Thrall of the Warrior Witch

Chapter Two-4

“I wish for decades as your s*x-toy slave,” avowed Drake in all honesty. If there was no going back to California, why not? “But I’ll take whatever I’m allowed. Your allure captivates me more than all these bars and chains.”

To his surprise Drake saw a blush appear on those pretty bronze cheeks as Nala moved to unlock his cell. “You are what we call a ‘sugar-talker. Say nice things to cozen a dim maid.”

“We say honey-tongue. So let me prove it to you. Let my honey-tongue provide a lifetime of climaxes in one wild night.”

Nala’s smile was answer enough as she opened his cage. Leaving the door wide (he was still shackled hand and foot and chained by his collar to the wall after all), she hurried to join him.

Half-sitting Drake moved to rise and she pushed him back down.

Without ceremony she straddled his body, her leather-girded crotch coming down right atop his chastity cage. Oh, those full breasts were right in his face, sexily separated by the straps of the body harness that crossed between them! Muscular arms covered in tattoos clasped his head and drew him directly to the puckered nub of an erect n****e.

“Maids like to play this way as well. It is even rumored Jia lets specially favored thralls feed on her in return, in order to further extend their lingering deaths. So let us begin our pretending as we choose: either as maiden lovers just learning or Empress and impossibly honored thrall. No one need admit to which.”

Replying would be rude with his mouth full. And why bother explaining that in his world men were fixated by t**s and needed no fantasy to embellish their worship? He let the fervency of his servicing make words superfluous.

One quivering breast after another Drake suckled as if indeed it provided the most luscious vital sustenance. Nala moaned as joyously as any California girl, and was soon rubbing her saddle against his cage as if friction and need might wear the iron and leather away. Her moans were interrupted by gasping praise.

“Oh slave! You do know how to please like the most skillful maid! I had heard that women are abused in America. Were those not lies, or are you rare in your land as well?”

Drake came up gasping for breath himself.

“Evil men hurt women and often go unpunished. Good men live in love and treat them equally. Some few worship women beyond reason. We seek a lifetime of pleasing them. We develop our skills accordingly, just as you have.”

“Jia must learn of this!” Nala groaned, as Drake resumed his slavish licking, nibbling and suckling. “We must have more like you!”

As little as he wished to condemn others to his fate, Drake wasn’t about to stint on his servicing. His mania for that worship was overriding everything else. As compelling as his dalliance with Shanelle had been, it lacked the romantic connection he’d so quickly established with lovely and affectionate Nala. That she was an expert in torture and s****l stimulation was already secondary to her personal appeal. When she at last pulled her t**s away Drake was throbbing so painfully beneath her ever-shifting weight that he wanted to cry his desperation to the entire dungeon. Instead he didn’t hesitate to worsen his frustration.

“Now we shall see,” Nala breathed. “Now you will perform for me. Caged or not, you will have me climax for all the times fate has denied.”

“Yes mistress!”

The honorific came automatically, as did obedience when Nala lifted and gestured for him to shift and lie back on his sleeping mat. The second she swung astride his face and pulled aside the already soaked leather strap between her legs he went even more ardently to work.

And so began Drake’s second dalliance with a dominant woman, already so much better than the first. Soon enough she would be torturing him like Shanelle on super-steroids, and hopefully expertly pegging him too before helping to put him sexually to death. For the present however, and the few days left in his cell, he poured all of his fear, excitement and lustful awe of the omnipotent feminine into gratifying this epitome of it. In his way he was training himself (and being deliberated trained in turn) for his coming encounter with that ideal’s godhead.

Drake quickly proved an adept in his own right.

Whether performing like a maid indeed or just repudiating Nala’s sexism, he brought her to the first of those promised climaxes in minutes, the second not long after. Each time she gushed fluid copiously and even squirted on him; perhaps these women had evolved a more powerful orgasm in their millennia of ascendancy. It certainly seemed so from the force of her shuddering. And time and again it was Nala that shrieked out loud enough to wake the entire complex.

Who could never learn how to do it, mistress?

No matter.

Drake’s demonstrated expertise didn’t prevent Nala proceeding to ‘squash, rub and hump’ him to several more such thrilling defilements. It was ‘very rough and fun’ for all involved after all. And he truly might have been content to go on urgently performing all night, determined to afflict Nala with every bit of ecstasy he’d promised.

Mistress had her orders however.

After what could only have been between two and three hours she’d finally climbed off his slathered face. She wiped his lips and actually kissed him, then murmured her praise and appreciation before slipping out and locking him in again.

No doubt she had an important report to make.

Drake was left to spend the rest of the night alone, his head spinning between giddiness and new dismay. How he couldn’t wait for lovely Nala to return! But what might she be telling the Empress about America?

The following few days – as far as he knew the last of his life – Drake spent meditating as much as he could. He napped after his evening adventures and dreamed of Shanelle turning into Nala turning into some glorious being he couldn’t quite see, her divine brilliance was just too blinding. But oh how she whipped and pegged and smother-rubbed and gushed on him endlessly before performing some even more hideously thrilling act, one he eagerly succumbed to in the full knowledge that it was gradually killing him…

Awake again Drake mused too much on these too-specific imaginings. He dwelled on erotic memories while his caged c**k throbbed and his balls began to visibly bloat – something snuck into his food perhaps, or an effect of the strange potion he was now being given every morning. Groaning at the pain in his stretching scrotum, he mixed his memories, anxieties, fantasies and lusting-dreading speculation into a feverish turmoil while he lay about waiting helplessly for the end. This was preferable to dwelling on his empty future, if hard on his already badly cramped manhood. Of course that was nothing to what he joyously suffered soon enough.

Two more nights Nala came to his cell. And oh my blessed heavens, in reward for her information she’d been given permission to bring along her c**k.

Whether the Afflicter affixed this big ivory prick to her own crotch or to the outside of his seemingly shrinking chastity device, she rode Drake so spectacularly that those caged bloats seemed to boil and bulge like a pressure-cooker about to blow.

Oh, it hurt so incredibly bad, but in a way it was so good! Shamelessly in love with his jailor, the prisoner thought nothing more of his actions possibly contributing to the abduction of more Americans. He could only lick and suck, give and take hard prick in a frenzy of impotent desperation the likes of which he’d barely glimpsed in the eyes of old boy-toy Roy .

Having your erection locked away certainly seemed as affecting as Shanelle had suggested. The future of both himself and his countrymen would have to take care of itself.