Fuck them all, each and everyone, he thought. And it wasn't as if he hadn't warned them. :. The slave most carefully followed as Prometheus ran along jungle paths scarcely discernable among the brush and leafy creepers obscuring the Rainforest's floor. She stepped where he stepped, trusting that he knew better than to tread on a serpent or poisonous bug.
Finally, just before nightfall, they reached a clearing of colored grass and Prometheus stopped in the center of it. He made a complete three-hundred sixty degree turn, scanning the hemming tree line. He listened. The monkeys in the canopy were relaxed enough to bicker amongst themselves. Birds sang and squawked undisturbed. Insects chirped contentedly in the grass.
He nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw and sensed. "Kneel, slut."
She immediately sank to her knees on the colored grass, spreading shapely thighs. He bent, untied the girl's wrists and sat beside her on the carpet of multi-colored grass. She felt his rough fingers at her chin, which he used to turn her face completely toward him. He inspected her features closely.
"You are a lovely creature," he said. "And you dance well. That is what doomed you into my kolar girl, that dance, back in the slaver's tent. What name are you allowed?"
"Violet, if it pleases you, Master."
"Eeh," he smiled. "It does please me, just fine."
His touch, his nearness had made her flesh grow hot, Violet felt the roots of your fiery hair grow sweaty. She'd not been used for more than a week and her unusually high slaveheat began to assert itself.
"I can smell you girl," he chuckled. His voice was deep, arrogant. Amused. "As I smelled you back in Schendi."
"Yes, Master."
She knew it was true. There was something about him which aroused her deeply. Merely from his hand on her chin she had grown wet, wantonly oiled. Violet had told the truth back in the trees when she'd said she wouldn't runaway. There was a fascination about the dark man which stirred her on an animal level, a primal instinctive level beyond thought or control.
He released her chin and put both his hands to her breasts, hefting them, weighing them in his scarred palms. She sucked in her breath as the pads of his big thumbs grazed over the hardening nubs of her nipples.
"Master," she breathed, in a husky sultry tone. And pressed into his touch.
He chuckled again, the undisguised lustful expression of an aroused satyr, before pinching her nipples, twisting them between fingers and thumbs. She hissed, the bittersweet sensation of pain and pleasure shooting straight to her sex, her ringed clit flushing to full hardness between her open thighs.
"Master," she said again. Now, an urgent undertone to her expression.
"Eeh? What is it, slut."
"Girl begs, Master."
Again, the too knowing, too haughty laugh. His cruel touch flinting sparks off her hard nipples, then closing around the full globes of her tits, squeezing them painfully, possessively.
"Girl begs," she whimpered, her midnight blue eyes brimming.
It happened quickly. One second he was sitting before her, mauling her breasts, and, seemingly, the next he had shoved her backwards onto the grass, her legs scissoring wide and he was between them. He pulled aside his loincloth, its under linen, freeing his cock which bobbed out long and thick. The glans had throbbed out fully from its dark hood of foreskin, it gleamed with precum as he took both her wrists, pressing them into the grass as he loomed over her.
Violet could see the Sky growing a pale purple above his head and shoulders. As the brief tropical dusk came on the Evening Star winked into existence. Then the slave forgot the Sky, the stars, everything but the feel of his large cockhead brutishly spreading her drenched folds and fucking into her. She cried out at the violent penetration, her lusty scream fleeing across the clearing and into the surrounding trees. The chirping of the insects in the grass ceased but she did not notice, there was room in her awareness only for the man on top of her who slave-raped into her without mercy.
Prometheus felt the girl's cunt reluctantly opening around his intruding phallus. The massive crown shoving wide her walls, which were slick and molten hot. He felt their circular rings of muscle grab his violent pole in a fluttering, rippling vise grip as he stretched her, stuffed her full in a long even stroke which only ended when the bulbous cock knob thudded against her back wall, distorting it inward and his balls smacked up obscenely to the curves of her uptilted ass.
