Oz Beach Boy the Barbarian

NOTES: Very, very different from my previous stories, this is the first chapter in a three-part "Conan The Barbarian"-style fantasy tale featuring CFNM and female-of-male stripping, body worship, femdom, and humiliation, but no sex scenes. There is violence and swordplay, and much non-detailed discussion of past violence and sexual activity. This is a complete work of fiction. All characters are over eighteen. The fantasy story begins after a contemporary introduction. I am endeavouring to gradually write a CFNM "Oz Beach Boy" story in every Literotica category. This entry: "Sci-Fi & Fantasy".

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It was a hot, cloudy summer's day in Sydney, Australia. Odessa Prince was practically salivating with fierce, primal, nearly uncontrollable lust.

As she gazed upon the tall, tanned, muscular, near-naked man standing just metres away from her, the beautiful 27-year-old literally had to stop herself from sliding her fingers inside her swimsuit and bringing herself to a desperately longed-for orgasm.

Odessa Prince had only just moved into her new apartment complex a few days before, and this was her first visit to the shared outdoor swimming pool.

Sitting in the sun and watching "The Umbrella Academy" on her laptop, Odessa's jaw nearly hit the ground when an incredibly handsome man strode into the pool area, wearing nothing but a smile, a towel casually slung over his shoulder, and a very sexy pair of black, bikini-style Speedos.

"Hi," the man said with a friendly wink, and then walked toward the opposite end of the pool area, obviously not wanting to intrude. "Warm day, huh?"

"Yeah, it's great," Odessa replied with her typical nervous shyness, and then returned to her laptop.

The man looked to be in his mid-twenties, and Odessa was struck not just by his finely chiselled features and amazing physique, but also by how much he resembled the American actor and cult figure Joe Dallesandro.

The handsome, brooding Andy Warhol "superstar" and frequently nude beefcake model had long been a favourite of Odessa's, who was dazzled by his inspired work in the bizarre 1970s horror films "Blood For Dracula" and "Flesh For Frankenstein".

Unlike famously diminutive Joe Dallesandro, however, this man at the pool was tall and imposing. His muscles bulged and flexed as he stretched his arms upwards to the grey sky, seemingly working out the kinks in his rigid body.

With a quiet giggle, Odessa inhaled sharply as she naughtily drank in every taut, sexy, beautiful, utterly masculine inch of his incredible body.

A movie buff, a horror nut, a devoted fan of comic books, a Cosplay queen, and a keen amateur writer of online fan and fantasy fiction, Odessa couldn't believe there was a guy in her new apartment complex that looked just like one of her favourite actors.

After living for way too long with two of her high school friends in a shambolic share house, Odessa was ecstatic about finally having her own stylishly decorated apartment.

She really liked the feel of this complex on the coast too. The sudden appearance of this very handsome man had now made her new living arrangements even better.

Though comfortable in her new surrounds, Odessa had unhappily spent the entire morning in her apartment desperately trying to formulate new story ideas.

Odessa wanted to submit a new piece to "Sex, Dragons, Dungeons & Death", an amateur fantasy fiction website which platformed violent sword-and-sorcery storytelling with lurid, graphic sex scenes.

The website was a sexy, highly imaginative, often extremely kinky delight that ate up much of Odessa's time when she wasn't busy working as an IT consultant or playing competitive netball.

Though she was a "good girl", Odessa loved to get herself off while writing bloody, bizarre, highly sexualised stories set in barbaric, faraway lands.

The beautiful 27-year-old was often shocked by the salacious debauchery she dreamed up, and liked to push the experience even further into sordid territory by writing her stories while completely nude.

Odessa found similarly exciting and orgasmic pleasure while reading the highly creative stories of other writers on the site, and particularly enjoyed those that featured muscled male warriors losing what little clothing they wore. And as Odessa wrote, so she read too: nude.

The beautiful 27-year-old had struggled to come up with a new story, but Odessa's writer's block-induced funk now withered and scattered into the wind as she looked happily at this gorgeous man by the pool. He instantly made her feel much, much better.

Somewhat guiltily, Odessa couldn't help noticing the enormous bulge in the front of the man's Speedos. She gulped and realised that his penis must have been absolutely huge.

Decent and fair-minded, Odessa didn't like objectifying people, but with this extraordinary male specimen, she just couldn't help herself.

Odessa's sexy, lustful reverie was broken by the sound of the pool gate opening and closing. Two attractive young women walked in giggling, and then headed straight over to the handsome man in his Speedos.

