Adventures on Hor Ch. 01: Arrival

When the next two men started with Catherine, the leader of the group said something and the men shifted, both pulling out of her. She was left gasping and confused. Not understanding the language or cultural expectations was a massive disadvantage for her. Even without understanding the words, she quickly understood the intention as one man lay on his back on the ground holding his hard cock straight up. She crawled to the man and threw a leg over his hips to straddle him. She was about to grasp his cock to align to her hole when the man behind her abruptly thrust his cock into her cum-drenched pussy. At first, her confusion intensified until she noticed the leering smile on the man's face below her. The cock in her pussy pulled out and when she hesitated was swatted on the ass. She grasped the cock below her and sat down slowly over it. The man behind her was in more of a hurry than that, though, and roughly pushed down on her shoulders to seat her completely on the cock. He then pressed her forward. She felt the hands of the man she was on pull her ass cheeks apart and a cock pressing roughly and forcefully through the resistance of her sphincter. Even cum soaked, his cock felt dry in her ass. She cried out in pain as both men began brutally fucking her adjacent holes. The more she cried out, though, the harder they seemed to thrust into her.

A strange thing happened, though. Strange to her, anyway. The cries coming from her as the two men pounded mercilessly into her changed from mere pain to... somehow, it changed to rising pleasure. She was being brutally fucked by these primitive men and her body was betraying her in the basest of ways. In moments, she orgasmed. The cries from her became those of a banshee. The sound surprised even herself. Her body's reaction was equally surprising to her. She orgasmed in the past, yes, but not like this. Her arms and thighs quivered as the nerves bounced within her body. She shivered and quaked. Her pussy and asshole clenched and spasmed around the cocks inside and they responded in climax almost immediately.

More men came to her, giving her verbal orders and becoming frustrated at her slowness to respond. She received many slaps of hands or lashes of ropes for her lack of response. Not understanding the words but seeking visual clues of their wishes slowed her. She was sure she was viewed as 'slow' or 'dim-witted'. Perhaps, they even decided it was why she was found stranded by herself. Perhaps, she was merely left by a frustrated owner who didn't even want the bother of trading her. She knew her immediate survival depended on being around people. She had to learn the ways if not the language to hope to survive if she escaped.

All three holes were taken by the men after that. She lost track of the number of times she was penetrated one hole or another. It lasted for hours on end. If it was only the eight men, they used her repeated by each. When they stopped, had their fill of her, she was unceremoniously dragged and dropped among the other slave women, secured by ropes, again.

In the morning, she ached. Her pussy, ass, and jaw ached from use by the men. Her breast seemed to have been of interest to the men as they were intent on mauling her hanging, bouncing, swinging breasts while being fucked. Her nipples were sore from pinching, twisting, and pulling. When the caravan began moving, she struggled to keep pace while tied in the line of other naked slaves. This was her life? Abuse in one form or another?

She seemed to be singled out and she didn't understand why. There was a lot she didn't understand but there were lines of naked slaves besides her. At every stop along the route and every overnight camp, it seemed she was pulled into groups of men. The first night was with the group of men in charge but after that night it was groups of every other kind of man, men who drove the wagons, herded the animals, kept the lines of slaves moving behind the wagons, and rode along on animals as guards. Those last men were the fiercest of them all. Those men, the guards, were rough and barely controllable by the men in charge. She feared for her survival with those men.

The night she spent with that group was the worst experience of her life. The men rotated through the night as they took turns guarding the edges of the camp. Every hole in her body was filled with cock and cum. She would pass out while being fucked and come to still being fucked. She couldn't fathom the purpose of such abuse.

Four days in the caravan and on this god-forsaken plant felt to her like a lifetime of misery. She felt nearly broken but her stubbornness and will to resist being defeated, trademarks of her previous life, and quick rise within the male-dominated world of the Marines, rose to the surface. It was a sudden shift in her and it didn't go unnoticed. The lead men seemed to have been watching her intently. When she willed herself into control and resistance, it seemed to cause noticeable reactions in them. She willed herself to do what needed to be done and in so doing she would find a way to survive until something better happened.

On the fifth day of marching behind the wagons with that frighteningly large moon sitting on the horizon as a constant reminder of where she wasn't, something did happen. Something very much unexpected.

Scanning the surrounding landscape as they traveled had lost her interest long ago. After long nights of being used by men for their pleasure, Catherine could barely manage to stumble along with the line of other slave women, much less pay attention to the surroundings. But her attention was drawn to the murmurs cascading down the line of wagons and connected slaves. She didn't understand the words but she did understand the heightened interest and maybe concern in the tones of the voices. She followed the gaze of the others. Something had their interest ahead of them. She moved to the side with the other slaves and gazed ahead, peering into the raised dust and beyond. Ahead and well to the side coming down a hillside to the left was a single figure. It appeared to be a single man astride another strange-looking beast and he was on a path to directly intersect the caravan. The interest in this development wasn't idle curiosity, however. She noted that the wagons slowed and grouped closer together, the slaves were bunched tighter behind the wagons they followed, and the guards who were intended to protect the caravan had angled inward to be closer to the caravan as if the caravan might be some protection for them. None of the guards were moving to intercept this lone intruder. One man? This was something to pay attention to.