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    Some Curious Customs on Pudendor

    Author’s note: These two chapters are from my novel, “The Goddess-Queens of Pudendor.”(Google “Pudendor”). Grad students Taryn and Stanley, after a night of sexplay in a park, have been abducted by aliens. They end up on the planet Pudendor, the female counterpart of the planet Gor. On Pudendor women rule and all men, and many women, are slaves. Taryn, Stanley and two other abductees are captured by the slave trader Kamita and her henchwoman Savitra and added to their coffle of slaves. At the end of the day’s march they make camp.

    Chapter 7
    Camping on the Old Campground

    Once dinner was over and all the related cleanup tasks taken care of groups of two or three slaves, each supervised by an armswoman and including a male for heavy lifting, went out into the surrounding woods. Only one group went out at a time, an interesting precaution I thought. When one returned laden with sticks and downed branches another went out. Neither Stanley, myself, Dimitri nor Li Mei were included in these firewood gathering parties.

    When they’d all returned, instead of piling the wood in one place for a central campfire, they made four piles, delineating a square around our camp. A modest amount of wood was carefully arranged for the initial fire in each spot, with a considerable reserve. Obviously the plan was to provide all around coverage, but was it to keep creatures from sneaking into camp, or to keep us from sneaking out?

    Our accommodations were spartan, to say the least. A sort of tent made of tarps was erected, using the two carts as supporting structures at either end. Ropes slung between the carts held up the tarps. But this was only for the armswomen. A spot between two young but solid trees was selected as the bedding down place for us slaves. Those of us without cooking related tasks were set to clearing stones and fallen branches, then piling up dead leaves and ferns. Canvas tarps were spread over the leaves and a stack of folded blankets set upon them. The final touch was stringing a thin metal chain between the tree trunks.

    We had a bit of a wait while dinner simmered. Kamita, Savitra and the armswomen were kicking back, sipping from small carved wooden cups that they filled from a ceramic jug. I also noticed that, as relaxed as they seemed to be, two of the armswomen were always up, spear in hand, prowling around the edge of the camp.

    For the slaves they filled a wooden tub of about two gallons capacity with water from the stream. One of the armswomen emptied a small jug of golden colored liquid into the tub and stirred it up. Cups were passed out and we lined up to help ourselves. Whatever the additive was, it was certainly alcoholic, and probably pretty potent in undiluted form, like the famous, or infamous, Hudson’s Bay Company 150 proof rum. It imparted a light but pleasant, slightly fruity flavor to the water and just a slight buzz after several cups. I could see that this was the highlight of the slaves’ day. Well, simple pleasures and a simple way to keep the slaves content and docile. It seemed that as a slave holding society they had developed a carrot and stick methodology for maintaining control. How much carrot and how much stick was involved I was shortly to find out.

    One of the armswomen announced that dinner was ready. We lined up and were each handed a wooden bowl into which a generous helping of stew was ladled. Its appearance was a bit off-putting, chunks of mystery matter floating in a gray broth. A thick slice of coarse bread went with each bowl.

    I went to sit next to Stanley. He wasn’t known for a sophisticated palate and it had taken me quite a while to get his table manners up to a level acceptable outside the frat house. He had reverted to type and was digging in like pizza night at Omega Sigma Pi. He saw me watching him.

    “It’s not bad,” he said, a dribble of sauce trickling down from the corner of his mouth.

    I tried a spoonful. He was right. Despite its appearance the flavor was good, even a little bit spicy and balanced with a subtle sweetness. This planet must have an analog for chili peppers, not to mention onions and garlic. Or perhaps essential food plants had been brought along with the people. I fished around in the bowl, trying to identify the components. Bits of meat, the late jackalope creatures undoubtedly, were obvious from their stringy texture. Lumps of a starchy tuber and chunks of a slightly fibrous material that I took for a root vegetable composed the bulk of the stew. The bread wasn’t as flavorful as the loaves we’d had for lunch, but it was good for mopping up the remaining juice.

