Slave to a Sinful Empire
by Citizen Sade
Part I: The Slave and the Master
Annie Archer gasped as the leather strap stung her perky cheeks, leaving its pink stripe across her pale round bottom. Fyrio grinned in his wolfish way. “That’s what you get,” he said through his teeth, leaving another pink mark with a crisp snap of leather, “for being such a bad little slut!” Another snap, another reddening stripe across the perfect white ass. Then, unable to resist any longer, he set aside the strap and struck the pale flesh smartly with his hand, one cheek and then the other vibrating deliciously beneath his blows. “Such a bad little slave,” he muttered, squeezing roughly and then spanking again, as goosebumps prickled Annie’s soft skin in the open air.
She knew better than to struggle or squirm on his lap. She had done nothing to deserve this spanking, but she knew Fyrio didn’t need a reason except his own perverse desires. She gritted her teeth and held back her tears, knowing they would only please her wicked master more. Her pretty, freckled face was scrunched up against the pain, and her red braids swung gently with each smack. She endured, and only hoped he wouldn’t make her…
But he already was. Effortlessly, Fyrio picked up his slave girl, and brought her from the red velvet couch to the grand four-poster bed, dumping her among the red silk sheets. Annie lay there breathing heavily, naked and pressing her legs together in vain. Fyrio smiled wider, slid his hard cock from the front of his calfskin trousers. “Kiss it,” he hissed.
Loathing welled up inside Annie as she rose to her knees, crawled across the silken sheets, and brought her thick pink lips within inches of her hated slavemaster’s cock. Reaching down, Fyrio bent it back, then let is spring forward, to strike her across one freckled cheek, forcing her to close one limpid green eye as the fat head came to rest across her eyelid, tickled by her lashes. Steeling herself, she slowly raised her head, brought her pillowy lips up to the swollen cock-head, and kissed it.
She hated Fyrio, the cruel bastard who kept her in bondage and beat her for disobedience, or sometimes just for fun. And yet, something about a cock still thrilled her, at a level below the rational. The shape, the firmness, the warmth of it stirred her. She was disgusted by her own desire, but could not deny it, and perhaps it would make her hateful task easier. She timidly stretched out her tongue, and gently licked up the shaft, kissing the head again before engulfing it in her mouth. Fyrio moaned, and Annie felt herself growing wet. In fact, if she was being honest with herself, the spanking had already moistened her, and now the feeling of a cock in her mouth had her positively dripping. She tried to forget whose it was, and slid her soft mouth further down the shaft, swallowing more of the delicious cock.
“Whore,” Fyrio muttered. “My little whore.” He grabbed both her silky red braids, wrapped them around his hands, then pulled her roughly toward him, forcing her to swallow more of his long member. Saliva flooded Annie’s mouth as she took it. Pulling her braids, Fyrio began to fuck her soft mouth, his cock glistening with her spit, as one long string of drool escaped the corner of her mouth. He put a hand on the back of her head, forcing her down even more roughly, until Annie made soft gagging noises, her cute freckled nose buried in his black thatch of pubic hair.
Her held her there for a moment, then pushed her off suddenly, long ropes of saliva still connecting her mouth and his glistening cock. “Face down,” he growled, “ass up.” She whimpered softly but obeyed, burying her head among the luxuriant down pillows as she raised her ass, naked and vulnerable, into the air.
Fyrio grinned approvingly at the pink stripes he had made, then began to rub his hard cock against the soft lips of her dripping pussy. Annie couldn’t contain a soft moan, and Syrio laughed cruelly, smacking both cheeks again with his hands and squeezing the soft flesh roughly. With one hand he pushed his slave’s head down into the pillows, and moved the other to his mouth, wetting three fingers with copious saliva.
