Porn by request
Jul. 29th, 2011 02:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valarltdFrom Barbarossa's Bitch, adult content
The men hauled the captives out of the trailer. Dylan supported Missy, helping her walk on unsteady legs. He held her up when the men lined them up. Missy hung onto him, her taut skin of her pregnant belly shiny in the hot sun.
A tall, thin man in black leather pants and boots, wearing a blank mask and a spiked codpiece, strode along the line. He gestured for each woman to be removed from the group. When he came to Missy and Dylan he looked them over, blue eyes hard behind the mask.
"Is that yours?" he demanded of Dylan.
"No, No, she was pregnant when she was brought on." Dylan swallowed hard. The voice, low and resonant, didn't fit the image the leader projected. He wanted to know what lay under the mask and under the codpiece as well. "I'm just helping her along. It's hard to be without friends in a strange place."
The leader gestured. "Settlement five had dibs on the next pregnant gash."
“Dylan!" Missy wailed as two men pulled her over to a huddled knot of women.
"Who are you?"
"Dylan Taggert, itinerant teacher, programmer, electrician and sometime farmer."
Dylan held his breath as the leader looked him up and down. “On your knees before Lord Barbarossa, Taggert.”
Dylan hesitated only a moment. With a glance at the codpiece, he went down, being sure to avoid taking a spike in the eye.
Barbarossa's hand slid down to move the codpiece aside. “Open up.”
Dylan tensed. He'd been thrown out of three settlements for being gay. They only wanted someone who would marry and breed. He had vaguely hoped the bikergang would sell him and Missy off as indentured servants. He could say they were married, raise the kid as his and never be under suspicion again. But Lord Barbarossa seemed to see right through him. Dylan opened up.
Barbarossa's cock, pale, thick and uncut, landed on his tongue. Dylan tasted leather and sweat and warm male skin. He ran his tongue through the reverse Prince Albert piercing and tugged a little. Barbarossa buried one hand in his hair and jerked him farther down, gagging him on the long cock and laughing as he gasped. His heavy hand stayed there, holding Dylan steady while he pumped his hips.
Dylan breathed through his nose, braced against the face-fucking. The spikes gouged hot fire along his cheek, just below his eye. He held still, blood trickling down his cheek, letting Barbarossa slam his face, working his tongue as much as he could and generally trying to give the best head he knew how. It had been months since his last taste of cock. Maybe, if he did well, Barbarossa would keep him instead of killing him out of hand or selling him to some settlement.
Barbarossa came, filling his mouth with bitter salt. He jerked Dylan off his cock and fastened up one-handed. “My bitch,” he announced. “You ride with us.” He shove Dylan away and moved on down the line.
A short blond man helped Dylan to his feet. “Come on. I'll get you outfitted.” He led Dylan to a little tent and dug around. “These should fit,” he said, tossing over a pair of leather chaps. Boots followed and a armored jacket and helmet.
“What about clothes?” Dylan asked.
“You're Barbarossa's bitch. You don't get clothes, just protection. You'll get clothes in the winter for warmth. Now, his is the Harley chopper. Go sit on the bitchseat and watch the sissy bar, it's barbed wire.”
“Thank you, I think.” Dylan pulled on the chaps and boots, feeling more naked with his junk hanging out than he had just being naked. He carried the jacket and helmet and went to sit on the big black Harley chopper.
The men hauled the captives out of the trailer. Dylan supported Missy, helping her walk on unsteady legs. He held her up when the men lined them up. Missy hung onto him, her taut skin of her pregnant belly shiny in the hot sun.
A tall, thin man in black leather pants and boots, wearing a blank mask and a spiked codpiece, strode along the line. He gestured for each woman to be removed from the group. When he came to Missy and Dylan he looked them over, blue eyes hard behind the mask.
"Is that yours?" he demanded of Dylan.
"No, No, she was pregnant when she was brought on." Dylan swallowed hard. The voice, low and resonant, didn't fit the image the leader projected. He wanted to know what lay under the mask and under the codpiece as well. "I'm just helping her along. It's hard to be without friends in a strange place."
The leader gestured. "Settlement five had dibs on the next pregnant gash."
“Dylan!" Missy wailed as two men pulled her over to a huddled knot of women.
"Who are you?"
"Dylan Taggert, itinerant teacher, programmer, electrician and sometime farmer."
Dylan held his breath as the leader looked him up and down. “On your knees before Lord Barbarossa, Taggert.”
Dylan hesitated only a moment. With a glance at the codpiece, he went down, being sure to avoid taking a spike in the eye.
Barbarossa's hand slid down to move the codpiece aside. “Open up.”
Dylan tensed. He'd been thrown out of three settlements for being gay. They only wanted someone who would marry and breed. He had vaguely hoped the bikergang would sell him and Missy off as indentured servants. He could say they were married, raise the kid as his and never be under suspicion again. But Lord Barbarossa seemed to see right through him. Dylan opened up.
Barbarossa's cock, pale, thick and uncut, landed on his tongue. Dylan tasted leather and sweat and warm male skin. He ran his tongue through the reverse Prince Albert piercing and tugged a little. Barbarossa buried one hand in his hair and jerked him farther down, gagging him on the long cock and laughing as he gasped. His heavy hand stayed there, holding Dylan steady while he pumped his hips.
Dylan breathed through his nose, braced against the face-fucking. The spikes gouged hot fire along his cheek, just below his eye. He held still, blood trickling down his cheek, letting Barbarossa slam his face, working his tongue as much as he could and generally trying to give the best head he knew how. It had been months since his last taste of cock. Maybe, if he did well, Barbarossa would keep him instead of killing him out of hand or selling him to some settlement.
Barbarossa came, filling his mouth with bitter salt. He jerked Dylan off his cock and fastened up one-handed. “My bitch,” he announced. “You ride with us.” He shove Dylan away and moved on down the line.
A short blond man helped Dylan to his feet. “Come on. I'll get you outfitted.” He led Dylan to a little tent and dug around. “These should fit,” he said, tossing over a pair of leather chaps. Boots followed and a armored jacket and helmet.
“What about clothes?” Dylan asked.
“You're Barbarossa's bitch. You don't get clothes, just protection. You'll get clothes in the winter for warmth. Now, his is the Harley chopper. Go sit on the bitchseat and watch the sissy bar, it's barbed wire.”
“Thank you, I think.” Dylan pulled on the chaps and boots, feeling more naked with his junk hanging out than he had just being naked. He carried the jacket and helmet and went to sit on the big black Harley chopper.
