Alone

You gesture to Djuba to remain there and keep Sasha controlled, then glide ahead silently to investigate. Peering through a door you see a pretty young maidservant squatting to pick up the shards of a bowl that is broken on the tile floor. She's dressed in a short ocher colored robe that displays her pretty legs and is cut tight enough to show you that her breasts are ripe and full.

You've seen this maid before, but never even learned her name. She wasn't one of the scullery maids that would throw you scraps or have you unload supply carts into the pantry, this little beauty worked upstairs serving the needs of the Master and Mistress. As you watch her pick up the shattered bowl you wonder if your Master had her on her hands and knees like this often. With her dark brown hair and creamy complexion, you'd definitely be pounding this pussy almost as often as his big-breasted wife.

Whatever other treasures the house contains, this is a prize that shouldn't be overlooked. In any case, the girl has to be silenced before you and Djuba can begin to loot the place of gold and women.

With silent speed of at skilled hunter, you dash into the room and seize the girl, pulling her to her feet and clamping a strong hand over her mouth to stifle any scream as your other arm holds her squirming body tight against yours. She smells of olive oil and thyme, and her skin is as soft as a wood dove's breast.

"Be still girl!" you hiss. "Unless you want your pretty neck wrung like a soup chicken!" Your threat must sound believable, because with a final sob the girl goes limp in your arms. Her head barely reaches the killmark tattoos on your chest, and you could probably crush her like a bug if you wanted to, but there is no honor in dispatching a girl like this.

She stops squirming, looking up at you with wide frightened eyes that plead silently for mercy. It has only been a few minutes since you had emptied your balls into Miss Sasha's tight little snatch, but you are already feeling your manhood stiffen again. If you had been told four years ago when you were off looking to start your family with a broad-hipped woman from one of the nearby villages, that you'd have your pick of white-skinned women to mount, you would have laughed.

The very first white man you ever saw was the man who **** you with some kind of demon's brew. At first you thought the friendly man was a godsend, with his collection of knives, pots, bright cloth and brass buttons that he seemed willing to trade for animal skins and fresh meat. The strange looking man drank with you late into the night, but when you woke the next morning, your hands were manacled with heavy bands of black iron and your legs were hobbled by a two-foot chain. It was a start of the Hell that has been your life ever since. You are brought back to the present by the plaintive whisper of the woman's soft lips pressed to your palm.

You loosen your grasp just enough so you can hear what she's saying. She steps back and slips the tunic of her shoulder so you can better see her figure.

"Please don't hurt me."