The Taming Tent
Introduction:
A female warrior breaks in a new male slave
Jen pulled the flaps of the circus tent closed behind her. “Are the pickings that slim?”
“No, but you know this is everyone’s favorite part, and now that the men have been pretty much put in their place, all the girls will be coming here.”
Jen removed her helmet, letting her auburn tresses fall over her shoulder armor. “You know, I was thinking how fortunate we were that Promoria fell so quickly. Now I’m pissed.” She reached behind her, straining for a moment as her hand fumbled aimlessly. “Ann, can you undo my breastplate and torso armor for me?”
“You know, I won’t always be around to do this for you,” Ann said as she unhinged the young woman’s armor. “Remember, squeeze and pull.”
Jen’s armor clicked, and she removed the heavy bronze plating from her chest, letting it fall to the hard barren ground. She had worn the hot, heavy plate for almost two days, and was relieved to be rid of it. She welcomed the cooling touch of the air as it touched her bare neck. Her cotton undershirt was soaking wet, clinging to her body like a wet rag, the hot sweat soaking through the thin cloth, revealing the full shape of her bust, and a faint outline of her nipples.
“Oh, thank you so much,” Jen said as she stretched and arced. “I thought I would never be rid of that thing.”
“Anytime,” Ann said. “When we’re done with this, you should readjust your breastplate hinge: you never know when you might need to get your plate off quickly, and there might not be anyone else to do it for you.”
“Sure thing,” Jen said, peeling herself out of her sweaty cotton shirt.
Ann had removed her own helmet and body armor, combing her sweat soaked blonde hair with her hands. “It is so hot in Promoria! I can’t believe how hot it was on this mission. I had no fear of the enemy: I thought I would bake in my armor before any of the enemy ever touched me.”
“Would you believe it’s not even that hot really? 70 degrees.”
“And 110 with the armor on.”
“Give or take a hundred degrees,” Jen said. Both girls giggled.
Ann sighed. “Ah, I guess I shouldn’t complain though. You know the old saying: better to bear a hot day in stifling armor than to feel the winds of Hell against your bare flesh.”
“Yeah,” Jen said, aimlessly letting her mind wander. “Oh, look, they’re bringing in the new slaves now!”
On the other side of the tent, a procession of young boys was being led in, all shackled together by their necks, hands and feet. As they made their way into the center of the tent, they were pushed and prodded by their captors, still adorned in full military armor, as were Jen and Ann moments before. Their captives, in contrast, were almost stark naked, save for cotton undergarments which hid their male shame. The boys were freshly pubescent, slim, nubile, their skin smooth and mostly hairless. The women in the tent all oohed and ahhed as the slaves were marched into the center. Jen watched in eager anticipation as the line of slaves was maneuvered and positioned, her eye on potential boys for her to pick.
She knew that the guards had already had their pick of the boys reserved, else they wouldn’t have volunteered to herd the boys into the breaking tent in the first place. The more experienced soldiers would have first pick after that. And then, it was first come, first serve. Jen looked around: women were still coming in from the arena where the men were being broken. Not quite last, but far from first. She sighed, and hoped that maybe she had unique tastes in her slaves, as she followed Ann to the line where the soldiers would wait to pick their captives.
Her hopes were dashed when she saw the women ahead of her take her first, second, third, fourth, and sixth picks. She cursed her luck for having had to stay in the prisoner pen for so long. She wondered why the men wouldn’t accept that they were beaten. It would go so much easier for them if they did.
She watched as a woman walked by, grasping a young, slender brunette by his crotch. She wanted to spit at her misfortune. How she wish she had been put on duty to round up the young boys of the city: they were so much fun to break, and were so obedient once they were broken. The men…the filthy horny stupid men, were more trouble than they were worth. Even when beaten, some of them occasionally got the idea to try and fight back.
As yet another woman walked by with youthful captive in hand, she decided that if she didn’t get a young boy who would satisfy her, she would head straight back to the men’s pen afterwards and make some unfortunate man pay for her dissatisfaction. She thought of having one of the pathetic men they had conquered alone in a private room, shackled and helpless. She thought of the satisfaction she would get, as she beat and tormented him, answering his curses and swears with taunts mocking his pathetic male weakness as a young girl slowly crushed his bones and beat him to the brink of death. Eventually, as the male broke, his curses would give way to sobs and pleas of mercy, and gentle mewling. He would weep and plead to her, as a woman, then as a goddess. She would listen to it for a time, to entertain herself and to let the male’s humiliation sink in. Then, with her dagger, she would take his still willing, stiff manhood in hand, and slowly geld him.