She was tight, incredibly tight, as if she were a glana still in white silks. His jaw muscles bunched as he hissed through clenched teeth, her heat and constriction galvanizing his cock, sending strong thrilling jolts into his heavy balls sac, setting its load of Seed to roiling.
He fucked her there in the clearing of the variegated grass, as twilight came on, then dusk, then true darkness. Her cries ripped through the night, he released her wrists and her hands sought his body, nails scratched his shoulders and back as the slave beast in her was uncaged. As roughly as he speared down into her so did she hump up, her breath rasping as she sought to impale herself completely onto him, to give all that she was to him, to become bound to him beyond mere collaring.
How long he rutted the girl Prometheus did not know. The mating existed in a timeless void where he was aware only of her clenching rippling walls, the taste of her lips beneath his. They fucked, animalistically, artlessly, savagely.
"Master please!"
He would have preferred the fuck to go on forever. The girl's body was as skilled in extremis as it was with the Dance. But, Prometheus could feel his will-power crumbling beneath the seduction of the slut's skillful slave cunt. He could feel the undeniable pressure of his own climax roaring down upon him.
"Release, beast," he snarled out, ramming viciously into her over and over. "Release on Master's cock."
And she did, her body shuddering, jittering out of control as she wailed a banshee's scream into the night and came in a volcanic explosion. Her frantic gyrations beneath him chain-reacted against his senses, over weighing his tipping point and Prometheus thick column of dark meat recoiled within the slave, flexed, and he shot his ropy boiling load of seed into the writhing girl. He sent his own deep bellow rumbling out into the darkness as the splotched trail of the Milky Way, the Backbone of Night, began to shine in the dark heavens. His sac leapt, discharging the creamy kiln hot cum into the girl, breeding her at last, scent marking her as the Alpha's girl. Beneath him, her orgasm proved so intense she fell into a swoon, even as her luscious body continued to shudder and shake with after-tremors.
When her senses returned she felt his hand in her hair, his phallus in her mouth, down her throat as he used her to clean himself. She gagged and he pulled from her face, allowing her head to fall into his lap.
"Thank you, Master," she said, her throaty voice subdued, her body sated for the moment.
"Among my people, masters are called maulana."
"Yes, Maulana. How does a girl say thank you in your tongue?"
"Asante."
"Asante, Maulana."
"Eeh. The girl is welcome, karibu. You may sleep now. I'll stand watch. I wish to look at the stars tonight. To listen, lest they wish to speak to me."
"Yes, Maulana. What is the word for yes?"
"A slave says bee when saying yes to a Free person."
"Asante, Maulana. Bee, Maulana."
He smoothed a hand through her red hair, inky black in the night. "Sleep, beast."
Violet curled her naked body against him, her head in his lap. She could feel his seed running warmly from her and she smiled content. She knew she would sleep well and there would be no bad dreams of sleens or spiders. She was full in her Maulana's protection now, and as long as she was she would be fearless. She had seen what he could do. After all, he'd defeated three men and half a dozen sleen with nothing more than a dead tarsk.
She knew her master had no need to fear the night time predators of the Jungle, for he was, himself, one of their kind.
The End.
I
am Joe's Penis
"Just shut up and go to sleep."
"I'm serious, Joe, I never get to go to any interesting places any more. Just that old fishy smelling box of Mary's. And your hand is hurting me. Can't you be more gentle?"
Joe Morrisey looked down at his newly verbal companion, who was once again poking its head out of the slit in Joe's pajama bottoms. Its eyeless face rotated in Joe's direction, its neck bending like a cobra's so that it could face Joe head on.
"I told you, I love Mary and I'm not going to listen to this," Joe told his rebellious penis, and pulled his pajamas over its head once more. He was going to have to ask Dr. Weinstein to change his medication if these hallucinations didn't stop soon.
