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hwcm

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  1. One of my favorite things you've written!
  2. hey Linkx! These are great stories and really well written. I love the idea of the vignettes, it really lets you hop around to different stories and use different characters for interesting situations. Though, it also makes it tough to follow the narrative "thread" and keep track of who some of the characters are and what the motivations are. I expect you'll flesh out the other members of the group a lot more! Also, just as a typo correction, the title would probably be "The Dawnbringers' Misadventures"
  3. Thanks for the comments everybody! I haven't updated this in a while because I got pretty lazy about writing the rest of it and ran into a writer's block. I'm pretty sure I know how I'm going to finish it now, but in the meantime, here's a little sketch I drew for the story!
  4. For me, there's a fine line between what I like and what gets creepy and depressing, so I completely understand where youre coming from. There are a lot of smutty stories I've come across that just make me feel sort of uncomfortable. I was a little worried about how the story would come off, but I think it's probably the reception you would expect from any fetish centric story. Some people will like it and some will hate it. As for my plans for the story, I'll say that while the women won't have any sort of big victorious turnaround, the ending also won't be anything near as miserable and oppressive as it probably seems like. Thanks for your comment!
  5. A quick update as promised! CHAPTER 5 (part three) On the grounds normally reserved for hand to hand sparring, several vanguard women were forced to grapple with some soldiers, but with a hand tied behind their back, opening the powerful warriors to a variety of humiliating attacks, slaps, and gropes. The great frontline fighters of the clanswomen towered above their captors and fought back with greater success than their peers, but still eventually succumbed to the focused abuse of many men. Gianna, a lithe platinum blond vanguard and among the most accomplished and respected of them, was currently in the throes of abuse. She appeared roughed up and was forced in a kneeling position. A soldier's boot was pressing her head against the ground, while three others were holding tightly to ropes that bound the woman's arms. Even in her restrained and beaten state, it took a full four men to suppress Gianna. Unfortunately, despite the difficulty that the soldiers had in subduing her, Gianna's composure faltered quickly as soon as she realized she was defeated. The muscled vanguard was trying mightily to maintain her steely resolve, but the mask of rage on her face was being undermined now by squealing whimpers and quivering lips. From between her widespread legs, a thin, steady stream of yellow fluid emerged and dampened her clothes. She failed, she broke, just like all the others. Alaina barely even had time to register her disgust at this pathetic showing by the soldiers, as Lazarus urgently tugged her along to the main event. Ahead of them, a small training circle drew a particularly large crowd of soldiers who were hooting and taunting. Lazarus led the small entourage through the crowd to the side of the ring. Alaina saw the combatants and gasped – it was Leandra, the great Vanguard warrior, disarmed of her battle axe, but still an imposing sight. She still had on her her warrior attire: the trademark single steel pauldron, a midriff baring plated jerkin, and (to Alaina's surprise) unstained briefs, but it appeared as though she had been in battle for days. Her hair was disheveled and bruises and scratches covered her body. Still, though, she looked a fair sight better than everyone else Alaina had seen to this point. It felt so long since she last saw one of her comrades assuming the dignity of a true clanswoman. “It's the frightfully huge woman,” whispered Lazarus excitedly to Alaina. “Soldiers found her last night hiding out in one of the southwest shacks, in a little trapdoor. When they tripped over her hidey hole, she jumped out and slew three of them in five seconds, they say. It took ten men to bring her down alive. They told me to have her executed on the spot, but for what? Why would I just kill my great prize cow?” They planned to exhaust her here, thought Alaina. They would humiliate her in her proudest environment – the battleground. But she looked around at the hollering soldiers, and then looked upon Leandra's magnificently muscled, athletic frame. She had forgotten how radiant and impressive Leandra's physique looked in the midst of battle, not to speak of her brilliance in melee. Surely none of these whelps could ever take the great woman down, thought Alaina. But they had already subjugated the rest of the tribe with ease, and Leandra, powerful though she may be, was still an Ekpanian like all the others. Leandra was circling a soldier in the ring, her hands held up and ready to strike – she was not only dangerous with her axe, but her martial hand to hand skills were superior as well. The man threw a quick hook forward and stepped directly into Leandra's fist, which knocked him out cold. “Who else?!” screamed Leandra, baring her teeth. Another soldier leaped over the waist high fence surrounding the dirt ring. He too was dispatched in short order. Five more hopped over the fence – Leandra quickly struck one in the chest, stunning him, then swung around to elbow a second into unconsciousness. A fist slammed into her neck from behind, sending her stumbling backward toward the fence, but still on her feet. A hand from one of the hooting soldiers flashed out and slapped her across her tanned bottom. Leandra fiercely turned around to punish the soldier, and the distraction was enough for one of the soldiers still standing in the ring to land a kick to her midsection. “Hurgh,” groaned Leandra, but she recovered just enough to land a hook on an approaching soldier and send him flying toward the dust. This small victory was cut short by a flurry of punches and slaps that she could only barely defend. “Hee hee hee!” cackled Lazarus, thoroughly engrossed in the event. “Slap her on the butt again! Beat her to the ground!” She stumbled again and pushed the attacker away, but another came at her with a heavy blow to her stomach, knocking the wind out of her. Alaina felt a cold chill run through her. She knew then that the fight was over now – Leandra might struggle and fight furiously, even taking out a few more soldiers, but the tide had turned and there was no beating five, ten, dozens of men. But was this the same Leandra that Alaina had witnessed on the battlefield, slaying literally scores of men, huge beasts, and staying entire armies with her supernatural strength? Realization dawned upon Alaina. She had been asking herself the whole time how their great, glorious tribe could fall so easily and shamefully to normal men. Even a great contingent that the boy king arrived with should not have been a match for the full brunt of the Ekpanian force; the clanswomen had fought off greater enemies in the past. But a curious theory began to form within her mind: perhaps the clanswomen, made so physically strong and adept by the gods and by Cozma Anteia, were not invincible to all manner of weaponry. What if, in place of physical weakness, the warrior women had been bestowed some other curse to balance them? Perhaps it wasn't steel hat could fell them, but shame. The thought caused Alaina to shiver. She felt a small stream of urine escape into her diaper. “Cowards!” Leandra gasped angrily. “Wretched curs!” She cursed as she continued to stave off her attackers. But as the vanguard grew more desperate, her taunting and curses faded. After several more minutes of fighting, Leandra looked worn out. Three more men were slumped on the ground, but the expression of twisted rage on the great woman's face began to shift to one of exhaustion and desperation. More soldiers had replaced the fallen ones. One landed a punch to Leandra's groin, another elbowed her in the back, and the third kicked at her heavy legs. Physically, her skin bore few lasting bruises or scars, but mentally she was nearly beaten. She leaned forward in exhaustion, with one hand on her thigh to hold herself up and the other raised in weak resistance. Alaina could not pull her thoughts away from her new theory. The plight of the clanswomen now suddenly made so much cruel, brutal sense. Spears and stones glanced off the skin of the Ekpanian women and their skin renewed itself before their eyes, but embarrassment turned them into incontinent little girls. And as soon as the first failure of resolve occurred, then the stone only rolled further downhill; one shame would beget another, and another, and the warriors became weaker and weaker. This explained the Prince’s easy defeat of Alaina earlier in the morning, as well as the pathetic sight before her now. Even great amazons could be made the playthings of children after enough indignities. This is the secret the dead former king discovered in his torture of Ulina. But where would it end? What became of Ulina? Then, it happened: a soldier raised his fist as if to land one final, crushing blow against her, and Leandra's eyes widened. Just then, Alaina knew, the brawny woman had lost her warrior spirit – it had been replaced in whole by a terrified young girl with no strength left to give. A dark brown spot formed and rapidly enlarged between Leandra's great thighs and a stream of hot yellow liquid sputtered out. The legendary Vanguard was humiliatingly, degradingly, urinating herself, her bladder yielding to the crude intimidation. Bright yellow pee coursed down her long, quaking legs and into her boots. The crowd laughed uproariously, and the king with them. “Yes! Ha ha ha!” He tugged hard on Alaina's leash. “Look! I command you to look! See what I've made her? See the little girl she's become?” He was manic with glee. Leandra's face flushed bright red and her lower lip quivered. “I...I...” she sputtered, but no words would come out. The warrior woman had never before experienced anything nearly so degrading, so demeaning. A soldier in the ring manuevered behind her and slipped his forearms under the crooks of her arms, pulling her body backward and showcasing her sopping wet pants and more spurts of escaping urine to the hooting audience. The skimpy leather briefs that once vainly showed off her beautiful, muscled legs now only sharpened the shame. The soldier dropped her to the ground, and hot liquid began to fan out from her groin across the dry dusty ground. The expression on Leandra's face was one of utter shock; her eyes were wide and her cheeks were burning red, as though embarrassed yet still unable to fully grasp the situation. “Look at the big, brave warrior! Ha ha ha!” hooted a soldier. Alaina could barely stand to see the sight of the tribal champion brought low, but she feared retribution from the boy king; she didn't know if she could survive the brutal punishment that would follow resistance at this stage. The thought sent another uncontrollable stream of pee into her sodden diaper. Leandra, recovering somewhat, had been spent of all urine. But the worst was not over yet. She returned to her feet and made to assume a grappling position once again, but her quickness and awareness had all but deserted her. A soldier immediately grabbed her by the hair and jerked her backwards. Leandra was caught by surprise; her moist eyes clenched and the sound of a wet, loud bowel movement pierced the air. The laughter reached a climax as the crowd realized what had happened: the defeated woman's sphincter loosened as she was yanked up, and let a thick, foul stool into the seat of her pants. “Oh gods, she's messing herself like a child!” came a jeer. Alaina looked down with horror and saw the leather briefs distend and darken. The fallen warrior had slipped even further into shameful despair. Her eyes closed tightly, but still could not stem the tears flowing down her cheeks. Lazarus was beside himself with glee. “She's pooping her pants! She's pooping her pants! Ha ha ha!” Tears were streaming down his face too. Alaina, now pushed beyond the fear of punishment, averted her eyes and shut all senses out. She could turn away from the dismal scene, she found, but the cold truth of her and her friends' situation stared her straight in the eyes.
