Precum prelude

Conan’s full lips enveloped the throbbing shaft, her tongue instinctively swirling against the veined underside as Khalid’s grip tightened in her raven mane. The sorcerous haze of the emerald earrings clouded her thoughts, twisting her warrior’s pride into a submissive fog as a shameful thrill coursed through her.

Conan’s tiny feminine hand, trembling with unmanning need, slipped between her thighs, fingers delving into the slick folds of her darkly kohled quim. She instinctively stroked herself in rhythm with the Stygian’s thrusts, each plunge of his cock deeper into her mouth sending sparks of unparalleled ecstasy through her tiny voluptuous body.

In her mind’s eye new visions assailed her—Conan, the unbreakable Cimmerian, was no more. She imagined herself as she had always enjoyed taking her women - when she had possessed women and not been one - bent submissively low on her hands and knees like some nameless tavern wench in heat, her indolent back arched, hips raised in wanton supplication. She imagined Khalid’s hands masterfully clutching her slim flanks, his spear-hard manhood slamming into her from behind, pounding into her hot hungry depths, claiming her as any conqueror claimed his spoils. The thought ignited her loins; hot, wet, intensely passionate, her frictioning fingers plunging faster, needfully circling the swollen pearl of her desire, her tiny erect clit. By Crom, it excited her!

In that moment she would have begged for it, voice hoarse with need, pleading like a she-dog in rut—if her mouth were not stuffed full of his delicious cock, the salty tang of his pre cum coating her tongue, making her swallow greedily around him.

She was a man… a warrior… no! No more. The denial shattered like brittle steel. She was a harlot, a plaything, born for this degradation. Khalid’s free hand roamed downward, fingers pinching and twisting her sweat-glistened nipples, sending jolts of pain-laced pleasure straight to her clenching and dripping core. He skull-fucked her with barbaric vigor, hips bucking as he drove deeper, the head of his cock battering the back of her throat. Gagging, lolling, Conan’s eyes watered, her moans muffled into guttural mindless vibrations that only spurred him on.

“By Set’s coils, you suck like a Hyrkanian whore!” Khalid growled, his voice thick with lust. “Needy little slut, fingering your dripping cunt while you worship my sword. You’ll beg for more soon enough, Cimmerian—beg to be mounted and bred like the bitch you are.”

Conan whimpered around his shaft, her body betraying her utterly. She was so needy, so lost in the storm of sorcery and desire, her fingers thrusting wildly into her sodden sheath as her climax built anew, a tempest ready to break.

No. This was not her.