The Warlord's Concubine (6 page)

She huffed against his force, and she wasn’t even entirely
sure if she had yet cum herself. She had certainly felt pleasure
coalesce within her body, but he had taken her to a place she’d
never been before. Somewhere beyond mortal needs and flesh. Somewhere
within herself and yet outside of all reality at the same time. When
she felt him release within her, it grounded her instantly and all
that otherworldly experience had her body shuddering around him with
an intensity she didn’t know possible.

Panting over top of her, he stroked his fingers down her spine,
eliciting a trill of excitement as his cock throbbed and disgorged
the last of its virile seed into her eager cunt. “If only the
princess were as agreeable and pleasing to me as you,” he
remarked. A hand squeezed her ass cheek before he pulled out of her,
leaving a void within that only a man as impressively large as he
could ever hope to fill.

Her hand instantly went down, cupping herself and hoping not to
drop a single glob, though it was a fruitless thing. It poured over
her fingertips, both of their juices leaving her hands sticky and
slippery in the dim light. “I wish so too, if only to better
aid you,” she sighed, genuine desire hidden in her lust laden
voice.

Placing a hand on her cheek, he guided the servant up and tilted
her gaze to him as the pair stood in the grove, her legs wobbly after
the hard fucking. “Find a way to fulfill my wishes, and you
shall be lucky compared to her in the end, sweet concubine,” he
promised, and then a thought seemed to take him. “What is your
name?”

“Mirella, Your Greatness,” she whispered. It was as
though she’d been utterly humbled, and his asking for her name
was the greatest gift she could have been offered, even more so than
the rutting that had left her weak and dizzied. Gratitude flooded her
body and she wanted, even more so, to please her god.

His hand released hold of her head and he stroked back over her
dark hair, “Mirella,” he repeated, as if tasting her name
upon his tongue experimentally and liking it. “Go back to your
charge, Mirella. And dream of a day when you no longer tend to
prickly princesses, but are mother to warlord princes.”

She bowed, but her eyes never left him, still so eager for him
even as she limped back, feeling the exquisite ache so deep within
her, hand still lovingly cupping her sex and her robe haphazardly
closed around her.

Mirella awoke to an odd sound. The princess had somehow awaked
before her and was talking to someone else in the tent. She could
only attribute it to the late nights spent serving the God-King.
Those moments were so deeply satisfying, but they had a way of
leaving her exhausted the next day, of course.

“Those savages couldn’t have defeated us fairly,”
declared Anabelle. “They don’t even have a real army!”
The petite little princess was speaking to three of the other
concubines, women of Ariste who—in their new scanty little
outfits—seemed more amenable to their leader’s speech,
nodding along. “The King is out there somewhere. Don’t
listen to the lies! Our soldiers will return home and liberate us.”

Before Mirella could intervene, one of the northerners responded
in her stead. “We may not have the sort of army you once had,
little woman,” declared a short haired barbarian, “but we
have our own special ways. And the God-King knows best how to use
them,” she said, down casting her eyes at the mention of their
leader.

Outrage and insult flooded Mirella’s face, but she quickly
swept it aside, once more hiding her true feelings under a mask of
calm. “My Princess, war is never fair, but if your father were
alive, he hasn’t come back for us.”

That denial sent Anabelle’s expression into a state of
shock. Her eyes wide in disbelief at Mirella’s ‘outrageous’
assertion, she looked ready to either break down into tears or attack
the servant. “How dare you,” she muttered with barely any
force to her words. The petite princess struck out with a slap, her
weak wrist able to do little more than inflict a mild stinging at her
insolent servant.

She made it seem like it hurt a lot more, her hand clasping her
jaw as her eyes widened, “Princess!” she gasped. “It’s
obvious to any here! His daughter is in danger—the
Princess!—and yet he’s done nothing to save you from your
lot! We’re surrounded by the dead! I only want what is best for
you, my lady, to see you protected and safe, and if your father will
not, then I will!”

She saw from the fire in Anabelle’s eyes that her words
would not sink in just yet, however. The princess was too full of
indignations rage to see the reason of her ‘false’ words.

Before things could escalate further, however, He returned.

