The Spoils of War

by Steve

The sail flapping fitfully into my way, I stared out over the water, waiting for my first glimpse of our rendezvous that would be the end of my freedom. I smiled grimly. If someone had told me that our great empire would be brought down by a bunch of women, the least I would have done is laugh in their face. The City-State of Mynoken had been expanding at will for a hundred years to control the whole Northern Peninsula. Our armies reined supreme, bringing home money and women for our pleasure. Looking out through the growing fog with perfect hindsight, I saw that the attempted conquest of Essoterra Island was entirely unnecessary. It's off the normal trade routes, doesn't have any strategic value, and our new subjects on the coast warned us about the 'unnatural people' there with 'unusual skill' in battle. But to leave a lone independent state there would be an affront to our nation's honor, our leaders said. Well, I said it a time or two myself.

The usual expeditionary force sent across never returned. I mean, no one. The ships were presumed sunk in a freak storm and a second, better prepared army was deployed. We got a message back that they had successfully landed with no opposition. That was their last communication with the mainland. Then the news came to the capital that we had been invaded! This was too much. As a staff officer to the High Command, I accompanied the vast army we drafted out of the provinces to deal with these Essoterran fools. It all began according to plan. We met their army on a large grassy plain surrounded by rolling hills. I had a perfect view from the Command Post of our demolishing of their army. I remember thinking how could they have beaten us if this was the best they could throw together, nothing more than poorly armed and outfitted men with even worse training. The only thing that made it a fight was their utter fanaticism, dying on our swords to spit us with their spears or slash with their daggers. We took more casualties than I expected because of this, but their army ceased to exist, so it was a glorious victory. . . or so we believed for a few minutes. A high note blew from over the knoll in front of our celebrating troops and a new force entered the field in a very close formation, something they call a 'fe-links' , shields tightly meshed, so no weapons could penetrate.

They stormed down the hill while the officers tried to get the army back in fighting formation. The first clump of men to get hit were immediately bowled over by the large shield's impact and were trampled underfoot. I ran to an available spyglass to get a closer look at this deadly new arrival. I was utterly shocked, forget 'was', am still utterly shocked that these attackers were, bar none, women. Behind the shields, they wore a light armor that covered their whole body, but closer to the skin than our armourers could fashion. Most wore no helmets with their long hair flying about and all had on red leather sandals. As the bits beneath the shields were what I could see the best, I focused on their footwear. I almost dropped the tube I was so shocked. Whereas many of our soldiers wore studded sandals for good footing in battle, these things were lethal weapons in themselves, with 2 inch long, 3 inch wide blades lined across the bottoms. And while the women carried blades at their sides, their shoes caused most of the damage as they strode across men's prone bodies, digging their sharp soles down into tender spots around armor until I could see no trace of the blade, then slurping their sandals out of the body and preparing another stomp. With several girls for each man down, they didn't last long.

The mass of warrior women was finally slowed as it plowed through the middle of our force. With their momentum stopped, the relentless trampling of their feet couldn't get at us and we aimed to make them suffer before their surrender. Again, as we pushed them back (onto the bodies of our fallen soldiers to the detriment of the few that had survived the initial onslaught), a new element entered the fray. Bags of liquid flew in from small catapults to land amidst the two armies. Stupid, I thought, you don't fire acid or poison where it will hurt your own people as much as the enemy. The bags burst upon impact. A mostly unpleasant stink that smelled like boots after a long day's march wafted up the hill to us. I watched our men falling at a rapid rate, while the women seemed entirely unaffected by the odor, enthusiastically walking over our collapsed army. We lost, I thought unbelievingly, and sank to the ground.

"Boat ahead," yelled one of the sailors on this gloomy mission, shifting me out of my reverie. A boat not much bigger than ours, but with a row of oars to supplement the sail, had appeared out of the fog while I was lost in the fog of my own making. I shook my head to clear the dreams. Almost as difficult as waking up from that damnable potion of theirs. And just as depressing, though then I was in a wagon heading back to the capital, having learned that while I was out, Mynoken, its army destroyed and provinces opened to attack and probable rebellion, had signed a treaty with Essoterra. In return for not further savaging our nation, we agreed to stay out of their territories and to send yearly tribute. Part of the agreement was that the first of the tribute items were to be the officers of the army that survived the defeat. Meaning me, for one. I was now the highest ranker not already delivered up. No news had reached home about the fate of my predecessors, but from what I witnessed on the battlefield, I was not optimistic about my survival. My only cause for hopeful thinking was that I was allowed two satchels of personal belongings. Our boat came aside theirs under the watchful eyes of a woman aiming a large crossbow-like weapon. As the gangplank was extended, I shook hands with the sailors who had ferried me here, though I had not spoken more than a couple of words to any of them, all knew I was entering hostile territory the moment I left the ship.

No ceremonies as I got on their ship. My hands and ankles were tied silently. Remembering the big hoopla that we threw when we got a new batch of prisoners, I was slightly disconcerted. "May I speak with the ship's captain?" I asked the woman roping my feet.