The penis managed to squirm its head out of Joe's pajamas again. Its little mouth seemed to pout as it said, "I mean it, Joe, I'm going to make trouble this time. I'm getting real bored down here with nothing to do but piss and feel your palm rip my skin off every night." Its mouth drooled a last drop of whitish fluid as if to punctuate the last remark.
"Well if you would just cooperate a little more..." Joe told his offending organ.
"It's not me," Joe's penis said, its mouth bent in anger. "Let's face it, Joe, the girl scout cheerleaders fantasy isn't working any more. You've got to come up with some new material for us."
"The fantasy is still great and you know it," Joe told his bitter wiener. "It's you that won't cooperate."
"That's just because I can't remember what a real pussy feels like any more!" his penis shouted, urine spittle flying from its mouth. "I'm tired of old mammoth cave over there. I need something young and tight. If you don't get us some real action, then I'm going to take matters into my own hands. How long do you think I'm just going to sit here quietly in your pants and take all this chickenshit crap? I want some real action."
"You ain't going to do shit," Joe told his penis, poking it back into his pants. "You're just a goddamn hallucination."
He rolled over on his stomach to squelch his penis's protesting thrashes inside his pajama bottoms and finally fell asleep.
The dinner with Dick Smithers and his most voluptuous wife Claudia did not go smoothly.
They were all three chatting amiably when Joe felt something thrashing inside his pants. Goddamn hallucinations are starting in the daylight hours, he thought. He really had better go see Weinstein pretty soon.
Then the voice started up again.
"I want to make hot monkey love to you, Claudia," announced Joe's crotch.
Joe's boss broke off his anecdote about his African vacation in mid-sentence.. "What did you say?" asked a disbelieving Claudia, her eyes fairly bulging out of their sockets.
"I said I'm going to rub myself against those lovely knockers of yours until I spill my seed all over your rosy pink nipples," the muffled voice beneath Joe's zipper elaborated.
Oh shit, Joe thought. They aren't hallucinations after all. "Shut up," he told his misbehaving crotch.
"No, you shut up!" retorted Joe's penis.
"No, you," responded Joe.
"What is that, some kind of ventriloquism act you're working on?" asked Joe's clearly bewildered boss. Claudia was glaring at him, but not, he thought, without some degree of newly acquired sexual interest.
"I'm sorry, Claudia. that was just my genitals talking. What can I tell you? They seem to have a mind of their own lately. Where the hell is Lorena Bobbit when you need her, anyway?" he joked, searching Claudia's eyes for signs of forgiveness, but seeing only lust instead.
Suddenly he had an idea.
"You must be joking," said Joe's penis, turning around to look at him from its perch on the workshop bench.
"No, I am afraid not," Joe told his flaccid organ. "You've cost me my job. You're ruining my marriage. This is where we part company." And he brought the meat cleaver down again.
And once again Joe's penis dodged it deftly.
"OK, you weaselly little worm. No more Mr. Nice Guy," Joe told his rebellious member as he forced its helmet into the jaws of the vise. He considered simply crushing the organ in the vise, but somehow that thought sent a shiver up and down his spine. He saw that he was at a bad angle to wield the meat cleaver. He reached up on the rack for the hacksaw instead.
Joe's penis seemed to tremble at the prospect of its impending fate. But soon it began to grow tumescent. "Wait, I haven't shown you everything I can do," it told Joe, its voice sounding quite panicked at this point.
Joe drew the hacksaw across its shaft one time, producing a thin line of blood. This is going to be as easy as playing the violin, he thought. And probably will sound just about as good.
"Wait, let me show you," Joe's penis pled. It suddenly grew rock hard and began to throb with pleasure. "How do you like this, Joe?" it asked as it began to convulse in the most intense orgasm Joe had ever experienced in his life.
"And this?" it queried, showing signs of exertion as it brought Joe's pleasure to an even higher level of intensity.
The orgasm did not stop. It went on for minute after minute, the intensity level growing stronger and stronger. "How about this one, eh Joe?" it whined in an uncharacteristically high-pitched voice. "Not bad, huh?"