    Interestingly Kamita and her posse were served last. I considered the ramifications as I ate. Was it a show of a small kindness, or a pragmatic custom. Well-fed slaves would be less likely to cause trouble while the masters ate.

    When it came time to clean up it was again a chore given to the male slaves. That was a custom I thought would be welcomed by 51 percent of the population of earth.

    The evening meal done with, and twilight setting in, the corner watch fires were kindled. The slaves all congregated around our bedding site, spreading blankets over the tarps. I glanced over at Kamita, who was in conversation with Savitra and two of the armswomen. After a few minutes she came over to us.

    “It has been a good day,” she addressed the slaves. “We’ve made good time traveling. You’ve all behaved well. I think we can have a limoksha tonight.” She looked directly at Li Mei and myself. “We have a saying here. Nothing is as unpredictable as a male slave with full balls.”

    Kamita made a sweeping gesture with her right arm, indicating a line before her. The male slaves didn’t need any further orders. They hustled right over to the imaginary line and stood expectantly. I swear their cocks were engorging as we watched, bowing outward, straining at the leather thongs that held them. Kamita issued another command, short and abrupt, a word I did not know, though its meaning became immediately clear. The male slaves went down on their knees and undid the leather thongs holding their cocks. They leaned back, placing their hands on their ankles, resting on their elbows, and thrusting their hips up and forward, knees wide, in that peculiar and obscene position I’d first seen them.

    Dmitri and Stanley were standing off to the side, looking confused. A pair of armswomen took them by the arm and started to walk them over to the lineup. Kamita stopped them.

    “They haven’t earned a treat yet. Besides, I have other plans for them,” she said. She looked at me and Li Mei. “However, I think it’s only right that our other new acquisitions demonstrate their abilities.”

    I knew she was going to say that. Just knew it. I wondered what exactly we were expected to do.

    Kamita looked at us quizzically. “Where you come from, do they know how to give a male pleasure?” In way of a hint she put her tongue out and moved it slowly and lasciviously along her lower lip. A titter of laughter rippled through the watching armswomen and female slaves.

    I didn’t have to be a genius to interpret what she meant and the little gasp Li Mei emitted told me she’d figured it out too. Well, I suppose sucking them off might be slightly preferable to fucking them all. I wondered if this planet had any peculiar, weird sexually transmitted diseases.

    “Why not have a race?” Kamita asked. She pointed to me. “You start at this end. And you,” She pointed at Li Mei, “you’ll start at that end. And the winner gets to do the one in the middle. Get ready.”

    I knelt down between the legs of the slave in front of me, trying not to upchuck at the thought of what I was about to do. Not that sucking off a guy was that disgusting to me. That was how I’d kept my horny high school boy friend at bay for a long time, before I finally decided he was worthy of the grand prize. And it was high on the list of Stanley’s favorite things. I’d learned a few tricks from Stanley, and he had been more than willing to reciprocate with a few tricks he’d picked up as well.

    I knelt down between the legs of my appointed slave. At the corner of my eye I saw Li Mei do the same at her end. I wondered what her experience was, and what her inhibitions might be. It occurred to me that there was a negative incentive in this race. The winner would have to suck off three men while the loser would only have to do two.

    “Did I mention there would be a penalty for the loser?” Kamita added snarkily. “You may start, now.”

    Well, that put a different complexion on things. I grabbed the balls in front of me with one hand, wrapped the other around the shaft, stuck the head between my lips and began tonguing it for all I was worth, alternating with vigorous stroking and massaging and full length licks. I’d seen enough already to know that whatever penalty that bitch Kamita came up with would be worse than sucking an extra cock.

    I closed my eyes and pretend this was Stanley I was blowing, doing the things I knew got Stanley off. I gagged as the slave came in my mouth, but was thrilled that he came so quickly. He must not have gotten off recently. I spat his load on the ground and scrambled on all fours to the next one.

