The Sons Of Thassa

“I’m told you bought a new slut today, Ox,” K’ago smiled. “A ripe, pretty thing from the north. I hope you used her well while you had the chance, because you’ll never get another.”

“You’re wrong, K’ago, it’s you whose days between the thighs of kajirae, of any female, are at an end. You’re down to the final beatings of your heart and Death is your only Free Companion now.”

“And if it is my destiny to die by your hand, Pretender. Then it is also your destiny to die by mine. We shall walk the streets of the Cities of Dust together.”

“We shall see,” Black Ox said.

And he smiled, it was as wide and toothy as any shark at sea.

#

The Chamberlain brought the knives, the common curved blades of the Schendi seaman, and the captains crowded down to the edge of the pit. K’ago took a knife. Black Ox took a knife. They glared at each other while the old man retreated from between them.

“On the count of three,” Odes said. “One…”

K’ago’s blade swept the air before him as he leaned in toward his adversary. Having expected such treachery, Black Ox nimbly jumped back, laughing. He knew his opponent, over the years having seen K’ago in many a knife-fight.

“Fool. Don’t you know by now I’m always ahead of you, K’ago? That I know what you’re thinking before you do? But then you’ve always been dim-witted. It’s only through Odes’ charity that you got as far as you did. And in gratitude you commit treason and shame him.”

“Arrgh.” K’ago lunged, again his wicked sharp blade slicing through empty air. Again he heard Black Ox derisive laugh.

“But even Odes couldn’t get a captaincy for a defective as sorry as you. And the most amusing thing is, you’ll never get your revenge for me nearly face-stripping your sister.”

K’ago yelled and charged, the issue of the incident between Black Ox and his sister, Uhura, was a sensitive one to him. His was knife held high, ready to stab down into Black Ox’s chest when he reached him, but the Fleet master grabbed K’ago wrist, leveraging the arm up, while he brought his own knife hand up toward his opponent’s exposed belly. Now it was K’ago who grabbed his foe’s wrist, pressing downwards. Both men snarled, sweat popping up all over their dark bodies. They were evenly matched in strength and each was an experienced and ruthless infighter.

After some moments of groaning struggle, K’ago shifted his balance and managed to bring his knee up, jamming it hard into Black Ox’s crotch, smashing into his balls sac. The Fleet master grunted, squeezing shut his eyes, as his nemesis again crunched him with the knee. Black Ox’s legs weakened and he sank into the sands on one knee, an extreme grimace distorting his features. K’ago wrested his knife hand free and slashed downward. But the blow was hurried and the keen blade only just bit into Black Ox’s shoulder.

Still, K’ago had drawn first blood.

But his advantage was short-lived. The cut was neither mortal nor very deep. Although the edge had sliced open flesh, it’d missed the muscle and bone. Black Ox was in pain and bleeding but he was not seriously wounded. When K’ago drew his knife back for another plunge, Black Ox’s free hand balled into a hard fist and smashed into his adversary’s groin. Sauce for the goose.

The dishonored first officer’s legs wobbled and he fell backward into the sands, landing hard on his butt, the back of his head smacking against the dance pole. He gulped air as the pain radiated in sizzling waves from his sac into every nerve-ending of his body. He rolled over, intending to push himself up, when his right hand exploded in crystalline agony. Black Ox had stomped his large foot down on it, breaking bones.

A second wave of pain traveled through K’ago’s body, moving from his shattered knife hand up his arm and joining with the exquisite torture of his squashed testes. He looked up through tear-blurred eyes to see Black Ox looming over him, the man’s wounded shoulder sheeted red with blood. A twisted, ugly snarl was on the Fleet master’s dark face. Perhaps more to the point, his knife hand was descending toward K’ago’s exposed throat.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say what none would ever know, for before K’ago could utter another word he was dead. The handle of the Black Ox’s knife protruding from his throat. His eyes rolled white in his head and he keeled over to his left, to move no more. His severed jugular slashed blood across several of the totem’s face. The stain of it would last into the centuries.

Black Ox stood weak-kneed, sweat stinging his eyes. His teeth still clenched around the intense and combined pain in his balls and shoulder.

But the pain is a good sign, a part of him knew. It meant that he was still alive. It meant he had won.

The captains gathered around, slapping him hard on his sweat and blood slickened back.

They shouted, “Ushindi. Ushindi.” The inland jungle word for victory. “Hail, Black Ox. Ushindi!”

The Brotherhood took it as a good sign that their new Fleet master had concluded his induction ceremony with the blood sacrifice of a hated enemy.

#

“Chamberlain,” Black Ox rasped, swaying somewhat on his feet. He had to clear his throat to be heard. “Chamberlain,!”

“Aye, Fleet master.”

“Have this garbage cleaned out of the pit. I want the head cut from the body and the corpse thrown into the harbor. Have the head delivered to my ship. So let it be written. So let it be done.”

“Aye, Fleet master.”

“And call for the physician,” Odes bellowed.

“Aye, Fleet--, yes, Captain.”

“Let the feast begin,” Black Ox commanded, gingerly making his way back to his dais.

#

Her eyes were an innocent green as she looked down at him, her glossy dark brown hair seeming black in the low light of the sleeping chamber. She lowered her pussy to the bulbous head of his turgid cock. Black Ox growled as he prepared to thrust into her to stretch her delta lips and petals with his hardness and make her moan in shuddering submission. She did a slow grind with her ample hips, and her puffy pussylips kissed around the wide mushroom head until it loudly popped into her.

The full-figured dancer kajira sighed as she felt herself growing full with the Fleet master long and thick meat.

