Corvid
Executioner
First of three parts, if it meets with approval.
Please forgive any anachronisms, as well as the fictional nature of the victim's land of origin.
I. Taking Her Belly
It was a warm summer night. Drusus was filled with satisfaction. The wine his colleague Marcus has provided was rich and sweet, the hospitality of his manor excellent, the couch he reclined upon in the courtyard of his friend's estate most comfortable.
And the entertainment... That had more than a few of the onlookers' jaws agape.
Her hips rocked and circled. The skirt she wore was almost indecently low; the men watching the dancer could clearly see the shadowed clefts where her pelvis joined her hips as she shimmied, and it could not help but make a man think about the portions of the dancer's body that remained unrevealed.
She rolled her belly in a taunting, sinuous wave. What kind of culture, Drusus marveled, taught a woman to advertise her fertility so wantonly? The motions made him want to see how she might writhe beneath him, how the contractions of her pelvis and abdomen might feel while his cock was thrust deep within her mysteries. To take her, as often and as fiercely as it might be required, to fill that undulating belly with a child.
As provincial governor, Drusus was more than tempted to have the lush dancer brought to his home after the performance and have his way with her. Such and more was well within his power. She was an Ethyrian, a daughter of the conquered lands to the south; she did not enjoy the rights accorded a Roman woman that might protect her from such indignities. Indeed, she was little more than a slave.
As her torso bucked sharply, cascading a delightful bounce through her full, barely-covered breasts, he even seriously contemplated having her right then and there. Or perhaps to pull his turgid anatomy from the folds of his clothing and seek relief within his hand, at the least.
"Did I not tell you that the girl was a wonder?" Marcus murmured, leaning in to be heard over the teasing lilt of horn and tambourine.
"I apologize if I ever seemed to doubt you," Drusus replied, not allowing his gaze to leave her swaying midriff for a moment. The flesh on display was soft as a feather one moment, taut as ship's cord the next, the dark curve of her navel leading the eyes as the olive-skinned temptress paraded her charms.
He wondered what color her nipples and aureolae were. Did the tawny color of her flesh darken to a chestnut brown? Lighten to a pink more like the Roman harlots to which he was accustomed? Or perhaps they were almost purple, caught between the dusky flesh and the inevitable surge of blood to the tissue as it was teased tender and aching...
He imagined her continuing to dance, bare-breasted, and his breath rattled in his chest with his longing. How magnificently those peaks thrust out as she stretched her arms over her head! Oh, to test their weight and resilience in his hands...
Her gaze locked with his, and she smiled, her tongue licking over her full, scarlet lips. Shadowed lids closed over her brilliant green eyes, a parody of demure discretion that was almost obscene, made doubly so by the suggestive forward and backward rocking of her pelvis. Her raven hair slid back over her shoulders as she set hands to her hips, inviting him to gaze upon her torso as she slowly advanced towards him, swiveling her abdomen in languorous circles.
Her hands went to the small of her back as she drew still closer, and again she performed that undulating roll of her stomach. Reaching forward, he pressed his hand against the her exposed midriff. Her skin was soft, her flesh warm, and the rippling of her belly raised an almost painful stiffness in his already straining cock.
Then there was shouting, and pain. His shoulder felt hot and wet; his bodyguards, Hector and Eduardus, had hold of the woman's arms, jerking her back away from him.
It took a moment for him to put together what had happened. Her arm had come forward suddenly, and...
She had stabbed him!
The knife still in her hand was a small thing- short and straight, like a dagger, but with no hilt. Presumably its narrow form factor had allowed her to hide it in the folds of her sash behind her back. He had turned, reflexively, at the suddenness of her movement- off time to the music of the dance, aggressive, wrong- and that small motion had probably been responsible for her attack grazing his shoulder rather than cutting open his throat.
It was a graze. They were still shouting and struggling as he set fingers against the split skin of his shoulder, staring at the red on his fingertips in a sort of bemused wonder. The cut was not deep, but it bled rather more than was fitting. Still half-stunned, he accepted a cloth from a servant and pressed the cool white linen against the wound, grimacing as the resurgence of pain began to clear his head.
Hector shook the weapon from the dancer's hand, nearly breaking her wrist in the process. As he kicked her legs out from underneath her, Eduardus pressed her to the flagstones of the courtyard, his knee against her back, pulling her other arm up sharply behind her.
"You... Tried to kill me." He murmured, then spoke more loudly. "You treacherous little bitch!"
