The Rogue’s Harem Book 1, Chapter 1: Taboo Dance
Introduction:
A new adventure begins as Sven and his sexy sister Kora free a catgirl slave from her cruel master!
Book One: Rogue’s Sultry Women
Part One: Taboo Dance
By mypenname3000
Copyright 2017
Note: Thanks to B0b for beta reading this.
Chapter One: Taboo Dance
Sven Falk – Despeir Foothills, Kivoneth Princedom, The Strifelands of Zeutch
I crawled forward on my belly, the firelight reaching up from the depression below, a bright glow at odds with its dark creators: Shizhuthian slavers. They served the foul nagas of the fractured lands across the Despeir Mountains to the east. My heart thudded in my chest, hands eager for tonight’s business. Even in the dark night, I could feel the knife-like mountains looming over us; the barrier between civilization and the tyranny of the foul nagas.
My sister crept up against me, a year younger, her lithe, pink robes dull in the darkness. A heat rose in me, her breasts pressing against the thin fabric, swaying with her every movement. Flickers of campfire highlighted the edges of her body, outlining her curves. A sweet scent filled the air. Her eyes reflected back at me, big and questioning.
“It’s them,” I whispered, turning my attention down to the camp, ignoring the rise of my cock. She was my sister. Not a doxy slattern dancing in a tavern.
Slovenly disorder ruled the camp. To the north, a large tent was pitched, the cloth dark even with the light glowing from its interior. On the south side were the wagons of slaves, their Zeutchian prisoners still inside, huddled in the mass. A forest of limbs, so dirty they appeared to be gray or brown, stuck through the bars. Most were women, pleasure slaves for humans favored by their naga rules. The rest were to be worked to death in the iron mines of Hizzithya. Three soldiers lounged by the fire, laughing as they ate the stew. Two more were on the edges, wearing their black armor, swarthy faces alert.
“Contact her,” my sister, Kora, said, her voice fair and refined, with a melodic music that came from her training as a priestess of Rithi, Goddess of Art.
My sister shouldn’t be skulking through the foothills of the Despeir Mountains attacking raiders. Neither of us should. We should be back in Az, her serving in the temple, acting as a muse to artists from around the world who attended the University. While I should be lounging in taverns, carousing with my friends, drinking on my parents’ largess, whoring with the companionable women, and enjoying the delights of Ava.
Damn that bastard for stealing it all away! I could still see the fires burning, consuming our home, our parents and Katriana still inside.
I thrust my hand into my pouch, seizing the alabaster statue. I pulled it out, setting it on my palm and holding it before my face. It stood the length of my hand from wrist to fingertip, carved in the shape of a young woman, her body slender and fair, the detail so exquisite it captured the nipples topping her small breasts and the down of her pubic hair between her thighs.
My heart lurched. How long had it been? Months? Nearly a year.
“Ava,” I whispered, my thick finger sliding down the cold stone statue from her neck, between her breasts, and down to her pussy. “Ava, it’s Sven.”
Life breathed into the statue. Tiny eyes blinked, lips smiling. Hips undulated, grinding a cold heat against my thighs. “Sven,” the statue spoke in the light and airy voice of the princess. “Did you find them?”
“They raided the village just like you claimed,” I answered, keeping my finger rubbing her pussy, wondering if Ava felt it in distant Echur. “How did you know?”
The statue’s face twisted. “I didn’t want to believe it.”
“Your father?” Anger burned in my voice.
My sister gave the statue a sharp look, saying, “Your father is involved with these slavers, Ava?”
“Maybe.” Ava’s statue trembled. I pictured the red-gold hair of the princess quivering about her face as she sat in her bed, controlling the statue across the intervening miles. “I learned about it from him. I fear…I fear his agents want those slaves.”
“Then he’s going to be sorely disappointed,” I grinned, my hand slipping down to grasp my dagger’s hilt. “We’ll free them.”
“Just you and Kora?” Ava gasped. “Against a Shizhuthian raiding party?”
“Trust me.” I winked at the little statue. “Don’t I always get away? How many times did I steal into your bower beneath your father’s nose?”
My sister stared hard at me, disapproval on her lips.
“Many times,” Ava sighed, a fond look spilling across the statue’s face. “But be careful, Sven. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I told the statue, bringing my finger to her mouth, pressing on the hard, yet somehow soft lips.
Ava kissed my finger. Then the statue went still, the magic animating it gone.
“Do you really love her, brother?” Kora asked, her voice tight.
“I love all the women I bed, sister dear.” I scooped up the statue and, with care, wrapped her up in oilcloth and slipped her into my belt pouch. “They all hold a place in my heart.”
“Even that Thlinian hussy you fucked in Cheyvn last week. The one you bent over the table and buggered while drunk.”
“I loved every moment being in her ass. And she certainly loved my cock, sister dear.” I grinned at Kora again, my hands so sweaty. Gods, she was beautiful, golden-blonde hair glinting in the enemy firelight, falling in two braids down her back.
“You are as disgusting as Las,” she said. “Ava deserves better.”
