With his vision fading fast, he could only see powerful and toned form of the mercenary captain cackling over him, with the last vestments of red sunlight leaving the twilight for dusk Maximus passed out.
He awakened with cold dirt beneath him. The smell of pigshit and soiled hay clung heavily in his darkened surroundings. His eyes adjusted to what pinpricks of light the stars above him gave, focusing in on the piles of wounded and defeated soldiers around him. All distraught and stripped of their wargear they lay sleeping, crying, and chattering. All chained together by foot and arm in a pig pen turned impromptu prison. Maximus gazed beyond them to a small town square where the mercenaries had built a rolling fire. Several of them dance and drank around it while others were seated around, eating roast chicken. Eyes moved away from the fire to a patch of shadows deeper than his eyes could penetrate. Something in that shadow stared back at him silently, studying his every move. He kept his eyes on the thing he wasn’t sure was even there until it unfolded itself from the wooden post it had been sitting on.
He scurried back startled, the chains rattling around him as he did. Instinctively he reached for a weapon, only to find that his hands were bound together.
The figure stepped into the light, revealing the familiar visage of a woman with a pair of wings tattooed to her pelvic V. She still wore her black woolen trousers from earlier, but had since changed into a sleeveless linen shirt that strained itself taught across her chest and stopped just a little too high of her bellybutton. Her feet were bare, but oddly so was her face. Rather than the grim skeletal visage, a pleasant and wide eyed young woman’s face looked back at him. Her hair was a shaggy auburn curtain, neatly pinned back with a length of pink ribbon. Revelrous sweat dripped down her forehead and neck, rolling down and disappearing beneath her shirt. In her left hand she held a massive ram’s horn adorned with iron bands and strange runes. She took a deep pull from the horn as she stepped toward him.
Slowly rising to his feet, Maximus hobbled to meet at the edge of the bars.He looked at her through the wooden slats in rapt anticipation. Eyes tracing the long pale scar that ran from above her eyebrow to just past her cheekbones. Something stirred within him and he tried to tamp down his obvious arousal.
“Oh good you’re still alive cur.” He could still see the red stains and smell the fermented honey on her breath.
She made a wide and sweeping gesture that encompassed what had been a farming village on the outskirts of the colony.
“My soldiers enjoy food, drink, and the pleasures of the flesh from their victory on the battlefield. Several of my officers have chosen the choicest of captured prisoners to serve as their battle thralls, warming their beds tonight.” She took a pull of her wine and her eyes became very interested in its alluring color.
“You…impressed me today cur. On the battlefield I mean. Your stamina and ferocity are above average for someone of your disadvantaged gender.” She motions toward his pendulous genitals while chuckling about them.
“I am going to give you a choice cur, come with me where it’s warm and there’s a proper bed or stay out here with the pigs and there’s cold shit. If you come with me certain things will be expected of you, and your absolute obedience will be required.” She finished the ram’s horn with two large gulps and wiped the sweet red liquid from her upper lip.
“What do you say cur?”
Maximus nodded gravely and went to the door of the prison cell. She swaggered up and unlocked both the door and then his manacles. Iron restraints fell away revealing red raw skin to the cool open air. He rubbed at it absently, only for her to slip a rope over his wrists. His black eyes shot to her with accusation, he felt corded muscles in his arms tense.
“A simple formality cur, you understand.” Her gravelly voice slurred. “Can’t well walk a dog without a leash.” She grabbed his shoulder and pushed him toward the camp.
Stumbling forward, the first thing Maximus noticed was the smell of burning chicken fat and wood fires. He passed by three brightly colored pitched tents with multiple drunken mercenaries inside. He recognized two or three of his own officers, entwined with a lithe woman with long toned legs. One had his tongue deep inside her mouth and his fingers playing with a nipple, the second was taking steaming spoonfulls of a chocolate sauce and spreading it across her abdomen, it was then the duty of the third one to lap up the chocolate off of her body lest he be beaten by a woman armed with a leather flogger that stood behind him.
Maximus’ mind flashed to previous campaigns fought and won with those men. Strongholds stormed and villages burned seemed to become long forgotten hot air as they shambled on their knees for their new mistress.
