Captured

The day hadn’t turned out anything like she expected.  The day should have been special, but certainly not in the sense it actually played out.  Still, as she padded along barefoot and naked beside her captor’s horse she was able to consider the developments rationally and remind herself that the unexpected is a disguise opportunity wears.  It was her father that was fond of that proverb. 

There were several immediate positives to consider, she continued to tell herself. For instance, there was the pleasant weather and the comfortable grassy state of the path they were following. Her hands were tied in front of her instead of behind.  They were tied loosely, too.  She surmised that he did it more for show.  He knew that even if she had not been trussed up, escape wasn’t practical.  A naked girl alone in the wide open country would be easy to recapture.  Worse, if she did manage to elude a troop of soldiers her chances of survival were almost nil.  Better a naked captive being towed to an uncertain fate than a naked corpse being picked at by scavengers.  That prospect made her shudder.

Too, being led by a halter around her neck was probably not as uncomfortable as if he led her by the hands.  She was sure that her arms would have become tired and cramped.  The more she considered the alternatives, the more her gratitude grew for the consideration the tall officer was showing her.  The only negative was that she was a prisoner of war.

Having adjusted to the sensations of the ground underfoot, the air over her body and the rhythmic bobbing of her breasts with each stride, the long walk had given her a lot of time for reflection.  Her mind drifted back over the day.

Delila was looking forward to her birthday.  Her excitement did not allow her to sleep until the rest of the household rose.  Slipping out of bed, she roused her slave girls and bade them help her bathe and dress.

As she sat naked after her bath having her hair arranged by the sputtering light of the oil lamps, she reflected that the pre-dawn air promised a warm summer day, punctuated by the occasional zephyr.  Her naked slave girls caught on to her excitement and chattered quietly, feeding her eagerness.

Satisfied with her reflection in the mirror, Delila allowed her fine, new high-laced sandals to be placed on her feet.  Once shod they dressed her in the short, wrap-around linen skirt that was the main garment for girls of her age and class this time of year.  It was secured low on her hips with copper fasteners.  An ornamental copper chain was hitched around her waist.  Once it was in place, Delila probed behind her with her fingers to assure herself that the girls had adjusted the skirt low enough so that the cleft between her buttocks was just peeking out in that teasing way that conformed to the current fashion among her girl friends.

If she went out of the house, her hair would be wrapped loosely in a head scarf so that her dark tresses framed her long-lashed, large eyes while conveying some illusion of virginal modesty.  Like her friends this would be all she wore.  Between her neck and her hips she was naked, her breasts on full display at all times in public or private.  Since her breasts had grown to such an agreeable size, she found excuses to go out in public as much as possible.  She thrilled to the favorable attention that her appearance got from every male eye that encountered her.  She could tell that it was her breasts getting the notice, even though her two rather comely naked slave girls trailed behind her.

As the rosy dawn started to light the city, she began to pick up sounds of the household coming to life.  Doubtless her mother was already directing the preparations for breakfast and the later feast when friends and relatives would congregate.  Some of the sounds were identifiable as the opening and un-shuttering of the house.  She went to the balcony to look over the street that was just coming alive with the first threads of traffic.  Of course, if she happened to give passersby a view of her excellent breasts – well, no harm in that.

Her father and older brother were away with the army, so it was a matriarchal society for the moment.  The absence of the military age males reduced her expectations for the day somewhat. Because of that, the one thing that could not occur today was the expected announcement of her betrothal to Arn, who was also in the field.  It was often the case that girls of her class became engaged on the first birthday after they had begun their monthly cycle.  On this, her 14^th birthday, she was a veteran of nine of those cycles – quite eligible… and incidentally, very tired of her virginity.  While boys could indulge their lusts with whatever female partners they could find, girls had to remain “pure” – she hated that word – until they were safely taken to wife. 

As she continued to listen, the murmurs of her slaves came to her.  Speaking of male lust, she suspected that the older of the two girls, Grisele, was pregnant – no doubt her brother’s handiwork.  As much as she tried, she could not keep Tryne from fornicating with her girls.  He seemed to find every opportunity when her attention was diverted.  Of course, she couldn’t blame the girls. They had to do their master’s bidding, including satisfying his physical needs.

