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Cimmerian And Two She-Devils update
🕑 Added 2021-04-12 02:00:01 +0000 UTCHis huge cock throbbing urgently, Conan knelt behind Belit. He grasped her pert ass with both hands and pulled her buttocks apart, allowing him to ease his swollen erection into her pussy from behind. He was careful in seating himself in her, strategic, but as soon as he had a straight stroke inside her, he showed her the lust in his barbarian heart. He thrust all of himself deep between her thighs, nearly throwing her off of her throne on Sonja’s head.
Belit had been well-used by Conan, the woman who’d taken more of his love than any maiden thus far in his life, but she didn’t look it, and more important, she didn’t feel it. Her cunt was as tight and responsive as a virgin’s. Perhaps because Belit was so surprised to feel Conan pressing down on her from behind, his manhood forcing its way into her sex with no preamble. To feel his cock and Sonja’s tongue both working on her cunt at once was like a wild fantasy come alive.
She shoved her hips back against Conan’s muscular body, nestling the curve of her buttocks against his groin and groaning in ecstatic approval of being his sheath. Conan fucked her with steady, powerful thrusts and while he powered into her womanhood from behind, he looked over her stooped body to see Sonja’s slender, toned physique writhing on the floor. Her body twitched with the lust she felt as she sucked and tongued at his woman.
Crom, but the two of them were like whores desperate to give away their goods, their appetite for pleasure whetted so well that they’d do anything for more. Belit’s cunt was snug and warm, massaging his cock as she brought it back to meet his thrusts, adding to the force with which his lunges met her supple buttocks. On each impact, her inner walls tightened on his manhood, clasping his shaft firmly as if to refuse to let it go. Conan groaned, his cum rising within his balls, ready to inundate this woman. Sonja may have been one hell of a beauty, but her purity couldn’t compare to Belit’s experience, though Conan would still dearly love to be the one to teach her the techniques she currently lacked.
Sonja’s fingers tightened on Belit’s hips, just below where Conan’s big hands collared her slender waist. “Belit, please… eat me too… I’ll lick your pussy and we’ll both… we can both…”
Grinning, licking her lips as if relishing their taste before she anointed them with Sonja’s juices, Belit bent to Sonja’s body. Her head dropped between Sonja’s legs, the same way she straddled Sonja’s face, and her lips closed over Sonja’s clit.
Sonja did the same, mashing her lips on one of the folds of Belit’s labia and sucking it clean. It was wet and sticky, rank with a taste and smell she knew was partly Conan’s seed, but she didn’t mind, didn’t care. Maybe it made this a little less perverse, to taste a man instead of their lovemaking being all incompatible femininity.
Belit did the same to her, opening her mouth to Sonja’s cunt and sucking. Sonja pitied her, having to taste a purely womanly cunt, an inviolate maidenhood. It was good, so good, to eat pussy that had been spiced by a man’s ravishing. It was all so very good…
“Oh hells, hells, I’m coming!” Sonja moaned, locking her toned thighs around Belit’s head, rutting her hips ferociously against that licking tongue. “Oh, you wanton bitch, you beautiful little whore—you’re doing it to me, you’re making me come! Give me more of your slattern tongue, lick me there, quickly, quickly! Yes, you cunt, YES! Lick me, suck me—Shades of Erlik, I’m coming so fucking hard I can’t—can’t stand—AHHHH!”
She convulsed as Conan, set aflame by her cries, shoved into Belit with a savage rhythm, making her withstand his engorged prick as it struck her with brutal force. This was no stratagem, Conan knew, no tricky seeking to lull him or Belit into a false sense of security. Instead, he realized excitedly, Sonja was truly in ecstasy, screaming and shaking her way through an intense, prolonged climax—perhaps the first she’d ever had at another’s hands.
And it was clear that Belit was no stranger to giving a woman pleasure. Conan could tell Sonja was not the first maiden lucky enough to receive her attention. He was not disgusted—if anything, his admiration for her only increased. Many women, though vain, didn’t have the sense to see the appeal of their fellow females, but the she-pirate wasn’t blind to it. Her cunt would take pleasure anywhere, just as his cock would reap satisfaction from both these wenches.