Fyrio rubbed his stiff cock against her wet lips once more, just to tease her, then stuck his forefinger into the tight, pursed opening of her exposed asshole. Annie moaned again, in surprise and distress and guilty pleasure mixed. Fyrio plunged his finger deeper, felt her tighten against him. He stuck his middle finger in next, spreading the two fingers apart to stretch her tight hole. He hardly ever used his slave’s ass, but he had resolved to use it more, to train her to love his anal attentions.
”Relax, slave” Fyrio whispered as he brought the head of his cock up to her stretched opening. Deftly he slid his fingers out just as his cock slid in. Annie moaned softly as she felt him push deeper inside, filling her. She was being violated in a way she hadn’t even been able to imagine as a young farm girl, before she had been taken into slavery. She had seen dogs, pigs, and goats rutting in the open, and this unpleasant but uncomplicated sight had been her only real idea of sex, before she was introduced to the thousand deviant ways of pleasure practiced in the sinful Empire of Zathon.
Her hated master began pumping in and out, plunging into her ass as he spread her round cheeks apart with his hands. She hated the little twinges of pleasure that shot through her beneath the pain. She forced herself to breathe, knowing that it would be easier and less painful if she could relax. Then Fyrio smacked her right buttock again, hard, and she tightened with a spasm. He grunted as her ass gripped his cock.
Then taking his hands from her ass, Fyrio grabbed a red braid in each hand, yanking back hard on her head, lifting it out of the pillows and forcing her back into a concave arch. Pulling roughly on her braids, her fucked her faster and harder, slapping against her round ass with every thrust. “Take it, bitch,” he said between his teeth as he pounded her. Annie gasped from the pain, but the sick thrills of unwanted pleasure were also shooting through her. She wished, for a brief moment, that he would pull it out of her ass and take her as a woman is meant to be taken, for her cunt was wet and eager for him. Angrily she pushed those thoughts away, as she reminded herself what a cruel bastard Fyrio was.
“Fucking… fuck,” Fyrio gasped, and Annie felt him spasm, felt the warm cum inside of her, spilling into her ass. He pulled out with a soft pop, watched in satisfaction as her gaping hole closed and puckered again. Then smacking her firm round cheeks one last time, Fyrio slipped his softening tool back into his velvet trousers. “Clean yourself up, slut,” he muttered as he walked out.
Annie Archer lay in the luxuriant bed, breathing heavily and trying not to cry. She remembered her home, the farm in Alephia, her father and brothers, and was disgusted with herself, wondering what they would think to see her now. She remembered the handsome young priest at the Church of Holy Light, who had always preached about purity and abstinence from pleasure. She imagined, with a shame tinged by a measure of sick pleasure, that he was looking down on her now in the bed, naked, ass pink from spanking and dripping with cum. And she remembered the boy from the village, the one she had loved in her girlish way from afar. If he were here now, would he comfort her? Kiss her, hold her, violated as she was?
Quickly, Annie reached to the bedside table and pulled a smooth tapered candle from the socket of a candelabrum. Then, imagining the village boy’s cock, she kissed it softly, wetted it with her mouth, and slid it gently inside herself as she rubbed at her hard clit with the other hand. Bad enough that her master could rape her whenever he wished, but to leave her unsatisfied, thinking only of himself, added insult to injury. Annie fucked herself with the candle, and imagined the village boy’s caresses. She imagined killing Fyrio a hundred different ways. Then the images of sex and death reached a furious crescendo, and she came, biting her lip to stifle her cry.
“I’m going out for a while,” Fyrio said casually. “Don’t go anywhere,” he added with a smirk as he looked down at Annie. Her hands were tied to the posts at the head of the bed with silken cord, her legs forced apart by a spreader bar manacled to her ankles. She was blindfolded and gagged with red silk. Fyrio took one last swat at an exposed white thigh, making the soft flesh sting as Annie yelped through her gag. Then with a cruel chuckle he sauntered from the room, and a moment later Annie heard his polished black jackboots thudding down the wooden stairs.
