Captive Read online

  He took her by the hips, pulling her spread bottom against his genitals. She felt the big balls squashed out against her tuppenny, with the shaft hard between her bottom cheeks. He began to rut in the slimy crease of her bottom, bringing the rough skin of his scrotum into contact with her clitoris. Aisla’s mouth came open at the sensation, no longer in distress but in an ecstasy too great to bear save for the fact that she could do nothing to stop it. Grabbing a breast in each hand she pulled out her nipples, and she was coming, screaming over and over and in-between squashing her face into the mixed sperm, sweat and sand beneath her.

  The troll paid no attention, rutting and rutting as she came in helpless, unbearable ecstasy. It stopped, suddenly, and she found herself coming down and sighing in mixed relief and disappointment, only to feel the bulbous head of his cock press between her inflamed bottom cheeks, right onto her anus. A deep groan escaped her lips as she realised the troll was intent on buggering her, doubtless an obscene trick taught by Ulor. Held in the iron grip she could do nothing except relax her ring and pray she was elastic enough to accept the cock that was about to be forced past it.

  She felt it stretch and heard the roar of the crowd as they realised what was being done to her. Someone yelled out a call, offering a hundred crowns that she would split and then it had happened, the huge cock was up her bottom, her anus stretched taut around the neck, strained to the limit but unbroken. She took it with a pained snort, leaving a long streamer of troll’s sperm hanging from the tip of her nose, swinging as he began to bugger her. Overcome by sensation, she lay limp on his cock, her body jerking to the motion of her sodomy and her breasts slapping and squelching on the filthy sand. For a moment she passed out, only to come round again as the colossal penis was forced deeper up her bottom and his balls began to slap against her vacant tuppenny. Immediately she knew she was going to come again, with the rough scrotum nudging her clitoris over and over as her ecstasy built, built further and then broke in an explosion as her tortured anus clamped tight on the intruding troll cock. At that he too came, the contractions of her anal ring milking him up her bottom until she felt her rectum would burst or the sperm would erupt from her mouth.

  It was over, although her body felt as if it were being wrenched inside out as the troll pulled its cock from her hole. With a last thought of how Mojal had made her drunk with the beer in her rectum, Aisla collapsed, unable to support herself as she sank onto the damp sand. Her vagina and anus were gaping, throbbing with pain and dribbling sperm. Every part of her body was soiled with come, her hair caked, her skin slimy, with thick clots over her breasts and face. It was in her mouth too, the taste filling her senses, while she had swallowed so much that her stomach was a round, taut ball, packed with sperm.

  She lay still, hazy with the smell of goblin musk, her head swimming from her orgasms, utterly overcome by what had been done to her. Above her the sky seemed to spin, the clouds whirling above her, slowing, stopping as she gradually regained her senses and once more became aware of the roar of the crowd, who she was and where she was.

  Pulling herself onto one elbow, she found that the trolls had already been cleared from the arena and realised that she must have been lying still for far longer than she knew. She was near the wall, somewhat to the side of the royal podium, from which brutal faces leered down at her, the sole exception being Sulitea, whose expression conveyed sympathy and fear.

  Across the sand men were coming out from the gate, led by a small figure in a black cloak. Behind came others in cloaks trimmed with black, each carrying a leather satchel. Last were guards, supporting a heavy table between them. Aisla pulled herself to a sitting position, feeling the first pangs of horror and panic as the torturers approached. With an effort she stood, her legs trembling beneath her. Two of the torturers were coming towards her, big, powerful men, each with a net and a spear. She backed, turning a look towards the podium. Sulitea’s eyes met hers and she called out in a desperate plea for help, put her wrist to her mouth and bit hard into the broken end of the strap even as Sulitea reacted, grabbing the birdswing axe and hurling it down onto the sand.

  Aisla scrambled for the axe, reached it and gripped the shaft. A cry went up from the crowd and a crash of feet stamping in approval as she braced herself and turned to face the torturers. They laughed, grinning and flourishing their nets, tempting her to come on. Aisla waited, feeling the strength flow into her body and her anger rise, then the full rush of power as she started forward and the world turned red around her.

  Epilogue – Ateron

  ‘… ten times her axe cut,’ Sulitea sang out to the crowded hall of Ateron Keep. ‘Ten only, and ten torturers fell dead. Ten men in ten cuts. Who can say as much? What man here?’

  With her final words she slammed her goblet down on the table, spraying those nearby with mead. Applause broke out, cheers and shouts of approval, then calls for Aeisla to complete the saga to Sulitea’s credit. Aeisla took a swallow of mead to clear her throat and stood up, glancing shyly around the hall. Uraoth, seated among the Reeves at the high table, was beaming with pride. Setting her goblet down, she tried to put in order what Sulitea had told her of events after her bellyful of troll sperm.

  ‘As Isteth the Master fell,’ she began, ‘the crowd rose as one, roaring approval of his death. Only on the Royal podium was there disquiet. Mogath had laughed at Sulitea’s act in throwing me the axe, thinking it a pathetic gesture, yet as his torturers fell he snatched for her, bellowing orders to the guards all the while. Sulitea bit his hand and crawled beneath the throne, but with the crowd threatening to become a mob he was forced to turn his attention from her.

  ‘Confusion grew, with some in the crowd thinking the guards turned not on me, but on them, while others felt I had acquitted myself well enough to be spared my life. The guards, disbelieving that a full squad had been called out to silence a single girl, assumed they were to quell the crowd. The arena erupted in fighting, Ghirais the Priest standing and raising his hands to restore order, making the first motions to call his God.

  ‘Yet it was not Gan who appeared, but a hideous demon, winged and with the body of a vast toad, summoned by Sulitea. A tongue the colour of dry blood shot out and Ghirais vanished screaming into its awful maw, Mogath died, crushed in a vast hand, and more as Sulitea yelled for vengeance!

  ‘Those who lived fled screaming as the demon caught up Sulitea, then myself, carrying us high into the air above Zihai and so to Ateron, leaving their King dead, their warriors scattered and their city in turmoil!’

  Aeisla struck her fist on the table in the ritual motion to finish her saga and called for praise for Sulitea, a demand answered by a fresh chorus of applause. Sitting, she took a full swallow of mead, pleased with herself but glad to have completed the embarrassing task. As she replaced her goblet on the table she felt a gentle touch on her shoulder and turned to find Aurora behind her.

  ‘The elixir,’ Aurora said quietly. ‘You made it to proper specifications?’

  ‘Not entirely,’ Aeisla admitted. ‘We could find no black mandrake, nor chevrotains. The cherry juice we also omitted.’

  ‘Then stop taking it,’ Aurora went on, ‘or within the year you will be more like your father than you anticipated – a man.’

  Also Available from Andrews UK and Xcite Books

 

 

 

-->