She looked scornful. "No, we don't have any nobles on board, so I guess I'll have to explain it to you. You're part of the swag and aren't entitled to anything like you used to be. Consider yourself cargo and not that valuable a cargo at that."

"By the Greatest God Nyk, I am First High Petty Captain-aaaahugh," ending my fit of pique as I fell over backwards on the deck from her push. Casually she stepped over to me and put a bare foot on my chest. "That's the first thing you learn. Men here do not have names, so forget whatever you used to be called. 'Slaveboy' is all you are entitled to. The ranking system goes like this. The nobles at the top, who own everyone and everything."

"So you are nothing more than a glorified slave, " I sneered, trying to regain some pride. Her reaction was to plant her foot more firmly on me and then bring the other one up, so that she was pressing down fully on my chest. As my lungs struggled for breath, she surprisingly answered, "Yes, we are all slaves to the nobles, but even us slaves are head and shoulders above all men. We have possibilities for advancement past menial duties. All you are good for is the lowest service and our convenience." Making her point, she squashed my face with one sole and walked across it to get off me. I yelled, partially in pain; for she was not a petite woman and made no adjustment to the fact she was treading on a face, not on the floor, and partially in the most humiliation I had felt in my life. Being a captive was bad enough, heading into slavery til death was worse, but being abused by a slave myself was more than my mind could bear. Slaves in our society were considered a lower life form. My colleagues had had slaves killed for offering even unintentional insult (which should have warned me not to backtalk, but I still hadn't emotionally grabbed that idea yet). To think that one of these inferiors had put her foot on my face drove me to rage and struggle against my bonds.

"I wonder if he'll be given time to learn his proper place before. . ., " ventured another feminine sailor.

"Maybe we should help them out? It's a long trip back home and the rowers were complaining, "said my facewalker, watching me jerk around on deck. Smiles greeted this suggestion and she immediately had me gagged, stuffing thick cotton socks in my mouth and tying them in place. "Sorry they couldn't be fresher, but we only wear shoes and socks in port. Still, those were worn by me for a full week's leave. I took them off three days ago and haven't washed them. I'm sure there's still enough flavor there to suit you though." As my saliva softened up their crustiness, I could taste the salty residue her feet's sweat left imprinted in her socks. In the back of my mind, I couldn't help observing that it was not an altogether nasty taste.

A half dozen sailors picked me up and carried me down into the ship's hold to the rowing benches. Going to make the sla- captive (not gotten it yet) row the boat to his prison, eh?, I thought sardonically, well, at least that means they'll partially untie me and maybe take these stinky socks out of my mouth. Then my eyes adjusted to the dim light and saw that the 6 rowers were all women like my captors. "You don't think we'd trust men on such a mission," she declared, reading my mind, "A few might forget their training and try to cause trouble and then we'd be short rowers for the trip home. All right ladies, " addressing the left hand rowers, "your complaints have been noted and rectified. Get up from your posts." They dropped their feet from the rowing bench to stand up out of the way. To my surprise, I was then placed at the foot of the bench. Happily, the women then sat back down and planted their barefeet across my body. "We appreciate the footrest, Lana. Those boards are hard on the feet," said one rower. "Not to mention the pleasure of having an enemy man underfoot," giggled another.

"O.K., O.K.," Lana said equitably, "enough chat, time to row. I couldn't even squirm in my spot. One set of feet rested on my upper thighs, another dug deep into my stomach, and the third positioned her feet on my chest, planting dirty little footprints on my white shirt. The ship's bell rang which was apparently the cue to start rowing. With each stroke, they crushed me against the wood. I could only breathe at the upstroke. I quickly learned to tense up as the intense pressure on my lungs would force the air out in gasps otherwise with little recovery time before their feet pushed again. Halfway there, they had already worn little grooves into my flesh where their feet fit into. The only reason I know that was that the rowers on the other side of the ship switched sides at that point and a new set of grimy feet began crushing me in slightly new spots. Including a very tender new spot. One woman shuffled over, so that her feet rested in my groin. She laughed at the desperate look in my eyes and shortly thereafter, the fierce pain as the ball of her foot smashed into my balls. I couldn't take too much more of this and was on the verge of passing out, when Lana scolded the woman, "Don't do any permanent damage to him. . .yet. My mistress would be very displeased. Though, " she grinned as the rower moved her feet over to a slightly less painful spot, " I understand how you feel. He is some catch." Briefly, she stretched out her foot to squish down on my abused penis, wiggling her toes.

