Chapter 2: Continue taming Chel

Dawn light filtered through the smoke-hole of the lodge, thin and gray. Damian woke already hard. The Native woman lay on the furs a few feet away, curled on her side, back to him. Bruises darkened the skin of her throat and the insides of her thighs. Dried blood and the white crust of his earlier seed still marked her.

He rose without a word, crossed the short distance, and rolled her onto her back with one hand. She came awake with a sharp inhale. Before she could move he straddled her chest, knees pinning her upper arms, and freed his cock. It stood thick and heavy above her face.

“Open,” he said.

She turned her head. He caught her jaw, forced it, and shoved the head of his cock past her lips. The first push was shallow. She gagged immediately. He ignored it and drove deeper, sliding over her tongue until the head nudged the back of her throat. Her body jerked. Tears sprang to her eyes. He kept going, using the grip on her jaw and the weight of his hips to feed more of himself into her mouth.

When she tried to twist away he simply leaned forward, cock sliding further, until her nose pressed against the coarse hair at his base. Her throat convulsed around him in hard, helpless spasms. Saliva ran from the corners of her mouth. He held there for several long seconds, feeling the wet clench of her throat, then pulled back just enough for her to drag a ragged breath before thrusting in again.

He fucked her mouth with the same steady brutality he had used on her cunt the night before. Each stroke forced his length past the tight ring of her throat. Wet choking sounds filled the lodge. Her hands clawed at the furs, then at his thighs; he paid them no attention. Spit and mucus coated his cock and dripped onto her chin and chest. Her face reddened, eyes streaming. Still he kept the rhythm, deep and relentless, using her throat like a sheath.

When the pressure built he did not pull out. He buried himself to the root one final time, cock pulsing hard, and came straight down her throat. Thick ropes of seed flooded her. She choked and thrashed beneath him. He held her head locked in place until every pulse had emptied, then slowly withdrew. Cum and spit spilled from her mouth in a messy trail. She coughed, gagging, trying to turn her head.

Damian caught her by the hair, forced her face up, and milked the last thick drops onto her tongue and lips.

“Swallow it.”

She tried to spit. He clamped a hand over her mouth and nose until she had no choice. Her throat worked. He felt the motion under his palm. Only then did he release her. She gasped, coughing again, a thin line of white still trailing from the corner of her mouth down her chin.

He stood, pulled her roughly to her feet, and dragged her outside naked.

The morning air was cool. The conquered village lay quiet under a pale sky. Most of the remaining lodges had been stripped or burned. His men moved among the wreckage, stacking goods, guarding the pens of surviving villagers. Heads turned as Damian walked her into the open.

She was bare—small breasts, flat belly, the dark thatch between her legs still sticky from the night and the fresh mess on her face. Cum streaked her lips, chin, and the upper slopes of her breasts where it had dripped. Her hair hung tangled. Bruises showed clearly on her throat and thighs.

Damian kept one hand locked around her upper arm and walked her slowly through the center of the ruined village. Soldiers stopped what they were doing to stare. A few grinned. Others simply watched in silence. The remaining Native captives behind the rope pens looked on with hollow eyes; none spoke.

He made no speech. He simply paraded her—past the smoldering lodges, past the piles of looted hides and food, past the men who had fought beside him. Every few steps he forced her to lift her chin so the white marks on her face and chest were plain in the daylight. When she tried to cover herself he jerked her arms down and kept walking.

By the time they circled back to the main lodge the entire camp had seen her: the British officer’s prize, naked, marked with his seed, displayed in the heart of the place her people had lost. Damian pushed her back inside, released her, and left her standing in the middle of the furs while he went to give orders for the day.

She remained exactly where he had put her, cum drying on her skin, the sounds of the occupied village continuing outside.