The typical young slave girl probably included as much sex as any other task in her duties.  When the household acquired a young girl as a servant, the male head generally initiated the girl by taking her to his bed.  Only after he had enjoyed her body would she receive her slave collar and become officially accepted.  Delila’s mother usually prevailed on her husband to avoid inseminating the girls, withdrawing before emitting his seed.  The girls were perfectly willing to accept his emission into their mouths.  Tryne was another incorrigible matter.

Once Arn returned and the betrothal had been made official, they would be allowed to be alone together for the month that typically served as the engagement period.  She anticipated being the beneficiary of his experience with slave girls and sluts as she waited for her wedding day to arrive.  And of course, once they were living together …

She was shaken from her reverie by a loud commotion some distance off in the direction of the west wall of the city.  Shouts, screams and crashes began to fill the air and come closer.  Curious, she leaned over the balcony rail and looked in the direction of the din.

A few tradesmen and a woman came charging out of the narrow street and into the open space before Delila’s house.

“They’re coming,” one of them yelled, “Sarons!”

They dashed up another street.  A mule and two pigs emerged from the same street – all in full gallop and emitting brays and squeals of alarm.  The sparsely populated street suddenly emptied as shutters and doors slammed amid fresh yelling from all directions.  Banging and yelling began to emanate from the lower story of her own house.

Delila was momentarily frozen.  Sarons?  The enemy here it the city?  That can’t be …

“Delila!  Out the back!”

Her mother’s shout reached her a moment before the two slaves appeared at her sides.

“Mistress!  We must go!”

Each of them grabbed an arm as she stood rooted in the spot, still staring at the scene below, unable to comprehend the urgency. 

“Delila!”  Her mother sounded farther away.  She had probably gained the alley that led to the adjoining street with servants and her younger brother in her wake.

Before the girls could move her, a column of armed and armored men burst from the mouth of the street.  With spears raised and bows slung over their shoulders they dashed past the house in the direction of the town center.  One of the armed men drew up and a few of his companions also stopped.  It was clear he was the leader – an officer.  The bright red crest on his helmet and the sword with which he was armed set him apart from his fellows.  His helmeted head swiveled in all directions as though calculating his next move.  Then, almost inevitably, his gaze turned toward their house.  Frozen in fright the three girls watched his head tilt upward and stop as his eyes locked on them.

Immediately, he shouted something to his companions and made a stabbing gesture toward the house with his sword.  With collective shriek, the three girls turned from the rail and dashed into the house.  They reached the steep stairway at the back just as a mighty thump issued from the front of the house.  As they half ran, half tumbled down the stairway there was a huge crash of shattering wood followed by the sound of running feet.  The girls turned toward the rear exit of the house when Grisele, the hindmost, let out a shriek.  Delila and the other slave turned involuntarily to see Grisele lifted off her feet from behind by an armored man whose arm circled her midsection.

With redoubled resolve, the remaining girls turned to resume their flight.  Delila succeeded in traveling only four more paces before she felt herself grabbed roughly by the hair.  She let out a strangled scream of fear and despair.  No sooner was her progress arrested than yet another soldier shoved past her in pursuit of the remaining girl. 

Delila did not see that outcome of that chase.  She was grabbed by the shoulder and spun around to face her captor.  However, she had no time to comprehend his appearance before she was heaved over his shoulder and carried out to the street.  Her orders to be set down immediately went unheeded.  Attempts to kick were effortlessly restrained by the arm that crossed her calves.  When her downward gaze registered the brick-paved street, she was unceremoniously dropped to her feet and once again spun to face – him… or rather, to face the breast plate of his armor. He was quite tall.

She did not immediately encounter his face because something in the periphery of her vision caused her to look down.  Momentarily she was taken aback by the realization that she was surrounded by bare male genitalia in various stages of arousal.  It came back to her that Sarons went into battle in full body armor but generally wore nothing between their waist and knees.  Although opinions and stories varied about this practice, there was no doubt that they were ferocious combatants in spite of or because of their semi-nude state.

