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Message-ID: <63527asstr$1441789801@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: RavensDrkGothic@aol.com
Full-name: RavensDrkGothic
Subject: {ASSM} Fantasy Nightmare 1  The Beginning
Lines: 359
Date: Wed, 09 Sep 2015 05:10:01 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


  
  
 
  
  

 
Nightmare Fantasy  (1)

    Eyes staring widely into the  darkness of the stall, the not so distant 
screams and moans, making me cringe,  as I roll on my side, hands clamping 
against my ears, dulling but not drowning  out the sounds. My body aching 
with pain, flesh crawling under my skin.  Shivering as I pull myself into a 
fetal position. Muscles screaming as they  tense, pulling at the bruised 
tissue.
    Pounding waves of nausea as  the lump on the side of the head presses 
against the floor. Feeling her  stomach churning with each long wave. Soft 
moans sliding from her trembling  lips. The warm sheen of night sweat, cooling 
in the autumn breeze. Rocking  slowly back and forth as her legs and lower 
body cramps. The toned muscular  frame of the middle aged warrior woman, 
displaying the long tanned limbs  and barely visible scars of a veteran of many 
campaigns. The frame still long  and lithe; but now covered with bruises 
and welts. Jagged superficial wounds  scarring the flesh. A partially clean 
bandage wrapping around her  left thigh and left shoulder. The flesh wounds of 
the arrow and quarrel  scabby under the dressings.
    Mind hazily racing,  remembering the nightmare, blocking out the 
hellish night sounds of her  surroundings.
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    Remembering the days or was it  weeks leading to this, to this 
situation. Clarity, trying to think, to  remember to absorb the ramifications of 
this outcome. Replaying each move,  each event as a chess player. Many moves on 
the board, as many as the multiple  pieces in the game. 
    The bright fall days as the  troops of chariots rumbled along the stone 
filled road. The iron banding on  the wheels, throwing up sparks as the 
chariots clank quickly down the Queen's  Highway. The cool air of passage, 
tugging at the light belted tunics of the  women. The brown leather armour 
scaled with links of silver covering the upper  body and denoting the rank of the 
woman. A skirt of leather protecting the  lower and upper thighs, the 
leather greaves almost to the knees and the  forearm bands protecting the arms. 
The helms also a combination of leather and  silver. A plumed line of colored 
horse hair running down the middle of the  helm. White for a virgin woman, 
black for one with a minimum of ten kills. The  rest with a red plume.
    Each woman, armed with a short  sword belted to her waist and dirk in 
her left boot. The chariots wooden  framed with a layers of toughened leather 
wrapping around three sides. The  driver with her whip. Short bows and 
quivers for each on the walls inside the  chariot and a rack of throwing 
javelins for the fighter. The wheels as deadly  as the women. Sharpened scythes for 
cutting man and horse and beast apart  flaring from each wheel.
    Almost five hundred chariots  with almost a thousand women. The 
vanguard of the Amazon Army. The renowned  and infamous amazon warrior women. 
Trained from youth to be warriors.  Mercenaries, yes. But in this case, 
responding to a treaty of support with the  Queen and her cry of help from invasion. 
The flying wedges of chariots  speeding quickly into sight of the 
impregnable castle and the sea of tents  surrounding it. Pennants and flags of every 
color and description forming a  sea of color over the swarm of the Queen's 
army. The sounds of a hundred camp  sounds filling the air. The host 
gathering to meet the invaders.  
Almost a festive atmosphere as  the chariots wheel to a far corner of the 
escarpment. The women, camping away  from the men of the Queen's army. Away 
from the vulgar gestures and taunts  from the unknowing men. Away from the 
death that would come to men that  taunted or physically approached these 
women. Camping next to the army of  elves. A mixture of men and women, ageless 
and normally not coming to the aid  of humans. The Olde Race as they are 
known, or the First Race. So unexpected  fro them to mix in the machinations of 
the land; but this was not a normal  confrontation.