She had danced for Black Ox, for all the captains, after the corpse of K’ago had been dragged away. Her feet had pivoted through sand clodded by the traitor’s blood. Her tapered fingers had swiped through it on the pole. He eyes, knowing and smouldering, had looked at the Fleet master’s bleeding shoulder and she had come to the conclusion that the big man had emerged vcitor from some blood trial. It flared slaveheat and her hip tossing dance had been all the more erotic for it.

As the curvaceous girl had thrown her ample hips with abandon, as her large breasts had jiggled beneath her silks, the ex-ship physician, Saul, had entered the hall and climbed Black Ox’s dais to attend him.

Saul had been ship’s physician aboard the Ubar Shark years back when Black Ox had come aboard as bilge-boy. They knew and well-liked one another. The healer cleaned and neatly sutured the Fleet master’s shoulder, making small stitches with the joining gut, then bandaged it. He handed Black Ox an open small ceramic vial.

“Here, Ox, sprinkle a few drops on your stones. It’ll alleviate the pain.”

The patient nodded, pulling out his underwrap and dousing his aching testes with the local anesthetic.

“That’s more than enough,” Saul said, snatching back the vial. “You want your nut sack numb for a month?”

“Yes,” Black Ox growled in all sincerity.

Saul had laughed in sympathy, patted the younger man’s good shoulder and went off to find a rug and table on which to receive his portion of the feast.

The green-eyed dancer’s glance had never strayed from the Fleet master. Her senses had identified him as the Alpha Male in the hall and she had devoted her dance to him, a teasing, promising, challenging dance. And now, in his private chambers and stretched on on the furs beside his sleep stone, his massive cock spearing up into her tight and scorching slit, the promise of that dance was coming to fruition. One of her hands, sporting long-nailed fingertips painted the same green as her eyes, moved from his dark chest to his bandaged shoulder.

“Clumsy slut,” Black Ox rasped. His powerful hips tensing, sending several more inches instantly, viciously up inside her.

“Yes, Master,” the girl responded, moaning and not truly sounding sorry. “Although surely, Master is man enough to bear such a slight ache.” And she pressed the wounded shoulder again. And once more it seemed accidental. But the captain knew the kajira had done it on purpose. She was challenging him, sexually, questioning his manhood in the only manner open to a ko-lar’d girl.

He drew back a heavily muscled arm and backhanded her. The blow, although he’d severely pulled it, was enough to rock her pretty head on her round shoulders and daze her. Black Ox took the opportunity to grab her wrists, prying a hand from the pad of his pectorial and the other from his wounded shoulder.

But the girl recovered quickly, her heightened slaveheat and training making her indifferent to pain. Indeed, the glancing blow had only stoked her ardor. She growled and leaned forward, trying to press down against him. Her fingers spread like a raptor’s talons at his face. His hands held her sharp nails less than an inch from his eyes. There was a determined snarl on the dancer’s face, a she-larl in full attack. At that moment it wasn’t about slave law, it wasn’t about kajira code. It was about male, female. It was about animal urge and who had the greater will to dominate the other. The pinned Fleet master realized that the aggressive sa-fora was of panther-girl blood, nothing else explained her wildness, her failure to meekly submit. As a slaver he knew the old saying that panther-girls made the best fucks.

Black Ox growled, tensing his hips again until they trembled from the effort as he gave a violent, brutal upthrust. The dancer answered his growl and welcomed his full insertion with a keening scream. It was a wild, vicious fuck that went on and on. The bulbous head of his long and wide cock scraped her wet cunt walls, as she sagged, suspended by his grip on her wrists. His pistoning cock striking fire from the tight friction, the girl screamed again as she fought not to release. She threw back her head and wailed with her mouth wide open. Tears streaming from her squeezed shut eyes, down her chubby cheeks. She rotated her saucey ass, impaling herself again and again on the mammoth cock.

It was clear she would not submit easily. The dominance over the girl had to be won. In the end, it came down to endurance. For the better part of an ehn the dancer matched him thrust for thrust, grind for grind, but finally she began to tire. She rode him well but Black Ox outlasted her.

“Please, Master,” the fleshy kajira finally whimpered. “Master, please allow a girl to release.”

Black Ox growled out a no. He wished to return the favor of the kajira’s earlier teasing, painful dare.

“Master,” she sobbed, “girl begs.”

“Then let the girl beg as if she actually desires it,” Black Ox sneered. He released her wrists, her claws no longer a danger and his hands felt her well-padded ass tighten and tense as she tried to suppress her release against massive pressure. “Scream out your need so that the entire cylinder might hear it.”

And she obeyed, yelling, sobbing out her plea, completely egoless, needing only the release, the detonation of her orgasm.

“Then cum,” the Fleet master said, finally showing a little mercy as he spanked her ripe and quivering bottom.

The kajira bawled, more tears running off her furiously blushing cheeks, as she smashed her cunt down around the mammoth cock, her juices scalding down his pole and slathering over his big numbed nuts as she came. Her musk increased a thousand-fold with the gush of her female ejeculari.

She fell forward and her huge tits smashed against his chest, the flesh bulging out to the sides. The slut was drained by the harbor-wave strength of the climax, held captive by the cock still thrust and sheathed deep into her. She quivered and rode out the last of the tremors. After she’d quieted, Black Ox gritted his teeth and finally allowed his own orgasm. The kajira whimpered when she felt his cock throb, growing fuller and longer inside her. “Master,” she breathed, but her next words were lost in the long moan she let out as the captain’s boiling cum splattered into her, the thick cream coating her cervix.

Then another stew-hot blast shot into her and the kajira found herself cumming again, scentmarked, bred by the Fleet master of the League. And she begged that he take her as his personal kajira, as she shivered through a series of orgasms, before abruptly passing out. Black Ox chuckled, feeling cum flow down his shaft and over his still numb balls like melted wax.

He fell asleep with the big panther-girl atop him his cock still impaling her.

-the end-