Being directly in front of her, his penis filled her field of view.  She had heard that Sarons tended to be circumcised.  He confirmed that report.  However, that detail seeped into her consciousness only later.  The fact that he was more than half hard and that his penis was pointing directly at her raised her anxiety.  Indeed as she became aware of the totality of her surroundings, the sight of all those male organs aroused a reaction in her similar to being menaced by a swarm of serpents.

“Take them to the rendezvous.”

Her face snapped upward at the sound of his voice.  It was only then that she encountered the deep blue of his eyes.  Amid the surrounding metal of his helmet only his eyes, nose and the strong cleft chin were visible.  Still it was enough to cause a flutter of unaccountable attraction in her.

“And hold this one for me.”

The tip of his sword was point at her midriff as he added that.

As she and her companions were propelled down the street in the direction of the west gate, their numbers grew.  Saron soldiers carrying, towing and driving girls and women joined the flow.  Delila took little notice of the numbers or identities of her fellow captives as she concentrated on keeping up with the rush of bodies.  It was essential that she avoid taking a tumble on the uneven paving stones. That would inevitably lead to her being trampled under panicky feet.

The west gate careened into view.  Debris and carnage lined her path.  Apparently the watch at the gate had been surprised and dispatched efficiently.  Their bloodied bodies lay in various macabre attitudes that she found impossible to avoid look at.  As they past through the gate, however, she noted that the undamaged portals stood open.  Her conclusion was that they were opened from inside once the vanguard of the raiding party had scaled the wall and dispensed with the watch.

Their captors stopped and herded them into a clump about a stadium’s length from the city walls.  Delila glanced back only momentarily to confirm her expectation that no pursuit was being undertaken by the defenders.  The palace garrison was the only substantial force left in the city and they were unlikely to issue from that safe haven without understanding the situation.

Delila surveyed her situation, surprising herself with her own dispassionate calm.  More than a score of women and girls shared her fate.  Most were young, some quite young.  There was at least one crying girl that Delia guessed to be about six and another handful that were somewhere around ten years old – eleven at the most, she amended.  She deduced that most of the company were slave girls, not only because they were naked – at that time of morning most women pulled from their bed would be naked – but also because of their slave collars.  Those that seemed the most visibly upset – weeping and wailing uncontrollably – were the free women.  Of course, to the slaves this would simply represent a change in masters – a new crop of men to serve sexually.  To the free women, this could be a life-changing event – and not for the better.

One of the soldiers began giving directions to separate the females into groups.  Delila was roughly shunted into a clutch that apparently represented younger free women.  She recognized nearly all of them, most by name.  Two were girls who had been married within the last year.  One of those was dressed in the typical street outfit of her class and station, a long dress that draped her from shoulders to ankles, but was open in the front to leave her breasts bare.  She apparently hadn’t had time strap on her girdle – a broad, decorative belt that emphasized her waist – or apply her makeup.  The other girl-bride had apparently been taken while still naked.  She appeared very discomfited by her situation.  In the future, maybe she’d make a point of rising earlier, Delila reflected.

The tall officer appeared presently.  His manner was one of urgency as he surveyed his groups of prisoners.  She noted that his penis was limp but that did not prevent her from repeatedly glancing at it. His sword was sheathed and he had apparently passed his shield to a retainer.  He gestured impatiently at a group that obviously consisted entirely of slaves.

“Let these go.  They’re of no consequence.”

Delila watched as the confining phalanx of bare-bottomed soldiers fell away and the group of slave girls backed toward the city walls.  Her girls were among them.  As she watched, her gaze passed over the shoulders of the retreating girls to a billow of black smoke rising from inside the city gates.  Apparently, the raiders had set fires to impede pursuit.

“These we’ll take. Turn the rest of them loose.”

Delila returned her attention to the proceedings to see the pre-teen girls being culled for retention from a second group while some older women and the six-year-old were being shooed away.  A wail of distress went up from the captive girls. Amid that din one of the older women pleaded urgently to be able to take one of the girls with her.  She was met with a restraining spear point.  Backing away slowly, she kept up her plea.  The officer ignored her has he turned to the last group – Delila’s. 

He looked them over briefly.  His eyes rested on Delila for a moment, and then he waved a hand at them.

“Strip them and bind them.  These are coming.”