“Keep moving, battle thrall!” Captain Ouralia’s push broke the nostalgic spell for him. His black eyes turned forward and looked down at his hands. He began walking forward, using his peripheral vision to scan his debaucherous surroundings. She walked him into the center of the camp where several lower ranking mercenaries were tearing chunks of chicken off the bone while captured civilians performed cunnilingus on them. A bard dressed in motley colors and armed with a lute capered nimbly about the camp. Her honeyed voice sang of battles won and corpses impaled on poles.
“Left here,” she directed him. Her voice was calmer, even toned, and firm. He felt her catch up to him to walk in lock step as they made a left toward a still intact single story farmhouse. To his left he saw four horses tied up outside the house’s stables drinking at a trough of fresh water. She moved forward and opened the red wooden door into the farmhouse. The kitchen and common area was a textbook case in the casualties of house to house fighting. Dubious red stains splattered a shattered kitchen table, cold ashes from the cookfire were scattered around, and where family valuables once hung on the wall now there were but bare stone walls.
Despite this, the farmhouse was alive with the grunts, squeals, and giddy laughter of several people making use of its many living quarters. She pulled him firmly as a reminder to keep going. His eyes fixed forward as she led him down a hallway. He couldn’t help but admire the way her woolen trousers clung low to her voluptuous hips. She looked back at him curiously, then gave him a tauntingly critical look.
“Naughty boy.” Her eyes flitted to his own wool braccae and the tent he was already pitching in preparation of bedding down.
“You’re an eager one aren’t you cur?” She pulled him forward again, catching him off guard. He stumbled forward and fell to his knees inches away from her. “Are all mutts as lustful as you?”
He looked down and away, contemplating his next move. She towered over him, swaying with reddened cheeks from too much drink. An intoxicated lust shone heavily in her eyes as her other hand pressed her drinking horn into his face.
“Take it, cur.”
He held the thing gently in his hands. Close up he could now see the cold blued iron bands adorned with sacred runes from the southern lands that adorned it. Her now free hand slid down over the circle above her pubic mound. It disappeared beneath black wool as she began to stroke herself.
“You are now my hornbearer, you shall remain at my side to ensure that my horn is never empty. If it ever is, I shall swiftly and sharply punish you.” She growled, looking down at him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you mutt!” she roared in a lustful, drunken fury. She was all white hot anger, sex appeal seemed from her every pore.
Maximus looked her dead in the eye, put his hands onto the hem of her woolen pants and pulled down. Strong determined fingers move the pink fabric of her smallclothes aside. Before she can react, his tongue is at her cunt. Lapping in concert with her caressing hands. She inhaled sharply in surprise, her reddened cheeks turning even redder at his action. She felt as she positioned himself beneath her, creating a loop with his bound arms.
Stepping into the loop, she felt as his bound fists moved beneath her muscular butt and the corded muscle of his forearms beneath her thighs. Standing to nearly his full height, she felt her head almost touch the ceiling of the farmhouse. Crouch walking forward he moved the two of them toward the master bedroom where an empty goose down mattress was waiting for them. Angling her nimbly beneath the wooden doorframe, he set her face up onto the bed gently. Laying her down so that everything beneath her lower abdomen hangs over the side of the bed, he finally removes his tongue from her pussy.
In the entire time that he carried her, not once did his tongue leave her pussy nor did it ever stop moving.
She lays back, cooing in orgasmic delight. Fingers clutch to her nipples, stoking them to pointed excitement. He joins her on the bed, his head slightly lower and inches away from hers. He begins nibbling and licking the flesh of her neck in a feral lust that overtakes him.
She stops him with a strong hand on his chest, fingers fanned out across the sternum in a warding gesture.
“Settle down, pet.” her voice is calm, she’s regained her composure and strives to regain her dominance.
“Your exuberance is enticing pet, but do not forget that you are mine tonight reman cur. You are my battle thrall here to facilitate my pleasure, you will not get farther tonight without my explicit commands.” One hand wraps him up, and smushes his face into hers. He tastes like her and it tastes good, like fermented pineapples and coconuts. He loses himself in her, a universally masculine subservient desire to fulfill her every wish overcomes him, his head begins to spin.
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