Dark Enchantment - story 10: Janissaries

Brace yourselves. Janissaries, the 10th story in Dark Enchantment, is cold, hard and relentless. A BDSM gangbang. One slave and six ruthless soldiers who want to use, defile and degrade her. Have I taken leave of my feminist and ethical senses? No, actually - but you'll have to read the story to find out why.

Just as I think Rurik is going to add his own cream to my diet, he pulls me abruptly from his cock. Mouth open, lips wet, tongue displayed, I meet his gaze. He rubs his fingertips up his slippery shaft, and I see in his eyes he’s saving himself for something more than a blow job. Instead he pushes me into Darius’ lap and I go down with a gasp onto my second cock of the day.
There is no cream this time to sweeten the meal. This cock is the colour and hardness of mahogany, broad and impatient. His pubic hair clings in tight curls over his crotch and up the root of his shaft, his scrotal pouch is heavily wrinkled and almost blueish. And he is not the last. I am passed on down the line, one by one, because they are all divesting themselves of their clothes now. I am surrounded by cock and I abase myself willingly, as frantic as the most ardent of worshippers to forget my own misery in the giving of myself to my deity. Among those slab thighs, I bend to make obeisance. Cock is my god. These men with their brawny arms and their smell of sweat and leather, their broken noses and their callused hands; they are my gods. I know them as a priest knows those he bows and prays to every day. Each cock is different in taste and behaviour and appearance. Some are smooth, some veined and gnarled; some uncut, some shorn of their foreskins. Jaffez has a pronounced list to the right. Teodric’s helm looks too massive for the shaft it sits on. Milo seeps with excitement. Rurik’s balls clench so hard they seem to disappear into his body. Alain’s prick stands up so stiff it almost brushes his belly, but Darius’ is too heavy for that; though he gets hard he does not rise. Some of them like to sit back and let me lick, others prefer to thrust into my throat.
I can hear their desultory conversation, like the voices of indifferent gods: they are reminiscing about whores they have fucked and virgins they have despoiled, and comparing me unfavourably to them all.
Somewhere in the middle of this, a hand pulls the ginger plug from me. I moan with gratitude. Then cool and slippery digits probe my burning hole anew – and suddenly the ginger finger is back, but this time bearing a slippery load. They are using it, I realise, to stuff my arse with the honeyed cream. It slips in and out of me over and over. I feel myself filling with sweet dessert, which melts deliciously on my inflamed inner walls and oozes out, greasing my ring.
Then I get to Alain, and Alain has no patience. He picks me up bodily, turns me and slaps my behind down in his lap, spearing my slick anus with his prick in one savage thrust. My sensitised tissues seem to explode. I shriek, twisting in his grip, but he lifts me and slams me down even harder to teach me a lesson. The others curse his lack of manners, nearly choking with laughter. Ignoring them, Alain gets a good grip with both hands and begins to shaft me deep and fast, bouncing me on his thighs. The saffron cream squelches out over his balls.
‘Smack her tits!’ he grunts.
So I get one man on either side of me and they slap my breasts and my face in turn, stingingly, until Alain lets loose with a snarled blasphemy and blasts his spunk up my back passage. With a spasm of irritation he throws me aside, face down on the couch. I cling to the coverlet with clawing fingers, pressing my face into the cushion.
Almost as fast as he has discarded me, the others move in.
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Next - and last - excerpt on Monday, after the Eyecandy.