Fallen Kingdom Ch. 10

"Say goodbye to your balls, Imperium scum. Your daughter gets to watch you lose your manhood, a fitting end to a primped-up fool."

Anaria's fight-or-flight response settled on the deadlier of the two, but what could she hope to accomplish? Naked and tied to a tree, she watched the brutal rebel leader, Gorlann, stalking toward her father. On his back with his hands tied behind him, the aristocrat tried to rise up quickly to make a run for it, but the gladiator was going to easily overtake him. Gorlann's muscular form hurtled forward like a lion about to tackle its prey.

And yet that was when events took an unexpected turn. When Gorlann had tied Anaria's wrists behind her back to a nearby tree trunk, he had been hurried. Eager to exact his revenge on Lord Inarius Kaelon, Anaria's father, he hadn't tied the knot as effectively as he could have. Now, desperate beyond belief to save her father, Anaria felt a surprising surge not of fear -- but of anger.

'You won't kill him, you bastard! I won't let you!' That white-hot mantra rolled through her mind as she jerked frantically on her bindings. The sharp, uneven bark of the tree even aided her attempts, helping fray the rope until it tore apart and allowed Anaria to finally yank her hands free.

Gorlann was almost upon Inarius when he suddenly felt a weight slamming onto his back. Anaria pounced on him from behind, putting the gladiator in a headlock and screaming like a hellcat.

"Father RUN!"

Clenching a knife in one hand, he could have easily stabbed the girl, but Gorlann felt a surprising burst of admiration instead; this slender girl who was only a fraction of his weight kept furiously attacking him, willing to sacrifice her own life for her father's. It was a display of courage that demanded respect. More than that, though, Gorlann realized that this was the fighting spirit he had yet to truly see from Anaria. He had wanted her to become an apprentice of sorts to him in addition to serving his sexual needs, but in the intervening time she had seemed only good as a sex-toy, a plaything, and his treatment of her had grown more and more demeaning. He had decided that she didn't have the mettle to become a fighter alongside him or an asset to the rebels as they sought to unseat the power of the Imperium who ruled Prythia.

Yet now he found himself wondering if he'd misjudged her.

"I won't let you hurt him!" she screamed, trying to claw at his face. He threw his knife aside and then easily threw the Imperium teen over his shoulder. No sooner had he slammed her to the earth, though, she then sprang up and charged him again. With a ferocity unmatched by any warrior he had ever fought, the girl came at him. She picked up the same knife he had thrown aside moments early and lunged at him with it. He sidestepped the first few clumsy attacks, but her blood lust wouldn't be sated and the desperation in her eyes -- the need to give her father time to get away -- fueled her with a spike of adrenaline that gave her unnatural speed. To his shock, Gorlann found that on the fifth lunge, the girl managed to even nick his wrist and actually draw blood.

Of the last thirteen men he had defeated in the Arena, before he had instigated the rebellion, none had managed to do even that much. His admiration for the girl grew.

Meanwhile, Inarius Kaelon found himself paralyzed by indecision. His instinct urged him to run, but he could not abandon his daughter.

Still making feinting thrusts with the knife in her hand to keep Gorlann at bay, Anaria glanced back at Inarius.

"Father, I'll hold him off. Father, run!"

But Inarius couldn't. He just stood there awkwardly, trying to loosen the bindings at his wrists which refused to budge.

Now Gorlann made a lunge of his own. He felt the swish of air where the knife almost cut through his forearm, but Anaria missed by just a hair's width. He twisted, clamping his hand on the girl's wrist, shaking her wrist and squeezing tight to make her drop the weapon. Once again he underestimated her, though, because now Anaria adjusted her attack, kicking out at his groin. He managed to just barely dodge the ferocious kick, but to do so he had to let go of her wrist. She swiped at him again with the knife, and this time a bright red line streaked across his chest. It had barely broken the skin, but the sensation of pain still shocked him. This girl was a fighter after all. His feelings of near-contempt for a girl he had regarded until now as no more than a stuck-up Imperium teenage brat now evaporated.

"Not bad, bitch. You've got spunk, I'll give you that. You're a fighter." Saying this, Gorlann charged again, and this time he left nothing to chance. He twisted around, his right leg flinging outward in a roundhouse kick that dislodged the knife from her grasp. He saw the register of fear and still-seething anger in her eyes as he lunged at her. Pinning her wrists behind her back, he roughly threw her facedown on the grass. Fighting the beautiful, naked girl had made his cock hard and now, even as she struggled and writhed, he gazed at her wiggling buttocks and thrust himself balls-deep into her pussy, pinning her to the ground with his body weight as much as his cock.