Marcus stammered, climbing to his feet and waving his hands. "Governor Drusus, I'm... I'm sorry, I swear, I had no idea...!"
Drusus looked to his associate, then back to the woman, her body now twisting in pain against the stones rather than on display for the audience. He was surprised to discover that a significant portion of his mounting lust at the dancer's exhibition had not departed with her wicked act. Tempered by his anger, though, the desire had taken on a crueler shade- one marked less by seduction than by conquest.
"She will die on the cross before the passing of another night," Marcus continued. "The law is clear... Such treachery against the sovereignty of Rome shall not be tolerated!"
"Yes, she shall," Drusus answered, his voice low and strained. "But I am the man she attempted to murder, and I think that for this night, her body belongs to me. Would you not agree?"
It was hardly Marcus' place as a patrician to dispute the governor's directive, especially when such dispute might reflect suspicion upon him. Let him do what he would to the dancer- her loss was unfortunate, and costly, but not irreplaceable.
He turned to his bodyguards. "Put the bitch on her back, and hold her down!"
With a cruel smile, Eduardus shifted his grip on her arm and flipped the woman over; the men pressed their knees down on the woman's upper arms, crushing them against the flagstones above her head. The dancer gave a keening wail, half anger, half terror; Drusus smiled down at the struggling girl, enjoying the way her breasts moved as she struggled and panted.
Sinking to his knees, Drusus seized her by the thighs and forced her lithe limbs apart, shoving his knee between hers as she tried to bring them back together. He grabbed the folds of her gossamer skirt, intending to throw them above her waist. But as the soft material bunched in his hands he was seized by his more destructive urges and tore the fabric instead, making a great rent in the skirt from hem to waistline, baring her lower body up to the silken loincloth, low around her hips, that protected her sex. It was a better way of making display of his intentions for the woman- that her softness, too, be torn apart.
"Whatever you do to me," She cried, "Ethyria will never truly be under Rome's thrall!"
Her words were defiant, Drusus thought, but her wide, jade eyes were full of fear. It pleased him.
"You will serve as an example to your countrymen- that if they shall not serve, they shall suffer... And if they rebel, they will be die in agony."
His hand closed around the front of her loincloth, and he jerked the silk upward, bisecting her labia. She screamed, her hips lifting from the flagstones as the material dug painfully into her sex before finally tearing apart. He flung the garment, now reduced to a rag, behind him. His fierce hardness becoming unbearable, he shifted his own tunic and loincloth, allowing the girth of his erection to spring forth. The woman's eyes grew wider still.
"Oh, have the stories of the vigor of Roman men not yet reached the ears of Ethyrian women?" Drusus taunted. "Plenty here, to show a hip-shimmying harlot like you her proper place...!"
Her pelvis began to twist as he seized her by the the hips, trying to escape the inevitability of her rape. A new dance was beginning, Drusus thought. But this time, the belly dancer's body would writhe in submission beneath him.
He jammed his cock against the petals of her cunt, made certain of his purchase, and drove his hips forward.
Her wail was a piteous thing, like a bird about to have its neck snapped by a hunter. Her sex was hot and tight, and it peeled at his cock from a lack of the moisture of arousal. That was acceptable to Drusus; he was more than willing to accept some modest pains to bring agony to the dancer's lush body, to storm and conquer the clutching secrets of her womanhood.
"Good, Governor Drusus." Hector snarled, shifting his knee on her bicep. "Put it to the bitch!"
Drusus hardly needed the bodyguard's urging to press his attack; his desire to satisfy both his desire for retribution and his lust for the woman's body were more than sufficient to spur him as he reared back and sought to pierce her sex more deeply, more violently. The resistance of her vaginal sheath was intoxicating, the broken sounds torn from her full lips stimulating his vigor.
"This is the will of Rome," He hissed, spitting in her face as he took her. "And a mere woman like yourself can only break before it!"
He slammed his hips against her splayed thighs, pounding deep into her, feeling the head of his cock battering against her cervix as she screamed. As her back arched, he lifted his hands from her hips and planted them, spread like claws, on her breasts, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric and the softer flesh beneath it.
"Service me, Ethyrian whore."
He sought her nipples, crushing the nubs between his knuckles and twisting cruelly as he thrust inside of her, seeking to deepen her suffering.
"Serve me!"