The soldiers in his immediate vicinity stabbed their spears into the ground, laid down their shields and advanced on the remaining women.  Amid squeals of alarm, the group of women shrank back.  But the soldiers moved among them, grabbing those who were clothed and dragging and tearing their garments from them.

Delila stood her ground, her eyes fixed on the officer.  He returned her gaze steadily as a soldier ripped her skirt from her and tossed aside her ornamental copper chain.  As her assailant bent to her sandals, she instinctively placed a hand on his armored shoulder to steady herself as she lifted each leg in turn to facilitate their removal.  Once his task was complete, the soldier stood back to appraise her naked body as though to confirm that he had not missed anything. 

Other soldiers came forward, their genitals wagging purposefully as they distributed coils of thin rope to their comrades.  Each of the naked women and girls had their hands tied behind them.  The free end from each girl’s binding was then tied around the neck of another girl.  Eventually, trains of four captive females each were formed.

As one of the soldiers grabbed Delila and roughly pulled her hands behind her, the officer stepped up.

“Never mind.  I’ll take this one.”

As his subordinate nodded and stepped back, Delila turned to face him.  Without a word, he took both her wrists and raised them in front of her face.  His touch was much gentler.

“Hold them there,” he commanded.

Taking the cord from the soldier, he tied her wrists together.  She continued to hold her hands up to him after he finished, expecting him to take the loose end to lead her by.  Instead, he turned to the soldier and demanded another rope.  When it was produced, he stepped closer to her.  She quickly dropped her trussed hands in front of her to allow his approach.  As he passed the cord behind her neck, she felt his manhood touch her hands.  It was warm and firm.  Reflexively, she parted her palms as much as her bindings would allow.  His sex organ passed between her hands as he worked.  She felt it twitch.  He, however, showed no sign of noticing.

He tied a knot in the loop around her neck.  It was a loose as any necklace she had ever worn.  Stepping away, he retained the end of her new halter.  She noted that his penis was no longer limp and had gained some altitude.

“Let’s go.”

He led her away from the group toward a clump of trees a hundred or so paces on.  Her impulse was to follow behind him, at the maximum length of the lead.  That seemed to suit him, since he did not tug her closer.  It suited her, too, because she was able to view his bare buttocks as they rippled in concert with his strides.  She found herself enjoying sight immensely.  She sensed she was probably becoming wet.

He mounted the horse that was tied on the far side of the copse.  With a glance over his shoulder at his troop of soldiers and captives, he urged his mount into motion.  Delia fell in step keeping more or less abreast of his leg.  That allowed her a peripheral view of his penis as it lulled on his scrotum.  The lead hung slack between them.  Since he seemed disinclined to talk, she fell into her own reverie.

She remembered the last time she was naked in general view of the public.  It was only a few weeks ago at the Mid-Summer’s Day celebration.  As usual, the day included athletic contests in which most of the young men participated.  That was always appealing to the women and girls because all participants were nude.  And as always, some of the contestants remained naked between events as they greeted well-wishers, many of whom were girls.

There were a limited number of events for girls and young women, mostly races.  Females had traditionally competed wearing an apron or loincloth.  However, lately there had been some bold girls who insisted on mimicking the boys’ total nudity.

Delila knew her mother would not approve of her competing in the nude, so she simply did not ask her.  When her race was called, she stepped to the starting line and whisked off her skirt.  It lay off to the side in the dust for some time after the race was over as she socialized with the boys and girls at the finish line after the race.  Her slave girl eventually retrieved it and brought it to her.  Delila merely told the girl to hold on to it as she turned back to continue her conversation with the equally naked and wide-eyed Arn.

Her mother’s criticism was surprisingly mild.  Her comments mostly centered around the theme “that’s not the way a lady gets respect.”  As it happened, Delila was beyond the reach of any chastisement.  She and Arn had managed to get enough privacy to masturbate each other to very satisfactory orgasms.  The afterglow of that episode carried her through the night.

After being alone with her thoughts she began to realize from the position of the sun that they had been walking for some time.  Taking care not to blunder into the path of the horse’s hooves she chanced a glance over her shoulder.  It confirmed that the cohort and their captives were plodding along behind.  A second glance told her that some of the women were not bearing up under the rigors of the march.  There were frequent stumbles and staggers.  She was on the point of addressing her mounted companion when a new soldier stepped out from behind a tree and saluted the officer.  When he caught sight of her, he also saluted her in his way.  She noted that his fore flesh gained integrity as he continued to gaze at her.  She pretended not to notice.

