8 comments/ 42898 views/ 10 favorites The Realm of the Fighting Ladies Pt. 01 By: blackbel2003 Chapter One Rodrigo de Toledo brushed his eyes. He was lying in the small boat where he had jumped in the middle of the tempest that had broken the caravel's masts the night before. He shivered at the memory of the huge waves pushing the men into the ocean, while the ship inclined dangerously and the thick curtain of rain made it impossible to see two yards ahead of one's nose. The captain had feared that that the vessel would not resist the storm and ordered the crew into the boats. Rodrigo had seen men drowning as they tried to reach the nearest one. Now the sun was shining above the blue expansion, and he was alone; he wondered whether the caravel had wrecked. Had anybody else survived? And if so, where would they be? Toledo was a well-built Portuguese, in his early thirties, with black hair and a short beard. His face was not yet wrinkled, but showed that a good part of his life had been spent under tropical climates. He had embarked in Lisbon to serve as doctor and chronicler of the trip. The caravel was bound to Africa, where it would embark slaves to sell in Brazil; there it would be loaded with tropical products and return to Portugal. The triangular route, as it was called, was well established in that year of 1584. Europe was eager to buy sugar; daring men, seeking prestige and fortune, had begun to plant sugar cane and tobacco in Bahia and Pernambuco, the two most promising provinces of Brazil. But who would work in the fields? The local Indians were too lazy or too ferocious, and no European would leave his country to toil under the scorching sun of the tropics. The Portuguese had long ago come into contact with the African coastal populations because of their project to reach India by sea. Black slaves were already cultivating sugar in the islands of Madeira and Azores, and soon the New World settlers realized that the only way to make their plantations profitable was to import manpower from Africa. Wars among the tribes assured a regular supply of prisoners, who could be traded for a handful of trinkets and sold in Brazil, providing the money with which to buy sugar and tobacco, which would then be brought to Portugal. If well organized, the complete cycle – Europe, Africa, Brazil and again Europe – could be very profitable. The vessels and the sailors, however, faced big dangers. Winds could be unfavorable, currents could divert a vessel from its course, the slaves could mutiny, illness could appear, and unpredictable storms could break those tiny nutshells as if they were made of glass. Rodrigo de Toledo had made the trip several times; he had also spent two years on the African coast, where his craft was very necessary, and another two at Salvador, the center of the Portuguese administration in Brazil. He had not made fortune; his worldly possessions were composed of a certain amount of money for his old age, his books and instruments, and a few Negroes in Salvador. His previous travels had been uneventful, but this time the Atlantic had decided to show its power, and the result had been a tragedy. Rodrigo leaned on his elbow and saw that he was approaching land – a small bay with white sand and lined with trees. He put his hand over his eyes and held his breath: some natives were pushing a canoe into the sea – the place was populated! Rodrigo thanked his good luck, for the worst nightmare of any seaman was solitude – it was almost impossible to survive alone in those latitudes. He took the oars and rowed decidedly towards the shore. As his boat passed the surf line, the canoe reached it; there were three rowers in it. Rodrigo prayed silently, hoping that they were not cannibals: he had no intention of ending up as a meal for savages. He stood up and spoke in an African dialect: "Hey, there! I come in peace! Can you help me?" To his surprise, two natives jumped into the sea and began to push his boat. In a few moments, they had reached firm land; he stepped out and knelt down, thanking the saints for being still alive. There were about a dozen natives on the shore; the young men pulled their canoe from the smooth waves, and all surrounded him. They wore a loincloth around their buttocks and under their crotches; their skin was pitch black, and some sported bracelets made of shells. Rodrigo stood up and said: "Thank you, good people! Who are you, and who rules this land?" "We Kimbundo tribe", replied one of the lads, "and this, realm of Fighting Ladies. Who you?" Rodrigo blinked. Fighting Ladies? As any Portuguese seaman, he had head stories about the Amazons, but they seemed so fantastic that he hadn't given them any credit. Was it possible that they really existed, and that the storm had brought him to their kingdom? "I am from a distant land", he said, walking slowly towards the trees that lined the shore some fifty yards from the sea. The first thing to do, he thought, was to neutralize any possible hostility from those savages. They seemed peaceful, but who knew? It was essential to establish as quick as possible some ascendance over them, in spite of having nothing to offer as a sign of good will except his clothes, which Rodrigo had no intention of parting with. The best course of action, he decided on the spot, was to behave friendly and ask them to do a few things. His throat was dry; he needed something to quench his thirst, but no source was in sight. That was a good occasion to run a first test: "Can any of you find me something to drink?" The Negro who had spoken to him laughed. "You seated under coconut tree, stranger!" He went past the white man and grabbed the trunk from behind. With his hands and feet, he climbed the tall tree and reached for the fruit on its top. He threw it down and with astounding speed came down again; he broke the nut against a stone and offered the Portuguese the two open halves. Toledo had seen boys doing that in Brazil, but he was amazed at the agility of that young man. As he tilted the nut to absorb its liquid, he watched him with the corner of his eye. He was about twenty years old and his body transpired energy. He had pronouncedly African features, a square chest topped by broad shoulders, and muscled calves. "Thank you! How are you called?" Rodrigo asked. "Kango. You?" Even far away from his land, his Iberian sense of dignity prevented Rodrigo de Toledo from allowing a heathen Black to address him by his name. He said: "You can call me Master, Kango. Now tell me, what were you doing when you saw me?" "Catch fish." "Kango, you say my name when you talk to me. Like this: Catch fish, Master." "Catch fish, Master", the African repeated obligingly. "What do you catch fish with?" Kango took from inside his hide a short knife made of stone. Rodrigo stretched his hand and was given the weapon; he examined its edge – it was sharp, but not very well crafted. Could it be that those savages did not know metals? The simplicity of the knife suggested that they were more primitive than most tribes the Portuguese had made contact with. He decided not to press the issue further. Handing Kango his knife, he asked: "Is your village far from here?" "No. Behind the trees... Master." "Very well, Kango! You learn fast! Can you take me there?" Kango's eyes glinted in pride at being praised. He called his group aside and conferred quickly with them. Rodrigo cocked his ear to grasp what was being said: "White man in village – it this good?" one was asking. "He male from Fighting Ladies' tribe", a second said. "Impossible! Ladies send no male. Come with Talunga on horseback", the first Negro objected. "If white man not from Ladies' tribe, where he from?" "White man has name – Master. And he say, he come from distant land." Kango's voice sounded a bit irritated. He had begun to like that man, who had distinguished him in front of all, and was prepared to believe his story. "White man lying. No one cross sea in canoe." "Better let white man go to village. He can die, and Fighting Ladies not happy", another of the group retorted. That idea seemed to scare the natives and they stopped talking. Kango turned to Rodrigo: "Master can come." The Portuguese sighed in relief. Whoever they were, those ladies seemed to inspire a healthy respect among the Kimbundo. But why had one of the Negroes supposed that he could be a member of their tribe? He made a mental note to discover about that later. "Good. But my boat has to be kept safe while I am at the village. Who volunteers to bring it here?" Four of the men ran to the water line and carried it on their shoulders some thirty yards inland. Rodrigo was more assured now; the natives seemed not to object to his requests, and this was a good omen. He stood up, ready to walk to the village, but at that very moment one of the young men shouted: "Look! Big hut floating!" All looked at the sea, and the Portuguese man's heart jumped on his chest. The same currents that had pushed his boat had also brought the caravel to that shore; its elegant form was appearing behind the small cap that closed the bay on the right side. Rodrigo feared that the ocean could carry the ship away, but it soon ran into shallow waters and stopped moving: it was stuck just in front of them. The doctor took a quick decision. "That is the ship I came in! There was a storm and I had to board the boat. Perhaps other men are still on it; let us go and see. Kango and you" – he pointed to a Negro that seemed the strongest of all – "will come with me. You, you