    The camp of the women, orderly  and regimented as the chariots arranged 
in a perimeter around the camp. The  picket line secure in the middle, as 
are the tents in neat streets. The  disarray of the adjoining host so 
distinct. A hundred lords and each with  their little area of command. 
    Raven, the leader of a troop  of chariots, shaking her head in disgust 
as not only the noise from the next  camp; but the rank smell of unwashed 
bodies and waste, waft across the stretch  of land separating them. Walking 
the lines of her tents, making sure each is  secured, chariot, horse, tent and 
soldier. The women camped upstream of the  horde, the wayn chariots, one 
troop of fifty, already dispensing supplies and  a quick setup of the wash 
tent. The women as willing to take a sponge bath  after the days ride, as they 
are to eat a warm meal. The physical demands  of this life on the run, 
sorting the average from the above average. Each  woman, whether small or large, 
short or tall, able to maintain expected  physical standards. Age only 
important in that very few older woman qualified  for the chariot corps. 
Raven, looking after her troop, making sure that all  eat, all bathe and 
all attend to their duties. No fancy large tents for the  officers. Each 
chariot sharing a two woman tent. Raven and her driver a woman  in her thirties 
sharing the hardships together, as well as themselves. The  women paired for 
compatibility in skills and needs. Each chariot self  sufficient.
    Raven, a tall toned woman. Old  for the active ranks at 41 years of 
age; but now a leader and experienced  fighter. Veteran of many battles and 
skirmishes. Her dark brown hair and dark  complexion, the reason for her name. 
Her smooth skin tanned from exposure,  occasional scars marring the smooth 
texture. Not a beautiful woman now and  when younger. Her eyes hazel and hair 
still with dark roots; but a perchant  for dye, showing the hair to be 
blonde and red, and black and brown. The hair  worn loose and flowing below her 
shoulder blades. Wide shoulders and a small  bust, a mostly flat belly above 
a set of wide hips and then long muscled legs.  Age not detracting from her 
physical skill set yet. Mistress of all amazon  weapons and expert 
charioteer. Leader of the first troop of chariots. Vanguard  of the amazon force.
    Walking to her tent wearily  after the long day on the road. Divesting 
herself of her armour, placing each  piece on the cross set in front of the 
tent. Noting that her chariot driver,  had already retired to the small 
structure. Stretching her muscles slowly to  relieve the cramps, her short tunic 
showing the long graceful legs in the  light of the flickering fires. 
Bending and twisting, loosening her body. Then  crouching and moving into the 
dark confines of the tent. Seeing the almost  indistinguishable form of her 
tent mate. Pulling back the shared blanket, her  hands deftly undoing the 
belted tunic, sliding it over her head, then undoing  the strings of her sling, 
that doubled as an undergarment on her lower body.  No upper body lacing to 
relieve her breasts. Smiling ruefully, as she thinks  of the advantage of a 
small buxom. Her breasts just loosely jiggling as she  rides the chariot or 
horse or running. Not having to bind her chest in place,  to keep from the 
discomfort of bouncing breasts. Also an advantage in a fight,  to see where 
those low cuts are going without bending ones head to see past  those huge 
mounds of baby sucker flesh.
    Sliding under the blanket  after enjoying the cool touch of the night 
air on her bare skin. The heat from  her tent mate Alana, warming her flesh 
as she moves against her body. Smiling  as she spoons behinds her. Her thighs 
and lower body curving around the soft  globes of the sleeping woman's ass 
cheeks. Raven drapping one arm possessively  over Alana's side and feeling 
the lower half of her breast against her  fingers. Soft kiss on her neck and 
shoulder as she settles in and relaxes  finally. The concerns of the day 
flying away with the wiles of morphous  pulling at her mind. Waking in the 
pre-dawn to the feel of lips suckling on  her right nipple. Moaning softly, as 
her hand reaches to feel the luxuriously  soft hair blanketing her chesst. 
