The Bride of Dagon
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The Eye Of Dagon 2 free porn video
Eye of Dagon
Part 2.
Axe to grind.
A twilight sky arched over the degenerate city of Hrus Throst and dry
desert winds drifted through its empty twisted streets. Generations ago
this had been a thriving metropolis, a desert oasis of riches and power
commanding respect and influence through out the region. Its arcane
knowledge, fierce trade and vindictive strength of arms were respected
and feared by all. But calamity befell the city when the Violet Plague
broke out and decimated the populace. The streets filled to overflowing
with piles of moaning, blistered, pustule erupted bodies. Trade ground to
a halt. Arcane learning and wisdom became twisted and perverted by fear
and loss. The mighty armies of Hrus Throst dwindled and perished. Death
walked the streets and his sickle cut deep swathes, laying low commoners
and the high born alike.
Many tried to flee the affliction and those that did not die of thirst in
the desert were burnt alive on heaped pyres by the savage desert dwellers
for fear of contagion. Those few poor souls who survived the violet touch
were driven irrevocably mad by fever, stalking the streets making lunatic
sport of murder. A scant few escaped the touch of the pox through the use
of the darkest of arcane arts and human sacrifice to vile gods.
In the span of the waxing and waning of a moon Hrus Throst became a city
of the dead. When the pestilence broke and the survivors reclaimed the
streets they discovered that the stigma of plague, madness and sorcery
lay like a pox upon the metropolis. The Violet Plague had left fevered
ruination from which the city never recovered. Few came to the forsaken
city and none lingered in that desolate place that reeked of demented
death and vile acts. Without trade and wealth Hrus Throst became a
miserly, dark city, sucking bitterly upon the dusty rancor of her lost
glories. But a trickle of trade continued, for those few that survived
the pox had dark wares yet to peddle.
Through Hrus Throst's shunned and crumbling streets a powerful figure
slipped with a lithe, rangy step. A mismatched ensemble of horned helm
and gothic scale male rested upon his mighty frame with a wolfish
economy, reinforcing his wild appearance. An axe of graceful artistry
hung from the wide belt at his lean waist, its handle of fire hardened
steel and braced timber, its keen rippled steel head gleaming in the hues
of a deadly rainbow.
The raven haired barbarians face darkened as he stole past the dangling
corpses adorning the gallows at the slave market gates. Empty eye sockets
pecked clean by crows followed him. The carrion flesh was a mute warning
to all would be thieves and rogues that they were not welcome. The
untamed warrior paused at the shriveled remains of Killis, one whom he
had once called friend. His faced etched into an unforgiving grimace as
the lines of his lean hard body trembled with a wild savage rage. If he
had not been procuring Killis' poisons stored in the pouch that hung at
his neck this would not have happened. Amra had learned of Killis' death
from the savage nomads that traded in this forsaken city and vowed
veangance.
A mangy dog pulled ravenously upon the leg of Kilis' hanging body. With a
feral curse the dark haired man kicked the sniveling creature away. The
cur gave a wild yelp as it darted for the shadows. Amra squared his broad
shoulders. He was a wanted man in Stygia, yet he did not fear capture and
stood tall and proud as befitted a barbarian of Cimmerian stock. He was
not going to be cowed by these wretched civilized dogs. Today he would
walk into the very teeth of death and snatch his revenge, meting
retribution upon the one who had murdered his blood brother under the
guise of civilized justice. Amra fingered the notched axe that hung at
his waist, vowing to his brothers corpse that blood would be let this
day.
The market square beyond was glutted with avid buyers of all
nationalities; the representatives of Kushite noblemen, Zamorian sheiks,
Shemite emirs and Brythunian potentates. Here was a place where tawny
blondes, dusky brunettes and crimson haired beauties were sold for a
handful of coins to emptors from all corners of the known world. The
mighty thewed Amra waded discreetly through the thronging crowds in the
direction of the rough hewn block which lay at the squares centre.
Two gaily bedecked palanquins born by somber Kushite slaves sat by the
block in prime viewing location and this was Amra's murderous
destination. The bearer's brows were shaved and their darkly muscled
bodies were oiled to glisten in the sun, but they paid the heat and dust
no heed. A naked Shemite slave girl fanned the shaded interiors with a
peacocks feather.
* * *
Amongst a bevy of tan, ebon and olive complexioned slave girls, Kilis was
being prepared by a pair of nervous body servants. She looked over the
gathered square fearfully. Soon she would be brazenly paraded upon the
block, all eyes riveted upon her ravishing body. The thought made her
heart race nervously with a sense of yearning she had never felt before.