I fought down the heartache. It has been a year since I saw the princess in the flesh. Since the fire. Anger clenched my jaw. “Let’s liberate the slaves and ruin her father’s evening.”
“That, brother mine, is something I would relish.” Kora shivered. “I’ll provide the distraction?”
“You do it so well,” I said, slithering back from the edge of the cliff and out of sight of the sentries.
My sister disrobed with such casual ease, exposing her body to me. Even in the darkness, with only a half-moon shining down on us, I groaned at the sight of her round breasts with upswept nipples. They stood hard before her as she slid her hands down her tattooed flesh, marking her as a Radiant of Rithi, a full priestess. It was too dark to make them out, but ink adorning her flesh, showing her skill and talents.
Her body moved with such grace, shifting and dancing as she evoked beauty to draw upon her goddess’s magic. Her hands slid down her flat stomach to her groin, dipping across shaved flesh and rubbing on that quivering treasure.
How many women had I bed with the same golden-blonde hair? Eyes closed, pumping inside them, imagining they were my younger sister.
Too many.
It was torture watching her perform her magic. She let out a wanton sigh, her fingers sliding through the folds of her pussy and then penetrating her hot depths. I envied every man she took as a lover, as infrequent as that was these days. My leather pants were so tight. I rubbed sweaty palms on my thighs, watching her dance.
Burning with incestuous passion for her.
I could hear her fingers sliding in and out of her flesh, that wet plunge into hot flesh. My dick twitched with each one. My sister’s breasts jiggled as her head threw back, her twin braids swaying behind her. She turned as she masturbated, her curving ass facing me, painted by pale moonlight, her crack an inviting shadow.
When I buggered that Thlinian slattern, I felt my sister’s eyes on me. I wanted her to see my cock, to see my prowess, to hear how the slut moaned and gasped, her bowels clenching on my dick. I wanted my sister to know the passion I could give her.
If I wasn’t her brother.
Pater’s cock, she was radiant.
Moonlight shimmered around her body as she swayed and pumped her fingers. Sparkles, tinged with auroric rainbows, glinted across her pale skin as she gathered more and more of her Goddess’s magic, swirling the light around her as her fingers plunged faster and faster into her flesh.
“Oh, Gods,” she whimpered, her voice so throaty. Her eyes looked at me over a shoulder, burning with her pleasure. “You shouldn’t watch me.”
“You’re so beautiful,” I groaned, wanting to jerk my own cock.
Her hips swayed, her ass wiggling at me as she plunged fingers into her pussy. She must be so hot, her flesh boiling around those lucky digits. Her moans grew louder and louder. Her body quivered, the light swirling about her body, silvery, woven with shadows.
And then her back arched. Her ass clenched. Rivulets of her cream ran down her thighs, squirting from her pussy as her orgasm crashed through her. My heart beat so fast. My body on fire. I wanted to seize her, to fuck her. Let vengeance be damned and the slaves suffer while I enjoyed my sister.
I beat down such selfishness. She’d hate me if I tried. Those slaves needed freedom. Deserved it.
And Prince Meinard had to pay.
“Rithi, bless my sexual juices and let them paint with your concealing radiance,” she moaned.
The lights and shadows swirling about her body surged down her back and sides, crossing her curving ass, and diving into her cumming pussy. Her juices glowed as they dripped from her pussy and ran down her thighs.
She whirled, her tits heaving, and ripped her fingers from her pussy. My entire body tensed as she knelt before me, staring into my eyes. In the light of her glowing juices adorning her digits, I saw the deep blue of her irises and the pink plumpness of her lips. I wanted to kiss her.
She painted lines of pussy juices on my face. “Conceal him, my goddess. Hide him from sight until he is ready to unveil his perfection.”
The light rippled across my skin from the heat of her juices adorning my cheeks. She painted three on each one. I smelled her tangy musk, the delicious aroma of her forbidden pussy. I hungered for her. Those lips were so close. Her breasts, her body.
My right hand reached out, the light rippling down my skin. In its wake, I was translucent, faded, blending in with the night. I could hardly see my own digits moving before her. I froze before grabbing her breast, remembering my purpose. Her eyes flicked down to my hand. She seized it, lifting it to her lips.
Kissing the back of it.
“Be safe, brother mine.”
“I will, sister dear,” I said, my blood boiling, my cock so hard.
And then she let go. I drew my daggers. Frustration throbbed through me as I turned and stalked on my boots, moving with all the skill I’d learned sneaking into Ava and other rich maid’s bedrooms. I moved through the pine trees, stepping lightly on the needle-strewn ground. I skirted around feathery ferns as I moved lower and lower, descending from the hill and wrapping around its base to the dell where the slavers made their camp.
I went slow, careful. Whether sneaking into a mansion to claim a maiden’s virtue beneath her noble father’s nose or approaching a camp of armed and dangerous scum, you couldn’t rush. You had to make sure every step was placed just so. No breaking twigs, no rustling of brush.