The nipple long and swollen as the kitten  tongue laves it around and around. 
Pulling getnly on the sensitive flesh.  Raven already soaking with need, the 
smell of arousal filling the small space  of the two woman tent. Alana's 
hand knowingly cupping the the full lips of  Raven. Squeezing the fat wet 
lips, with a familiar knowledge. Raven's eyes  fluttering as half asleep, her 
lower body is already trembling. A quick spasm  taken from her semi-conscious 
mind and body. Legs spreading and tensing as the  spasm pushes moisture to 
the palm of Alana. Raising her head to nuzzle the  head of her partner and 
friend. Arms wrapping to hold her in place as another  more intense spasm 
shakes Raven. Lips trembling as the soft moan of pleasure  escapes into the 
early morning air. Wondering if others could hear the sound  of pleasure, if 
their senses could smell the scent of the combined arousal in  the next tent. 
    Moaning into the thick hair,  as the knowing fingers work her labia and 
swollen pearl. Biting her lips this  time as Alana takes another small 
induced cum from her leader. Raven's hips  humping against the small hand. her 
chest flushing and breathing ragged.  Helpless in her tent to fight off this 
aggressor. Smiling, as she thinks,  "know your enemy", know there strengths 
and know their weakensses. And Alana,  knew her weaknesses in this tent, all 
too well. Alana her head raising to look  down at Raven, smiling in triumph 
as Raven lays helpless beneath her. Her arms  and legs and will much to 
weak to fight off Alana's advances. Panting raggedly  as the hand releases the 
full labia, and two fingers push between the slit.  The warm walls welcoming 
the intrusion. Hips again lifting and thrusting at  the hand. The hand that 
moves away, as the fingers stay wiggling in the warm  wet tunnel. The hand 
that is slowly moving Raven down the blanket as she  follows the hand with 
her sweaty body. Heedless to the cool air now on her  feet, as they stick 
outside the tent. Just pushing to the hand and fingers,  crawling on her back, 
focused on the pinpoints of pleasure in her lower body.  Whimpering as her 
body clenches and traps the fingers and hand finally.  Shaking on the 
invading digits, as an intense orgasm fills her body and mind.  Her bare knees and 
lower thighs outside of the tent, legs quivering, as Alana  takes the cum 
from her Mistress. Riding the fingers like a fish on a hook,  unable to stop 
till Alana allowed her. Face flushed and chest burning with  heat, nipples 
aching for attention in the cool air of the morning.  
"Ask me? Ask me Raven? Alana's  words soft and low in the stillness around 
them. "No more, please Alana."  Raven the fearless leader of the Amazon's 
begging her driver to release her  from the bonds of her need. Slowly, 
deliberately Alana, slides her slimey wet  fingers from the sopping hole of Raven. 
Bringing them to her lips and sucking  them noisely, as her other hand is 
extended and brushes Raven's lips. Raven  greedily licking at the fingers. 
Knowing the taste of Alana's sweet creme.  Allowed just a taste, as the fingers 
smear the womanly juice on Raven's face.  The scent so strong as the 
fingers are withdrawn. Alana, sliding out of the  tent and pulling her tunic over 
her body. Leaving her Mistress half in and  half out of the tent, trying to 
collect her thoughts. Breathing raggedly and  then slowly pulling her knees 
up to her chest. Rocking slowly as the sweat  dries on her now cooling skin. 
Sitting up and pulling her own tunic over her  body. The sling moving to 
cover the wet sticky pubic area. Pushing the tent  flaps aside and standing 
and performing a series of exercises. Then emptying  the cross of her armour. 
Once again, Raven the Mistress of  Chariot.
    Walking the guard posts, a  brief word with each woman and then to the 
breakfast fires, seeing Alana with  a smug grin on her face. Feeling a 
slight flush, at remembering her naked legs  outside of the tent and the moans of 
her pleasantly tortured body. Stepping to  whisper in Alana's ear, "I best 
not find out that anyone was awake and  watching this morning." A light slap 
on Alana's buttocks as she laughs softly.  Again whispering and then 
nibbling in Alana's ear, "I am reserving one of the  love sticks for tonight 
girl." 
