A Goddess Gift to Leinyere Amazons

A Goddess Gift to Leinyere Amazons.

Each Queen's woman wage war against Orcs, impregnated by few men.

#### Disclaimer. This is completely imaginary fiction. The word "war", with spells and spears, has nothing to do with the Readers' real life but is set in a Fantasy land populated by dragons and orcs. The word "AMAZONS" is only used to convey a concept familiar to readers of the site, by analogy. But it has nothing to do with the Amazons of classical Greek mythology, such as Queen Hippolyta and her legendary Belt (which was a strap-on, perhaps). Women warriors can be found in all the oldest chronicles and mythologies, including Athena, Hippolyta, Camilla, Mulan, Bradamante, the Viking shieldmaidens, the Dahomey Fusiliers, the Air Witches, and many others.

A contribution to Tales of Leinyere Story & Art Event 2023.

All the characters are over 18 years old. English is not my mother tongue, forgive the mistakes. ####

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0. A True Introduction.

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'Fuck me, husband! Get me pregnant! Again, again! Wake up, I know we've already done it twice, but I want you to fuck me again, I can't go into the trenches one more time!"

The husband woke up, yawning. It was the middle of the night, and they had already done it twice before falling asleep. "But darling, I'm tired, my back is sore, and I have a headache..."

"Enough of the usual excuses that you fool husbands use! Fuck me and don't waste time, get me pregnant!"

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Chapter 1. The Goddess' Great Gift to the Whole Nation

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Once upon a time, long ago, in the land of Leinyere, there was a border between two very hostile peoples. A duchy of humans, and a horde of orcs, in the land of Podl'adom.

Two dynasties of rulers ordered their subjects to fight strenuously.

The orcs only obtained the help of many peoples as allies on a single occasion: afterward, irreconcilable quarrels over prestige and misunderstandings arose, and that alliance was never possible again. But that year, the orcs and their numerous allies killed almost all the Men of that People, as soldiers in the trenches, with very rare exceptions of convalescing wounded, the elderly, and some children too young to walk.

The women-scribes who wrote the chronicles of that huge war called it 'The Extermination of the Males', even though it was 'almost' an extermination, with a handful of survivors.

Almost all members of the Human dynasty died in battle.

Remaining on the throne was the king's daughter, who, despite being only 25 years old, had all her hair white, suddenly shriveled with grief. They called her Zakilah, which means The Young Canute Queen.

In the Great Temple in the center of the Capital City, Queen Zakilah gathered the wisest priestesses and handmaids, a total of 43 women. Standing before the altar, the queen addressed a prayer to the Cat Goddess, Abasis.

"Oh, almighty Goddess of Birth and Death, give my people what they need to survive this hateful war!"

Probably the candid queen meant to ask for more sons, who could fight in the trenches against the orcs.

But the Goddess was wise, much wiser than humans.

The statue was covered in a violet glow and this inscription appeared on the temple wall: "This is the gift of the Cat Goddess. For every male child, ten female daughters will be born to you. In this way, your people will be saved from extinction, and each of you will bless me forever."

The bright glow disappeared. All the women, including the queen and the priestesses, realized they were pregnant: perhaps it was part of the goddess's magic, but they all knew immediately and without a shadow of a doubt the sex of the child that would be born nine months later.

Only four handmaids said they were pregnant with a son. Four boys and 40 girls.

One priestess was horrified. "A girl child! Who will not be able to fight against the Orcs! What a disgrace!"

But the queen stopped her. "Do not dare take a future female warrior from your Queen. You have not understood the value of the Goddess' gift. But I have understood. Obey me!"

The priestess immediately knelt down.

The queen stepped out onto the balcony and addressed the people gathered in the square.

"You have heard the voice of the Goddess. From today on, all women will serve as fighters in the trenches, in the war against the orcs. By contrast, all the very few males will serve as stallions, and will remain here, protected within the walls of the castle in the center of the capital city."

Immediately, the queen convened a war council, with her own court of female generals and female admirals. Sitting limply inside a whirlpool (fed by waterfall mills), naked or nearly naked in the absence of males, the women debated whether to enter into an eternal peace or to wage war to the bitter end.