My heart pounded hard, my body cold with tension. I reached the base of the hill, moving towards the path the slavers followed. My body ghosted through the trees. In the darkness of the canopy, I couldn’t even see myself. My sister’s magic concealed me as I moved.
Her lines of pussy juices remained hot on my cheeks.
I approached the slaver wagons. Two of them, crammed with the victims of their raids. They slept huddled together, piled on each other in the cramped confines, those on the edges pressed against the bars. All were naked, mistreated.
Laughter came from the fire. The sentry by the slavers wagon turned his head to look back at his companions. He shifted in his black, boiled-leather armor. The man’s head was shaved, his skin dusky-brown. His hand gripped the spear. He leaned on it for support and yawned again.
I circled the man, coming so close to him. But he didn’t see me. He didn’t hear me. Every step with care, my breathing slow, controlled. The dagger gripped in my right hand. I moved behind him. A slave whimpered from the wagon.
Anger burned. How could Prince Meinard stoop so low to let his own people be taken by slavers? All his proclamations issued to have slavers hunted down, the patrols of soldiers sent to stop the naga from conducting their raids, were a lie. It shouldn’t shock me. The bastard had destroyed my family. But it did. The man’s evils had no limits.
I sprang. My knife hissed.
And took the sentry in the throat, stabbing in from the side, severing arteries and the windpipe. He tried to scream out, but only a wet wheeze issued from his slit throat. I caught his body, blood spilling down the front of his armor, and set him down in the brush at my feet.
I peered through the prickling leaves at the campfire, the three men still laughing, passing a wineskin among them. No one noticed death’s arrival.
“Got my eye on that little ‘un,” grunted one. “I bet she’d wiggle nicely on my cock.”
“And scream her head off,” his friend said. “But you like it when they scream.”
“’Please stop,’” the third said, forcing his voice high pitched. “’You’re hurting me. Please, take it out.’”
“Squealing just make a pussy tighter,” the first laughed.
My face hardened. These were the degenerates with whom Meinard consorted? I glanced at my dagger. The wrong man’s blood adorned it.
Then I moved on. I had another sentry to kill.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kora Falk
I trembled as I watched from the hillside. I couldn’t see my brother at all. My heart beat so hard. I clutched my pink robes about my naked breasts. He was all I had left. The rest of our family stolen by that tyrant. Part of me wanted to tell Sven his plans of revenge would only see him dead. Prince Meinard ruled half of Zeutch. His forces would crush the rest within a year. He might be High King in a decade. The first man even to have a chance of restoring High King Peter’s dominion. Two hundred years of fighting and war, and Prince Meinard could come out the strongest.
He stood poised to dominate all.
I wanted to run away with my brother, to find some place safe, and live together. Just the two of us. Fantasies of pretending to be his wife, not his sister, danced through my thoughts. I dreamed of founding a home, raising a family, with him. I knew it was wrong, he was my brother. But I burned for him. I knew I shouldn’t expose myself to his gaze, masturbating before him under the guise of casting spells, but I couldn’t help my wanton desires.
I wished he’d showed me the attention he dribbled on those whores he bedded. Or on Princess Ava.
The second sentry suddenly collapsed, vanishing into the brush. My brother’s skills, honed by the Fencing College of Az and his own rapacious appetites for new conquests, were impressive. Maybe he could kill Meinard.
Maybe he could avenge Mama, Papa, and little Katriana.
So I never objected to his plans. I followed him into exile, abandoning my home in Az at the temple of Rithi to wander as a fugitive with him. I believed in my brother. If any could do it, he could. And I’d help him.
I shoved my fingers between my thighs, rubbing on my juicy snatch. Pleasure rippled through me as I drew upon my goddess’s powers. “Rithi, bless my sexual juices and let them paint new beauty in the world.”
I shuddered, my pussy clenching on my digits, my pussy juices flowing, gathering on my fingers like oil paints. I pulled them out of my pussy, concentrating upon the world, my canvas. All radiants of Rithi, her priests and priestesses, were required to master three of the arts. I had learned all the techniques of the brush and pencil; trained to sketch, draw, and paint; evoking my imagination to life on paper, canvas, and reality.
My fingers painted, my pussy juices smearing color near the campfire, sketching the lithe and naked woman. She had pale skin, her hips curving, her breasts large and full, nipples pink and hard. Blonde hair fell in a curtain about a lush and hungry face, blue eyes sparkling. She stood up in the brush, gasping in alarm.
Ran.
“Naga scales!” swore one of the guards, leaping to his feet. “One of the slaves got out.”
“She ain’t no girl we captured,” the second said, gaining his feet, such hunger in his voice. “Look at that ass.”
“Get her!”
The two of the three at the fire raced after my illusion. Their rapacious hunger for the busty, curvy woman I created sent them pounding through the dark brush. I guided her down the trail, crouched above on the hilltop, my fingers constantly sketching her. My imagination focused on moving her, on her blonde hair streaming behind her, her breasts heaving.
“No!” she screamed, her voice throaty and intoxicating. “Oh, Gods, no! Help! Help!”
“No one’s gonna help you, girly,” leered one of the guards, racing farther from the camp. From my brother.
