If the Blood Shirts wanted a fight, I was more than ready to shake a flannin. Despite the situation being dire and our moods dour, I couldn’t help but appreciate the majestic scenery. The rising sun painted the landscape in brilliant colors, mountains washed in gold sunlight, fertile fields awash in eye-boggling blooms and orange-red rays. Off in the distance, I could see the dark emerald canopy of the forest and the picturesque mountains behind it.

We were on a “battle dirigible,” much smaller than the pleasure ship we’d taken into Zumervale. Once we neared the border of my father’s kingdom, Zumeryand, we’d rappel down and continue on foot. The Blood Shirts, the Vondurwail by name, claimed the territory just past the kingdom’s borders. They had large, wooden javelins, mounted on carts, at the ready to shoot down any blimps that ventured into, or even near, their land. Our guide, the captain of the scouts and rangers, Estel, mentioned that our destination, a place they called Copper Canyon, was right along the border.

The Blood shirts claimed the canyon as their own, but my father and the Zumeryanders encroached on the lands to mine copper to supply their need for brass and bronze. I’d assumed that was the reason for their constant warring, but I was informed that it was primarily due to the fact that the violent and brutish Blood Shirts raided along the western border, stealing food and executing vile acts of brigandage.

Although we had countless volunteers, including the entire ranks of the soldiers, the general populace, and even the youngsters vowing to take up arms to rescue their king, we opted for stealth, just the four of us: Me, Kayla, Estel, and Chuckaboo. Even from a few hundred feet of elevation, we could readily discern the path the marauders took. Covering their tracks was not in their strategy; they were either foolish or unafraid.

Estel was unlike the majority of Zumeryanders I’d seen. He was very muscular and ruggedly handsome, with some stubble on his cheeks and long, brown hair blowing about in the wind. His dual swords were curved and elegant, obviously well-used. Slung over his back was a very short bow, a small quiver of arrows hanging from his broad belt just above his very taut ass.

“What is the plan, again?” Kayla asked for the umpteenth time.

I held up my prized, secret weapon, a brass jug filled with Dwarma’s sex-enhancing and libido-boosting, bluish potion. “If what Estel, here, has told us is correct, we’ll sneak into their camp, season their food and drink with this,” I shook the jug, “and while they’re distracted with fucking and sucking each other into oblivion, we’ll rescue dad and hightail it out of there.”

“That’s not a plan,” Kayla observed. “It’s an outline—maybe twenty percent of a plan, at best. What exactly is our secret weapon, poison?”

“No,” I said, “but I like how you think. Dwarma donated enough of her blue sex juice to put an entire city into a mafficking, sexual rut.”

“Dwarma?” our Ranger companion asked. “The king's lover?” In his odd speech, it sounded more like, “Z’Dwarma? Zee Kingz Loovair?”

“Lovers?” I slapped my forehead. “Now, I get it. I wondered. Way to go, dad!”

“Stay on point,” Kayla commanded. “How does spiking their food with booze cause a distraction, exactly?”

“Oh, no, Kayla. Dwarma’s concoction, here, is a powerful aphrodisiac. Just a few minutes after consuming a small amount, all you can think about is sex, and the only thing you want to do is fuck.”

In his nearly-unintelligible accent, the strikingly handsome and manly Estel said, “But, Zee Wogs Riderz!”

“No,” I said. “Maybe later, but we need to rescue my father, your king. I’ll ride your log, later, if we survive, because you’re pretty sexy.”

“Ariel,” Kayla shook her head. “Pay attention. Wogs, riders.”

“I know,” I lied, “I was just adding some levity. What’s a wog?”

“Giant, dire, battle wolves,” our ranger friend responded. “The Blood Shirts ride them into battle and use them to pull their carts.”

“Are they a threat at all?” I inquired. Rather than respond, Estel bared his chest, showing pussy-soaking muscles. Across his taut, excellently-defined abs, claw marks raked from one side of his torso to the other. He merely glanced down at his scars and nodded.

“I don’t know,” she eyed me with uncertainty. “So much could go wrong. We could shoot into the brown and the lack of details is suspect, kind of skilamalink.”