All, without exception, decided to carry on the war until the complete extermination of the enemy army. The queen nodded.

The generalesses decided to conscript all women over the age of eighteen and send them all to the front. Only the women who were wounded or convalescing would remain in the capital city.

"Aren't you afraid that the ogres will abuse our female soldiers?"

The queen silenced the objections. "Speak no-nonsense, dear lady Changeling, are you under the illusion that when the orcs captured a male warrior, they respected the integrity of his genital apparatus?"

All the women kept silent. Perhaps they had underestimated the suffering of the men captured by the orcs.

The queen pointed her finger at the magic map her father had obtained from the Guild of Magic Mapmakers.

"Look! This map is magic. The letter of request was written using the vaginal humours of my mother, the late queen. The cartographer who made the sketch must have been particularly enthusiastic about cumming, because the details are so precise.

Now all the liquids have turned into inks of different colours, but before it was orgasmic liquids and drops of royal blood. Do you see? If I point my finger at the parchment, it enlarges and shows more detail. If I move my hand away, the map shrinks.

Look closely at the map. The only fortified and safe place is the Royal Palace, with its gardens and farms within the Great Walls. The orcs make their raids on the plains, but they have never reached here.

I propose that from this day forward the Palace be dedicated to the repose of the few remaining males of our People. In safety. From the front, the girls in their most fertile period will be sent to the Palace on Leave. Each will be assigned a "husband" for four days, so that as many as possible may be pregnant.

Our People need sons and many daughters. This is the Gift of the Cat Goddess, and we shall take advantage of the gift. Whatever trade or task is done by males, ten females will also have to do it: carrying marble, slaughtering cattle, grinding grain, and even fighting orcs. I want female farmers, female hunters, female fishermen, and female merchants. But above all, I want women warriors."

As the young queen spoke, she moved her hand left and right. All the women present saw the opportunities for work: the beehives for bee honey, the vineyards for wine grapes, the beaches with fish to catch, the swamp with prey to hunt.

"Perhaps we are not fit to face the orcs with swords and spears. We will use bows. Ten women with ten arrows can stop a charging orc. Also, a girl who can use a bow can be useful as a hunter in the woods. I propose compulsory military service of twenty years. Maybe twenty-five... no, here: twenty-seven. Every woman will donate her years between eighteen and forty-five to the People."

"But your majesty! In this way, our People will have no more children!"

The Queen's eyes twinkled. "Don't talk bullshit!" (all the women recoiled in fright). "I WANT my female soldiers to get pregnant. The prize, for each pregnancy, will be nine months Leave at the palace, plus three years of looking after the babies; and if a young mother gets pregnant again, she can go on for life bearing new children!"

A woman wearing a general's hat (perhaps she was the wife, or the daughter of a commander killed in battle) asked, amidst large drops of tears: "I too am pregnant by the will of the Cat Goddess, but my daughter will only be able to fight in fifteen or twenty years. How will we endure all that time?"

The Queen smiled to reassure her. "The elves owe many favours to my father. He was too proud to ask for their help, but I am not him. I will ask the elves to keep the orcs busy for ten years, maybe twenty. We will give birth and educate our daughters to fight, for themselves and their daughters."

"And how will we convince the Elves?"

"My father had a collection of valuable magical maps, which he and my grandfather had acquired from the Magical Mapmakers. Some ancient, some new. All are very valuable. He also owned some funny globes: I don't know what to make them for, since the earth is flat. But still, they are collectibles. I know that the king of the elves likes these trinkets, gizmos, and thingamabobs. We will send an embassy with a proposed alliance, with some maps, atlases, and globes as gifts. As bait. If he accepts, he will have the whole collection little by little, month by month, year by year. We don't need them, and he, like all male rulers, craves this kind of nonsense."

The king of the elves rejoiced like a child: to secure the complete collection, he committed his subjects to a war of twenty years' duration. And this allowed people on the brink of extinction to reproduce and start anew.

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Chapter 2. Lucky Girls.

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The decision was now made, taking into account both the great mortality of males from previous wars and the Great Gift granted by the Cat Goddess.

Each regiment of the army was composed only of women.

The only way to avoid military service for a few months was to be pregnant, because, of course, the birth of new warriors was perceived by both dynasties as the top priority.