“Nice, tight cunt!” he groaned as he rutted in and out of Belit’s spasming pussy. “Take it, my mount, take it! Grasp my manhood with your pleasure! You make an even better fuck than you do a pirate, Belit—a bitch in heat that knows how to appreciate a man’s cock!”
Belit was delirious, almost out of her mind with the lust flowing into her from both the Cimmerian and the Hyrkanian. Blazing cunt was her only reality, hers being filled and frictioned by Conan’s huge, hard cock, while another’s rubbed against her lips, sucking at her lapping tongue, as wet and feverishly heated as she knew her own to be.
She felt Sonja’s nails, short but sharp, clawing over her back, sinking into her creamy skin, perhaps even drawing blood, but the pain only cleared Belit’s head of the fog of pleasure that had covered her mind. She redoubled her lascivious sucking and kissing and tonguing, grateful that all she had to do to please Conan was be a willing receptacle for his pumping cock.
Conan’s fingers were dug into her too, ensuring that even if she became a snarling hellcat, the pleasure to his thrusting prick would not stop. He panted like a bellows, grunting on his bullish exhales when he pitched into her orgasmic cunt. It was frantically alive, pulling at his member like a hungry mouth. His cockhead swelled. His balls jumped in readiness. Then Conan burst inside her, his fiery cum bathing the walls of her cunt with stinging heat.
“Crom’s balls, you wild bitch—take it, all of it, move that ass—Morrigan and Macha, there is no better place for a man’s seed than in this juicy cleft!” he gasped, spilling into her like seawater rushing into a breached hull.
It felt like thrusting his manhood into a torch-flame and not being burned, Conan thought dazedly, wrenching himself out of Belit’s voracious sex and rolling away from both women as though he were retreating from a conflagration before its flame leapt to consume him as well.
Sonja was still coming uncontrollably, crushing her mouth up against Belit’s pussy while rubbing her slit violently against Belit’s tongue. Belit moaned, her hands dug into Sonja’s thick ass, her face glistening with the redhead’s cream.
A moment later, Belit dropped—panting and wild-eyed, a final spasm of her rapture ebbing out in her groin. Sonja’s newly awakened lust had finally been too much for her. Between her and Conan, Belit had been completely satisfied; for the first time in her life, truly overwhelmed.
“By Ishtar, she has an appetite for the ages!” Belit declared. “I can’t take anymore—my cunt has felt these pleasurable rushes so many times that more cannot be endured!”
But Sonja was not so easily satiated. Bounding up, she threw Belit off her body and came to her feet over Conan’s reclining form, giving him a stout kick in the ribs to rouse him. “Up! Up, Cimmerian! Either take up your blade or make fists of those clumsy hands! I want you!”
Grumbling his way out of contentment, holding the aching red where Sonja had struck him, Conan sat up. “Crom, woman! Hasn’t Belit sated you? She surely has me, on every occasion, and I find it hard to believe that feminine body can hold more lust in it than mine!”
Sonja’s hand swiped down to strike him upside the head, stinging his pride more than paining his body, but nonetheless Conan’s eyes flashed with rage as he came up to his feet. Especially when Belit, still lying where she’d fallen, laughed to see her paramour so vexed.
“What do you want of me, fire-hair?” Conan demanded. “Even you can’t have blood hot enough to want to fight after all that! Lie down and rest. Enjoy the tiring that comes after such fruitful exertion. Perhaps Belit might even be convinced to give you more of her kisses; I’ll put off my own to see you given your share.”
Sonja gritted her teeth. “I want nothing from you, dog, except for you to defend yourself! Now!”
Suddenly, Conan’s ire shifted seamlessly to mirth, as he’d switch a sword from one hand to the other. He set his thickly-knuckled hands on his waist and grinned at the Hyrkanian challenging him. “I see now! Crom take me, but I see! Belit wasn’t enough for you. You’re still bedeviled by the taste of the lusts you now know you have an appetite for! You wish to be defeated by me so that you may freely enjoy my caresses—as Belit did, before your eyes! I had no idea the sight of my rutting was so invigorating! Perhaps Belit and I could take up a new line of work if the sea runs short of ships for us to fleece!”
No one would accuse Red Sonja of being anything but an expert warrior, but a lethal confluence of events came upon her then, as they will when the gods amuse themselves. Firstly, though she was challenging Conan to battle, she herself had not taken on the aspect of the wolf. She was woman still—her skin yet blushing from the pleasures Belit had shown her—and deep within, she thought of Conan as friend and ally, if not more.