“It’ll work,” I insisted. “Isn’t the right, Chuckaboo.” he chattered and did a little dance.

Kayla stared at the jug in my hand. “What is that stuff, again?”

“Viagoronz,” Estel declared. “It’s called Viagoronz. The Blood Shirts feast, have an orgy, then slay their captives, drinking their blood for power and soaking their tunics to display their prowess as warriors. Dwarma’s elixir will keep them distracted.”

“Speaking of distractions,” Kayla countered as we felt the battle dirigible begin descending. “How exactly do you intend on getting the Viagoronz into their food in the first place?”

“Damfino. I’m working on that. Don’t worry, the Viagora will work. I’m sure that something will pop up. Stop worrying and acting depressed; you’ve got the morbs real bad.”

“Viagoronz,” Kayla corrected. “Speak English, Ariel.”

“Why? They don’t!”

A few minutes later, the three of us climbed down the ropes into a clearing in the forest, Chuckaboo on my shoulder and clinging to my hair. I had my saber and Needler; Kayla even armed herself with an ornate, brass spear and commandeered a heavy blade.

“I wish I’d worn a skirt,” I mused.

“Why,” Kayla asked. “You said you hate them when you’re out in the field.

“So Estel could look up it and get horny for me. If we live, I’m going to fuck him all night.”

“I wanted him!”

“Share?”

“Deal.”

As soon as our feet touched the ground, the war-blimp chugged away, steam rolling off the back, and we ran into the underbrush, parallel to the obvious trail. The ruts of a cart’s recent passage, several sets of booted footprints, and gigantic, wolf-like paw marks riddled the dirt and mud. Even if they’d not left any tracks, a half-blind imbecile could have easily tracked them from the broken twigs, trampled grass, and other telltale signs. I managed it with only minor difficulty.

Around dusk, we came to the edge of Copper Canyon. Towering walls of rock enclosed the space, the only apparent opening being the one before us. At the open mouth, about forty of the Blood Shirts mingled about, making camp. No more than fifty yards away from our hiding spot in the underbrush, against some fallen trees, they went about their business. A giant wolf-like creature, taller than any horse and twice as broad, was tethered to a dead oak. It looked vicious and more lethal than the people we were about to oppose; I was thankful there was only one of them in sight.

The group seemed to be comprised of roughly equal numbers of men and women. The Vondurwail were a sight to behold. The men were tall, stout, and muscular with long beards, some of them braided, and bristling with arms and armor. The women were buxom with high cheekbones, likewise armed. Each one of them also had a club, carved from granite, and many of them wore a net bag filled with sturdy rocks. I was expecting foul man-beasts, or perhaps demons, but these were regular people, just warlike and feral. All of them, however, looked deadly and aggressive.

We watched, talking in low whispers, as they struck camp. The large cart, or small wagon, held an iron cage with two prisoners, my father and a man I recognized as the captain of the Royal Guard. The tail end of the wagon held a wooden barrel and cauldron, which two of the men removed and set in the central area of their camp. Several others began filling the barrel with water from a nearby pool that looked as if it could have been fresher, also putting some into the cauldron.

“There are more than two scores of them” Estel counted, pointing. “We cannot defeat so many.”

“We don’t need to defeat them, just distract them.”

The pecking order of the Vondurwail soon became apparent. The more heavily stained their tunics were, the higher their rank. Most of them only had a few splotches of brown-black blood on their outer garment. Those whose shirts were all but dyed bile-red with blood seemed to be giving the orders. One of the women, her tabard solidly covered with dried blood, produced multiple dead rabbits and what looked like the fecund remnants of a deer carcass from a mud-encrusted sack and threw them into the cauldron. If that weren’t vile enough, they then proceeded to plop in various rancid vegetables and the very weeds on the ground into the stew, then lit a fire around it.

“Soups on,” Kayla observed. “And I thought the bags o’ mystery from the Brass Goggles were dubious.”

“Kayla, you take my Needler, just in case, and cover my escape. Estel, you provide aid if I get caught and need to fight. Now,” I paused, thinking, “all we need is a distraction.”