and you, carry the boat back to the sea. And the others, take your canoe and follow us." Rodrigo was so excited that he hadn't stopped to think: he was already acting as leader of the group. The natives were also curious to see what was in the big floating hut, so they did as they were told. The doctor stepped into his boat and stood at the back, while Kango and the other man took the oars. The Portuguese's face opened into a broad grin as he watched the muscles rippling on their backs and the biceps standing out while they rowed in tandem. In the little time he had spent in that place, a silent hierarchy had already been established: the natives were doing the physical work and he was giving the orders. If the rest of their tribe proved equally docile, his time there would be a pleasant one. They reached the caravel. Rodrigo shouted something in his language, but there was no reply: clearly, the entire crew had abandoned the ship. Would some have survived? That could not be decided now, though: there were more urgent tasks ahead. Rodrigo asked: "How will we climb to the deck? There is a rope ladder there, but one of you has to go and throw it for us." "That easy!" Kango said, happy to show himself off. "Nakumbu lift Kango on shoulder; Kango grab that" – he pointed to the edge of a round opening – "and climb big hut wall like it tree." There were several of those openings lining the caravel: they served to provide air into the hold, which would host two or three hundred people during their two-month trip to Brazil. "Go ahead, then." Rodrigo watched as the African stretched his arms to reach the opening and lifted himself to it; he put his foot there and took hold, while his hands sought the opening on the row above. He had a lithe body, long, flexible limbs - and now he was showing a shapely pair of buttocks, for to have more freedom of movements he had untied his tide and was holding it between his teeth. The Portuguese caught himself having nasty thoughts. Brazilian planters sometimes took pleasure from a young Negro; he had never done that, but judging from the view the lad was offering him, it would not be a bad idea... Kango made a last effort and jumped on the caravel's deck. He found the ladder and threw it to the boat; Rodrigo told Nakumbu to go up and followed suit. As he had feared, there was nobody on the ship. The masts were broken, the sails gone, but except for that she was in a reasonable condition. The men from the other canoe approached and climbed up. Rodrigo instructed his small squad to fetch all that that could be transported and to load both their canoe and his boat. There were barrels with wine, olive oil, dry meat and biscuits, boxes with the trinkets to trade for the slaves – mirrors, old clothes, tobacco rolls, and the like - and also some trunks with European goods to be sold in Brazil. While the natives were rowing back to the shore, Rodrigo found the key to the room where the chains and collars were kept, and chose some; they could come in handy later, he thought. He locked the room again and waited for the Negroes to return. Five trips were necessary to empty the ship; a last inspection showed that they had taken everything that could be taken. Once on the shore, Rodrigo talked again to the natives. "We have to take all this to the village", he said. "You are strong lads and I am sure that you can help me with this. Kango, Nakumbu, take a box each; you, you and you" – he pointed to three other men - "will carry those. The rest of you will form pairs and take some of the trunks. Later we will return to fetch what cannot be taken now." He spoke with more assurance now, and that seemed to work, for the natives took the boxes and trunks and put them on their shoulders. They set out for the village, Rodrigo carrying on his back the bag with the instruments, the books and the collars; he marched at the side of the line, under the thick foliage, listening to the sounds of the jungle and wondering what the good saints had in store for him. It took them a good hour to reach the place. Their arrival was greeted with great curiosity; never had a foreigner reached that far. The boxes and trunks were laid down in a big central area surrounded by huts. Rodrigo looked around. The Kimbundo were well built; both males and females had their breasts naked, and the children went around as God had made them. Some had bracelets made of shells like those he had seen on the arms of the young men; others had different ornaments, very simple but showing that they liked to embellish their bodies. All wore loincloths, tightly tied on the sides and going under their crotch. The Portuguese's cock twitched under his pants at the sight of so much exposed skin; since he had left Brazil almost six months ago, he had had no contact with a woman. An elderly man with a staff on his hand approached: he was clearly the chief of the tribe. Kango explained to him how they had found the man and that his name was "Master", while the Portuguese opened a box and took out some mirrors. The kids peeked into the box, but none touched anything. "This is for you, noble chief", he said, "and for your wives." The man glanced at the gifts and said in a dignified manner: "Kashimbo say, man named Master may stay. When Fighting Ladies come, they decide if he stay or go." Rodrigo nodded: he was very curious to know more about those Ladies, but that was not the moment to show ignorance. "Certainly, chief. I thank you for your hospitality, and hope to be useful to your tribe while I wait for the Ladies. Now I would like to rest. Where can I go?" Kashimbo pointed to a hut on the far side of the village. "That hut not used. Master stay there." "Very well, Kashimbo. One more thing: may I ask young Kango to stay with me? He could show me around and teach me about your ways." The chief turned to the younger man. "Kango want?" "Yes!" His face beamed with joy: it was evident that he felt honored by the foreigner's request. Kashimbo took his mirrors and made a gesture of agreement. Rodrigo motioned for Kango to take his bag and moved into what was to become his home for the next... days? Weeks? Months? He did not know. The hut was furnished with some skins and stools made of rough wood. Rodrigo sat on one; there was one thing he had to ascertain before proceeding with what he had in mind. "Are you married, Kango?" "No." That was good news indeed. It was obvious to the Portuguese that he would spend quite some time in the realm of the Fighting Ladies; hence he would need someone to take care of his clothes, to cook or arrange for food, and in general to be at his disposal for whatever he needed. Kango seemed a capable lad, and his being single made the arrangement less complicated. He would have to be trained, though, and the sooner the training began the better. "Remember to call me by my name. Say, No, Master." "No, Master." "Good. Now come here, sit on your heels and tell me about the Fighting Ladies." The lad squatted by Rodrigo's feet and began: "Fighting Ladies like Master, fair skinned. Kango never go to place of Fighting Ladies – Kimbundo cannot go more than one day's march from village, Talunga will not allow." "What do you mean, they are fair skinned? Have you ever seen one?" "Sure Kango see Fighting Ladies! Every year, after big rain, Ladies come and bring Talunga, pick strong Kimbundo men, fine women, they go work for them." The Portuguese blinked. Had he understood well? That lad was telling him that some kind of white Amazons ruled that land; this was plausible, for as warriors they could have submitted the tribes that occupied the area before them. These would pay tribute in the form of compulsory work – a tribe of bellicose females would not care to till the land or take care of sheep. All that was logical, but utterly extraordinary. And who were the Talunga? "You mentioned the Talunga. Who are these?" The Negro's expression changed into a grimace of fear. "Talunga very tall women, color of Kango. Talunga soldiers for Fighting Ladies. Long time ago, Talunga eat people, but the when Ladies come, they stop that." He shook his head in horror. "Before Ladies forbid that, Talunga come at night, fetch man, woman, child, sheep, anything, run with them, eat them. Kimbundo, Shanti, Pukari, all thank Fighting Ladies because they protect tribe from Talunga." "But you said that the Talunga accompany the Fighting Ladies when they come to pick workers from your tribe. Why is this so?" "Talunga obey Fighting Ladies. They soldiers. Talunga walk on wide trail, let no Kimbundo go beyond it. When Fighting Ladies come, Talunga come too." "I see", said Rodrigo. The structure of that society was becoming clear for him, in spite of many gaps in the picture. It was like a pyramid: on the top, the Amazons; below them, the Talunga; at the base, the other blacks. It was evident that the warriors exploited the terror provoked by the cannibals to their own benefit. But how had the managed to control the "very tall women", if they were that ferocious? And what about the male children who were born into the ruling tribe - were they killed, as the ancient legends had it? That was not possible: the Amazons would have become extinct. If they mingled with the Africans, they would not be fair-skinned – although what Kango considered "fair" had still to be checked. And the Talunga men – he had said that only women were selected for soldiers. What was their function, if any? Many questions remained open, the Portuguese thought. In due