by Van ©2014
		Chapter 5

(As if you wouldn't want to.)

The archeologists were led from the throne room by their amazon handlers—or dragged, in the case of Kiera.  The redhead had decided to start resisting again, but the others were more concerned with studying their surroundings.

The temple/palace was truly magnificent, and it was also something of a labyrinth.  After leaving the throne room and the presence of the living goddess, they passed down corridor after corridor and descended staircase after staircase, all constructed of tight-fitting granite blocks with mosaics underfoot and frescoes adorning the walls.

Eventually, they arrived in a large chamber that was obviously a bath.  In the center was a deep, circular pool, ten to fifteen yards across.  Along the walls were alcoves with massage tables, piles of soft cushions, and tables laden with food and wine.  These lounging areas alternated with alcoves with shallow pools into which water rained from above in steady torrents.  Wall mosaics depicted fish, dolphins, octopi, and naked swimming amazons, while floor mosaics carried forward the undersea theme with rippling sand, coral, and starfish.  Shafts of sunlight shining through round openings in the domed ceiling and fires flickering in bronze cauldrons crafted in the shape of nautilus shells provided light.

The captives were unceremoniously stripped.  That is, their tank-tops and panties were ripped from their bodies.  The process was a little more complicated in the case of Rachel, as she'd been fully clothed, but soon her boots, socks, shorts, blouse, and underwear joined the other ruined garments in a large basket and were carried away.  Meanwhile, the amazons dragged the captives to one of the alcoves with a shallow pool and shower, and their naked bodies were scrubbed with natural sponges that were repeatedly dipped in buckets of soapy water.  Their wrists remained tied, but their gags were removed so their faces and hair could be cleaned.  Their handlers were gentle, but kept them under firm control, and the captives stood quietly and allowed themselves to be bathed.  Why not?

Again, the exception was Kiera.  The removal of her gag brought forth a torrent of eloquent, creative, and anatomically questionable comments and suggestions concerning the amazons' ancestry and sexual practices, in several languages.  The tall, strong warriors found this highly amusing, but it did earn the furious redhead slightly rougher handling and a fresh gag in the form of a brank, a cage of narrow steel bands.

The brank anchored a distressingly large, pliant, rubber sphere in Kiera's mouth, a wide, form-fitting panel covered her lips and lower face, and narrow bands framed her nose, encircled her forehead, and passed under her chin.  The bands clicked together and locked, and it was clear the design was not only stylishly simple, but a highly effective silencer.  Kiera tossed her head and mewled through the tight panel, her wet, red hair flying as she struggled, but her angry rant was over.

Finally, the prisoners' wrists were untied, but the wet leather thongs were immediately replaced by one-piece steel cuffs that locked their crossed wrists together behind their backs.  Resistance was impossible.  They tugged on their tight, rigid cuffs, and found them to be both comfortable and inescapable.  Having witnessed the caging of Kiera's head, the other captives had independently arrived at the conclusion that silence was the prudent choice; however, J-Lou was unable to stifle a girlish shriek as they were all tossed into the central pool, apparently for a nice rinse.

The cool water was quite deep, but luckily, all the members of the expedition were good swimmers.  The captives kicked and kept their heads above water, forming a small, churning circle in the center of the pool.  They watched as several of their handlers began removing their sandals and skirts.

"What should we do?" J-Lou whispered, and they all turned to face Cynthia. 

"Bide our time," Cynthia responded, then focused on Kiera.  "And you should try to calm down."  Kiera's only response was an angry stare.  Cynthia's features settled into a puzzled frown.  "There's something strange about all this," she stated.

"No, really?" J-Lou snapped, then blushed.  "Sorry," the little Brit apologized.

Cynthia gave her student a reassuring smile.  "No problem."

"Strange things, plural," Janice said, responding to Cynthia's statement.  "We should make a list."

Unfortunately, that was all the conversation their captors allowed.  Comparing observations would have to wait.  The naked amazons dove into the pool and retrieved their charges.

