Oz Beach Boy...warrior Hero!

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This is an entry in

Heroism - the Oggbashan Memorial Event 2024

, so I'd really appreciate it if you could take the time to leave a score.

This story features my recurring character Matt (a muscular, well-hung, twenty-something male exhibitionist) serving as the muse for his ex-girlfriend Odessa Prince (a beautiful twenty-something amateur fantasy author) to write a tale about a violent warrior coming to the aid of a farming family under threat.

Very different from my other stories, this is a follow-on from my three-part "Conan The Barbarian"-style fantasy tale "Oz Beach Boy The Barbarian Ch. 1-3" and also "Oz Beach Boy Lured By Mermaid".

This story features CFNM, female-of-male body worship, violence, fellatio, and cunnilingus. There is talk of past extreme violence and femdom. This is a complete work of fiction. All characters are over eighteen.

Please note: the fantasy story begins after a brief contemporary introduction.

I am endeavouring to gradually write a CFNM "Oz Beach Boy" story in every Literotica category. This entry: "Sci-Fi & Fantasy".

---------------------------------------

It was a scorching, almost painfully hot summer day in Tempe, Arizona. After a morning walk through Tempe Beach Park, Odessa Prince was back in the air-conditioned comfort of her apartment, lying completely naked on her bed and drenched with sweat.

Aussie expat Odessa had been furiously working on herself with a huge vibrator from the excellent online adult store Intimus, and she was totally spent after enjoying a thunderous orgasm. Odessa had been thinking about her incredibly handsome, heavily muscled, sex addicted, exhibitionist ex-boyfriend Matt, who was back in Sydney. The huge Intimus vibrator was the best substitute Odessa had found yet for Matt's enormous cock.

Sated and relaxed, Odessa lay nude on her bed, lost in thought with her big breasts still heaving. Her mind floated easily from matters sexual to other things, always wandering. Odessa thought constantly of her mother -- resting in the bedroom right next to hers -- who was dealing with the extraordinary challenges that came with the increasing onset of motor neurone disease.

The annual Big Freeze event -- a huge fundraiser and profile-raiser for motor neurone disease in Australia organised by the family of AFL player and MND sufferer Neale Daniher -- had just happened in Melbourne, and it always got Odessa thinking about all the other families stricken by the horrific condition.

To Odessa, they were all heroes: those cut low themselves by the awful, merciless disease and still fighting it; the health care professionals caring for them; the scientists struggling to find a cure; the activists that originally brought the condition into the public sphere; and the family members who take it all on, day in day out. Odessa truly knew how difficult MND is.

"We're all heroes in our own way," Odessa said to herself.

At the same time, somewhat perversely, Odessa also thought of Matt and his incredible, rock-hard body, all muscle and smoothly waxed skin, and how it felt when it was pushed against hers. She thought too of his huge, almost freakish cock and balls, and how much joy she got from them.

The previous night, Odessa had watched the classic western

The Magnificent Seven

, which was one of Matt's favourite films. The themes of that classic film also swirled in amongst the beautiful brunette's thoughts of MND and heroism. Odessa's usually active imagination was even more active and fertile than it normally was.

When bombarded with thoughts, Odessa's favourite means of exorcising them and clearing her head was via her preferred hobby: creative writing. Heroism, western archetypes, Matt's naked body...they were all starting to strangely coalesce creatively. A story idea was brewing, bubbling, and beginning to ferment.

It had been a while since keen amateur author Odessa Prince had submitted a story to "Sex, Dragons, Dungeons & Death", an amateur fantasy fiction website which platformed violent sword-and-sorcery storytelling filled with lurid, graphic sex scenes.

As she so often did, Odessa imagined naked Matt wielding a sword on a fantastical field of battle...ideas swirled saucily through Odessa's head, and a story began to take shape. Odessa's creative juices were really flowing.

Her big breasts and long, thick mane of dark hair swaying, naked Odessa got up off her bed, put her vibrator away in her goodie-filled bedside table, and then walked over to her desk. The beautiful brunette slid her smooth, perfectly curved butt into her chair and turned on her laptop.

With an enthusiastic smile, Odessa Prince opened up a blank word document, and then returned to the dark, violent, intensely sexual fantasy world of the feared, death-dealing warrior Matt-Sharakh. As naked as one of the characters in her sexy stories, Odessa Prince wrote and wrote and wrote and wrote...