Chuckaboo chose that moment to give me a growl, whimper, and high-pitched frenzy of squeals. Not knowing what he needed, we just stared. My mouth dropped, aghast, as he noisily scurried away from us, heading straight for the camp.

“Chuckie, no…” I clapped my hand over Kayla’s mouth, silencing her.

In horror, we watched as he jauntily sauntered up to the Blood Shirts. Picking up a random stick with his teeth, Chuckaboo tossed it into the air and balanced it over his nose, approaching them with his “playful canter.” Chattering, growling, and leaping about, Chuckaboo got their attention.

“I think he understands what we’re saying,” I whispered. “The poor thing is going to get squashed, trying to distract them for us.”

“Of course he does,” Kayla whispered back. “And he listens much better than you do.”

“What did you say?”

“The scientist rests her case.”

One, then two, then more of them gathered around our odd mascot, broad smiles erupting on their battle-scarred faces. Our companion cavorted in front of them until one of them reached out to pet him. Suddenly, Chuckaboo dropped the stick and his feline, needle-like teeth sank into the man’s hand. The man growled in pain, blood oozing from the wound as he struck out with his leather-bound foot to kick.

The others laughed as our pet danced away. Chuckaboo ran between the legs of another club-wielding warrior. Their laughter abruptly stopped when he raised his leg and urinated on the foot of another man. Chuckaboo abandoned his spot and ran, a quick, chattering ball of spotted, fluffy fur, and proceeded to chomp on nearby feet, calves, and fingers until the entire camp, except for four, were vainly chasing after him, attempting to smash and skewer him with their clubs and spears.

It was harrowing to observe but very effective. Our canine-feline friend outmaneuvered them, leading them into the underbrush, away from the camp and away from us. The breaking of branches, cries of pain, and the sounds of comedic battle could be heard. It even had the effect of distracting the four that remained behind.

We waited, and luck struck once more. The four guards, their tunics barely blood-stained, meandered to the perimeter of their camp, eyes outward, not paying any attention to the interior. Seizing the opportunity, I crept in, the jug at the ready. Although stealth is not my forte, I managed to hush my father with a gesture and poured roughly half of the contents of Dwarma’s sex potion into either container. Twice as quickly as I entered, I made for the underbrush, then slowly crawled back to our hiding place.

The sun sank behind the mountains as we waited, replaced by a glowing, silvery moon. I was astounded when they all disrobed, acting affectionate with each other, before they dined. We watched as they filled their drinking vessels, various drinking horns, clay or metal tankards, with the tainted water and ate the enhanced food from the cauldron. The bones of the deer and rabbits, raw meat still on them, were thrown to the tethered, huge, vicious-looking dire wolf, the wog.

“Zey feazt and then fuck,” Estel said.

“Why is your hand on my ass?” I asked.

“And mine?” Kayla added.

“For luck,” he chortled.

The aphrodisiacs took effect, spurring their primitive, orgiastic arousal to unseen heights. Having consumed it, before, I knew the libido-enhancing properties. When I drank it, all I could think of was fucking and getting fucked; nothing else mattered. As they were already preparing for a sexual frenzy, Dwarma’s aphrodisiac increased their lust to epic proportions.

I watched as one of the women, taller and more muscular than the others, grabbed two of the men, pushing one down into the dirt. She straddled him, impaling herself on his hard cock, and forced the rod of the other into her mouth. As if it were a catalyst, a lusty orgy broke out before us.

I watched as two, dirty, bearded men took turns fucking each other’s mouths. Their grunts and groans indicated that they loved getting their faces fucked as much as having their cocks sucked. Two women, the one that was doing the cooking and another, approached the undulating pile of man flesh and climbed on top, thrusting their cunts onto hands, mouths, and cocks.

“It’s true,” Kayla said, hoarsely. “The Blood Shirts indulge in an orgy of the flesh before feasting upon the bodies of their captives.”

“Not this time,” I countered. “Give them a few more minutes and then let’s free my father and the other fellow.”

“The ‘other fellow’ is Captain Gringus, the captain of the royal guard.”

“He needs to find a new line of work.”