"Hey, Matt," one of the women laughed in an English accent. "We haven't seen you for a while, gorgeous."

"Hi Sarah," Matt replied in a strangely strained voice. "Hi Hayley...I've been up in Byron Bay for a few days."

"Well, it's nice to see you again, Matt," Sarah said slyly. "You look amazing...as always. You were obviously sunning yourself up there, huh? Get rid of those tan lines?"

Odessa was a little surprised by how forward and cheeky Sarah and Hayley were being with this handsome young man named Matt. They were surprisingly open in their flirtatious teasing.

How did they know Matt had tan lines? Or was it just an assumption? Odessa guessed that something may have happened between Matt and these two ladies...perhaps even something sexual.

"You look great...but you looked even better when we saw you last week," Hayley giggled. "That was quite the show you put on for us." [See Story: "Oz Beach Boy's Epic Nude Run"]

Odessa was now hotly intrigued...what kind of show had Matt put on for these two pretty English girls? Was he a stripper or something? Had these lucky English girls actually seen his huge penis? Had he performed for them?

"Okay, okay," Matt said, and then looked briefly over at Odessa as if he didn't want her to hear what he was talking about with the English girls. "Enough, ladies, come on..."

"Don't worry, we won't tell anyone around here," Sarah giggled. "It's our little secret."

"We won't embarrass you and ruin your reputation," Hayley added with a laugh. "Speedy..."

Reputation? What were these English girls talking about? Surely Matt couldn't have a small penis? Unless he stuffed his Speedos? Oh my god, he doesn't have a sock or something down there? But it looks real! And why had they called him Speedy? Odessa's mind spun with questions.

The beautiful 27-year-old tilted her black sunglasses back on her head, and the sun flared brightly into her big blue eyes. She wanted a better look at Matt.

Odessa mentally erased the distracting Sarah and Hayley from her sight line and gazed solely upon the extraordinarily attractive and appealing man they were so mercilessly teasing.

In her stylish figure-hugging one-piece swimsuit, the beautiful amateur writer once again shuddered at the supreme sight of Matt's rippling physique and handsome face.

Then, as she practically drooled over Matt's pulsing biceps, shredded abs, and sexily bulging Speedos, inspiration struck Odessa like a bolt of sensual lightning.

As the sun shone down on her pale skin and warmed the exposed tops of her big but firm breasts, Odessa imagined a longer haired Matt clad in a barbarian's skimpy loincloth, with a battle-axe in one hand and a bloodied sword in the other.

She pictured his muscles undulating and vibrating as he swung his weapons, battling an imagined dragon and a horde of "Lord Of The Rings"-style orcs.

Odessa quickly opened up a blank Word document on her laptop, and started writing feverishly. With a smile playing across her plump red lips and a newfound sparkle in her eye, the excited 27-year-old wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and wrote.

In one fell, sexually dramatic swoop, Odessa's crippling, anxiety inducing case of writer's block had been well and truly vanquished.

In the astounding form of a beautiful, muscular man named Matt standing by the swimming pool of her new apartment complex, Odessa Prince had finally found her muse.

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"The Tale Of Matt-Sharakh, A Warrior Stripped Bare"

By Odessa Prince

Sitting tall and proud on her steed atop a verdant green hill covered with blooming purple flowers, Sceptre Nazrey, ruler of Barbocan Valley, looked nervously at the flatlands below.

Riding in at a confidently unhurried pace from the edges of The Black Tundra was a tall, fierce looking lone warrior on a big, dark horse.

Few survived The Black Tundra. It was a gloomy, feared stretch of land built from cindered volcanic rock and home to unspeakable barbarism and cruelty.

Inhabited by ravenous stone serpents, slithering land-fish, and ferocious man-apes, The Black Tundra's most feared denizens, however, were the crazed, rabid half-men who ventured outward to raid nearby villages, where they stole the food, ravished the women, and hungrily ate the flesh of men.

Whenever Barbocan Valley's lookout scouts saw anyone -- or anything -- ride in from The Black Tundra, it was a cause of concern for the people of the peaceful community.

The fierce looking lone warrior was still a safe distance away, but the man slowly revealed himself to the concerned eye of Sceptre Nazrey.

The beautiful female ruler of Barbocan Valley saw the dark, thick animal skins that formed the warrior's dress, and the leather strapping that crossed his chest. A loincloth covered his manly parts. His legs were bare, and his feet were encased in thick boots of fur and twine.