"Stay still, bitch, and I will let your father go. Stop struggling, whore. Be still," he growled.

He felt the fight go out of her, at least for the moment. He heard Anaria's ragged breathing beneath him. Her neck craned upward. She and her father locked eyes. Meanwhile, Gorlann glared at the indecisive Imperium aristocrat.

"You heard me, fool. Leave now before I change my mind and cut off your balls as I originally intended. Go!"

With shame and sorrow clouding his face, Lord Inarius Kaelon turned and ran. Fear and self-preservation had finally won out.

Now it was just Gorlann and the girl. He felt her relaxing beneath him. Her sexy little ass cheeks felt smooth against his body as he rammed himself into her from behind, enjoying the snug fit of her cum-soaked pussy. Rivulets of Lord Kaelon's cum still lubricated the girl's cunt thanks to the daughter-father coupling that Gorlann had forced them to do earlier. Between thrusts, he growled in her ear.

"Are you grateful, little bitch? Grateful that I chose to have mercy on your father after all?"

"Go to hell," she spat, grimacing as he continued to fuck her. This was a new side to her he hadn't fully seen. Her defiance remained strong. This was refreshing. This was...hot.

"Come here. Stand up and mount me, slave." He leapt to his feet and dragged her with him. Spinning her around, he motioned for her to climb up onto him, gesturing meaningfully at his fully elongated penis.

"You bastard. Fuck you," she spat. "I hate you." Finally, after all of the abuse she had suffered, the terror and the pain endured at the rebels' hands and his own, it had led to this... defiance and the willingness to invite death. Anaria had finally snapped. That was what she wanted, he realized, for him to kill her now and end her pain. But he would not let her go to waste so easily, not when he'd finally succeeded in erasing the pampered Imperium brat she had once been and re-molded her into something hard and useful. He pulled her to him, and she reluctantly looped her arms around his neck, jumped upward, and settled her pussy atop the length of his cock with her hips hugging his waist. He saw her shiver as the length of his shaft slid up into her cum-soaked twat. He beheld the contortion of conflicted emotion there -- pleasure and hatred, self-loathing and desire.

He looped his hands under the girl's hips and lifted her up only to impale her again and again. He let her bounce on his cock. The girl's hands locked around the back of his neck, tightening as she grunted and stared into his eyes. It was a strange thing to see there -- the lust mingled with the loathing. He had finally broken her... turned her into something else entirely. Her cunt flew up and down his shaft, lubricating him, dripping with a wetness that couldn't be denied.

"You may hate me, but your pussy does not," he snarled. He leaned down, capturing her lips for a brutal kiss. She bit his bottom lip in response, groaning as her cunt lips formed a tight seal around his plunging shaft. Each time she bottomed out on his cock, with only his testicles showing beneath the smoothness of her alluring ass cheeks, and each time Gorlann felt as if he was in heaven with that teenage cunt entrapping his throbbing manhood.

"So, bitch... are you grateful? You never answered my question."

Looking up at him fiercely, the girl growled back. "I'll be grateful if you convince that Xokothi pig to release my mother. Do that, and I'll be grateful. If you do not..." She let the threat hang unspoken.

Amused, Gorlann stared at her. He pumped his shaft upward again, encasing his cock in her silky-soft wetness. He stilled for a moment, holding her there impaled on his rod. "If I do not do as you ask, then what? Spit it out, slave."

"If you do not," Anaria purred, her eyes glinting with desire and danger, "then I will find your knife when you least expect it and cut off your balls while you sleep." He could tell from the tone of her voice that she was deadly serious.

'Impressive,' he thought. Yes, his harsh treatment of her had finally caused the girl to have a near-total break. She was finally embracing a part of herself that her prissy Imperium upbringing had kept dormant. This was the girl he had hoped to forge into a fellow fighter. He didn't care whether the girl liked him; she could hate him, even, for all he cared. He just wanted a useful companion, someone who wasn't weak, someone who would learn to channel that ferocity through the new pathways he offered. He saw potential in her now, truly, for the first time. Instead of being one among many submissive slave-cunts to simply abuse until he grew tired of her, now he saw a new role for her -- one with real meaning.

So his next words stunned her like nothing else, but they were true.