Dripping and naked, the prisoners were lifted from the pool and handed off to amazons who had remained clothed (however minimally). They were then led to separate alcoves, plunked down on large cushions, and their hair dried with fluffy towels.  Ever the exception, Kiera's hair remained wet, tousled, and loose, dangling between the steel bands of her brank.  Next, their handlers combed, brushed, and began dressing the other prisoners' hair.  Cynthia's pixie-cut required little attention, of course, but it took a little time to arrange the long tresses of Janice, Rachel, and J-Lou in the local style: loose down their backs, narrow braids to either side of their faces, and leather headbands to enforce their new coifs.  Finally, the captives were lifted to their feet and hustled away down separate passageways.

"Hey!" Cynthia objected as her friends disappeared, but was ignored by the single fully-clothed amazon gripping her arm.  As she was led down the stone corridor, naked, and with her wrists crossed behind her back and manacled in close-fitting steel cuffs, Cynthia took the occasion to examine her handler.

The amazon was at least 6' 2", and maybe more.  Her skin was smooth, firm, and deeply tanned, and her body strong and athletic, with lithe, well-defined muscles.  She had prominent cheekbones, her eyes were a striking shade of pale-blue, and her hair was blond.  But for the Minoan hair style, kilt, jewelery, and sheathed sickle-sword riding her left hip, she could be a Viking shield-maiden.

"What is this place?" Cynthia asked the towering blond.  "Where is this place?  And what's going to happen to my friends?"

"Silence!" the amazon snapped.

"Please," Cynthia pleaded, "tell me something."

The amazon sighed, pulled her short, naked, inquisitive charge to a halt, then pulled a folded cloth from her belt and stuffed it into Cynthia's mouth.  "M'mfh!"  A second, narrowly folded cloth was tied as a cleave-gag—"Nrrrf!"—tight enough to make Cynthia's cheeks bulge, and the journey continued.

They passed down more stone corridors, made repeated turns, climbed staircases, trudged down even more corridors, and finally, Cynthia could see open daylight shining from ahead.  They passed through a doorway and onto a balcony with a magnificent vista of the mountains and the meadows and forests below.  It was now late in the afternoon.  The sun was low and the shadows lengthening.

Salamandras, the living goddess, was lounging on a stone couch, cushioned by satin and velvet pads and pillows.  She was dressed as before, in a long, bare-breasted gown of silver cloth, sandals, and white-gold armlets, bracers, and headband.  Also as before, her long, dark hair hung in ringlet curls, with narrow braids framing her beautiful, smiling face.

"Here's my tiny treasure," the goddess chuckled.  She took a sip from a golden goblet, then placed it on a side table laden with platters of fruit, roasted meats, and sliced bread with a dish of olive oil for dipping.

The blond amazon led Cynthia forward, gently but firmly forced her to her knees, then went down on one knee at her side.

"Why the gag?" Salamandras inquired.

"She wanted to chat, Divine One," the amazon answered.  Her manner was formal, but Cynthia could tell her handler was totally at ease in the presence of her goddess.

"Luckily for her," Salamandras purred, "I'm in a talkative mood."

Cynthia's handler took her cue and removed the gag, tucking the cloths back in her belt.

"You may bid her a good evening," Salamandras intoned.

Without further ado, the tall blonde pulled Cynthia into a tight embrace and planted a long, deep, wet, and enthusiastic kiss on the startled archeologist's lips.  At the same time, she squeezed the squirming prisoner's left breast with one hand and cupped her crotch with the other.

Cynthia's eyes popped wide and she mewled through her handler's mouth and tongue as the tall, strong blond continued to explore and caress her naked, captive, squirming body.

Salamandras watched this erotic spectacle with a smile and sipped from her goblet.

Finally, the amazon broke the kiss and whispered in Cynthia's right ear.  "Serve the goddess well, tiny treasure."  She then released the embrace, stood, bowed to the goddess in question, spun on her sandal-clad heels, and left the balcony.