They were heedless of where she led them. I climbed the illusion up the far hill, keeping her running ahead of the guards slowed by their stiff, leather armor. They scrambled up the slope after, maddened by her beauty.
I had no pity for them as I painted a new illusion when the woman reached the top. She ran out onto the ledge of the far hill, tripping, falling. She landed near the edge, crying out in pain. She rolled over onto her back, clutching a twisted ankle.
The guards were too far away for me to hear their voices as they slowed, staring at the illusion. They knew she had nowhere to go. That she was helpless, at their mercy. I focused on them, little more than shadows standing on a hill.
I kept my fingers dancing.
They lunged forward.
Illusions were not real. They looked it. I could manipulate sound and color, shape and texture, but I couldn’t put any substance into them. There was nothing to touch. Both guards found that out when their feet stepped on what they thought was solid ground. But was really beyond the cliff’s edge, my illusionary woman ten feet from the real hill.
Their screams were faint as they fell to their deaths.
I let my illusion fade, smiling viciously.
Chapter Two: Canvas Darkness
Sven Falk
My dagger cut the second sentry’s throat. He dropped behind the warleader’s tent. I drew my hand crossbow and loaded a short quarrel. I studied the three guards at the fire. With a gasp, they gained their feet, spotting my sister’s illusions.
Two charged off after the woman. Kora knew how to entice men, especially rapist scum, with her creations. She’d find a way to dispose of them. Probably run them off a cliff as the idiots only thought with their cocks.
I aimed my hand crossbow at the third. He had big grin on his face as he adjusted himself.
The quarrel hissed through the air, catching him in the throat. He grasped at it then ripped it free. Blood flowed down his throat. He staggered for a moment before collapsing, gurgling on the ground. Grinning, I stowed my hand crossbow and focused on the gray tent.
I stalked to the back of the tent. The warleader was the true danger. The naga trained them brutally, teaching them how to fight, how to give pain, and how to endure it. Some even learned dread arts, magics that manipulated shadows. My heart beat faster as I pressed my knife against the tent’s canvas while listening.
Snoring. Deep and rumbling. The warleader slept.
Perfect.
The dagger’s sharp tip pierced the canvas with a rasping whisper. With patience, I cut down, working through the thick cloth. My knife whisked. I paused after each sawing stroke, listening to the snoring. It stayed the same. Inch-by-inch, my blade sliced downward, making my entrance into the tent.
Finished, the cloth swayed, loose.
I crept through the hole and crouched just inside. Movement froze me. In the corner, a form uncurled, painted in the light from a small lantern hanging from the tent’s frame at its apex. A pale-skinned female body sat up, bushy hair spilling about narrow shoulders. A pair of triangular ears, tawny like her hair, thrust up at the top of her head and twitched like a cat’s. A face stared at me, golden eyes slitted. A lamia. Her slitted eyes fixed on me, keen vision noticing me.
Then they flicked to the sleeping, snoring man.
The warleader slept naked atop his blankets, his body a dusky brown and so muscled his veins stood out against his skin. A shaved head gleamed in the lantern light. A black mustache, the ends long and drooping down to his chin, adorned a squat and chiseled face.
The lamia shook her head in warning, an iron slave collar tight about her throat. She mouthed, “Run.”
I winked at her.
I crept closer to the sleeping warleader. A glint to my right drew my attention. In an open chest, sitting upon rumpled clothing, lay a necklace of braided gold with a ruby, the size of a chicken’s egg and reflecting light across its cut facets, attached at the end.
My heart almost stopped beating. I’d never seen a ruby so big before. Without thought, I snatched it up, holding it before my eyes. A deep crimson bled out of the depth of the stone, growing lighter on the edges as the light shone on it.
Kora would look so beautiful wearing it.
The lamia moved, crouching low. Her tawny tail flicked too and fro. She looked like a human woman, small and petite, with cat ears, eyes, and a tail. Cum stained her thighs, used by her owner before he had fallen asleep.
“He’ll kill you,” she mouthed again.
I grinned at her, pocketing the amulet, hefted my dagger, and winked again.
Her head cocked to the side. Her brows furrowed. She stuck a tongue out between her lips. Nipples hardened atop her small breasts. Her fingers bit into the bedding she lay on as I advanced on her owner.
His broad chest lay stretched out before me, rising and falling with his snores. I knelt, raised my dagger, and aimed at his heart.
Stabbed.
The man’s dark eyes snapped opened. His hand seized my wrist in a crushing grip.
“Pater’s cock,” I swore, pain flaring up my wrist. My hand spasmed open, the dagger falling down, stabbing into the warleader’s bedding beside him.
“Thief,” growled the man, a brutal smile spreading across his lips.
My booted foot lashed out, slamming into his side.
He didn’t even grunt.
I cried out as he twisted my arm. My knees buckled, my wrist twisting in ways Slata didn’t intend when the Goddess created humans in her womb. Tears burned in my eyes. I snarled, drawing another dagger in my left hand, stabbing.
Blood spurted.
