This story has been burning through me for quite some time now. My interest right now is to go back to a simpler time when men were men slathered with blue war paint, where they raided, they fought, they conquered. Where women were strong-willed, intelligent, hardworking, yet still beautifully feminine. The world was harsh, the land cruel, and life was never safe unless you wielded the sword.
We drank, we feasted, we danced to the sound of barbaric beats upon the deep drum under the open stars. We were not intimidated by enemies, we defended our lands, we hunted for our food, we fended for ourselves, we fucked our partners breathless upon the furs of our tented homes.
And hell, lets add some fantasy elements with magic just because we can.
The following excerpt would be the very beginning, perhaps we would even start just before the scene, but this is how it would play out. Afterwards, it's just up to us.
The only thing I request an equal counter. I am a very formidable writer and I desire the same in return. Writing is an art to me; I think it through, I skillfully write it out, I develop the story, I add twists, I submit it proudly.
My partner must do the same.
Please read my idea, then post or msg me ideas, interests, comments, etc. It would be in a made up land, as it were. But you would have the freedom to base it upon anything you wish. This is just the synopsis of the beginning.
Their hunt had been going on for days: he a hunter, now hunted, her a huntress now hunting. A rouge, a slaver, had crossed her territorial boundaries and had simply been sentenced to die. Together, they raced through the jungle's foliage, the hunter struggled, more a man of strength than endurance, and foreign to this land, was close to fatigue. She, a born citizen of the forest, a Panther Female, knew it well, and knew the end was drawing near. Lifting an arrow from her bundle, notching it, the wild woman raised the end of the missile to her eye and pulled back the sinew with her lean strength, positioning it to thrust straight into the trespassing manís heart . She went to move, to reposition herself, but was oddly unable to. Looking down, she suddenly realized she had inadvertently stepped into a sinking mud trap. She cried out, screamed. Turning the tables as suddenly as the arrow would have pierced his body. Looking up, now buried to her knees, she saw him, the powerful man whom she had been so ready to kill mere moments before, standing there safely at the edge of the deadly mud trap. She watched him as he leaned a thick shoulder against a nearby tree, crossed his arms across his broad chest, smirked. And waited.
As the deep mud had pulled her inevitably downward in to its fatal embrace, the Panther Girl first cast away her knives, then her bow and arrows, and finally even her clothing, as he instructed. Still, the Hunter merely watched, arms folded, from the low bough of the tree, as the near naked woman, now clad only in her piercings and tattoos, struggled, gasping, cursing, and then finally relented to pleading. He made no move to save her. One thing remained to be done.
At last, as the clinging, treacherous mud climbed her thighs, he reached in to the heavy pouch at his belt. Opening the cold, heavy collar with a careful lack of haste, he tossed it down to the raven haired beauty. Her eyes widened in terror and indecision for a moment: which as more important to her? Her life? Or her freedom? She hesitated, then with a sobbing gasp, locked it closed around her slender throat. She had submitted to him. She was his.
The former Panther girl's back arched, her taut, heavy breasts flattening slightly against her ribcage as she reached desperately for the Hunter's hand.
"Master! This.....this slave begs you for her life......."