Sitting on her naked rump on the mosaic tiles, her legs sprawled and a rather shocked expression on her flushed face, Cynthia watched her handler depart... then squirmed and scrambled around to face Salamandras.

The goddess rose from the couch and smiled down at her captive.

All Cynthia could do was stare up at Salamandras' towering beauty in awe.  The blond who had just "bid her a good night" had been tall, but Salamandras was taller still, more than seven feet in height.  And there was no deviation from normal human proportions in her form, no elongated fingers or stretched limbs and features.  She wasn't a giant, meaning she didn't suffer from gigantism.  Salamandras was simply very tall... and very beautiful.

The goddess reached down and helped Cynthia to her feet, then eased her onto the couch and sat next to her.  "You're probably hungry," the goddess suggested, "and thirsty."  She held the goblet to Cynthia's lips.

Cynthia drank.  The goblet contained red wine, cool and delicious.  Apparently, the temple sommelier knew the perfect vintage to serve a goddess with a thirsty, naked, captive guest.  "Thank you," Cynthia said, then opened her mouth and accepted a slice of pale-pink melon.  It was also delicious.

"You're welcome, Cynthia," the goddess replied.

"You know my name," Cynthia observed, then accepted a chunk of roasted meat dripping with a dark, savory sauce.

"The goddess sees all and knows all," Salamandras intoned.  "Also, your passport was in your pack."

Cynthia couldn't help but smile, just a little.  The meal continued.  "Where is this place?" Cynthia asked.

"This is my domain," the goddess answered, making a grand gesture.  "All that you see is under my watchful, benevolent eye, and the protection of my just laws and invincible amazon army and fleet—from my temple city to the mountains and the far shores of the inland sea.  Pax Salamandras."  She pointed to the sea in question.  "Although, the Vikings and various empires do send raiding parties now and then, which is actually a good thing.  It keeps my beautiful she-warriors on their toes and provides fresh blood."  She fed Cynthia another slice of fruit, this time a juicy peach.  "I mean blood as in breeding material, of course.  There's a lot of sword bashing, spear jabbing, and arrow plunking, but very little actual bloodletting, and all wounds are easily healed.  After a valiant effort, the raiders scamper back to their side of the sea, or more precisely, row back.  And we raid them as well, on occasion.  Again, for breeding purposes."

Cynthia chewed and swallowed.  It was just possible her captor and hostess was slightly insane.  Either that or she was pulling her leg.  And again, Cynthia had a creeping feeling that something was not right about all of  this—not just the fantastic magic portals, giant Minoan temple, eagle-riders, and unfamiliar landscape—but wrong in a way she couldn't quite grasp.

"But enough about Salamandria," the goddess said.  "If you've had enough to eat, let's go check on your friends.  I grant my amazons a great deal of freedom and I'm curious to see what they've come up with."

"Huh?"

"I didn't give them detailed instructions," Salamandras replied, "so who knows how they're entertaining the other members of your expedition?"  She reached among the cushions and produced a simple metal collar of white-gold with an attached leash of braided leather, which she promptly snapped closed around Cynthia's neck.

The collar was heavy, but not too heavy.  "Is this really necessary?" Cynthia muttered.

"No, of course it isn't," Salamandras chuckled, "but you look so cute like that, all naked and helpless, with that adorable pout.  I love your allover tan, by the way."  The loop in the end of the leash around her right wrist, the goddess reached down, cupped Cynthia's breasts, and gave them a gentle squeeze.

Cynthia shivered, rolled her shoulders, and tried to break contact with her towering, beautiful captor's strong hands.  She failed.  "Stop that!"

Her left hand still gently clutching Cynthia's right breast, the goddess used her right to first pat, and then repeatedly stroke her captive's short, auburn-brown hair.  "Now, now," she purred.  "Be a good little pet.  Don't make mistress angry, or she'll give you a nice ball-gag to chew on."

"I'm not your pet," Cynthia huffed.

