The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

No-one had come to the tent which held the two women from Jarator for the remainder of the day. The time had passed with Cerelia talking dejectedly about all the social events she was missing in Jarator apparently oblivious to the fact that if they had reached Lake Owden safely she would still have missed them. Acanthus had found that despite the whining, exhaustion had taken her and she had fallen deeply asleep. She had awoken when thin shafts of light came through the opening at the top of the tent which she Acanthus imagined acted as a chimney. As Cerelia slept on Acanthus helped herself to water and fruit. Then Jannara reappeared though she did not come far into the tent.

“It is time.” The horsewoman said to Acanthus.

Cerelia sprung awake and shot a challenging gaze at the horsewoman but said nothing. Slowly and nervously Acanthus stood. Cerelia gestured for her to come closer and Acanthus complied, leaning in to hear what she whispered.

“Remember that there is nothing I could have done to change what will happen to you: you brought this upon yourself, do not forget that. You do realise this?”

Cerelia smiled as if she had said something to raise Acanthus’s spirits.

“Well, you do realise it, don’t you?” Cerelia persisted; her voice rising sharply.

Acanthus had no idea how to answer so just turned and walked to Jannara.

“No manners, to the last.” Cerelia said loud enough for both the other women to hear.

In moments Acanthus was out of the tent and being led away by Jannara. She felt a little as if she had been sentenced for committing a crime. Certainly in some cities enslavement was a punishment. She imagined that there was nothing she had done to warrant a punishment, except perhaps trespass. It had to be more that everything for the tribe had to be of value and as a prisoner she had no value whereas as a slave she would at least be of use to those who had taken her in. Acanthus was a little surprised when they reached the chieftain’s tent, but she had given up trying to decipher the habits of these people. Jannara was clearly known to the guard and perhaps Acanthus herself was expected.

“Enter.” The guard intoned and Acanthus obeyed.

Seeing the chieftain alone reclining on a cushion, Acanthus panicked, wondering if he had had her brought here for his pleasure. Maybe he preferred black-haired women to blondes like Cerelia. She looked around for Jannara but she had gone. Slowly Acanthus walked across to the horseman.

“Please be seated.” He spoke Mosairan well, though with the accent.

Acanthus complied, sitting upright with her bum on the cushion.

“Would you care for refreshment? There is small beer or even wine, if you’d prefer it to kumis.”

“Thank you, but no.”

“I see you are nervous. Do the stories of the horsemen frighten you so much even having slept in this place?”

Acanthus did not know how to respond but eventually just shook her head.

“Good, because I want you to feel welcome in this tribe; to become part of it.”

Acanthus shivered a little as this touched a little on what she had feared: that she was not going to see her family or Jarator ever again. However, she guessed that if her future was to be as a servant or a slave, the chief would not have brought her here for this discussion. Perhaps he had a different role in mind. Would she be used to teach his children or grandchildren Mosairan and about things of the civilised lands? Such a job was one she could imagine tolerating, perhaps even enjoying.

“Erm, er, thank you, erm your excellency.” Acanthus said weakly.

The man laughed. “Call me Chief if you must, though I hope you will call me Galaren as it is my name.”

“Galaren.” Acanthus repeated.

“Good and you have your horsewoman name, don’t you, Kaelen?”

“Yes.” Acanthus replied, using Voyar. “I am Kaelen.”

That response, however poorly it might have sounded, clearly delighted the chief.

“Yes, I was right, Hastaran was right. You are fitted to become part of our tribe.”

“Why me, Galaren?”

Galaren smiled softly, a different expression from what Acanthus had come to expect from him.

“My family have bred horses for generations …”

Acanthus had anticipated that her use for sex would appear soon.

“We know that a bloodline too inter-bred will become weak. My family needs new blood. You will become my son’s wife. Together you will have strong children and they will carry on my family.”

“Wife?” Acanthus asked, still concerned it was a mistranslation.

“Yes, wife; not concubine, not whore, not slave, but wife.” Acanthus was startled to comprehend, indeed to even hear, this news that she had been promised to the chief’s son.