    “Stanley,” I thought to myself over and over. “It’s Stanley I’m doing this to. Not some strange dude on a weird planet.” I grabbed the slave’s cock. “Stanley’s cock, Stanley’s cock, Stanley’s cock,” I kept repeating like a mantra.

    I repeated the proven formula and this one came as fast as the first. I spat, scrambled and was at the third slave just as Li Mei finished the second. The stricken look on her face as I grasped his junk almost made me regret beating her. Just almost, but no more. This was a situation where one had to watch her own ass. I made quick work of number three.

    “And so we have a winner,” Kamita announced. She pointed to the slaves. “You may be at rest.” The five of them let their butts drop to the ground and assumed sitting positions.”

    “You,” she pointed to Li Mei, “assume the third punishment position."

    Li Mei looked at her blankly, as I would have.

    Kamita beckoned to two of the slave women. “Show her the position. Better, put her in it.”

    The two women came up to Li Mei, nasty little smiles on their faces. I suppose when you’re at the bottom of the shit list, except of course for male slaves, there has to be a certain amount of joy in watching someone else’s ass go in the grinder instead of yours.

    A slave woman stood to either side of Li Mei. Grasping her arms and placing a hand on each shoulder they urged her into a kneeling position and made her bend forward so that her face, turned to one side, was pressed against the ground. One of the women nudged Li Mei’s knees apart. They brought Li Mei’s arms between her legs and guided her in grasping her ankles. They stood up and stepped away, leaving Li Mei with her ass up in the air and her private places lewdly displayed.

    “Now, the penalty. What shall it be?” Kamita removed a short whip from her belt. It was less than three feet long, but thick, made of hefty strands of braided leather with a knot at the end. “You pleasured only two out of the five slaves. So, I think a stroke for each slave you didn’t pleasure would be in order.”

    Kamita swung the whip lazily back and forth a few times, then brought it rapidly across Li Mei’s bottom from right to left. It did not appear, to me, to have been a particularly hard impact, just a grazing swipe, but it brought a drama response from Li Mei. She screamed, released her ankles and jerked bolt upright.

    Kamita stepped beside Li Mei. She put her hand on the girl’s head. “Something to keep in mind, girl. In the third punishment position, the stroke does not count if you come out of the position. Do you understand? We’ll have to do that one again.”

    Li Mei nodded her head, tears rolling down her face. Kamita gently pushed her head down. She assumed the position, grasping her ankles.

    “Now, the first stroke, again.”

    Kamita resumed her position behind and slightly to Li Mei’s left. She lazily swung her arm away from her and brought it back sharply. The leather braid sliced across Li Mei rump just below where the first stroke had left its red trail. Li Mei squealed and jerked, but maintained her position.

    “Good girl,” Kamita said. “That’s one.”

    She swung the whip out to her left this time, bringing it back from left to right, marking Li Mei just above where her buttocks met her thighs. She screamed but kept her grip.

    “And one more,” Kamita said. Oddly she swung the leather whip up and over with a backhand motion. It whistled in a circular motion, coming up between Li Mei’s legs, the tip smacking her soundly on her vulva. Li Mei screamed louder than ever and collapsed on her side, still grasping her ankles.

    Holy fuck! I thought. Who does something like that? What kind of woman would do that to another woman? It was clearly intentional, not a misdirected blow. The way Kamita had swung the whip there was only one possible target, and she struck it dead on. What was this? The Planet de Sade? The two women who’d placed Li Mei in position came forward and help her to her feet, then helped her hobble over to collapse next to me, hands covering her crotch. I sat down next to her and hugged her, though I was wishing someone was hugging me, assuring me it was going to be alright.

    “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s get on with the limoksha.”

    With the disgusting competition and then the torment of Li Mei I’d almost forgotten that this was just the lead up to some sort of group sex scene. I don’t know why I was surprised at what happened next, but I was, and I’ve been to a few frat parties in my time that would have made Messalina blush.