We watched as their impassioned moans grew louder. Forty nude, sweaty bodies became one undulating mass of sexual pleasure. Momentarily, I forgot our mission. One brutish, bearded warrior was down on all fours, taking a large, bulbous cock in his mouth while another pummeled his ass with fury.

I saw three women lying in the dirt, their bodies covered in mud and jizz. They were in a triangular circle, their heads buried in each other’s crotches, licking each other to orgasm. Ecstatic wails and moans filled the air, echoing off the canyon walls. My nipples hardened; my pussy gushed. As I watched one of the women take on all comers, her hips thrusting up to meet the penetrating cock while she stroked two others, I found myself grinding my ass against Estel’s hand and reached out to touch Kayla.

Seeing a towering giant of a Blood Shirt stand up, stroking his cock while he bellowed loudly made me moan. Luckily, they were so distracted that they didn’t hear. I decided to take the chance.

“I’m going in. Cover me in case I screw things up.”

I ran through the thickets and underbrush as quietly as I could. Given the resounding grunts, moans, and sighs, I probably could have run screaming through the woods and still gone unheard. Approaching from behind the cart, keeping my distance from the huge wog, I crawled under the prison wagon, made sure nobody was looking, and quickly worked the crude, primitive lock. I couldn’t pick the lock at all, so I wedged a knife under the hasp and pried with all my might. It took some effort, but it worked, freeing them.

Hushing them, I helped them out of the cage, and we raced back into the thickets. Chuckaboo jumped out from hiding as we raced toward Kayla and the scout. Together, with the Blood Shirts still in the rapture of sexual bliss, we made our escape. Estel proved his worth, then, leading us through a meandering route, far from the original path.

My father and Captain Gringus were battered and had superficial wounds, but they were none the worse for wear. Fearing pursuit, Estel covered our tracks after a few hours, making our trail seemingly disappear. We slowed to a walk, fumbling about in the dark, not daring to stop.

We traveled north, planning to turn at dawn and head back into my father’s adopted homeland. By then, we’d relaxed enough to congratulate ourselves on a well-planned rescue.

Kayla even admitted that her trepidation was unwarranted. “That was butter upon bacon. You banged up the elephant, Ariel.”

“Thank you.”

Our relief was short-lived. Less than a mile before we were ready to cross the border, we were ambushed by a troop of Blood Shirts. This group was different than my father’s captors. They were clean, disciplined, and efficient. They emerged from both sides and behind us. We made to run, but more stepped in front of us.

Their leader was handsome, his long, blond beard woven into a series of interlocking braids, his blood-stained tunic artistically dyed. This group seemed to eschew the stone clubs and rocks; they had finely-wrought, steel weapons.

Estel drew his swords, tossing the Captain his bow. My father bunched up his fists and struck a boxer’s pose. Kayla screamed, drowning out Chuckaboo’s chattering. I took quick stock of our situation and drew my Needler just as the ones on my left advanced.

A quick turn and I shot a volley of compressed-air-powered metal darts into them, felling all but one of them. That halted the advance and gave the others pause.

“Come any closer, and I’ll fuck your face with needles!”

“Just a woman,” the leader sneered. “I’ll take your head, drink your blood, and feast on the flesh of your king.”

There’s a time for retort and a time for action; this situation called for the latter. Quickly tumbling to the rear, another burst of needles from Kayla’s invention dropped the four at our rear. The remaining ones sprung to attack our right flank, but I emptied the clip, shooting at them and wounding or killing all but two. I leveled the Needler at the leader and his brutal-looking cronies. The clip was empty, but they didn’t know that.

Kayla, on instinct, had drawn her short blade and managed to barely parry an overhead strike, inadvertently spinning, off-balance, which fouled the lunge-thrust the other was attempting. Estel moved so fast that he was a blur, beheading the lunging warrior and skewering the other in the side. It was a superficial wound, but he fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

“Five against four,” I challenged the leader. “If you want my head, try and take it, you mutton shunting meater.”

“Your people slaughter mine and invade our land,” he countered.

“We need the ore, but you raid our borders and steal our food.”

The brute raised his mighty sword, readying a charge. I braced myself, ready to meet his advance and test his skill.