Galaren continued. “I thought it was obvious when I had Jannara bring you the clothes so you could dress like a woman of this tribe. The wedding ceremony will be at the full moon, but you will certainly look like his wife before then. Have you not noticed how he looks at you?”

“No.” Acanthus replied, though it was a lie; she had lied to herself and now lied to Galaren.

“He has shown restraint. I think he is aware of the customs of the people of the buildings. When you see him, look at his eyes and tell me if you do not believe he would mount you if you signalled that he could.”

Acanthus was grateful he had been so constrained. She had anticipated that the horsemen would simply rape who they fancied.

Galaren appeared to have read her thoughts. “You are different, you already look like a member of this tribe; a true horsewoman. Any man who tried to take you against your will would not doubt have his balls delivered back to him, am I not right? You’d not need the dagger.”

Acanthus’s fingers reached for her belt and thought of the blade she had seen Jannara carrying there. “Yes, no ...” She replied not having a clue how to answer.

Galaren grinned. “Good. By the One, by the Host of the Plain, I am going to have good grandsons and granddaughters from you. With that fine black hair, as dark as a burnt stake, darker than iron or the night sky. Broad hipped like a fine mare, buxom to feed the young. Yes, it must be the One or the Host who delivered you here.”

For the moment Acanthus wondered if the chief was to take her for himself before giving him over to his son.

Galaren laughed. “No, I would not spoil my greatest gift to Hastaran. I am not one of those debauched lords of the buildings. I have enough women for when my cock hungers. I am looking forward to having that new corn-haired one suck it for me. Is she well trained?”

“Sorry, who do you mean?”

“The one who came with you: the courtesan?”

Acanthus felt as if she now stood in front of a yawning chasm and realised that it was not only her assumptions about her own fate which had been mistaken.

“Cerelia?”

“Yes, that is something too complex for the name of pleasure slave. I want something I can grunt. I have decided she’ll be Zuza. Yes, I have chosen a suitable name.”

“She is no courtesan.” Acanthus snapped out.

“She was going to be trained? Did your family own her? Had you just bought her? Who was it who decorated her with the fine clothes and jewellery? Whatever her status before, she wears them like a courtesan. The way she walks as if she is seeking every eye to be on her; the way she fusses with her hair and her clothes: she has clearly learnt a lot of what she needs. Clearly she has no other skills than to be in the gilded tent.”

Acanthus worried now that her expected fate had been assigned to Cerelia. It was ironic that her aloof manner, in this context, made her resemble a prostitute rather than a fine lady. Now Acanthus’s mind ran with conflicting emotions. Being married to the chief’s son was certainly a better outcome than being servant or slave to this tribe. In fact, assuming she bore him male children then she would be mother of the next chief but one. That might count for nothing in Jarator, but raised her to a respectable position in this society. For Cerelia, her future, her near future, was to fall to being a plaything of the chief: would she be able to cope?

“I think you will find that she will have difficulties learning to love horsemen.”

“Of course, she will not be the first. That is why the ceremony is so important. Just as you will fully become a woman of this tribe, my Zuza will have her mind recrafted so she will believe she has always serviced horsemen and women.”

“Women too?”

“Of course, in the tribe we all enjoy encounters with our own sex as well. There is no chance of babies from such passion. Do you want to use her? You can go to the gilded tent whenever you choose, my daughter.”

“Thank you.”

Acanthus answered, a little alarmed how the thought of having Cerelia between her legs excited her. However, more rationally she imagined being able to see her friend would allow her to check on her wellbeing. She felt a mixture of worry and excitement about the role she had been assigned to, but remained concerned that her friend would not be able to handle her new position at all.

“Now, you know what lies ahead for you, there is no reason to delay preparing you for your wedding, getting you to be a perfect woman of this tribe. Jannara will take you to a special tent set aside for you to be prepared. You will spend the days before the wedding there with my finest skin-artists and seamstresses. You will emerge fit to be a chieftain’s daughter.”

“Erm, thank you.” Acanthus responded a little anxiously but she knew to be grateful.