Still smiling, Salamandras released Cynthia's breast, stood, and let the leash slide into her right hand.  "You're not?" she chuckled.  "Are you sure?"  She gave the leash a tug, pulling Cynthia to her bare feet.  "Heel," she ordered, and walked away, towards one of several doorways leading back into the temple.

Cynthia had no choice but to follow.

More corridors and more stairs.  Cynthia was doing a lot of walking, but nowhere near enough to let her form a mental image of the colossal temple's three-dimensional floor-plan.

Finally, the corridor opened on their right and Cynthia realized they were entering a balcony set high in one wall of a large interior chamber.  Salamandras led her forward, and she found herself looking down on a hundred or more cushions and pillows piled around a stone pedestal.  Naked amazons were oiling each others bodies, embracing, and kissing.  And on the pedestal—

Cynthia gasped in dismay!  More precisely, she gasped into the palm of her divine mistress, as Salamandras was embracing her from behind with her right hand over her lips!

"Hush, little one," Salamandras chuckled.  "Let Janice enjoy the greeting my warriors are providing."

Spreadeagled on the pedestal was, indeed, Janice.  Her wrists and ankles were locked in wide, close-fitting steel cuffs, and a heavy steel chain linked each cuff to a steel ring held in the snarling mouth of a statue of a crouching lion, one in each of the four corners.  Janice's smooth, strong, brown body glistened with oil as she tugged on her chains.  Amazons were licking her toes and nipples and caressing her writhing flesh.  One amazon, a fair-skinned blond, was holding her head in her strong hands and kissing her lips.  Another, an Asian amazon with straight black hair, was kneeling between Janice's splayed legs and licking her labia.  From the balcony, Cynthia could only see about half of her colleague and friend's helpless form, but the prisoner on the slab was unmistakably Janice.

"The oil my amazons rub on themselves is a blend of several exotic botanical distillations," Salamandras explained.  "The initial experience is... remarkable.  The entire body tingles and burns, not with pain, but with desire.  Inhibitions are lowered, touch, smell, and taste are enhanced, and the loins blossom.  The first orgasm is unbearable, hence the chains, and subsequent orgasms... just as strong."

Cynthia watched, her eyes wide above Salamandras' hand, as Janice continued struggling.  The amazon kissing her lips released her grip and took a step back, and Janice put her head back and screamed, her body going totally rigid.

"There we go," Salamandras chuckled.  "Perfect timing.  Not her first orgasm of the evening, but still, quite a show, don't you agree?"  She released her hand-gag.

"Don't hurt her!" Cynthia gasped, then lifted her chin and gazed into the smiling goddess' beautiful face.  "Please," she begged.  "Don't hurt her."

"Hurt her?" Salamandras chuckled.  "My warriors can barely keep up with her."

Cynthia dropped her chin and focused on her naked, glistening colleague.  Janice was panting and her breasts heaving as she continued pulling on her cuffs, but an unmistakably wanton smile curled her lips.

"Stop!" the prisoner on the slab demanded.  "Let me go, you bitches!"  Janice's tone was defiant, but her words at odds with both her expression and the way she was trying to thrust her crotch against the mouth of the amazon still licking her pussy.  "Let.  Me.  Go.  Mrrrrf!"  Another amazon had taken up the duty of sucking Janice's face, and others were renewing the oil shining on her brown, writhing form.

"She is very strong," Salamandras sighed.  Her warm hands rested on Cynthia's shoulders as they watched the spectacle below.  "But none can resist the Oil of Pleasure."  The goddess turned and led Cynthia away, towards the doorway at the far end of the balcony.

Cynthia followed at the end of her leash, but looked back at Janice's struggling, helpless body for as long as she could.  "The Oil of Pleasure," she whispered under her breath.

Three corridors and two staircases later, one up and one down, they came to another balcony.  But this time, thick, hexagonal panes of transparent glass set in a bronze frame separated them from the chamber below.