time, he would discover the answers. He stood up. The boxes, barrels and trunks that had been left under the coconut trees had to be transported to the village; the ones he had brought in that first trip were still in the open area in the middle of the village. "Kango, go fetch something to eat. I have to see the chief." While the lad looked for some food, Rodrigo went to Kashimbo's hut and asked him to put at his disposal twenty strong men. He said that had brought many things to give both the Kimbundo and the Fighting Ladies; that was enough to convince the chief, and for the rest of the day Rodrigo supervised the transportation of everything he had salvaged from the shore into his hut. The Realm of the Fighting Ladies Pt. 01 Darkness was approaching, and the doctor felt the need for some rest. He also wanted to see if Kango was prepared to accept the other role that he was planning for him. Being so near the youth for a whole day had made him decide to try and see if what the planters said about having pleasure with Africans was true. It the lad accepted, then good; if he showed too much hesitation or resistance, Rodrigo would keep him just as his servant, without any sexual duties. Perhaps another native would be more easily persuaded, and, if nothing worked, there were enough girls around. "Kango, I want to give you a gift because you are being so helpful", he said as he finished his evening meal. They were in the hut; Rodrigo opened one of the boxes and chose a pair of red breeches. "Let's see how this looks on you. Stand up and remove your hide." The lad's face beamed with joy as he undid his loincloth and grabbed the breeches. Rodrigo nodded appreciatively at the sight of his member, which hung down a good palm. "Wait a moment, Kango. I will show you how to wear these. But first let me examine you. You know - my craft is to take care of people's health – I am a doctor, as we say where I come from. Sometimes people are ill, but don't feel anything until it is too late and they die. Open a bit yours legs, put your hands on your head and stay still." Kango didn't know that people could be sick and not feel heat or pain. He was sure about his good health, but who knew? He did as Master said. As any Portuguese of his time, Rodrigo knew how to evaluate an African. He opened Kango's mouth to check his teeth: not one was missing. The gums were red - another sign of good health - and the tongue wetted easily, which would be good if he ever got the lad to suck him. Rodrigo's hands ran over the folded arms, feeling the muscles beneath the glistening skin. There were tiny marks on the right arm, as if bees or ants had bitten it. Kango shivered a bit when Rodrigo turned around him and cupped his ass cheeks, but stood still: he did not want to give the white man any reason to think badly of him. Rodrigo continued to turn around the young Kimbundo, letting his fingers wrap on his cock and stroking it gently to make it hard. Kango closed his eyes when the man lifted his sac: his dick had hardened with the caress. The doctor felt the weight of the balls and squeezed them – the African bit his lip, but didn't utter a sound. "Not good ... not good", Rodrigo said. "What not good, Master?" the lad asked. There was a note of anxiety in his voice. "Wait. I'll tell you in a moment." The Portuguese spread Kango's legs, running his hands down from thigh to heel, and went up again, pinching here and there, until he reached the lad's waist. He found the kidneys and pressed them hard with his thumbs; this time, the lad jerked at the sudden pain. "As I imagined, not good ... not good. Let me see your mouth again." The African opened it; Rodrigo let his finger slide along the thick lips and the outstretched tongue. "This will feel very good at the right places", he thought. "I couldn't make a better choice: he is strong, beautifully shaped, well hung, and docile. Now let's see if I can talk him into pleasing me." "Kango, have you felt weak lately?" "No, Master." "Have you been bitten by a bee, or other insects?" "Not bees - ants. Kango came of age last moon and took courage test." "And what is that test?" "All Kimbundo do test, Master. Put arm into hollow tree full of ants. Cannot take it out until chief says so. Ants bite hard, but Kango stand firm." "You are a brave boy, Kango. But perhaps you don't know that ants have poison in their tiny bodies. Your balls, and what you have here" – he pinched hard the skin over the kidneys, provoking another muffled scream – "show that some of it is still in your body. You don't feel it, but it is there. And you may not be able to have kids, unless you receive the right medicine." Kango opened his eyes wide. Poison? Generations of Kimbundo had taken the courage test, and none had ever been poisoned. He looked at Master: "Kango feel well, Master. Many have taken test and nothing happened." "Are you doubting me, Kango? Let me show you." He took a mirror and put it in front of the young man's face. "Open your mouth and stretch your tongue out. Do you see little white specks on it? At the back? See - it is not wholly red, as it should be. This means that some poison remains in your body." Kango glanced at the mirror and saw what the doctor was showing him. Of course, there was nothing wrong with his tongue, and the "white little specks" were just tiny drops of saliva – but he felt scared all the same. His eyes showed that: "Kango see, Master. What Kango do to be well?" "There is a medicine for that, but I don't know if you are brave enough to take it." "Kango brave, Master!" he replied. "No fear bitter herbs." "The medicine is not a herb; it looks like water, but white. And you will not find it in your tribe." The Kimbundo seemed puzzled. "Where, then? Master say where, Kango go find it." Rodrigo stayed silent for a while. Would the young man he was fooling into sucking him buy his story? He turned around Kango again and ran his hands over the flat belly and the narrow buttocks, appreciating their firmness. The African waited, immobile like a statue, with his arms folded up and his feet pointing each to one side. Rodrigo knelt down behind him and parted his cheeks, revealing the tight, small hole between them. "I will try", he said to himself. "This little hole here must provide a lot of pleasure." He stood up and faced the Negro. "Kango, the illness is in your balls"- he cupped them again – "they are very sensitive, can you feel?" he added, squeezing him with all his force. Kango growled: that had really hurt! Rodrigo went on: "The medicine for balls' disease is balls' milk, but from a man whom the ants have never stung. All those who came of age among the Kimbundo, old or young, may have the same disease as you, sleeping in their bodies. I would not advise you to ask one of them to give you his milk." "But Master, where Kango find milk of man not stung? Kimbundo cannot go more than one day's march, Talunga on big road no leave them pass." Rodrigo made a serious face. He was a chess player, and the web he was weaving around the young Negro's mind was not unlike the planning of a checkmate. "Kango, I think that except boys too young for having good medicine in them, I am the only man in this village who has not taken the test. I would not part with my milk for the first comer, but for you I can do that. It is a big proof of friendship, because you will have to take it for several moons, otherwise it would not be strong enough inside you to fight the ants' poison." Kango put his arms down and let his mind absorb the white man's words. He had never heard anything like that; on the other hand, if it was true, he would suffer pain, would not be able to make kids in the females of his tribe, and could even die. He didn't want to take the risk. "Master good to Kango", he said, "give Kango fine mulambu like his. Kango take Master's medicine." Rodrigo patted his butt. "You are a wise young man, Kango. Do you want to take the first dose now? The sooner, the better, but you decide." "Kango want now." Rodrigo grinned. Shrewdness was something he didn't lack, he thought. "Kneel down in front of me and watch." Kango did as he was told, observing keenly as the Portuguese opened the buttons of his breeches – he had never seen those little round things before. "Now reach in carefully; when you find my cock, pull it out, kiss the tip and leave your lips on it." The African put his hand into the opening and touched the warm, half-hard member. Pulling it out, he kissed it and waited. Rodrigo brushed softly his tip against the thick, fleshy lips. He had extensive experience with black girls, and wholly appreciated their hotness, so different from his own countrywomen's attitude to sex. But this was his first time with a Negro lad; in tavern talks, when wine loosened tongues, he had heard planters and even priests speaking in enthusiastic terms about the pleasure one could get from those tight asses and luscious mouths. Now he was going to check. "Good. Now listen: for the milk to go out, my cock must be very hard. Do you know how to make a cock hard?" Kango laughed. "Yes, Master. Kango play all the time with this" – he touched his own huge prick. "I see. But for the medicine to be strong, it has to be taken out in the proper way. You will not use your hands, but your tongue and lips. Put them behind your back and start." Kango stared at the white man, utterly startled. "Master – Kango..." Rodrigo cut him short: "It has to be done the right way, or the medicine will not be work. If you want to