---------------------//-------------------------

"A Warrior Heroically Bare" By Odessa Prince

Part One...

Freya Sandoval looked up at the warm, bright sun and smiled. It felt comforting and enlivening on her pale, milky skin. Because she was only in her nineteenth scroll, Freya had been released early from her chores...and she was very, very happy.

Freya's farmer father was a kind and decent man, and he believed that younger ones still deserved time to play and frolic. Freya's father believed that truly hard work should not come until slightly later in one's life. Nero Sandoval was a good man...he was and always would be Freya's hero.

When released from her chores on the farm, Freya liked to sit in the sun and read tales of high adventure and escape into exciting new worlds. She also liked to wander the hills and valleys of her lush, green, sprawling family farm, delighting in the natural beauty that surrounded her.

Freya's big, full womanly orbs heaved under the thick white cloth of her long tunic as she walked. The pale skin of her beautiful, youthful face was protected by a large, wide-brimmed hat of straw as Freya strolled happily across a vibrant field of long grass, and then walked down towards the babbling creek and rock-formed pool on the edge of her father's land that she knew so well.

Tucked into Freya's belt was her trusty slingshot, along with a small leather sack filled with smooth, perfectly rounded stones that she had found dotted around the farm. After much practice firing stones at targets of cloth and metal, Freya had become well versed when it came to her slingshot. The young maiden could accurately strike targets from long distances.

Freya always took the slingshot with her on her walks through the fields and forests of the farm, ready to be drawn and used if grass-rats or forest foxes came too close for the young maiden's liking, sniffing around for food or showing too much curiosity in her.

Despite their sharp fangs and smouldering, dangerous eyes, Freya always stood firm when the beasts came near, taking aim and sending her stones flying with great precision and effect. Freya's father had taught her how to use the simple weapon when she was just a child, and the young maiden had now become a canny, creative master of the slingshot.

As she moved closer to the edge of the field, Freya heard the gentle sounds of the babbling creek. It was here that Freya Sandoval liked to play and frolic as she was born, her tunic and hat pleasingly removed, and her soft, milky skin soothed by the cool, tree-shaded water after a day toiling in the fields beneath the warm sun.

It was in this rock-formed pool that Freya also occasionally brought herself womanly pleasure, reaching between her legs with her fingers and rubbing her insides until warm, wondrous feelings spread through her. Her older friend Raysha had taught Freya how to do it, and informed her that it was a gift from the gods of the sky and earth that women received on their eighteenth scroll.

On this warm, sunny day, Freya felt a familiar stirring between her legs, and decided that she very well might avail herself of this gift once more. With a naughty, knowing smile, Freya walked through a small stand of trees that she knew almost as well as she knew her own body. With the sun streaming gently through the foliage, Freya walked happily until she came to the edge of the forest.

Just as she was about to leave the thicker trees and move toward the flowing creek and its nearby pool, Freya saw with great shock that she was not alone. The beautiful young woman jumped back fearfully behind the sheltering trees and peered down to the water with great curiosity.

Beside the babbling creek, Freya saw a huge, fearsome looking steed strapped to a towering tree, and beside it a small burning fire and basic shelter constructed from branches, leaves, vines and animal skins. Outside the shelter was a huge, fur-covered animal hide spread wide over the surrounding grass.

At the mouth of the shelter was a cache of fearsome, death-dealing weapons: a huge battle-axe, a large broadsword, various knives and daggers, and two strange, curved blades. A jolt of fear ran through Freya's youthful body. Who owned these dangerous weapons of war? And why were they here on her father's land? Could this be a friend or former compatriot of her father's? Another soldier?

Before Nero Sandoval handed over his considerable bags of gold for the right to call this farm his own, he was a man of war. Nero Sandoval had ridden as a highly respected chief soldier with the army of General Marius De Vinter, a ruler famed both for his fierceness on the field of battle and for the benevolence and bravery with which he led his people. General Marius De Vinter was one of the great rulers of The Wide Expanse, and many looked to him for guidance.