His his arm bleeding, he released me. Crimson flowed down his wrist as I stumbled back. The lamia yowled as I stepped on her. I tripped on her and fell over her, crashing onto the ground. The catgirl hissed, struggling to get out from beneath my legs as the warleader rose.
“Did I take your sister, thief?” the warleader asked, a sword hissing from a scabbard by his bed. Long and silver, the edges gleaming in the lantern light. “No, not with magic like that wreathing you. You are no farmer with pigshit beneath his fingernails. Who are you?”
“I was just out for a stroll and thought I’d poke around in your tent,” I grinned, rising and shifting the dagger from my left to my right hand. “See what I could find.”
“With shadows bent around you to conceal you?” Rage burned across the man’s face.
My concealment didn’t matter in such tight confines. Up close, he could see the outline of my body. He knew where I was. It was enough for him to swing at me. To kill me.
His sword hissed at me. I cursed, raising my dagger to parry. Sparks flared as I deflected it. The blow jolted down my arm. I grunted, diving to the side. I rolled, the lamia yowling and hissing in fear, scampering across the floor away from us.
Air whooshed at me. I kept rolling. The sword struck ground behind me. I came up, whirling, my left hand drawing a throwing dagger. It sped through the air, burying into the warleader’s muscular stomach. Blood trickled out around the blade.
He ripped it out and threw it back.
I ducked. Canvas ripped behind me.
“Who sent you?” the man bellowed. “Which enemy of my mistress interferes in her business? Is the Paragon betraying her?”
“What do you think?” I asked, my heart racing as I crossed his bedding. He had the advantage. His sword had far greater reach than my dagger. He was taller than me, his arms longer. So I had to be smarter. Quicker. I feinted for the right.
His blade followed me, exposing himself.
I darted left to close the distance and—
“Las’s putrid cum,” I snarled, throwing myself backward as he recovered. His blade sliced over my chest, almost cutting me in twain, as I crashed onto my ass. I rolled backward over my head and landed in a crouch.
“You’re a nimble one. But the Paragon didn’t send you. No, no, you’re human. Zeutchian. Was it Shuzizzra, then?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” I grinned, my heart racing, eyes flicking around, looking for options. I couldn’t keep dodging him. He had skill, and the tent kept us confined. I had to make that work for me.
“We’ll see.” His smile promised pain.
My left hand blurred. The throwing dagger hissed at his face. He recoiled back as I turned, an idea striking me. It was a dumb one. Metal clanged behind me. My shoulders blades writhed. He deflected my knife with his sword.
I grasped the support post of the tent. Footsteps thudded behind me.
“Watch out!” the lamia shouted.
I yanked on the post, turning around.
The sword stabbed at my chest.
I fell to the ground, pulling on the post. It groaned in my hand, twisting, the tent shaking. The sword stabbed over me and slammed into the post. Wood snapped. Canvas rustled. The tent collapsed on us.
The lantern fell to the ground, sputtering out. Cloth engulfed me, hugging me with more passion than a lover. The warleader bellowed in rage, thrashing. The lamia hissed. I scrambled, pulling at the canvas, crawling beneath it. Cloth tore, sliced by a sword.
“Naga scales,” the warleader snarled. “Where are you, boy? Think you can steal into my tent?” He roared.
Through the darkness, I saw his shape thrashing, fighting to get free of the tent. I scrambled toward him as the canvas rippled around me. My dagger stabbed. Found flesh. Blood welled around my hand. He bellowed. His fists slammed down, striking me through the tent on the back.
I grunted.
“Think you can stick me like a pig, boy?” he growled.
“Yes!” I grunted and stabbed again and again and again.
My sharp blade pierced his flesh over and over as he thrashed and bellowed like a big in the abattoir. His sword struggled to swing at me, but the canvas tangled it around it. The lamia purred nearby as her master gurgled and convulsed. He collapsed, tangled by the tent.
Died.
“You killed him,” the lamia said after a minute.
“So I did,” I said, my back throbbing from his blow. Worth it.
Chapter Three: Catgirl’s Hot Pussy
Zanyia
I purred louder as I crawled out of the collapsed tent, my nose twitching. Blood scented the air. I breathed it in, savoring it. Therek’s blood. I never thought I’d smell so much of it. My throat rumbled with my joy. My tail swished back and forth, my whiskers trembling on my cheeks.
I burst out into the night, crouching low, my back arching. My ears twitched, hearing the murmurs from the slave cart and the roar of fire. Kovet lay dead by the fire, covered in blood, the other guards missing.
“You killed them all,” I said in awe.
“Aye,” the Zeutchian thief said, crawling out of the wreckage after me. He was hard to see, shadow magic blending him into the background, making him a blurry outline that faded when he stopped moving. I only knew he was Zeutchian by his accent. He lacked the harshness of the speech of Shizhuthian humans like Therek.
And he was dead! I purred in utter delight.
The Zeutchian then did something shocked me. He seized my collar and fumbled at the bolt that held it shut. He pried it off. I gaped as it came free and fell to the ground, lying at his feet. I’d been born a slave, collared as a kitten suckling at my mother’s teat by her owner, then raised to be a pleasure slave for those who pleased my naga mistress.
