender body. 

Even as her body trembled on the brink of a thunderous orgasm, some 
small part of Lydia's was aware of her surroundings.  Suddenly her mind 
screamed at her, a strong, primal instinct for survival overriding even 
her almost overwhelming desire.  With a powerful heave she threw herself 
from the now all but still body of her foe and rolled quickly away, 
catching a glimpse of blood spattered metal as she moved. 

Lydia glowered angrily up at a tall, broad shouldered warrior standing 
on the opposite side the young fighter, a bewildered look frozen on her 
face.  Her long bladed spear was buried in the dead woman's chest, whose 
own wide eyes stared up at her comrade in a final expression of 
reproach.  Unhesitatingly, Lydia spun on her back and kicked upward, 
slamming a booted foot into the standing woman's exposed crotch. 

The tall warrior shrieked in pain and doubled over, her hands releasing 
her spear to cover her wounded sex.  Again Lydia kick upward, striking 
her new opponent squarely beneath her jaw, sending her stumbling away.  
Growling curses under her breath, the blonde officer scrambled to her 
feet and, placing a foot on the dead young fighter's corpse, pulled the 
spear from her chest.  Quickly stepping over the body of her fallen foe, 
Lydia advanced on the tall fighter. 

The broad shouldered woman half lay the ground, propped on one arm with 
her back to the blonde foreigner, her other hand clutching her wounded 
crotch.  With a hard stab Lydia buried her spear between the woman's 
wide shoulder blades, just to the right of her spine.  The native 
fighter wailed in agony as the spear punched through her and two inches 
of blood covered blade suddenly thrust from the deep cleft between the 
round slopes of her large breasts.  The impaled warrior's back arched 
convulsively and she threw her head back, her eyes screwed shut against 
the sudden pain, mouth jaw crackingly open in an unvoiced scream. 

Balancing on one leg, Lydia placed a foot on the painted back of the 
native  woman and shoved.  Her painted body slid limply from the long 
spear blade to lie in a heap on the ground, weakly twitching and 
spasming.  "That'll teach you to interrupt my fun."  Lydia spat at the 
dead warrior.  Raising her gaze at last from her dead enemy, the blonde 
officer looked around.  

Most of the smoke was gone from the square and Lydia could see from the 
heaps of corpses lying all around her that the battle was over.  Less 
than half a dozen of her own troops were still upright, most of them 
exhausted and leaning heavily on the their weapons, all of them wounded.  
Fully four times that many lay moaning on the ground, clutching more 
grievous wounds. 

Looking farther afield Lydia saw the square littered with dead and dying 
fighters, the ground awash with their blood.  About fifty yards away 
another group of soldiers stood, just as exhausted as her own but more 
numerous.  "Lucky bitches"  she muttered.  At last her gaze came to rest 
on the platform next to the statue which seemed to her to have been the 
cause of the bloody battle. 

The ground around the low wooden platform was relatively clear of 
bodies, the rebel's initial charge never having reached it.  Atop the 
platform stood Lydia's captain, naked to the waist, her ebony skin blood 
spattered and gleaming brightly under the glaring tropical sun.  The 
captains coat and shirt had apparently been torn away and her broad 
chest and heavy breasts bore numerous cuts and scratches that had been 
inflicted by the beautiful young matriarch who now lay dead between her 
feet.  

Mylyamaui's body lay half off the edge of the platform, long wavy hair 
hanging from her upside down head like a dark banner of defeat, her arms 
spread wide as if to embrace her demolished troops.  Between the soft 
round mounds of her youthfully full breasts protruded the handle of her 
own knife, buried to the hilt in her chest.  A look of angry 
astonishment was frozen on her lovely, high cheek-boned face, her mouth 
agape and her pretty almond shaped brown eyes wide and glazed in death. 

Slowly, the captain drew her long sword and the rasp it made leaving 
it's sheath could be heard clearly throughout the square.  More soldiers 
turned their gaze to their captain, who bent down and raised her shining 
sword high above her head in a two handed grip.  The captain's sword 
flashed down at a skillfully calculated angle, cleaving through the neck 
of the fallen matriarch in a single powerful stroke and a ragged cheer 
went up from the battle weary soldiers as Mylyamaui's head thumped onto 
the ground. 

Lydia signed deeply as she began to see to her battered troop.  She 
realized with regret that with so many rebel warrior's dead, there would 
probably never be another battle like this for some time to come, and 
thus little opportunity for her to again experience the earth-shattering 
pleasure she'd felt.  

Somehow, she thought, she'd have to find a substitute...