be ill, it is up to you." He made a gesture to shut his breeches. The Negro's voice sounded alarmed: "No, Master! Kango do it right way!" His tongue stretched out and he began to lick the standing man's cock, in slow movements from the base upwards. Rodrigo was delighted: the sight of that muscular African on his knees, his hands crossed behind his back, licking obediently his dick, was quite arousing. His prick hardened almost instantly, as the wide tongue darted on all its sides. "Very well, Kango! Now pay attention. How does a baby get milk from his mother?" "Baby suck breast, Master." "This is what you will do now. Open your mouth and suck this as if it were a breast." Kango parted his lips and felt Rodrigo sliding his rock hard member into it. He started at the tip, moving a bit farther with every movement of his head. His mouth was warm, and the soft sucking made the Portuguese's cock swell even more. He took a long glance at the muscles bulging on the young African's shoulders and at his mouth tightly wrapped on his shaft; his cock twitched and he felt the semen going up from his balls. "Slowly, slowly... You are doing very well! When you feel the first drops of medicine going out, use your tongue to spread them over the head, understand?" Kango nodded and went on sucking. He was a bit surprised to feel his own member hardening; he wanted to touch it, but kept his hands on his back. Later he would ask Master why he was feeling that. When some precum oozed from the little hole, he spread it with care all over the tip; the taste reminded him of some fruits he knew, sweet but watery. The doctor pushed his cock into the lad's mouth and began to thrust his buttocks forth and back. His hands kept Kango's head in place; his body was tense, his movements became swifter, pumping in and out – he pushed hard, and suddenly shot his load. The warm, sticky substance filled the lad's mouth; he moved his head to free it from the grip, but Rodrigo held it firmly between his thighs. "Let it slide down to the last drop, boy. This will have a very good effect against the ants' poison. And lap what is left on my cock until nothing is left on it." The Negro closed his eyes and swallowed a sizable amount of cum; the cock was still stiff in his mouth. The Portuguese sat down and enjoyed the tongue flickering along his dick; he was feeling relaxed, and also pleased because the African had followed his instructions so well. Strength and health were important qualities in a slave, but what he – and the other Portuguese – prized most was unconditional obedience. Kango was not a slave – yet – but now Rodrigo knew that he could be talked into obeying, even if with some tact and not knowing precisely what he was doing. In time, Rodrigo thought, it would become automatic in him. He patted the young man's shoulders: "Very well, Kango. Now stand up and put your breeches on." The Negro cleaned his lips with the back of his hand and looked down at his still hard cock. "Kango want touch pati, Master. Pati need feel sweet." "No. This is like the test you took. Then your arm had to be kept in the hollow of the tree; now your pati will have to wait until I say you can stroke it. Otherwise, you will lose here" – he rubbed gently the voluminous head that had emerged from its sheath, ready to spit out what was forming in those formidable balls – "what you earned here" - his fingers traced the curve of the lips that had just given him such exquisite pleasure. Kango's jaw fell down in amazement. "No touch pati, Master? That hard!" "I know, Kango, but if you have stood the pain the ants inflicted on you, you will be able to stand the itching on your cock. Look at it this way: if you put water in a bowl with one hand and take it out with the other, the bowl will remain empty. It is the same thing with medicine. Perhaps next moon, after you have accumulated a good amount of it in your body, you will able to lose some without doing harm to yourself." The doctor wanted the African to link the idea of relief with that of sucking his cock, so that he would not only give in to his command, but also yearn for it, as a necessary step towards having his own pleasure. He helped Kango into the breeches and showed him how to close the buttons on his waist and on the opening. They reached a little above his knees, and were a bit tight, underlining the form of his butt and showing clearly the bulge between his legs. Rodrigo handed him a small mirror: "You look very elegant, Kango. As you saw, I have many fine things in the boxes your fellows brought from the ship. I will need someone to help me with my food and clothes; if you agree to do this for me, I will teach you many things and you will receive fine presents like these breeches. If you prefer not to, I will ask another lad to fill the place. But in any case, I will give you your treatment every day, as I pledged to. What do you say?" The African stuffed his chest in pride. Of course he wanted to stay by Master's side; an opportunity like that was not to be wasted. All his friends would envy his new garment, and he would learn many things that would give him prestige with the girls when the time came to choose a wife. And most important, his disease had been detected and the good man was giving him appropriate medicine from his own body. He was lucky indeed, he thought. "Kango want learn, Master. Will find food and take care of Master, this pay for treatment." Rodrigo repressed a smile: the lad was offering to pay with work for the privilege of sucking his cock. Undoubtedly, his stay among those savages was going to be pleasant..."Good, Kango. I will keep my part of the deal, and you keep yours." Rodrigo glanced at the starry stretch of sky that was appearing through an opening on the wall of the hut. The next night, he thought, he would use his eyeglass and from the position of the stars he would try to discover more or less the latitude in which he was. But for the moment, all he wanted was many hours of sleep. He threw his body on one of the skins scattered on the ground and motioned for Kango to do the same. In minutes, he was snoring. The young Kimbundo kept his eyes open for a long time, as his cock twitched inside the new breeches. His impulse was to open them and stroke himself into release, but he refrained from doing so. What if the ants were really poisonous? He had been given medicine against that, and it would be foolish to lose its benefits. Master was right: a man who had bravely stood the pain on his arm could deal with an itching cock. He felt slightly uncomfortable with that tight thing on his body, but for nothing in the world would he remove it: he was the only one in the tribe to have an outfit like Master's – not even Kashimbo, the chief, owned one. He touched his balls over the soft fabric and came to a conclusion: the best course was to take the medicine. If he was ill, it would help; if he was not, it could not do him harm. This thought calmed him, and he sank into sleep. Chapter Two Rodrigo spent the next few days adjusting to his new life among the Kimbundo. It was the first time that he saw Africans who were not slaves. He had spent two years at Luanda, where one of his tasks was to keep the Negroes in good health while they waited for the ships that would take them across the Atlantic. In Bahia, where blacks did all work, he had acquired two girls to take care of his house and for occasional pleasure, and a few males, which he used to hire to the municipality – a common practice among local citizens. The town had been recently founded, and hands were needed to lay down the pavement of new streets, collect garbage and perform other useful tasks. But now he was living among free blacks, and wanted to learn as much as possible about their habits and mentality. The village teemed with activity. Men took care of the communal plantations – manioc, beans, and a sort of corn that grew in small bushes and that was unknown to Rodrigo. There was a sizable herd of goats to furnish milk and meat; fish was brought from the shallow waters near the shore. Rodrigo was surprised to see how effective were the knives and other tools made from stone; metals were not used. Women prepared food and made baskets, loincloths or pottery; children were left to themselves, and sometimes were carried on their mother's back. The girls seemed shy, and the Portuguese decided not to tamper with them, at least until he knew better the local customs and taboos. Rodrigo was pleased with Kango. The young man was diligent and learned fast; during their walks in the area surrounding the village, he showed a considerable knowledge of local birds and plants. For two or three days, his new breeches had been the talk of the village, filling him with pride and fortifying his decision to keep his place as Master's aide. Thinking of the jealousy that his gift to the young African could provoke in the chief of the tribe, Rodrigo had presented him with a black hat, which he now sported at all times. Every morning, after bringing Master a bowl of goat milk and some well-chosen fruits, Kango would kneel between his legs to be given his dose of "medicine". Rodrigo had not yet allowed him to touch his pati; he watched bemused as the young man shifted his weight from one knee to the other, his hands firmly crossed behind his back, trying to stop the itching on his cock while his mouth was busy licking and sucking. Kango was finding abstinence increasingly hard, but the terrifying stories the Portuguese