She knew he was going to the local tavern, to meet up with other men of his caste, mostly officers like Fyrio (who was an artillery captain). They would drink spirits and trade news of the war, stir each other up with lewd jokes and debauched tales of their seemingly unlimited lechery, the perverse acts committed with free women and slaves. In a few hours, drunk and horny once more, Fyrio would stumble down the cobblestone streets, through the door and up the stairs. Soon he would be in this room again, Annie knew, fucking her in even more debauched and perverted ways, as the drink unlocked the shadowed recesses of his already lascivious and sadistic mind. If she was lucky, he wouldn’t bring his drinking buddies with him.
Helpless and bound, Annie Archer had only one way to prevent herself from sinking into a swamp of fear as she waited for her master to return. She turned her mind to prayer, remembering the catechisms and pleas for divine mercy which she had learned in a childhood devoted to the Church of the Holy Light. While some children only went to church dutifully, and sat bored and miserable in the hard pews, Annie had found a sincere faith and love of the Ineffable God, the Supreme Light, the Soul of Creation. It was to this luminous deity she now prayed, saying the words silently in her mind or muttering them into her drool-soaked gag. She tried to imagine herself on her knees at her bedside on the family farm, rather than spread-eagled naked on a bed of sin. She tried to force herself to remember that she was a beautiful living soul, beloved of God, and not a piece of meat, a fuck-toy owned by a man, as Fyrio wanted her to believe. Her faith had sustained her in her slavery, but she had also felt the certainty and strength of it slipping away since childhood, since she had witnessed and done so many filthy and sinful things.
Suddenly her prayers were interrupted by the sound of the door opening, and Annie stiffened on the bed as she awaited her master’s hated touch.
Instead she felt soft hands, female hands, at her wrists, undoing the bonds gently. Slender fingers probed delicately at her lips as they removed the gag, then slid away the blindfold and left Annie blinking and trying to focus. As her vision cleared she saw a girl she recognized as Nathalie, Fyrio’s sister, crouched at the edge of the bed. She was a young woman a few years older than Annie. Dark locks framed a severe but beautiful face. Her shame welled up to see the young women’s face down between her wide-spread legs, until she realized Nathalie was fumbling with a ring of keys, trying each in the lock of one ankle manacle.
“I-it’s the smallest one,” Annie managed, sitting up and rubbing her wrists where they had been bound. Then she brought one of the silk sheets over her bare torso as Nathalie unlocked each manacle and tossed the iron spreader bar to the floor with a thud. “Thank you,” Annie said softly as she drew her legs beneath the sheet.
Nathalie smiled grimly. “Don’t thank me just yet,” she warned. “I need you to do something.” She came over and sat next to Annie on the bed, who wrapped the sheets more tightly, conscious of her nakedness. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh when Nathalie laid one soft hand on her shoulder, and produced from some hidden pocket a slim but wicked-looking stiletto dagger. The sterling handle was chased with designs of ivy, but the blade was hideous in its obviously deadly intent. Annie looked at it with growing horror.
“Do what?” she whispered, as Nathalie held out the knife. Annie did not take it.
“Kill my brother,” Nathalie said darkly.
“Why?” Annie asked timidly. She had always been taught to hate violence and love peace, and could hardly even imagine herself holding the knife, much less thrusting it into Fyrio.
“Why? What do you mean ‘why’? Doesn’t he rape you, use you as his slave? Isn’t he cruel to you, doesn’t he hurt you?” Nathalie demanded.
“Yes,” she admitted softly. “But… why do you want your brother to die?”
“Believe it or not, some of us Zaths have a conscience. I can’t let him do this to you anymore.” Annie just stared silently, and Nathalie continued, “And I may have my own reasons as well. I am a free woman, so he hasn’t been able to do as he likes, but he has still had a lifetime to force his unwanted attentions on me, and he hasn’t entirely failed in that. And now he is harassing my suitors, trying to block all potential future partners for me. I have heard rumors that he intends to frame me for treason or religiosity, so that I might be enslaved, and he can buy me. True or not, he needs to die.”