Minutes later they were at an encampment.  Supply wagons with their harnessed teams were being attended by a few soldiers.  The officer dismounted and gave orders that the women be untied and given water.  As her fellow captives dropped to the ground and drank from the proffered ladles and gourds, the officer removed his helmet and turned to her.  His dark blond curly hair and deep blue eyes held her entranced for a moment.  It occurred to her that she may have never before been in the presence of such handsome man.  The term “god-like” crossed her mind.

She was still gazing at his face when her bonds came off.  She looked stupidly at the iron cup of water that came into her line of sight before realizing what it was and how badly she needed it. 

When she lowered the empty cup, he had turned aside and was again commanding his troops.  Baggage and supplies were reorganized in the wagons to make space.  Then the women were loaded into them.  Being nearly mid-day, each female was offered bread and more water.  Delila noted that some declined the bread.  She and the younger girls did not.

Not wanting to lose her favored place, Delila stayed apart from the wagons, remaining seated under the tree to which her master’s (why did she think of him that way?) horse was tethered.  It occurred to her that she might be regarded as a collaborator when (or if?) they returned to the city.  She’d have to deal with that then.  Her father’s influence would have to be relied upon to forestall any consequences.  Right now, it seemed most prudent to cultivate the possible power conferred on her by association with the officer.  Of course, the fact that she was increasingly attracted to him played no small role in her decision.

When her companion returned he tossed a curt remark in her direction to the effect of “time to get going.”  He swung into the saddle and gathered the reigns without looking at her.  Quickly gaining her feet, she came to stand close beside him.  Without ceremony he leaned over, seized her by the waist with both hands and lifted her easily onto the horse in front of him. 

Although she had expected to join him on his mount, finding herself encircled by his arms and pressed against his genitals – she noted that his organ was quite firm against her back – was certainly more than she had hoped for.  Mischievously, she feigned trying to situate herself more comfortably as an excuse for wiggling against him.  By the time the horse had been urged into a steady trot, she could tell his penis was completely rigid and pressed against her spine.  She allowed herself a smile of satisfaction.

As the motion of the horse’s gait communicated itself to his passengers, the officer’s hands occasionally encountered her breasts.  She let this familiarity continue while waiting for him to speak. 

When he didn’t she asked, “Where are you taking us?”

“Saron.”

Not very satisfactory, she decided.  Try something broader.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” was the mild reply.

“Seizing innocent women, humiliating us and carrying us off.”

There was a pause, then “There’s a war on.  Raiding the enemy stronghold and carrying off enemy citizens is a rather common practice.”  Still matter-of-fact, she thought.

“But why women?  We are not war assets.”

“How do you suppose the fathers, husbands and brothers of you women will react when they learn we’ve taken you?  They’re out hunting us, seeking to engage us in battle with a three-to-one numerical advantage, thanks to their alliance with the other cities.  Instead, we invade their city and take that which they’re honor-bound to protect.  Now their honor is impeached and you women are our trophy.”

She considered a retort affirming her confidence that their men would mount a rescue and … But she had to admit that it would be days at least before they even heard about their abduction.  By that time …

“What do you plan to do with us?”

“Well, let’s see,” he pretended to consider.  She felt some dread beginning to gather in her stomach.  “You’re captured enemy civilians … that means that when we get you to our home you’ll be … slaves.”

She wasn’t sure whether she said it in unison with him or not but she knew her lips formed the word as he said it.  She took a breath.

“You’d let them – our people – ransom us, wouldn’t you?”

“That’s not up to me.  But you’d have to ask yourself whether they’d want you back after being in the hands of enemy soldiers.  Your virtue would be suspect … a further blotch on their honor.  They may decide to accept their losses and … well, leave things alone.”

He wasn’t telling her anything that hadn’t been lurking in the back of her mind since that first trooper had seized her in her home.  Why else would she have felt the need to scream the way she had?