    The male slaves, directed by one of the armswomen, removed a tarp from one of the carts and spread it out on the ground. To my surprise all of them were fully, rigidly erect again. Either they had remarkable powers of recovery, or they hadn’t had any sexual release in a long enough time that a blowjob was just an appetizer. With the tarp spread, all five of them knelt in a circle on the tarp, resting back on their heels.

    There were five males, but only four females. I wondered how this was going to work. The answer came quickly. On a signal from Kamita the women literally pounced on the men. In moments the tarp was covered by a writhing pile of male and female bodies, constantly changing positions. They started with the women mounting four of the males cowgirl style. The odd man out joined in by fondling any breasts that were within reach, moving randomly among them. He didn’t have to wait long, though, before one of the women abandoned her first partner and jumped on him, pushing him down and taking him in her mouth. Her former partner, not to be left out, rose to his knees and entered her from the rear.

    After that it was the Kamasutra in quick time. No one seemed to stay in a position for more than a minute. It was as if they wanted to try every possible position and combination. Two on one, three on one, and whatever set of genitals was at hand was what one focused on. If a male found an erect cock in front of him he sucked it. If a woman landed between another woman’s legs she set her tongue to work. No nipple was left alone.

    Periodically a series of loud moans or shrieks or grunt signaled that someone was climaxing. Sometimes it was hard to pick out who it was, though a prostrate form beneath the tangle was a good indicator. I watched one woman who flopped off to the side, landing on her back, glistening with sweat and chest heaving. I began counting. It wasn’t more than a few minutes before she rolled over, got up on hands and knees and reentered the fray. I began to wonder if the local foods contained an aphrodisiac.

    I wish I had a way to time how long the performance lasted. It might have been half an hour. It might have been closer to an hour. Sitting there, watching, it seemed to go on forever. But even on the planet of the sexual crazies there was no perpetual motion. Eventually the last of them petered out and lay panting on the tarp.

    But the show wasn’t quite over yet. I’d wondered about our escorts, the armswomen, and whether they were included in the festivities. After the other slaves had rested for ten or so minutes I had my answer. One of the armswomen handed her weapons to another. She walked over to the steamy pile of bodies, inspected them, then pointed to one of the male slaves.
    Wearily he got up on all fours and moved to the edge of the tarp. I got a glimpse of his member as he moved. It was glistening and dripping, but in a fully depleted state. I had to wonder what she expected of him. I should have been able to guess.

    She motioned for him to kneel in front of her. He obeyed and she unbuckled her chainmail skirt, dropping it off to the side. Beneath it she wore a cotton or linen skirt, or perhaps it was the lower part of a tunic. She pulled this up and tucked it under her belt. She wore nothing under it, not a loincloth or g-string. She moved in front of the slave, a foot to either side of his thighs, and shoved her naked, hairless mound with its narrow slit in his face. Obedient slave that he was he immediately went to work. His head bobbed, his hands grasped her buttocks and began kneading, and I think a finger even found its way to her anus. His job became more difficult when she started bucking, thrusting her pelvis at him, grabbing his head and pulling him into her. But he stuck to it gamely until she jerked and moaned and then pushed him away without so much as a thank you.

    She lazily walked away, buckling on her chainmail skirt and another armswoman took her place. She also picked a male slave, but had him lie on his back. She stripped her nether regions, straddled his chest and dropped down on her knees, her crotch covering the lower part of his face. And so it went, with minor variations, including one armswoman who picked a female slave to service her, until all our armed escorts, including Savitra had been satisfied. Savitra had enlisted the services of two of the slave women, one kneeling in front and employing her tongue, the other kneeling behind, playing with Savitra’s ass. There only remained Kamita, though as Savitra dressed herself Kamita made no move to join the fun, instead giving orders to prepare the camp for night.