"Very well, I'll convince Okotwe to release your precious mother if you do as I originally asked the day I took you captive. You will learn to become a fighter alongside me and serve the rebellion."

Anaria nodded. She succumbed to it. Her parents might be free and safe. That was all that mattered. And after what had happened -- after she had fucked her own father willingly and made him come inside her -- she deserved it. She was as awful as these bloodthirsty gladiators, as immoral as them. So why shouldn't she fight for Gorlann? She resigned herself to what he asked. This would be her fate, a fate richly earned.

As their bodies continued to smack together loudly, Gorlann's balls jostling beneath the girl's pussy, Anaria pressed her lips to her rapist-captor and mentor.

'Fuck me, you bastard. Do what you want with me. Just let my parents go.' That thought was burned into her mind even as traitorous arousal surged in her veins. She enthusiastically slammed her cunt down to encase his cock, and then she felt a tiny inferno blossom into something more, an eruption of sensation and guilt-free pleasure that stole her breath away. She moaned into his mouth as he bit her bottom lip, convulsing around his dick until her fluids coated every inch of him in gratitude. He groaned like a bull against her mouth, joining her in bliss soon afterward. His cock spewed and spurted its life-giving cum deep up the girl's snatch, his seed mingling with the seed of her father to fully soak her insides with more than a billion sperm.

~*****~

After their orgasms subsided, the two remained locked together. He held her for a moment as time seemed to cease, his cock softening within her velvet warmth. His hand caressed the smoothness of the girl's ass cheeks as he relished the stickiness surrounding his cock, encased within her, and wondered whether one of his seed would find one of her eggs and implant her with child.

"Why can't I get enough of you, bitch? Why?" he growled. The admission of vulnerability, slight as it was, astounded her. Anaria had thought that he loathed her; he had treated her horribly, demeaned her... and yet did part of him see something in her? Feel something for her? She hadn't felt like this since the moment he had decided to have her wear the silver-chained amber necklace from her mother's jewelry stash when he'd forced her to help him plunder their villa. It hung from her neck even now, nestled in the cleavage of her breasts.

Gorlann now reached one hand down to finger the valuable necklace, admiring its contours.

"It is almost as beautiful as you, slave. Almost," he said meaningfully.

"Thank you, Master." The anger she had felt toward him still lingered, but it had become subsumed by something else. A part of her still hated him, but she respected him too. She respected his brutality and his drive; after all, they were what had allowed him to successfully rebel against the most powerful of Prythian society, the very people her father served.

"I promised you that I would make Okotwe release your mother. Come. Now that you have shown me what you're capable of, that you are truly a fighter after all, I will reward your strength. Come."

Gorlann was true to his word. Anaria would not have believed it until she saw it with her own eyes. Gorlann approached the swarthy, towering Xokothi slave who had taken her mother Phaeka captive. She watched a heated exchange between the men. Moments later, Gorlann approached Phaeka and undid the bindings around her wrists. But then Okotwe stomped up to him, and then there was another short but bitter exchange between the two. Gorlann withdrew and came back toward Anaria without a word.

Meanwhile, Anaria gaped as Okotwe, the muscle-bound and dark-skinned Xokothi hulk, forced the petite brunette mother onto her hands and knees. Positioning one foot near Phaeka's head, he hunched over her, guiding his throbbing, rigid cock-head to the woman's puckered opening. He slowly plunged his cock-head into her ass. Growling with delight, he began to sodomize Anaria's mother right before her eyes. Phaeka's groans joined those of her rapist, his balls smacking against her butt cheeks at a growing rhythm. Anaria couldn't believe that the inhuman beast managed to fit two-thirds of his gigantic cock into her mother's ass, then further deepen each successive thrust until he was fully sheathed in her bottom. At last, with a plaintive howl of pleasure, the man held himself still, his testicles tightening, and blew a hefty load deep in the Imperium woman's ass. Pulling out, he gave the woman's butt cheeks one final, hard, and affectionate smack and barked at her to go.

When Phaeka stared up at the man, tears glistening in her eyes, Okotwe merely gestured for her to leave the camp a free woman. The woman managed to get to her feet despite her wobbly legs. Phaeka looked over her shoulder, sending one last longing glance at her daughter. Her daughter's sorrowful but encouraging eyes seemed to say back to her, 'It's okay, Mom. Go! Make my sacrifice worth it. Take your freedom while you can. I'll survive.'

