Conan the scanticlad

“These clothes are…” her face went red as words failed her.

“Revealing? Stutty? Demeaning?”

“They make me look like your slave. Your pleasure slave,” she complained.

Red Sonja laughed. “Yes but you have two choices. Protect your own virtue as a free woman act as though you are my body slave to all and serve under my protection,” Sonya said as she looked out of the temples doors to the drifting desert sands that practically glowed with heat. “And call me mistress. I like it when you do that…”

Sonja looked at the voluptuously weak form of Conan and tried to decide whether the delicate Cimmerian could return through the deathly barrens of the Stygian Desert about them.

The closest two civilised place to them were Kheshatta, the Caravan city to the south west and Luxor the capital to the north east.

“If we are to undo this I think we need to find a temple of Crom, brother of the goddess Cybelle who has cursed you. That will be north of here so the city to the west on the coast seems wise.” Red Sonja opined.

Conan shook her head as she considered adjusting her top and disliking that her full cleavage was so on display, along with her nipples. “We need to consult with a bone rolling soothsayer. A wizard… Amon Toth… Luxor…” she suggested. “Mistress,” she said reluctantly.