At the lone warrior's hips were sheathed two strange curved blades, while a thick broadsword was strapped across his shoulders. A huge axe and short-spear were holstered over his steed's strong neck.

As he got closer, Sceptre Nazrey saw that the lone warrior wore the shining white skull of a shadow-cat as a helmet, its fangs nestled tightly into his brow. In that terrifying split second, the beautiful female ruler knew it was him.

The notorious head-piece marked the lone warrior riding in from The Black Tundra as the legendary Matt-Sharakh, The Stallion Of The Steppes, The Destroyer Of Worlds, The Bringer Of Death.

Sceptre Nazrey gasped in fear, but tamped down hard on her alarm, not wanting the brave soldiers on horseback surrounding her to sense her tension.

Matt-Sharakh was a mercenary warrior famed and feared for his skills with both his weapons and his bare hands. He was a fearsome fighter to be reckoned with.

Matt-Sharakh had famously battled in violent, horrific wars. He had murdered kings and destroyed monsters. He had burned entire villages to the ground, and taken the heads of many.

A towering, muscular, hulking brute skilled with sword, dagger, axe, spear and bow, Matt-Sharakh was a man to be feared and respected. His exploits were the stuff of dark legend.

Deep down, however, Sceptre Nazrey was also intrigued. Though dubbed The Stallion Of The Steppes for his famed skill on horseback, there were rumours that the name was also born of Matt-Sharakh possessing a certain body part equal to that of the steed upon which he rode.

With a guilty shudder, Sceptre Nazrey mischievously smiled at the thought of what might be hanging under the lone warrior's loincloth.

Outwardly confident but internally aching with indecision and concern for her troops, Sceptre Nazrey looked around and commanded four of her best soldiers to come forward on their horses.

Three hardened male fighters and one equally fierce female all bowed before their beautiful young ruler, their hearts bold and their swords at the ready.

"Ride down to meet him," Sceptre Nazrey said in her surprisingly deep, commanding voice. "If he wants to exit The Black Tundra here, he must bow to the rule of Barbocan Valley. He is now our subject. If he resists or refuses, take him by force. Ride forth, brave soldiers!"

A prosperous land of rich soil and plentiful water, Barbocan Valley was also a rare matriarchy. Though its men were not ill-treated, all of the positions of power in Barbocan Valley were permanently held by women.

The chief educators, law-makers, body healers, agriculturalists, historians, storytellers, cultural planners, military strategists, and battle commanders were all women, and the community was a thriving one.

Sitting on his own steed next to Sceptre Nazrey was the only man in Barbocan Valley to hold any real semblance of power or influence.

Old and withered with a horribly hooked nose and pale grey eyes, Sage Tantulas had walked into Barbocan Valley fifty scrolls [years] ago, when he was still a young, vibrant, energetic man.

With persuasive passion, Sage Tantulas spoke the word of The Cluster Of Light, and preached the offering of the results of carnal desire to the gods to bring wealth.

Sage Tantulas also taught continued sexual subjugation as a means of breaking the spirits of captured enemies, after which they could be re-trained and re-purposed as valued members of Barbocan Valley.

The ruler of Barbocan Valley upon the arrival of Sage Tantulas had been Sceptre Asanka, a brave warrior and benevolent leader, but one unreasonably plagued by paranoia and easily swayed by mysticism.

Sceptre Asanka embraced the teachings of Sage Tantulas, and while many in Barbocan Valley believed him to be a fraud and an opportunist, the strangely charismatic man was also an undeniably fine advisor and strategist, despite his obvious eccentricities and carnal perversions.

The Sceptres that followed Asanka all happily retained Sage Tantulas as an important advisor, but with decreasing levels of value and respect.

As the holy man got older, he became more and more profane in his desires, and was rumoured to use his position of power to coerce much younger men into his bed.

Clear-headed, practical and confident, Sceptre Nazrey found Sage Tantulas' pontificating tiresome and his preaching questionable.

The beautiful young ruler would have happily retired him, but too many in Barbocan Valley now respected the word of Sage Tantulas and would fear the extreme break with tradition his excommunication would bring.

"This man will bow to you," Sage Tantulas said in his cracked, croaking, high-pitched voice. "He will be your subject, Sceptre Nazrey. If he refuses to bow, I will gladly...work on him."

"We have to bring him in first," Sceptre Nazrey snapped back, tired of the old man's kow-towing. "This is a powerful warrior to be feared and respected...this is Matt-Sharakh."