His fingers plunged into the wide cut of her neckline and tore the gossamer halter apart. Her splendid bare breasts bounced enticingly with the force of Drusus' penetration, her caramel-brown aureolae wrinkled with the unwelcome erection of her prominent nipples. His hands cupped her sides as they moved down, and he found himself gazing once more at the sleekness of her belly, the muscles jerking taut with each thrust, the slit of her navel stretching as he took her.
"Roll your belly for me, now, slut!"
The dancer hissed, baring her teeth as he used her.
"No...?"
Drusus' fingers dug into her rib cage as he pulled her to him, savaging her womanhood with his cock.
"Marcus?" Drusus growled, looking down at the dancer's tumbling flesh, "Bring Eduardus a short whip."
The partician hastened to obey, setting the leather-wrapped handle of the implement in the bodyguard's hand. Eduardus ran the length of braided hide through his fist, looking down with cruel anticipation as his master raped the Ethyrian woman.
"I will not ask again, woman! Roll your belly!"
She turned her head away, clenching her jaw as she shut her eyes tightly in denial and defiance.
"Whip her breasts, Eduardus," Drusus commanded.
Grinning ferally, Eduardus pulled back the whip. Muscles hardened by the rigors of the arena bunched as he took aim with the cruel instrument, then extended as he brought the leather forward and down.
The soft flesh buckled with the explosive blow before bouncing back, a livid stripe lighting up across the lower curve of her right breast as the dancer squealed, her body arching. Drusus smiled as he drove his body down against hers, feeling the pain-tightened muscles of her legs go rigid against his hips.
"Ahhhh! Again!"
The whip came down to bite the magnificent swells a second time, and the dancer's eyes went wide as the pain enveloped her. The soft flesh was sensitive and yielding; the vicious cruelty of her torment unmistakable, and all the more intoxicating for it.
"Yes! Again! Again!"
Twice more the leather kissed her bosom, and she screeched, trying desperately to roll away from the beating, but forbidden by the man atop her, the knees crushing her arms to the flagstones.
"Harder!"
How splendidly her body quivers, Drusus thought, ecstasy filling his senses like a heady wine as the dancer's swells tumbled with the impact of the lash, building with every forceful lunge of his cock in the tight heat of her vaginal passage.
"Strike the whore's nipples!"
A new, more terrible scream burst from the woman's lips as the leather cut across the rigid peaks.
"...Please...!" She whimpered. "Governor, please!"
"Please, what, Ethyrian strumpet?!"
With a soft moan, she drew in her abdomen. With a hitched breath, she executed a slow, sinuous roll of her stomach, her body rippling like water from the crest of her pelvis to just beneath her rib cage.
Drusus gasped. The motion was everything her could have hoped for inside of her, her pelvic muscles seeming to pull his cock inside of her throughout the ripple before squeezing him like a fist as she began another roll.
"Ah, yessss...!"
He held up his hand for Eduardus to stop the whipping as he began to renew his paused assault on the woman's body. "If she ceases... Ah!... Her movements, resume whipping her tits...!"
He timed his thrusts for the apex of each roll, where the pull was strongest, vengefully pounding against the knot of her womb, enjoying the pain he could see in her eyes as he raped her, the fear that kept her moving her belly in the motion that accentuated his pleasure.
"Yes, whore... Reward me as I hurt you...! Satisfy me as I punish you...!"
Leaning forward, he slapped his hands down on her beaten bosom, squeezing hard with every ramming piston of his hips. Her keening wails marked the rhythm of her rape, tears pouring from her eyes as she began to roll her stomach more quickly to accommodate his quickening thrusts.
"Beat her womb with your rod, Governor Drusus!" Hector snarled. "Discipline the little bitch!"
Pulling back his arms, he seized her thighs, pulling her legs back, her hips, bowing her body, the better to slam down against her pelvis, to penetrate her more deeply, to hurt her more.
"HUUUNNGHHH! HUNNNHHH-UHHH! HUUUNNHHH!"
And still her belly undulated beneath him, jerking with each thrust but still rolling, hot and tight as he used her, used her, used her...!
"Pull my seed into your belly, Ethyrian bitch...!'
"AAAAAHHHH...!"
And he was exploding within her, painting her aching cunt, conquering and violating and claiming the fierce heat of her loins with his jizzum.
The dancer. His. The traitorous, murderous bitch, she was taken... She was defiled.
But oh, no, this would not be the end of her suffering...! Not while the night was barely newborn...!
He looked down at her trembling frame, watching her bite her lip, shivering, trying to stifle her sobs as he rested his weight on the lushness of her body.
"Oh, how I shall see you broken, Ethyrian beauty...!"