    A quiet subdued morning repast  and then a series of meetings while the 
Host of the Queen goes about the  mundane tasks of a war camp. The rumors 
going around the smelly camp of the  males and somehow the gossips have 
managed to infect the women and elf  encampments. Always a few woman finding an 
excuse to visit the male camp for  some insignificant reason and of course a 
sweaty entanglement. The word that  the enemy Horde is approaching and a few 
days away. That they are a mixture of  known and unknown races. A myriad of 
stories and sworn truths by the most  unreliable of sources causing the 
woman to sit around and discuss how they  will fight this race and that race, 
the strengths and weaknesses of each, the  weaponry and armor that they wear.
    The sounds of practice as each  woman hones her skills, and the sound 
of each woman also honing the edges of  her weapons and condition of her 
gear. Finally the troop leaders are called in  to a meeting with the head of the 
Amazon contingent. Now a time to dispense  with the camp gossip and hear 
the reports of the elves that were sent forward  as scouts. 
    The Horde led by the Northern  Barbarians. Uncultured as the Queen 
would say; but fierce fighters of large  stature. Not very disciplined in 
military tactics; but endless in numbers.  However, joining them are the worrisome 
elements. This alliance having  dwarves, elves, goblins and orcs. Which is 
bad enough; but additionally  joining them are the Minotaurs, the Centaurs 
and a small group of Rock Trolls  and Dire Wolves. What has brought the other 
races from seclusion to once again  fight in the wars? This question the 
one that seems to have no answer.  
The first order of business is to stop them at the  narrow pass that leads 
into the heart of the kingdom. To meet and slow them  down so that the 
outlying garrison can be reinforced and walls strengthened.  Of course two troops 
of chariots are chosen as one of the battle units to gain  this honor. And 
a regiment of elves and a few regiments of calvary. A swift  mobile force to 
harass the enemy as they move forward. To slow them down and  make them 
wary. The rest of the Host will await the still to be arriving  Amazons, elves, 
dwarves and outlying lords and their vassals.
    The rest of the day being used  to familiarize the women with their 
opponents. The men a mixture of horse and  foot soldiers, strong and fierce; 
but not well organized. The elves fearsome  with a bow and short sword. tall 
and lithe, quick. The dwarves, diminutive in  height; but wide of body. 
Fearsome with the axe and maul. The goblins, nasty  little half breeds from the 
earth, a race gone bad. Taller then dwarves, but  thin. A race that prorogate 
like rabbits. The overcome you with numbers,  wicked swords and spears, 
sling and crossbows. The orcs, related to the  goblins; but large then human 
men, larger then the barbarians. Heavy swords  and axes, spears, mauls. No 
finesse; but strong beyond belief. Then worse are  the half beasts. The 
Minotaurs are part bull, part man. The walk on two legs  like humans, but with the 
head and strength of a bull. The double bitted axe  their main weapon, not 
bothering with shields. Then we have the half man, half  horse Centaurs. Four 
legged and body of a horse or pony, depending on the  tribe. The front half 
that of a man with a man's torso and up. Large, fast  opponent. Using a bow 
or spear. The Dire wolves, not part human; but packs  join the fray and are 
larger than a wolf by half. Savage fighting in groups,  rending and tearing 
with fangs and claws. And last of the group, the Rock  Trolls. Maybe a 
human heritage long, long ago. The trolls standing upwards of  10 feet tall and 
weighting 500 or more pounds. Using a thick club that they  swing in arcs, 
killing and maiming all in their path. Friend or foe. The hides  impenetrable 
to normal weapons. The eyes and mouth and ears and anus and  genitals the 
weakest spots. They like the dire wolves, will eat their  kills.
