Taming the Warlord
folder
Fantasy & Science Fiction › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
4,844
Reviews:
17
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Fantasy & Science Fiction › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
10
Views:
4,844
Reviews:
17
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.
Unfulfilled
He grabbed the slave girl's hair. Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. Pulling her head towards him, he pressed her mouth against his engorged member. She gasped in shock as he thrust into her, gagging her. He gasped at the warmth of her mouth around him. Would that witch feel this warm? He rammed his hips at the slave's lips, plunging himself deeper at that thought.
The slave clawed at his arms as she fought for breath, his hands wrapped tightly in her hair. Damn that woman! He felt his abdomen tense with each thrust. Damn. That. Witch. He punctuated each thought with a thrust.
Growling deep in his throat, he plunged deeper and faster. The tension built within his loins, making his need more urgent. The slave beat helplessly at his arms, her desperation for breath overcoming any fear of retribution. With a roar, he exploded within her mouth reflexively tossing her from him.
She crumpled against the bed trembling and coughing, his seed dripping from her bruised lips. He stood there immobile, breathing sharply, staring into nothingness. The slave girl gathered herself together and scrambled from his bedchamber past the rushing guards who stopped at the entrance. They looked from the Warlord to the girl then they quickly returned to their posts.
Irritated, he paced the room. How could he have given to those desires? It was that fucking bitch's fault. At the thought of her he felt himself stirring again. In anger he looked down at his traitorous flesh. Slipping beneath the furs of his bed, he thought of battle plans, recent fights, anything to take his mind of that whore.
*********************************************************************
The morning horn woke him from a restless sleep. Without surprise he noted the absence of the slave girl and his quilts in disarray on the floor. Taking a fresh set from his locker, he dressed himself, for the first time in months. He stormed from his bed chambers in a foul mood. The waiting boys quickly set his armour upon him.
He marched to the mess hall to eat with his men as was his usual ritual. Passing between the rows of kneeling soldiers he walked to main table, where his generals stood with heads bowed. Taking his place at the head of the table, he sat. Food was brought out by groups of young boys, serving him first.
His men took their places at their tables and waited. He attacked his food with anger, drawing surprised glances from his neighbouring generals. A strange hush spread over the hall as soldiers watched their leader's uncharacteristic behaviour. The Generals glared at the soldiers, who immediately focused intently on their food.
Finishing his meal, the Warlord stood up. He looked over the array of men, his Imperium Generals and the mixed races of the soldiers. Clanking his goblet on the table, he got the undivided attention of the gathering.
"Today we march to victory!" He proclaimed, drawing the cheers of the soldiers. "Tomorrow we will dine in the halls of Irelez." The capital city of the Zult Dominion would fall to him swiftly.
“We march in one hour!”
The Warlord walked proudly through his cheering men, leaving his commanders to organize the march. He thoughtfully walked through the tents, his guards as always following him. The camp was a awash with fervor as men readied themselves for war. Coming around a tent he stopped, frowning as he saw the cages set aside for the prisoners. He was heading for his pavilion, he wasn’t even thinking of that witch. He looked at her cage, seeing her still hanging there from last night.
He then noticed a small boy, standing at the cage, holding a stick with a rag up to her mouth. He looked on incredulously, how someone could so blatantly work against him. Recognizing that it was the same boy who had defiantly spoke to him, showing courage that had impressed him so much, the Warlord wondered at the relationship between the two of them. The boy, seeing guards approaching on patrol, ran off into the rows of tents.
The Warlord strode to the cage, slamming his fist against the bars. She jumped, startled by the loud and sudden noise. She twisted to look at him with vile contempt. He returned her stare, locking his eyes with her, he then looked in the direction that the boy had run off to. Glancing back at her he smiled, showing his fanged teeth. She paled at the realization that he had seen and struggled against the manacles holding her as the Warlord marched purposefully following the boy.
Finding the boy standing outside his pavilion with the other boys, the Warlord walked up to them. The lads bowed their heads as he approached. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and led him away from the gang.
"What's your name, boy?" He asked as they wandered between the tents.
"Janth." The boy replied. The Warlord recognized it as a Zult name.
"Where are your parents?"
"You killed them!" Janth snapped as he stopped to stare angrily up at the Warlord.
"When did this happen?" The Warlord asked as he dropped to one knee to look the boy in the eye.
"Last harvest, when you attacked our village. They were in the fields and you burned them." Janth shouted at him, tears in his eyes. "I was saved by Auntie Cedar, she kept me safe. We hid and you never found us." He continued, triumphantly. The Warlord thought about what Janth had said,
about razing the fields. That had been nearly three seasons ago at the start
of the campaign.
"Where is Auntie Cedar now?"