“But why not do it yourself?” Annie asked hesitantly.
“I cannot take the risk. Without an unimpeachable alibi, suspicion will fall on me. So tonight I am going to a grand bacchanal being held by the nobility. Everyone important in this province will see me. You will ambush Fyrio when he returns, drunk. Then you will escape with the others, because all of the slaves of the household are sure to be punished. You know where to take them,” Nathalie said gravely.
“What? No, I don’t… I wouldn’t know,” Annie protested, but Nathalie put a finger to her plump lips to silence her, looked into her soft green eyes with her hard black ones.
“Yes, you do. I’ve seen you sneak away, at night. You are very lucky Fyrio is less observant. You go somewhere, you must know someone willing to help slaves. Don’t you?”
“I… I do,” Annie admitted, but continued with rising panic, “but I don’t know if I can get there… with the entire household… we’ll be caught… I can’t possibly—“
“You can,” Nathalie insisted. “This is your only chance. You may fail or you may succeed, but if you stay here, you’ll be nothing more than a slave. Will you take the knife, or should I tie you up again?” She stared at Annie with her piercing black eyes.
“Y-yes… I’ll take it…” Annie whispered, her hand closing around the cool metal handle of the dagger. She took it, held the blade up to the lamplight, stared at it numbly, then put it down carefully on the mahogany nightstand.
“You’ve made the right choice,” Nathalie said, and to Annie’s surprise, darted in and planted a kiss on her lips, holding it for a sweet moment with one hand brushing Annie’s red braid.
Annie felt her face warm as it flushed red, hiding her freckles. She also felt something stirring deep inside her, a response to the kiss and the kindness shown by Nathalie. No one had shown her kindness in many months or even years, since she had been taken into slavery. She had thought love and kindness were dead in Zathon. But now here they were, from this dark and proud aristocrat girl. Annie had never felt anything like this for another girl, but love and gratitude welled up in her together, and she leaned forward and returned the brief kiss with another, holding it longer and brushing her fingers against Nathalie’s lithe neck.
“Thank you,” Annie whispered as the kiss was broken, and Nathalie looked at her with those smoldering black eyes. Then without another word she dipped her head down to Annie’s pale neck and began to kiss and suck the skin there. A shiver of pleasure went through Annie as Nathalie tenderly kissed the tattoo at the side of her neck, her owner’s mark. Kissing Annie’s cheek and gently sucking one earlobe, she brought her hand to the other cheek and turned Annie’s head to face her, before pulling her into a passionate open-mouthed kiss.
Annie buried her fingers in Nathalie’s silky black hair, as the aristocrat’s tongue plunged into her mouth an entwined with hers, sex reenacted in miniature in the secret caves of their mouths. She tasted the other girl’s saliva and felt their teeth gently click together. She had never kissed another girl before, had never thought to do so, but now here she was with a Zath woman’s tongue in her mouth, and what would father say about this if he knew? But after all she was kind and good, not like other Zaths, and it was true that she was very beautiful…
All thoughts slipped away as Nathalie’s delicate hands slid down beneath the sheets. Annie let the sheets fall away, exposing her nakedness, and eagerly pressed her body against Nathalie’s. Nathalie smiled and bent down to suck Annie’s pert, pale, small breasts, dusted with yet more freckles. She kissed and sucked the hard, pink nipples until Annie moaned, then looked up with a sweet yet devilish smile, and kissed her again. As they kissed, Nathalie’s hands slid down further, one cupping one ample ass cheek and squeezing the soft flesh, while the other slid through a trimmed patch of red pubic hair and down to Annie’s wet pussy.
Annie moaned and pushed her tongue more forcefully into Nathalie’s warm mouth, as she felt a finger slide easily into her. Nathalie hooked her finger and rubbed against the ridged surface of Annie’s sweet spot, a place she had felt no one’s fingers except her own, causing her to moan in ecstasy. Then Nathalie brought her thumb up to the hard clit and began to rub at it in small circles, and to flick gently across it.