Captain Nero Sandoval served General Marius De Vinter bravely and with high distinction, and was renowned as one of the army's best strategists and most lethal fighters. Like his ruler, however, Captain Nero Sandoval was a decent man, and he did not kill without mercy. He derived little pleasure from battle, but knew he was good at it...war coursed through Captain Nero Sandoval like blood.

Finally, after many, many scrolls of battle, and many wounds and injuries, Captain Nero Sandoval sought his leave, and then laid down his sword, vowing to never lift it again. The only blades Nero would wield would be those he used on his farm...his time of violence had ended, and he would live the rest of his life with his beloved wife and daughter on their farm in peace.

But was this shelter inhabited by a man from Nero Sandoval's past? Did Freya's beloved father know this stranger? Was he a fellow rider of General Marius De Vinter's? An enemy seeking revenge? Scared but deeply intrigued, Freya continued to keenly watch the small, makeshift shelter for any signs of life.

Next to the weapons sat a pile of animal furs, a bundle of leather strapping, a pair of fur boots, and the empty sheath for the large broadsword. Atop this pile was carefully perched the polished, shining white skull of a beast Freya assumed to be a shadow-cat, its fangs glistening ominously in the dappled light of the forest and creek.

As Freya watched intently, a man finally appeared from a small outcropping of rock just behind the makeshift shelter. Freya gasped heavily when she saw him, and watched in shocked fascination as the tall, imposing figure walked over to the huge black horse and gently stroked its proud head.

With long, wet, brown hair that hung way past his broad, powerful looking shoulders, the man was a hulking mass of muscle and smooth but heavily scarred flesh, which looked as if huge, flat stones had been placed beneath it. The man's arms bulged intensely and had the appearance of enormous tree branches.

The tall stranger was also surprisingly very handsome, with a hard, angular face and deep brown eyes that glowed with a strange kind of warmth that belied his fearsome appearance, and a battered body that looked as if it had suffered the ravages of war and the scourge of personal battle.

Freya gasped in shock at more than just seeing this tall, frightening, powerful man taking shelter on the land of her father. This hulking, scarred stranger was also walking around his shelter wholly as he was born, with his man-dagger, man-sack, and back-walls free and uncovered, and his entire body clearly visible.

In her nineteenth scroll, Freya had not yet laid with a man, nor had she ever even seen a man-dagger. She had talked about such matters with some of her older friends, who were experienced in the bodies of men. They happily laughed at the inquisitive young maiden in her nineteenth scroll, and gave Freya a highly detailed idea of how big a man-dagger and its accompanying man-sack should be, and what it should look like.

From what her older friends had told her, the man-dagger of this hulking stranger appeared to be much, much bigger than those of most men. This stranger's man-dagger hung almost down to his knees, and it was near-frightening in its enormity, like a serpent made from man-skin. Freya could not envision how something of such size and thickness could possibly even fit inside the confines of her small womanly purse.

Such things, however, were of little concern to Freya Sandoval. Her womanly purse would remain untouched by all those but her until she had received an offer of union, and the opportunity to carry children. Until that day, Freya would use her own fingers for pleasure...the beautiful young maiden would remain pure.

There may have been no chance of Freya Sandoval taking the serpent-like man-dagger of this hulking stranger into her, but she could still derive a little womanly pleasure from taking in the wondrous sight of him without his furs, or any other covering for that matter. This hulking stranger was wholly devoid of any form of modesty, walking around wholly bare like no man Freya had ever seen or heard about.

As if seeing a strange new creature for the first time, Freya watched in fascination as the tall, powerful stranger's man-dagger swayed back and forth when he moved, battering against his strong legs. His man-sack also appeared to be larger than her friends had described, while his back-walls had the stunning look of smooth stone. Freya Sandoval gently quivered as she watched the hulking stranger.

After tending to his great steed, the stranger laid down comfortably on the large animal fur spread generously outside his shelter. The man remained as he was born, obviously feeling no need to cover those parts of himself that most men kept hidden. This stranger appeared to be very different to the men Freya was familiar with, most of whom would never remove their coverings if there was any possibility of them being seen.

Freya gazed at the stranger's battle-scarred flesh, his body made as if from stone, and his snaking man-dagger, and then peered at his cache of weapons and the shadow-cat skull that sat atop his discarded coverings...the disparate images finally crashed together, and Freya gasped again, but this time in pure, unfettered terror.