A hush consumed the room, and as the God-King strode in he had a
smile. A light smile, “Princess,” he addressed Anabelle,
“I have come bearing good tidings for you.” The look on
Anabelle’s disturbed and repulsed face almost seemed to betray
hope for a moment.

“What tidings could YOU bring me that would be good?”
she said scornfully, making her reference to him sound insulting by
itself.

She took a step back away from the Princess, embarrassed at having
been caught so with the Anabelle. She would hang that little bitch
herself if she didn’t submit to the god soon. Her rage
dissipated, however, as her eyes scanned him greedily, and her desire
to make the Princess his rose.

Dressed in his usual attire, the cloak draped diagonally across
his exquisitely sculpted torso, he looked as stunning as ever, his
immaculate hair so rich and lustrous in its dark glory.

“I’ve arranged for you to return to your rooms in the
palace,” he said. “You can go back to living there, with
my blessing and some tokens of my affection.” It was generous
of him, “And in addition,” he gestured to Mirella, making
her heart stop, “you can have your servant with you.”

It was all so perfect, then Anabelle spat on it, “You can’t
buy me off!” She nearly shrieked. Her obstinacy knew no bounds
as she stood and clenched her fists. “I will go back to my
rooms alone to await the King!” she declared, storming around
the God-King and being caught by two of the guard-concubines. He
waved them off, and they let her go, instead escorting her on ahead
into the palace as he lingered to look to Mirella with a hint of
confusion on his handsome, broad face.

Shame broiled through her, and for the first time, her eyes
dropped away from his body and towards the floor, “The Princess
is upset. I will speak with her in the morning.” She’d
pushed too far, too hard. It’d been too much. She cursed
herself at her failure.

The next day, Mirella was informed the princess refused to see her
by one of the guard-concubines who was beginning to show sign of
pregnancy, her tummy having swollen just slightly. It was a crushing
thing, so much depended on pleasing her new King, and the Princess’s
tantrum could go on and on, as she very well knew.

Worse yet, he hadn’t sent for her that night. The women of
the concubine’s tent were antsy; they seemed to sense something
was going on as the guard informed the servant. “His majesty is
on his way here, I’m told. Be ready,” it was more of a
general remark, to all the women, however, rather than being reserved
simply for her.

She was always ready. Though her rage still bubbled, she knew this
could be a good thing. To have the Princess isolated, for him to be
her only point of contact could work favourably, and she was filled
with confidence in her new plan, or so she had thought until the
announcement came. She didn’t expect him to pick her, not
really. The punishment was grave, but so was her disappointment, yet
still she stood ready.

She had become far more comfortable with her body and had taken on
a general state of semi-undress. There were skimpy outfits, free for
the taking, and though she had worn her robe earlier when refused by
the Princess, here in the concubine tent, she had no such shame. Most
of her body was visible, the top barely holding her ample breasts,
and the skirt hardly hiding anything as it went on an angle down her
thigh. She pulled her long, black hair off her chest to leave it
looking more vulnerable to his eyes and held her breath.

The women who persisted now were more of the type who feared and
gave in to him, mixed with fewer of the new ones. They still cowered
and looked bewildered by it all, their pale Aristean features
contorted in alarm.

When he entered all of them looked away however. All but her. For
that she was rewarded by a twinkle of interest in his gaze as he saw
her, dressed not in her servant’s robes, but as a true
concubine and pleasure slave. The light material of her outfit barely
covered her at all.

The worry of the night melted away as he came to her out of them
all. “You look much better like this,” he remarked in his
heavy tone, the compliment so sweet coming from the ruler of
everything from the Aristean Mountains on northwards. His hand
reaching out and helping itself to touch her stomach, squeeze a
breast, all openly and without reservation.

She had the same lack of concern as him. They were nothing to her,
less than nothing. Not even her equals. They were nothing but walking
wombs to her, and she nearly lost her breath as she moved in against
him so readily. She only hesitated for a moment, wondering who among
the traitors to the god might tell his Princess. Mirella leaned up,
whispering her concerns only to him, “None who see us should be
allowed to speak with the little one.”