A warm shiver ran through her body as she fantasized about what she would like to do to the slaves in the men’s pen, and she absently felt a stiffening nipple as she closed her eyes.
“Warrior Jen, your turn. Make your selection.”
Jen opened her eyes with a start.
“Warrior Jen, make your selection,” the guard said. “We haven’t gotten too far ahead of ourselves now, have we?”
“Of course not. Thank you,” Jen said, slightly embarrassed and reddening as she walked to the line of boys.
There wasn’t much left to choose from. She quickly surveyed the line, to see if there might be any gems that she missed. Near the back, she saw a lithe young boy, hunched over, his skin red and his ribs barely showing. She walked over to him. He looked sickly at first glance, but something about him interested her. She stood next to the boy, and watched him as he took slow, shallow breaths.
“Stand up,” Jen ordered the boy.
The boy glanced at her, then looked aimlessly ahead at the prisoner in front of him.
“Stand up,” Jen said again, more impatiently.
Still, the boy did nothing.
Jen walked up to the boy, and looked him over for a moment. Then, deliberately, she stepped on one of his bare feet with her armored boot.
The boy cried out, doubling over in pain, and causing the entire line to falter as the boy lost his balance.
“Warrior Jen!” the lead guard shouted. “Are you going to pick a slave or are you going to beat on the entire line?”
“I’m sorry,” Jen said. “I just wanted to see if this boy was putting on being sick.” She glanced at the boy, now breathing regularly, his ribs now filled out, nursing his injured foot. “I’ll take this one, thank you.”
The sentry unlocked the boy from his shackles, and handed him over to Jen. “He’s all yours. Be gentle with him now,” she laughed.
Jen reached around the boy, grasping his vulnerable crotch with one hand, and pulling his arm behind his back with the other. “But of course,” she said, winking, as she shoved the boy toward the breaking tent.
“You’re such a clever little boy are you, pretending to be ill so no one would notice you,” Jen said, suckling on the boy’s earlobe as they marched. The boy briefly tried to struggle, but ceased immediately when she tightened her grip around his crotch. “No no no, we can’t have you trying to get away now can we?” She twisted his bound arm.
“Bitch,” the young blonde groaned as Jen drove him forward. His curse was met with a forceful squeeze of his crotch. Tears welled up in his eyes, as Jen kneed him in his soft ass.
“So young, and such foul language,” Jen mocked. “Leave it to men to let a boy grow up to be so disrespectful and undisciplined.” She squeezed his crotch once more, and the boy cried out anew in pain.
“Does it hurt,” she asked rhetorically. The boy nodded weakly. As they stood at the entrance to the main tent, Jen squeezed the boy’s crotch once more.
“Dear Ko-ruthul, save me!” the boy cried out.
At this Jen laughed out loud. “Ko-chu-thul, save you?” She whispered in his ear. “Your Bull-God doesn’t care about you slave boy. Your fathers are beaten, your city is broken, you and your brothers are our playthings.”
The boy started trying to recite a prayer, but stopped suddenly as Jen flexed her hand.
“Such a good, devout little boy, praying to the Bull God in your time of need.” Jen licked the boy’s ear softly, then whispered, “but you are no longer his servants. You are property of the Goddess, Shrula.”
“We will never worship your slut goddess, bitch!” The boy tensed himself, expecting his testicles to be torn off for such a remark.
Instead, Jen only kissed him. “Ah, so young and foolish. Don’t worry little boy, the daughters of Shi-iru-la are compassionate, and will teach you how to properly pay tribute to the Goddess. You will learn to adore her, and ache for her bloody kiss.”
The boy tried to struggle briefly, but stopped as Jen twisted his arm. “You will learn to worship her, or you will serve as a sacrifice to her. One way or the other, you will be hers.”
As she shoved the boy into the breaking tent, she was greeted with the musky aroma of feminine lust, and the pained, sultry sounds of arousal. Her nipples stiffened as she inhaled the scent of her comrades’ excitement, and their captives’ torment and exhaustion.