told him about men who had lost their fingers or gone blind without knowing that poison was in their bodies kept his hand away from his dick. So, after the fourth or fifth day, he began to wait eagerly for the order to open the Portuguese's breeches, hoping that it would bring as a bonus the license to release. On the eighth day, as Kango massaged obediently his cock inside his mouth, Rodrigo decided to go a step further. He pushed gently the young man's head and said: "Kango, I think that you have already enough medicine in your body. I will help you to release in a manner that does no harm to you. Go on fours and raise your butt." The African's face beamed as he took the required position. His cock was fully stretched, a drop of precum already on its tip; it was clear that he would not be able to hold back for much longer. Rodrigo approached him from behind, weighed with his hand the swollen balls and let his other hand slide along the rock hard shaft. "This lad could become a real breeder", he thought. "You have much juice here, Kango." "Yes, master! Much juice in Kango!" The sensation of having his balls teased by the doctor's firm fingers was making him more and more horny. Rodrigo took a bowl and put it under the head that emerged from its sheath. The Realm of the Fighting Ladies Pt. 01 "Now pay attention, Kango. You will stroke your pati as you are used to, and it will certainly spurt out a huge load. But this has to be replaced as quickly as possible. Therefore, I will not give my milk into your mouth, but here, nearer to the place it has to go - your balls." He spread out a finger and inserted it in the small hole between the lad's buttocks, pushing it lightly to gauge his reaction. Kango frowned and made a movement forward to escape from the intruding finger. "Move back and stay quiet, Kango!" The African shuddered. "Why Master put finger in Kango?" "To see how tight your back door is." "Kango no want Master's pati there." Rodrigo held his breath. That was the first time that the African had refused to comply with something he wanted him do to. Should he press further? The small, tight hole in front of him promised exquisite sensations for his dick. Besides, he was not accustomed to being refused something by a Negro. Rodrigo thought of slapping his butt and speaking firmly, but a better idea occurred to him: it was time for some bluffing. "All right. Go ahead and stroke yourself. But this will mean the end of your treatment. I have seen men dying in atrocious agony because their balls were emptied and no milk came to replace the juice they had lost. It is your choice." Kango shivered. During the previous days, he had learned so much from the white man: stories about distant lands and different peoples, but also how to wash and hang clothes, how to bring him his food on a small wooden plank, and other things that no other in his tribe dreamed of. He had helped Master to heal some wounds, and even cut the cord from a baby that was having a hard time to come out from his mother's womb. So far he had trusted Master's wisdom, and it had paid off: except for the constant itching on his dick he was feeling well – and that was a sign that the medicine was working. Why spoil all that now? He took a deep breath and spread his buttocks, exposing once more the round hole between them. "That hurt, Master?" Rodrigo grinned. "A bit, Kango, but I will do it gently. In time, you will get used to the sensation. Now take care of your pati and be sure to spurt into the bowl, so we can examine your juice and know if the medicine is being good for you." The African wrapped his right hand around his cock and began to slide it up and down. He felt as the Portuguese lubed his hole with some saliva and, grabbing firmly his waist, introduced his tip into him; the brushing against his walls was strange, but not disagreeable. He was so aroused that he took less than one minute to release a sizable amount into the bowl; he kept stroking, though, as his member was still stiff. Rodrigo pushed in very carefully. The asshole was tight and warm, and the pleasure of fucking it quite different from what he knew from his experience with women. He thrust his hips forward and said: "Kango, move back and forth, but with care, and keep stroking yourself. You can jerk off as much as you want, for my milk will go into you and replace the amount that goes out." Kango did as he was told, making the cock slide more into his anus. Rodrigo felt the smooth musculature squeezing his cock as it slithered inch by small inch into that dark tunnel. Kango was surprised at how aroused he was by that sensation; he spurted another load into the bowl, while Rodrigo accelerated his moves and leaned on the young man's back. Kango was satisfied and wanted to stop, hut the doctor told him to stay still – his cock was twitching, he could feel the tension going up his shaft – he held firmly Kango's shoulders – and suddenly he exploded in him, filling his asshole with a strong jet of sticky, warm cum. He stayed for a while inside the Kimbundo, enjoying the agreeable sensation, until his member went limp. Taking it from the hole, he told Kango to clean himself, feigned to examine the white cream that filled half of it, and made a grimace. "Hum. Can you feel how this smells strange, Kango?" Kango sniffed the bowl; he had never smelled his own cum, so the could not tell if it smelled differently. He stared at the white man, a puzzled expression on his face. "Perhaps you don't notice it, but it smells sour. This means that the medicine has worked a little, but we are far from healing you." Rodrigo was not prepared to part with those delicious morning massages. "Fetch my boots, Kango, and some leaves. I will teach you a new thing." The African went out of the hut and returned with a small bundle of leaves; he grabbed the boots and squatted by the doctor's feet as he was used to do when being taught some new task. "Dip them in the bowl, rub them on the boots, and you will see them shining like your skin when you go out from the stream." He reclined against the hut wall and watched as Kango scrubbed vigorously, spreading the creamy substance on the boots. He was still leaning on his heels; his limp cock was perfectly visible, an impressive piece of black flesh. Rodrigo smiled as he noticed how the young man held the boot between his legs, his long, snake-like member occasionally touching the leather. "Kango, Kango ... You have got what you wanted. Finish this quickly and put your breeches on. I want to walk to the limits of your area; perhaps we will meet a Talunga. I am curious to see what they look like." Kango's eyes opened wide in amazement. "Master, that big danger! Talunga very bad women!" "Don't worry. I will be with you." Kango shook his head. "Master, Kango has seen Talunga and Master has not. Big danger!" The Portuguese played the trump he knew would win. "You don't want to come? Go and call Nakumbu. I am sure he wants a pair of breeches like yours." The mention of another lad's name brushed away any hesitation from Kango. As he buttoned his breeches, Rodrigo took a musket and some ammunition. It was better to be prepared, in case the "tall women" proved hostile. He put in a bag his compass, the eyeglass, a pack of dried biscuits, and told Kango to fill his canteen with fresh water. When all was ready, the African put the bag on his shoulder and they set off. After some hours, they emerged from the jungle into a wide plain, where the vegetation was lower. There were trees scattered here and there. They walked in silence; Rodrigo was thinking if it was wise to ascertain once for all his authority over the young Negro. He was worried with what had happened earlier, when he had objected to being penetrated, and with his hesitation to follow him in his expedition. He made up his mind: "Kango." "Yes, Master?" "When the Fighting Ladies come to pick workers from your tribe, how do they choose them?" "Strong men and pretty girls, Master. This is what Ladies want. All nut have come of age." "So you and Nakumbu can be picked." "Yes, Master." "And what do you prefer: to go and work for them or to stay with me?" Kango made an expression of surprise. He had never put such a question to himself; from the time of his the grandfather of his grandfather's grandfather, his tribe furnished workers for the Fighting Ladies in exchange for being protected from the Talunga. But what were they supposed to do in their village? No one had ever come back to tell. Now that Master had mentioned it, the idea of staying by his side instead of going to an unknown place, to perform tasks that were perhaps dangerous, seemed very attractive. "Kango want stay with Master!" "Very well. But you must understand that when I give you an order, whatever it is – whatever, do you hear me? - it has to be carried out at once. Nothing upsets me more than disobedience." "Kango do what Master say", the Negro replied, surprised. "Not always. Today you didn't want to get my milk where I said it had to be given, and when I said that we were going to find the Talunga you hesitated to come." The young Kimbundo lowered his head. Master was speaking the truth. Rodrigo waited for a while before speaking again: "If you promise not to do this again, I can speak on your behalf when the Ladies come to your village. But if you disobey your master again, I will look for another servant." Rodrigo had employed for the first time words that, even with a euphemism, defined the relationship between him