Her caution made him smile, and it was such a sight to see. It
wasn’t the fake little thing he gave for the princess not long
ago, this was genuine. And it was for her.

Leaning down he murmured to her in his husky voice, “Too
right.” It was nothing, just two words, but something about how
the dark God-King bent and said them to her and her alone amidst a
sea of stunning women made her feel so special and unique.

With his free hand he undid his cloak and let it fall to the
floor, his gaze sweeping about the room, taking in all the other
women. “Since the princess is gone,” all measure of quiet
conspiracy gone from his voice, “it is due time I took a moment
to visit with my harem.”

Topless and stunning, the large man strode over the cushions, his
hand leaving Mirella’s breast but moving to her shoulder,
guiding her along with him so that she was at his side. It was his
guard-concubine, the pregnant one again, that spoke up. “It is
a privilege and honour to bear the God-King’s children. His
seed must spread far and wide,” she intoned it as if it were
some litany of prayer.

Mirella’s breathing quickened, and he could see dark delight
begin to spread on her face as she moved with him. She didn’t
care much for the sterile manner the woman praised her god, but it
was a far sight better than the cowering, weak willed and useless
women of the city, so her smile broadened. “Too right you are,”
she said with awe and respect. “I can only hope I will prove as
useful to him,” she moved her hands down over his body
brazenly, and her voice rose, “We are being offered something
so few ever receive. It’s no time for fright or uselessness.
Instead, take time to pay your respects to one so far superior to us
all!”

A rousing speech, for her first time, she thought as her hands
worked down over his abs and thighs.

Her obedient praising, her fawning touches, it seemed to earn her
a low, growling groan of approval from the giant man, dressed only in
his black leather breeches and boots. Stopping near the center of the
chamber, his powerful arm around Mirella, he studied the new women a
moment before looking to the pregnant guard-concubine. “You’ve
done well. However I think for this time I shall let the privilege
fall to the new one,” and his hand slid down Mirella’s
back to squeeze one of her sumptuous ass cheeks, indicating his
favour.

The guard-concubine retreated, not daring to show any annoyance at
being passed over as she slid away to the entrance. Mirella was now
the favoured one, and the God-King looked down to her, “Pick
the first one. It’s your duty to help spread my seed to the far
corners this day, Mirella.” He blessed her with that familiar
use of her name, his groping hand still palming her ass cheek.

Her smile was mostly hidden beneath her pensive gaze as she sought
for someone pleasing. They all looked so pitiful and cowering and
frightened to her, none of them filled with the admiration and
respect they should have, not even after her rousing speech. Her eyes
fell to the one that wished the greatest not to be seen, however.

A small woman, she was young and ripe, with her nearly white hair
and her peach coloured flesh. Mirella almost felt as if she wanted to
taste her then and there, and her lips touched to her god’s
lips as she whispered to him, “Do you prefer them ready for
you, Your Greatness?”

Helping her stand up to whisper to him by pushing up on her round
backside, he murmured back to her with a slightly wry smile. “If
they aren’t ready, then it falls to you to either make them
ready, or slicken me with mouth or quim to compensate, pet.”

He uttered those words so darkly, but the twinkle in his eyes
showed great amusement at her question, her eagerness to please. With
a hard squeeze and a slap of her olive toned ass he said, “I
trust you shall choose right.”

She wanted to do both, and for a moment she seemed so torn before
she slipped away from him, reluctantly, and walked to the other
woman. She was sat upon some of the pillows and startled as Mirella
arrived, but that kind, genuine smile on the olive skinned woman’s
face was so reassuring. The peach skinned beauty had trouble speaking
but stammered out, “Don’t let him hurt me.”

Mirella nodded, her hand presumptively going to the other woman’s
arm, “He won’t. He just wants to watch us enjoy each
other,” she lied so easily. It didn’t even matter that
he’d just been speaking about concubines and that she’d
given an impassioned plea for everyone to let him fuck them. Now it
was all sugar, and her hand ran down the slender woman’s body,
“You’re very pretty. So slim and perky,” she said,
and the way she was knelt before her, the skirt fell away to the
side, exposing her large rear to the god behind her.