Carry on Conan

Sonja sighed with mock exasperation, crouching and turning away, her strong hands gripping Conan’s thighs as she hoisted the petite former barbarian onto her back and stood tall, “Hold on tight Connie, my delicate little **** princess,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.

Conan’s arms wrapped around Sonja’s neck, her soft, ample breasts squishing against the she-devil’s muscular back like over ripe fruits. The silken fabric about her breasts could not conceal the pointedness of her nipples. The act of being carried thus sent a flush of humiliation through Conan—now Connie, as the world seemed insistent on calling her. She felt so small, so utterly and helplessly girlish, her lithe legs dangling helplessly, feet bare, her silken loincloth fluttering in the hot desert breeze, her sex pressed into the small of Sonja’s back.

Every sure step Sonja took jostled Connie slighly, making her curves bounce in ways that only amplified her sense of weakness. “This is beneath me,” Connie muttered into Sonja’s ear, her voice a petulant whisper. “I am Conan of Cimmeria, not some… some pampered harem toy!”

“Keep telling yourself that, little one,” Sonja chuckled, her stride effortless across the scorching sands that had defeated Connie so easily. “From where I’m standing—or rather, carrying—you’re more wanton than warrior. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Connie. Mostly.”

The sun beat down mercilessly as they trekked toward the distant shimmer of the oasis, a cluster of palm trees and tents rising like a mirage against the endless dunes.

“My fairer skin is burning. I can tell!” Connie’s cheeks burned—not just from the heat, but from the indignity of it all. She, who had once cleaved through armies and scaled sheer cliffs, now reduced to clinging like a child to this red-haired vixen. Her nipples hardened against Sonja’s back, traitorous little peaks that betrayed her body’s unwelcome stirrings. “Put me down soon,” she grumbled, trying to ignore the way her thighs rubbed against Sonja’s sides. “I feel like a damn fool.”

“Shh, pet. We’re almost there. Enjoy the ride.” Sonja replied.

At last, they reached the oasis, where a trading caravan had pitched camp amid the cool shade and sparkling pools. Camels spat lazily, merchants haggled over spices and silks, and the air hummed with the scent of dates and incense. Sonja lowered Connie to the ground with surprising gentleness, though not without a possessively playful pat on her pert backside. “There, safe and sound. Try not to pout too much; it only makes you cuter Connie.”

A nearby camel man laughed and leered as he overheard their conversation and headed to the main tent to speak with his leader.

Connie straightened her skimpy silks, arranging her top which had ridden up and adjusting her translucent loin cloth, glaring daggers at Sonja while ignoring the curious glances from the caravan folk. Her feet cooled on the shaded sand, but her pride remained scorched. Before she could retort, Sonja strode toward the central tent, where a lean trader lounged on plush cushions, his beard oiled and his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. He was flanked by guards and laden with rings that glinted in the dappled light.

“Greetings, wanderers,” the trader boomed, his gaze lingering far too long on Connie’s curvaceous form. “I am Khalid of the Sands, master of this humble caravan of the Hashah tribe. What brings such… intriguing beauties to my tribes oasis?”

Sonja planted her feet firmly, her hand resting on her sword hilt. “Camels. We need two sturdy ships of the desert to cross the Setite wastes. Name your price in gold—I’ve plenty from recent spoils.”

Khalid stroked his beard, his eyes devouring Connie like she was a prize lamb. “Ah, but gold is fleeting, my fiery friend. And camels? In these trying times, they’re worth their weight in rubies. It is not merely a question of supply and demand, you see— this is a law as ancient as Hyboria itself. No the camels are like my family. I love my family… Raiders have thinned the herd of my family, and the gods know the desert claims more family each day. For two of my dearest most hard kept family? I could not part with two camels for less than five hundred gold pieces. Each. No… perhaps not even that!”

Sonja’s brow furrowed. “That’s robbery, not trade. Those are camels. Not family. I’ve got three hundred total. Make it work, or I’ll find another who will.”

Khalid laughed, a rich, oily sound. “Robbery? Nay, opportunity! But perhaps we can barter. That delectable slavegirl of yours—Connie, is it? Such a pretty thing, with eyes like storm clouds and hips that could sway a sultan. Trade her for one camel, and we’ll call it even. She’d fetch a fine price in the markets of Zamboula… and warm my tent nicely until then.”

Connie’s blood ran cold, her fists clenching at her sides. “I am no ****!” she snapped, but her voice came out higher, more feminine than she’d intended, lacking the thunderous boom of her old self. Powerless—that’s how she felt, utterly powerless under Khalid’s lascivious stare, his eyes tracing her breasts, her thighs, as if she were merchandise on display. Which in her garb she was. Her cheeks flamed, and she stepped closer to Sonja, hating how small and **** she seemed next to the she-devil’s towering confidence.

Sonja tilted her head, considering the offer with a thoughtful hum that made Connie’s stomach twist. “Hmm… tempting. She’s a handful, this one—whiny, needy, always begging for attention. But she does have her charms.” Sonja shot Connie a wicked glance, her lips curling into a smirk. “What do you say, pet? Fancy a new master? He looks like he’d spoil you rotten… or at least keep you on your knees.”

“No!” Connie hissed, her heart pounding. “Sonja, you wouldn’t… you can’t!” The trader’s guards chuckled, and Khalid’s grin widened, his gaze making her skin crawl. She felt exposed, objectified, a far cry from the warrior she’d been. Weak. Girlish. And worst of all, a spark of treacherous arousal flickered at the edge of her thoughts, born from Sonja’s teasing dominance.

Khalid leaned forward, undeterred. “If not a full trade, perhaps a compromise. Let Connie dance for me—a personal performance in my tent. Something sensual, to showcase her… assets. Impress me, and I’ll drop the price to three hundred for both camels. A fair deal, no? The day grows long, and the night promises to be… entertaining.”

Sonja crossed her arms, her expression unreadable as she eyed Connie up and down. “A dance, eh? She’s got the body for it, I’ll give her that. What do you think, little flower? Ready to shake those hips and earn your keep?”

“Only a dance…?” She confirmed.

Khalid shrugged. “She will need a place to sleep as well… a single night in my pilllows?” He spat on his hand and offered to shake Sonja’s hand to seal the deal.