    I go on and on about the  skills and knowledge needed of your 
opponents. So much to know and learn, to  teach and a couple of days to teach the 
lessons. This is all mostly review for  the experienced women, who have fought 
many of these foes in the past. Some  you never learn about, till the time 
to do battle. The rest of the day, the  gear again double checked, more 
arrows fletched, more edges honed. More armour  polished to a shine, not just to 
look good, but to reflect on your opponent.  Every advantage to be taken, to 
survive. The horses checked and feed and  checked again.
    The light of morning should  see the column on its way to the pass and 
the fortifications. The hot evening  meal, hearty, filling. Some jugs of 
wine passed around in moderation. And the  women pairing off to their tents as 
the night slides down over the encampment.  The night filled with the subtle 
sounds of sexual arousal. Alana already under  the blanket, as Raven slips 
out of her armour and then into the tent. Pulling  back the cover and seeing 
Alana naked in the dim light from the fire. Hands  raised above her head, 
legs spread apart, eyes watching as she has assumed the  position of 
surrender. The love stick resting on her flat stomach. Barely  moving as she waits. 
Raven pulling her tunic over her head and sling from her  mound. Without 
even touching, the scent of musk fills the space of the tent.  Sliding from the 
open flaps to join with the arousal of hundreds of  women.
    Leaning over Alana, lowering  my lips to hers, brushing them, tasting 
her sweet breath, in each small  expulsion from her lips, fingers reaching to 
her cheek and caressing the soft  warm flesh. Pushing her hair back, the 
long blonde har now s weeping beside  her head, the delicate shells of her 
ears exposed. Leaning down and tonguing  the curves of the ears, nibbling on 
the small lobes. Hearing the soft moans,  as my lips move to her neck, biting 
the soft flesh under her chin, knowing her  body as well as I know my own. 
Then moving to her left shoulder. Kissing the  spot, my special spot and 
slowly marking my driver. In spite of herself, Alana  writhes in pleasure, 
mewling softly as my teeth and lips work the soft tender  flesh. Her hands above 
her head twitching, wanting to touch, but knowing  better.
Sliding backwards on my knees my lips moving from the  soft column of her 
neck to the small mound of her flattened breast. Tongue tip  caressing the 
wide hard nipple. Playing with it in my lips, pulling at the  mound, 
stretching the nipple, then releasing. Taking my time, slowly working  the left 
nipple, then the right one. The cool air leaving goose bumps on her  flesh, a 
circle of them in her areolas. A series of kisses moving down the  lightly 
muscled stomach. My lips touching the love stick. Smiling as I feel  her flesh 
shivering under the taut skin. Fingers grasping the ebony wooden  stick. 
Curling around the carved phallus. Grasping the thick wood, polish with  the 
juices of many women. So life like in detail to include the raised veins  of 
the shaft. The thick mushroom cap, a thick glan, and then the long hard  shaft 
behind, ending in a pair of testicles. The shaft not visible in the  
darkness, just a blot on the white skin. Moving it over the firm abs, hearing  the 
intake of breath. Alana, not breathing, legs trembling. Without looking,  
knowing she is biting her lower lip.
Laughing softly, letting her know, that am well aware  of the love stick on 
her body. The black warriors, not much of a threat with a  weapon, well 
with only this weapon. Moving the head of the stick to slide  against the 
swollen labia, the intake of an already held breath, and a soft  moan, as the 
legs splay out wider. Teasing the full cunt lips, not seeing but  hearing as 
the stick slides along the slightly spread lips. The wet sound  filling the 
room. The scent of arousal thickening. Feeling Alana's body  responding to the 
thick hard black shaft. Legs lying still; but the muscles  moving against 
the underside of the shaft. Wetting it, slicking it with her  creme. Slowly 
working it up and down the lips, just teasing the opening.  Feeling the thigh 
next to mind trembling, knowing how bad she wants the black  cock. Not 
giving her any, the head, just teasing the unhooded pearl. Sliding  easily over 
the warm throbbing nub. Alana's head moving side to side, still  worrying 
her lower lip. Trying to keep from speaking, from moaning. Fighting  me with 
her will, as her body betrays her needs. Hips finally lifting up,  pushing 
the fat cunt lips against the side of the cock. Trying to trap the  head with 
her sloppy wet pussy. The words still not coming, but the moans and  
whimpers, growing louder, as her will and body fight for  control.