  6. Well that took me a long time, sorry. But the next part after this should be shortly forthcoming! CHAPTER 4 (Part Two) Alaina could not get used to the feel of the thick diaper between her legs. The crinkling bulk of it prevented her from pressing her legs too close together, making the simple act of walking awkward and difficult. That it crinkled at all was enough to make her flush pink, but it was so loud, she expected that her gait could be heard from miles way. She tried in vain to shift her body away from the bulk of the diaper, but Parveen fitted it firmly. There was no escaping the warm, suffocating mass of it. It pushed against her skin oppressively, making her aware at every second of its degrading presence. She had been so accustomed of feeling the warm winds sweep across the land and brush against her skin, and had taken some small pride in her growth from skinny teenage recruit to lithe, muscular fighter, and now the white garment had effectively erased that pride. She was led down the winding path to the village with her childish diaper in full view, pulled along by her collar clasped tightly around her neck, with the end of the short leash held tightly by wretched Lazarus. Flanking the two of them were the guards whom Alaina christened Stoneface and Bird, as loyal and brief of conversation as ever. The silent Parveen followed silently at the end of their little train. A sharp tug on Alaina's leash almost caused her to topple over, so limited she was by the bindings around her ankles. “Hurry up, dog!” barked the boy. The four figures continued down the path from the Matriarch's former dwelling to the central square. At first, the walk was uneventful. As she remembered from the countless trips she had taken down this path, smaller huts on the fringe of the barracks emerged from the thick of the forest. But as the group passed this border, Alaina began to hear voices, like howling animals. First a quiet few, than many in cacophony – no animals were these. It was the distressed grunts and cries of women, she realized; women she knew, and their cries were mingled with the cruel boorish laughs of soldiers. Her sphincter tightened. “Hear that, little girl?” said Lazarus, with a mischievous grin on his face. “Those are all your little friends! And boy, did I have plans for them!” He gave a high pitched giggle and tugged her onward. She did not reply, for her thoughts were consumed entirely with images of cleaving his face off with a sword. But her opportunity for that had long since passed. Walking in the opposite direction, a pair of soldiers were pulling along a large wooden cart overloaded with what appeared to be assorted leather garments and straps. As they drew closer, however, a foul smell grew pungent and Alaina could see that the faces of the soldiers were twisted with displeasure. “Phew!” cried the little king, scrunching up his nose and wafting his hand in front of it. “You warrior women put the royal outhouses to shame! Perhaps it's all that green vineroot in your diets. Parveen, remind me to cut all crops of that foul weed from next year's demand.”Alaina now understood what lay before her. The king's detachment had been tormenting the whole of the amazon tribe for days now, likely in a similar manner to her own punishments, and these were the rotten fruits of their suffering. The embroidered jerkins and briefs that once symbolized Ekpanian strength were now heaped in a disgusting pile. The crotches of every set of breeches, briefs, shorts, and underclothes were soaked with the urine of the clanswomen, and much of them appeared to be stained by feces as well. The king must have been sending whole carts of these down to the civilian village for cleaning. What could possibly be running through the minds of the villagers as they were tasked with laundering these massive shipments of shit and urine-soaked battle clothes? The very thought caused Alaina to drop her head in a crimson blush and she tried to banish the thought from her mind. Further along the path, still not quite to the village square, she saw a group of three clanswomen held in bondage. The women were held in stockades that had been erected in a small clearing along the side of the path, and they were being spanked and strapped by a group of laughing soldiers, who were jostling and arguing with one another over whose turn it was to punish the women. One girl in her late teens, a stocky, brown haired mountrider named Marsine, had already shamed herself from the punishment. A large dark patch spread neatly across the bottom of her tight shorts and her legs glistened as they shook, and the poor girl whined tearfully. It seemed that she was the one the men were most eager to punish. Marsine, like Alaina's best friend Torine, struggled more than some of the other clanswomen at the art of mental evacuation and resistance to pressure. But she was bright eyed and naturally talented on horseback, and would have made an excellent trooper. Her prominent shapely rear end and relative youth, Alaina suspected, made her a prime target for the vicious soldiers. Alaina averted her eyes from her comrades, but still heard their whimpers as she walked by. “She's soaked herself already!” cried Lazarus, not shying from pointing out Marsine's miserable condition. “What a farce! Soldiers, make sure she is well and proper spanked for her lack of control!” The girl Marsine no doubt heard his abased comments and sobbed noisily as the soldiers dutifully doubled their efforts in slapping and groping her. Alaina directed her eyes to the ground, burning with hatred for the boy. Further on ahead, two soldiers held in their hands soft, feathery implements and were using them to tickle another clanswoman, who was tied to an upright wooden cross. Kalena, known throughout the village for her skill in stealth and assassination, was one of the most quiet and terrifying clanswomen that Alaina knew. She almost never smiled, and her dark black bangs cut off just across her eyes, often completely masking them in shadow. She could slip in and out of notice without so much as the sound of air rushing in her wake, and until now, Alaina had never seen the woman express more emotion than fleeting smirks or grim, tight lipped gazes. Kalena had wet herself as well, and quite thoroughly: nearly the entirety of her tight jodhpurs had been stained, and still the two soldiers tormented her. So wet were they with piss that even the bottom of her shirt began to dampen. Soon, it seemed, she would wet so much that the stain would travel all the way up to her full, half exposed breasts. The assassin's face was contorted into a mixture of laughter and rage as she protested through broken stops and starts. “N..no...” she screamed through her laughter. “St..ha ha.. stop it you...ha...fiends....” She shook her head wildly as the men lightly traced the implements around the parts of her body most acutely sensitive to touch. They tickled her armpits constantly and used their fingers to explore her soft belly, the crooks of her knees, the soles of her feet and the gaps between her wiggling toes. One soldier stopped to force a jug of translucent yellow fluid into her mouth. “What...?!” protested Alaina. This was a step too far: even she could not imagine the perverted boy king allowing this affront. “How dare you...” “Ha ha,” laughed Lazarus, waving her off. “Looks like pee, doesn't it? That's not a bad idea, actually, I might try using that sometime... but no, that's pilar juice. The alchemists fixed it up to keep little girls like you peeing and peeing without draining all your... 'nutrients,' he called them, or something. I don't know.” He waved his hand dismissively. “In any case, I don't like my pets starving before I'm done with them!” Alaina's stomach sank at this news. So now the boy had a drink that could allow him to torture her and the others endlessly. “It's a nice party trick, I think,” Lazarus went on, “but it works all too well. They couldn't keep it from making women piss themselves within fifteen minutes. Sometimes you just need to sit back and let her suffer and hold herself, you know? Let her think she's going to make it.” He yanked on her leash again, and they advanced down the path. The group arrived at the square, and Alaina's jaw dropped with horror. A festival of torment was occurring, and all around her, her friends and comrades in arms formed a cacophonic parade of misery. Clanswomen, singly and in groups, were spread out all across the training grounds, accompanied by packs of soldiers and being tortured in so many different, disgusting methods; methods that could only have originated in the twisted mind of the mad boy king. “Cozma's bane...” Alaina whispered, her eyes wide. She could not turn around without seeing some kind of makeshift torture station. The amazons were bound to whatever implement was available: makeshift stocks, small trees, wooden posts. Several were being hit and caned with supple ironwood branches and other implements. A pair of tearful spearwomen were being made to kiss and fondle each other in front of a group of drooling, hooting soldiers. An archer was forced to run on a stationary rolling tread as she was slapped on the hind like a horse, until she collapsed exhausted and peed and soiled herself. Nearby, a group of women were held in tall wooden frames and suspended above the ground with rope; they were being fed pilal juice and appeared to be having their bladders massaged until they urinated in their fighting clothes, unable to even close their legs together to hide their debasement. A pigtailed young recruit was being bullied and pushed around by a few soldiers and had vacated her bowels out of fright; the soldiers continued to push and jab at the girl as her waste stained and spilled out from her shorts. Alaina's eyes filled with tears upon her next sight. On the central dais was the beloved Matriarch Susannah, bent over on her hands and knees atop an elevated platform, and smacked rhythmically on her wide, perfectly rounded golden bottom by a soldier armed with a great wooden paddle. The beautiful, statuesque woman still somehow looked stately in her compromising position, her body shuddering after each blow. Her brow was furrowed, but her face seemed to project calmness in spite of her situation. “Here she is,” declared Lazarus cruelly. “Your precious Matriarch! Still preening proudly even through her punishment! I've begun to tire slightly of her haughty whining, but still I cannot resist an inspection of one of my most precious cows.” At this, he ascended the platform steps. Alaina made slight sidesteps to try and escape any possible sight by the fallen Matriarch. She was ashamed that she could only stand and bear witness her matron's unenviable position, and could not stand the thought of locking eyes with her now. The soldiers on punishment duty stepped aside and Lazarus walked beside the kneeling woman, looking as ridiculous as he did on the first day next to Susannah's towering frame. He petted and stroked her skin like a prize destrier, and the Matriarch's expression changed subtly as she realized his presence. “You...” she panted, “Treacherous villain! You would have brought...shame upon your father....” Though the woman appeared calm, Alaina could see that she was shivering slightly. Pride had been replaced by child-like fear, and Alaina could only ruefully think that her Matriarch was tenuously holding on to control of her sphincter. She chided herself for these humiliating thoughts of her comrades, but so thorough was her torment that her thoughts had been all but consumed by vivid images of her ordeals. Deep down, she could not bear to admit to herself that the Matriarch would not be able to control herself, and that by the end of this brief encounter, the boy king would succeed once again in turning the magisterial woman into a panty wetting infant. “Pah!” clucked Lazarus, casually examining Susannah's beautiful, buckling body. “You knew nothing of my father, you pathetic wench.” He brushed his hand down along her back and traced a fingertip along the waistband of her leather panties. She trembled still more, rubbing her thighs together nervously. “I dare say he would not be more proud of me, in fact. I was able to accomplish at my age what the old fart could only dream of! I have conquered the legendary clanswomen of Ekpana and held them in thrall! I have beheld the virtuous beauty of their great Matriarch and crushed it! I have chained her spirit, stamped it beneath my foot.” His finger tracked its way down the crease of Susannah's buttocks toward her clenched and quivering groin. “She is mine now,” he whispered malevolently. “AND SHE WILL DO AS I SAY!” he shouted suddenly, grabbing her hair with his free hand and violently jerking her head backward. The Matriarch emitted a whining cry and her whole body tensed up in that instant; in surprise and fear, she lost what little control she had left and voided her bladder like a babe. Her hot urine gushed out around Lazarus's probing finger and down her thighs, just as it had on the first fateful day. She sobbed openly, a truly broken woman in thrall to the mad king. Lazarus tutted and wiped his hand on his robes, then made his way back down the dais. It was business as usual for him – he knew his power had already been cemented over these warrior women, this tour was merely a victory march. A few silent tears fell from Alaina's face, as she was reminded again of the shock and helplessness she felt when he first saw this wicked boy shame her Matriarch. This time, though, she was already resigned to her humiliations. “Come,” he said to his party. “We have a more important matter to attend to.” And they moved to follow him.
  7. thanks for the comments everybody! i'm sorry for the delay in the latest addition, I've been short of time and am trying to finish editing it, but it should be done soon! Does this subject matter seem to grim for most people on this forum? It's interesting to know what the general audience thinks of this kind of stuff, in case I write future stories for the site.