“Do you think that’s manly, grabbing women to plunder their bodies?  Is rape a ‘common practice’?”

“Probably more common than you’re aware of.  I’m sure that you can’t picture your father, your uncles, cousins and brothers raping enemy women.  They don’t talk about it when they return home. But trust me, when the opportunity presents itself, they do.”

She held up on her hot denial and thought.  Could that be true?

“Actually,” he continued, “I consider it quite fair and fitting.  A man puts his life at risk when he goes to war.  A woman must expect to have some risk as well.”

“But war is a boys’ game.  Women have no say in it.”

She was repeating something one of her aunts was fond of saying.

“Ah, but didn’t the women of your city turn out to send off your men with full-throated cries of approval and encouragement?  You polished their armor, gave them tokens of love and devotion and enjoined them to be brave and unrelenting in battle.  I know that to be true.  Our women did the same for us.  To any thinking person women are as complicit as men in war.”

When she had no immediate response, he concluded, “Men contribute their lives on the field of battle, women contribute their bodies.”

She sat stiffly before him, various emotions taking their turn in her mind.

“What’s your name?”

She was startled out of her new pall of gloom by the banality of the question.  She drew a shaky breath, determined to show no weakness.

“Delila.  What’s yours, cohort captain?”

“Dimes.  How old are you?”

“Fourteen, as of today.”

“Hmm … Felicitations on your birthday.”

“Why is my age of interest?”

“You seem rather more mature than that.”

That kindled a glow of pride in her.  She had always been much more serious and studious than other girls.  She avidly read whatever written material came into the house.  And her house did see a lot of written traffic, given the importance of her father in the government.  Then there was the talk – lots of serious talk about politics, policies, society and history.  Most of the time she just listened, but when the visitors departed, she would regale her father with her observations, ideas and lots of questions.  Her father was fond of observing that she was thirteen going on thirty.  She’d heard him say that he wished her older brother were half as serious and astute as she.

“I don’t suppose you’re married.”

“No.” 

She thought of Arn.  Her father had also opined that her intellectual accomplishments would put boys off.  She didn’t have to be told that.  Scrupulously, she cultivated the same girly silliness that she observed around her.  Her success garnering the favorable attention of boys was crowned by winning the heart of Arn, probably the most desirable of the young eligible bachelors.  Her father approved because he came from an acceptable family.  But in the end, she had won Arn on false pretenses.  She had never shown her “true” self to him.  In quiet moments she allowed herself to contemplate how he would react when he found out that she was at least his intellectual peer.

She rallied.

“Are you?”

“Not any more.  She died.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she lied.  This exquisite male was free!

As her mind roiled with possibilities – and discounted the impediments, the question that was on the tip of her tongue escaped through her lips.

“Why did you pick me?”

“How do you account for attraction?  I don’t know exactly what it was about you, but I liked it as soon as I saw you … ‘I felt it in my loins’ is the best I can say.”

A very satisfactory answer, she decided.  But then she felt the need to hear confirmation of her personal fate.

“Are you going to violate me?” she asked quietly.

In answer, one of his hands surrendered the reins to the other.  The free hand then slipped down her front.  She felt his small finger tease the top of her genital cleft.  As she caught her breath, the other fingers landed on her abdomen.  A gentle stroking ensued that caused her to twitch and then writhe.  The fingers lingered at their occupation for only a few moments.  They traveled slowly up over her sternum, between her breasts and then …

As his hand cupped her breast, she moved against it, seeking stimulation of her nipple.  He took the suggestion and stroked the protrusion gently.  Finally he spoke.

“Yes, I will violate you, my little slave girl.  I will have you many times.”

His voice was low and gentle.  She noticed that his sexual appliance that had softened somewhat during their earlier conversation was stiffening against her back.  Her mind was becoming clouded by desire.  Vaguely, she knew that there were dire consequences to his declaration but right now she only wanted one thing – him inside her.  Still, she had to make a plea.

“I’m a virgin.”  Her voice was almost a gasp.

“I suspected that.  Don’t worry.  I know what to do.”

When he ceased his ministrations to her breast, her mind began to clear.  She noted that they had journeyed into much more rugged country.  They were picking their way along a narrow trail flanked by a wall of rock on one side and slow moving stream on the other.   From the far side of the stream another wall of rock reared up.  She consulted the sun and concluded that the afternoon was well advanced.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Is it much farther?”