On arrival, we were met by a cart. I was in no condition to walk, so the 3 women who came with the cart and Lana carried me there and tossed me and my luggage in the back. Then Lana waved bye to the sailors who were shouting enviously, took the reins and we took off. The gag was out, but I said not a word, because for the first time since being in the Essoterran's hands, I was being left alone, aside from a few stares. Had I not been a captive and in better shape, I would have been up jotting down the new sights in my journal that I've kept since I was 16 or so. As it was, I couldn't even get up, much less rummage around in my bags for it. I got a good look at my captors. All were pale by Nykian standards, but then again, I was light-skinned by those standards too. I suppose they were reasonably tan for these barbarians. Lana drove. She wore a helmet that only let a little of her dark blonde hair show. The woman next to her, in comparison, had very long hair. Its dark masses hung over the seat, probably waist length. The next was probably the tallest, my height I'd wager, though the way she had her red hair piled on her head could be deceiving me. Then lastly, was the woman in back facing me with a sword in her hands. She was considerably shorter than the rest. Her hair was also the shortest, an indeterminate brownish. All were quite fit, like soldiers. Probably were, I thought grimly, thinking back to the trampling slaughter. I glanced quickly at the short one's feet, but she wore just regular sandals. That uncontrollable male section of my brain also observed that they were more than fit, but quite female. That prompted a painful jerk from my abused member. I closed my eyes and dozed.

I dreamed I was spending a relaxing day at home with my wife. We kissed tenderly and she ran her hands down my cheeks in a loving caress. Then she stood up over me and said, "Here honey, how do you like this?" and stood up on my chest, wiggling her bare toes. "Oh look our daughter is home from Artisan Class. Here, stand on your father with me. He loves this." Her sandal shod feet joined my wife in crushing me. I lay stunned by this turn in events. "I brought some girlfriends from school, " said my daughter. "They'd love to stand on him too." Innumerable female feet were all over me, jumping around like they were on a trampoline, digging their feet into my body, so I could feel the wood of the wagon right through the straw. Wagon? Straw? I woke staring at dusty toes peering out of white sandals planted on my upper chest. The pressure of 3 other women prodding my torso with one foot or both added to my agony. Someone was standing right on my groin, pressing down with the ball of one foot like she was crushing out a cigarette. "Well, finally. Our doormat awakes. Must be in good shape. Usually only takes one or two good stomps to wake up a slave."

"Hauugh," I replied suavely, as the woman on my stomach gave a little bounce as she stepped off me. As Lana entered the sprawling complex, I rose stiffly, feeling all of my various footmarks. Picking up my bags and clambering down from the wagon, I surreptitiously looked around for possible escape routes. My female escort deployed a triangular formation around me, swords drawn but not pointed. Too far away for me to smash out with a bag, I considered strategically, but close enough to support one another if I charged one. "So, how do you like Essoterra so far, " gaily asked the redhead. I didn't think soft words would work against the implacable Lana, but her subordinates? "I can only say the most enjoyable portion has been since you lovely ladies arrived." So, I observed their reaction, even woman warriors giggle. I continued flattering them with honed skill, until I thought I saw something in their eyes that I was not just some captive meat. Perhaps I can convince them, or one of them at least, to arrange an escape. Steal a boat and with Nyk's grace, I could be home in a month. With a captive to display at the Temple gates? Revenge for my dishonor? I smiled at the explicit mental picture, towards my captors, of course. No use wasting such a good smile. "My most gracious ladies, I fear greatly for my safety if I am delivered unto your mistress, " I pled, with a touch of well timed archaic delivery.

"With good reason, " said the dark-haired one simply. "I beg of you, help me escape from her. You could come with me. Women such as yourselves would not be slaves in my land. I would be your most willing servant in all things." The women waved me over the building's corner so that I couldn't try anything while they conferred. I have them, I gloated, though it was cut short by my stomach's growl. I had only had the merest rations while serving footrest duty and nothing since, save water.

The short slavegirl separated from the pack and strode towards me, sandals slapping the ground. "We will keep you from our mistress' nonexistent mercies, but the time is not right, " glancing back towards the doorway where Lana disappeared, "You must not try to escape on your own and obey our wishes in all things, is that clear? "As crystal, my mistresses" Grinning at my reply, " And you swear this in the name of the Protector Nyk, Guider of Souls and Cyroush, Hunter of Betrayals." I imagine I did a mighty poor job of hiding my shock and dismay that these amazons knew the most sacred oath a Nykian could offer. A broken oath of this magnitude would result in my soul being thrown to the floor of the afterlife, to be walked on and ground beneath the heels of the Demonesses for all eternity, my screams muffled by an endless procession of damned feet trampling my defenseless face. Constantly healing only to be torn and crushed underfoot again, stepping there and there. I shook myself out of that image. I'm not the most religious man in my town, but I wouldn't dare be fool enough to violate that oath.

Finally, my options dwindled, "If you do as you say, I will swear." The ceremony over just in time, Lana reentered the group. "Our mistress is away visiting her sick mother, " she informed the others and then turning to me, "She left a note instructing us to begin the 'softening' without her. Come along you, or do I have to tie you up again?" "No, I don't think he's going to do anything stupid, Lana, " answered the redhead. "Here, let me take one of your bags from you." I was grateful for the cooperation. They were heavy with clothes and other items. What did Lana mean by softening?