Phaeka stared at her daughter for one more fleeting moment. Then, with a trace of blood leaking from her ravaged ass, the naked noblewomen stumbled ahead toward the tree line. Finally, she disappeared from view.

Gorlann put his arm around Anaria. Her gaze questioned him without a need for words.

"Okotwe agreed to a greater share in the spoils after our next battle in exchange for letting your mother go, but he demanded an extra price: the privilege of having one last go at her before giving her up."

So that explained the farewell ass-rape, Anaria thought grimly. Her glare darkened as she sent it Okotwe's way, but the big man was oblivious to her as he joked and chatted with one of his fellow Xokothi. Seeming to sense her gaze, though, he abruptly strode up to her. He gestured meaningfully at his semi-flaccid cock, tinged with her mother's blood.

"You want to suck your mother's ass off my cock, slave? You're welcome to. Here, I'll stand here and let you clean my shaft."

"Screw you, Xokothi pig!" Anaria's spit landed on Okotwe's foot. The man's face darkened dangerously.

"You better tell your slave-bitch to behave," he said to Gorlann. "If you let her run her mouth too much, someone might be tempted to shut it permanently."

But Gorlann stepped up to Okotwe, his gaze meeting steel with steel.

"Anaria is mine, and you would do well to remember it. If she disrespects you, then consider that disrespect as coming from ME and respect it accordingly."

Anaria watched, face flushed with a tiny thrill of satisfaction as the chastened Okotwe withdrew under the threat of Gorlann's wrath. He strode over to a fellow Xokothi and borrowed the man's captive, forcing her to her knees. The girl was a slender redhead with long, curly hair and almost moon-pale skin. Anaria recognized her as a Tercanian serving girl from one of the other wealthy Bhekethan houses. Her name was Saffra. Anaria watched with disgust as Okotwe presented his defiled cock and forced Saffra to take it between her lips. Judging from the welts across her butt cheeks, several other Xokothi and gladiators had already taken their turns with her.

Anaria couldn't tear her eyes away. She watched the young redhead, wrists bound behind her back, slurping along the length of the dark, glistening shaft. Okotwe bunched up her hair in one fist and proceeded to move his hips in tandem to her fervent sucking. Soon the girl was gurgling desperately, the Xokothi fighter's scrotum flush against her chin, forcing her to gag on cock. Saffra's eyes widened, her muffled plea still loud enough for everyone to hear. But Okotwe had little time for mercy. Instead, bucking against the poor girl's face, he felt himself re-harden inside her mouth and throat. Pulling out at last to allow the girl to take a quick breath, he looked down with contempt at the beautiful redhead as she succumbed to a fit of coughing.

Seeing the impatience on the towering black warrior's face, Saffra opened her mouth obediently again just in time to accept that gigantic slab of man-meat which Okotwe once more rammed into her mouth. Pre-cum and drool slid down her chin all the way to her neck and breasts. Now Okotwe grasped the back of the girl's head with both hands and face-fucked her without mercy. Staring again at the welts on the girl's once pristine ass, Anaria felt sorry for her. Another Xokothi slave, his cock hard and long, bent over and reached down to fondle her ass -- just the barest touch of his fingertips making her flinch in pain. But he seemed to have other intentions, his fingers dipping to her bare cunt, sliding against her clit, rubbing and caressing. Saffra stiffened. Involuntarily the sexy captive ground her pussy back against those calloused fingers. Soon her muffled groans sailed through the camp. Skull-fucked and pleasured at the same time, Saffra's body became overwhelmed by contradictory sensations.

But Okotwe was not pleased. Though he might not tongue-lash a fellow Xokothi, the captive at his feet was another story.

"Tercanian bitch, if you come before I blow my load in your mouth, I'll hang you upside-down from a tree and whip that ass until the lashes that made those welts on your backside seem like tender kisses," Okotwe hissed.

'Vile scum,' Anaria thought. The gladiators were brutal, but at least they had a reason to be -- they had been fighters forced to survive in a kill-or-be-killed life of Arena spectacle. These Xokothi bureaucrat-slaves were a different breed -- cunning, cruel not from necessity but as if they simply took a calculated, insidious joy from controlling and debasing others. It was as if Okotwe and his ilk had been serving so long as clerical automatons for the elites, bent under the yoke of the powerful, that they themselves had a pent-up thirst to revel in that same type of power -- only worse, because their resentment and frustration had had so much time to build. Anaria hated Okotwe. She even began to think about exacting an appropriate retribution on Okowte when time and opportunity allowed...