Blood, Sand and Semen

There is a night most sacred to the Amazons. A night where winter waned and summer waxed. Two gods held sway this night, one of war and the other of life. One of winter and the other of summer. In this night the amazons dropped their spears and shields, preparing to pick up the scythe and swaddle.

And on that hallowed night, a sacred ceremony is held, the tournament of Aima and Sporos.

Arete, champion of queen Anadosia stood before the crowd, naked as the day she was born. She moved to decapitate her fallen foe, sweat and olive oil accentuating the way her hips and breasts swayed with each step. With a graceful swing of her sword, she dislodged his head. Triumphant, she raised the head to the queen, bathing in the cheer of the crowd before tossing the lifeless ball unto the stand. To Arete, the night was proving to be a bore. Malnourished slaves and desperate prisoners offered little challenge to the lithe warrioress. She craved a real challenge, one to truly test her skill at arms.

He could feel the fire coursing through his veins. The amazons had poisoned him, heart pounding as febrile images of nubile bodies and salacious acts filtered to his head. Many a times he felt his mind wander to the amazon guards flanking him. The taste of their tits in his mouth. The sound of their sighs whispered in his ears. The feel of their legs wrapped around him. The sight of their stomachs, swollen with his child.

Hearing the crunch of sand beneath his feet, Leontios awoke from his haze. Before him stood feminine perfection. Arete, the very picture of amazonian beauty. Lithe, tall and dangerous.

She glistened in the moonlight, her breasts heaving with the nights exertion, nipples perked from the cool hair. He saw no scars on the olive skinned warrioress, a testament to her abilities as a fighter, her luscious raven hair falling to her waist in arrogance.

Leontios stared mesmerised as the olive skinned amazon moved towards him. Those tight stomach muscles that rippled as she moved towards him. Those shapely legs that carried her with such flowing grace. Those limber arms that carried those kopri with such a deadly affinity, now raised as if to strike him.

He suddenly felt himself laden with the weight of a hoplon, a matching kopri in his hand. With the deft grace of hard earned instincts, his shield came up with lightning speed, deflecting Aretes blow in the nick of time.

Yet she was equally fast, immediately swiping his legs, feeling the top heavy warrior topple at her assault, her kopri coming down fast to finish the fallen man.

He rolled away from her thrust, the cold steel biting sand where his neck had once been. She cursed her overconfidence, leaving herself wide open with her coup de grace, an opening that let the man kick her likewise to the sand.

Now they were both scrambling on the sand, the crowd in shocked silence, the first fight in the evening that had not ended in seconds. Catching her fall in a tumble, Arete rolled away from the man.

They circled each other on the blood soaked sand, neither one leaving an opening. It seemed she would have her challenge, Arete relishing at the thought as she prepared for her next strike.

The fight continued for some time, both expertly parrying and dodging their attacks, the clang of steel ringing through the night. The crowd cheered at the display.

Eventually both parties discarded their shield, too tired to carry the heavy bulk. This fight had to end, lest they both be dishonoured before the eyes of the two goddesses.

Between sweat soaked breaths, the two fighters leered. The climax was near, both determined not to be the loser. Forcing her burning muscles forward, Arete leapt, narrowly avoiding a sideward slice aimed at her head. The amazon's tackle slammed the man to the ground, sweaty bodies wrestling on the sand. Eventually, Arete found herself on top, powerful thighs coiled tightly around the man's neck, preventing sweet air to quench the fire in his lungs.

The spectating mob became frenzied at the drawing climax, hooting cacophonous cheers as the man, with iron grip, tried to pry Arete off his neck. Unable to breathe, his vision darkened, hands becoming lax, consciousness gasping for dear lucidity, his cock hardening as his heart pumped faster and faster.

With a sudden burst of animal strength or a little nudging from the divine, the man pulled free from Arete's legs, pushing her onto the sand and reversing their fortunes. High from adrenaline, his head deprived of air, the man lost himself. Hot poison rushing through his veins, clouding his vision and churning the aching in his loins. The man grew harder from exertion and the jubilation of sweet breath.

With a roar he pinned the exhausted Arete to the ground. Burning intent rushing fire to his loins. Focusing anger, pain and desire into the powerful thrust that would be Arete's undoing.

Arete screamed. The crowd in stunned silence. Arete, already wet from the exhilaration of fighting, felt maiden blood drip to the hungry sand as the man found easy entrance as he hilted himself into her pink folds.

He kissed her, animal lust in his eyes, Arete's soft lips kissing him back. Arete, too exhausted, gave into the maddening thrust, finding pleasure at the iron hard rod in her tunnels. Juices running free, velvet folds milked him as the probing manhood thrust deeper and deeper, grinding her back against the harsh sand.

Smelling the heady scent of his sweat and feeling his soft tongue in her mouth, she wanted to absorb more and more of him, her now free hands gripping his back as she tried to pull him deeper into her.

The man rutted wildly, instinctual desires wanting to fill his mate with child and milk. Arete's womb wanting to catch every last drop of seed from the man who had bested her.

The writhing figures made wild love on the floor, mere moments ago, their hands had been at each other's necks. The clang of combat replaced with the wet slaps of lovemaking.

With the moon now at its apex, Arete came, face flushed red, toes curled and clawing hands drawing warm blood. Her body, tensing with every wave of pleasure. Muscles tightening around his invading manhood, urging his potent balls to flood her fertile depths.

Coaxed by her quivering folds, his pace increased, his pendulous scrotum hitting her rump as slick wet slaps echoed the arena with each thrust.

With a grunt he exploded, hot sweat dripping onto Arete's heaving bosoms. He delivered one last powerful thrust, intent to deliver his potent payload as far into Arete as possible. The ravishing torrent painting her womb white with his essence. His seed, desperately seeking her eggs, to finalise the amazon's defeat.

Exhaustion finally took the pair as the man collapsed on top of Arete. Having not the strength to push him off, the amazon laid under him, feeling his heartbeat in rapid rhythm with hers.

The equinox night was an exaltation of the amazonian goddess of war, but also of their goddess of life. A fact reinforced by the warm semen oozing out between Arete's legs and onto the sand below. The men, prisoners of war, were fed herbs and potions to stir their loins and forced to test their worth in carnal combat.

Arete would not exit the arena in shame but with the highest honour to an amazon, her prize the babe of a man who could defeat an amazon, his seed surely strong, their union blessed by the two goddesses.