by Sierra Dafoe
Trika hooted. “You’ve got a live one there, Captain!”
Her face black with fury, Soleyla rose, pointed to two women. “You, and you. Hold him!”
Rolen scrabbled frantically at the rope around his wrists, finally freeing them -- too late. The two stepped forward and grabbed his arms, yanking them half out of their sockets as they wrenched him to the ground, pinning him there. Rolen arched against their grasp, not play-acting, now. Flailing in their grip, he felt a hideous certainty flow through him. Strong as he was, he couldn’t break their hold.
Slowly, Soleyla approached, her face, a face he’d come to know so well, twisted into a sneering mask. “Seems this one doesn’t know his place. Shall I teach him, soldiers?” she cried, turning to the Guardians, smiling as they cheered her on -- playing, Rolen suddenly recognized, to the crowd. He fell still beneath the hands pinioning him, his chest heaving, waiting.
Her lips curled in a rictus smile, Soleyla approached, stood over him a moment, glaring down. The two women holding him, Rolen noted, were looking up at her, as if for instructions. She squatted beside him, reached for his breechclout. “Now. Let’s see what we have, shall we?”
With one sharp tug, she ripped it off him. The Guardians roared their approval. Holding it aloft, she spun, threw it into their midst. A brief tussle ensued. Soleyla’s sneer widened, watching it, and Rolen could see the disgust flickering in her eyes. Then she turned back, grabbed his legs, forced them apart. Kneeling between them, she shoved them over her muscular shoulders, dragged his hips to her, raising his ass level with her waist. She leaned forward, her full, gorgeous breasts rubbing across his stomach, and whispered, “Remember this?”
The two women holding him glanced at each other in surprise, but Rolen hardly noticed. He did remember. It had been the night before they’d fought in the tent, the night before Soleyla had told him what plan she’d concocted for distracting the Guardians. Tense, driven, sweaty from ten hours spent training his men, she’d been brutal that night, bending him into contortions he’d never so much as imagined, savaging his ass with every implement she could find.
She’d held him, just like this, her erect nipples dragging against his pecs as she’d fucked him, plunging a candle deep in his ass, making Kantou kneel over his face, and watching, her eyes gleaming avidly, as Kantou fucked his mouth.
Gods, yes. He remembered.
Soleyla moved back, revealing his erection, and the Guardians cheered, their voices more hoarse now, ragged with arousal. Rolen felt them, their watchful expectancy surrounding him like a thick, cloying wave. His cock pulsed, and he didn’t fight as she stretched him out, exposing him fully to all those hungry eyes.
There was a weight to their gazes, a heat. He could feel them on his skin, licking his sides, the curve of his ribcage, flicking over his dark, erect nipples and the column of his neck. His cock strained into the air as if displaying itself, eager for their attention, and Rolen felt a strange shift inside him, as if some part of himself, the part that willed and planned and decided, had fled, leaving only this strange, shameless beast who reveled in their fascination, aroused by their arousal.
Soleyla leaned back on her heels, watching him, a slow lazy smile playing about her lips. Rolen writhed in the dirt before her, enticing her. His hips thrust upward, demonstrating how he would fuck her, and he let his tongue caress his lips in invitation. From the surrounding circle, he heard a deep, excited sigh.
“Perhaps he does know his place, after all. Liatra, turn him loose.”
The woman on his left released his wrist, and immediately he raised his hand, running it over the fabric of her shirt, caressing her small, taut breast. Liatra leaned into his touch, enjoying the attention, and looked questioningly at Soleyla.
Rolen hardly noticed. Later, he might say he was only playing a role, merely trying to survive the hideous encounter, but the truth of his arousal pulsed, rigid, against his belly. He wanted them to want him, wanted to make them so horny they could think of nothing but fucking him. He wanted to make them come, over and over, coating him in their juices. When Soleyla straddled his shoulders, Rolen reached out eagerly with his tongue, straining his neck upward to taste her. His left hand slid beneath Liatra’s shirt to find her nipple while his right caressed the smooth, firm thighs of the third woman.