Why would he free me? Surly his naga mistress would reward him with me.
Tears burned in my eyes. I stared up at him, not sure what to say.
He crouched down to look directly at me and wiped at my tears with hazy fingers. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. You’re free.”
“Free?” The word croaked out of me, scaring me. Free… Me?
He nodded his head and then kissed me on the forehead.
“I see you’ve gravitated to the naked girl, brother mine,” a woman said.
My head whipped around. A Zeutchian beauty stepped up to the slave cart. She wore pink robes that left her arms bare and her cleavage exposed. Twin braids of golden hair fell down her back. A tattoo of a vine, covered in pink flowers, wrapped around her right arm. More vines adorned her left breast, peeking out of her robe.
“Well, she is a cutie,” the man who freed me said as he stood. He wiped at his cheeks and suddenly he stood solid and real, dressed in black leather pants and a jerkin, daggers hanging from a bandoleer slung across his chest, others sheathed at his side. He had a short sword on his right hip, a hand crossbow on the left. “What’s your name, little catgirl?”
“Zanyia, Master,” I answered, staring up at his handsome face, his short, blond hair reflecting firelight. He had blue eyes, so deep I could swim in them.
“I’m not your master, Zanyia,” he said, holding out a hand to me. “You don’t have to crouch like that.”
“I like crouching,” I said, trembling, but not from being naked. Though I had as much hair adorning my body as a human female, I could tolerate colder temperatures without clothing. No, I trembled in awe. Who was this man? Why didn’t he claim me? He killed my master. He freed me from Therek’s brutality.
I purred louder and then rubbed my cheek against his pants, feeling the soft caress, smelling his scent over leather and blood. My tail twitched as I showed him my submission. I stared up at him, hugging his leg.
“Is she going to hump you here?” the girl asked. “At least help me free the slaves before you indulge your cock, brother mine.”
“Sorry, sister dear,” he said. Then he winked at me. “That’s Kora. My sister doesn’t approve of my pleasures.” He scratched at my head between my ears.
“You should always enjoy yourself, Master,” I said, a tingle racing down to my pussy. I rubbed my cheek harder against his thigh.
“See, sister dear, Zanyia approves.”
“Of you fucking every doxy who falls on your cock?” Kora asked, shaking her head.
I stared at her, seeing the look in her eyes, the catch in her voice. It was faint, imperceptible, but I recognized what strained her words. Jealousy. Did she want her brother scratching her head? Did she ache to rub her cheek on his thigh and her hot pussy on his boot?
Ooh, his boot felt wonderful on my hot pussy, my clit throbbing as I ground on him. My tail swished faster as the pleasure rushed through my body. This Sven needed to understand. He owned me now. I had no idea what to do with freedom. Where would I go? Back across the mountains to Zizthithana’s court?
I’d rather die than fall into the hands of any naga, let alone her.
“I have something for you,” Sven said, pulling out the amulet my former owner had dug up outside the village where he found the slaves. “It’ll look beautiful on you, sister dear.”
He tossed it to Kora. Her cheeks went scarlet. Happiness tinged her scent, her eyes growing liquid. She looked at her brother with such longing, such heartache. I glanced from my new owner to his sister, my eyes widening.
Really? Both of them? And they didn’t realize what the other felt?
And then I laughed. Zizthithana would be so wroth when she learned Warleader Therek was dead, his slaves freed, and the gift he was so eager to present to her around the neck of another. I rubbed my pussy harder on Sven’s boot, purring my joy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kora Falk
I frowned at the lamia humping my brother’s boot and giggling as she stared at me fingering the necklace. It swung heavily from my neck, the large gem resting between my round breasts. My cheeks burning in embarrassment, I turned away from the catgirl. I would treasure this gift.
Even if he should have given it to Ava. Fool brother. I truly believed he loved the princess, even if he constantly cheated on her, philandering with every tavern doxy and slattern wench he could. I could remember the joy in his eyes the first time he spoke about Ava.
“She’s a flower, sisters dear,” he’d said, Katriana and I sitting on the foot of his bed, both in our dressing gowns. “Blossoming like a rose made of pure ruby, every petal sculpted to perfection. Not unlike two other flowers I know.”
His eyes had fallen on me, awakened desires in my breast I knew were wrong. Desires I was learning to channel at the Radiant Halls of Az, the largest temple to Rithi in the world. I was only a sunbeam then, having only a week earlier gained my first tattoo over my left breast and completing my initiation as a glimmer. It would be another two years before I became a radiant, a full priestess.
And it wasn’t long after that… Fire raged in my memory.
But that night, I’d loved my brother even as he spoke of another woman who’d claimed his heart.
I banished the past. I should insist he give this to Ava when we next saw her. But… He gave it to me.
I scowled at the lamia, her golden eyes staring at me, a naughty smile on her face as she kept humping my brother’s boot with her pussy. “Get over here and help me free the prisoners, Sven!”