She squirmed as one body slave adjusted the her provocatively scant
raiment so that it lay suggestively upon her generous curves. The
material covered just enough skin to fire the ardent imagination of the
onlookers. Another slave girl rouged lips, expertly applied kohl to eyes
and lashes and powdered face and skin, dabbing gently upon the fresh
welts that criss crossed Kilis' skin.
"Make sure you give the buyers an eyeful of the wares," the stout Queeg
ordered, flexing his supple whip in warning.
The cowed and delicately chained Kilis nodded in response, a deep blush
accenting her refined cheeks, her insurgent heart thudding within her
breast with a fatalistic desire. Her naked flesh well remembered the
exquisite agony of the lash, and she was dismayed that it was a fond
remembrance. But a few days before she would have railed with all her
masculine being against such threats, but that was a lifetime ago. Now
she craved to submit to the delectable scourge of the strap again.
Queeg chuckled with grisly mirth.
* * *
"I have a new girl on the block today. I only just broke her," the
indolently reclining Ashir Diir noted from within a large curtained
litter as he lazily nibbled upon on odd looking sweet meat.
"I wish you'd sell me an unbroken girl. I'd pay handsomely for a slave
like that. Your sorcery is too simple. Just once I'd like to try my hand
at bending one of your girls will to mine," the other mage responded from
his covered sedan, a grin twisting his bearded lips. Hakim's goatee was
suavely tied fast with gold braiding.
"Converting one of my subjects to their correct place in the order of
things is so very satisfying. I relish the moment when my arts
irrevocably transduce the mind, when the victim can no longer see
themselves other than what they have become; a servile slave girl
stripped of everything and ready and willing to please her new master in
whatever manner he or she sees fit," the other noted between chews,
motioning for an attendant.
"Perhaps a private sale?" Hakim suggested shrewdly. "I'd pay ample gold
for a girl to break in. I could perhaps even supply-"
The other raised his hand to interrupt the offer. "I'm sorry my friend, I
just couldn't. You understand. No matter how much you beg, the pleasure
is wholly mine."
The other nodded glumly. "Who is your latest girl?" He asked, eying the
dark haired beauty.
"She was an assassin," Ashir noted in a voice tinged with vile sarcasm.
From the darkness his beady eyes avidly watched Hakim's face for the
slightest reaction. "Paid in blood red coins from this very city."
"An assassin? How novel," Hakim noted, his face impassive.
"Yes. Kilis by name. I made a likeness of him to adorn the market
gallows." Ashir watched his companion with a deadpan grin upon his thin
mirthless lips. Ashir had already leaked this tidbit of information about
the girls former profession, but had not divulged that she had been paid
in gold coin from Hrus Throst.
"I saw the new decoration," there was a note of distaste in Hakim's
voice. The gallows were a constant reminder that the Praetor could
dispose of his enemies under the guise of the law with impunity. More
importantly it was well known amongst the sorcerers of Hrus Throst that
Ashir dabbled in the necromantic arts and could shape corpses to whatever
likeness he willed. No one was ever quite certain if Ashir's foes were
truly dead or had ended up on the auction block to become a man's willing
plaything. For this Ashir was well feared and grudgingly respected.
Ashir considered Hakims grim jaw. If the conjurer had hired the pair of
assassins he hid it well. The Praetor licked his lips with a thin probing
tongue, carefully weighting his words with ambiguity. "The next girl I
have in mind you may be interested in. The assassin's partner. A fine
boned lass from the north lands. Hair blonde as straw and eyes like the
deep blue waters from the Zarobi springs. Her gaze will trap your soul,"
he smiled at his little joke.
Hakim nodded curtly, "I look forward to seeing your handiwork."
Ashirs eyes narrowed to slits. By divulging that small snippet of
information about Amra the Praetor's game had commenced in earnest. Still
Hakim had not taken the bait, had not so much as asked if the northerner
was in his custody. Ashir did not know whether the barbarian would know
the identity of his employer, but it was an obvious conclusion that the
Praetor and the Eye were the target, for the eye was a much coveted
artifact amongst the devious magicracy of Hrus Throst. If Hakim was part
of this plot he would want to act swiftly to silence Amra lest Ashir lay
his hands upon him. If Hakim was not part of the conspiracy, then he
would serve as an appropriate messenger to spread the rumour amongst the
close knit brotherhood of wizards of Hrus Throst.