Soleyla sighed above him, grabbing the other two as if for support as he lapped at her clit. Bending her head, keeping her gaze fixed on his darting tongue, she spoke, low and intent, to the others. “Try to keep him alive. The mood he’s in now, he’ll be dead within an hour.”
“Soleyla…” whispered the one on his right.
“Trust me, Marda. Trust me or kill me. They’re the only choices you’ve got.”
The words were meaningless to Rolen. He writhed, serpentine, beneath them, darting his tongue deep in Soleyla’s cleft, tweaking Liatra’s nipple until she groaned with pleasure, bringing their attention back where it belonged -- to him. Rolling his eyes, he could see the others beyond them, their faces thick with lust. Most had already shed their clothes. Some caressed each other, or themselves, as they watched him. Him. He was the center of it all, the axis on which they spun. He wanted them, all of them, wanted their tits smashed up against him, their clits under his greedy tongue, their cunts leaking around his plunging fingers…
The sly-faced one with the sneering voice was straddling him now, poising herself above his jutting erection. Trika? Names were meaningless. He thrust his hips upward, spearing her on his cock, and felt her writhe in erotic abandon. Yes. Yes. He would reduce her to nothing, to a moaning, gasping wreck. Rolen smiled as he felt her shudder, pistoned himself up into her again. His right hand worked frantically at the snaps beneath his fingers, freed them, plunged down and in, feeling curly, silken hair, and then a rush of moisture as his fingers burrowed between hot, damp folds.
Soleyla moved above him, and he whimpered as her cunt was withdrawn. Something brushed his cheek and he turned blindly, nuzzling at a full, round breast, sucking the swollen nipple deep into his mouth. Hands moved between his legs, seeking his balls, playing over them, teasing their hardness. Moans and whispers surrounded him, a host of small individual cries that melded into the hoarse panting of one great beast, one magnificent aroused monster he would tease and taunt and fuck until it came, drowning him in its ecstasy, obliterating him.
Yes.
His balls contracted, hot and aching, as the one riding his cock shuddered, her cunt gripping his shaft like a vise as she screamed. He thrust, again and again, feeling her passage pulsate around him as another hand probed his sphincter. He was so close to the edge, so close, he could feel his ejaculation rising like a tidal wave inside him, curling, peaking, almost ready to break…
A hand slid away from his asshole, gripped the delicate skin between his sphincter and his balls, pinched hard. The pain was sudden, knife-like, and Rolen shrieked, the noise muffled against the tits smashed against his face. The sensual, shameless creature which had overtaken his mind, reveling in their attention, slid away, and Rolen was himself again, aware of where and who he was.
He stiffened in horror. He had come so close, so close to… Glancing down, he saw the one Soleyla had beckoned to, Liatra, kneeling between his legs. She winked at him over Trika’s heaving shoulder.
Rolen shuddered. How many times could any man orgasm before, spent, he became useless to these women? The sudden return of reality jolted him, and for a moment he was terrified he’d lose his erection. Trika’s face, leering down at him, was brutal in its lust -- but her cunt was slick and tight as a virgin’s, and all Rolen had to do was turn his head to find again the nipple he’d been sucking. There was stimulation enough here to keep ten men aroused.
“Going somewhere, Captain?” Trika’s voice, brittle with spite, jabbed like a stiletto through the atmosphere of sybaritic excitement, and Rolen looked up. The Guardians paused, their attention momentarily diverted from Rolen, and Soleyla, who had been attempting to slide fr
om their midst unnoticed, froze.
“To the barracks,” she replied coldly. “I’m finished -- you can have him.”
“How generous.” Trika smiled. “But the rest of us have only just started.” She sat back on Rolen’s cock, watching Soleyla through lazy, slitted eyes. Rage seared through him at Trika’s greedy, sneering expression, but his groin still burned with agonized need. “Valda would hate for you to miss anything, I know.”
Plunging herself down one last time on his aching shaft, the lieutenant rose, gesturing another eager Guardian to take her place. “Save me some,” she added to the blonde who lowered herself over him, her breasts bouncing lightly as she slid Rolen’s cock into her furnace-like cunt. Rolen felt a renewed pulse of desire in his balls, and closed his eyes, thinking of ice, of goat shit, anything to distract him from the scorching, velvety grip of the blonde’s slick passage.