Jannara now came back and took Acanthus by the hand. As Galaren had promised Acanthus was led to a tent on the edge of the encampment where a group of women waited, some with alarming looking needles and paint pots; others with leather, fur and sewing tools. However, first Acanthus was sat down and introduced to the women. She soon felt as one amongst them, given their hair and the clothes they wore and was pleased at that fact. Each had some words of Mostairan and Acanthus found she already knew more Voyar than she realised. Servants brought food and drink and it quickly became a party, with Acanthus finding herself comfortable among these women and Jannara already like an old friend. Jannara encouraged Acanthus to sup the milky drink which she guessed was kumis and quickly she found her senses dulled. Dimly she realised her clothes were being stripped from her and something being rubbed into her skin that numbed it further. Then it was as if all the women were crawling over her. She saw paint and felt the press of fingers on her but could not connect with what was happening to her. Time had no meaning, but Acanthus felt good and had no complaint, she was happy to lie here and allow the horsewomen to do whatever they chose.

Acanthus awoke and realised that she was back in the tent she had previously been lodged in. How long had she been away? Much of her body ached and there were itches in many places though as she rubbed against them, the lotion that had been poured on to so much of her relieved the sensation. Her ears felt strange and as she sat up she felt the weight there and her fingers confirmed what the returning memories told her that each held an earring like a wooden claw inserted through each lobe. As the leather she wore creaked and her shoulders felt naked, she remembered how she had been dressed. Reaching behind her she found the wolf-fur shawl and draped it back over her tattooed shoulders. Coming fully awake she saw that she wore the russet leathers with their intricate swirling pattern that held her so tightly. They had made her feel so strong but now they were just another reminder that she could now no longer return to Jarator.

Acanthus’s mind chided her. Yes, she would not be going back to Jarator but a future far more exciting than anything there, lay ahead of her now. She knew that today she would become Hastaran’s wife, a leading woman of this tribe and her sons would be great warriors, hunters and leaders; her daughters would be at one with the Plains of Voy, fighters in their own right. These thoughts would have once been very alien to Acanthus and they still sounded strange in her mind, but she found herself growing quickly to be proud of them. She sat up and then stood; looking over the wonderfully tailored new leathers she wore. She realised that she was not alone. On silk cushions close by, lay Cerelia.

Cerelia had been changed too. Now she wore a sheer black robe open at the front to reveal her breasts in a tight silk top that offered them up rather than concealed them. Her skirt was far shorter than before but her red silk boots far longer, reaching up to her thigh. Whilst Acanthus’s hair had been braided, Cerelia’s has been teased out to give it an abandoned appearance of a woman just rising from bed. She had been tattooed as well, though not as extensively as Acanthus. Delicate flower patters in shades of red decorated her midriff and upwards towards her breasts, more emerged from her hair along the side of her face; others were on the back and sides of her hands. She wore more jewellery of gold, silver and bronze. Long ornate earrings, heavy bracelets and light chains in her hair. As she breathed the light sound of bells suggested she wore ornament on her breasts too. Certainly now she resembled the courtesan that Galaren had imagined her to be.

Cerelia awoke and stretched. Immediately Acanthus noticed a difference in her; her movements were languid and feline. Acanthus wondered if that was the consequence of whatever potions she had been plied with. Seeing Acanthus she grinned broadly, an expression that she never used before.

“They have changed you too.” Cerelia observed. “Are you to work in the butchery?” She indicated the colour of the leathers Acanthus wore.

Acanthus smiled to herself to think that some of Cerelia’s character still remained strong, though she imagined that courtesans could be bitchy and even mean, especially among themselves.

“No, I have been assigned a higher role.”

“So you have been promised to be my servant?” Cerelia asked with an air of knowing that what she had expected had come true.

“No, I am going to join the chieftain’s family.”

That response clearly irritated Cerelia. “I am sure you will not be there long, once they find out what kind of trouble you cause. Perhaps I should tell the chieftain.”

“Galaren and I have spoken already.”

“Really, I find that hard to believe. Can you distinguish between them? I imagine it was an overseer you spoke to.”