  8. Sorry for the long break! Here is the continuation. CHAPTER 4 (Part One): Alaina dreamt that night of Ulina, the fierce flame haired amazon. Ulina stood tall at the crest of a rocky outcropping, watching over the action on a bloody battlefield. She wore a plated vest and covered both shoulders with exquisitely crafted, horned shells. Her legs were encased in hide pants that were stretched taught around her thighs and hindquarters, drawing the large muscles into sharp relief. With her mighty complement of ancient arms strapped across her body, she leaped off the rocks and skidded downhill. Then her strong, powerful legs pumped like horses to carry her into the thick of battle. She held aloft her trusty spear in her right hand and drew the shining scimitar K'thava with her left hand, then set to slaying any enemy soldiers she encountered. The legendary scout moved like a blur: her spear pierced through a man's heavy plate like paper, and a second later she was slicing the head off of an unsuspecting combatant with her scimitar. Massive knights swung their greatswords at her, but hit only her shadow as she skillfully pranced and ducked around their pokes and swings until she could land single, lethal strikes on her prey. Alaina drifted alongside her, viewing the action like a stageplay. Ulina slew all in her path, until she encountered an unexpected adversary. A tiny person with a bright red cloak drawn across his back, had his back turned toward her. She carefully stepped toward the mysterious figure. Run! Alaina shouted, but her voice did not carry. Flee from him! Keep away! But Ulina continued trotting forward. As she closed, she placed her hand on his shoulder. The figure turned suddenly to face her: it was the face of Lazarus, twisted into a demonic visage. His pupilless eyes glowed red and his smile was contorted into a huge, gruesome grin of spiked teeth. Ulina's expression turned to that of growing horror as she locked eyes with the beast, its stare piercing her very soul and filling her mind with dread. She stumbled backwards, clutching at her temples and trying to shake the demonic visions from her mind. But the boy's cape seemed to come alive, hovering and splintering into a dozen shifting, stretching limbs, all striking out simultaneously toward the distressed woman. Ulina screamed as the blood red limbs overtook her, grabbing at her limbs and swirling in a threatening ring around her. She could not even raise her arms to fight, she was struck with such awe. Lazarus's demonic mask grew enormous and blotted out the horizon. The warrior's mouth dropped open in utter terror: her arms and legs trembled violently. Alaina wanted to turn away, to force her eyes open and wake up from this nightmare, but she was trapped. As Ulina gazed into the fiery eyes of the demon Lazarus, a dark, gleaming discoloration began to manifest at the join between her quaking legs. Her hands shook so badly that she could not hold onto her weapons, and they slipped to the ground. Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. The wet patch spread and began to travel downward, leaving long, wide trails of wetness on her tight oxhide pants. The crease of fabric between her tight buttocks began to flatten out, then expand, as an expulsion slowly escaped from her fearful body and into her trousers. Lazarus's mouth opened wide and revealed a fiery depth at its throat. The head reached out to devour Ulina as she stood rooted to the ground, wide-eyed, and continuously soiling herself. Then Alaina's eyes shot open. She was panting heavily and short of breath, and her hair felt thick with sweat. Another nightmare, she thought, as her nerves gradually returned to normal. She gazed at the ceiling, remnants of the terrifying dream still swirling about her head. And then she became aware once again of her bearings and reached down to feel between her legs. She sat up to shift the blankets aside, and the memory of last night's events struck her like a tide as she looked down at her pathetic garment. “Oh...” she gasped quietly, reeling again from the mere sight of herself. The previous morning, she felt it could not have gotten any worse than wetting her bed in the dead of night like a nervous new recruit. But now she sat in the same bed, her crotch and butt wrapped in a thick, used diaper. She shifted and felt the warm wetness gripping stubbornly to her groin. A bright yellow splotch covered the front of her diaper, declaring to all the world her feeble incontinence. At least in the daytime, she could still mount some resistance to the pressures of her ever weakening bladder; but now her body was choosing to betray her in the land of dreams, and there was not a thing she could do about it. And there sat the boy at the table, munching on bread and meat once again, leaning back against a chair to take in every second of Alaina's awakening, from her frightened emergence into wakefulness, to her dread filled, expectant examination of her diaper, then lastly to her glimpse of her own diapered crotch and anguished recollection of the predicament that she was now in. He smacked his lips. “My, you still can't believe it can you?” he commented smugly. “Well worry not, my little bedwetting pet. You will spend time enough in a diaper to get plenty used to the feeling of your own liquid shame.” She flushed and shot him a dark glare. “Perhaps you ought to spend time honing your wit; your barbs begin to dull.” Lazarus remained serene, but his smile tightened imperceptibly and his eyes narrowed. “Guards,” he said evenly. “Ready her up. And be... thorough.” Stoneface rose up from his seat and Bird entered to drag her outside for her daily routine. As they pulled her to her feet, she suddenly noticed another figure at the far corner of the hut. It was a young, raven haired woman, she saw, wearing a conservative grey servant dress. Alaina caught a brief glimpse of the woman's eyes and knew immediately that she was not a wholly willing maidservant to the king, for she knew those eyes from elsewhere. They were the empty eyes of an enslaved wretch, made to bend to the will of another for so long that any independence she might have had had been thoroughly squelched from her bones. Outside, the guards took Alaina through her routine. Though this time, she noted, they were indeed more thorough: Stoneface scrubbed his rag deep into her rump, while Bird much more roughly buffed against her groin and breasts, prompting involuntary grunts from the hapless scout. Again, though, they allowed her to dress in her customary warrior garb. She still could not comprehend why: armor and battle garb were difficult and expensive to maintain, so why not simply attire her in slave gowns or other disposable wrappings? Still, she pulled the fresh, tight brown fighting briefs up and buckled her skirt on, and she drank the water and ate the scraps that the guards tossed to her. Lazarus stepped outside in a red and purple ensemble with a shining orange scarf wrapped about his neck. If I could simply grab a hold of the end and strangle him, thought Alaina grimly. But she might not be able to suffocate him quickly enough, or even have the time to leverage herself and snap his neck. Bird, she noticed from the night before, was long limbed and quick as a rat, ready to beat her down at a single stray move. “Goodness, what a delicious breakfast,” said Lazarus. “I was beginning to think I'd call it quits on this village, if I had to keep eating that drivel from yesterday. Alright, dog, same as yesterday.” The guards tossed wooden swords to Alaina and Lazarus again. Alaina's eyes narrowed as she felt herself alarmed. What was the boy's trick this time? She checked the water carefully and knew no substance to be in it. No substance she was aware of, anyway. Even after so many humiliations, there was no way the king would submit himself to such risk. “Another trap!” hissed Alaina through her teeth. “What have you in store for me this time, scoundrel?” Lazarus giggled his boyish giggle as he casually spun his sword by the hilt. “You're catching on, I hadn't thought you so clever! But what could have trapped you this time?” Alaina raised her sword to assume a fighting stance, and Lazarus did the same while the guards circled the two combatants as yesterday. She tensed and untensed every muscle; she felt at full strength. What was going on? What had the boy planned? This time, she decided to take the offensive. She stepped out with a quick poke, a move that had instantly slain her enemies countless times, but the boy sidestepped and continued to dart around lightly. Was he truly this fleet of foot? A mere child, even tremendously talented, should not have been able to evade that strike. But she kept her nerve and kept on the move, still on lookout for any suspicious activity from the boy or his guards. Stoneface and Bird tried, as before, to trip her with poles, but she could move more quickly than before and danced around their weapons. Lazarus was less aggressive than before, less casually indifferent. He dropped his endless taunting and kept his focus squarely on the battle, his brow furrowed with concentration. Alaina struck out multiple times, sweeping her sword out, swinging it overhead for powerful blows, and stabbing deftly, while the boy had to back off and around and deflect her blade when he could. He was growing nervous, she thought. Perhaps he had grown too arrogant and overstepped his bounds. She even risked a verbal jab at him. “Where goeth your swordhand, boy?” she shot at him, beginning to feel bloodlust. “You lack the confidence you showed yesterday? Has it fled you?” He did not respond, merely continuing to rove about the little clearing away from her blows. The dance continued like this, Alaina trying to poke while Lazarus dodged and retreated, until Alaina spied an opening in one fraction of a second. Lazarus's arm brought his sword up, and Alaina could work her momentum to deliver a powerful overhand blow to him. She would land her blade against his, for sure, but the sheer strength of the slash would break his arm and send him flying backward. Then she could pounce upon him and end his wicked life once and for all. Even in the split second, she envisioned herself spearing him through the head with her splintered wooden sword. Her arm came down with all her might, smashing blade against blade. And her sword stopped. The boy buckled somewhat under the weight of the sword, but he held; and his face morphed from wide eyed surprise to a thin, malevolent smile. “What...?” said Alaina, not comprehending what had just happened. Before she could say another word, Lazarus spun from under her sword and slammed the blade into her side, nearly toppling her to the dirt. “What black magic is this?!” she sputtered, regaining her footing. “What trick have you pulled? What is your secret?!” Lazaru's smile broke into a full grin as he suddenly began to press his attack. “I bet you thought you had me, little girl,” he said cuttingly, beginning to send stabs and slashes her way. She was still recovering from the shock. She had pressed him and chased after him for the entire fight, only now to be put back on the defensive. And she was at her full strength! Was the boy charged with some demonic strength like in her nightmare? Or could the silent slave have been a dark mage, as only she heard stories of but never encountered? Her bladder sent a familiar shiver through her body, and her own concentration began to falter. She was tripped up on a pole, opening to her cuts and jabs by the boy. He seemed to move laterally and cut at her as quick as any amazon, jabbing hard at her breasts and stomach. It was all rolling downhill, the slow, steady road to defeat would be like yesterday's. Her panic increased rapidly, and her face could not hide it. “Are you scared, little warrior?” he taunted, seeing her frightened face. “Do you have to go to the bathroom again? Are you going to make a pee-pee in your pants?” She hated him for it as she felt herself drip into the crotch of her pants. He struck at her again and again, now swiping aside her sword to slash at her legs. She sent another overhead swing at him, but he simply spun again close to her, shooting his hand forward to fondle her between her legs and humiliate her even more. She pushed him away, her face burning. “You...how...” gasped Alaina. That was all she could manage to say in her surprise, and suddenly the boy was on her again. He poked his blade hard at her bladder, sending reverberations through her body and almost causing her to lose control right there. She clutched herself and tried to regain her composure, but Lazarus swung his sword so hard as to knock her own weapon out of her hand. There she stood, trembling and slouched over in pain, not knowing what to do. Surrender in battle was unknown territory to her. Images of Ulina from her nightmare flashed through her head, and her sphincter was wobbling like crazy. “Ha ha!” laughed the boy king, basking in the sight of this weak, weaponless woman. He stepped toward her and drew the tip of his blade up her body, then gently pressed its point into her neck. “So then. Do you yield?” Alaina couldn't keep her limbs from shaking. The boy was faster and stronger than she could have ever known. His strength was far greater than her own, now. Never had she met an enemy before him she felt so powerless. Her eyes were wide with fear. “Do it,” he said quietly, cruelly. “Shame yourself, dog. Spare yourself further beating.” And then a dribbling, hissing rush began to sound from her legs. Drops of fluid moistened the dust beneath her and streams of liquid began to flow down from her thighs. Lazarus dropped his sword and used its point to lift her skirt up, revealing the dark brown patch of wetness spreading across her briefs, and Alaina started to cry. “Hush, hush, dear,” whispered Lazarus quietly with mocking gentleness. He tucked his sword his arm and stepped close to her, softly placing his hand on her cheek and wiping away her tears. He then lifted her skirt and drew his fingers lightly around her wet crotch. Alaina struggled to control her sobs as the last of her urine seeped out. “Shh, it will be all right, my dear,” he whispered, pretending sympathy. His hands caressed and probed her body as he done the first time she provoked him, when he had his guards hold her aloft while he . But this time she wet herself all on her own, and as he greedily demeaned her with his fingers she could not bring herself, out of fear and resignation, to stop him. She felt like an agitated young child weeping from a scrape, and the boy king played the grown-up who attentively inspected her wound. Even stooped as she was, the boy's head barely crested the bottom of her breasts; yet it was he who acted the adult and she the untrained toddler. He gently turned her around, and she wordlessly acquiesced. As he scrutinized her sodden wet bottom, she tried as best she could to think hard about what the boy could have done, though it was difficult through the boy's groping and her teary sniffles and hiccups. She ran through every possibility. What else could he have used to contaminate her water or bread, and what would it have tasted like? She recognized no flavors, scents or textures in those: as a scout, she was trained to accustom herself to all the land's senses and to know many possible methods of poisoning, and there was none she knew of that was perfectly concealed. Could he have obtained a rare spice from some far off land, that rendered her not only weakened, but also totally unaware of her own frailty. This seemed unlikely. The only other answer was magic: but the few times she had seen magic, it involved the lengthy incantations and gestures of ostentatiously dressed eccentrics. Was he or his guards or his mysterious new maidservant capable of silent curses upon her? “You poor little baby,” the boy continued, “you've made an awful mess of yourself, haven't you? Do you think you belong in these grown up clothes? Do you still believe you're a big strong warrior, who can traipse around in these tight little shorts?” He swatted her on the butt. “No, child, no. A diaper is what you need, a diaper is what you really belong in, girl.” He motioned to Stoneface, who approached and grabbed the sopping woman by the arm. “Have Parveen dress the little baby in a fresh diaper, and be quick about it. I intend to make my rounds before noontime.” They quickly removed her briefs and lower smallclothes, leaving her mostly attired in her armor, then dragged her inside to lay her on the bed. The raven haired woman – Parveen, he called her – seemed to know what to do. She dutifully walked over to the bed and stood over Alaina's prone body with a thick white package in her hands. She produced a small glass jar filled with a white powder and opened it, grasping a small amount in her fingers. Then she bent down to rub the powder around Alaina's groin, eliciting a soft groan. Her hands were surprisingly warm, and as she massaged them around Alaina's vulva, the warrior was chagrined to admit that some part of her felt the stirrings of physical pleasure. From her low viewpoint, she could see an opaque whitish form poking out from beneath the hem of Parveen's high skirt. So Lazarus keeps her diapered like an infant as well, she thought sadly. Parveen finished by wrapping the diaper tight around Alaina's waste and taping it closed. Stoneface and Bird hoisted her to her feet. Alaina's face glowed red. They left her attired in her fighting attire, iron shoulder guard and all, and like Parveen's servant dress, her skirt barely covered whole of her juvenile raiment. She struggled to pull the fringe of her uniform down over the bulk, but her thick white crotch was plain to see as the leather flap dangled only halfway up. Somehow she was even more bothered by wearing a diaper alongside her standard clothing than simply wearing the diaper alone; like she was masquerading as a brave amazon, but in truth was merely a costumed baby girl. The guards then clamped the customary loose iron chains between her ankles. Outside, Lazarus unclasped what looked like a long, thin whip, at which Alaina's first reaction was fright. “Come, dog,” he said delightedly. “Time to see your friends.” As they set off down the winding path to the village, Alaina realized that the guards had not even bothered to clasp her arms with chains today. She cursed herself. Of course not, she thought bitterly, what have they to fear from the hands of a mewling diapered babe?
