Chapter 1 - A Surprise Visitor

The story is set in the harbor city of Melos in 416 BC, during the tense stalemate of the Peloponnesian War. Though the city itself is untouched by battle, it is surrounded by a relentless Athenian blockade. A small but imposing Spartan regiment, clad in their characteristic bronze and red, is posted at the highest point of the city walls, acting as a watchful vigil and a staunch symbol of Melos's allegiance to the Spartan League.

General Ricardo, stern and imposing even in the pre-dawn gloom, pulled his powerful charger to a halt. The young Spartan general, only thirty-two but already celebrated for his swift, decisive battlefield victories, had spent a taxing night inspecting the weak points of the camp's defenses. His return, usually silent and routine, was broken by a knot of soldiers near the perimeter fence.

"What is this commotion?" Ricardo's voice was low, yet it cut through the early morning stillness with unquestionable authority.
The soldiers, their faces gray with fatigue and uncertainty, reported their suspicion: "General, we didn't see anyone, but we found this." A sergeant held up a small, brightly patterned kerchief—colors neither Spartan nor Melian. "We think someone was here."

Ricardo's eyes, sharp and calculating, immediately fixed on the small, impossible scrap of fabric. Three months camped in Melos had given him a precise knowledge of the terrain, and he instantly discounted the soldiers’ claims of "someone," knowing only a spy would risk the perimeter wall at this hour. He was a man defined by merit and swift action, and hesitation was a disease he didn't tolerate.

Without waiting for more details, he pivoted, spurring his horse toward the most likely escape route—a hidden ravine leading down to the riverbed. "Follow me," he commanded, a couple of mounted soldiers scrambling to keep pace.

They covered the ground quickly. Reaching the river, Ricardo spotted the damp, tell-tale tracks in the mud instantly. Following them a short distance, his eyes narrowed as he noticed a slight disturbance in a cluster of thorn bushes. He pointed. His men dismounted and plunged into the thicket, while Ricardo drew his bronze sword, the blade catching the sliver of morning light.
A muffled shout came from the brush: "We have the spy, General!"

Ricardo moved forward just as his men forcibly dragged a struggling figure into the open. It slowly appeared in the morning rays. "A Woman?" he exclaimed, genuine, momentary surprise crossing his stern features.

He took a moment to look at her.
She was in her mid 30s, but look a lot younger, She had a youthful face, though a scared and tired, she had a beautiful smile is what he could make out. She was around 5"7 and 300 lbs.

She had a naturally full, heavy-chested figure, and her breasts were very large and rounded with a soft, pendulous shape that’s clearly visible even through her clothing. The fullness of her bust created a deep, natural cleavage that curved inward and upward, emphasizing the roundness of each breast. Her breasts sat lower and more naturally than high, lifted shapes — the kind of fullness that spread slightly toward the sides of her chest and gave her upper body a broad, plush silhouette. Her breasts created a pronounced, forward curve that defined the entire line of her torso, giving her a strong, voluptuous presence that filled his view. Their shape complements the fullness of her stomach and hips, balancing her body into a deeply feminine, generous silhouette that feels soft, grounded, and unmistakably her.

Her lower body was thick, full, and proportionate to the rest of her curves — wide hips that create a natural hourglass line, a soft, rounded belly, and strong thighs that give her stance a grounded, confident stability. Her legs have a solid, plush fullness to them, the kind that carries her shape with an easy, natural grace.

She tried desperately to break free and run. Ricardo immediately sheathed his sword, the threat of action replaced by the cold surety of capture. He drew out a length of rope. "Let me go!" she shouted, her voice laced with panic. He silenced her instantly, using his own sweaty, leather-scented kerchief to roughly gag her, securing it tight enough to prevent sound but not breath.

He brutally pushed her against his horse, the massive animal towering over her. "Tie her feet," he commanded the soldiers. She thrashed against him, trying to push away.
Smack. The sound of his hand striking her buttock was brutally loud, an echo of pure domination and contempt for her defiance. She groaned, a muffled sound of pain and outrage. Smack. The second blow was even sharper.

"Shut the fuck up," he warned, his voice a low, terrifying growl. The sheer force and absolute lack of emotion in the act instantly broke her will to physically resist. She understood that this was a man who would brook no dissent.

He bound her hands to her body, and together, the three men lifted and flung her across the saddle—an inanimate object, a hunted deer—before Ricardo remounted. They galloped back to the main camp.
Reaching the tents, the soldiers prepared to take her to the common prisoner’s stockade, but Ricardo’s orders were swift and final.

"No. Bring her to my tent." They reluctantly freed her legs so she could walk, then roughly pushed the captive woman toward the General's private quarters for what promised to be an unpleasant interrogation.