Acanthus guessed there was no point in battling to correct Cerelia; she would see the reality of it all very shortly. Saying that Acanthus imagined that Cerelia would remain capable of interpreting everything she witnessed in her own way.

“Shama, Lula and Mae told me that tonight I am going to be given the Girdle of the Gilded Tent. It seems like some kind of high award. They say that the Gilded Tent is where all the best ladies in this encampment are housed, so I am looking forward to moving there. I doubt I will see you as you go about your daily chores, but at least now I have some new companions.”

Acanthus worried that Cerelia still did not understand her fate.

“Did they say you would be given a collar?”

“Yes, how clever of you. They each have one, a lovely thing of firm red leather and filigree silver. They have them locked on so no-one can steal them.”

It was clear that the trio were slaves and that with her name Zuza, Cerelia would soon fit in well beside them.

Now Cerelia walked over and sat a short way from Acanthus. Her manner changed and now she looked rather coy, an expression Acanthus imagined would be one that would help her in her new role.

“It is a shame that Mae and the others had to go. We have had such fun playing over the past few days. Of course I will see them later, but they’ve had to go and prepare for tonight. The thing is, I really want to play some more. I have this kind of hunger now, down in my … in my sex. I never knew what pleasure it could bring, but they showed me what I was missing and now I can’t get enough. They gave me this.”

Cerelia reached to pull out an object in a black shiny stone carved to resemble a large man’s cock. While Acanthus had never seen such a thing she had heard ladies and ladies-in-waiting talk of them when huddled in groups. Acanthus wondered what it would feel like to slide it inside her own sex where she realised she had a hunger growing herself, though more specifically to welcome Hastaran’s cock.

“The trouble is, that I cannot … I cannot, you know … finish myself unless I am pleasing, pleasuring someone else. I wondered, given that as a servant you will have no time for such things, that I could pleasure you now?”

Acanthus laughed. A strange sensation, some mixture of a sense of revenge but also a new awareness of her growing power, jolted her. She remembered how she had felt when Galaren had spoken of her visiting the gilded tent. That seemed as if it was weeks ago, though it must only have been a few days, though maybe more than she had thought. That feeling now returned with a stronger force. Her prospective father-in-law had indicated that there was no objection to her taking sexual pleasure from a woman before her marriage and indeed after it. Perhaps he had known this time would come; maybe he had arranged it this way. While some days ago the thought of what she was about to do would have stunned her, things had been so changed that it now appeared far from unusual. She began to unlace her leggings and pull them down sufficiently to expose her pussy.

Cerelia crawled up to Acanthus, smiling with unfettered pleasure. Then she buried her face between Acanthus’s thighs and she shuddered at this new sensation. Acanthus of Jarator would have been shocked by what her companion was doing, but Acanthus of the encampment felt she had the power to enjoy it without question. As Cerelia lapped at her pussy lips and teased her clitoris, Acanthus knew this was something she would want to do again and again. She looked along her body tightly held in its leather, wishing she had a leash leading to Cerelia’s collar and guessed that soon that would certainly be feasible.

Acanthus startled herself as she let go a long moan of pleasure, something almost animal in nature. Her body was buzzing with not only the sensation of what Cerelia was doing but also all the exciting thoughts of having left her life behind and lounging here being serviced by a slave. For the first time she really began to comprehend what her new status could enable. That recognition and simply the sight of her own body in tight, soft and hard leather, the tattoos snaking across her skin pushed her towards sensations that she had never known before. Acanthus was a woman in her twenties, but she had held back from taking lovers let alone a husband due to her parents’ concern that she would not spoil her chances in making the right match. Now that all chances in Jarator were gone there was no need not to feed the lusts that clearly had been lying, only dormant, within her.

Then Acanthus was hit by a wave of her climax. Her body jolted and she swore repeatedly in Voyar, careless of what blasphemy she was voicing. Oblivious to the presence of Cerelia Acanthus’s thighs clenched her head. Her booted feet stamped the floor the sound muted by the carpets and she twisted, the press and creak of the leather simply heightening the sensation as her body felt ready to burst from some shell and allow her to be reborn as a high ranking horsewoman.