"The Stallion Of The Steppes?" Sage Tantulas asked in surprise. "The Bringer Of Death?"

"The very one," Sceptre Nazrey replied. "The Destroyer Of Worlds."

"By The Cluster Of Light," Sage Tantulas muttered, "gods of the sky, please give us battle strength..."

Her brow furrowed and lip trembling, Sceptre Nazrey watched the scene unfolding before her with grave concern, her large breasts heaving as her breath rose and fell.

The four brave soldiers charged downhill toward Matt-Sharakh, their swords poised and ready to strike. Dust and dirt filled the cool air at their horses' hammering hooves.

Despite the oncoming force of four, Matt-Sharakh did not pause or turn and ride. Sceptre Nazrey heard distant shouts, and watched as her soldiers rode directly towards the seemingly unfazed warrior.

His long hair flying behind him, Matt-Sharakh drove his steed hard, charging right back at the four soldiers without even a hint of hesitation or fear.

Her mouth slightly agape, Sceptre Nazrey watched in shock as Matt-Sharakh pulled his short-spear from its sheath in one smooth, graceful motion.

With alarming speed and economy of movement, the lone warrior then threw the short-spear right at one of the male soldiers. It hurtled through the air with striking precision, its aim sharp and true.

Sceptre Nazrey's radiant green eyes widened as she saw the spear continue its deathly journey through the air, before it first pierced her brave soldier's forehead and then exploded in a mass of flesh, bone and blood out of the back of his head.

The dead soldier then fell backwards horribly off his hard-galloping steed, the spear still piercing his head. With a gruesome thump, he then landed in a broken pile on the thick, green grass below.

Matt-Sharakh's skills on horseback were extraordinary. It was almost as if he was physically fused and at one with his mighty beast. The lone warrior controlled the big, black horse with startling accuracy, dragging its reins and directing the steed to move quickly around another of Sceptre Nazrey's soldiers.

Futilely swinging his sword, the soldier was left in Matt-Sharakh's wake. The lone warrior darted to the side of the hopelessly wrong-footed soldier, drew one of the strange, curved blades from his side, and then swung it at his adversary.

Sceptre Nazrey had never seen such a weapon, and Matt-Sharakh used it as if it was an extension of his arm. The brutal speed with which he dispensed of the skilled soldier was shocking.

The man's head was cut clean off by Matt-Sharakh's strange blade, blood spray horribly filling the air around his neck as his disembodied head tumbled backwards.

With a bloodied crash, the head then hit the horse's rear-end and bounced onto the ground like a child's game-ball. The soldier's slack, headless body then tipped sideways and crashed to the ground.

Circled by blood-spray and dust, the rider-less horse rode off hauntingly into the distance, kicking loosened dirt in the air as it raced back towards the uncertain horrors of The Black Tundra.

With both swelling pride and deep, genuine concern, Sceptre Nazrey watched as her two remaining soldiers refused to retreat, brave and fearless in combat.

In Barbocan Valley, soldiers were highly respected, but also cherished, and their deaths struck deeply at the collective heart of the community and its leader.

The two remaining soldiers charged again at Matt-Sharakh with their swords raised. Sceptre Nazrey unmistakably saw a smile play across the lone warrior's lips.

Matt-Sharakh sheathed his bloodied curved blade, and then expertly pulled on his steed's reins. The smiling warrior obviously relished and thrived in the heat of battle.

"Sceptre Nazrey," Sage Tantulas said firmly. "Send in the entire horde! These two have no hope...they will die at this man's hand."

As Matt-Sharakh's horse stopped hard with incredible speed, he quickly loosed his battle-axe from its binding and then hurled it with ferocious power. The huge weapon swung violently through the air end upon end.

With a sickening crunch, the powerful weapon then struck the final male soldier in the chest. The force of the contact knocked the big fighter right off his terrified horse, which went bolting in the opposite direction, its nostrils flaring.

With a loud crash, the dead soldier spilled onto the ground in a shattered heap, the battle-axe still embedded in his chest, geysers of blood gushing from around it.

"Their deaths are noble," Sceptre Nazrey replied to Sage Tantulas with a sneer. "You'd know nothing of that...you hide behind your magic and your preaching and your gods in the sky. You know nothing of battle, old man."

"Yes, Sceptre Nazrey," Sage Tantulas bowed in recognition and apology. "I should not speak without request on matters of war."

Undeterred and showing no fear, the brave female soldier continued her charge at Matt-Sharakh. She lifted her sword arm, and started to bring it down toward the lone warrior.