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First page Friday
Welcome to the First page of Barbarossa's Bitch.
There's still time to get in on the drawing at Jessewave's, and to enter at Storm Moon Press' blog for the big drawing.
Warning: A lot of harsh content. Brutal sexism.
When the settlement delegation entered the encampment, Kane was being
fucked. Lord Barbarossa hammered away at his ass, growling obscenities. Kane
himself had as much to do with the sex as the motorcycle supporting him. He gave
them a quick smile and watched as his glasses slid off his nose to land in the dirt. He couldn't catch them with Barbarossa pinning his wrists together against the back of his waist. The glasses didn't break, which was lucky; he wouldn't have to get the eyeman to make him a new set next month. The elders looked at them in disgust, which turned to horrified mutters as they passed.
Once they couldn't see his face, he set his teeth. Barbarossa hadn't taken off
the spiked codpiece and Kane was bleeding from the thighs and the soft skin on the back of his balls. But he couldn't make any noise. This was a dominance display. He would play his part perfectly. He heard the whispers as they saw the scar across the top of his ass, the one that read "Barbarossa's bitch" in spiky, hand-carved letters.
He felt Lord Barbarossa's fingers tighten on his hips at the sight of an old
woman among the visitors. Lord Barbarossa slammed him three times and shouted a
triumphant orgasm. The rest of the wildpack roared in revelry.
White got the Elders seated and brought beer to all the men. Kane nodded his
approval. After Lord Barbarossa withdrew, Kane took a breath and composed his face.
Then he grabbed his glasses, turned and waited. His own cock lay trapped in wicked-looking cage, all black iron and spikes. He was never allowed to climax in public.
Lord Barbarossa closed up his spiked codpiece and wiped away sweat from under his leather mask. He yanked the leash on Kane's collar and they joined the visitors at the fire. White settled a joint of beef to finish roasting over the flames and bowed out, leaving the chief of the wildpack to talk. Kane knelt at his feet, ignoring the droplets of blood sinking into the sand under him.
"We come, Lord Barbarossa, to ask—"
Kane cut off the woman with a slash of his hand. He snarled at the oldest of he men, "Make the gash shut its suckhole."
The woman's mouth dropped open at his rudeness. The men stared. Kane looked at them with a sneer. "Lord Barbarossa is offended that you have brought a gash into the camp. That you let it make noise revolts him. We have razed villages
larger than yours for less."
There's still time to get in on the drawing at Jessewave's, and to enter at Storm Moon Press' blog for the big drawing.
Warning: A lot of harsh content. Brutal sexism.
When the settlement delegation entered the encampment, Kane was being
fucked. Lord Barbarossa hammered away at his ass, growling obscenities. Kane
himself had as much to do with the sex as the motorcycle supporting him. He gave
them a quick smile and watched as his glasses slid off his nose to land in the dirt. He couldn't catch them with Barbarossa pinning his wrists together against the back of his waist. The glasses didn't break, which was lucky; he wouldn't have to get the eyeman to make him a new set next month. The elders looked at them in disgust, which turned to horrified mutters as they passed.
Once they couldn't see his face, he set his teeth. Barbarossa hadn't taken off
the spiked codpiece and Kane was bleeding from the thighs and the soft skin on the back of his balls. But he couldn't make any noise. This was a dominance display. He would play his part perfectly. He heard the whispers as they saw the scar across the top of his ass, the one that read "Barbarossa's bitch" in spiky, hand-carved letters.
He felt Lord Barbarossa's fingers tighten on his hips at the sight of an old
woman among the visitors. Lord Barbarossa slammed him three times and shouted a
triumphant orgasm. The rest of the wildpack roared in revelry.
White got the Elders seated and brought beer to all the men. Kane nodded his
approval. After Lord Barbarossa withdrew, Kane took a breath and composed his face.
Then he grabbed his glasses, turned and waited. His own cock lay trapped in wicked-looking cage, all black iron and spikes. He was never allowed to climax in public.
Lord Barbarossa closed up his spiked codpiece and wiped away sweat from under his leather mask. He yanked the leash on Kane's collar and they joined the visitors at the fire. White settled a joint of beef to finish roasting over the flames and bowed out, leaving the chief of the wildpack to talk. Kane knelt at his feet, ignoring the droplets of blood sinking into the sand under him.
"We come, Lord Barbarossa, to ask—"
Kane cut off the woman with a slash of his hand. He snarled at the oldest of he men, "Make the gash shut its suckhole."
The woman's mouth dropped open at his rudeness. The men stared. Kane looked at them with a sneer. "Lord Barbarossa is offended that you have brought a gash into the camp. That you let it make noise revolts him. We have razed villages
larger than yours for less."