When he opened them again, Trika had already pulled on her uniform, and was now ostentatiously strapping her sword belt around her waist. Soleyla hadn’t moved. Her sword, Rolen saw, was still in the hands of one of the twins, and Soleyla made no move to reach for it.
She couldn’t, he realized, without sparking off a sword fight which would ruin any chance they still had. Trika grinned up at her, almost daring her to argue.
Instead, Soleyla nodded curtly. “As you like,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and turning a stony gaze back to the center of the circle. As if that were a signal, the Guardians swarmed around him, their hands stroking his chest, his flanks. One cupped the blonde’s breasts as she rode him, fondling them before his eyes. Marda, still kneeling by his shoulders, saw the desperate plea in his gaze and shifted herself over him, blocking the sight of those two perfect breasts being squeezed, stroked and pinched. Gratefully, he closed his lips around her clit, sucking it, and felt Marda shiver in wholly unfeigned delight.
Grimly, ignoring the fire that roared through his groin, Rolen set himself to the task of making them come, as many of them as he could, while denying himself, for as long as possible, the release his body craved.
Chapter Eight
Through all this, Kantou had stood, a lean, pale shadow, near the gates, silent and unmoving. Guardians moved past him, noticing him no more than they would a dog. Glancing at the command center, he’d seen Valda watching through the large upper window, but for now, she had disappeared.
Soleyla had been moving toward him, working her way surreptitiously through the intent, distracted ring of women, but at Trika’s call she had stopped. Now she stood, her jaw clenched as she watched the Guardians descend on Rolen, the ring around him growing smaller, tighter, as each fought for her turn at him.
Kantou’s gut churned. If Soleyla couldn’t get free without causing a ruckus…
Above him, the Guardians still on the wall had abandoned their posts, gathering above the gate as they watched, their eyes gleaming avidly even in the dull, murky light. Thunder pealed across the sky, but not one of them so much as lifted her head from the titillating gang-bang going on below. Kantou swallowed and edged backward, until the wall hid them from his sight.
Rapidly now, he turned, scanning the wall. The control box was twenty feet to his left, inside a small booth. The Guardian posted there was lounging against the door, her gaze fixed on the heaving bodies surrounding Rolen. Her hand worked inside her pants as she masturbated.
Kantou swallowed. If he was caught, there would be no mercy. And no second chance -- all of them would die. But Soleyla was trapped under Trika’s watchful gaze. There was no one else.
Slowly, silently, he slid along the wall toward the control booth.
* * *
Soleyla stood, her arms folded, her face a dispassionate mask. Inside, though, she seethed with frustration. How long could Rolen hold himself back under that hungry, licking, moaning mass of women? Not even Kantou, with his iron control, could survive it.
Kantou, she thought suddenly, panicked. He’d been just there, near the wall. Now he was gone. Her eyes darted, searching the gloom. Damn this weather! Thunder roared overhead, sending a jolt through her, raising her need to move, to act, to a fever pitch. Time pressed in on her, she could feel it, trickling, trickling…
Where was Kantou?
“Looking for something, Devarian?”
Soleyla let her lip curl in disdain. “Something more interesting than this.” She gestured disgustedly, and turned away. Steel whispered on steel as Trika drew her blade, stopping her before she’d taken two steps.
“The commander gave you an order, Devarian.”
“Fine. She can court-martial me, for all I care.” Soleyla’s limbs quivered with tension. The static electricity in the air seared along her blood. Somewhere, on the ridge above the compound, the Antoreans crouched, nervously waiting. Behind the ring of writhing women, Soleyla heard Rolen groan, his voice thick with agony.
There was no more time.
Where in hell was Kantou?
* * *
Holding his breath, Kantou squeezed himself into the corner between the control booth and the wall. Not three feet in front of him, the Guardian panted, her fingers mashing her clit. Her eyes were half-closed, her head tilted back. There’d be no better chance.
Lunging forward, Kantou locked his fists together, raised them in the air and brought them smashing down on the back of the Guardian’s neck. There was an awful, sickening snap, and the woman tumbled to the ground. Kantou’s stomach heaved, but there was no time. Glancing about rapidly, he dragged her body into the control booth, shoved it against one wall, and turned to the panel.