Suddenly Ashir clapped his hands to summon Queeg his slave handler. "Put
Kira upon the block next!" he commanded. The handler gave a quick congee
and departed to make the orders. Ashir turned to his companion. Chances
were that whoever purchased Kira would likely be somehow involved in the
plot.
There was a gasp of awe from the crowd as Kira was led in chain and
collar but little else onto the block. Ashir grinned with malice and
Hakim's eyebrow arched.
* * *
As he approached Ashir's litter, Amra paused for the briefest moment to
admire the strutting slave girls earthy charms and return the bold look
in her eyes. The very sight of her was enthralling, leaving one a slave
chained to their desire. The boldness in her eyes wavered and a wretched
look came over her face. A sob that quivered with a note of hysteria
caught his ear as in an abandon of terror the suddenly humiliated slave
girl broke from the block to throw her slender arms about his immense
neck. "Oh master, please save me from these monstrous beasts. I beg of
you!" Tears wept down her cheeks unashamedly as Amra's hands dropped to
her slim waist.
The filthy slave trader pulled the dainty lass from the barbarians
appreciative arms and threw her in a shuddering heap upon the soiled
cobbles at the blocks base. The slaver glared at her with wild anger
flashing in his eyes and whip snapping in his hands. "Ashir is your
master you little slut! When you're sold on the market-block you will
call another master! Not before!"
Her supple body quivered with abject awe as Queeg raised the lash. Before
the strap could fall Amra gripped the man's hand. "Best not to bruise the
wares?" he rumbled with suppressed threat, blue eyes glinting with a hint
of balefire. His grip tightened like a vice and the whip tumbled from the
slavers nerveless fingers. He reached out his other hand and helped the
girl to her feet. "Now apolagise," he snarled quietly.
"I'm sorry, sir," the obese slaver sniveled through broken teethe gritted
in pain.
"Not to me. The girl," Amra ordered as with a growing admiration he
beheld her. Coyly she glanced up at him from beneath demurely lowered
lashes. She possessed an enigmatic quality that piqued his interest and
aroused his primal hungers. Her sudden timidity enhanced her obvious
feminine charms, with which he determined to reacquaint himself.
The stout slaver blinked then stuttered an apology. Amra nodded,
realizing that four guards had pushed their way through the crowd and
were eyeing him with more than a casual interest. Ashir too had turned
his gaze to the commotion and his face reddened with anger as he beheld
his nimble pet being touched by another man.
Amra saw the guards eyes dawning with the recognition. Many knew he had a
hefty price upon his head. Amra had few doubts that before Killis had
been executed they had wrung his name from his companions lips. A wicked
grin split Amra's visage as he released his brutal grip upon the slave
trader, pushing him into two of the guards to send them sprawling.
Two guard remained. One placed a strong hand Amra's shoulder. The
barbarians blue eyes narrowed dangerously. Before the guard could react
Amra shrugged off his hold with a subtle turn and his hand shot up to
grip the guards loosened hand roughly just below the thumb. He applied
pressure mercilessly to the soft flesh between the bones, forcing the
guards wrist back at an unnatural angle. The beefy guards eyes widened in
shocked pain as he was forced to his knees. The guard howled as, with a
savage twist of Amra's hand, the bones in his wrist were snapped. Without
a second glance at the wailing man, Amra moved onto the final guard.
The last guard drew his sword and moved to intercept. As the guard closed
he lunged at Amra's chest. The barbarian deftly twisted, side stepping
the thrusting sword. Taking another step forward Amra twisted back again,
putting all his weight behind an upwardly angled fist strike. There was
the jarring sound of a jaw snapping shut, shattering teeth and a
dislocating jaw as Amra's balled fist connected with his opponents chin.
The guard was thrown up and away by the blow.
Without pause Amra pulled the girl into the crowd. He fled into the
jamming crush, pushing aside bodies as he rushed, guards voices rising
the alarm, Ashir crying thief and naked slave girls cheering him lustily
from the block.
An alley loomed and Amra ducked inside, the girl in tow. They thundered
down a cobbled back street, turned suddenly aside into another mazing
byway, ducked by a cow, slipped into an open door, crossed a chicken
littered courtyard, squashed through a rosette window, sped agilely
across the ridge of a slate tiled roof, leaped nimbly onto a disused
balcony and ducked into a darkened and dusty chamber. All the while
voices cried out in pursuit.
