Dorian & Rini
folder
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
4,559
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Erotica › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
4,559
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Dorian & Rini
Disclaimer: All the characters are my own, please don\'t copy or base one of your characters on them without my consent!
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Rini wiped the back of her paw across her forehead, she was hot, being surrounded by about 450 other slaves in the tent with her. The air was thick and smelt faintly of urine. Rubbing her paw on her shorts she looked up, her dark eyes scanning the tent. She wasn\'t looking at or for anything in particular, she was just looking, it was something to do. Rini was inside one of the many roped off areas in the huge domed tent. Similar in shape and size to a circus tent, but with about 15 roped off sections filled with 30 slaves in each. There was a space between each roped off area, to allow the buyers a look at every occupant in the make-shift pens. Rini was a small little bunny girl. Her ebony coloured hair was cropped short, and was uneven in places, but she didn\'t mind. It was easy to look after and in the stuffy tent, kept her cooler than some of the other girls with their long locks half way down their backs. She wore a plain tan coloured cotton shirt covering her small round breasts, and brown cotton short that barely came below her small shapely bottom. She had a slender build, but had curves in the right places. Unlike most of the slaves in her pen, who looked down as someone walked by, she watched everyone who walked past even looking them in the eye when possible, her spirit yet to be broken. She held her head high, her eyes holding a silent amount of self pride.
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\"It\'s just this way sir...We weren\'t expecting you so soon, so, you mustn\'t be upset with the poor preparation on our part!.\" Stammers a ferret as he walks, hunched over some, paws fidgeting within each other\'s grasp. He is beneath the shade of a tall figure whose form is atop a muscular and large, black, riding horse. The form upon the horse gestures out a paw in a dismissive manner and speaks,
\"Windle, perhaps you could lower your prices on some of the merchandise and maybe I won\'t raze this place to the ground, hmm?\" The figures head doesn\'t turn, black eyes staring ahead as the rest of his visage is contained within a tightly wrapped scarf. The entourage about the furre would chuckle softly, darkly as it were... A seemingly dangerous group if anything, and Windle knew it. He would nod quickly,
\"Oh!.. Of course, of course! Please, it\'s just ahead sir!\" Windle would hurry along forward, leading the group forward towards one of the large tents. The man that Windle was talking to would sigh quietly, his form engrossed in a flowing white tunic which seemed to be weathered from time and use. The others about him would be dressed in a similar manner, however, a distinguishing feature would be present upon the one furre as he would be carrying a very large broad sword upon his back. The blade would be nearly five feet in length and a foot in width, catching the sun easily as the light flickers upon the steel. Another from the group trots up next to their leader,
\"My Lord...When will we be leaving this wretched desert?..\" Asks the follower. The man would turn his head to him, slightly,
\"I would have to say a week’s time...But, take heart, this trip is well worth the trouble...\"
\"Of course, my Lord...\" Replies the follower as he falls back to the majority of the group. Within moments they would reach the tent with only the leader dismounting and Windle spouting off with some more formalities,
\"You\'re going to have to mind the smell, though... With someone of your esteemed reputation, I believe you\'re used to it...\" Windle would then pull back the flap of the tent, allowing the group\'s leader to step into the humid atmosphere. Bleh...I hate these sand rats...Ponders the tall figure as he walks through the middle most lane of the tent, black pearls of eyes focusing upon certain forms of interest within the tightly packed groups. It\'s the same old scene as with other slave auctions, that far in between feeling of desperation and disbelief, coupled with anger, frustration, and sadness. Though, one indeed does become used to it... The furre shakes his head slightly, but would then notice a tanned colored feline in one of the corners of the slave groups. Quite a buxom feline at that, she had to be at least twenty, maybe twenty five, but still, very well developed... The furre nods to himself,
\"You, stand.” He orders, the female standing rather quickly, head bowed, paws met at her lower back. She had a white abdomen which traveled up her torso and to her lower jaw, head encased in somewhat unkempt golden hair. The furre nods once more to himself, speaking once more,
\"Turn... Then face me again.” The feline does so, accurately as she simply turns. She had nothing but rags on, cotton, a dark dirty looking color as the small top would cover her shoulders and barely conceal her ample breasts while the tattered bottom seems to be held up by naught but her tail...This one seems to be good...However...