Annie broke away from the kiss, crying out softly in little gasps and murmurs as Nathalie rubbed her skillfully, the pleasure building and building. She looked at the young woman, a near-stranger until tonight, with a growing tenderness, desire, and yes, love. Annie was a sensitive girl with love to give, but no one to give it to in her captivity. But now staring into those dark eyes, she couldn’t help from saying the words. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” she repeated softly, until Nathalie, seeming somewhat embarrassed, stopped her mouth with a kiss. But when she broke away, the words continued to pour out. “Oh, God, Nathalie, I love you, I love you so much…” Annie moaned, as the pleasure grew and grew in dizzying waves.
“You Alephian girls and your love,” Nathalie muttered with a smirk. “You just need to come. Come for me,” she coaxed, as she slid another finger inside and began rubbing faster.
“No, I love you, I really, I…” Annie stuttered, then gasped as the pleasure mounted to new heights.
Nathalie licked the side of her neck and her cheek in one long lascivious lick. Then she brought her lips to Annie’s ear. “Fucking come for me, slut,” she said softly but firmly. “Come, slave. That’s an order.” Annie cried out, then bit her plump lower lip to stifle the noise. It was strange to hear Nathalie, who had just offered her freedom, call her ‘slave’. But instead of revulsion it sent a wave of joy though Annie. She would willingly be a slave for this beautiful creature. If only her mistress would let her… let her…
She gasped and shivered as the orgasm exploded up through her body, radiating out from her tingling clit. She dug her fingers into Nathalie’s soft dark hair, pulled her body close, and whimpered softly until the older girl stopped rubbing, and twitching with the last receding waves of orgasmic pleasure, Annie fell backwards onto the bed.
Nathalie lay down next to her, spooning the slave girl, letting her hands run over her red braids and soft tits and ample ass, kissing her neck and cheek and ear. Annie turned to face her, kissed her again deeply, and in between tongue-play whispered about love.
Nathalie knew that if she let her, Annie would gladly lay here all night kissing and cuddling, until Fyrio returned to inflict some horrible punishment on both. Rising, she brushed her hair back into place with her fingers. “You still have dark deeds to do tonight,” she reminded Annie, whose soft face filled with a tragic mixture of fear and resolve. “Still up for it?”
“I’ll do it,” Annie replied, trying to sound brave. “For you.”
“Do it for yourself,” Nathalie replied, and pulled her into one final blissful kiss.
Then Nathalie pulled away, smiled, and went to the door. “Take any clothes you want from my wardrobe. Wait for him behind the door. Courage!” she said, before hurrying away and down the stairs.
Killing Fyrio was easy, so effortless that it was almost dreamlike, thereby doubling the shock and surreal horror of the event to Annie’s mind. Fyrio had come in, swaying and groping for the coat hook, and Annie had stepped out of the shadows behind the door and plunged the knife into his ribs wordlessly, her eyes wide and staring and her mouth pressed into a thin bloodless line. “You-“ Fyrio had croaked, and then she slipped the knife out of him and plunged it in again, and again and again and again, the thin little stiletto blade slipping in and out with no resistance. Then Fyrio had wheezed sickly, stumbled forward, and fallen to his knees with blood soaking his fancy shirt and welling between his fingers. He tried to take a wet, gasping breath, but blood drooled from the sides of his mouth, and he pitched forward onto the hardwood floor, dead in a slowly spreading pool of crimson.
She hadn’t been able to tell the rest of the household slaves, four in number, what had happened, but her bewildered eyes and the blood-slicked blade of the dagger had told the tale eloquently, and the need to escape was obvious to all. Over the rising, panicked voices of the other slaves, she had finally spoken up. “I know where to go,” she announced.