  9. thanks so much! I really like the fantasy setting because you can have solid archetypes like that but you still have enough flexibility to write scenarios that would be really improbable or convoluted in a realistic setting. (Instead, they are only mildly improbable!) CHAPTER 3 (part 2) Stoneface and Bird lifted her limp body from the ground, stripping and wiping her clean once again. Her armaments were replaced now by smallclothes, simple cotton briefs, and a tight woven cloth shirt. They bound her with hand and ankle cuffs – both with enough give to allow her to walk and perform labor, but restricting her from making sweeping motions or quick, long strides. “Clean up after yourself, dog,” said Bird simply, the first time Alaina heard him speak. “And hang that cot out to dry, you disgusting wench.” He retired to a small tree stump under the shade and began sharpening his sword. “Now,” said Stoneface as he roughly shoved her against the wall of the hut. He went inside and she followed him obediently, glumly trying to clear her mind of her duel with the king. He sat down at the Matriarch's table, removed his gauntlets, and began to polish them with a feathered cloth. Wishing to avoid further immediate punishment, she promptly set to clean her small, soiled cot. She removed the affected bedding and set them in a large wash basin to soak outside. She took the thin mattress outside and scrubbed it to try and soak up as much urine from it as she could, then set it upright against a post in the sunlight. Cleaning her bed and the dwelling floor took the better part of two hours. “I'm finished,” she said to Stoneface, feeling very much like a child seeking approval from a stern parent. “Eat,” said Stoneface gruffly. He set more bread on the table, along with some dry scraps of roasted boar shank and a flask of water – this time, clear. She ate and drank quietly. Upon finishing, Bird entered the abode and set another flask of water down on the table next to her. “Drink,” he commanded. “I've had my fill,” Alaina replied shortly. That, and she had no desire to overfill her bladder with fluids and have it loosened against her will yet again. “King's orders, dog,” sneered the slim man. “And with all the piss you've been losing, you ain't wanna get parched all sickly.” Alaina gritted her teeth, but she had no choice. She drank the second flask as well, hoping that she could learn to steel her body for whatever punishment awaited her next. She left the abode and walked to a nearby raised bar in the clearing, then began to do pull-ups, push-ups, and other exercices to keep herself occupied. I may be defeated by my opponents, she thought, but I will not forget my training. Bird stood outside and watched her, but did not interfere with her calisthenics. Sevearl hours later, as the sun began to set, the king returned to the hut. Alaina sat inside on her now dry cot and new bedding, meditating silently. Lazarus entered the cot, stretching his arms again and removing his cloak and crown. “My, what a busy day!” he declared, and sat down to eat a plate of food similar to what Alaina had earlier. He retched and made a face. “Good gods, is this what passes for nourishment in this place?” “These are the rations we have with us, my liege,” said Bird. “Your maidservant should be arriving here by midday tomorrow.” “I look forward to it, eagerly,” said Lazarus impatiently, stuffing his mouth. “She already knows the price of tardiness, I think. And perhaps she could teach you a thing or two about being civilized, doggie.” Alaina did not respond to his barbs, simply gazing evenly at him. “I've set my men at work to discipline your people,” he continued. “Don't fret, my little pet. None of your little friends will miss out on what I've given you! I promise you, my men are very... efficient in their workings. Well trained for this line of work, you might say.” Alaina tried to ignore him, but couldn't. She thought of Torine, one of her best friends in the tribe and a fellow scout. The busty brunette was one of the most genial and good humored women Alaina knew, but her mettle wasn't on Alaina's level: she once could not keep from whimpering upon finding a wounded fawn in the forest and couldn't bring herself to end its suffering, leaving the task to Alaina. And given how Alaina had responded to her punishments, what must Torine be going through? She couldn't keep from envisioning Torine whimpering helplessly, desperate for her beatings to end, her broad, round bottom wet with... Alaina furrowed her brow and collected herself, trying to shake the thoughts from her mind. Lazarus saw and chuckled. “Have I bothered you, doggie?” he said callously, trying to get a rise out of her. “I know what you're thinking of. You're thinking of your friends, all panting and wetting themselves like you did earlier. I saw a curvy dark haired one watch you shame yourself in front of everybody yesterday, did you know that? You and her are close, aren't you? Her eyes were so wide, I thought she was going to break down right there, watching you waddle around in your piss. I saw her today, as I passed through the village. You should have seen her, your dear friend, she was spraying piss with every crack of the whip, she was begging them to-” “Why you little-” Alaina sprang off the cot and leapt across the room, desiring only to rip the boy's eyeballs out from their sockets. But her shackles slowed her down, and her strength was still reduced; Bird immediately stepped in front of Lazarus to block her path, and Stoneface punched her in the stomach, sending her to the ground. Lazarus was unfazed. He wiped his mouth with a napkin, which he carefully folded and placed on the table. Standing up from his seat, he walked over to Alaina, who was still recovering on the ground. “Unhand me!” she shouted venomously, her anger not subsided by the punch. “I'll end you, you little wretch! Release me and I'll take your head off!” “This must be... the third time you've bit back today?” he queried, placing his finger on his chin and pacing slowly next to the fiercely struggling woman. “It was amusing at first, doggie, but there is a limit to the leeway I will give you. Today's discipline must continue, I'm afraid.” He walked over to small cot and sat down upon it. He patted his lap expectantly. The guards knew what to do. They lifted Alaina up off the ground and placed her over his knees with her bottom turned up. The warrior knew what was coming to her. She felt absurd, resting atop this little boy's tiny lap; but she knew from the day how serious her situation was. Lazarus surveyed the warrior's backside. He rubbed his hand softly across the tight cotton material of her briefs, like a smith inspecting his a surface upon which work must be done. He began to spank her. “No, wait-” she cried, but to no avail. He raised his small hand and brought it sharply down to swat her with rhythmic steadiness, the impact causing the scout's well muscled butt to ripple. Alaina bit her lip to keep from crying out, but after a few dozen swats, she couldn't help but squeal and moan. The strength of the blows should have had no impact on her, like the strike of the king's wooden sword; but somehow her mental anguish was so amplified as to make this spanking equivalent to the worst battle wounds she had felt. The flasks of water she imbibed earlier were making themselves felt now, as she miserably struggled once again to contain herself. Single tears began to slide down her face. Her bottom turned a pale red as Lazarus continued to smack her and the pressure in her groin was rising. “St...stop...please,” Alaina blurted out in a trembling voice. He unexpectedly stopped his abuse, instead slowly rubbing his hand in circles around her backside. The scout let her head hang low, breathing heavily and sniffing up mucus and trying to collect herself. “Why....why are you doing this to us?” she said tearfully. “How much do you know, my dearest pet,” he said in a quiet, contemplative voice, “about my father?” Alaina, in her distressed state, wasn't she sure heard the boy correctly. “Y....your father?” “Yes,” he continued. “He was a great man, my father. He brought peace to this land, and was so kind to all his people. 'May the wisdom of Ramzus guide you', the commonfolk like to say. He gave me everything I ever wanted...” He sighed, continuing to massage the scout's sore bottom. He sounded almost wistful. But Alaina felt little sympathy for the contemptible fiend who now held her over his lap. Then he leaned his head in close to Alaina's ear. “Do you want to know a secret?” he whispered. “My dear father, he wasn't as good as the people like to believe. In fact, he could be rather naughty sometimes...” Lazarus's voice was both mischievous and acidic. Alaina's stomach churned in trepidation. “One time, I was but eight years of age...I was put to bed by my beloved father, as he always made sure to attend me as I drifted to sleep. But for some reason, I could not slip into dreams so easily that night; I tossed and I turned, even till the moon was at its zenith and I still lay awake, lost in my thoughts. I later learned that blossom tea makes one so lively that he can hardly sleep when ingested in the nighttime. “But that night, as I lay awake, I heard a strange sound coming from the walls... like a tiny dog yipping out, searching for its master. I wanted to find this dog and take it for my own, and care for it, and we would be friends. I was hesitant to step out of bed at so late an hour, but the sound did not cease for many minutes; and I was driven mad by the suffering of this poor beast. I resolved to find it.” Alaina did not understand why Lazarus was telling her this story and could not divine where it was headed. But she was at least glad for the respite from the spanking, for her bowels now seemed to be bothering her. She realized she had not done her secondary business in the past day. Lazarus continued: “And so I crept silently out of bed, making sure to stay as quiet as I could, for I did not want my father to hear me and whip me. I searched about my room, placing my ear to the walls to hear for its source. It was so dark, and in my creeping and stumbling, I felt a wall panel move ever so slightly under my touch; so I pulled at it, and it opened on hinges; a secret passageway I had never discovered in all my time playing knights and conjuring worlds in that tiny room. So I braced myself, for I was still at a tender age when I feared the monsters of the darkness, and crawled inside. “And as I crawled along the narrow, dusty channel, sweeping aside cobwebs and conquering my fear of the tiny squeaking rats, I heard the yipping of the dog grow louder and louder, so I followed it dutifully. But as I continued, it stopped sounding so much like a dog... perhaps something larger, like a pig, or a goat. I moved forward, feeling along the dark walls, and glimpsed a pale light in the distance. This light, I saw as I moved closer, was illumination from some open window, and the sound was coming from there. The light grew brighter, and the sound grew louder and clearer, and accompanying the sound was a second sound, like a horseman driving his charges. “And I looked down upon through the open grating, the source of the light. I saw... a chamber with stone walls below, lit well with torches. And in this chamber, there was a dais with a scaffolding of bound lumber and iron. On the dais, my father stood hunched. And tied to this scaffolding, a woman with fiery red hair. She was perhaps the most perfect female specimen I have seen, her legs were so smooth and her muscles honed by many hard fought battles. But here, in this chamber, she looked on the cusp of going crazy; she shifted and strained her muscles against her ties uselessly, desperate for some escape, but I could not see why. Near her on a bench were so many empty flasks. “She asked of my father, 'Why, why are you doing this?' And he responded to her, 'Because I can, my dear.' He drew his fist – for despite his advanced age, he still possessed much strength from his fighting days – and drove it into the fire haired woman's belly. She cried out again, her yip, and then...then I saw her begin to pee. The liquid rained out from her like a waterfall, soaking her breeches, and I saw her stare down at herself in a shock. She had never been made to do this before, I knew. Frightened by the scene, I crawled back through the passageway and to my bed as quickly as I could, but I could not forget what I saw there. “I went back every night to see the spectacle, for I could no longer sleep idly knowing what went on in my father's private chambers. And each night, he tormented her until she wet herself. He would try new tactics each night. Sometimes he would spank her or strike her with whips and canes, and others he would merely tease her with his hands, but it was always the goal of bringing shame upon her. And she always broke. Each night she would resist less and less, her will dwindling as her accidents increased. For two solid months, he did this to her – I think I remember her name... was it... Ulina?” Alaina's eyes widened. No, she thought, this can't be. This is impossible. Her sphincter quavered unconsciously, and her bowels rumbled more uneasily. “After the first week, she stopped trying to break out of her bindings, just urinating herself without fight. After the fourth week, she no longer needed chains at all, she just meekly kneeled before him and allowed him to punish her unhindered. And he would release her from chains and challenge her in combat, but she was so weakened that even the old man could grapple and beat her until she peed her pants. After the seventh week, she was freely sharing her knowledge, telling us of her origins, and her people, and her secrets, anything to spare her of further embarassments. But of course she would not be spared. “How...” said Alaina breathlessly. “How could...no...” “Yes...” cackled Lazarus insidiously. “I knew it as soon as I arrived here. She was one of you.” He inflicted a hard slap on her butt. “And she was rather young...young enough that I'm sure you knew her quite well. I knew even at the time that she was once a powerful soldier, her muscles flexed and bristled with so much power... but she was so utterly helpless.” Alaina blushed and closed her eyes even tighter, grimacing. “But this story, I'm sorry to say, has a sad ending. “In the last week, my father pushed too far. He limited himself to simple humiliations for two months, but felt the woman's usefulness was outlived; and so he brought an ornamental knife to end her life then and there. But upon the first drop of blood drawn by his knife on her neck, something about her changed – her eyes flew open wide, and she burst out of her chain holdings with incredible strength. The very scaffolding broke in half. Her fist slammed into his head, I saw, killing him instantly. And the woman, so broken as she was for two months, finally freed herself and disappeared out the chamber door.” Lazarus sighed again, still rubbing Alaina's bottom. “I saw my father die that day,” he said sadly. “But I vowed I would continue his work. And so,” - suddenly resuming his cheerful malevolence - “you wish to know why I am doing this, dog? Because,” he said, pinching her bottom, “...I can.” He resumed his spanking in full force. As pained as Alaina was from the spanks, she was even more distraught over his story. Ulina? One of the greatest and most feared scouts in Ekpanian lore, degraded by King Ramzus as she was being degraded now? She didn't want to believe it, but the tone of Lazarus's voice was truthful. The legendary Ulina, abased and made to soil herself for two months. And revealer of Ekpanian secrets. This must explain how the Ankaran troops knew the layout of the village so welll, and how to bring the clanswomen to their knees so effectively. And it explained how confidently Lazarus could walk