Second, while not yet regarding Conan as a combatant—while thinking of him as little more than a laden mule she could lead about—she allowed herself to be aggravated by Conan’s callous, though true, remarks. Still not thinking of him as a threat, she stalked toward him, finger raised, mouth open to chide him… and he struck her down with a single sweeping backhand, much as she had struck him before while he was too careless to defend himself. But Conan put real force behind his blow, and so consciousness fled Sonja’s body as she dropped to the ground, soundly defeated in a battle she had asked for but not known she was receiving til too late.
Conan stared at her naked form draped upon the ground, perhaps surprised himself by the luck of the hit he had given. But the gods were capricious, and given to shedding fortune as willfully as trouble. He threw his head back and bellowed laughter, taken with the irony of how Sonja’s wish had been granted.
“There, red one—now have I defended myself to your liking?” He nodded to Belit. “Come, woman, let us away from here. We have what we came for. It would not do to tarry until Sonja can plague us further.”
Belit’s eyes widened, piqued by Conan’s desire. It was not at all what she would’ve expected of a man who had bested Red Sonja for him not to claim his prize. And lusty Conan least of all would she have said to be either chaste or moderate. “You don’t wish to stay until Sonja has returned to herself? She’ll be yours for the taking…”
“Aye, exactly as she wants. But the scales are still not balanced from our dealings before, when she stole the Serpent’s Crown from me. When she awakens to find herself no longer undefeated, but virgin still—what more fitting retribution could there be?”
Belit licked her lips. “You are cruel, my sword-hand—it is not for nothing that you are the foremost acolyte of my godhood. But I doubt Sonja will think your dealings even when she catches up to you!”
Conan scoffed and began to attire himself for the road. “Goddess you may or may not be, but you should know, my Belit, that anticipations such as that are what makes mortal life worth living, tending the flame of one’s warm blood and enduring the chance-games sent down from the spirits in their aether!”
***
Some time later…
In the maze of Thessalo, as in seemingly all corners of the world where life was as freely taken as a warm-fleshed woman, there was a tavern where Conan’s sandaled feet had fallen. Some of these fleshpots had known him as no more than a man of heavy coin-purse and prodigious appetites, leaving a bartender rich in silver but a dancing girl lacking in virtue—or at least, even more lacking than she had once been.
But in this one, Conan’s presence had been as keenly felt as on any battlefield. Fharos, the master of the tavern, had trifled with Conan and paid for it with his life, while his slave girl Katurah had treated with him more or less fairly. With Fharos’s unregretted passing, she had taken over the tavern, and was suitably grateful to the dark-haired Cimmerian for her advancement in life. Normally, Conan would’ve been so fair-minded as to let her express her gratitude, so it might not weigh on her mind, but at the time, his love had all been for Olivia, Princess of Ophir.
That had been long ago, and now—his travels returning him to this place of youthful indiscretion—Conan recalled Katurah’s debt to him and thought that letting her repay it might be an enjoyable way of speeding the night into morning.
He shouldered through the batwing doors, his hand on his sword hilt as he took in the interior. He was not the only wanderer in Thessalo, and if anyone inside had a grudge against him, he wanted to be ready to settle the feud. But, aside from marking his size and the threat with which he carried himself—a reaction Conan was used to—the bar patrons paid him no mind. Conan let his hand fall from his hilt, focusing instead on the bar.
Katurah had made the place clean and presentable under her stewardship. Though Conan scarcely cared, it was now a marked improvement over roughing it outside the city walls. Otherwise, Katurah had stuck to what she knew. In a loincloth of lacking modesty and with a swath of satin concealing her breasts, she danced upon a table, inducing everyone present to stay and watch and drink as the time passed and their tongues grew dry from slobbering.
But it wouldn’t be fair to say her lot in life hadn’t improved. Conan noted a bouncer—a tall and heftily hewn Shemite—standing in the corner. He imagined that any who became overly demanding of Katurah would swiftly find themselves departing the establishment, in one state or another. Conan gave him no further thought. If Katurah welcomed Conan’s attention, the bouncer would be of no concern, and if she didn’t, Conan wouldn’t dull his sword without the promise of pay.
Comments
Shendude
Yes, veeeeerrry nice, good.