Please forgive any anachronisms, as well as the fictional nature of the victim's land of origin.
I. Taking Her Belly
It was a warm summer night. Drusus was filled with satisfaction. The wine his colleague Marcus has provided was rich and sweet, the hospitality of his manor excellent, the couch he reclined upon in the courtyard of his friend's estate most comfortable.
And the entertainment... That had more than a few of the onlookers' jaws agape.
Her hips rocked and circled. The skirt she wore was almost indecently low; the men watching the dancer could clearly see the shadowed clefts where her pelvis joined her hips as she shimmied, and it could not help but make a man think about the portions of the dancer's body that remained unrevealed.
She rolled her belly in a taunting, sinuous wave. What kind of culture, Drusus marveled, taught a woman to advertise her fertility so wantonly? The motions made him want to see how she might writhe beneath him, how the contractions of her pelvis and abdomen might feel while his cock was thrust deep within her mysteries. To take her, as often and as fiercely as it might be required, to fill that undulating belly with a child.
As provincial governor, Drusus was more than tempted to have the lush dancer brought to his home after the performance and have his way with her. Such and more was well within his power. She was an Ethyrian, a daughter of the conquered lands to the south; she did not enjoy the rights accorded a Roman woman that might protect her from such indignities. Indeed, she was little more than a slave.
As her torso bucked sharply, cascading a delightful bounce through her full, barely-covered breasts, he even seriously contemplated having her right then and there. Or perhaps to pull his turgid anatomy from the folds of his clothing and seek relief within his hand, at the least.
"Did I not tell you that the girl was a wonder?" Marcus murmured, leaning in to be heard over the teasing lilt of horn and tambourine.
"I apologize if I ever seemed to doubt you," Drusus replied, not allowing his gaze to leave her swaying midriff for a moment. The flesh on display was soft as a feather one moment, taut as ship's cord the next, the dark curve of her navel leading the eyes as the olive-skinned temptress paraded her charms.
He wondered what color her nipples and aureolae were. Did the tawny color of her flesh darken to a chestnut brown? Lighten to a pink more like the Roman harlots to which he was accustomed? Or perhaps they were almost purple, caught between the dusky flesh and the inevitable surge of blood to the tissue as it was teased tender and aching...
He imagined her continuing to dance, bare-breasted, and his breath rattled in his chest with his longing. How magnificently those peaks thrust out as she stretched her arms over her head! Oh, to test their weight and resilience in his hands...
Her gaze locked with his, and she smiled, her tongue licking over her full, scarlet lips. Shadowed lids closed over her brilliant green eyes, a parody of demure discretion that was almost obscene, made doubly so by the suggestive forward and backward rocking of her pelvis. Her raven hair slid back over her shoulders as she set hands to her hips, inviting him to gaze upon her torso as she slowly advanced towards him, swiveling her abdomen in languorous circles.
Her hands went to the small of her back as she drew still closer, and again she performed that undulating roll of her stomach. Reaching forward, he pressed his hand against the her exposed midriff. Her skin was soft, her flesh warm, and the rippling of her belly raised an almost painful stiffness in his already straining cock.
Then there was shouting, and pain. His shoulder felt hot and wet; his bodyguards, Hector and Eduardus, had hold of the woman's arms, jerking her back away from him.
It took a moment for him to put together what had happened. Her arm had come forward suddenly, and...
She had stabbed him!
The knife still in her hand was a small thing- short and straight, like a dagger, but with no hilt. Presumably its narrow form factor had allowed her to hide it in the folds of her sash behind her back. He had turned, reflexively, at the suddenness of her movement- off time to the music of the dance, aggressive, wrong- and that small motion had probably been responsible for her attack grazing his shoulder rather than cutting open his throat.
It was a graze. They were still shouting and struggling as he set fingers against the split skin of his shoulder, staring at the red on his fingertips in a sort of bemused wonder. The cut was not deep, but it bled rather more than was fitting. Still half-stunned, he accepted a cloth from a servant and pressed the cool white linen against the wound, grimacing as the resurgence of pain began to clear his head.
Hector shook the weapon from the dancer's hand, nearly breaking her wrist in the process. As he kicked her legs out from underneath her, Eduardus pressed her to the flagstones of the courtyard, his knee against her back, pulling her other arm up sharply behind her.
"You... Tried to kill me." He murmured, then spoke more loudly. "You treacherous little bitch!"
