Sunmission: A Sultan's Slave Tale

Submission: The Third Sultan's Slave Tale

I am still there when the raiders come.

My Lord has left me; hung from his tent-pole like a sacrifice, my hair loose and my jewellery glittering forgotten in the dimming light of the braziers.

The consuming, wanton craving that he left with me is fading, like the warmth of desert dusk, into chill. Flickers still spark through me when I think about the guards, about my Lord's punishment, but my skin is getting cold. My shoulders hurt.

When the first sounds of fighting reach me, I try once more to free myself, to see; the hanging that covers the tent's doorway shifts in a sudden rush of wind. I hear men's voices, the throbbing of many horse hooves on packed sand, the angry, high-pitched clashing of steel. There's the sound of rending fabric and a deep, masculine bark issuing curt orders.

The Sultan's Guard Captain; ever-aware, he rallies the warriors. I struggle again, rubbing my already raw wrists, but I cannot move. I can do nothing to help myself; I dare not cry out for fear the raiders will hear me.

Surely my Lord will remember that I am here?

The sound of weapons comes closer; now, I hear feet, cries of fury and pain. Somewhere, a horse gives a high-pitched whinny of fear.

Shock sheets across my skin as the door-hanging is yanked violently down. Please, I think inanely, Let it be someone I know... For a moment, I see only flame, bright enough to blot out the stars. Terror shrieks in my ears - they're burning the tents! - then my eyes adjust and I see the flame is a firebrand and it is in the gloved hand of a black-robed raider, silk covering the lower part of his face.

At the sight of him, I am afraid – but the flickering of wantonness rises higher.

He ducks into the tent. In his other hand is a cold, straight length of bared steel; there's a dark, splattered stain on the metal. Behind him come two of his fellows, similarly dressed and armed.

The three of them pause.

The leader's dark eyes explore the silks, the hangings and cushions. As they find me, he stops. He releases neither torch nor weapon, but his gaze glitters with reflected firelight. Openly, those eyes caress my nakedness, the gleam of the slave-chain still about my ankle.

I pull back from the tent-pole, from the intruders; I brace a foot against the wood and, pointlessly, I begin struggling again.

'Well,' he says softly, watching me writhe, 'Such riches this Sultan has.' He eyes are all over me, my breasts, my smooth and shaven cunt exposed by my strugglings; I can hear whetted amusement in his voice.

His companions are silent, but they, too, watch me with fervour. He holds the torch out to one of them; it is thrust into a brazier and the tent is suddenly dancing with rising firelight.

I can feel the warmth of the flame on my skin. Or is it the warmth of their anticipation I feel? I find my skin is flushing with it, with those eager eyes exploring all of me and wanting – wanting - what they see. As the three raiders come slowly forwards, they're thinking – each one of them – what they're going to do to me...

I lower my foot, watch them. I'm aware that my nipples are tightening, that there's a rising fire in my thighs that's matching the warmth of the tent. My Sultan left me longing – and that longing is mounting powerfully in my body.

Please...

Outside, the clamour of the fighting continues, although further away. In here, the air is still and the soft light is flickering and I know I cannot stop them. Releasing my fear, I stand tall, push my aching shoulders back and show them my breasts, shake out my hair and lift my chin. I stare at each of them: an invitation, a silent challenge.

The leader makes an appreciative noise – almost a chuckle – in his throat and comes closer.

Behind them, the tent-wall shakes as something hits it – hard. Another masked raider falls backwards through the doorway. In a second, he regains his feet and I see the lightning-flash of his slashing blade striking at something.

A man screams – guttural and terrible - and I shiver.

In another moment, he has feinted and slashed again. I hear the weak, sodden thump of something hitting sand and the raider is gone through the doorway. The fighting moves further away.

It occurs to me to wonder how many of them there are, to wonder about my Sultan, and Maia, and the guards...

...but a gloved touch is brushing the dried semen from my skin. Two of the raiders are before me; they're close now, but I can see only their hot eyes, feel their growing ardour for me.

And feel how that eagerness is matched in me; I meet their eyes, each of them, and run my tongue across my parted lips like a promise of what I can do.

Their leader is close behind me, his booted feet hard among the cushions.

His hand moves across my skin, half-caress and half-assessment. One finger traces between my buttocks and pauses at my arse – still ready and oiled from the attention of the guards. I hear him let out a slow, satisfied breath.

I hiss at him over my shoulder, 'Do I pass?'

In response, I hear the rustling of silken fabric – I know he's going to fuck me, hard, and that his companions are going to take their turns. I know they're strong and fit – that they will use me to please them in any and every way, that they will explore and penetrate every part of me...

...and O Gods that thought is making me hot. Looking back over my shoulder, I push my buttocks out invitingly. He can fuck my oiled arse, my glistening wet cunt; he can plunge to the hilt in one and then the other and I will urge him on, thrust against him, pull him deeper. I wish my hands were free to touch myself, my clit has swollen until it's hard and trembling – it needs to be touched, licked, sucked, rolled between strong fingers until I surrender to the waves of the orgasm I was denied—

With one deft sweep of his straight blade, the leader hits the tent-pole. The wood buckles and splits, the pin falls free; with no warning, the chains at my wrists are no longer attached to anything. I stumble; he lets me fall into the swath of luxury at his sand-covered boots.

As I try to sit up and regain my dignity, he drops into a kneel across my chest, pinning my arms to my sides. If I try, I can almost move my elbow enough to reach myself... he realises what I'm doing and his muscled, rider's thighs clamp closer.