“Wait!” Kayla cried out, her hands flying about in the air. “Such fucking men! Nose baggers!”

“What?” all of us queried.

“You, Blood Shirt Vondurwail. You only raid because you need the food, right?”

His face softened a bit and the point of his great sword, longer than I am tall, wavered. He nodded, brusquely, then turned his eyes back to me.

“And you, Professor Summerland,” Kayla continued. “You only attack them because they kill your subjects, correct?”

“And?” my father said, suspiciously.

“And neither of you ever considered sitting down, talking things out, and working out a trade—ore for food—and not killing each other in some sword-swinging dick-measuring contest? Men! Now you know why I generally prefer women; men can be so stupid.”

Just like that, as silly as it sounds, peace broke out. It wasn’t instantaneous; there were fresh wounds and high emotions on both sides. Retreating several dozen yards away, near a babbling brook, the Warlord King of the Vondurwail, Grim Bloodbeard, and my Father, King Zumerland, whiled away the day, working out a peace treaty and trade agreement with my lover, Kayla being the diplomatic referee. Captain Gringus and one of the Blood Shirts also attended the historic meeting, leaving me, Estel, and two of the Blood shirts to our own devices.

At first, things were terse. We eyed each other warily, them constantly looking at the dozen I’d killed or wounded.

“Well, no need to be more of a foozler. I guess I can help tend to the wounded,” I sighed.

While not well-versed in the art of healing, I did what I could, tending to those that fell before my Needler. Oddly, they weren’t hostile at all. While I couldn’t comprehend their odd language with strange inflection and accents, body language and facial expressions showed only gratitude. Estel and I also helped with setting up a pyre to burn the dead; I was informed by the sexy scout that it was their custom to burn fallen warriors.

During the day, the two Vondurwail men kept talking about me. I could tell by their glances and gestures. One of them retrieved a crude drinking horn from the spot where it hung from his belt and drained some of the blood from the fallen. He looked to me, speaking what sounded like gibberish. His companion nodded in my direction.

“Tirurnak Gark Finned Gutherz,” he repeated.

“Sorry, I’m definitely not umble-cum-stumble on that. I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Estel laughed heartily. “He said that he offers you a tribute for being a great warrior. You’re being invited to share in the essence of the fallen. It is their custom.”

“What, drink their blood? I’d rather not.”

He chuckled again and spewed out some nonsense in the Blood Shirts' guttural language. “No, Ariel, you don’t have to drink it. Merely applying some to your skin or clothing will satisfy.”

I shrugged and approached. The larger one, the one that had spoken, made tributes to the fallen with Estel translating. I was delicately anointed with the blood of the fallen and surprised when the two, in turn, embraced me, doing the bear in big hugs.

“Estel, why are they undressing?” I turned to face him, stunned that he was, likewise, undressing. I tried not to stare at his extremely well-defined muscles, sinewy torso, and very long, somewhat thin, cock.

“We Zumeryanders share their belief that sexual pleasures are the greatest thing in life. The custom is to send off the dead with a celebration of pleasure rather than despair. Don’t be embarrassed.”

“I’m not poked up, more of an enthuzimuzzy.” With that, I stripped down, curious as to the two barbarians’ pointing at my crotch with admiration and delight.

“Baldir says that true warriors are redheads and that he looks forward to worshiping you.”

“Pray at my altar of flesh,” I said, lying back and spreading my legs. He didn’t understand, of course, but flicking my tongue between my spread fingers relayed my desires.

“Fuck my face, Estel. I want your cock.”

“Yez, Pincezz,” he drawled.

His impressive length slid between my lips, and I forced as much of his cock into my mouth as I could fit. Bobbing my head up and down his shaft, fucking him with my face, I heard him moan in pleasure. His hips matched my oral thrusting, slamming into the back of my throat and withdrawing. His magnificent cock was wet and shiny with my spit, making it gleam in the sunlight.

I moaned a passionate wail over his turgid lance when our recent foe took “love thy neighbor” literally and crept between my overheated thighs, his long tongue instantly finding, then nuzzling, my clit.

Pulling my mouth off of the ranger’s cock, I looked to the other Blood Shirt, gesturing him to come near. “Give me your cock. I want your cum.”