into their village and immediately begin subjecting the clanswomen to all manner of disgraceful discipline. He slapped her more energetically and forcefully now, beating her buttocks like a drum. The combined effect of the brutal spanking and the demeaning revelation of Ulina's fate devestated Alaina's willpower. She cried now openly now, her nerves frayed. She began to wet herself in earnest, the humiliation too great to withstand. “Bad girl!” he scolded viciously. “The naughty little baby thinks she can fight!” The punishment was so intense that her bowels released themselves as well. She moaned loudly and her anal sphincter simply gave out, as stool pushed out of her anus into the tight wrappings of her briefs. A pungent smell rose in the room and Lazarus guffawed more loudly than ever before and wrinkled his nose. “You've made a mess of yourself, you little dog, you pooped right into your panties!” He swatted her inflamed butt one final time, but she continued to uncontrollably release into the seat of her pants. The boy pushed her off of his lap. Alaina landed with a hard thud on the floor. She had made enemy soldiers brown their underclothes before: she knew from the looks of terror upon their faces and the telltale acrid stench that stirred in the air upon a grown man (or woman) suddenly losing control of their bowels in the midst of battle. The stresses of bloody combat could make even the stomachs of bloodied veterans shaky from time to time. But the great Ekpanian soldiers, strong of limb and ferocious in battle, were never the ones on the wrong side of that embarrassing conflict. Alaina's former foes would laugh themselves to death if they could have known the current fate of their oppressor. Now she lay again at the young boy's feet in a puddle of her waste and blubbering pathetically. But this time her briefs were also strained by the second affront of her own solid excrement straining against the backside of her briefs. The discharge had smashed itself in a cake across most of her bottom, and with every slight movement she could feel the whole warm mess shifting nauseatingly against her skin. “Peee-yew!” quipped Lazarus, waving his hand through the air to mock wafting the smell away. “Get this 'warrior' changed, quickly! Her poopy accident will stink up the whole of this tiny shanty!” Once again, the two loyal guards dragged the sobbing, dejected woman to her feet. Her pants and smallclothes weighed heavily downward as she was stood upright and left a dripping trail out the door. The soldiers dutifully underwent the task of peeling away her soiled clothing and discarding it to a nearby washbin, though leaving the dung filled small clothes on the ground. Alaina was washed and clothed and chains were placed on her limbs once more. “Clean them,” Stoneface said shortly, pointing to the underwear. So wherever the Ankarans were taking dirty clothes, they would not handle the waste. “And then the floor,” sneered Bird. Alaina did as she was told, spending the remainder of the night cleaning up her infantile mess while Lazarus read manuscripts near the fireplace. As she finished, Lazarus stood up. “You've had quite a lot of... mishaps today, my dear,” he said, smiling thinly. “And I'm not sure I can trust you as you are, so to speak. Do you know what that means?” Alaina could not think of a biting witticism to return. She was too tired of body and mind now, and her accident just prior would render any insult even more feeble. Lazarus reached into a sack of luggage and pulled something out. It was a thick white brick, glimmering with a sheen from the reflected firelight. She had seen it before, in her rare trips to the peasant villages. Lazarus unfolded the brick, and horror dawned on Alaina: it was a diaper – a crude cushion used to keep infants and incontinent children from messing themselves. This garment was a strange metropolitan variety she had seen a few times before: fabricated from magically wrought woven fibers and sticky strips to hold it in place, its bombastic appearance somehow made it seem even more childish and out of place than the simple folded cloth implements that the amazons traditionally used for their young. And now he planned to clothe her in this most base and degrading object. “A diaper?!” Alaina sputtered. “What do you think I am?!?” “Why, given your many accidents in the past two days, I would say you were a panty wetting invalid long overdue for a diapering!” exclaimed Lazarus. “Do you wish to argue?” “I...” Alaina stammered. But her face flushed bright red, because she knew that she could provide no reasonable argument. He was right. She did indeed urinate herself against her will, by his hand. What was she, then, to argue the fact that she was no more able to hold her liquid than the most immature babe or elderly crone? She hated herself for this admission. “Correct. Guards!” said Lazarus, and the two men immediately rushed to Alaina's side, pulled down her briefs and smallclothes, and laid her forcefully upon the small cot. The skinny little whelp appeared in front of her, now beholden to her most private parts laid bare. She blushed even more, her face ablaze with shame. “Up,” he commanded, and the guards lifted her buttocks slightly. He slipped the diaper under her bottom and pulled it up tightly over her groin, finally taping the sides to hold it firmly in place. He placed his hand on her diapered crotch and rubbed it gently across the surface, as if to admire his work and embarrass the grown warrior even further. “You look so much more fitting in the diaper than you did in those silly fighting briefs!” “You will regret this,” she whined quietly, her eyes clenched tight. Lazarus giggled. “You should be thankful, dog. You won't have to wash your bed tomorrow with your little diaper on!” The soldiers released her, letting her fall to the bed. She backed away from the boy, leaning against the wall and staring daggers at him. He merely yawned and began to walk to his own bed. “It's time for bed now, I think. And don't you dare take your diaper off at night!” he warned, turning back to point a finger at her. “Or I'll give you a stern reprimand tomorrow. And I promise that you dont' want that.” He turned around again and began to change into his nightclothes. The guards put out the lanterns, leaving only the dying light of the fireplace. Bird left the hut and Stoneface remained vigilant in his dark corner. Alaina, unable and unwilling to do anything else, set herself to bed and covered herself with the sheets. The thick cloth-like bulk of the diaper elevated her slightly and prevented her from closing her legs. She wanted to scream, and leap out of her bed and slay the boy. Two days ago, she was free and armed, a proud amazonian terror, a dignified clanswoman of Ekpana. It felt an eternity away. Now, under the same bright moon, she lay on her cot in a thick, babyish diaper, in thrall to the perverted whims of a mad boy king. She wept silently, and felt a small trickle of urine escape into her diaper.
  10. a new chapter! a portion of it, anyway. CHAPTER 3 (part one): After the events that day, Alaina did not think she could sleep a minute; but as the hours passed by and exhaustion overtook her, she did slumber, if only for a scant few hours. She dreamt of the greatest heroes of Ekpanian history: intrepid Cozina, the huntress and tracker extraordinaire who once slew the great Dunebeest that had stalked the land and devoured hundreds; Bellamure, the Matriarch whose legendary foresight and powers of prediction were second to none; Cozma, the great vanguard – named auspiciously after the clanswomens' cherished diety – who once single handedly held off an entire contingent of axe-wielding Andraluzan savages with her trusty great sword Supraborinian. But the hero who she most thought of was Ulina, the storied Ekpanian scout whose fabled swiftness was rivaled only by her stunning virtuosity with sword, spear and bow. Alaina's childhood was filled with vivid tales of Ulina's exploits; the most memorable and retold of which was Ulina's effortless weapon technique while defending a small village from a band of orcish raiders. The scout could loose dozens of arrows without pause to fell her distant foes, quickly turn to pick up and throw a javelin at a nearer group of approaching orc warriors, then draw her sword precociously to slay orcs foolish enough to sneak up on her from behind. Young Alaina modeled her own training after the hero. She strove to become adept in the same weapons in spite of the difficulty of mastering so many arms. Unlike many of the other Ekpanian heroes, whose lives ended decades and centuries before Alaina was born, Ulina was a mere three years Alain's senior; but such was Ulina's goddess given aptitude that she seemed decades beyond even the most war worn veterans of the tribe. But only five years prior to the current day, Ulina mysteriously vanished. She was on a special mercenary assignment for the dead King Ramzus of Ankara – father to Lazarus – to take part in a diplomatic envoy to the neighboring kingdom of Puruna. The clanswomen had been on good terms with the Ankaran government then, and contracted themselves out time and again when the royalty needed some extra strength in its dealings with other sovereigns. A thorough investigation revealed no clues, and even the clan's most experienced trackers could find no trace of Ulina's whereabouts. Many within the clan blamed Purunian wizards for their missing champion, but some suspected the benevolent Ramzus of foul play, though Alaina could find no reason why Ankaran royalty would murder such a powerful ally. Alaina dreamt that she was watching Ulina battle a pack of wolves in a forest clearing, expertly handling a sword and spear in both hands to keep the drooling creatures at bay. But as she fought, a towering, shadowy figure seemed to be stalking her from among the trees. Alaina wanted to cry out to Ulina, warning her of the danger, but her words registered no effect. The shadow streaked out from the forest in the blink of an eye, appearing to plunge like a dagger into Ulina's back. Alaina gaped in horror as she watched the legendary clanswoman react with shock. Ulina's eyes spread wide open. Her pelvis twitched and spasmed as a dark stain spread across the crotch of her breeches and bright yellow liquid spouted forth from her vulva. Alaina tried to scream, but from her throat sprang only silence. And then she awoke. She stirred fitfully, and dim light broke through her eyelids. It was dawn. Peering around groggily, she thought perhaps the events that transpired had only been a cruel nightmare delivered from some mischievous god. Through her bleary eyes, though, she spotted a small figure at the table of the Matriarch, appearing to be ripping wolfishly into a large chicken leg. The nightmare was all too real. “Ah, so you've finally woken!” said Lazarus delightedly through a mouthful of food. “I hope you had a good night's sleep, doggie. But, just looking at you, it seems that maybe you saw some frightful creatures in you dreams!” Confused, Alaina struggled to divine what the irritatingly pompous boy meant. But soon she had her answer. As she shifted her legs, she felt an odd dampness all around her lower body. Sitting up and shifting her sheet aside with her knees, she saw that a great wet splotch covered her bedding; she wet the bed during the night. Her face flushed. She heard of these incidents, and knew that some of the younger girls of the clan could sometimes relieve themselves unknowingly in the nighttime, but these events were almost unheard of in adulthood. She had never even soiled herself as a child, and so considered the behavior merely a sign of immaturity, or perhaps an affliction more common to the unblessed commonwomen of the countryside and kingdom. But here she was, sitting now in a wet mess like a toddler frightened by night terrors. “Clean her up,” Lazarus ordered, then resumed tearing into the leg. The same two guards that attended her the night before removed her bindings and ran through the same routine this time, though the process was quicker this time as they only needed to remove her smallclothes. “Dress,” said one tersely, pointing to a set of clothing and armor on a nearby bench just outside the hut. Alaina was surprised to see not merely another set of smallclothes or other skimpy slave garments, but her full regalia of boots, leather brief, skirt, plated jerkin and pauldron. Why would they want her fully armored again? Was this some kind of trap? Would they force her to battle her comrades to the death? If so, they would find that the women of Ekpana would sooner die with blood on their hands than be turned against one another. Nevertheless, she did as she was told and equipped herself. The second guard handed her a loaf of hard bread to break fast on, which she greedily devoured. As she finished her food, she was given a flask of cold, cloudy water that tasted faintly bitter. They must have found some stagnant water to feed her, saving the cleanest for the soldiers themselves. She noticed that while many of the soldiers she saw yesterday did not shy away from leering and laughing at the “festivities,” these two were absolutely stone-faced. Perhaps they were so selected so that no red blooded soldier could ruin the king's personal enjoyment. These two guards sharply differed in their appearance: one was a tall, broad behemoth of a man whose stubbly face looked like it was carved from stone; the other was shorter and thinner, but somehow more threatening. His face was like a bird's beak and his eyes were shrouded in shadow. Neither said much nor showed much, if any, emotion. The king stepped outside, stretching and basking in the sunlight of the clearing. He wore a shiny golden doublet and matching golden stockings with gold trimmed white leather boots. He had evidently left his cloak and crown inside. “Ah, what a beautiful day,” he commented to no one in particular. “Ah, and it looks like you're fed and ready to begin!” he exclaimed, noticing the empty flask. “What game are you playing at?” Alaina asked, unable to hold her tongue. She figured that her current predicament could not get much worse. “Why have you allowed me to reequip myself? Is this some kind of joke?” Lazarus chortled and responded, “Nay, doggie, I assure you that I chose your attire quite seriously.” He approached her and casually lifted her skirt up, and she pulled way indignantly. “I'm glad you haven't your spirit yet,” he mused, putting his hands on his hips. “It would be ever so disappointing if you didn't provide some kind of challenge!” “I won't be party to any of your games, cur,” replied Alaina bitingly. She wondered, though, what challenge he could possibly be looking for. It seemed as though he had already won as thoroughly as an opponent could. What could he possibly do to make his victory more complete? “Oh my, but you will,” tittered the boy, walking back to one of the guards, the stonefaced one. Stoneface held out a short wooden sword “You're going to be my sparring partner for the morning,” Lazarus said with a smile. “I find it useful to get a good bit of fencing practice in early, it enlivens my mind and brings me out of my slumber.” “Then you shall have all the practice you want,” she hissed. “That's the spirit!” cried Lazarus. “There, a weapon for you!” Birdface tossed a second wooden sword to Alaina, who caught and spun it deftly. Somewhere in her mind, she suspected an obvious trap: there was no reason the boy would expose himself to such obvious danger, for a warrior with a wooden sword was still a lethal force. And then she saw the trap as clear as day as soon as she tried to lift her sword, which suddenly felt as heavy as a rock. “What...” she stammered angrily, “what did you feed me?” Her muscles seemed almost incapable of acting at full strength. She felt that even a simple horizontal cut of her