* * *
His body quivering with rage Ashir passed through mailed jailors and
slave girls in their skimpy brassieres and brief loin cloths. All shrank
back fearfully, lest they so much as touch the skirts of his robe. Nor
were the bond servants any slower in making room for him. The human
chattel watched in tense silence, holding their breath.
"Queeg! How did this happen?!" he hissed.
"I do not know master," the stalwart jailor cried.
"Gather the guard. Start the search for the thief and my property, or
else you'll be up on that block in her place!"
"Immediately master," Queeg fawned, all colour draining from his pudgy
face.
As Ashir raged, Hakim regarded the Praetor then departed quietly with
much on his mind.
* * *
As the pair made their way through the labyrinth of the cities back ways
the cries dwindled and eventually ceased. They came to a long abandoned
dwelling and sealed themselves within. Amra turned to the girl as she
fell whimpering to the ground. He regarded her submissive and docile
form.
"What is your name?" he enquired, breaking the flimsy chains which bound
her wrists.
There was a vagrant gleam of lust in her eyes as she regarded her
saviours immense muscular vigor. "K-" she paused a moment with
indecision, looking down at the sensuous curves of her unclad body as
though this might hold the answer. "Kira, my master," she seemed to
decide.
"I am no ones master but my own," Amra rumbled as he cupped her chin with
surprising gentleness and fixed his clear blue eyes upon her haunted
ones. Those orbs reminded him of a spirited horse cruelly broken,
stripped of all defiance. Her body possessed the underdeveloped
musculature of a life of pampered indolence. She was a man's plaything.
It boiled his blood, "and I did not save you from the slavers whip to
make you my chattel. You are free to do as you wish."
"I-" she hesitated again, as thought torn between two paths, for though
she wanted to be free, the merest caress of his hand upon her skin was
more exquisitely enticing than any dream of freedom she harbored within.
A war was fought within her, her mind racing, body shaking, her eyes
flashing as uncertainty wracked her. Intellect and passion waxed and
waned. An anguished cry escaped her lips and he gripped her arm lest she
fall. At his touch her battle was over, her intellect routed.
Her eyes dropping suggestively taking in the full measure of his firm
body, "let me thank you then," she intimated demurely as she rose, her
breasts swaying from side to side. In a moment her soft yielding flesh
was pressed against the thickly chorded muscles of his body. She melted
into him, reveling in the feel of his skin upon hers and the thrill of
the libido which was her master.
Amra knew not what to make of this mercurial creature within his grasp.
He sensed that she had her own personal demons to fight, but that she
also desired him intensely. Briefly he considered rebuking the curvaceous
wantons advances, but as he buried his nose in her mass of high piled
hair and inhaled her sweet perfume he found he could raise no protest.
The soft eager crush of her body against his, the contact of her firm
breasts both warm and tender, the supple curve of her naked skin beneath
his questing hands; all stole his better judgment. They fell upon the
ground in a tangle of eager limbs, her scant garments slipping from her
in an instant.
She proved to be at once an eager and uncertain lover, using mouth, hands
and body with obvious abandon but little experience. At one point she
fleetingly balked at performing acts upon him with her mouth, but then as
she gazed upon the savage swell of his loins her resolve faltered and she
renewed her efforts with uncurbed passion, her ministrations fueled by a
lusty appetite.
After this Amra moved slowly and at her leisure, suspecting that the
slavers may have been rough with the girl. Carefully he positioned
himself to mount her, sensing that this act was something which might
cause her to protest. But she watched with an avid curiosity as he thrust
deep within her moist loins. There was a serene expression on her face as
she savored the sensation of his slow deliberate movements, and her
lashes fluttered spasmodically as control left her. Their pace increased
from trot to cantor to gallop, freeing the unbridled wild passion which
was caged within her breast, her lungs exalting the room with fevered
cries and moans. Each thrust stroke evoked screams of unchecked pleasure.
She was no longer a compliant slave but a willing wanton and the pair
tumbled about the room in lathered fury.
She made worship to him with her body, laying his face upon the alter of
her full and sensitive breasts, supplicating the lithe curves of her arms
and legs about his body, imploring his with the supple muscles of her
pert bottom and meeting his desire with the hot moist flesh of her loins.
They thrashed upon the ground until they were both spent, eyes were
clenched shut as they rode upon waves of pleasure to a final, dissipating
conclusion.
Mikayla
- 09.08.2022
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