Sending the other four to find supplies, Annie had run up to Nathalie’s bedroom, tossed away the blood-stained black shift she had worn for the killing, and opened the fragrant cedar armoire to find some suitable clothes. She selected the darkest and most functional-seeming items: a black velvet tunic, black leather trousers which clung tightly to her wide hips and round ass, and soft black leather riding boots. She did not bother with the large collection of fancy dresses, for with her neck tattooed with her owner’s mark there was no way to disguise herself as a free woman. The fetish clothing, outfits of leather strapping which seemed likely to cover nothing and reveal everything, she ignored in disgust.
Now dressed in black, Annie went downstairs once more to gather the slaves for the escape. Her companions in bondage were a butler named Hodges, the middle-aged cook and maid Matilda, the carriage driver Terren, and Nathalie’s handmaiden Zelle, a lithe blonde girl a little younger than Annie. Only Zelle didn’t seem to be overwhelmed by shock and fear, and had in fact packed a bag and found boots and a lantern somewhere. Annie suspected she had had some advance warning of the plan from Nathalie. Terren wouldn’t stand still, but strode anxiously up and down the room. Matila kept looking out the windows and then shrinking back in fear of being seen, and Hodges was muttering to himself and taking slugs of liquor from a crystal decanter taken from the formal dining room.
“Is everyone ready?” Annie asked, surveying the room. Zelle nodded firmly but the rest would not meet her eye.
“Where are we going? You know what they do to runaways. We’ll be caught, tortured, and crucified for this,” Terren said darkly. “You’re throwing us out into the night with no plan. Stupid girl, you’ve killed us!” he spat.
To Annie’s surprise, Zelle walked over to Terren, and kicked the older man hard in one shin. “Idiot!” she cried in his face ad he hunched over a grabbed at his wounded leg. “Annie is saving us! She’s taking us to freedom! Be grateful! Say thank you!” she shouted, boxing Terren’s ear.
With a grimace, the old coachman straightened and looked at Annie. “Thank you,” he muttered between clenched teeth. “I hope you have a plan?” he added, and Annie nodded. “Let’s not waste time then,” he said sullenly.
The slaves all rose, gathered their few belongings, and followed Annie out the back door, into the fragrant night air of the garden. It was a pleasantly cool spring night, and the other villas and manor houses of the nobility glowed with warm yellowish light, here and there on the terraced and wooded hillside. Below, the city of Jaron burned with its own lights, towers and smokestacks rising out of a city like a bed of smoldering coals.
Annie led the small group of fugitives stealthily through a gap in the back hedge and down a slope to an artificial drainage stream at the bottom of a ditch. Through this they wound between the estates of the nobility, some of whom employed watchmen or used slaves as lookouts. Keeping quiet and low, the group came upon a gravel road, and looking both ways and listening for horses or motors, suddenly ran across to the tree line at the other side. The runaways now found themselves on a forested slope. They descended as quietly as they could through rustling and snapping brush, once disturbing an owl which flew hooting away. The moon was large and Zelle’s lantern also lit their way, and soon the group found itself on level ground again, looking out from the trees at the edge of a residential neighborhood.
The houses here were smaller but closer together, and here and there a figure still walked the midnight streets, often carrying a torch or lantern. Annie made the group wait for a long time at the edge of the trees, until the streets seemed to be clear. Then with a whisper she led them, quickly and furtively, out onto the cobbled streets and between the sleeping houses, taking turns and alleyway shortcuts she knew well from previous excursions.
She was leading the way out of an alley when Annie was stopped in her tracks by a bright light and a gruff voice. “Oy, who’s this then?” a man asked, and put his big paw of a hand on Annie’s chest.
“I—we’re—it’s an emergency, please just let us—” she stammered as she peered past the bright lantern and into the wrinkled and pock-marked face of an old man.