sword would feel like trying to swing it underwater. Lazarus tittered and assumed a fighting stance. Brambleweed, she realized. Brambleweed was an herb that, when dried, ground into a fine powder, and ingested, would drain the victim's strength. Its symptoms were almost undetectable until the victim tried to engage in concentrated flexion and tension of her muscles, be it fighting or fleeing, at which point she would feel as if she could not translate her full effort to her movements. It was a popular drug among nobles who tried to undermine their rivals in duels or young men attempting to forcibly bed reproachful women. This must have been the bitter taste in her water. “I'm honestly surprised that worked,” said Lazarus. “A trained warrior like you couldn't even see that that was no regular water!” Alaina cursed herself, but was not surprised – since the day before, she noticed her slipping ability to maintain focus and awareness of her surroundings. A foolish trap that she had seen and avoided a few times before now completely evaded her notice. Fear rose up in her again, as this development turned the situation on its head. Even a goddess gifted clanswoman might have trouble competing with a child while under the influence of brambleweed, unless she could somehow last the twenty or so minutes for which it took effect. She felt a familiar quavering of her sphincter and did her best to suppress it. “Prepare yourself!” the boy king shouted gleefully, as he lunged forward with a sideways slash into her leg. She barely managed to pull her sword up in time to parry the blow, and felt her grip on the sword almost loosen from the strength of the blow. She began to circle backwards and held her sword ahead of her in a defensive posture, trying to buy time for the potion to wear off. Lazarus lunged with a few more strikes, hopping lightly from foot to foot, and Alaina found herself just barely defending. He must have received some sort of extensive training throughout his childhood, she thought. She would normally make mincepie of him at full strength and quickness, and her range alone would have taken his head off, but as it was, he demonstrated remarkable agility for a young boy. He darted to and fro around her to probe for a weakspot in her guard, poking with his sword and delivering rapid light strikes to force action on her part. After a mere five minutes of this play, Alaina began to sweat. The effort she needed to exert simply to keep pace in her current state was straining her mind and body to the limit. Each subsequent poke-and-retreat was getting more progressively more difficult to hold off, and all the while she anxiously tried to hold her restless bladder. If she could only hold on for another quarterhour... “Are you tiring already?” taunted the prancing boy, seeming energetic and unencumbered. “Tiring of your boorish tongue,” replied Alaina, but inside she could not deny his words. Suddenly, an unexpected impediment slipped ahead of her right foot as she tried to strafe, sending her tumbling to the dusty ground. With all her effort, she had trouble keeping track of both the boy's quick movements and the two guards circling the combatants. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stoneface pulling a long wooden pole back toward him. Lazarus closed in an instant and managed to poke the fallen girl in her breast with the blunted point of his wooden sword, but Alaina managed to parry his next blows and regain her footing. “So even after your little trick, you still need your lackeys to do your work?” she said cuttingly, continuing to strafe about the clearing. Lazarus gave a hearty hoot and said, “My good lady, you whine too much. I look forward to bending you across my knee!” Another five minutes later, Alaina felt her resolve weaken. She was still deflecting blows, but now had to worry about the two guards Stoneface and Bird, who were circling around the two like a boundary and trying to trip her up with wooden poles. She panted heavily and her posture was slouching slightly, exhaustion overtaking her and fear building. Even in her compromised state, the proud warrior was desperate not to let a mere little boy best in her combat. This was her calling and her life's work. If all it took were a sprinkle of brambleweed to bring a battle hardened woman to her knees, then how could she even look her self in the mirror? “You begin to slacken, dear,” jeered Lazarus. “Would you enjoy a break? I promise I won't beat you... too hard...” Alaina could not even spare the effort to respond to his quip. She needed to focus all her energies now. Cozma Anteia, she prayed, please lend me your strength in this dire hour! As she circled defensively, she backed up a step too far: Bird shoved her from behind to push her back into their makeshift “ring”, sending her to her knees. Lazarus was able to chop her on the side of her knee, stinging her momentarily. He sent an overhead chop her way, which she managed to block with her own sword, but caught a kick to the ribs and fell backwards. She scrambled to get back up, but Lazarus slapped and chopped at her legs and belly. Her defensive posture was failing utterly now: a blocked sideswing was followed up with a successful strike of the blade to her arm; a dodged slash was followed by a hard poke to her groin. Alaina now felt herself on the cusp of defeat. She only needed defend for another five minutes to overcome the effects of the brambleweed, but her muscles were at the edge of fatigue. Her body was betraying her, she thought. A part of her mind was desperate to simply fly the white flag and release her bladder, making her defeat thorough. She tripped again an outstretched pole and her sword flew back out of her grip. She turned and tried to scramble on all fours in a last, desperate attempt to reach it, but Lazarus's foot connected hard with the seat of her exposed briefs, pushing her flat to the ground. He had no mercy as he cackled poisonously, delivering blow after blow to Alaina's undefended body. He hit wantonly with both flat side and blunted edge, seeking to do harm to every exposed area within reach: stabs at her back, cuts against her bare legs, and flats against her buttocks. Alaina tried to push herself up against the flurry but her muscles gave way, surrendering her to the beating. Though her Ekpanian body was so tough that even harsh blows would not break skin, she felt every blow's brutal sting and her head was struck through with agony. The white flag of her body flew: urine trickled out from her loins once again as her bladder finally gave way, soaking her briefs and the dusty ground beneath her. Again she was brought low by this boy, this time in her most familiar territory of battle. Again she wet herself like an infant girl. Again she cried bitterly at the degradation delivered to her. The terrible boy king did not stop his thrashing for minutes, rapping her repeatedly on the rear and battering the rest of her body at will, even as piss slowly trickled out and pooled around her. Finally he ceased, panting, and threw his wooden blade aside. He breathed heavily, but was invigorated. “Whew!” he exclaimed, walking about to reclaim his breath. “Excellent! Ha ha!” Alaina still lay on the ground, her spirit drained. The Ekpanians had a technique to mentally “remove” themselves from their bodies when under duress, allowing them to withstand almost any means of conventional torture, physical or psychological. But this was no conventional torture, and despite her efforts, Alaina could not help but remain hopelessly, pitifully aware of the warm pool of urine she lied in now, creeping along her legs, seeping into her clothing, and sticking dirt to her skin. The brambleweed had worn off by now, but now she was weakened by shame. “Come on now, up with you!” called out the boy, who went into the hut to retrieve his royal cloak and crown. “One musn't lie down all day, she'll find it wasted. And we certainly wouldn't want you producing any more waste!” He tittered shrilly at his own cleverness. “All right, doggie. I'm off to make rounds about the village and see how your little friends are doing. My boys will clean you up again and set you at errands. Good day!” He bowed theatrically toward the prone woman and set off from the clearing, disappearing down the dirt path to the center of town. (part 2 coming soon)
  11. thanks for the compliments! I should have another chapter up tonight. I would be very interested in reading this story, if you've posted it anywhere! I'm always looking for stuff that's a little more seriously written, although I wouldn't call myself a good writer by any stretch.
  12. Thanks for the comments! Here is another chapter. CHAPTER 2 Six days passed. Word had spread that the King's host was nearing and that no change of the course to the Matriarch's original plan would take place. Though distressed all over again, most had accepted their fate a second time and were ready, faces grim with proud resignation, to face whatever would come to them. Leandra had stalked through the village, frustrated and swearing, knocking over plants and fences in anger. Some of the other vanguards had shared her initial anger but eventually fell in line with everyone else. The great woman cursed and stormed at them futilely. Alaina herself nervously strapped up her boots and donned her armor. No matter what happened, she thought, she would remain a warrior, true to the spirit of Cozma Anteia. She pulled on her customary steel plated jerkin, iron shoulder guard, and her tight black briefs. She belted on a leather skirt and took her longbow and shortsword in her hands. She went outside. The host had arrived and was situated outside the front gate. Most of the clanswomen lined up around the center of the town, sheathed weapons in hand, nervous, quiet, and fearful, but still proud. Alaina joined the crowd, but could not interpret what was happening. "What's happening?" she asked Torine, a tanned, dark haired woman - a fellow scout and good friend to her. "They are just outside...the Matriarch...she left out the front gates and is speaking with the King's party." Alaina was surprised that the Matriarch had left already. "Alone? Does anyone know what's going on back there?" "No. She ordered that we open the gates and allow her outside, then had the doors closed behind her. It's inscrutable." Alaina was worried, but took her place alongside the rest of the women in the training grounds. They had all arranged themselves in a ring around the border of the central clearing, with the dais situated directly in the middle. All 112 women seemed to be present except one, Alaina noticed: Leandra. Suddenly, the double doored gates could be heard opening up in the distance. The women shuffled nervously, but remained silent. A clamor of footsteps, many of them, Matriarch Susannah glided into the center of the paved square, her sleek, royal face held high and her expression betraying nothing. Flanking her was the mad boy himself, atop a great white stallion, bridled with reins of crimson and gold and draped with a purple, gold-fringed headdress. Lazarus himself wore a lush, dark purple doublet and maroon tights and was wrapped in a regal, fur-lined cloak, looking as noble and kingly as a boy could look. Crowning his pitch black head of hair was a tall ring of radiant gold, lined with jewels and, Alaina could tell from a distance, exquisitely ornamented. He looked like he could not have passed his twelfth summer. Behind the king, an ordered column of lightly attired soldiers marched in time, while more columns waited outside the gates. The only sounds in the air were the rhythmic footsteps of the soldiers and the clanking of their armor. As the Matriarch walked toward the center of the square, in front of the statue. The rest of the procession moved themselves to form an inner ring between the women on the outside and the king on the inside. "My people," she declared, "lay down your arms." The women said nothing at first, as though unsure of what to do, still hesistant to obey their beloved leader. Then, a slim, sinewy veteran soldier with bright blond hair and long form fitting cloth pants, Carina, laid her longsword down at her feet in front of her. The rest followed suit, laying their weapons on the ground between themselves and the ring of soldiers, who seemed mostly expressionless men, faces partly obscured by dirty helmets. A ring of assorted weapons now lay on the ground between the soldiers and the women, and a small group of soldiers picked up the weapons and threw them into wheelbarrows. When that was done, the King spoke up. "Ah, how marvelous!" he cried in a high, excited pitch. "A group of rebels here, so deep in the forest!" He clasped his hands behind his back and meandered around the statue, addressing the clanswomen. "I am glad you decided to surrender your weapons. Some other rebels were not so willing to bend the knee, and, well..." He clapped his hands together. "Let's just say there shan't be anymore Shalian wine to water the nobles of Ankara anymore!" He giggled with disturbingly boyish glee. Alaina shuddered. "I promised your dear Matriarch that I would spare your lives, and I will hold true to my promise." He smiled and giggled again. "I am, after all, a man of honor, I'll hold true to my word. Any tales you might have heard of me, please, do not believe them, they are simply tales told by fools and know nothings." Despite his young age and prepyubescent voice, he was a startling good speaker. Royalty, Alaina had figured, likely spent most of their time training in such areas. "I told your Matriarch," he continued, "that I would relieve you of your weapons and levy tariffs on your exports, and that I shall do. You see? I am a forgiving ruler." Many of the women, Alaina included, were almost relieved, but still his theatrics and tone were disconcerting. She knew this could not be it. And she was right. A thin, terrible smile crept across Lazarus's face and he giggled, this time more portentously than before. "Oh, but these punishments? Tariffs and disarmament? They are punishments of economy. Any man may be stripped of his wealth, but is he a new man? Has he changed?" His voice grew more excited, more forceful. "I sincerely doubt it!" Alaina noticed that the Matriarch was now watching the boy. Clearly he had not told her everything he planned, and her resolute calmness seemed to falter somewhat. "No! The money and the goods are not enough. My dear father would have been satisfied with that, but he was an old fool," he spat. He climbed the steps to the central dais. "I have another, deeper, solution. Guards?" At this prompt, two soldiers suddenly, harshly grasped Matriarch Susannah by the arms. She cried out in surprise, and her face could not conceal her confusion as she was dragged up the steps after the king. The clanswomen gasped and many stepped forward in protest, but the soldiers immediately leveled their spears at the now weaponless females. An angry murmur rippled through them, but Lazarus raised his voice to quiet them. "The spirit, not the merely the coinpurse, must be punished! The spirit must be reformed! And this reformation shall start with your Matriarch, the spiritual leader!" He gave another short, maniacal laugh. A third soldier carried a small bench up on the dais, while the other two roughly forced the Matriarch onto her knees and face down across the bench. "Your grace! What is this meaning of this?" she asked angrily. "We agreed on your honor that there would be no death here!" "Do not worry, my lady, there will be no death here." He stepped close to the Matriarch and carefully moved aside her feather cloak, revealing her smooth, tanned brief wrapped bottom. A girl shouted angrily and was immediately struck in the stomach by the hard butt of a spear. Every woman's face was now a mask of impotent rage and horror. What could they do? They had opened their gates and freely given away their only defenses. Lazarus raised his hand high. "This," he declared, "is the tool of reformation!" He brought his hand down hard on one of the golden cheeks, sending out a loud ringing smack. The pain was not even close to the worst that the Matriarch had ever felt, but this had stimulated a mixture of new, different emotions in her - emotions that were nearly unbearable to her warrior spirit. More hard slaps on her buttocks followed, gradually reddening each cheek evenly. The initial shock had passed for all the women, but the shock was now replaced by deep seated disgust, anger, and embarrassment. Many had even blushed, vicariously humiliated. Alaina was horrified to her core, but could not tear her eyes away. What was this madness? An insane boy barely five feet tall was delivering crude, corporal punishment to one of the greatest, wisest, and most beautiful women in the land., and all Alaina could do was watch and listen. It drove her mad to realize she was so helpless to assist her beloved Matriarch, and she could not keep her fists from shaking violently. Slap after slap landed, the boy did not seem to tire. The sight of such a tiny boy punishing the tall, graceful woman was almost comical. "Please...Your Grace...stop this..." begged Susannah, her voice breaking. Suddenly, the King let out a great boyish bellow, and Alaina noticed a darkness forming at the join between her Matriarch's legs. 