and the African. He watched keenly his face; there was no sign of his feeling offended or humiliated by the word "servant". "Kango not do that again, Master." Rodrigo stopped under a tree; they were on the top of a small slope, at the bottom of which a narrow stream flowed calmly. "I want a formal promise, in the way it is done in my land. Kneel down and put your forehead to the ground." Kango put the bag on a branch and did as he was being told. Rodrigo put his foot on the young man's head and said: "Repeat these words, Kango: I will serve my master faithfully." "I will serve my master faithfully." Rodrigo went on, inventing the most binding oath he could think of. "I will go wherever he sends me, obey his every order, and protect him from all danger." "I will go wherever he sends me, obey his every order, and protect him from all danger", Kango repeated. "If I fail, let the bad spirits take my heart and may my body rotten under the sun." "If I fail, let the bad spirits take my heart and may my body rotten under the sun." The young man's voice trembled a bit as he said that. "Good. Now rise up. I am hungry; can you catch some fish for our lunch?" "Sure, Master!" "Then go. I will wait here." Kango removed his breeches, walked cautiously down the sloped shore and waded into water. He swam with his butt up, his sac showing and disappearing between his legs as they opened and closed. Rodrigo watched from the shore; he was pleased at the turn things were taking. He had already succeeded in making Kango pleasure him with his mouth and ass, and his training to perform basic tasks was going quite well. His tribe was accustomed to see themselves as potential serfs to the Fighting Ladies. Why not take advantage from that and turn him into a model slave? Kango had his knife in hand; suddenly, he dived and surfaced with a sizable fish in its tip. His body glistened with the drops as he emerged from the creek: "Master, this bunga fish, good to roast!" "Very good, Kango! I am impressed! Now make a fire and prepare it." The lad made a small pyramid with twigs and leaves; leaning on his heels, he began to rub two twigs. Soon a small flame appeared; he blew on it carefully, kindled a fire and put the fish to roast on an improvised spike. They ate in silence. Kango was pondering on what had just happened. Could Master persuade the Ladies not to take him with the other Kimbundo, when they came to his village? The courage test, and the rituals of fertility for the girls, had taken place a few weeks before; their visit was due any time now. Kango remembered well the scene: one or two white ladies on horseback, surrounded by a squad of Talunga. They would call Kashimbo and have that year's better boys and girls line up. The chosen ones would fetch their things and march away; the whole thing took less time than it was required to milk a she-goat. As he was putting again Rodrigo's bag on his head, he froze with terror and pointed to a tree: "Master, that big danger! Sucuri! That roll on man and kill him!" Rodrigo fetched his musket, focused on the snake and pulled the trigger, killing it instantly. Kango shouted in terror at the explosion and threw himself to on the ground, covering his head with his hands. Rodrigo touched his butt with the tip of his boot: "Up, Kango! The snake is dead." The lad rose up, awestruck. What was that thing that in Master's hand? He had seen spears -every Talunga carried one – and he knew that the Fighting Ladies shot with bows and arrows. His tribe was not allowed either, as the Ladies reserved the use of weapons for themselves and for their soldiers. He walked to the snake and touched it: it was dead. "Master has fire arrow?" he asked naively. "Yes, this is a thing to shoot fire arrows", Rodrigo said, adopting the colorful name Kango had invented. "This will protect Kango from Talunga, too." They resumed their walking; the sun was going down when they approached a steep hill. "Kimbundo not allowed go over hill. Talunga on other side. But Master want go, Kango go with Master", he said emphatically. "This is what I expected from such a brave young man", Rodrigo said approvingly. "Let's find a place to sleep; tomorrow we will climb the hill and see what happens." *** The morning was already turning into noon when reached the hilltop. Rodrigo took his eyeglass and scanned the plain below: a wide road cut it in two, at as almost perpendicular angle from the base of the hill. There was no Talunga in sight. They walked slowly down; Kango's heart was jumping in his chest - Master had the fire arrows, right, but would that be enough to stop the Talunga? Never had he head of a Kimbundo trespassing without permission the limits set by the Fighting Ladies. And then Rodrigo saw. Two girls were coming in their direction with their spears aimed at them. They were at least two heads taller than he; their breasts were covered with a stripe of leopard skin, a small skirt made from the same material hid their sex, and a small dagger dangled from the string that held it in place. Rodrigo estimated quickly their age: they could not be older than Kango. Their skin was a bright tone of black, their legs long and well shaped; their prominent buttocks and narrow waist made Rodrigo think of a guitar. But their expression was not friendly at all. "Go back!" one of the girls shouted. "Who you? Kimbundo no walk into big road." "I am called Master and this is my slave Kango", the Portuguese said, aiming his musket at the girl nearest to him. "We are not going beyond limits. I just want to see what you Talunga look like." He smiled: Kango had thrown himself to the ground at the sight of the girls, and was covering his head with his hands. The woman stopped and conferred in a low voice. Rodrigo waited: the creatures were really extraordinary. Not only were they taller than any human being he had ever met; they seemed exceptionally strong and in good shape. Any commander would like to have them in his army. "Back", grumbled one of the girls, waving her spear in a threatening gesture. Rodrigo was going to reply when another Talunga appeared. Rodrigo noticed with amazement that she topped her sisters by another head, making her height more than seven feet from toe to skull. One of her eyes was closed, her breasts were bare, and she had no weapons. Her face was badly bruised, and a line of dry blood crossed her lap near the right shoulder. "What happened to you, Mkomo?" one of the girls asked. "Dismissed", the girl replied. "Awana say, Mkomo must go." "Why? What happened to your eye?" The giantess opened her eyelid: the orbit was empty. "We training, Mkomo fell down on rock. Eye jumped out; much blood, eye not go back. Awana very angry, say - Mkomo give spear, dagger, breast mulambu." Thick tears rolled over her face. Rodrigo approached her. "Kneel down, Mkomo. Let me see your eye." The giantess looked surprised. She had seen fair-skinned men in the Fighting Ladies' town, and none had ever spoken to her like that. But she was still under the shock of the disgrace that had befallen her; her mind, already a bit feeble by nature, was even more confused. She knelt down and let the man examine her. Rodrigo knew that there was nothing to be done: the eye was gone. The bruises were light, but the cut had to be cleaned, or infection would ensue. He turned to the Talunga: "Where can I find water? This has to be washed." "There is a source over there." "Let's go." The girl hesitated, then said: "White man and Kimbundo can go to source, if this help Mkomo. But have to go back after that." "We will", Rodrigo said. "We don't want to upset the Ladies." "Druna and Aisha go now", the girl said. "When come back here, white man and Kimbundo no here any more." "Agreed." The Talunga took their spears and resumed their patrolling. As they walked past Rodrigo, he saw with some surprise that their butts were naked; the leopard skin covered only the front of their bodies. He licked his lips at the sight of those perfect cheeks, wondering what it would be like to insert his cock between them. They walked to the source. Kango was impressed by the way Master had handled the Talunga. He had been surprised to be called a slave, but refrained from asking why: he was still scared to be so near a Talunga, even without a spear and wounded. He kept a watchful eye on her, and squatted at a prudent distance when the doctor began to examine the girl's cut. Rodrigo took some water and washed the dry blood out of the Nubian's lap. The cut was wide, but not deep; with proper care, it would heal in a few days. He profited from the occasion to feel her breasts; they were full and pointed up, their buttons protruding from the lighter areolas. The Talunga let him do; she was feeling humiliated by having been expelled from Awana's squad, and that man seemed kind: instead of ridiculing her because of her lost eye, he was taking care of her – something that neither Awana or her sisters had done. Rodrigo finished his washing and told Kango to get some wide leaves, with which he made a bandage going under the giantess' armpit. "You will be OK, Mkomo. Now tell me, what will become of you?" The girl stared at him with her sole eye. "Mkomo cannot go back to Talunga village. Big shame on Mkomo. Mkomo no place to go." Rodrigo put his hand under his chin and reflected for an instant. That woman was a warrior, but had now become a sort of outcast. She was momentarily fragile; if he could find a way to tame her, she could become his second slave – and a female one