I cannot see his face. But he releases hold on his blade to free his hard, hot cock from the silks that cover it. His other hand takes hold of my hair and lifts my head to meet him as he thrusts forwards.

And – oh that's good – his cock is in my mouth. A small whimper of pleasure escapes me at the taste of him, another.

His shaft is long, slender; it slides smoothly over my tongue and down into my throat almost without pause. He makes a sensual, sexual grunt of appreciation as he realises that I open to him all the way - and then he begins to fuck my mouth, slowly, sweetly, long silky strokes that leave me only wanting more. As he moves, my arm is freed enough for my fingers to find my cunt – so wet now that they're sliding easily, covered in moisture. My clit is so swollen it's almost unbearable to touch it; I brace my feet in among the cushions and, with long thrusts of my hips I am fucking myself with the same easy rhythm.

And trembling to keep that rhythm slow – I need to let myself go...

But he is tightly controlled; a warrior's self-discipline keeps his cadence maddeningly even. He pushes lean hips forwards, sliding his sleek cock between my lips and down my throat all the way to the hilt. I tighten my mouth round him, caress him with my tongue as he moves; thrusting, withdrawing, thrusting again. He tastes of sweat, of silk, of sheer physical strength; his hand tightens in my hair and he starts to fuck me harder, loving how much I want it.

'Yes,' I hear him say, 'Yes...'

I become aware that his two companions are closer; they're standing over me, watching my long bare legs, my dripping pussy, my open, eager mouth. I see them glance at each other, then back at the tent doorway – I can't hear the fighting any more – and then I see them move. One drops to his knees beside my abandoned, writhing hips, the other comes to kneel beside the leader. In a moment, he, too, has freed his cock from his garments and is stroking it firmly, slowly, right up close to me and watching my face as he does so.

And a hand – glove removed – pushes my fingers away from my cunt and replaces them, a thumb flickers over my clit in a way that makes me shiver, makes me whimper around the cock that thrusts, now faster, harder, into my mouth. The hand in my hair tightens once more, pulls me closer, makes me take it and – oh yes, oh that's it – now he's really fucking me. He's starting to lose that warrior-control; I can feel the need in him rise; hear his murmurs of pleasure deepen. Beside him, his companion comes even closer so his eager cock is right by me; his pace, too, has increased. He's watching me over the top of his face-covering, watching that cock thrust ruthlessly into my mouth.

I want them both to come for me, over my face; cover my skin, my hair – the anticipation makes me... makes me... makes me...

...with no control at all, it's me that's coming, my ecstatic cries stopped in my throat so they emerge as sobs. My hips rise and rise again from the luxury below me; the waves are flooding my body, racing through me one after another. The thumb on my clit becomes three fingers, mercilessly thrusting into me. If I could scream, I would...

The waves subside. The raider leader releases me, lets me lay back, shuddering with aftershocks. He is still kneeling astride me, but sitting back now, his dark eyes amused. I am spread upon the cushions for the three of them, flushed and tousled; they are kneeling on top me, over me, three hot and hard cocks pulsing with excitement, all for me.

The leader kneels up; his two companions close in one either side. With a co-ordination that's almost ritualistic, they begin to stroke themselves, cocks glistening in the light of the brazier.

Watching them, watching them wank for me, turns the subsiding shivers into another rise of arousal. Three sets of glittering dark eyes are watching my face, my breasts; I can move my arms from my sides now and I roll my nipples between each thumb and forefinger, arching my back. My body writhes under the raider leader; in turn he leans forwards and his pace increases. Grunts of pleasure are coming from him, from all of them.

I stretch enticingly, with one hand behind my head; I bring the other hand to my mouth to suck myself off my own fingers. I meet their eyes, one after other, but only for a moment – I love watching those hard, fervent cocks, blood pulsing under the hot skin, balls tightening below.

Beside me, one of the raiders comes with a groan, with a hot splattering of semen over my face. I part my lips for it, taste it with my tongue; a moment later, the other raider, too, has lost control. He covers my mouth and my long throat and sinks back to the cushions.

Looking up at the raider leader, I run one middle finger through the mask of hot wetness and suck come from its tip.

He's shuddering, I can feel it. I can feel the shortness of his breath, the trembling of his powerful body. As he feels his climax coming, he leans his weight forwards, braced on one arm and strokes himself faster. He's loving doing this, loving wanking over me; his cock is right in my face, just too far away for me to touch, his hips are twitching, twitching...

...he comes so hard I hear him ejaculate. My mouth is open, ready for him; he comes forcibly, over my tongue, my lips, my skin. I cry out with him as he loses control, the rush of shared sensation from his release palpable. For a moment, he stays there, his cock in his hand and hung over me like an offering...

..then, almost regretfully, he pulls back.

'You there!'

A voice shatters the moment. The three raiders turn, tucking themselves away; in the doorway there stands another of their number, his authority apparent.

'Trust you to find the woman,' the figure snorts. 'Bring her out here, there's plenty more work for one of her sort.'

Unspeaking, my raider uses a corner of a cushion to wipe my face. It's an oddly gentle act. For a moment, his gaze crosses mine once more and, almost, we share a look that could be something more than lust. Then he stands up and hauls me bodily to my feet.

'Come,' he says, coldly. 'The camp is ours – they'll be wanting you out there.'

I have no choice.

I go.