Cynthia stood at the rail and looked down, then gasped in dismay as she made sense of the scene below.  "No!"

At one end of the chamber, a large crossbow was solidly bolted to the stone floor.  It was of the siege weapon variety, firing a heavy bolt that was more javelin than arrow.

At the other end of the chamber was a stone column, and against that column, with her back, butt, and legs pressed against the curve of the smooth granite, was Kiera, and she was not standing there by choice.  A steel collar and heavy cuffs on her wrists and ankles held her in place, her ankles about a foot apart and her arms at her sides.  The restraints were solidly attached to the column, and allowed Kiera very little freedom of motion.  The brank had been removed, but Kiera had what appeared to be a small leather plug about the size of the end of a cigar clenched tightly between her teeth, and she was holding onto it for dear life—quite literally!

A thin cord, possibly a braided wire, stretched from the plug, across the room, and to a brass mechanism affixed to the top of the crossbow.  The cord was taut as the proverbial fiddle-string, and was keeping a brass weight from dropping and releasing the crossbow's trigger!  Even from the balcony, the nature of Kiera's predicament was clear.  If she released the plug, the crossbow would fire, sending the bolt to its target: Kiera's body, squarely between her breasts!

"Please," Cynthia begged, "let me talk to her!  I'll convince her to obey.  Please!"

"Some lessons must be learned without help, Little One," Salamandras purred.  "Your fiery friend has been given every opportunity to cooperate with her handlers, but my she-warriors seem to have grown tired of her constant struggling."

"Please," Cynthia reiterated.

"Oh, Little One," Salamandras laughed.  "You should see your face.  Hours from now, when our ginger hellion finally succumbs to exhaustion and fatigue and can maintain her grip on that plug no longer, the trigger will release—but a fraction of a second before, the crossbow will elevate, just enough to send the bolt into the column above Kiera's head, almost parting her hair.  It can't be seen from here, but a block of wood is set into the granite and painted to match the rest of the column."

Cynthia's distress turned to burning anger.  "That's cruel!" she accused.

Salamandras smiled down at her helpless, glowering prisoner.  "The will of the goddess will not be denied, Little One.  Kiera of the red hair and freckles will learn her place."  Her smile became a wicked grin.  "And after her near-death ordeal, she will be released and cared for by a different set of handlers, and they will be very sympathetic.  We call the technique 'good amazon-bad amazon,' and it almost always works."

"It's still cruel," Cynthia huffed.  "Mrrf!"  Salamandras lifted her chin, leaned down, and planted a deep, wet kiss on her startled lips, sliding the Divine Tongue into her mouth.  Despite her anger, a thrill of pleasure rippled through Cynthia's pussy.

"I will be obeyed," the goddess purred, then led Cynthia away.

Again, the naked, diminutive prisoner looked back at her helpless, suffering friend for as long as she could.

Yet another hike through the seemingly endless corridors of the temple brought the goddess and her pet to yet another exterior balcony, this one overlooking a broad meadow, perhaps a quarter of a mile across.  Beyond was a tall, open forest.  It was now quite late in the day.  The shadows were very long and the sun about to dip behind the distant mountain peaks.

Salamandras and Cynthia stepped to the balustrade and looked down.  Immediately below stood a group of about twenty amazons.  One was somewhat older that the rest, with a shock of white running through her hair.  The others were young, younger than any of the warriors Cynthia had yet seen.  All were dressed in sandals and red kilts, the exception being the elder amazon, whose kilt was white.  One of the young warriors held a spear with a red banner bearing the emblem of a soaring bird.  The young amazons were unarmed, but all had rope lassos draped over their shoulders or held in their hands.  A wheeled rack of sickle-swords, spears, bows, and quivers of arrows stood to one side.

"The Ravens," Salamandras explained, "one of my cadres of amazon students.  They are all two shy of a score of summers, nearly ready to join an active regiment.  I believe this is a night exercise, instruction in tracking and capturing a fleeing maiden.  Speaking of which..."