For this reason, every female soldier was sent back to the capital city by her 'husband'. There were no real marriages: they called 'husband' a man drawn by lot who would stay with them 'more uxorio' for four long, hard days (without the tedious things of marriage: magic toothpaste squeezed out, medieval clothes left on the floor, rubbish to take out).

Since there were few males (most of them dead), it was done by extraction.

The entire hierarchy of female officers and female non-commissioned officers monitored the Ledger with a record of all menstruation, to try to make the week of military leave coincide with the most fertile period.

All female soldiers, without exception, tried to get pregnant because it was the only way to get a year's leave away from the trenches: followed by three years of nursing, in special gardens in the Royal Palace, far away from the horrors of war.

Even those who had built up a Sapphic relationship with another female soldier during the rest of the week were trying to get pregnant anyway, to take advantage of the leave.

All the males who had survived the previous massacres were all in the capital, far from the front, to avoid being killed by the enemy. Strategically but also identically, they were the only way to prevent the extinction of the entire nation, and they were fed the best food, allowed to rest, and pampered in every way.

There were exotic foods of all kinds. Baskets of fruit, and any food with an aphrodisiac reputation: pineapples, chili peppers, prawns, coffee. Because Reproduction was so important, Room Service was considered the most important office in the entire Royal Palace, and the women in charge of Room Service were the most intelligent and skilled, as they should always be in any advanced civilization.

The unluckiest female soldiers were assigned an older man. These men were selected by a special sexual-medical commission, which verified that they were still capable of having an erection. But, unfortunately for the unfortunate girls, a single erection was often not enough to guarantee pregnancy, and often too old 'husbands' reduced the opportunities for penetration to just one a day. Some female soldiers, therefore, wasted their four days' leave by getting only three or four feeble penetrations from an old male with limp balls.

A slightly luckier situation was the pairing with young eighteen-year-olds who had just been promoted from 'kids' to 'stallions'. These were indefatigable and could impregnate females for days on end. But for this very reason, they were assigned to groups of three female soldiers at a time. As is known, in war and in love all things are permitted. The three women spent their days fighting over who was entitled to receive sperm in their vaginas, with no respect for seniority or rank. The case of a lieutenant colonel, who had been literally thrown out of the window by a horny young female sergeant, with complete disregard for rank and already grey hair, was well known.

The most desirable situation was to receive a 'husband' from among the recovering wounded.

Some were now completely healed; others still bore the scars of their wounds or had had a limb (an arm or a leg) amputated.

One ex-soldier One-Leg Man (without a leg) was particularly famous for his reproductive capacity, confirmed by detailed statistics published by the female doctors who followed the outcome of each mating.

Many legends circulated about him in the trenches. Girls who did not know him joked that he had a dick as long as another leg, and a knob as wide as a foot.

But a woman sergeant scolded them: "You fools! Such a big cock would not be useful to the nation! I have lain with him, and he has a normal-sized cock... he reminded me of my late husband's, may he rest in peace. The One-Leg-Man is not a clown for your jokes, he is a war hero: he is deeply sad, depressed, and suffers from Acute Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Yet, conscious of his duty to our old, fair-haired queen, he impregnates dozens of female warriors. I demand the utmost respect from you towards his sense of duty, and no more giggling, you are not primary school girls - I mean, if on the filthy farms where you come from there was a school service to laugh at!"

In the large room where he performed his service to the nation, the One-Leg Man lay on his bed, his head on large pillows. Every female soldier drawn by lot for four days with him was assigned an assistant, who gave her the most effective advice.

It did not matter who the lucky one drawn was; whether she was a simple pikewoman, an archer, an admiraless, or a generaless.

The mare to be ridden always changed, but the stallion's stable was always the same. There was also a woman who played the role of Assistant. The assistant assigned to that room was called Qwerty, and nobody ever dared to nickname her the One-Arm-Assistant.

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3 The lucky soldier meets the efficient assistant of The One-Leg Man.

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"Excuse me, Ma'am, is this where The One-Leg Man lies?"

"Of course, he's behind this door."

"Allow me. This piece of thick cardboard is my lottery ticket. The other girls of the Purple River Women Archers regiment applauded and rejoiced, for they all say that The One-Leg Man is very fertile."