Marcus stammered, climbing to his feet and waving his hands. "Governor Drusus, I'm... I'm sorry, I swear, I had no idea...!"
Drusus looked to his associate, then back to the woman, her body now twisting in pain against the stones rather than on display for the audience. He was surprised to discover that a significant portion of his mounting lust at the dancer's exhibition had not departed with her wicked act. Tempered by his anger, though, the desire had taken on a crueler shade- one marked less by seduction than by conquest.
"She will die on the cross before the passing of another night," Marcus continued. "The law is clear... Such treachery against the sovereignty of Rome shall not be tolerated!"
"Yes, she shall," Drusus answered, his voice low and strained. "But I am the man she attempted to murder, and I think that for this night, her body belongs to me. Would you not agree?"
It was hardly Marcus' place as a patrician to dispute the governor's directive, especially when such dispute might reflect suspicion upon him. Let him do what he would to the dancer- her loss was unfortunate, and costly, but not irreplaceable.
He turned to his bodyguards. "Put the bitch on her back, and hold her down!"
With a cruel smile, Eduardus shifted his grip on her arm and flipped the woman over; the men pressed their knees down on the woman's upper arms, crushing them against the flagstones above her head. The dancer gave a keening wail, half anger, half terror; Drusus smiled down at the struggling girl, enjoying the way her breasts moved as she struggled and panted.
Sinking to his knees, Drusus seized her by the thighs and forced her lithe limbs apart, shoving his knee between hers as she tried to bring them back together. He grabbed the folds of her gossamer skirt, intending to throw them above her waist. But as the soft material bunched in his hands he was seized by his more destructive urges and tore the fabric instead, making a great rent in the skirt from hem to waistline, baring her lower body up to the silken loincloth, low around her hips, that protected her sex. It was a better way of making display of his intentions for the woman- that her softness, too, be torn apart.
"Whatever you do to me," She cried, "Ethyria will never truly be under Rome's thrall!"
Her words were defiant, Drusus thought, but her wide, jade eyes were full of fear. It pleased him.
"You will serve as an example to your countrymen- that if they shall not serve, they shall suffer... And if they rebel, they will be die in agony."
His hand closed around the front of her loincloth, and he jerked the silk upward, bisecting her labia. She screamed, her hips lifting from the flagstones as the material dug painfully into her sex before finally tearing apart. He flung the garment, now reduced to a rag, behind him. His fierce hardness becoming unbearable, he shifted his own tunic and loincloth, allowing the girth of his erection to spring forth. The woman's eyes grew wider still.
"Oh, have the stories of the vigor of Roman men not yet reached the ears of Ethyrian women?" Drusus taunted. "Plenty here, to show a hip-shimmying harlot like you her proper place...!"
Her pelvis began to twist as he seized her by the the hips, trying to escape the inevitability of her rape. A new dance was beginning, Drusus thought. But this time, the belly dancer's body would writhe in submission beneath him.
He jammed his cock against the petals of her cunt, made certain of his purchase, and drove his hips forward.
Her wail was a piteous thing, like a bird about to have its neck snapped by a hunter. Her sex was hot and tight, and it peeled at his cock from a lack of the moisture of arousal. That was acceptable to Drusus; he was more than willing to accept some modest pains to bring agony to the dancer's lush body, to storm and conquer the clutching secrets of her womanhood.
"Good, Governor Drusus." Hector snarled, shifting his knee on her bicep. "Put it to the bitch!"
Drusus hardly needed the bodyguard's urging to press his attack; his desire to satisfy both his desire for retribution and his lust for the woman's body were more than sufficient to spur him as he reared back and sought to pierce her sex more deeply, more violently. The resistance of her vaginal sheath was intoxicating, the broken sounds torn from her full lips stimulating his vigor.
"This is the will of Rome," He hissed, spitting in her face as he took her. "And a mere woman like yourself can only break before it!"
He slammed his hips against her splayed thighs, pounding deep into her, feeling the head of his cock battering against her cervix as she screamed. As her back arched, he lifted his hands from her hips and planted them, spread like claws, on her breasts, sinking his fingers into the soft fabric and the softer flesh beneath it.
"Service me, Ethyrian whore."
He sought her nipples, crushing the nubs between his knuckles and twisting cruelly as he thrust inside of her, seeking to deepen her suffering.
"Serve me!"