The tent was strewn with her comrades, in various states of undress, entangled in various ways with their captives and each other. Passionately, they fondled and molested the slaves, forcing their legs spread, and suckling their soft, stiff penises, and tiny, soft robin’s eggs. They would grasp the slaves by their stringy matted hair, and guide their faces into their moist, glistening pussy lips, mashing the slaves’ faces into their cunts until they cried out in orgasmic pleasure.
The boy, upon seeing the tormented, helpless state of his comrades, began his struggle to escape anew. Jen quickly kicked his feet out from under him, and wrestled him to the ground.
“There’s no escape for you boy,” she said, kissing the boy as she pulled his undergarment off of his slim hips. “You may as well learn to enjoy this.”
As the underpants were ripped from his legs, his own stiff penis sprung up like a worm, the reddish head of his penis throbbing as it emerged from its fleshy sheath.
Instinctively, the boy tried to scramble to his feet, and to clasp his legs together to protect his male shame. Jen grabbed the boy again, overtaking him as he tried to dash away. She wrestled him to the ground, pinning him against the barren hard dirt. Then she methodically punched the boy in his stomach. The boy groaned, and Jen put her hand over his mouth, as she punched him again. His feet kicked up in the air, and he writhed in pain as he tried to struggle against Jen’s weight. Jen punched him again, and the boy flailed, though more weakly this time. Jen waited until his struggles had ceased, then, once more, she punched the boy in the gut. This time he barely responded, his legs quivering weakly, and a stream of urine forcefully spurting from his turgid penis.
Slowly, Jen removed her hand from the boy’s mouth, and wiped a smear of vomit onto the ground. She placed her hands on her knees, and waited. The boy lay there, groaning. She reached down to touch his aroused manhood: he made no attempt to defend himself.
Gently, she wrapped a hand around the boy’s stiff, fleshy shaft, and began massaging it, slowly caressing and stroking his small, engorged member. The boy reddened, and began to moan softly as Jen molested him. He closed his eyes and began to sigh, as his little scrotum drew up against his slim stiff penis. Tears rolled down his eyes as his hips began to quiver to the rhythm of Jen’s stroking motion.
Jen felt a warm, moist heat between her legs as she watched the boy struggle against his instincts: breaking a new virgin boy always excited her. Chances were that he had never orgasmed before in his life, and was terrified of the new feeling welling up inside of him. She loved being the first to break a young boy, to force his body to feel pleasure against his will. She savored watching them, as the looks of helplessness on their face changed slowly to bewilderment, and then terror at the intensity and overwhelming force of the coming orgasm. She loved watching them as they endured their first climax, their bodies jerking and twisting in unpredictable, uncontrolled ways as their tiny penises yielded their watery milky tribute to the goddess. But most of all, she loved the looks of acquiescence that the males would give her after she had finished with them. The silent, wordless surrender that each boy would give as he surrendered to her feminity, and surrendered his manhood to the goddess.
Jen reached down into her loin armor, unbuckling it, and slipping a finger under her underpants. Lustfully, she bent down, kissing the boy, forcing her tongue between his thin pink lips. The boy yielded easily, his tongue instinctively wrapping around hers as she probed and penetrated his mouth.
Jen drew herself closer to the boy, and began suckling his lips, like a lioness sucking the breath out of its prey. The boy was completely at her mercy now, too weak and excited to resist her. She felt a melting warmth spread through her, and she roughly fingered her stiffening clitoris.
His young, hot tongue felt wild and alive, flicking and quivering like a wet fish: she felt it as he tried to probe her mouth, to return her forceful kiss. Quickening the tempo of her strokes, she quickly forced his tongue back, wrapping her own around it as she forcefully probed deeper into his maw.
Even though the male was beaten and helpless, the warm surges of pleasure that were flowing through him were emboldening him, his inbred male nature to try to be the dominant partner during any mating attempt awakening. He tried again, weakly, to force his kiss upon her. Their tongues wrestled in the slick, wet cavern of their lips, the sound of their slick, wet struggle mingling with the moans and cries of the captives and warriors locked together in similar embraces. Eventually, he submitted his mouth to her as he had the rest of his body.
As he yielded, she broke their kiss. Threads of their intermingled saliva stretched between their lips, tensing and breaking as she slowly pulled away from their kiss. She studied his face, so tense and pained. His arms were digging into the hard ground, and his toes were curling.