Cynthia watched as two amazons led a naked prisoner to the group, and the prisoner was Rachel!  The brunette was wearing sandals, but was otherwise nude and restrained only by her handlers' grips. "What are they going to do to her?" Cynthia demanded.

"Just watch, Little One," Salamandras chuckled.

"Don't call me Little One," Cynthia huffed.

"I certainly can't call you Tall One, now can I?" Salamandras teased.  "How about Little Sparrow?"  The goddess' smile widened.  "I know, Little Mouse."

Cynthia glowered at her tall, beautiful captor, then turned her head away and frowned in puzzlement.  Little Mouse, she thought.  There was that nagging feeling, again, that everything was somehow... wrong.  Revelation hovered just at the edge of consciousness—but when she tried to bring it into focus, it vanished.  It was infuriating.

Meanwhile, down on the field, the elder amazon was explaining something to Rachel in words and gestures, but the distance was too great for the watchers on the balcony to hear.  The elder then went to the rack of weapons and returned with a bow and a single arrow with a red streamer tied just behind the head.  She tossed the bow to one of her students, a brunette of dark complexion, and with considerable effort the student strung the bow.  Cynthia noticed there was no teasing from her fellow students.  Clearly, the bow was very stiff, and any one of them would have had trouble bending the bow and sliding the string into the notch.

The teacher took the bow, nocked the arrow, bent the bow, and let fly.  The streamer fluttered as the arrow flew high into the air... then fell and stuck in the turf about halfway across the meadow.  The streamer had slid down the shaft as it traveled, and could still be seen wafting in the breeze.  The archer lifted her right arm and pointed to the arrow, Rachel's amazon handlers released her arms, and she sprinted away.  The teacher used the bow to hurry Rachel along with a gentle tap on the rump as she passed, and the students cheered.

"When she reaches the arrow," Salamandras explained, "the hunt will begin."

"The Run of the Arrow," Cynthia sighed.  "What happens if Rachel escapes?"

"If she evades capture until dawn," Salamandras purred, "she will be allowed to relax in luxury.  But if she is caught, the students will demonstrate what they've learned of the bondage arts and the ways of restrained pleasure.  Then, the prey will be released and the hunt will resume.  My student-warriors will learn it isn't easy to lasso and hogtie a fleeing maiden at night, not among tall trees, and especially not in tangled jungle."

Rachel passed the arrow and continued running.  The teacher tapped one of her students on the shoulder and the youngster whooped and sprinted after the fleeing prey, her lasso ready in her hands.  One by one the teacher sent her students into the chase, with several seconds between each shoulder-tap.

Rachel was in decent shape, but with her long legs and elite training, the lead student was much faster.  By the time Rachel was nearing the trees, the gap had closed to something like twenty yards, and the amazon youngster twirled her lasso and let fly.  The open loop flew through the air... and missed.

"A good try," Salamandras chuckled.  "The range was extreme, and yet, she almost connected."

The lead student slowed to a trot, cursing and coiling her lasso.  This allowed the second student to take the lead, and the others were close on her heels.  Meanwhile, Rachel was into the gathering darkness under the trees.  She disappeared from Salamandras and Cynthia's direct sight, but her passage was marked by the disturbance caused as she forced her way through the tall, lush ferns carpeting the forest floor.

"She made it," Cynthia sighed.

Salamandras leaned down and kissed the top of Cynthia's head.  "Disappointed, Little Mouse?"

"What?"

"Disappointed you didn't get to watch the youngsters capture your friend and diddle her senseless?" Salamandras clarified.

"No!" Cynthis huffed.  "I-I want Rachel to escape."

"Maybe I'll let you see what it's like to be lassoed and hogtied by a cadre of young students, Little Mouse," Salamandras purred.  "Maybe in one of the training arenas, with a class of thirteen-year-olds.  Doesn't that sound like fun?"