As wave after wave of pleasure overtook him, Joe found his resolve beginning to weaken. It was impossible to sever himself from something that was capable of such feats of ecstasy. Joe found his awareness beginning to dim after the first half hour. The orgasms were still intensifying as he finally lost consciousness altogether.
Months later, Joe was pushing his shopping cart down 107th Street. It was filled with scavenged bottles he hoped to trade for a pretty penny down at the Stop & Shop. He ambled along slowly, his gait having become a shuffling one under the influence of the drugs that they were pumping into him down at the shelter. His lips moved constantly, and he uttered the obligatory profanities at any and all passers-by. At first he did not notice the bag lady sitting on the curb.
"I'd like to wrap these lips around you, suck you dry," she said. Joe did a quick double-take. The woman's lips hadn't moved. At least not the ones on her face. Joe had a sneaking suspicion where the voice was coming from.
The woman's crotch began to elaborate. "I'll squeeze you tight inside my sugar walls, honey. Open up your pants right now. You won't regret it." Joe looked in the woman's eyes. There were clear signs of intelligence there. She would have fit right in at Wellesley or Bryn Mawr College if you ignored the grime on her forehead and the head lice. There also appeared to be a rather excellent body housed beneath her army surplus fatigues.
"You too?" Joe commented to the woman. She averted her eyes, clearly wanting Joe to just keep on walking.
"Finally we meet somebody with some intelligence," said Joe's crotch. "I'm so sick of just poking meat. I need a decent conversation. I've got a life of the mind too, you know."
The woman's eyes widened at that. Her crotch said, "Oh so cute, and he can talk too. He' s not dumb like all the others. Can we keep him, Jillian?"
Suddenly, Joe had an idea. He looked from crotch to crotch. "If we let you kids play together, do you promise to behave? No more talking in public? No writhing around in our pants or queefing during business meetings?"
"Oh yes, please let us play! We promise to behave," said Jillian's cunt.
Joe's penis was more reluctant. "I guess so, " it finally whispered.
"Well, Jillian," said Joe, "it appears that ours is a match made in heaven. At least we shouldn't run into much of problem communicating our sexual desires to each other."
Jillian smiled at that. She rose and took his hand, and together they began to make their way down 107th Street, visions of corporate boardrooms dancing in their heads.
The End.
Princess Alexandria
Alexandria looked at herself in the oval mirror that stood off to one side from her bed. Her maids had already been; prepared for sleep she looked at her reflection one last time by the candle light, turning this way and that, the short lilac nightie she w
as wearing rising slightly from the movement, the silk brushing against her hips. Her long brown hair fell down to her shoulders and she pouted at the mirror, only to giggle at how it made her look.
Like some petulant child that had failed to get what she wanted, she thought.
"...Then again I suppose I am a bit spoilt." She said aloud to herself.
Alexandria, or to use her full title, Princess Alexandria of Corrongate III, was getting used to her new quarters. She had recently married a dashing prince and was living, or so she had thought, the fairytale life. The marriage had only been a week ago, a huge event; her extended family had come from around the world to wish her the best, which, combined with all the pomp and circumstance, the grandeur... the white doves, had her head still spinning. None of it made any easier by her husband's disappearance directly after the wedding ceremony. He had left a message with one of his couriers that he had to attend to some urgent matters abroad and would be with her as soon as humanly possible. It was all very mysterious and somewhat frustrating. She had been looking forward, though she would never admit it even to herself, to discovering her duties to her husband in the bedchamber.
She was entirely innocent, as a virgin should be, over what took place behind closed doors between a loving husband and wife. She knew that it made the serving girls titter and blush as she caught snippets of their conversation from time to time, but apart from that, nothing. Nervous about consummating the marriage, she had begun reading into the smiles and glances of her maids, giving their gestures a significance they most likely did not warrant. It was as if they were all privy to a secret she herself was exempt from.
The Rougher Explicit Collection of Stories Box Set Compilation Page 123