His orgasm was about to take him, as hers was slowly creeping up on her. She felt the warmth pulsating between her legs, and she wanted nothing more than to take the boy between her legs right now, to ride his face, and let his wet, lively, little tongue worship her sweet netherlips, to have it struggle against her stiff little clit the way it had against her tongue minutes ago. But the raping and the break had to be methodical, premeditated. He had to yield completely to the goddess.
Slipping out of her leg armor, she straddled the boy, slowly lowering her weight onto his young, nubile body. The boy did not resist as she climbed over him. She tenderly gripped the young boy’s immature penis by its foreskin, holding it like a straw. The reddened stimulated head of his cock stared at her, throbbing and pulsating between her fingers. She kissed it, letting her lips slip around the boy’s stiff little erection, her tongue caressing his rod, eagerly wrapping around the slim fleshy organ.
The young male drew up his knees, curling his toes as Jen suckled him. Without looking up, she forced the boy’s legs back to the ground. He struggled briefly, but soon yielded, content to endure this new, pleasurable stimulation in a vulnerable, helpless position.
She tenderly suckled and sipped the boy’s penis, her tongue curling around the boy’s shaft like a snake, and polishing his head, slicking and stealing the precum as it leaked out of him. Jen felt the warmth of the young boy’s tongue, as he began kissing and licking her abdomen. It stimulated her, making her desire ever more urgent, her ache ever more demanding.
Jen abandoned herself, taking the boy’s shaft and balls all the way into her mouth, sucking them insistently, driven by her pent up lust, and her perverse desire to completely dominate this boy. She drew her knees up, squatting over the young boy’s face. Without hesitation, the boy instinctively began kissing and slurping the wet lips now placed before him. Jen shuddered as the boy’s lively flickering tongue began stroking her clitoris, and returned the favor, slurping the young boy’s genitals eagerly.
The smacking, slurping sounds of their intercourse mingled with the chorus of pleasure and excitement rising from the room, the sweat of their bodies mingling with the passionate heat of the mass copulation taking place around them. The entire tent was filled with the naked bodies of slaves and warriors, writhing and twisting in each other’s arms like a mass of snakes, their bodies coated in the sweat and passionate emissions of each other’s excitement.
Jen could feel her legs quivering, and a burning heat building up from her abdomen. She pressed her face against the young slave’s lips: she wanted him to drink deeply of the pleasure she was about to release. As her lust finally overcame her, she clamped her knees around the young boy’s head, as her hips jammed themselves into his face. She felt the hot warmth pouring out of her wet, tortured slit, and she smeared herself onto his face, over his nose, over his chin. She wanted this young, tender little boy to drink and taste and smell her excitement, to become intimate with the scent and the taste that he would come to know well for the rest of his life.
She felt a sharp, salty heat explode in her mouth, as the boy climaxed. She sucked as the boy’s young penis pumped it’s precious seed into her mouth for her pleasure. His first load was watery, yet surprisingly creamy and salty: already the boy was beginning to produce quality seed. She drank deeply of his fluid, even as she yielded her own passion to the boy to drink.
When their orgasms had subsided, Jen pried herself off of the spent, beaten boy. She crouched over him: not a half hour ago this boy had been fighting her tooth and nail. She stroked his blond hair tenderly, and he closed his eyes, smiling softly. He was broken, hers now, just like every other slave boy she had broken. Reaching into her leg armor, she retrieved a leather strap. Spreading the slave’s legs, she slipped one ring around the boy’s balls, and another around his now flaccid penis. The boy didn’t resist, spreading his other leg so that she could access his vulnerability easier. As he did so, Jen felt a surge of warmth wash over her, not of orgasm, but of accomplishment: this boy had given himself to her, to do what she pleased with.
The boy grunted as she tightened the loops of leather around his organ. Hooking a leash to one of the straps, she ordered the boy to stand up, tugging at his vulnerable manhood. Eagerly, the boy stood. Jen looked the boy over, his blond hair askew over his head, covered in sweat and cum, his nimble frame shivering from exhaustion. She decided that, all in all, he wasn’t a bad pick, especially with his tongue. As she wrapped one end of the leash around her hand, she decided to spare the pathetic males in the men’s pen any further humiliation for tonight. She wanted to get to know her new slave better first, and the male slaves in the pen would be so much more eager and wiling to please after a night of torture and beating by the guards.