Freya Sandoval finally realised that she knew of this man, and it sent jolts of fear racing immediately through her youthful body. Freya now knew that the shadow-cat skull was actually a head-piece, and that it marked the hulking stranger as the legendary Matt-Sharakh, The Stallion Of The Steppes, The Destroyer Of Worlds, The Bringer Of Death.

Freya gasped again in fear, her emerald-green eyes wide in shock. More myth than man, Matt-Sharakh was a mercenary warrior renowned and feared for his skills with both his weapons and his bare hands. He was a famously fierce fighter and gifted horseman to be reckoned with, and Freya feared immediately for the wellbeing of her family. Had this man come to end them all?

The nearby village of Kethandra Castle often rumbled with the violent stories of the notorious Matt-Sharakh, a man so deadly that some had even begun to question whether he was real or just a nightmare figure created to scare the children of The Wide Expanse. According to the many stories, Matt-Sharakh had battled in violent, horrific wars. He had murdered kings and destroyed monsters. A towering, muscular, hulking brute, Matt-Sharakh was a man to be feared.

Freya looked intently through the trees and became more and more certain that it was indeed Matt-Sharakh. All of the pieces fit together, and Freya trembled quietly from her hidden vantage point...as much from the legend that surrounded Matt-Sharakh as the way the famed warrior's uncovered body made her feel...particularly in her womanly purse. Freya had never been this close to a person whose name was known across The Wide Expanse. It aroused her powerfully.

Stolen from his peaceful home on The Steppes Of Kazem (where men and women rode horses as if they were an extension of their own bodies) as a child and then raised in slavery on the dreaded Mount Haborym, Matt-Sharakh famously broke free of his chains and then burned the entire evil, enslaving kingdom to the ground in brutal vengeance. Matt-Sharakh then hacked his way through those that didn't die in the flames. Matt-Sharakh was a notorious killer of all who opposed him...man, woman, or child.

Scared but also excited, Freya gazed upon Matt-Sharakh as he lay on his back on the large fur-covered animal skin, his body hard and perfectly formed, divine in its construction, like a beautiful mountain range or shade-giving tree.

Matt-Sharakh was nothing short of extraordinary, and being able to see a man such as him as he was born and without coverage was a true privilege for Freya Sandoval. The beautiful young woman supped gleefully on the sight of Matt-Sharakh as she would on a warm cup of milk.

Obviously unaware that he was being watched, Matt-Sharakh surprisingly and sensually touched his man-dagger, gripping it in his fist and sliding his hand slightly up and down. Matt-Sharakh then gently cupped his man-sack.

The great warrior gave off a little sigh at his own touch, seemingly enjoying himself as the running creek babbled almost hypnotically behind him, its sounds soft and gentle in the air.

Matt-Sharakh opened his legs wide, providing the staring Freya with the best view possible of his enormous man-dagger and man-sack.

Freya even began to wonder if the great warrior somehow knew she was there, and was now teasing her with the glorious sight of his wholly uncovered body...like a troubadour using his body instead of a harp to entertain.

Freya's mouth hung slightly agape as Matt-Sharakh grabbed his lolling man-dagger even harder with his right hand, as if holding tightly to the handle of a farm plough. Matt-Sharakh slowly and with great care peeled back his man-dagger's protective skin-hood, gradually revealing the large purple knob that sat atop. Matt-Sharakh then started to slowly slide his fist up and down his man-dagger.

"Oooooh," Freya heard Matt-Sharakh moan, and the young maiden became even more excited.

As Freya watched eagerly, hidden amongst the trees and bushes, Matt-Sharakh continued to slide his fist up and down between his legs. Freya had been told by her older friends that men did this to give themselves pleasure. The women referred to it as "polishing your sword", and Freya had even heard her mother say it to her father just a few moons back.

"Clear away all those plates from the table, Nero, or you'll be polishing your own sword tonight," her mother had said with a naughty smile.

Freya laughed at the memory as Matt-Sharakh gradually picked up speed, gliding his fist back and forth. After just a few more strokes, Matt-Sharakh had what her friends had called a "skin tower"; his enormous man-dagger was now extended to its full length, and it stood up straight, like a tree grown upwards from his body.