His fingers plunged into the wide cut of her neckline and tore the gossamer halter apart. Her splendid bare breasts bounced enticingly with the force of Drusus' penetration, her caramel-brown aureolae wrinkled with the unwelcome erection of her prominent nipples. His hands cupped her sides as they moved down, and he found himself gazing once more at the sleekness of her belly, the muscles jerking taut with each thrust, the slit of her navel stretching as he took her.
"Roll your belly for me, now, slut!"
The dancer hissed, baring her teeth as he used her.
"No...?"
Drusus' fingers dug into her rib cage as he pulled her to him, savaging her womanhood with his cock.
"Marcus?" Drusus growled, looking down at the dancer's tumbling flesh, "Bring Eduardus a short whip."
The partician hastened to obey, setting the leather-wrapped handle of the implement in the bodyguard's hand. Eduardus ran the length of braided hide through his fist, looking down with cruel anticipation as his master raped the Ethyrian woman.
"I will not ask again, woman! Roll your belly!"
She turned her head away, clenching her jaw as she shut her eyes tightly in denial and defiance.
"Whip her breasts, Eduardus," Drusus commanded.
Grinning ferally, Eduardus pulled back the whip. Muscles hardened by the rigors of the arena bunched as he took aim with the cruel instrument, then extended as he brought the leather forward and down.
The soft flesh buckled with the explosive blow before bouncing back, a livid stripe lighting up across the lower curve of her right breast as the dancer squealed, her body arching. Drusus smiled as he drove his body down against hers, feeling the pain-tightened muscles of her legs go rigid against his hips.
"Ahhhh! Again!"
The whip came down to bite the magnificent swells a second time, and the dancer's eyes went wide as the pain enveloped her. The soft flesh was sensitive and yielding; the vicious cruelty of her torment unmistakable, and all the more intoxicating for it.
"Yes! Again! Again!"
Twice more the leather kissed her bosom, and she screeched, trying desperately to roll away from the beating, but forbidden by the man atop her, the knees crushing her arms to the flagstones.
"Harder!"
How splendidly her body quivers, Drusus thought, ecstasy filling his senses like a heady wine as the dancer's swells tumbled with the impact of the lash, building with every forceful lunge of his cock in the tight heat of her vaginal passage.
"Strike the whore's nipples!"
A new, more terrible scream burst from the woman's lips as the leather cut across the rigid peaks.
"...Please...!" She whimpered. "Governor, please!"
"Please, what, Ethyrian strumpet?!"
With a soft moan, she drew in her abdomen. With a hitched breath, she executed a slow, sinuous roll of her stomach, her body rippling like water from the crest of her pelvis to just beneath her rib cage.
Drusus gasped. The motion was everything her could have hoped for inside of her, her pelvic muscles seeming to pull his cock inside of her throughout the ripple before squeezing him like a fist as she began another roll.
"Ah, yessss...!"
He held up his hand for Eduardus to stop the whipping as he began to renew his paused assault on the woman's body. "If she ceases... Ah!... Her movements, resume whipping her tits...!"
He timed his thrusts for the apex of each roll, where the pull was strongest, vengefully pounding against the knot of her womb, enjoying the pain he could see in her eyes as he raped her, the fear that kept her moving her belly in the motion that accentuated his pleasure.
"Yes, whore... Reward me as I hurt you...! Satisfy me as I punish you...!"
Leaning forward, he slapped his hands down on her beaten bosom, squeezing hard with every ramming piston of his hips. Her keening wails marked the rhythm of her rape, tears pouring from her eyes as she began to roll her stomach more quickly to accommodate his quickening thrusts.
"Beat her womb with your rod, Governor Drusus!" Hector snarled. "Discipline the little bitch!"
Pulling back his arms, he seized her thighs, pulling her legs back, her hips, bowing her body, the better to slam down against her pelvis, to penetrate her more deeply, to hurt her more.
"HUUUNNGHHH! HUNNNHHH-UHHH! HUUUNNHHH!"
And still her belly undulated beneath him, jerking with each thrust but still rolling, hot and tight as he used her, used her, used her...!
"Pull my seed into your belly, Ethyrian bitch...!'
"AAAAAHHHH...!"
And he was exploding within her, painting her aching cunt, conquering and violating and claiming the fierce heat of her loins with his jizzum.
The dancer. His. The traitorous, murderous bitch, she was taken... She was defiled.
But oh, no, this would not be the end of her suffering...! Not while the night was barely newborn...!
He looked down at her trembling frame, watching her bite her lip, shivering, trying to stifle her sobs as he rested his weight on the lushness of her body.
"Oh, how I shall see you broken, Ethyrian beauty...!"
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