would be much more appropriate than Kango to please him. An idea flashed in his head: why not take her as his ... mount? She seemed strong enough to bear him on her shoulders; if he could somehow coax her into accepting, that would surely impress the Kimbundo – and perhaps even the fearsome Ladies, when he finally met one. The sheer idea of riding her, six feet above ground, made his cock twitch inside his pants. He glanced at her: her whole body gave the impression of having been carved out of black stone. Rodrigo lifted the girl's chin: "Mkomo, I have a proposition for you. You don't have anywhere to go: why don't you come with me?" The girl's eye opened wide. That was quite unexpected! "With you? What for?" "You are a very strong Talunga. You cannot fight any more for the Ladies, but there is something you can do. Have you ever carried anyone on your shoulders?" "No!" "Well, you could begin now. I am not used to walk such long distances. If you agree, you will be rewarded when we arrive at the Kimbundo village. Let's put it like this: try doing it while your cut heals. If you don't like, you will be free to leave. Just for some days, huh?" The giantess was startled. She had never heard of anybody carrying a person on shoulders. The Ladies rode horses, not a Talunga! On the other hand, she really had nowhere to go; she had thought of starting a lonely life in the wilderness, but that had been on the spur of the moment. Some wild beast could kill her – she was unarmed, as she had had to surrender her spear when leaving Awana's squad. And there were the bad spirits; she was more scared of them than of lions and panthers – what if one appeared by night? That man was offering her a reasonable deal. What could she lose? The Realm of the Fighting Ladies Pt. 02 Chapter Five Awana had sent Druna to inform the head of her tribe of their imminent arrival. The squire had returned with good news: Simona and Artemisia were already in the village, and to honor the Amazons the chief had decided to organize a day of competitions and dances. The column was marching behind Rodrigo and Awana, with the soldiers at its sides. Rodrigo had to hold Mkomo's reins firmly: the giantess was so eager to meet her people that every now and when a hearty tug on her neck was needed to slow her down. The doctor had not touched Awana since that first night; except for Kango's daily massages, his cock had been idle since the day he had taken Mkomo's cherry. He looked around. It had rained during the night, and the air was balmy. The landscape was magnificent: a luscious tone of green on the low vegetation and on the small clusters of trees indicated abundance of water. The mountain ridge to the East was impressive, and above them the fleecy clouds formed shapes that changed quickly as a gentle breeze pulled them against each other. The Talunga village was already on sight. Two horses were galloping towards the column; on their backs, Awana recognized her fellow Amazons, who had decided to come and join her for that last stretch of road. A few minutes later, they stopped by her side. Simona spoke first. She was tall, roughly the same age as Awana, and clad in what seemed a casual outfit: a short skirt, comfortable for riding, a stripe of cloth covering her breasts, and open sandals on her feet. Her bright red hair was waving over her shoulders; her face had that strange beauty of her tribe - green eyes, a straight nose over a delicately shaped mouth, and a rather square chin. She stood erect on the horse's back, and her expression showed utter bewilderment: she had noticed Rodrigo on top of Mkomo. "Hail, Awana! What is this?" "This man is a foreign doctor I am bringing to Erimanton", Awana replied, savoring her friend's amazement. "Found him in the Kimbundo village. Rodrigo, this is Simona, and at her side you have Artemisia." The Portuguese bowed his head: "Noble Ladies, Awana has been very generous and invited me to visit your capital. I am Rodrigo de Toledo, at your service", he said in Greek. "Oh, you speak our language", Simona exclaimed. "Be welcome, foreigner. Awana's friend is our friend." As they began to move again, Artemisia gave a good glance at Mkomo's collar. She was somewhat rounder than Simona, a bit less tall, and her blonde hair was tied in a sort of ponytail, leaving bare her small ears and lovely neck. Her skirt and top were like Simona's, and Rodrigo noticed that she had one of the finest pair of legs had ever seen. "A Talunga harnessed! This is new for me", she said. "Still being trained, but a good mount", Rodrigo smiled. "Have you had a good trip?" asked the first Amazon "Uneventful", replied Awana "And you – did you fulfil your mission?" "Yes. The Pukari and Shanti are already in the village. We were waiting for you to continue to Erimanton." Simona glanced at the trunks on the shoulders of the Kimbundo, which were walking just behind them. "Your lot seems first-class. What are they carrying – tributes?" "No, Simona. These are things I am bringing to your town. Clothes and other objects from my land", Rodrigo said, and pulled again on Mkomo's reins. "With the horses, not ahead of them!" he said sternly. They were entering the village, which was composed of some dozens of wooden kubatas, covered with straw and distributed in concentric circles around a wide central square. The doctor shuddered: at the angles of the square, four gigantic skulls were tied through their empty orbits to poles about twenty feet high. Such enormous heads could only have been severed from Talunga necks; the doctor wondered if they were from males or females, and turned his head from that macabre sight. A portly Nubian in her mid-forties, with sagging tits that suggested she had breastfed several kids, was standing at the center of the square, waiting for them. Her pelt was made of lion hide and on her right ankle she had a circlet made of yellow beads. Although she had no staff in her hand, Rodrigo guessed that she was the head of the tribe. All the Talunga who happened to be in the village at that time had gathered to greet the Fighting Ladies and to welcome their sisters. Rodrigo evaluated their number at some hundreds. The females were bare breasted and wore the same kind of pelt he was already familiar with; the men, still taller than the women, had a sort of girdle around their hips and going under their crotch. They did not kneel as the Kimbundo had done, but remained standing Awana raised her hand and the column came to a halt. "Welcome, Awana!" the chief said, her eyes glued to the collar on the giantess's throat. What did that mean? Why was Mkomo carrying that man on her shoulders? "Thank you, Matunga! I am glad to be in your village again. You see that I have brought with me Mkomo and a foreign man; she will tell you later how she lost her eye." The Amazon looked at the group of Kimbundo youths, who were packed against each other and clearly frightened at the sight of so many Talunga, and gave a series of quick orders: "Aisha, take the Kimbundo to join the Pukari and Shanti; see that they receive water and food. The trunks are to be put in a kubata; it will also house the foreign man. I can stay in the same hut as the other Ladies. Druna, take care of my horse and bring me some fruits and fresh water. Then you all may go and have some rest. " She dismounted and turned to the chief: "I heard that we will have competitions and dances?" "Yes, Awana. Talunga want honor Fighting Ladies. Competition when sun gets less hot." Druna went to carry out her tasks, while Aisha and four other soldiers prodded the Kimbundo towards the area reserved for the slaves - a group of kubatas near the end of the village, surrounded by a high palisade. The sentinel opened the gate and the youths marched in; ten Pukari were sent to bring buckets of water from the nearby stream. As they arrived back, the gate was closed; three soldiers mounted guard in front of it, while others climbed ladders posted on the palisade and sat on its top. The forty-odd Shanti and about fifty Pukari had already spent some days in the enclosure and had grown accustomed to the watchers' presence. But to find themselves in a closed space, under surveillance and with people they had never met, was a new and rather frightening experience for the Kimbundo. They quenched their thirst and stayed together, intimidated by the situation. The atmosphere remained tense until a Pukari produced a drum and started to hammer on it. Some girls formed a circle and began to thump their feet to the beat. Nwanze pulled the hand of a girl form her tribe: "Come! Who knows how long we will have to wait here? Let's dance with the others!" The Nubian rose to her feet and joined the circle. Soon all the girls followed their example, swaying their hips and moving their arms, while the males clapped their hands to mark the rhythm. The natural sociability of the race had broken the ice. Rodrigo had gone with Kango and the bearers to the kubata that had been designated for him. "Put all the trunks and boxes over there. Kango, it is better if you stay with your fellows, until we get more familiar with how things are organized here." He patted Nakumbu's back as the lad put carefully on ground the box with the ammunition for his musket. The waistcoat left exposed a good part of his wide chest. "Are we staying here for long, Master?" Kango asked. "One or two days, it seems. There will be competitions and dances, perhaps still today, and then we leave for the Amazons' town. At least this is