They hauled me over the parched grass, my knees and feet dragging. I struggled weakly, but to no avail. Their open-handed blows had set off an unceasing bell in my head. A small cut on my cheek dripped and smeared. My people were dead. The raiders had torched the village, left the children to fend for themselves in the bleak landscape, killed the women, castrated the men and left them to bleed out in the grass.
All but me.
I’d managed to run one of them through, but only because as he leapt at me, snarling and screaming like a devil, he’d hesitated before skewering me on his spear. His eyes widened and the snarl faded. Puzzling, but it was all I needed, and I promptly thrust my short sword deep into his guts. Moments later a crowd of the savages had descended on me, kicking and slapping, but never punching or stabbing.
“You, strong,” one of my assailants said, his agonizing grip on my bicep loosening not at all. “The queen, she will enjoy.”
My bloodied lips were still formulating a reply when my captors pulled me into the shadow cast by a high-topped canvas tent. Its leather entrance flaps, double-layered to protect against the cutting wind, hung like labia, a glow emanating from between them, teasing at the warmth within. *No*, I thought, renewing my struggle, *not in there*. We pushed into the tent, and without warning, they dumped me unceremoniously onto the hard-packed dirt floor.
They were jabbering in their blasted native tongue, painted faces downcast, spear butts planted firmly. It was strange to see these muscled warriors, moments ago the very embodiment of cruel savagery, become suddenly obsequious and docile. With dread, I raised my eyes to look at whoever they were addressing. I winced as my eyes locked with her piercing gaze.
She sat on a moderately high throne, of a rough wooden frame bound with sinew and layered thickly with furs. Bleached antlers mounted to the throne’s back gave it the simultaneous appearance of natural wonder and a ghastly distortion of it. The queen was wrapped loosely in more furs. She was nude beneath them from the looks of things, for I could see the suntanned curve of a breast, and her left leg protruded lazily from the fur’s protection, long and smooth and bare.
My captors bowed suddenly and retreated, giving me a last glare before sweeping from the tent. Now it was just me and the pair of archers standing rigidly in either rear corner of the tent. I knew from experience that, should they deem it necessary, they could pierce me with a pair of arrows each before I could so much as raise my hand against their precious queen.
She watched me with vague disinterest. The sounds from the camp around us were muted, hemmed in as we were buy the tent’s heavy drapery. From somewhere above came the buzz of a fly. And then, in one smooth motion, the queen’s leg flicked at the knee, tossing away the furs like a magician’s flourish. Her body slid lower in the throne until she was nearly reclining, and she lay there before me, legs spread wide. She seemed amused at my look of bewilderment. Her slit looked to have been shaved a few days ago; the hair was close-cropped but visible, like a shadow encircling her labia.
“Now,” she said, “you eat.”
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/5xt1tr/mf_first_excerpt_from_the_journal_of_adrian
I like where thios is going, please continue !