    The smell of her leaking cunt  so strong, as finally she releases her 
lip. "Fuck me Raven. Fuck my nasty  cunt. Give me that big black cock. 
Please, Please." Her body arching with each  please. Moving one leg between her 
thighs, my knee feeling the wetness of her  creme, as I position the fat black 
head over her entrance, then twirling the  head around and around. "Bitch, 
you fucking bitch." Alana not able to control  her voice. Smiling as I hear 
her need so strong. Then slamming the thick glan  into her tunnel, half of 
the 10" shaft following. A scream from her lips, so  loud in the confines of 
the tent; but loud in the orderly collection of tents.  
"Take it like the whore you  are Alana." A voice shouts, offering advice. 
"Ride that black cock, you old  slut." The words of encouragement plentiful 
in the darkness. Her hips rising  to meet the cock, taking in another 3 
inches. Knowing that it is now grinding  on her womb. Pulling it back out of the 
slippery hole with a long wet slurp.  Then sliding it back into the grasping 
cunt. Working her throughly, with a  long hard black fuck. Her body working 
to meet the cock and wanting more.  Shaking my head at how much of a cock 
whore she is. Her body shaking on the  black shaft, squeezing it tight, as 
she cums in a strong burst of  contractions. Keeping her wiggling on the black 
ersatz cock, as I fuck her  harder now, and being rewarded with a quick 
orgasm, then another. Finally  hearing her begging to have it end. "No more, 
please, no more Mistress."  Repeating the phrase louder as I continue. Then 
again till all nearby, know  that she has capitulated.
Pulling the thick wooden shaft from her cunt with a  satisfying we plop. 
Her grunt of loss loud ending in a whimper. extending the  cock to her face, 
rubbing it on her cheeks and chin, coating her with her cum,  then inserting 
it into her mouth. Feeling it wobbly as her mouth works on the  head, hands 
still raised above her reclining head.
    Leaning down and kissing her  wet pussy, the legs still widely spread, 
the thick creme, coating her mound  and thighs. My tongue licking the cum 
from her lips, feeling her wiggling  under my mouth. Nose pressed to her clit, 
as I suck on the slack inner labia.  Working the thin folds with my lips. 
Taking another orgasm from her body. The  flesh warm and wet with juice and 
sweat. Licking at my girl, tasting her,  tasting all of her. Tongue delving 
deep, pushing back the warm slick walls.  Curling it and wriggling in the big 
wet cunt. Then sliding forward to move my  face against the swollen pearl. 
Such a nice big swollen nub. Biting at it as  Alana's hips move side to 
side, trying to escape my lock on the sensitive  button. Tongue and lips taking 
from her one more cum and then working her clit  for long minutes 
afterwards. Her movement weak, a long low whimper filling the  tent, as I continue to 
tease the raw flesh. Finally releasing her nub. A soft  kiss, making her 
moan. Then pulling myself up her body. Sliding the slick  wooden cock from her 
mouth. Feeling her cheeks and chin covered with saliva  from the cock 
sucking. Pressing my lips to her, taking her mouth slowly,  knowing that it also 
is sore from the bobbling shaft, against her lips.  Tenderly licking her face 
clean of her own juices. Soft kisses as I sit beside  her, bent over and 
hold her head in my lap. 
    Stroking the damp cheeks and  the long wet hairs back from her face. 
Holding my love in my arms. Reaching  between my legs and alternately feeding 
Alana and myself the oozing creme.  Sliding down and pulling her to my 
chest, holding her there as we settle in a  short deep sleep.
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