The one licking my cunt was quite adept, skilled enough to make me ponder joining their clan just to get my clit licked like that. My hips were humping against his face as I moaned and screamed; his long, braided beard tickled my legs, adding even more erotic sensations.

I had a throbbing cock in one hand, and Estel’s was still pounding into the back of my throat. All of that combined with the tongue licking up and down my slit caused a sensual overload of pleasure. I erupted in an intense orgasm, wailing to the treetops.

“Fucking cumming! So good, don’t stop; please don’t stop. Fucking lick me.”

My vision blurred from the pleasure, and my body convulsed so much that I feared I’d suffocate the blood-stained warrior between my legs. As I came down, I could feel the cock in my mouth begin to swell. I knew our tracker companion was close to orgasm, but I didn’t want him to cum just yet. I slowed my pace, then pulled my overstuffed mouth off his glorious member.

Turning over and getting on all fours, I pushed the man between my legs down onto the ground and lowered my body over him until I felt his thick girth penetrate my dripping snatch.

“Estel, please tell the other one to fuck my mouth with his cock, then get behind me and fuck my ass. I want everyone’s jizz in me and on me.”

With some minimal jostling, I soon had a hard cock pumping in my cunt, Estel’s long, fleshy lance buried in my ass, and a thick, swollen member thrusting between my lips. I couldn’t speak, just moan in ecstasy as I rocked back and forth, slamming into the cocks as hard and fast as I could manage.

My thighs shook with volcanic pleasure, my throat opened to allow the invading manhood extra depth, and my hands, holding me up, squeezed hard chest muscles. One by one, they came, both in and on me. The man beneath me roared in release as I felt spurt after spurt of his hot nectar shoot into my pulsing hole. He came so hard that the force of it tickled my insides, replacing his shriveling cock with manly fingers on my clit.

His manual stimulation set off another orgasm, making my ass clench as I thrust against Estel’s spear of flesh. Hearing him announce his pending orgasm, I doubled my speed until he unloaded what seemed to be a pint of his life’s milk inside my ass, pulling out to shoot his last spurts on my exposed flesh.

The third man, seeing this, and surrendering to my hungry, eager lips, pulled his thick, juicy cock from my mouth with a plopping sound and shot his wad all over my red hair, coating my face. Much to my surprise, the two Blood Shirts grabbed me and turned me onto my back, switching places. They then proceeded to lick each other’s cum off and out of me. That was too much for me, and my body broke apart as yet another orgasm consumed me.

Minutes later, the funeral pyre was alight, and we lay together in a dirty, sweaty, cum-covered mass. Just then, Kayla emerged from the woods. She looked stunned, her eyes darting everywhere, but retained her composure.

“We’ve just come to an agreement,” she said very slowly.

“And we’ve just cum,” I added. “Mafficking good time! I’m all for that make love, not war stuff.”

“What did you do?” Her tone was very accusatory.

“Diplomatic relations. It’s their custom.”

Estel growled out what we’d just said to the other two, eliciting laughter.

It took more than a month to get everything organized, but my father, their king, with the aid of Kayla, brokered peace. During that time, much to my dismay, Kayla and Estel got more than physically intimate with each other; it was the first man that held her interest after she came. A huge celebration with both the citizens of Zumeryand and of Vondurwail in attendance marked a new era in this beautiful world. A new key card was created, and it was finally time for us to depart, promising that we’d visit, again, soon.

“Mission accomplished,” Kayla said, proudly, kissing me with passion. “Let’s head home.”

With much fanfare from the populace, hugs and tears from my father, and the smell of ozone and whore’s perfume, we fired up the Argo, heading once more into the infinite void. Another infinity followed.

“Do you think we’ll arrive when we left or not?” I asked.

“We’ll find out. If my calculations are correct, we should arrive about the same time you arrived the first time, technically before we built the Argo and left.”

“Don’t sell me a parrot, how can that be? I don’t understand.”

“World of possibility, Ariel, and eddies in the space-time currents.”

“He’s still in there?”

“Shut up and lick my cunt.”

The End
(Unless it's not)