Cynthia ignored the question.  Down in the meadow, the last of the students were disappearing into the forest.  Rachel's former handlers had already returned to the temple, and the amazon teacher was following her students at a dignified walk.

There was a tug on Cynthia's leash, and she was led away.

Cynthia felt like she'd been tramping the mosaic floors and climbing the granite steps of the temple for days, although she knew it had been only hours.  They'd arrived in "Salamandria" around noon, and now it was almost sunset.  Anyway, her bare feet were sore, and she was beginning to flag.

Salamandras paused in the middle of yet another magnificent and instantly forgettable corridor, leaned down, and without a word lifted Cynthia into her arms, like a groom carrying his bride across the threshold.

"I can walk," Cynthia objected.  The living goddess' bare breasts were firm and warm against the side of her naked body, and to the beautiful giantess, she was no more burden than a sleepy puppy.

"Hush, Little Mouse," Salamandras said quietly.  "One more stop, then I'll help you relax."

Cynthia opened her mouth to reply, then decided to keep silent.  Exactly what the goddess meant by "help you relax" wasn't clear, but Cynthia had her suspicions.

Meanwhile, they'd arrived at another balcony overlooking an interior chamber.  A party was in progress, and it appeared to have been going on for some time.  Two or three dozen amazons, all naked but for their bracers, armlets, and beads, were eating, drinking, laughing, talking, and carousing—meaning making out and making love.

Five low, star-shaped tables were placed around the room, surrounded by countless pillows and cushions.  One of the tables was empty, but the other four were occupied by naked amazons spreadeagled on their backs with their ankles and wrists locked in steel cuffs.  What appeared to be apples were stuffed in their mouths, and their strong, athletic bodies were smeared with remnants of food and various sauces and dressings.  The centerpiece prisoners all wore stoic expressions, gagged stoic expressions, except for one.  A naked reveler was between her legs and enthusiastically licking and sucking her pussy.  That particular prisoner's body was writhing as she fought her bonds, and her expression was one of gagged arousal.

"This platoon was victorious in a recent field exercise," the goddess explained.  "They took prisoners, and those prisoners are now guests of the mess, as the saying goes."

And speaking of messes, a victorious reveler had just ladled a thick brown sauce over the body of a defeated prisoner (and guest of the mess), and those at the table were swiping slices of roasted vegetables and chunks of bread across the captive's glistening body, then popping the now sauce-laden tidbits into their mouths.

Suddenly a short, naked, and very familiar figure entered the feasting chamber from a side door.

"J-Lou!" Cynthia gasped.

The newcomer was, indeed, J-Lou, and she had a goblet in one hand and the handle of a large jug beaded with moisture in the other.  She paused to take a gulp from her goblet, then held it aloft.  "More wine!" she announced, and the amazon revelers cheered.

"She's drunk," Cynthia noted.

"A little," Salamandras agreed.

J-Lou was also completely free, naked and unrestrained.  No cuffs, no leather thongs, no nothing.  Grinning a dimpled grin from ear to ear, she was filling the goblets of thirsty amazons as quickly and carefully as she could.

"It would seem my warriors have decided to adopt the little scamp as their mascot," Salamandras chuckled.

"The little traitor," Cynthia muttered, but a smile curled her bow lips.  Who could help but smile, watching the diminutive brunette weave her way among the revelers, sloshing wine into goblets, pausing now and then to gulp from her own, laughing, giggling, and reacting with mock outrage to the occasional smack delivered to her naked rump.

Suddenly, several amazons relieved J-Lou of her goblet and jug, lifted her into the air, and carried her to the empty table—meaning the table lacking a centerpiece.

"No!  No!" she objected, still giggling and laughing.  "Not again!"

The squirming mascot was plunked down on the table, the attached cuffs were locked around her wrists and ankles, and the fun began.

"Nooooo!  Eeeee!"

A reddish sauce had been liberally poured over the squirming captive's breasts and tummy and revelers were dipping what appeared to be boiled shrimp in the clinging concoction, then popping them in their mouths.  At the same time, an amazon was sucking and licking the toes of J-Lou's right foot while another was drawing a feather across the sole of her left.