Acanthus became aware of her surroundings once more rather than her senses being dominated by all that came from within. She saw that Cerelia had lounged back and with her legs splayed was thrusting the stone phallus in and out of her pussy. Flower tattoos framed it and Acanthus saw that it was now shaven bare, another marker of what Cerelia had been made. Under the tutoring of the sex-slave trio, it was clear Cerelia’s perceptions had been so altered that she had no understanding of how some may protest at what she was now doing. Pleasuring others and herself were now natural, unquestioned thoughts for her. Acanthus wished that some of those Cerelia had dominated and bullied could be here to see her so debauched. Knowing she was witness to that and that she had the power to see it again, sparked new delights in Acanthus and she slumped back to enjoy the aftershocks of her orgasm.

“Kaelen.”

Acanthus woke abruptly at the sound of Jannara’s voice. She had changed into richer leathers herself and was dressed in jewellery that presumably was her best, bangles at her wrists and a golden torc at her neck. Beneath a wolf fur shawl her arms were looped with gem-set bracelets. She looked like a horsewoman going to a wedding.

Feeling invigorated, Acanthus jumped to her feet.

Jannara stopped her gently with a raised palm. From her belt she took a sheath with a dagger in it. Quickly she lashed it to Acanthus’s belt.

“You are ready.” Jannara smiled as she spoke in Voyar and bent forward to kiss Acanthus on both cheeks.

Acanthus realised that days in the tent with the women had expanded her vocabulary. “Of course.” She responded in kind.

Acanthus felt pleased by this ritual, and proudly drew her dagger.

“Then there is no need to delay. Come, your husband awaits.”

As they stepped from the tent Acanthus saw that it was night and the moon shone brightly. The camp was well lit as all around torches blazed. Children ran excitedly between the tents. It was clear this wedding would be in front of the entire tribe. Soon they were at the chieftain’s tent. It was already full of people: some that Acanthus recognised and others she guessed were representatives from other tribes come to witness the marriage of the chieftain’s heir. Acanthus felt she should be self-conscious, but dressed like this, her body emblazoned with tattoos however new they might be, she guessed they would not tell apart from someone born in Voy. That made her proud and she wished her friends from back home could see her now. A real strength was within her and it excited Acanthus. Seeing Hastaran stirred up her arousal and she was eager to be his and to have that cock slide into her so deep.

Galaren rose as Acanthus was led forward and gripped her hands. He led her to a chair that was slightly lower than his own raised one but on the level with Hastaran. Hastaran grinned broadly like a teenager on his first tryst. Acanthus was charmed by it. As she sat she surreptitiously ran her fingers beneath the arm of the chair to feel his skin. He fixed her eyes with his gaze and Acanthus felt as if a jolt had gone between them. She guessed she probably knew as little about this man as many brides knew about their future husbands. Yet, with each step she felt there was something very right about becoming his. She guessed for a start it was better to be partnered to a young, virile man than someone prosperous, middle aged and fat just for the sake of her family’s standing in society.

Now Acanthus sat back in her seat wondering what the ceremony here would involve. It took some minutes for the last people to be seated around the tent and for a hush to fall. Acanthus was aware of the crackling of the flames of the torches and even of the sound of her leathers as she breathed. Then a haunting melody from something like a shepherd’s pipe filled the tent, quickly joined by drums and metal percussion instruments. A middle-aged woman with a headdress of bird feathers and a robe of goat skin stepped into the centre. Acanthus assumed this was the priestess to officiate. She turned to face the gathered crowd and began to intone; the music quietened but continued as an accompaniment. Acanthus picked out some words especially ‘man’ and ‘woman’ and it seemed to be a story of the tribe and about marriage in general. Then an assistant, a younger woman dressed similarly to the priestess appeared with a drinking horn. The priestess took this and held it aloft calling on the One and on the Host of the Plain to bless its contents. She then came over to Acanthus and looked at her intently.

“Drink, drink the blood of the clan. Have the blood of the clan run within you. Be of the clan.” The priestess intoned and handed Acanthus a drinking horn.