"Yes, he is. But you too must do your part, young sis."

"Oh? Doesn't he do everything?"

"I see you are very young... how old are you?"

"Nineteen. I've been in the trenches for six months already. I've already been extracted twice, but I always got very old and sleepy men, wasting what little time I was allowed. And once, last month, there was a drunkard who was always asleep... I have reported to the senior female officers, and also appealed to the Military Impregnation Magistrate, but they haven't answered me yet."

"Don't worry, little sister. The past is in the past. The One-Leg Man will solve all your problems."

"Are you just saying that to comfort me?" a tear gushed down the girl's eyelashes.

"No. I know he is very fertile. I myself had two daughters by him. Then I went back to the front, was wounded, and was honorably discharged."

"How were you wounded, ma'am?"

"Do you really want to waste your time with me, when behind this door awaits your Stallion, the fertile One-Leg Man? You flatter me, little sister. But, here..."

Qwerty slid the cloak that covered her left shoulder. Her left arm had been severed cleanly, and the breast near her heart had been removed.

The girl paled in fear at the sight of the large scars but did not flinch. "You are the legendary QWERTY, the infallible archer!"

"No, dear (she smiled sadly) I WAS the legendary Qwerty until a magic boulder hurled from a catapult ripped my arm off. It almost ripped my heart out, too. The women-doctors used any potions, spells, herbs, and medicine they could... but War is a hungry, cruel monster, and no magic can give you back an arm, or a removed breast."

"I feel so sorry for you, Infallible..."

"You need not be sorry. This wound brought me here. Away from the horrors of war. Here at the Palace, I have two jobs. I am an archery teacher (I don't need arms: I teach breathing, concentration, aiming), and I am also the Designated Assistant Officer for the girls drawn by lot to fuck with The One-Leg Man."

"Are you jealous?" the young archer asked, hesitantly.

"No. I am loyal to our queen. When I was fighting I was infallible in striking enemy troops, now I am infallible in giving advice to the girls drawn by lot. I WANT each of you to become pregnant, for the good of the Motherland and the Nation. And since I, like him, am a war amputee, let's say I understand him better than you do."

"Tell me the truth: are you still together, as a couple?"

"Not really. I know that he is tired of fucking: every four days, a female soldier comes from the front, like you today, and demands to be fucked for four days straight. I understand his fatigue, and then, at my age, I can't have any more children. No, I don't demand her sperm. We stay in each other's arms and nothing else. Sometimes, he asks me to..."

"Continue, ma'am, please!"

"Sometimes, he asks me to do what his wife used to ask him to do many years ago: she would sit with her pussy on his face, and let him lick and eat it for hours."

"Facesitting!"

"Yup! It's strange to be asked that of a Male, isn't it? In the soldiers' tents, it's a typical lesbian practice, because all women think that males are just for spreading sperm in vaginas. But I know he enjoys it because it reminds him of his first wife, killed by the enemy so many years ago. Sometimes he murmurs her name as he licks me... I don't contradict him, because I respect his pain, but after his mouth makes me orgasm, I hug him tight and cuddle him until he falls asleep."

"How I envy you, ma'am Qwerty... What I would give to sleep in the arms of a Man..."

"I know, little sister, I know. Enough tears, now: focus on your military objective. Heed my advice. You cannot enter One-Leg Man's room in an Archer's uniform... military uniforms trigger horrible memories of combat in him. I'll lend you these little coloured silk handkerchiefs... you'll wear them like a dress, and undress for him, dancing. Now undress..."

With disappointment, Qwerty noticed that the girl had a thick bush of hair above the pussy mound.

"Oh, great Goddess, you can't just show up in front of One-Leg Man with this wild forest, little sister!"

"But I am not capable..."

"I'll shave you, I even have emollient cream... but what do they teach you in the barracks, dammit... we're wasting precious time here..."

With much skill (using only one hand!) Qwerty shaved the young woman making her pussy sweet and smooth. "The rest doesn't matter, don't worry, the One-Leg Man doesn't mind her armpits or thighs."

The girl was full of enthusiasm and hopped on one foot. Qwerty smiled at her.