He jumped. I only used his name when angry. And I shouldn’t. It wasn’t him I was angry at. I shouldn’t be jealous because he had a new toy to play with. I could never be his lover, even if he looked at me like a woman and not his sister.
Sven hurried over, the catgirl padding after him on all fours, her tail wiggling, thrusting from her tailbone above her swaying ass. I caught a glimpse of her pussy adorned by tawny fur, wet with her excitement.
I understood. In his leathers, standing tall, Sven cut a dashing figure. That roguish smile, his blond spilling about his chiseled face, his blue eyes so deep you could drown in them. I had watched girl after girl succumb to his smile, to his touch, to his bold caresses.
The slaves pillaged the camp for supplies. They were all so grateful, women hugging me over and over while the men shook Sven’s hands or clapped him on the back. They devoured the slavers’ food before walking off down the path in the dark, leading the horses away, returning to their village.
“You should go with them,” I told Zanyia.
“Nope, I’m with my owner.” She rubbed herself against Sven again, humping on his boot, smearing it with her juices.
“I’m not your owner,” Sven protested, though not that hard. “But I can be other things.”
“Yes, Master,” purred the catgirl, her ears twitching.
She followed us back to our camp where our horses and tent awaited. I had grown used to living rough. It was hard keeping my pink vestments clean, but Rithi’s magic helped preserve my beauty, including my clothing. Dawn pinked the horizon when I padded up to my mare, Rainbow, and kissed her black nose.
Then I turned around and blinked. My brother had a foolish grin on his face as the lamia unlaced his britches. My eyes widened as she drew out his hard cock. I had seen it before, fucking other girls. My pussy clenched at its girth thrusting towards Zanyia’s lips.
Purring, she lapped at his crown with her pink tongue. My brother groaned, his eyes widening, his smile growing increasing foolish as he stroked through her tawny hair. Her ears twitched as she licked again and again.
My pussy melted, juices flooding down my thighs. I licked my lips in such envy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sven Falk
“Oh, Master, your cock tastes so delicious,” Zanyia purred between licks, her tongue rougher than a human girl’s. It rasped on my sensitive crown, intensifying the pleasure shooting through me. “You make my pussy so wet.”
“I’m not your owner,” I groaned.
“Of course you are, Master,” she purred, grinning at me. “Mmm, you are so hard. You need to be in one of my holes. I can suck you, or you can enjoy my pussy.”
She licked again, pleasure racing down my dick to my balls.
“If I’m your owner, then you have to listen to me.”
“Command me, Master,” she purred, her hands shoved between her thighs, rubbing her pussy. She had stained my right boot with her juices, ruining the black polish. She was a horny thing. “Give me your orders.”
“You’re not my slave.”
“Don’t be silly, Master,” she chortled. Then she sucked on my dick hard, making me groan. A moment later, after giving me a taste of her pleasure, her mouth popped off and she said, “You don’t want to free me. You haven’t even tried my pussy yet.”
“Sven,” my sister groaned.
Her eyes were on me, so blue and hot, her nipples tenting the front of her pink robes. Suddenly, I wanted to fuck Zanyia, and not because my dick was hard. I wanted my sister to watch. It was as close as I could get to…
“Fine,” I groaned, unlacing my leather jerkin and pulling it off my muscular body.
Zanyia’s golden eyes widened. She touched the long scar that ran across my abdomen. “Who did this?”
“A bastard,” I growled. “I will enjoy your pussy, then I will free you.”
“You won’t, Master,” she purred, pulling down my leather pants.
“You’re taking advantage of her,” my sister said.
“Am I?” I asked, the lamia taking off my boots and then pulling off my leather pants as I shifted from foot to foot, my cock bobbing before me.
My sister still watched, her eyes hot, as I stretched out beside the coals of our campfire. The catgirl pounced on me. She was short, her head only coming up to my chest when we were both standing, her body slim and petite. She looked girlish, but her breasts had a swell to them, proving her womanly virtues.
And her pussy was hot.
I shuddered as she rubbed her cunt against the tip of my dick as she squirmed atop me. With a toothy grin, flashing sharp fangs, she impaled her pussy down my shaft. I grunted, my eyes widening at the hot friction engulfing me.
She was tight.
“Oh, Master, you are so much bigger than that pig!” she gasped, her body rising, small tits jiggling. “Naga scales, what a cock.”
“Gods,” I groaned as she worked her pussy up and down my dick. “Pater’s cock, you’re so hot and tight.”
My sister watched, fidgeting, as Zanyia worked her pussy up and down my dick. She fucked me hard, her little tits jiggling. Her stomach flexed, her body so lithe as she bounced and worked her pussy up and down my dick.
Pleasure rushed through me. I groaned, clenching her thighs as rapture surged through my body. I groaned, squirming on the ground, loving her pussy taking my cock over and over to the hilt. She panted, groaned, mewled out her pleasure.
“Master!” she purred. Her tears twitched, her tail swaying from side to side behind her. “Oh, yes, Master! What a glorious cock! It’s the best! I’m owned by such a stud.”