"S-stop it!  Pleeeeeze!"

The revelers continued dipping and eating shrimp, but now they were also tickling J-Lou's ribs and armpits!

"You-you-you filthy rats!  Tee-hee-hee.  Stop iiiiit!"

J-Lou's distress was genuine, but so was her amusement.  At least, that was how it seemed to Cynthia.

Suddenly, J-Lou's big brown eyes popped wide.  She opened her mouth to scream, but was silenced when an apple was thrust into the mouth in question.  "Eeee-Mrrrf!"  An amazon was between her legs, and was licking and sucking on the little scholar's pussy.

"It would appear my warriors have things well in hand," Salamandras purred, then carried Cynthia away.

"Wait!" Cynthia objected, craning her neck to watch the spectacle below, but the goddess didn't stop.  "She'll be okay?"

"Perhaps a slight hangover in the morning," Salamandras chuckled, "but the wines of Salamandria are both potent and kind.  Your student will recover quickly."

"Good," Cynthia sighed.  She'd been worried about J-Lou most of all, imagining all sorts of horrific tortures, predicaments, and ordeals she might be going through.  And here she was guest of their amazon captors at a raucous party.  "The little scamp," she muttered under her breath.

"Indeed," Salamandras agreed.

Corridor, turn, corridor, turn, corridor, stairs, corridor.  Was there no end to this maze?  And if it was a "temple city," as the goddess had said, where were the living quarters of the countless numbers of the tall, beautiful amazons?  Apparently, this particular gallery of frecso and mosaic adorned passageways and stairs was for the exclusive use of Salamandras and her pets... like Cynthia.

Still cradled in the Divine Arms, with the Divine Breasts still pressed against her naked side, Cynthia found herself fighting to stay awake.  She was also aware of a quiet buzzing sound, just at the limit of her hearing, but she could tell it was in her head—right next to that elusive idea/feeling that refused to come into focus.

Suddenly, they crossed a threshold and were out on another exterior balcony, and another pile of cushions was at the ready.  Night had fallen, and a crescent moon hung in the indigo sky.  Countless stars wheeled overhead, and fluffy silver clouds slowly drifted above the deep purple mountains and shimmering forests and meadows.

The goddess lowered Cynthia to her bare feet and unclipped the leash from her collar.  The naked prisoner took a step away, then turned to face her towering captor—and gasped in amazement.

Before her very eyes, Salamandras transformed.  Her towering, perfect beauty was unchanged, but her hair was morphing from a dark brown that was nearly black... to silver-blond.  At the same time, the color of her gown was changing from silver-white to a dark, blue-green jade.

"You like?" the goddess chuckled.  "It's just a little something I like wearing at night, especially if the moon is up."

"You're beautiful," Cynthia gasped.  "I want to..."  She blinked in confusion.  The buzzing sound was getting louder.  "I-I want..."  Cynthia dropped to her knees.

Salamandras reached down and took gentle hold of Cynthia's shoulders.  "What is it, Little Mouse?"

Suddenly, Cynthia was back on her feet.  She shrugged out of the goddess' grip, took three additional steps back, then glared at her captor.  "Stop this!" she hissed, stamping a bare foot (and causing her breasts to wobble).

Salamandras smiled.  "Oh, Cynthia!" she laughed.  "I was so busy playing the benevolent deity I wasn't paying attention.  This is wonderful!"

"Stop it, Sally," Cynthia muttered, tugging on her cuffs.  "Stop this virtual reality bullshit.  Right.  Now."

Salamandras/Sally was still smiling.  "I'm sorry, Cynthia, but I can't.  All of this is very real, but it is not virtual."

"Bullshit!" Cynthia snapped.  "Stop it, now."

"If you insist," Sally chuckled.  She snapped her fingers—and everything went black.

◄

Chapter 4

Chapter 6

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VAN's FiCTiON

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