“To where we will camp?  No.  We still have a few days’ journey to Saron, though.”

Presently, they passed out of narrow gorge and entered an open expanse.  The caravan halted a sort distance further on.

The women were encouraged to bathe in the stream as the soldiers unpacked the wagons and set up shelters.  Cooking fires were kindled and many of the men shed their armor.  Delia was surprised to be suddenly confronted with a retinue of naked men.  She somehow had missed the obvious conclusion that since their armor was all they wore, once they took that off ...

At Demes’ urging, she joined the women in the stream.  As she waded into the water, they glanced around and then spoke to her furtively.

“What’s to become of us?” one of the new brides asked.

Delila saw no point in mincing words.

“They will have their way with us as soon as it suits them.”

The stunned faces mixed with others that bore a look of silent resignation.  One of the women nodded.

“Me too?” wailed one of the young girls.  “I’m only ten.”

Delila stood thigh deep in the stream facing the group of naked females who seemed to want comfort and assurance.  But she had none – not even for herself.  Now that she was no longer in physical contact with her captain, the realization of her impending fate weighed on her again. 

After a long pause, the girl who questioned her started to cry, she was joined by two of her fellows.  One of the women came forward and draped her arms around three of the youngsters.

“This is not the end of the world, girls.  You must make up your minds that something has happened that has ended your childhood early and there’s nothing that any of us can do about it.  You must accept that and make up your mind that you must grow up quickly.  If you do you’ll be able to cope with what is about to happen.  You – we – must look forward and not pine for what is past.”

The girls regarded her dubiously.

“I prefer to think about how I can control the situation.”

A slim, light-haired woman rose from where she knelt on the stream bed dashing water over her breasts and shoulders.  The self-confident way she stood and carried herself immediately arrested everyone’s attention.

“I have been married for five years and for all of that time my husband has believed that he rules the roost.  The fact is that every decision he makes was my suggestion in the first place.  He thinks I’m a submissive little thing, but he always discusses things with me before he does almost anything.  And how do I do it?  Control how and when I give him sex.  When I’m not happy, he knows to leave me alone in bed.  But when I give in, he knows he will have a memorable experience.  My point is your female body is your greatest asset.  It enables and empowers you to control a creature that is taller, heavier stronger and more aggressive than you are – a man.  Did I mention that I have avoided having children, despite his desire to the contrary?”

She stopped and surveyed her audience and then her eyes fell on the young girls.

“I think we can all not only survive this experience, but also work it to our advantage.  Do you want to hear my ideas?”

As they drew around her, several of the naked soldiers tumbled into the stream a short distance from them.  They proceeded to bathe in a boisterous, demonstrative manner.  It gave the women cover while Elana, their new mentor, spoke.

Delila dinned with her officer in his fly tent.  All of the tents were similar, having only three sides.  Theirs was the smallest of the retinue.  The women sat on rugs inside the largest tent next door.  Off duty soldiers sprawled on the ground in the adjacent tent or the ground outside the women’s tent.

Demes was completely naked.  Delila knew that in the summer Saron free men typically wore only a shoulder drape, keeping their genitals in plain view. 

They conversed freely, making small talk while avoiding any topic that bore on the immediate situation.  There was an undercurrent of tension since both of them knew what was coming.

One of the cohort leaders entered the tent respectively.  He was wearing only his breast plate.

“The selected men are ready and eager, sir.”

“Have women been fed?”  Demes looked up from where he sat cross-legged, but otherwise made no move.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then give them permission to proceed.”

Demes’ eyes returned to rest on Delila.  The firelight set his features and naked muscles in stark relief.  It emphasized his attractiveness but also seemed bring out his dominating physicality.  Shaking off her trance, she stood, took the two short steps that closed the distance between them and then knelt upright in front of him.  Their eyes never lost contact during the process.

He reached for her crotch.  His fingertips briefly stroked each of her inner thighs.  She quivered slightly.  When his finger entered her she twitched and took a sharp breath.  Her hand instinctively sought his shoulder for support as she felt a tendency to sway.  When his other hand raised to her cheek, she took that as an invitation and lowered her face to his.  They exchanged tongue touches as his finger stroking in and out between her vaginal lips.  She enlisted her remaining hand to lightly touch the head of his erection.

