The Akkadian recalls Visha.

On his knees, ass smarting pleasantly, the Akkadian looks sidelong at Visha and stared at his fellow harem girl. He knew her naked curves. Recalled them intimately. And that crazed look in her eyes… he suppressed a shudder.

The Shemite tugged his leash and he dutifully attended to the mistresses hirsute cunny as commanded. Her loins were sweet and mildly acidic. He tongued her, probing her nether lips and circling her clit, nose tickled by the fine curly hairs of her thick bush. He sneezed cutely. She pulled her leash and his head moved closer. As he attended the mistress with feigned obsequiousness he cast his mind back to his first encounter with Visha.

Visha had been the **** consort of a Stygian sorcerer he had been hired to kill - Amon Thoth? It had been many moons ago and the name escaped him. The Akkadian had entered the sorcerer’s decrepit tower and eluded the cunning traps and obscene magical guardians that would deter lesser men. He had stealthily entered the sanctum sanctorum at the top of the tower to find the mad Stygian performing some dark nameless ritual with a naked and rune painted Visha laid out upon his blood stained alter.

The Akkadian shuddered at the memory and the Shemite mistook the reaction for lust. “Good girl,” she purred appreciatively.

The summoning circle before the altar had fairly crackled with insanity inducing energies both cosmic and forbidden. The Akkadian’s knife plunged deep into the foul sorcerer’s exposed back and pierced the cursed ritualist’s black heart. This had abruptly ended the vile ritual, snuffing out the gathering energies with an otherworldly howl that would have vowed a lesser man. Visha had convulsed upon the alter and muttered weird and unnatural ululations in some long forgotten tongue.

The deft **** had left the Akkadian in a position to take whatever spoils from the crooked tower he desired. Choice amongst those was Visha. The girl had been delirious on poppy seeds and had risen from her altar and verily thrown her body at him.

He found himself moistening pleasantly at the lurid memory. Visha had been a sexual **** of perverted nature. The things she had done… he tongued the mistress with increased enthusiasm at the memories.

At the time the Akkadian believed he had saved Visha’s life. It was not until the **** wore off in the morning and she awoke and in vile spite tried to cut his throat that he realised his error. She was livid at the **** of her lover and baleful that he had interrupted the ritual that would have gifted her greater powers of sorcery.

He’d trussed the mad little bitch up, finished looting the tower then taken his loot to the markets to sell his ill gotten gains. The last he had seen of a Visha had been as she cursed and spat at him, naked and proud upon the **** block. Her unruly temper had reduced her sale value - in retrospect he should have **** to mad little devil worshipper bat at the time he had only wanted to be rid of her.

Visha leaned in and her wild eyes narrowed as she sniffed. Then she whispered in the Akkadian’s ear. “You reek of sorcery bitch… I’m keeping an eye on you.”

He stiffened in fear. Visha knew of his curse? The Shemite groaned and pulled the leash, the collar biting into the Akkadians slim neck. “Why are you stopping ****?! I was almost there. Visha. Fuck off!” She swung a hand at Visha but the Stygian danced back and retreated. “Get back to it slut.” The harem mistress commanded.