Hendrix of Gor Ch. 02

There is little spoken by the free woman as we journey. She does not want to travel with us but she wants it more than traveling alone. She would surely die. In this way she needs me, the killer of her man. That must drive her mad. It humors me to no end.

"You are a fool if you expect me to keep pace with your bosk-footed strides," she says.

She is always carefully calling me names like this. She does not call me a fool outright. Only if I were to do the things she does not like.

"You will fall behind and be eaten by larls if you do not build muscle in those urt legs," I say.

I play her game of ifs but it is not my way. I am heedless in all things. Not careful. Not caring for the petty complaints of free women. But it is possible my pace slows a little. We say no more but when I look her in the eye I see the desire to kill me. It is arousing. My cock lifts my leathers. I will spend the night fucking the slut heartily.

At evening in the furs my fire's heat cannot compete with the cold North Wind. It drives a chill to my bones. The crackling fire and tent canvas are little more than a tease of warmth. There is no vanquishing these north winds. Not even the great Hendrix, himself a maelstrom, has such ability within himself alone.

I want the girl. Make her heart pump blood hot and fast to kindle a different kind of flame. My stare in her direction causes a tremble to her frail frame. Not a shiver of cold but one of need which my eyes awaken. I watch her breath quicken in visible puffs. Her naked breasts heave up and down, rosy and freckled. I know she aches for my fists around them.

The fire sizzles. Or else it is the lust between us. A heated look from blue eyes to green and back again. I do not move or speak. Yet she exhales a whimper from the furs where she is curled.

I nod.

Yes, girl. Come.

I do not need to say the words. She crawls eagerly toward me. And with more force than I knew she had, locks thighs around my hips. I lean back, letting tiny hands uncover large cock. She ministers to its girth, feeding it her desire. Then the girl rolls hips along my middle as though to draw my manhood out from the loincloth and into her. The movement paints my torso with wet, wanton need.

When she has worked me into her folds with an urgent struggle, her middle humps me, ass lifting and lowering to impale herself over and over again. I hoist myself up and grab her hips to smooth out the rhythm. As I increase speed, she arches back, letting tits fly free and cries escape her lips.

Needy.

Little.

Slut.

I allow her to grind her pelvis until she is ready to come. This girl is trained well enough to know she must await my command to do so. I give it with a nod. After her cries and convulsions she collapses forward against me. The little thing tightens her fingers around my shoulder harness, shaking. Soon she is working my buckles loose and finding my scars. She wants my rough skin naked against her.

I give her that. I roll atop the girl, back hard against the furs and front hard against me. She thinks she holds me tight, arms around my neck. But she does not know tight until I push into her ass with my girth. When I stretch that puckered hole, pinning her to the furs ... that is when she fists my golden hair. That is when we truly ignite our fire.

Her scream fills all.

We are hot for the rest of the night, soaked in a sheen of desire, naked parts slipping and squeaking in urgent pounding smacks. There is no North Wind penetrating. Only me. Only the cries of a slut for her Master and his returning growls. I bite her nipple and she arches, offering more. I slip into her pussy again and she clenches my ecstatic shaft.

When it is time, I allow her to climax once more. I wait for her body to cease its violent jerking. Not unlike slaying a man in battle, I think. Then I draw free the cocksword and clean it at her lips.

"What is your name?" she asks, when she can breathe enough to speak.

"You are impertinent to ask," I tell her. "And to forget to address me as Master. It is not necessary for a slut to know such things when I am the only man present. But now I know the name I will give you. I will call you Imp."

I turn her on her stomach and whip her ass with one of the straps she has taken off of me. I leave ten bright red stripes along buttock and thigh. Memories of her transgression. Yet her cunt glistens when the work is done. She appreciates correction and I reward her with two fingers digging deep through those folds. Hand in her hair to pull, hand in her sex to push, letting her body explode with yet another climax.

In the corner, huddled in darkness and cold, sits the so-called free woman. I have not forgotten her presence. Nor do I bother to tell her to come closer. For warmth or otherwise. She would not accept my generosity. That would reveal her inner slut.

But she watches. Yes, there is feigned sleep, but I hear a gasp or two this night. Particularly once when my seed spills upon the slut's pert tits. A good full load roped across her. When a scoop a bit to the girl's lips I look over at the free woman out of the corner of my eye. Yes, she is watching. Just as I want her to.