'Oh, Cozma,' she thought with terror. Points of light sparked out from the kneeling woman's groin, and shining streams began to trace their way down her long thighs. The women could see, and felt their world go out from under them. Susannah began to whimper and tears fell down her face. Lazarus laughed gleefully. "Oh dear! Ha ha ha! The sacred woman is wetting herself! Am I just seeing this?" He placed his hand on her crotch to feel the dampness, only furthering her shame. "What a disgrace!" He landed a few more hard spanks and wiped his hand on his sleeve. "I had expected more from your people than a grown woman who urinates her person like an infant!" he shouted evilly. "Soldiers, take them!" At once, the soldiers stepped forward and grasped every clanswoman in the ring, all of whom were too stunned to react. Even were they to react, what could they have done by that point? They gave away their strength and took brutal humiliation in its place. Alaina was still reeling when she felt her hands pulled behind her back and quickly bound with rope. She and the rest of the women were forced onto their knees, as the Boy King leaped off of the dais, leaving the once dignified leader of women sobbing and kneeling in a pool of her own piss. Lazarus strode along the row of distraught warriors, stroking the hair of broken warriors as he passed by. “Women of Ekpana!” he shouted. “I have brought shame to your beloved queen.” He stopped to place his hand under the chin of a random warrior, a slim blond scout, lifting her tearful face up to look at it. “And I will bring shame to the rest of you! You pathetic little girls have the nerve to dress up and act as noble soldiers of the Kingdom!” He pinched and pushed at her cheeks, inspecting her like a sheepherd inspecting his property. The woman shook nervously and a pool of hot urine began to form underneath her. Lazarus laughed and moved onward. Alaina shook with rage. How could this be happening? Were all the warriors of Ekpana so spineless to allow these atrocities to happen to themselves and their own Queen? But even as she raged, she herself felt strangely powerless. The knots that bound her, that she knew she could almost certainly break apart or loosen, felt like wrought iron locks around her wrists. She felt that the strength that carried her across miles of plains and up the tallest mountains, drew the irontwine string of her longbow, and kept her alert in dozens of battles had simply vanished from her. She panicked briefly as she felt her sphincter begin to loosen and tensed her muscles. But it was too late – the thin fabric at the crotch of her briefs became just barely damp, causing her to blush and silently curse herself. What was going on? The little king continued along the line of genuflecting clanswomen, stopping at intervals to humiliate some poor girl. He brazenly grabbed one young scout's breast, massaging it through her thin leather jerkin. To another, he pushed her further down to the ground so he could deliver sharp swats to her rear end. Still another, he roughly grabbed the sides of her skimpy brief and yanked upwards, tugging the garment embarrassingly into her nether regions. All he encountered had unwillingly lost control of their bladders upon the humiliation he delivered to them. Then he came upon Alaina. The forward scout kneeled before the king like all the others, but her head remained raised. As he approached her, she fixed him with a dark glare; this boy would not take her pride from her so easily, she thought. Still, her bladder shuddered faintly just from his proximity. She cursed herself again. Was her body already so afraid of this petulant child? “Oh my,” purred Lazarus. “Is this a girl with some spirit left?” The boy reached out to stroke Alaina on the chin, but the defiant warrior pulled away with a snarl. Frowning, he reached out again to grab her hair; Alaina responded by spitting upon his hand. “Oh ho!” the boy chortled, wiping his hand on his cloak and eying her like a gleeful predator would its prey. “The bitch still has some bite! Guards!” At his last word, two armored men sprang from the ranks of soldiers to his side. “Sieze her legs and spread them apart,” he commanded. The two men roughly hoisted Alaina up to her feet and lifted her upward before she could collect herself, working their arms under the crooks of her knees to keep her from contracting them and lifting her short leather skirt aside to maximize her exposure. Her groin was just level with Lazarus's gaze. She was dismayed by the abasement of exposing her private parts so lewdly to the villain, even covered as she was by her brief. “It looks like you've already gotten started,” Lazarus cackled, noticing the tiny wet spot that had already formed at the bottom of Alaina's pants. Alaina grimaced and clenched her teeth, feeling a mixture of intense rage and mortified disbelief at her situation. Lazarus exaggeratedly leaned forward to examine the stain, stroking his chin and contorting his eyebrows as though observing some strange phenomenon. “Very... interesting,” he said airily. “My dear girl, do you know that you seem to be leaking down here?” He probed the soft leather surface over her crotch with a small, plump index finger. Alaina twitched at his touch, but was held firmly in place by the soldiers. He poked and probed at her private parts, grazing his finger across the wet patch and rubbing the moisture between his finger and thumb. All through this routine, Alaina felt her face becoming hotter and hotter, her mind seeming to fill with storm clouds. In the tiny window of clarity in her thoughts, she knew that the boy was teasing her in this way precisely to reduce her stature even more. But in spite of her years of training and meditation, she found her willpower undermined and her ability to concentrate utterly broken by this wretched, perverted boy king. She found herself straining every muscle in her body in an effort to steel her own resolve, but her strength was slipping. Lazarus's teasing continued, dragging his finger agonizingly around the young clanswoman's most sensitive areas. He traced circles around her buttocks and pressured her anus, causing her to twitch again. Alaina's head filled with more clouds and her thoughts raced. What would the other warriors think? They could all certainly see her right now, haplessly being abused. Could Matriarch Susannah see what was transpiring? Would she wet herself like the others in front of all these soldiers and the rest of the tribe? At this last thought, she felt another twinge of fear, and subsequently another loosening of her internal muscles. The conscious thought of wetting herself increased her anxiety, draining her strength, then increasing her anxiety even more in a cruel cycle. Her wrists began to chafe from the tight ropes binding them as she desperately shifted her weight in a futile effort to escape his touch. Her bladder shuddered, seeping another spurt of piss, darkening and expanding her wet spot further. Lazarus smiled upon seeing this, and smacked her on the bottom. “I like you, little girl,” he whispered malevolently. “I like that you still some resistance left in you. And I'm going to enjoy stamping it out of you. I think I'll make you my own personal...pet. Would you like that” The threat pierced through Alaina's clouded thoughts, crushing whatever mental bulwark remained in her and leaving only dread in its wake. The prospect of submitting to the boy's whims, submitting to these same cruelties day after day, struck her with terror. Her quivering sphincter cut loose all at once, and urine began to flood out in a torrent. Seeming to predict the rush of urine from the girl's quaking body, Lazarus pressed his hand against her groin to shield himself. Pee flooded out around his hand and soaked Alaina's briefs. The clear yellow fluid cascaded all around, streaming down her buttocks and arcing out to the ground. Alaina shut her eyes tight but could not keep stray tears from her falling down her face. The boy had won. He strolled into the encampment with no resistance, then delivered complete shame to the entire tribe as casually as one chides a young girl for taking candy. He forced her to wet herself like a child, and she could only cry bitterly in response. The soldiers dropped her to the ground, leaving her to stew in the puddle she made. Another soldier rushed to the king's side with a towel in hand, which Lazarus used to wipe himself off. “Warriors of Ekpana!” he cried aloud to the shackled women. “I came here to punish you. And know that you will all be punished, like this miserable creature here! Not a single one of you will be spared from the discipline you so rightly deserve. It begins now, and it will not end until I have deemed you fit to crawl on your own!” At this, the ranks of Ankaran soldiers broke from attention and began pulling the clanswomen off their knees. The village suddenly erupted into a flurry of motion as soldiers ushered the despondent women warriors across the camp, somehow seeming to know their way about the village. “That girl comes with me,” said Lazarus to a nearby guard, motioning toward Alaina. She did not fight back as she was lifted to her feet and led along. Through her tears, she maintained the presence of mind to discretely dart her eyes around, trying to see where her friends were being led. Small groups of soldiers led smaller groups of women to different locations, taking occupation over the small huts and barrack halls that were scattered about the village, perhaps intending to separate the warriors from each other and minimize the chances of an uprising. Not that that was likely at this point, thought Alaina sullenly. If they had prostrated themselves so readily to their punishment without so much as drawing blood, then she could not imagine them putting up much of a fight now. Then she shook her head and chided herself for feeling such derision toward her own people. No, she thought, I must continue to believe that we can break free of this bondage. Was our proud history all for naught? That our clan should end in this ignominious way? The walk felt like hours to her despite the small size of the village. Her garments had grown clammy and cold by now, and the thin sheen of her piss was chilly on her skin. Soon, though, the company of herself, two heavily armed guards, and the king arrived in front of the Matriarch's dwelling. “Pathetic,” the king spat. “Even the huge cow's hut is barely larger than the rest of the shanties in this town. My personal dwelling must be five fold this size!” They entered the little abode. Lazarus ambled around, inspecting and tinkering with personal trinkets of the Matriarch. He idly picked up precious gemstones and writing tools, then casually tossed them aside; he surveyed a weapon rack of the Matriarch's prized swords with disdain; then leapt upon the fur-covered bedding of the great cot at the end of the room, bouncing up and down to measure its give. “These aren't too bad,” he commented. “Perhaps I'll take these for my own. I could rather use some new linens.” Alaina watched him rove around the room aimlessly, contemplating. This boy seemed so much like any other: idle curiosity and a mind darting about like a hummingbird. Then what could have happened in his childhood that so poisoned his soul with obscenity and wickedness? “Perhaps you ought to outfit yourself in them, you would appear less absurd,” she said, against her better judgment. Lazarus seemed to snap out of his reverie. He took notice of the sodden warrior once again. “Hit her,” he said nonchalantly. Not a second later, Alaina felt a heavy fist slam into her belly. A similar blow would have simply glanced off her in battles past, but her constitution and focus were so weakened that she did not even brace herself in anticipation. She crumpled, the wind knocked out of her. Before she could recompose herself, the boy was upon her and slapped her across her cheek. “You don't learn do you?” he chastised, slapping her other cheek. He slammed his small fist into her belly with surprising force, causing her to spurt what little piss her bladder still held into her underclothes. Lazarus snorted. “Clean her up,” he instructed the guards. “The day grows dim. We will begin the punishments in earnest tomorrow.” At this, he retired to the Matriarch's bed and promptly fell asleep, like a normal young boy tuckered out after a long afternoon of play. The guards dragged Alaina outside. She did not resist as the guards stripped her of her soiled clothing and armor, beginning with her damp boots; they unstrapped and tossed aside her iron shoulder guard, which saw no use on this fateful day; they unstrapped her plated jerkin and tossed it into a pile of her other armor, then stripped off the woven wraps around her torso to leave her full breasts bare; then last of all, they peeled off her skimpy black briefs, now completely soaked from her ordeal. She made no attempt at covering herself, fully expecting them to exploit her vulnerability, and was not cowed by the prospect of it. One of the many situations the clanswomen trained for was the event of capture and rape, and had prepared their minds for it. But to her surprise, the soldiers maintained their honor, at least in this little regard: they simply grabbed nearby wash basins and rags and began to roughly scrub her down, causing her some mild discomfort as their scrubbing buffed against her private parts. Soon she was clean, if somewhat raw. The soldiers produced clean new smallclothes for her to take to bed in, likely taken from the village supply depot, bound her hands and feet with long chain cuffs, then ushered her back into the tent. They gestured toward a second cot in Susannah's dwelling nearer the entrance, typically used as temporary lodging for the Matriarch's guests of honor but now relegated to the bedding of the king's special pet. The guards remained stationed in the hut. Alaina retired to the cot without complaint and one of the guards chained her handcuffs to a nearby steel support pole to prevent her from stealing out at any opportunity. She thought of her comrades in arms, likely undergoing this same routine. She wanted to believe that she still had some measure of resistance left within her. That she could come up with a plan to undermine the small army and purge them from their village, or organize a guerrilla campaign to pick them off piece by piece... but, deep in her heart, she knew it was hopeless.