what the Lady told me. Behave yourselves!" The youths walked out, accompanied by the guard. Kango glanced at Mkomo, who was crouching under a tree and telling a group of her sisters how she had killed the big kalango and earned the shell bracelet. Of course they were going to behave, he thought to himself: only a madman would dare to cause trouble with so many Talunga around. The Realm of the Fighting Ladies Pt. 02 Rodrigo spoke softly. "Why have you run away?" "Kizumbu no want live with Ladies. Talunga say, Ladies pierce ear of Shanti, Kizumbu no want that." Her body was tense as a coiled spring, her bosom heaving up and down. The doctor assumed a sterner tone: "You are a Shanti, and you know the law. It is the Ladies who protect your tribe; if they were not around, perhaps you would have been already devoured by one of these tall women." "Kizumbu no want go with Ladies", she repeated stubbornly. "Kizumbu die, but stay free." That gave Rodrigo an idea. He knew that many African tribes believed in an afterlife; if that was the case with the Shanti, perhaps a new argument could persuade the girl to surrender peacefully. "You have been selected to serve the Fighting Ladies, as the others from your tribe. Even if you die, the spirit of a Lady can come and call you to do your duty, as you certainly know." The girl opened a wide mouth. She had not counted with that! Was it true? "When that happens – it will surely happen, for you are a splendid girl and any Lady, alive or dead, would want you as her servant – you will repent. But it will be too late. You will be tied to her for many, many years, much longer than if you serve a Lady in this life." He made a pause to gauge the effect of his words, and finished his speech with a dramatic note: "And you will never see daylight again – it is forever dark in the place of the dead." Kizumbu made a gesture with her hand, as if to ward off that gloomy prospect. What the pale man had said was horrible – to spend the rest of her life in darkness! To serve a dead Lady's spirit! She shuddered, pondering what she should do. To run again was impossible: the soldiers would reach her in no time – and the Fighting Ladies could very well give her to them as their evening meal. Rodrigo waited calmly, letting the picture he had painted sink into the girl's mind. The Talunga were immobile, also amazed at what they had just learned. Mkomo felt the Portuguese's hand scratching gently behind her ear and stuck out her breasts, proud of her special relationship to him – he knew so many things! Kizumbu stared up and faced the man. There was fear on her eyes, the ancestral fear of the dead and of the darkness that enveloped them, wherever their abode was. She shivered again: her only option was to go back and face the Ladies' wrath. Her voice trembled a bit as she raised her pretty face: "Kizumbu go to Ladies." The Portuguese turned to the Talunga: "Let's go back! And Kulele - my compliments: were it not for you, we would never have spotted the girl." Kulele opened a wide grin. As all the Talunga in the village, the sight of Mkomo being ridden by that man had left her perplexed. The giantess was known to be a bit queer, even half-witted, but that surpassed everything she had done before. Now Kulele saw why Mkomo was so fascinated with the man she called Master: he was soft-spoken, but powerful. The Shanti had surrendered to him, not to the Talunga – they had just watched him talk to her. Kulele's eyes gleamed at the idea of being rewarded by the Lady. What would she earn? The Realm of the Fighting Ladies Pt. 02 When the last turn began, Mkomo jumped forward like a panther and reached the other girls; she ran parallel to them until the third pole, the three at an incredible speed. Then she buried her head in her shoulders, breathed deep and gave a formidable sprint, leaving Maromba four steps behind. Her huge feet barely touched ground, and thick drops of sweat covered her back, making it glisten like a piece of ebony. Maromba tried to reach her, but was unsuccessful: Mkomo circled the pole and threw herself to the ground, breathless but happy: she had done it! No one would sneer at her any more! "Your Talunga was brilliant", Simona complimented. "And smart, too. Did you notice how she saved her forces for the last stretch?" Rodrigo smiled. He knew that Mkomo was getting attached to him, and having allowed her to compete had been an intelligent move. He motioned for her to come over; as she squatted by his feet, still breathing heavily, he pinched affectionately her nose and aspired her savage scent – it was high time to have some more pleasure from that huge black body. The next test was beginning. Matunga had some of the soldiers to lay down their spears, forming a straight line; the aim was a huge bush at the right side of the square. Rodrigo watched in awe as the Talunga dashed towards the line and with a powerful impulse threw the weapons right inside the bush. In spite of their size, their bodies were quite elastic; the spears were perfectly in line with their shoulders, and described an elegant curve as they crossed the air into the aim. Some fifty females showed their prowess, and only three missed the bush. The Amazons were quite pleased: their soldiers were undoubtedly well trained. Wrestling had been left to the end, as it was the most prestigious competition. A couple of the strongest women Rodrigo had ever seen entered the square and removed their pelts and tops; as in ancient Greece, they were to fight naked. The one with the largest boobs circled her opponent and threw up her right foot to hit her chin; the other woman ducked the attack lowering her body. She dashed to the first one and grabbed her arms from behind, twisting them in a powerful grip. The giantess tried to free herself, but the other kicked her waist and brought her down. The two Nubians rolled on the ground, and for a moment Rodrigo could not tell which was over which. The big-breasted one let her adversary escape and she mounted her belly, pressing the lying woman's throat with her both hands. The feet of the trapped Talunga went with all their force on the other's back, kicking with their heels on her kidneys, but to no avail; the grip on her neck went stronger and stronger – she put her tongue out, stopped moving and patted the ground with her hand, acknowledging her defeat. A thunder of applause greeted the end of the fight. The winner stood up and tied her pelt on; she looked at Artemisia, who waved her hand. "Excellent fighter, my Tamanga", said the Amazon. "I should register her for the next games at Erimanton. Would bring in a lot of drachmas from bets." The competition was over; as if out of nowhere, drummers appeared and squatted in line under one of the poles. The Talunga began to stomp their feet and soon two circles were formed, the inner one with the males and the outer with the females, going in opposite directions. Darkness was falling; some torches were lit and placed in holes on the ground. The smell of roasted meat filled the air; clearly, the tribe was going to have an exciting evening. Rodrigo rose up and patted Mkomo's head: "Go with your sisters, Mkomo. You have excelled today, and deserve to have some fun." Maiunga appeared with a chunk of antelope for her mistress, soon followed by Kizumbu and Nwanze. The Amazons ate in silence; Matunga brought a jug of palm wine and they drank directly from it. "Very fine competition", Awana said. "Your tribe merits their position as soldiers of the Queen." Matunga grinned broadly, showing her white teeth, and walked off. "How about a dice game?" Simona asked the other Amazons. "Good idea", said Artemisia. Awana kept silent, her gaze lost on the mountain ridge at the East. "I think I will take a walk", she said. "Artemisia, can Nwanze stay with Maiunga? I don't need her until tomorrow." "Sure. Come with us, girl." Awana removed the sword from her belt and handed it to the Kimbundo. Rodrigo was hesitating: he was not interested in the Talunga's dance. His cock wanted a female – better said, needed a female. Mkomo was at his hand's reach, but the Amazon was a much bigger prize. He decided to try his luck: "May I accompany you in your walk, Awana? Perhaps you would like to look through the glass again." "You are welcome", the warrior said. Simona and Artemisia went to their kubata, with the three girls on their heels. They didn't want to stay behind: the Talunga were perilous enough when sober and under the command of the Ladies. Who knew what they could do after drinking palm wine? " Awana seems a bit too kind towards the foreigner", Simona said sourly in Greek. Artemisia smiled: now she understood Awana's comment about Simona having found a Nubian: the red-haired Amazon was interested in the beautiful warrior. "He is an interesting man. Nothing to do with our breeders back at Erimanton." Simona pressed her lips together and said nothing. She had been with Awana once, and it had been very good to have her between her arms. The Amazon was quite hot, her pussy tasted wonderfully, and her mouth was delightful to kiss. After that, she had asked her several times to come again to her bed, but her advances had met with a polite refusal. She shrugged; it was Awana's business. Now she had the Shanti to please her – but even so, her pride was wounded. Simona liked young women, white or black, and Awana was one of the most attractive girls in Erimanton. She would find a way to rub her cunt on those pert breasts and wet them with her juices.