    By now it was getting dark. The slaves wearily dressed and went about their usual evening routine. The tarp was shaken out and replaced on the cart. The four corner watch fires were kindled. Buckets of water were brought up to the camp and the slaves spent a bit more than the usual effort in cleaning themselves up before stretching out on the blankets and having their collars attached to the chain by short leashes. Kamita retreated to the tent.

    Still seeking comfort in numbers we new slaves gathered at one end of the chain and dutifully followed the example of the others. It was a strange sensation to feel the thin metal links under my neck. I wondered what the protocol was if one had to take a leak during the night.

    Not long after we had all settled down Kamita came out of the tent. To my surprise she was stark naked. She was lit only by fire light but I could see she was an impressive woman. She had the filled out, blockish hips of a mature woman, rounded belly, and full, somewhat saggy breasts, but overall was very fit looking. She came directly towards us and stood over Dmitri and Stanley.

    “Let’s see what this one can do,” she said, pointing to Dmitri. She turned and strode back to the tent. I could tell that Stanley found the motion of her hips, should I say, inspiring.

    One of the armswomen unlocked Dmitri’s collar. He lay there, looking confused. Apparently the concept of being ordered to perform sexually by a woman was foreign to him.

    “Well, get on your feet, fool,” the armswoman said brusquely, giving him a nudge with her foot. “The mistress wants your company.”

    Dmitri got up and walked uncertainly towards the tent. He ducked under the low edge and past the flap that served as a door.
    Stanley turned to me. “A command performance. And on his first night here. Some guys have all the luck.” He rolled over, pulling at the blanket we shared, then turned back to me. “Hope he doesn’t fuck it up. He’ll give all us earth guys a bad name.”

    A few minutes later we heard shouts and screaming from the tent. The shouting was unintelligible and the screaming wasn’t from a woman. The flap flew open and Dmitri came flying out, both hands grasping his genitals. Kamita followed him, swinging a short leather strap. Dmitri ran to the line of chained slaves, crouching behind Li Mei as if she offered him any protection. Kamita followed him half way and then stopped.

    “What a waste! To give an excellent tool to a clod with no idea what it’s for! The other one,” she pointed the strap at Stanley. “He’s hung like a traga. Let’s see if he knows how to use it.”

    She turned abruptly and stomped back to her tent. One of the armswomen came and released Stanley.

    “Foreplay,” I said quietly as he got to his feet. “Lots and lots of foreplay.”

    I watched him enter the tent and waited for a long time, listening. Noises emanated from the tent, but they were definitely not angry. Eventually I rolled over and went to sleep. I woke up when Stanley slipped under the blanket beside me. I could feel his warm, sweaty back against mine. The expression “Rode hard and put away wet” came immediately to mind.

    “How’d it go,” I asked groggily.

    “I think I can safely say I taught her a thing or two,” he whispered. Then he added, “And she taught me four or five or six things. Maybe more.”

    Chapter 8
    Dispute Resolution

    Morning came. I roused myself from under the blanket and tried to work the kinks out. A layer of dead leaves and ferns was no replacement for a good mattress. This sleeping on the ground thing was going to become very old very quickly. I looked around. The watch fires had all burned down to beds of coals. I counted heads. As best I could tell no one had been carried off in the night. Stanley was still sleeping the sleep of the totally fucked out.

    One of the armswomen, seeing me up, released my chain, thrust a bucket at me and pointed me towards the stream. By the time I filled it and returned the rest of the group was up and moving about. I delivered the water to two of the males who were building up the cooking fire, then stood around watching as they prepared a kettle of what would probably be best described as porridge. There were grains or ground up seeds of some sort in it. It was edible if quite bland, but very filling. I consoled myself by looking on the bright side. If this was my normal breakfast I wouldn’t have to worry about getting enough fiber in my diet. I was dying for a cup of coffee, but there didn’t seem to be a Starbucks in the neighborhood. I wondered if there was anything at all like coffee on this planet.