  13. Hello all! This is my first story. Enjoy! Summary: This is a story set in a high fantasy world of my own creation. It will involve a lot of pants-wetting, humiliation, and, to a lesser extent, light scatological stuff. This story is wholly fantasy (in the fictional sense) and is in no way representative of the author's actual views on society and human interaction. CHAPTER 1: Forward scout Alaina kept her gaze fixed on the horizon of the Great Plains. Hidden in among the leaves of a large eldertree on the fringe of Birkwood Forest, she was situated perfectly to sweep her gaze across the vast plain without being seen, enabling her to spot incoming hostile forces from afar and give advance warning to the rest of the villagers. Alaina herself, however, was no mere villager. Powerfully muscled legs allowed her to and lope across the ground with gazelle-like speed and grace, while a sleek, sinewy upper body enabled her to climb tall trees, wield all manner of small melee arms, and draw her trusty longbow as quick as any in the countryside. The fishing village of Ekpana was like any other small agricultural town, but unusual lines of birth - stemming, some say, from the legendary huntress Cozma Anteia herself - led to a population of average men but extraordinary women. Women with heroic athleticism, superfine coordination, supernatural resistance to pain and injury, and intense focus that put them above and beyond that of commen women, and indeed on the level of some of the kingdom's finest warriors. The clanwomen of Ekpana had taken part in some of the land's greatest skirmishes and were known not only for their ferocity in battle, but their startling beauty - many foes had fallen to the sword, awestruck by the visages of these amazonian terrors. Their numbers, however, remained small, and many outside of the village still did not believe the tale of the secret forest camp of elite female warriors; their strength, they believed, lied as much in their dedication to training as to their birthrites, and left them with little time or care to procreate. The men, young children, and elderly women of the village were charged with operating the agricultural activities of Ekpana, the primary source of income, while the women of prime age sequestered themselves in the nearby Ekpana Barracks, focusing their efforts on protecting the enclave. Alaina was not the strongest or fiercest of the warriors, but she was fast and and she was intuitive. These traits made her, at the relatively youthful age of 24, the enclave's lead scout. Her bravery in battle and skilled reconnoisance had led to numerous commendations, including one by the High Matriarch herself. However, this occasion was not a normal vigil. Her mission was still to warn the rest of her clan, yes, but she and all the rest had been expecting enemies on the horizon for days now - the troops of the new Boy King Lazarus of the Ankaran Empire, to be precise. Ekpana had allied itself with the rebel Union that arose in protest of the Boy King's mad machinations. Following the death of his ancient father, the benevolent King Ramzus, the newly anointed Lazarus had done nothing but sown discontent throughout the provinces under his rule. Previous trade agreements were violated at will, territory was forcefully taken from the provinces, whole families known to associate with his political enemies mysteriously vanished... and, disturbingly, the young boy seemed to have a taste for the obscene. He was known to have demanded that serving women close to him be attired in unusual, provocative costumes, he shamelessly slapped and flogged the women of subject villages, and other, stranger tales. Alaina had heard much worse from previous kings and rulers - the odd proclivities of the Boy King actually seemed rather tame compared to the sordid tales of, for instance, the High Lord of Antioch, who was rumored to order whole groups of whores to whip him bloody in his own bedroom - but to hear of such things from a youth his age was troubling. Following the collapse of the Union, then, the village had heard that King Lazarus was moving randomly from village to village, enacting harsh punishments to serve as warning to those who would foment uprising against the empire. Reports of these punishments were vague and varied. Some warned of brutal trade restrictions, while others warned of more of the king's strange fetishes being forced upon the populaces. The villages were small, though, so the sources were limited. However, she and her scouts had recognized the vast bulk of the king's detachment heading directly toward Ekpana, so punishment, no matter what kind, was virtually certain. In any case, Alaina felt a small twinge of fear. Never in her life had the clanswomen been under threat from a greater enemy, but now the king himself was bringing with him a numerically superior force to focus on their small fishing village. The clanswomen could likely decimate a disprprortionate number of the king's soldiers before falling down, but the High Matriarch was not one to sacrifice all for glory; she ordered that the women simply take the punishment with pride and live to fight another day. Most of the clan agreed; if they were powerful and brave enough to withstand amazing levels of harm and trauma, then they were strong enough to resist anything the mad Boy King had to offer. Alaina suddenly noticed a shimmering silver light on the horizon. Surely it was the reflection of Lazarus's host. The silver gleam resolved itself and she could now grasp the size of his company. It was not as large as she was expecting, parts of the host must have splintered off toward other villages, but still she could see that it was far superior to the village. The king's caravan rose high above the troops and was flanked by regal cavalry and platoons of spearmen, so there was no doubt that he was present in this small fragment of his army. Alaina steeled herself, quickly estimated the size of the host, and sped westward into the forest to warn her comrades. *** Ekpana was situated in a small clearing a few miles into the forest. The location gave scouts enough time to warn of incoming danger, but also allowed relatively quick access to the Great Plains while also providing a large buffer of twisting, forested paths, where the clanwomen could easily ambush and dismantle enemies foolish enough to try and assault the village head on. Alaina's quick, strong legs carried her smoothly through the forest. She had committed to mind countless paths through the woods and twisted around the clustered arrays of bushes and tree trunks as though she had planted each piece of foliage herself. She reached the landing leading to the Ekpana Barracks. The entrance was a large gate, fifteen men abroad, crafted from the tall, slender trunks of the forest's gossamer trees. From the gate, a fence two men tall stretched in either direction, enclosing all of the training grounds. It was by no means an impenetrable wall, but it offered just enough protection and distraction from most threats that the women could appropriately prepare themselves. Alaina approached the gates and was waved in by sentries watching through slits in the doors. She sped quickly down the paths, lined with small huts, toward the High Matriarch's quarters. The Barracks, in fact, were something of a misnomer. The clearing was no more than half a mile across, populated with small but exquisitely built thatched huts, meant to house two to four women. The houses were laid out in a circular pattern, and the center of the circle consisted mainly of three separate, flat, fenced off areas for training. At the very center, a large stone-paved town square of sorts was situated, with a large raised platform squarely in the center. This area the clanswomen used to socialize with one another, trade goods, watch fellow soldiers train, and hold recreational events. The atmosphere in the town was tense; women went about their business, training, discussing battle tactics and performing daily chores. All the women of the barracks dressed similarly to one another. Most wore some fashion of leather jerkin or armor, sometimes studded or plated with Lyonese steel and wrought iron, to protect her chest. Some wore one, two, or no pauldrons of tougher leather or metal, depending on what weapons they specialized and which hand they favored. Some midriffs were bare while others were wrapped with additional studded leather sheets. The perpetually hot, humid climate of Ekpana led many women to wear short skirts (as Alaina did), while others favored tight, short-cut pants, and still others (the most confident ones, perhaps) were comfortable with mere skimpy briefs. The women's natural strength and resistance to harm gave them a great deal of leeway in their choice of protection, and all chose to customize her own set of armor in some way or another. As much as they were a tough ruthless model of military efficiency, they also prided their individual strength and personhood. Many whispered in hush tones to each other about their soon to be known fate. The women were expecting Alaina. As they saw her rush in through the arteries of the training grounds and head directly toward the Matriarch's quarters, they could simply watch and wait. They could pretend that the day was as normal, but they knew the truth of things. Alaina reached the Matriarch's quarters, a hut just barely larger than any other, but with a small stuffed falcon perched on pole to indicate its noteworthiness. Alaina entered the house. "Matriarch Susannah," said Alaina breathlessly. A tall, regal woman with clothing more grandiose than any other on the grounds, she wore a flowing cloak stitched from falcon feathers, but still a practical mail of oxskin and plain brown leather briefs that showed her extroardinarily long, smooth legs. She was not so muscled as many of the warriors, but certainly the tallest. On flat feet, she stood half a head taller than most knights. "Head Scout Alaina, what news do you have to report?" The Matriarch's voice was calm and strong. "Lazarus's host appears on the horizon. They bring five fold our number, including engineers to carve their way to the village. At their pace, I suspect they will reach us in less than a week." Susannah's face betrayed no surprise. "It is as I expected, then. Thank you, Alaina." She turned back to the war table in the middle of the room, casting her gaze across the region map. "Matriarch?" pressed Alaina, impatient and worried. "What are your plans? Do we still intend to lay down our arms?" "Our plan remains the same, Alaina. Do not worry. It is our people's only possible path - the only one, I believe, that will not inflict us with great loss." A full month earlier, the Matriarch had announced her plan of action for all in the village. Most agreed with her. While all the women were blessed with physical gifts, and Susannah was no different, some were given strength in areas beyond the physical realm. Matriarchs had been chosen from women with gifts of understanding and insight that had stretched beyond those of the other warriors, and no Matriarch had ever led the clan astray. In spite of the Susannah's own successful history of leadership, there were still those who dissented. "Bullshit," sounded a voice from the doorway. Alaina turned around. Standing tall in the entrance was an imposing figure, arms straight down her sides, feet apart, and hands clenched angrily. The woman stepped forward, heavy boots pounding threateningly, and became illuminated by the room's torch, but Alaina had already known who it was. Leandra, the strongest, fiercest woman in the training ground, and perhaps in the whole kingdom. Leandra was a vanguard, the mightiest frontline warriors of the clanswomen, who wielded melee arms with fearsome ease and skill and craved the battlefield like a babe craves milk. She was not quite so tall as Susannah, but still on even footing with most of the men of the kingdom. Leandra's legs were like huge smooth barrels of glistening iron. While Alaina's own upper body was muscular in a lithe, sleek way, Leandra's muscled churned like an ox's. They were muscles meant to shear heads from bodies. Her great hips, covered by straining leather briefs, and imposing breasts still lent her a womanly figure, but one that could cleave men in twain. Alaina had known Leandra since she was young. She was on comfortable terms with her, and had even sparred with the giant woman some years ago (Alaina was knocked clean unconscious in less than a minute), but could hardly describe Leandra a friend. Leandra walked to an arm's length from the Matriarch, folded her great arms over her chest and tossed her short, black hair from her eyes. "It is a coward's plight, to lay down her sword. Matriarch, you must reconsider this foolishness, this betrayal of our people." Susannah regarded the woman neutrally. "Leandra, though your strength is unmatched in this village, it is not your position to question me. The decision has been made." "So we'll stand meekly by as we suffer their humiliations?" asked Leandra forcefully. "Do we even know what sort of humiliations we face? What about our pride? Our honor? What would the Huntress say?" Out of the corner of her eye, Alaina noticed a small, slim girl sneak quietly into the room, her arms wrapped around a cluster of swords in their scabbards. 'Ah, poor Elena,' thought Alaina. Elie at 14, was among the youngest girls in the training grounds. Younger girls in the village train under the elder matrons until they reach the Age of Iron, when their spirits are ready to be shaped and tempered like pure molten steel. Alaina felt sorry for the poor girl, having to serve as squire for the harshest woman in the compound. "She would be glad of our prudence in preserving our lives," Susannah calmly replied. "Subjugation and punishment are the least of possible harms they can inflict upon us. "And how do you know they'll stop short of killing us? We make ourselves easy targets." "I know." With that, the Matriarch ended the comversation. Leandra glared some seconds longer, then tossed her short hair again and stormed out of the hut. Only then, as Leandra turned, did Alaina notice the giant two handed battleaxe strapped across the woman's back. Elie, struggling to keep her hold on the weapons she was carrying, scuttled out after her. Susannah sighed. "She is so powerful, perhaps the most powerful of all of us, but still so unwise." She sat down behind the table, removed a journal from an adjacent shelf, and began to write. "I'm sorry to keep you overlong, Alaina. Thank you for your work." Alaina nodded, then let herself out. The meeting had not eased her mind. Though she trusted and loved Matriarch Susannah, she could not suppress a deep, vague terror slowly churning in her bowels.
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