Yet even more naked nightmares

Rusella the Red (69 AD), Queen of the Lakes and the Forests, celebrated for her heroic deeds by all the barbarian tribes of the north, felt a chunk of damp mud splash against her thigh. On a normal day, she would have struck down the offender with a single blow of her war-axe. But today was not a normal day.

The stones were cool on her bare feet. Peasants from the fields had gathered on either side of the long, straight road, watching her pass with eager amazement on their stupid, homely faces. Up ahead, nothing but more peasants. They were still a few days out from Rome.

It wasn't fair. General Tarquin had caught her and her all-female war-band while they were bathing, their armour and weapons hung up behind a nearby bush. She should have posted a lookout, but the day had been hot and she'd decided to let her guard down for once. By the time she realised they were surrounded by a legion, it was far too late.

Another lump of mud hit her in the side of the face, trickling down her neck. She wanted to wipe it away, but the chains that bound her wrists wouldn't allow her enough freedom of movement.

Tarquin was taking no chances. As the proud warrior maidens had emerged from the pool, snarling curses at their leering captors and doing their best with both hands to conceal their strong but decidedly feminine charms, they'd been set upon by the hairy and grinning legionnaires. Ildra Bold-Spear, Pharazelle the Swift, Xenia of the Bitter Shadow... each had been clapped in shackles, **** to kneel in the mud, their nakedness the subject of cruel taunts as the sneering, effete general decided upon their tragic fate.

And a grim fate it was. For Tarquin had decreed that his prizes should be marched behind his chariot in chains, all the way to Rome, for every citizen of the empire to see. Wearing no more than they were when they were caught.

Two pig farmers prodded each other and sneered at Rusella, plodding along the road to Rome. She refused to cast down her eyes. Ahead of her she saw a column of swaying naked bottoms, striped from the blows of the soldiers' thin leather whips. Her warrior maidens, stripped bare. The sun beat down on her naked breasts, slicking her strong tall body with sweat as she marched steadily along.

Tarquin had informed her of her fate. How he would ride in triumph through the city, his naked captives before him as evidence of his courage. How she would be made to wrestle her own companions in the arena, coated in oil, a spanking and very public ass-fucking for the first warrior to cum. How the scribes would immortalise her in song and story as Rusella of the Red Bottom, a silly little girl who thought she could fight Rome and was paraded naked around the whole of the known world.

And she would have to suck his cock a lot, too. That was the part she liked least of all.