He broke the kiss.

“I can wait no longer,” he whispered.

“Let me do it … please.”

“You mean …?”

She answered by swinging one leg over his hips to straddle him.  He responded by straightening his legs and leaning back to rest on his outstretched arms.  She moved as though it were a well rehearsed performance.  Indeed she had choreographed this in her mind in the interval between the women’s meeting in the stream and now.

As she positioned herself over his erect pole of flesh, sounds came to her from the adjoining tent.  There were murmurs, whimpers and groans.  It was the sound of the women being taken by their captors.  It occurred to her that cries, screams and other sounds of resistance were absent.  The women and girls were submitting.  She must submit as well.

Holding onto his erection, she looked down as she lowered herself onto him.  She felt a rush of excitement as she experienced the sensation of being opened by a man for the first time.  She felt his entrance meeting resistance and drew up.  After a pause, she pushed downward more resolutely.  The resistance was met and passed.  The slight twinge of pain was far less than she imagined.  Encouraged, she drew up partially, paused for a moment and then plunged.

My dear mother,

I have waited as long as I can bear.  I am now writing to you because my time is short and I am not sure how soon I will be able to attempt writing to you again.  Demes’ letter to Father of a few weeks ago remains unanswered.  I am not completely surprised by that.  Father undoubtedly needs time to come to terms with circumstances and formulate his reponse.  Now that hostilities have ceased, the hard feelings need time to soften.  That period is longer when the loss is personal, as his is.  Therefore, I’m hoping that this missive will enlist you in the process of healing by helping Father to embrace this new reality.  

Spring has taken hold here in Saron, I suppose it comes a bit earlier in this southern land than in our own.  That pleases me doubly because I know that the change in season means that I will be delivered of my baby soon.  I am confident that this is a man-child that I am carrying.  His activity in my womb is so vigorous it seems to me that it can portend nothing else.  That said, he has been unusually quiet today.  Moreover, my industry in taking up the pen is due to the fact that I feel more energetic than I have in some time.  The midwife that attends me tells me this is a sure sign that my deliverance is at hand.  Indeed, I could be holding my new son while this letter is still enroute.

Letia, one of the young girls who was taken with me, has been a great help since she was taken into the household.  In the late stages of my pregnancy, she has taken over the task of satisfying Demes’ sexual needs.  Although we celebrated her twelfth birthday only a few months ago, she has shown increasing skill and willingness servicing men.  Demes’ cousin seems to be smitten by her.  He recently divorced his wife, claiming she was a shrew and a spend-thrift.  When he visits us – which occurs with increasingly frequency – he looks forward to fornicating with Letia.  He’s offered to purchase her from Demes, but Demes has refused.  She comes from too good a family to have the life of a sex slave. Demes’ cousin is now coming around to the idea of taking her to wife.  If he does, that will be quite a coup for a girl who has not yet had her first monthly cycle.

Demes has shown himself to be a wonderful man.  And that is the main reason I’m writing to you now.  He married me as soon as it became clear that I was pregnant with his child.  By my calculations his seed took root in me the very first time we coupled.  We both took that as an omen that we were meant to be joined for life.

As it turns out, Demes’s first wife died in childbirth.  That has made him exceptionally solicitous for my condition and health.  He stays home more than any husband I’ve been aware of.  He’s here every night rather than out carousing with his friends in the bordellos. 

Last night I held his hand while Letia coupled with him.  She moved up and down on his phallus until he gave up his seed.  Later, I lay in his arms as he slept.  I felt so wonderful, knowing he was mine.  Then I had a thought: Demes carried me off from my home against my will, but why?  By his own words he was captivated as soon as he saw me on our balcony.  From my perspective, I captured him at that moment.  He had no choice but to carry me off with him.  And now I hold this powerful man in the captivity of my love.  As I consider that, I am in awe of the power we women have over men.  It is a power that renders their strength and their steel of no avail – an irony if there ever were one.

Please give my love to Father and my brothers.

Your loving daughter,

Delila