Thread: streetlight swag

Drawing a sheep hide blanket around her shoulders, Naila whimpered, her legs numb. There was a ball the size of a fist in her throat, an empty hollow feeling in her stomach. She felt sick, sick to the point she could simply throw up the entire contents of her gut. Kosan stood, watching the window as more and more of his men disappeared into the depths of the Indian Ocean. What would a man be without his ship, without his crew? Naila watched the naked slave owner in all his glory, wearing a stoic expression. It was at that moment when there was a slicing sound in the air. Kosans face contorted and he collapsed on the bed, lying like a pillowcase filled with alfalfa. Kosan? Her voice was quiet in her own mind, and she didnt know why she was reaching out to check on Kosan. Touching his shoulder gently, the pads on her fingertips pressed against his skin as she shifted cautiously to her knees. She turned his body and he slopped onto his back, the stoic expression having transformed into glazed eye and limp mouth. Blood soaked the blankets and sheets, flowing from his lips and down his sides. Looking up, as to not be pinned as the reason for his death, Naila noticed a figure standing but a foot or two from her. The blade used to kill Kosan remained in his grip, gleaming with blood that had long since dripped to the floor in a peaceful rain. Why did you kill him? Fingers tightening to secure the blanket around her frame, she eyed the dress abandoned by his feet. Naila kept mixed emotions, she was pleased that Kosans chance of harming her was extinguished, yet she did not believe he deserved to die. All people die in the end, as her mother had told her when she was younger, some people just leave in better ways than most. Kosans way of death was not comparable to dying during slumber or because of old age. Standing up from the bed, she, if only for a moment, was level height with him, before she stepped onto the wooden floor. WhaWhat is your name? Truthfully, it did not matter what the strangers name was, Nailas attempts were simply to keep him from running his blade into her back. She did not know if he had a personal vendetta against Kosan and his crew or was housing a hunger for blood. From there, she kept to the perimeter of the room, working her way towards the door. He looked to be an interesting fellow, piercing eyes and hair that was nearly longer than hers. The differences between Kosan and this monster of a man were stark, obviously their sizes. Naila thought Kosan to be a mouse whereas this fellow may have been a lion or water beast. She would not accept dying as a result of being ran through by this man's blade, it was not in her plans. This man was free to murder her as soon as she had revenge on her King's murderer, his brother. ---- Resting on a bed of blankets made from bear skin, thick quilts sewn together from pieces of the finest silken fabrics, Troen merely chuckled at his fiancs response. You would dare defy me? He countered, using his strength, for the most part, to push himself up and off the mattress. I have given you shelter, a roof over your head, blankets to lie under, a fireplace to keep you warm. You know I would give you anything you ask for, within reason, of course. Hari spoke simply, his voice throwing out promises as if they were warm breath on a cold night. I merely ask that you give me what I want in return. I do not wish to take anything from you, or to force you to lie with me. Approaching her, he walked slowly, removing the thin black tunic from his torso, revealing a finely chiseled body, colored from his summers in Greece. Dropping the garment to the ground, Troen pulled a smile onto his face. Surely Samosa would be inclined to have sex with him just because they are to be wed. In Miribar and in all the countries Troen has visited in his life, heirs were what gave you power. If you were not quick to bear a child, your spot in the future and as a holder of power were somewhat relinquished. Your name and family were swept under metaphorical rug, forever forgotten. Troen Johari refused to be forgotten, especially after the crime he had to commit to simply be King. And now that his fianc chose to not do as he pleasedTroen would not have any problem with riding his kingdom of her. I do understand that you may be an exotic woman elsewhere, but in Miribar, my land, you are whatever I chose you to be. Tonight, my love, you are to please me better than any of the whores could. They were standing face to face now, Hari having but a few inches over this woman. His eyes were sullen, tired and angry that he had to put so much work into just having to get sex from Samosa. It wasnt even that he wanted sex at this time. He just wanted her wet mouth on his cock, maybe even a small period of just lying together. But, he realized, if just getting her to suck him off was going to be this much work, sex would be worth it in the end. Letting out a breath, Troen admired her body, even covered with some pieces of fabric. She was a beautiful creature, he had to admit, but her attitude as a horse needing training was perpetually frustrating for him. Admittedly, he was used to being given what he wanted, as he was born into royalty, and expected it even more so now that he was King. Hands moving forward, they pulled the fabric over her head, breasts exposed and tantalizing, even if he had seen their true beauty before. Would you like me to pleasure you instead, my love? Questioning slowly, he captured a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, rolling and pinching until it was a hard nub.