\"Look at me.” He orders, it is here that the feline hesitates for a time before her head slowly rises up and silver eyes would meet with his own. The furre\'s own black orbs would look calmly to hers, but deeply... After a few moments he nods, then looks off to the side, calling out,
\"Guard!... I\'ll take this one! Bring her to the carriage outside.\" The guard would nod and quickly follow the order, bringing a collar and a leash as he\'d administer it to the newly bought slave and lead her off. The furre now continues with his \'shopping\', no noticing a fairly small bunny in another one of the make shift pens. He hmms to himself a moment then walks over, noticing as she would not cast her glance away...Ah...Here we are...The furre would approach her,
\"You, stand...\"
________________________________________________________________________________________
Rini wiped the back of her paw across her forehead, she was hot, being surrounded by about 450 other slaves in the tent with her. The air was thick and smelt faintly of urine. Rubbing her paw on her shorts she looked up, her dark eyes scanning the tent. She wasn\'t looking at or for anything in particular, she was just looking, it was something to do. Rini was inside one of the many roped off areas in the huge domed tent. Similar in shape and size to a circus tent, but with about 15 roped off sections filled with 30 slaves in each. There was a space between each roped off area, to allow the buyers a look at every occupant in the make-shift pens. Rini was a small little bunny girl. Her ebony coloured hair was cropped short, and was uneven in places, but she didn\'t mind. It was easy to look after and in the stuffy tent, kept her cooler than some of the other girls with their long locks half way down their backs. She wore a plain tan coloured cotton shirt covering her small round breasts, and brown cotton short that barely came below her small shapely bottom. She had a slender build, but had curves in the right places. Unlike most of the slaves in her pen, who looked down as someone walked by, she watched everyone who walked past even looking them in the eye when possible, her spirit yet to be broken. She held her head high, her eyes holding a silent amount of self pride.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
\"It\'s just this way sir...We weren\'t expecting you so soon, so, you mustn\'t be upset with the poor preparation on our part!.\" Stammers a ferret as he walks, hunched over some, paws fidgeting within each other\'s grasp. He is beneath the shade of a tall figure whose form is atop a muscular and large, black, riding horse. The form upon the horse gestures out a paw in a dismissive manner and speaks,
\"Windle, perhaps you could lower your prices on some of the merchandise and maybe I won\'t raze this place to the ground, hmm?\" The figures head doesn\'t turn, black eyes staring ahead as the rest of his visage is contained within a tightly wrapped scarf. The entourage about the furre would chuckle softly, darkly as it were... A seemingly dangerous group if anything, and Windle knew it. He would nod quickly,
\"Oh!.. Of course, of course! Please, it\'s just ahead sir!\" Windle would hurry along forward, leading the group forward towards one of the large tents. The man that Windle was talking to would sigh quietly, his form engrossed in a flowing white tunic which seemed to be weathered from time and use. The others about him would be dressed in a similar manner, however, a distinguishing feature would be present upon the one furre as he would be carrying a very large broad sword upon his back. The blade would be nearly five feet in length and a foot in width, catching the sun easily as the light flickers upon the steel. Another from the group trots up next to their leader,
\"My Lord...When will we be leaving this wretched desert?..\" Asks the follower. The man would turn his head to him, slightly,
\"I would have to say a week’s time...But, take heart, this trip is well worth the trouble...\"
\"Of course, my Lord...\" Replies the follower as he falls back to the majority of the group. Within moments they would reach the tent with only the leader dismounting and Windle spouting off with some more formalities,
\"You\'re going to have to mind the smell, though... With someone of your esteemed reputation, I believe you\'re used to it...\" Windle would then pull back the flap of the tent, allowing the group\'s leader to step into the humid atmosphere. Bleh...I hate these sand rats...Ponders the tall figure as he walks through the middle most lane of the tent, black pearls of eyes focusing upon certain forms of interest within the tightly packed groups. It\'s the same old scene as with other slave auctions, that far in between feeling of desperation and disbelief, coupled with anger, frustration, and sadness. Though, one indeed does become used to it... The furre shakes his head slightly, but would then notice a tanned colored feline in one of the corners of the slave groups. Quite a buxom feline at that, she had to be at least twenty, maybe twenty five, but still, very well developed... The furre nods to himself,
\"You, stand.” He orders, the female standing rather quickly, head bowed, paws met at her lower back. She had a white abdomen which traveled up her torso and to her lower jaw, head encased in somewhat unkempt golden hair. The furre nods once more to himself, speaking once more,
\"Turn... Then face me again.” The feline does so, accurately as she simply turns. She had nothing but rags on, cotton, a dark dirty looking color as the small top would cover her shoulders and barely conceal her ample breasts while the tattered bottom seems to be held up by naught but her tail...This one seems to be good...However...
\"Look at me.” He orders, it is here that the feline hesitates for a time before her head slowly rises up and silver eyes would meet with his own. The furre\'s own black orbs would look calmly to hers, but deeply... After a few moments he nods, then looks off to the side, calling out,
\"Guard!... I\'ll take this one! Bring her to the carriage outside.\" The guard would nod and quickly follow the order, bringing a collar and a leash as he\'d administer it to the newly bought slave and lead her off. The furre now continues with his \'shopping\', no noticing a fairly small bunny in another one of the make shift pens. He hmms to himself a moment then walks over, noticing as she would not cast her glance away...Ah...Here we are...The furre would approach her,
\"You, stand...\"