“Slave, are ya?” the man asked casually, touching the tattoo on Annie’s neck and causing her to recoil. He grinned, showing an incomplete and yellowed set of teeth. “All o’ ye?” he asked, surveying the group. His eyes particularly lingered on the young, lithe body of Zelle, who tried to meet his gaze only to find it sliding over her supple young form.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured seductively. “Oh, please, sir, don’t turn us in,” she pleaded in a voice more girlish than was normal. She sidled up close to the old watchman, rolling her hips. She wore a tight dress of midnight blue velvet, which clung to her slender body, and white stockings on her long legs. “Our master is a very nasty man,” she said as if imparting a dirty secret. “If you’ll let us go… I’ll be very grateful…” she cooed, pressing up against him slightly.
“Oh, I can help ye,” the old lecher muttered, wrapping an arm around Zelle’s waist and resting a callused hand on her small girlish ass. “In here, all o’ ye,” he ordered, and led Zelle back into the alley, with the rest following reluctantly.
“Now, girly, against the fence,” the old man said with his rotten grin, and gently but insistently pushed Zelle up against a board fence. Then he lifted her dress to expose the white cheeks of her small ass, the tiny lacy panties between, and the lacy ends of the stocking clinging to her thighs. Annie looked away, but found Hodges and Terren staring at the lewd display, and glared at them until they averted their eyes in shame. Matilda stared at the ground the entire time, horrified.
The lecherous old man set his lantern down and kneeled in the mud of the alley. “Been some time since I’ve had such a fine young ass to play with,” he said in his rasping voice, and lowered the lacy panties down to Zelle’s calves. Then with his lascivious, slurping mouth and tongue, he sucked loudly at one white thigh, then the other. Zelle whimpered slightly, and Annie couldn’t resist looking back to see what was happening.
The old man was pulling Zelle’s cheeks apart with his hands, and burying his face in her young slit, licking and slurping like the disgusting old pervert he was. He took one hand from Zelle’s ass, and fished his limp wrinkled cock out of his trousers. He began to furiously pump his flaccid organ, as he licked ever more furiously at Zelle’s cunt. She began to moan softly, but whether this was genuine or acting Annie couldn’t say. The old man slid his tongue up to lick at Zelle’s other hole, and the moaning went up an octave.
Now his cock seemed semi-stiff, and he rose shakily to his feet. He seemed about to stick his filthy old cock into Zelle, and Annie almost cried out to stop him, but he only rubbed the fat thing across her ass and the lips of her pussy, as he continued to pump it. With his other hand he squeezed and rubbed her thigh and ass.
Suddenly the old man let loose a spray of cum across Zelle’s ass and thighs, as he grunted in pleasure. Then, tucking away his softening cock, he turned to Annie. “Lick it off ‘er,” he sneered, pointing at the thick jism on Zelle’s pale skin.
Annie took a shaky breath and obeyed, sinking to her knees in the mud and bringing her face to Zelle’s exposed ass. Timidly at first, and then more quickly, she licked the disgusting white slime off the taut buttocks and soft thighs. One thick rope of it lay across Zelle’s perfect young pussy lips, and Annie hesitated before sliding her tongue up that soft slit and cleaning the filthy cum from the nubile pussy. Then rising to her feet, she turned to the watchman and showed him the mouthful of cum.
“Swallow,” was all he said, and she did. The old man laughed cruelly. “Well, I’d reckon tonight’s me lucky night,” he chuckled. “Got to taste one young whore’s cunt, watched another swallow me spunk, and now I’ll collect a reward on five runaways!”
He didn’t get a chance to laugh again. Annie’s knife was in his throat, red warmth running over her hand as his glassy eyes stared in disbelief. Some of the same sick horror from the killing of Fyrio washed over Annie, but not nearly as much. Killing was easier the second time, it seemed.
Annie let the old man’s body drop to the mud, then picked up his lantern. “Let’s go,” she said to the group, then realized something. “Where’s Terren?” she asked. But with the molestation of Zelle and the killing of the watchman, their attention had been occupied, and no one had seen him slip away into the night.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/3yr27v/slave_to_a_sinful_empire_part_i_fantasy_slave