"You put her in a cage!" The boy said between clenched teeth. "Why did you do that? She never hurt you. All she did is help those you hurt."
"That's war, Janth." The Warlord stood and led the boy to a tent. He left alone, heading back to his pavilion to begin his preparations for today's march. As he walked he thought of what the boy had said. So, her name is Cedar.
The slave clawed at his arms as she fought for breath, his hands wrapped tightly in her hair. Damn that woman! He felt his abdomen tense with each thrust. Damn. That. Witch. He punctuated each thought with a thrust.
Growling deep in his throat, he plunged deeper and faster. The tension built within his loins, making his need more urgent. The slave beat helplessly at his arms, her desperation for breath overcoming any fear of retribution. With a roar, he exploded within her mouth reflexively tossing her from him.
She crumpled against the bed trembling and coughing, his seed dripping from her bruised lips. He stood there immobile, breathing sharply, staring into nothingness. The slave girl gathered herself together and scrambled from his bedchamber past the rushing guards who stopped at the entrance. They looked from the Warlord to the girl then they quickly returned to their posts.
Irritated, he paced the room. How could he have given to those desires? It was that fucking bitch's fault. At the thought of her he felt himself stirring again. In anger he looked down at his traitorous flesh. Slipping beneath the furs of his bed, he thought of battle plans, recent fights, anything to take his mind of that whore.
*********************************************************************
The morning horn woke him from a restless sleep. Without surprise he noted the absence of the slave girl and his quilts in disarray on the floor. Taking a fresh set from his locker, he dressed himself, for the first time in months. He stormed from his bed chambers in a foul mood. The waiting boys quickly set his armour upon him.
He marched to the mess hall to eat with his men as was his usual ritual. Passing between the rows of kneeling soldiers he walked to main table, where his generals stood with heads bowed. Taking his place at the head of the table, he sat. Food was brought out by groups of young boys, serving him first.
His men took their places at their tables and waited. He attacked his food with anger, drawing surprised glances from his neighbouring generals. A strange hush spread over the hall as soldiers watched their leader's uncharacteristic behaviour. The Generals glared at the soldiers, who immediately focused intently on their food.
Finishing his meal, the Warlord stood up. He looked over the array of men, his Imperium Generals and the mixed races of the soldiers. Clanking his goblet on the table, he got the undivided attention of the gathering.
"Today we march to victory!" He proclaimed, drawing the cheers of the soldiers. "Tomorrow we will dine in the halls of Irelez." The capital city of the Zult Dominion would fall to him swiftly.
“We march in one hour!”
The Warlord walked proudly through his cheering men, leaving his commanders to organize the march. He thoughtfully walked through the tents, his guards as always following him. The camp was a awash with fervor as men readied themselves for war. Coming around a tent he stopped, frowning as he saw the cages set aside for the prisoners. He was heading for his pavilion, he wasn’t even thinking of that witch. He looked at her cage, seeing her still hanging there from last night.
He then noticed a small boy, standing at the cage, holding a stick with a rag up to her mouth. He looked on incredulously, how someone could so blatantly work against him. Recognizing that it was the same boy who had defiantly spoke to him, showing courage that had impressed him so much, the Warlord wondered at the relationship between the two of them. The boy, seeing guards approaching on patrol, ran off into the rows of tents.
The Warlord strode to the cage, slamming his fist against the bars. She jumped, startled by the loud and sudden noise. She twisted to look at him with vile contempt. He returned her stare, locking his eyes with her, he then looked in the direction that the boy had run off to. Glancing back at her he smiled, showing his fanged teeth. She paled at the realization that he had seen and struggled against the manacles holding her as the Warlord marched purposefully following the boy.
Finding the boy standing outside his pavilion with the other boys, the Warlord walked up to them. The lads bowed their heads as he approached. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and led him away from the gang.
"What's your name, boy?" He asked as they wandered between the tents.
"Janth." The boy replied. The Warlord recognized it as a Zult name.
"Where are your parents?"
"You killed them!" Janth snapped as he stopped to stare angrily up at the Warlord.
"When did this happen?" The Warlord asked as he dropped to one knee to look the boy in the eye.
"Last harvest, when you attacked our village. They were in the fields and you burned them." Janth shouted at him, tears in his eyes. "I was saved by Auntie Cedar, she kept me safe. We hid and you never found us." He continued, triumphantly. The Warlord thought about what Janth had said,
about razing the fields. That had been nearly three seasons ago at the start
of the campaign.
"Where is Auntie Cedar now?"
"You put her in a cage!" The boy said between clenched teeth. "Why did you do that? She never hurt you. All she did is help those you hurt."
"That's war, Janth." The Warlord stood and led the boy to a tent. He left alone, heading back to his pavilion to begin his preparations for today's march. As he walked he thought of what the boy had said. So, her name is Cedar.