All his life, he’d had a gift for seeing how things worked. In the child-house on Marbul, the technicians who serviced the machinery had liked him, ruffling his hair as they allowed him to hold their wrenches and circuit-testers, just as if he’d been a tech-slave, he’d thought excitedly. He’d watched eagerly, knowing, without being told, why they attached that wire there, replaced this servo-gear here. When he’d adjusted Soleyla’s tracker, it had been without permission, and he’d trembled the entire time with fear at his audacity. But his desire, his craving to peer into its intricate depths, to retune the instrument to its greatest capacity, had been irresistible.
Now his keen gray eyes flicked over the control panel. It was simple enough, he saw, and felt almost disappointed. Locking mechanism here, the lever that opened and closed the gates there. Quickly, he flicked the lock off, debated, glanced out the door at the roiling sky, and reached for the lever.
The gates had opened noiselessly, obviously powered by the great generators on the far side of the command center. Even unlocked, it was entirely possible that without that power they would remain immobile however the Antoreans tugged and yanked. Wincing at the risk he was taking, Kantou pulled the lever gingerly, peering through the gloom at the barely visible gates.
They cracked open, one foot, two feet, three… The guards above them appeared oblivious. Hastily, Kantou shoved the lever back to neutral, and slid out of the booth.
* * *
There! Just a flicker of movement, in the shadow of the wall. He was coming out of the control booth. And that meant…
Soleyla glanced rapidly, hoping Trika wouldn’t note the direction of her gaze. Yes. He’d done it. Her brave, clever, beautiful Kantou! He stared at her, his eyes flicking toward the portal. Soleyla nodded, a minute, unnoticeable jerk of her chin. She’d have to trust him. There was no chance at all she’d be able to get to the portals herself.
Soleyla glanced back as Trika growled behind her, “I suggest you follow your orders, Captain.”
Grinning at the dark-haired lieutenant, Soleyla turned to face her squarely. “And I suggest you make me, you cunt-licking grunt.”
Trika shrieked in rage, raising her sword. “Captain!” Perdita shouted, and flung Soleyla’s sword. Catching it by the hilt, she rolled, coming up to block Trika’s second, furious swing.
Her only hope now was to keep Trika distracted, to keep the foc
us on her long enough to give Kantou a chance. The crush around Rolen was thinning as the Guardians, drawn by the fight, abandoned him for this new entertainment. Soleyla strained to catch a glimpse of him, but Trika lunged at her.
She spun, disdainfully slapping the lieutenant’s thrust aside. As Trika stumbled, off balance, Soleyla held back the instinctive, lethal blow that had been drilled into her, settling instead for swatting Trika’s rump with the flat of her sword. The Guardians laughed and Trika, stung to incoherent fury, wheeled, her blade cutting in a deadly arc before her.
Dancing aside, Soleyla jabbed lightly, pricking Trika’s ribs. The lieutenant screamed like a banshee and grabbed Soleyla’s sword, slashing her left hand open to immobilize the blade, while with her right she whirled her sword in a flat sweep at Soleyla’s neck.
She was fighting a madwoman, Soleyla realized. Some ugly, jealous creature inside the lieutenant didn’t give a damn whether she lived or died, so long as she could kill the beautiful, haughty senator’s daughter. Easy enough to wrench her blade from Trika’s grasp, laying her palm open to the bones -- but in the moment it would take, Trika’s sword would find her throat.
All this passed through her mind in a flash -- and then Soleyla was diving under the oncoming blade, rolling on the muddy ground to spring back to her feet. The Guardians, she saw, had forgotten Rolen entirely. Only Liatra remained beside him, cradling his unconscious -- or dead -- body. But now Trika had both swords, and Soleyla was weaponless.
Thunder roared overhead. Trika didn’t so much as look up. Flipping Soleyla’s blade in the air, she caught it by the grip. Blood sprayed across her face as the pommel slapped into her lacerated palm, but the lieutenant grinned, seeming to feel no pain.
Soleyla backed away, aware of the press of the crowd behind her, limiting her range of motion. Lightning streaked across the sky, and by its sudden, dazzling light she saw Valda storming from the command center.