Acanthus hesitated wondering what was in the black concoction inside the horn. She guessed it would just be wine and herbs, probably adulterated with some blood. It would probably be unpleasant, but not as unpleasant, she imagined, as the reaction if she refused it. If she was going to be of the clan presumably that was going to stop them from deciding that, in fact, she was better off as a slave. She remained hesitant to accept Galaren’s assurances that he was going to marry her to Hastaran and now worried that this was perhaps just some trick to amuse them. With such thoughts conflicting within her, Acanthus drank quickly and deep; emptying the horn in one go, licking up the drip that ran from her mouth. Almost immediately her body was swept with a sensation. Her tattoos seemed to be straining to burst from her skin. Her breasts too, were heavily aroused, pressing against the leather that constrained them; her pussy was loose and wet. Had this been some kind of aphrodisiac to ready her for Hastaran’s use?

Acanthus began to hallucinate, to see the Plains of Voy as if she was sweeping across them like a hawk. Then she was down among a herd of horses running free across the grass down to the river bank. Then she was among the tribe, riding to a hunt, then into a battle. Then she was among the mothers, babes at their breasts and at a feast. The images flickered in her eyes as if she was there for real. She struggled to remember life at Jarator, but she was unable to do so. The buildings, the people all seemed wrong, they were people of the buildings and she was … she was something different. Her muscles cramped and convulsed. Her thighs quivered but then felt strong. The sensation continued to her hands and her arms, her chest too as if breathing new strength; the strength of someone else. No, not someone else, something else, the strength of her, but her as a horsewoman. With that realisation it was as if her mind was swept clean. She saw herself as a small girl in a tent, playing with her mother, having her hair braided; playing with the other horseboys and horsegirls, learning the reality of the plains from the elders. Then she was turning from being from girl to woman, her first bleeding meant the tattoos came to decorate her body so wonderfully. Then they were over-patterned as Galaren welcomed her into his family as she readied for this moment, to become Hastaran’s wife.

“Kaelen.” Hastaran said.

“Yes.” Kaelen responded.

For an instant the name sounded strange, but then that seemed ridiculous. Of course she was Kaelen the horsewoman, she always had been. Proudly she looked at her tattoos showing that she had left her own family behind and now was part of Hastaran’s

“Tell me who you are and who you want to be.”

Kaelen smiled. “I am Kaelen Estra and I want to be Kaelen Khalor, your wife.”

Of course Kaelen spoke in Voyar; it was the language she had been born to. Dimly she recognised she knew others but why would she use them with the man who was about to become her husband?

Hastaran turned to the priestess who appeared with a long needle that she ran through a flame held by her acolyte. She quickly crossed to Kaelen and holding her chin firmly slid the needle into her nose on the side nearest Hastaran. She then rubbed it with some liquid and turned to Hastaran. He reached forward and slid a stud into the new piercing.

“With this stud, I make you my wife.”

Kaelen shuddered as she knew it was true. Gazing down her nose she saw the blood-red stone that sat there for all to see. Then she became aware of the priestess drawing Kaelen’s own dagger from the sheath at her waist. The priestess pressed it into Kaelen’s hand and said a blessing upon it. Then she took Hastaran’s hand and lifted it up so the back faced Kaelen. Somehow Kaelen knew what to do and gashed a cut down the back of Hastaran’s hand.

“With this cut, I make you my husband.”

The priestess wiped the cut with the liquid and let the hand fall. Now Hastaran leant forward and Kaelen kissed him with a force, jabbing her tongue inside his mouth, eager to have his cock thrust back into her. For a moment she found it incredible that she was now a married woman, married to this perfect horseman. Then she became aware of shouts and cheers from all around them and the jubilant music sounding loudly. It was some minutes before the uproar subsided.

Now Galaren rose behind the couple. “As is traditional to encourage the newlyweds to spend the night indulging their passion and perhaps to provide some ideas for the bride, we create a new slave for the gilded tent and have her and her sisters perform for us.”