I shivered at her words, loving them. Maybe…
I gripped her hips, squeezing them and guiding her slim form as she rode me. She shivered, back arching as the pleasure crossed her face. There was no faking the rapture burning in her expression. She loved my cock.
Sharp fingernails clawed at my chest. Lines burned in the wake of her passage, welling with blood. It excited me. My hips bucked upward, bouncing her on my dick. Her tawny hair flew in a wild mane behind her, the catgirl purring and yowling her pleasure.
“Gods damn, you have a hot cunt, Zanyia. You love my cock.”
“Of course, Master!” she gasped. “I’m your lamia! Your naughty slave. You saved me! I’m yours!”
She slammed down my cock. Her pussy writhed about it. She purred louder, a great rumble of passion as she came. I shuddered, my dick massaged by her spasming depths. The catgirl thrashed on me, bucking hard, fucking her cunt up and down my dick.
Hot and tight, so wet and silky. She massaged me as she fucked me, her fingernails biting harder and harder as her face scrunched up with pleasure. Her yowls and snarls rose from her throat. Her small tits heaved.
“Cum in me, Master!” she moaned, grinding her clit into my pubic bone as she swiveled her hips. My cock churned through her pussy. “Please, please, do it!”
My balls tightened. Rapture flooded down my cock, massaged by her hot cunt. I grunted, bucking upward. I bounced her on my dick hard. Her pussy rose up my prick, her flesh sucking at my shaft. My hands squeezed her hips.
And slammed her down my dick.
Her hot glove embraced every inch of my shaft, still spasming hard as her orgasm kept sweeping through her. My body tensed. The pleasure rose in me. My cum exploded out of my dick. I grunted as my jizz spurted into her hot pussy.
“Yes, yes, yes, Master!” she yowled. “I love it.”
“Good,” I groaned, my head buffeted by blasts of rapture, the pleasure intense. It was so intoxicating hearing her call me master. I wanted it to be true. I wanted to be her master. “Gods, you’re amazing, Zanyia!”
My cock spurted the last time into her. My body buzzed with my orgasm. My sister watched with hot, blue eyes, hips wiggling. Maybe this time, her lusts would inflame her. She’d cross the line into incest. Then I could finally enjoy the first girl I ever loved.
And then Zanyia launched herself off my cock and hurtled at my sister.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Kora Falk
My pussy burned. I wanted so badly to join them, to reveal to my brother just how much I yearned to be Zanyia right now. How much I hated her for enjoying what my cunt craved: the big, throbbing dick of my older brother.
And then, with a yowl, the catgirl bounded at me. Before I could react, her smaller body struck me. I fell backward, landing on the soft grass of the meadow, staring up at the sky. Stars faded as dawn’s approached neared.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. “Sven, help!”
And then the lamia twisted around, straddling my head. Her snatch, dripping with my brother’s cum, descended to my lips. At the same moment, she pulled up my robe, exposing my pussy, and lapped at my clit with her rough tongue.
I squirmed at the shock of pleasure. Her tongue rasped over my clit, sending buzzing rapture through me while her sweet pussy cream and my brother’s salty cum trickled into my mouth. A hot shiver ran through me.
I tasted my brother’s jizz.
It was amazing.
I didn’t hesitate. I rammed my tongue into the lamia’s pussy, digging through her folds to find more of his jizz. I was no stranger to a woman’s pussy. The second art I learned in the temple was the art of physical love. Of sex. I knew how to please men and women. Maybe I lacked the skills of priestess of Saphique, but I could pleasure a pussy.
My tongue explored the catgirl’s silky folds, scooping out more and more of my brother’s cum from her depths. Meanwhile, her tongue lapped through my pussy lips. I squirmed, my snatch clenching as the heat churned through me.
My hands grabbed her ass, squeezing her, pulling her tight. Incestuous jizz poured into my mouth. I groaned, giving into my lusts, not caring that Sven watched. This was so hot. To finally lick his jizz out of another woman’s pussy.
“Oh, Master, your sister tastes delicious,” moaned Zanyia, wiggling her pussy on my lips. “Haven’t you ever tasted her? She’s sooo yummy.”
“No,” Sven answered, his voice so tight.
“Not once?” Zanyia’s fingers wiggled into my pussy’s depths. “You’ve never plunged your cock into her pussy?”
“Of course not,” he gasped. “She’s my sister.”
“But you want to.”
I froze. My pussy clenched on Zanyia’s tongue. Did Sven…?
I felt the necklace between my tits, the gem so heavy. I peered at my brother past Zanyia’s ass. He stood over us, naked, his cock so hard, watching us. Zanyia lapped at my clit, her fingers pumping away into my pussy.
Such lust burned in my brother’s eyes.
“Do you…?” I swallowed. “Do you want to… fuck me, brother mine?”
Our eyes stared at each other. I tasted his cum on my lips.
“Yes,” he croaked.
“Then what are you waiting on, Master?” Zanyia asked, ripping her fingers out of my cunt. Then she spread my labia open wide. “She’s wet and ready for you!”
To be continued…