    After breakfast we slaves were taken out a short way into the woods and allowed, or ordered, to do our morning business. We did it in a line, males and females together. Privacy was clearly not a big issue on this planet. But, you do what you have to do and it’s a natural function after all. No one else seemed bothered by the local custom, so I squatted next to Stanley and took care of business. I made a point of studying the plant life to my immediate front.

    With the necessary functions taken care of we began packing the camp up. There wasn’t that much to it. Just a matter of cleaning out the cooking utensils, which the male cooks took care of, rolling up the blankets and tarp, and folding up the shelter that Kamita, Savitra and the armswomen used.

    When we finished the packing one of the slave women pulled out a small, flat, round bowl. She removed the oily leather covering, dipped two fingers in and came out with a good sized dab of pale white grease. She handed the bowl to another woman and proceeded to smear the grease over her exposed skin, paying particular attention to her breasts, crotch and butt.
    The others followed suit, the males carefully smearing their genitals in particular, rubbing the stuff in until it was barely noticeable. Fantastic, I thought. They’d discovered sunscreen. I was already noticing the effects of parading around in the buff all the previous day. I helped myself to a generous portion, covering every part I could reach and doing an exchange with Stanley on the parts I couldn’t.

    To make the day even better one of the armswomen passed out tunics to us, the longer but bust baring women’s style for Li Mei and myself, the shorter hip-hugger version for Stanley and Dmitri. I gratefully put mine on. It wasn’t the cleanest thing around. It had obviously been well used. It flashed my hoochie to the world with every step I took. But it was clothing.

    Violent shouting on the edge of the campsite disturbed what had been an almost pleasant morning. We all looked around. Earlier, while the rest of us ate breakfast, Kamita and Savitra had gone off away from the camp, engaged in an increasingly animated discussion. No one had paid them much mind. Whatever it was they were discussing, it had taken a turn for the worse. Now Kamita was walking back towards the camp, her face hard and scowling. Savitra followed her, spitting words a mile a minute and her arms gesticulating wildly. Now and then Kamita paused, turned back, and spat a brief reply that came out more like a growl than words. In fact, they were speaking so rapidly that with my still tenuous command of the language I couldn’t follow what they were saying. I looked at Stanley. He looked back at me, eyebrows raised.

    The rest of the group, including the armswomen, mostly tried to pretend they had no idea this spat was going on, though like Stanley and me they kept shooting glances their direction.

    And then it happened. Whatever Savitra said, it hit a nerve. Kamita stopped, whirled around and slapped Savitra hard across the face.

    Savitra took an involuntary step backwards, her jaw open, a look of mixed surprise and anger on her face. She stood there for almost a minute before stomping off to where her vikaga was picketed. Her spear was in a socket behind the saddle. She grabbed it, turned and headed for where Kamita stood, arms crossed over her chest. The stuff is going to hit the fan now, I thought. Savitra carried the spear like she meant business.

    What happened next made me wish I had a video recorder, or at least my laptop. Savitra stopped about six feet from Kamita. She reversed her spear in her hands so that the point was down, then jammed it into the earth. She unbuckled her armor, breastplate and skirt, and tossed it aside. Underneath her armor she wore a short shift of linen like material. She pulled this over her head and discarded it. She stood in front of Kamita naked except for her greaves.

    Kamita glared at her for a few moments. She signaled to the armswomen. One of them ran over with Kamita’s spear. With a slow but forceful motion that said “You don’t intimidate me,” Kamita pushed the point of the spear into the ground. Then, like Savitra, she disrobed until she also was naked except for her greaves.

    It appeared they were going to fight it out virtually naked. I glanced at Stanley. He was watching, fascinated. And, a quick lowering of my eyes confirmed, increasingly aroused. “Pig,” I muttered. He glanced at me questioningly and turned his attention back to the main event.

