Property Rites

An eBook By Han Li Thorn.

"A birthday present from Lord Jarvin," said the man at her left. "Eighteen today! We've got her for an hour. Seeing as we're the ones that fetched her, we get first dibs. The rest of you can draw lots."

He brushed his knuckles over the hardness of her nipples, and then let his hand descend to her loins, where he pressed his fingers against her sex. Alasha tried to twist away from him, but his comrade held her still.

"Don't worry, lads. This one's warm and willing. Plenty to go round, eh?"

There was a chorus of deep guffaws. The guard brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled extravagantly, taking her most private scent deep into his lungs before licking it from his fingertips.

"Sweet and fresh, too. Mind you lads, her cunny's untouched and Lord Jarvin wants it kept that way, understand? No one's to plant any seeds in her belly."

One of the soldiers searched through a iron-bound chest until he found a strap that might once have held a piece of armor in place, but now they made it serve as a slave collar. They tied her wrists behind her back with a length of rough cord that they secured to a harness ring looped onto the collar, so that her wrists were hoisted halfway to her shoulder blades.

"Put her on her knees," said the man at her left.

Soldiers surrounded her, jostling for a better view, and rough hands forced her to kneel. She resisted only for an instant: there were too many of them, and they were too strong. Collared and trussed as she was, Alasha knew she would have been helpless against any one of them.

The man stood in front of her and opened his breeches. The prim and flaccid diagrams in her anatomy books hadn't prepared her for this, and she couldn't help gasping at the sight of his engorged sex. He stood close to her and his man-scent filled her nostrils. She tried to squirm away.

Even as she struggled, she felt what had been warm and wet becoming hot and drenched, felt an unfamiliar itching between her thighs. It can't be the stench of him, she thought, but there was no denying it. The scent of the man before her, the constricting bonds at her neck and her wrists, and the rough sensation of callused hands against her soft, naked skin – all these were more exciting to her than she would have believed possible.

Which was wrong. Everything about this is wrong. She slid her knees closer together, trying to hide the tell-tale wetness between her legs, wishing her hands were free so she could cover her treacherous breasts.

Fingers twined in her hair, pulling her head backwards and tilting her face towards the male sex that stood proudly in front of her.

"No," she started to say, and he took advantage of her open mouth to push himself between her lips.

His taste and texture shocked her as much of the hard invasion of her mouth: the skin was velvet-smooth and flavored with salt that must come from his sweat, and with a yeasty sourness that she tried not to think about.

"Suck my cock, whore."

She tried to shake her head, denying what was happening as well as his command. I should bite him, she thought, but she knew she wouldn't do that. Not while she was so helpless, not while there were so many of them standing ready to take revenge.

Her mouth was full, yet less than half of him was inside.

"You can either suck my cock, or I can fuck you, like this."

He pushed himself deeper, all the way to the back of her throat. The hands in her hair held her immobile as the man rammed his sex into her mouth and filled her nostrils with his overpowering scent.

Alasha gagged and tasted bile rising in her throat, but he pushed past that, pushed until her face was buried in the wiry hair that covered his belly. She had no choice but to swallow his sex.

He held that position for much longer than she could bear. She heard mewling noises, and was vaguely aware that she was making them herself. Her breath whistled desperately through her nostrils, overlaying the drumming of her legs against the packed earth of the floor.

Then he was out of her throat and back in her mouth.

"Suck me, whore," he said again.

This time, she obeyed, using her lips and her tongue – tentatively at first, because she didn't know what he wanted, and had to learn by listening to his responses and sensing the way he moved.

He was getting more excited, so she seemed to be pleasing him.

Against her will, that thought pleased her, too.

The speed of his strokes increased along with his arousal. It was becoming harder to keep her tongue dancing on the spot that seemed to please him so, to stop her teeth from

snagging his velvet skin – and any hurt she did him would surely be viciously repaid. Her jaw began to ache from being forced open for so long, from the unaccustomed effort of accepting such a thing so deep into her mouth.

Return to Top