One of the younger wives

It is hard to tell which of the three groups of scantily dressed women awaiting their fate are attracting the most attention. The trophy wives of Athenapolis's wealthiest noble families, chosen at least in part for their breathtaking beauty, the sheltered daughters of these same families whose chastity was guarded from the time they first appeared in public, and the priestesses who had never thought to find themselves at the mercy of men are all beautiful in their own way. The stunned women in their silk and lace undergarments are made to kneel on the very same paving stones that the captured war captains of the United Armies were on just minutes before.

"Goddess they're beautiful." Relia whispers in your ear. "Are you going to get to have one of them? Which one makes your cock hardest?"

You admire the selection of nervous captives before you. If not the most beautiful women in the city, many of these women are near the top. Many of the kneeling captives stare wordlessly at the smooth stonework between their knees, but others crane their necks to take in the multitude of officers who are about to claim them as prizes. Some of these women appear to be preening in an attempt to interest particular men, lifting their chests and licking their lips in invitation when the younger and better looking of the hoplites appear to be admiring them.

"Look at those two," Relia points to a pair of sandy-haired twins wearing matching robes trimmed with gold. From the look on theses sister's faces the last thing they were expecting today was to be awarded as spoils of war to a conquering army. "It's too bad we can't get them both." She gasps in delight as a thought strikes her. "Maybe the Lord Marshal will give us each one of these prizes. You could choose one and I can get the other." You've seen enough of this type of division of spoils to wonder if you'll even be allowed one of these valuable prizes, not to mention two. Perhaps sensing your reticence Relia presses herself against you, "Or is there someone else who you want to feel squirming on your cock?"

You hush her as the selection process begins according to some previously worked out order. The Lord Marshal himself is the first to walk among the kneeling captives; he takes little time, moving directly to a dark-haired maiden easily forty years younger than him. With a mocking bow he offers the girl his hand and when she hesitate he takes her arm and lifts her to her feet. Lord Raxius leads her back to the councilmen's table where he pulls the gently weeping teen onto his lap. The Lord Marshal's choice is met with a round of applause from his officers and a bluster of protest from a fat nobleman watching from the ring above the courtyard. But the commander of the United Armies is only the first of many. One by one, the names of the War Captains are called out in no order that makes sense to you and they too wander into the rows of living plunder to make their choices. It is, you decide with a soft chuckle, not unlike a farmer deciding which of his ripening melons to bring to market or a shepherd choosing a yearling lamb to take to the butchers.

Some of the lucky officers, to the frustration of their waiting peers, take the time before choosing. These men slip their hands down the necklines of over a dozen of the kneeling women before making their selection known. There are two other delays as first one of the husbands jumps down from the steps to defend his bride and again when a bald merchant offered a princes' ransom to redeem his wild-eyed daughter from the grasp of the scarred warrior who wanted her. When both these men were tossed from the walls without any ceremony at all, the remaining selection process moved much more smoothly.

After the thirty or so elite war captains each select one of the lovely kneeling captives, the very best of the prizes are gone. As you suspected, the white-clad priestesses are among the first to be chosen. Although older than most of the other kneeling prizes, these women had been selected years before by their churches as much for their looks as their wisdom. Spared the burden of childbirth and hard labor, those lovely young candidates had had matured like fine wines into exquisite beauties, only now to be sampled by men. The unmarried daughters of the cities elite were also popular with the men called forth who no doubt looked forward to breaking in the untouched maids, just as you had claimed Relia. Although many of these virgins did not go willingly, you imagine that their **** only added to their appeal. Those who refused to walk were carried away by the officers who selected them, the girl's pretty legs kicking wildly as the men hoisted the struggling selections onto their shoulders.

To your surprise and Relia's delight your name is called much sooner than you had expected. All of the Temple clerics had been taken as well as most of the unmarried daughters except for a few that were clearly deficient in one way or another. The sisters that had caught Relia's eyes were long gone, as was the doe-eyed beauty that you had been contemplating, but there were still almost twenty women left for you to pick from and it did not take long to select a young woman with fat tits and a pretty face. Unlike the silly teens that had to be carried away by ****, this woman resignedly took your hand in hers and allowed you to lead her back to where Relia waited with unconcealed excitement.

"She's a good one, Korban, who is she?"