    Nothing happened for a good two minutes, other than Kamita and Savitra sending daggers at each other with their eyes. Savitra took a large step back and jerked her spear out of the ground and pointed it at Kamita. Kamita quickly reacted, recovering her spear and assuming a guard position, ready to block Savitra. They circled each other, making short thrusts obviously intended to fake each other out. Neither one of them, though, was foolish enough to leave themselves open to a counter stroke. I assumed that they must have been sufficiently familiar with each other’s fighting styles that it would not be easy to land a blow.

    Something odd I noticed after watching the inconclusive maneuvering. The thrusts were all low, aimed at the lower leg, and particularly the calves, the only part of their bodies still protected. What a strange form of combat, I thought. Very ritualistic. Not that the upper body was off limits. I saw Savitra land a nasty blow with the butt of her spear on Kamita’s hip, a blow that made her stumble. But she recovered quickly and, parrying a thrust of Savitra’s blade, continued the motion to give Savitra’s left breast a thumping with the butt of her spear that made me wince in sympathy.

    They each sustained several more impacts, all of which seemed likely to leave a nasty bruise. All were delivered with the butt end of the spear, or sometimes the shaft of the spear when it was wielded like the quarterstaff of Robin Hood and Little John fame. But always they seemed careful to keep the blade out of play that would cause an upper body wound.

    This went on until Savitra, no doubt tiring, was slow in recovering from a thrust. Kamita slipped the blade of her spear between Savitra’s legs and swept it to her left, against the leather greave, taking her leg out from beneath her and sending her sprawling. Before Savitra could recover Kamita was over her, the point of her spear aimed at Savitra’s chest.
    “Submit!” Kamita ordered in a voice that would have been very persuasive even if not backed up by the spear.
    “I submit,” Savitra replied in a voice that barely carried to us in the cheap seats.

    “Bring my chair,” Kamita ordered, raising her spear. She backed off about thirty feet.

    One of the armswomen went to a cart and returned with what looked like a bundle of dingy blue fabric wrapped around four long sticks. She set it down behind Kamita and unfolded it into a rather clever type of sling chair. When it was ready Kamita lowered herself into it. She slouched down so that her butt was over the edge and spread her legs wide. Even from where we stood, watching, we could see how red her labia were, and how the slit between them glistened with moisture. She was a seriously aroused woman.

    “Savitra,” she called out loudly, “do you recognize my authority?”

    Savitra had rolled over and gotten up on all fours. “I do,” she said, quietly.

    “What was that? What was it you said?”

    “I do,” Savitra replied, louder.

    “You do what?” Kamita asked, malicious pleasure evident in her voice.

    “I recognize your authority.”

    “And do you swear to obey me?”

    Savitra straightened up, though remaining on her knees. To my surprise, instead of raising her right hand or placing it over her heart, Savitra reached between her legs and placed her hand on her sex. “I swear.”

    “Then make your act of submission to me.”

    Savitra crawled towards Kamita until she was between Kamita’s legs. I watched in amazement. Was she going to do what it looked like she was going to do? My God! She was. The motion of her head, visible between Kamita’s thighs, said it all. She was going down on Kamita, right in the open. Right in front of everyone. Kamita let her head loll back. She brought her hands up to her chest and began massaging her breasts, tugging and twisting her hard brown nipples. Her chest began rising and falling rapidly. She began moaning.

    I could tell that when I published my scholarly works, this chapter, working title “Conflict Resolution Among the...whoever they are,” would be very popular, especially among adolescent males.

    Thankfully the show didn’t last long. Kamita came, quite nosily. She placed her hands on Savitra’s head and pushed her gently away.

    “I accept your submission,” she muttered.

    Savitra backed away a few paces, stood up and walked back to where her clothing and armor lay. She dressed herself, picked up her spear and went to see to her vikaga. After a minute or two Kamita did the same. She looked at us, still standing there watching this bizarre ceremony.

    “Well, get to it,” she said brightly, as if nothing more than the usual morning routine had occurred. “It’s past time that we were on the road again.”

    * * *

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