Kaelen watched as a blonde haired woman was brought forward. The scanty silk clothes she wore were ceremonially stripped from her by two of the slaves she was soon to join. The woman appeared to enjoy this and toyed with her naked body, the small bells that pierced her nipples chiming as she did. Her body had been shaved and this with her tattoos and jewellery further showed that she was not a woman of the tribe but one of its playthings. Now she was helped into a harness of dark red leather. It was buckled tight, pulling her waist in and encircling and offering up her breasts. Its straps guided the eye down to her pussy that was left bare and was clearly sodden with arousal. Long leather boots were buckled on to her legs, their platformed soles and sharp heels meaning she could not stray far with ease.

Galaren now strode forward with a leather collar chased with silver in his hands. The new slave went down on her knees, her head bowed demurely. Galaren reached down and closed the collar around her neck.

“We welcome Zuza as a slave of the Gilded Tent.”

Zuza looked up gratefully opening her lips and running her tongue around them. Galaren chuckled and released the codpiece over his cock. It emerged quickly. Kaelen was heartened by its size trusting that Hastaran’s would match. She felt excited as the chieftain slid his hard cock between the lips of his newest slave and she licked and slurped at it until with a grunt he came, jetting his juice deep into her. This led to more cheers from the crowd. Kaelen gave no thought to the display, seeing it as a normal part of a wedding in Voy. Galaren now drank deeply from a goblet and his erection was quickly restored. Kaelen wondered if Hastaran would have access to whatever was in that goblet, because her sexual hunger was growing to feel insatiable. Now Zuza was pressed into cushions as Galaren attached a leash to her collar and held it as he rode her, sliding his large cock into her pussy from behind, mating her as a stallion would a mare. This seemed to be the signal for all to take their enjoyment and the tent dissolved into semi-chaos as other leading men and women of the tribe and the most esteemed visitors took their pleasure from the other slaves. Watching the coupling made Kaelen squirm with delight, her pussy was wide and wet, ready for her husband’s cock and she could not hold off much longer.

“Come.” Hastaran said.

Kaelen had no need to be asked again and leapt up, wrapping her arm around him and letting herself be guided from the tent. They quickly went into another nearby clearly readied for the new couple. Lanterns were lit and drinks and even dildoes and smooth stone rings stood ready for use. Hastaran literally swept Kaelen from her feet and carried her into the tent. For a moment Kaelen assumed she would be taken from behind like one of the slaves, but Hastaran laid her down on the finest cushions. He quickly shed his breastplate and eased off his boots. Now Kaelen sat up and playfully began to unlace his leggings. She realised that she was not simply feeling compelled to have sex with her new husband and it was not lust alone that drove her on, but there was an affection, a desire to have something shared between them which was making her eager to take him. Maybe that went back to when she had first seen him. For some reason she always remembered that time being with him holding a spear, but she was not sure if that aspect had been added to the memory by her lusts. Kaelen tugged the leather clear of her husband’s hips; enjoying that thought of him as her husband. His cock sprang clear, long, broad and curved, already at a full erection and she was pleased that the thought and sight of her had excited him that way. She ran her tongue around the head and Hastaran shuddered, but she knew she would not be satisfied until this was sheathed within her. She finished stripping her husband naked and ran her fingers over the tattoos that decorated his thighs and belly. They were matched by the ones her skin wore and she loved that affinity between them.

Now Hastaran pushed her back in a firm but not aggressive way. He pulled off the long patterned leather boots and the hose beneath them. Then he unlaced her breastplate but Kaelen’s breasts stood firm and excited. Then he was tugging her free of her tight leggings to expose her sex, its black hair already soaked from her arousal. Kaelen drank in all the sensations feeling that she had been building to this moment for years. She looked down at her own body decorated with the tattoos that showed her to be part of the chief’s family and she felt pride in that and real pride that she was a horsewoman about to be taken by a real man. Dimly she had images in her mind of men who lived in buildings but knew that they held no interest for her as sexual partners, simply as curiosities. Then Hastaran’s cock was at the lips of her pussy and she thrust up her hips to ease the first of it in. Its size stretched her pussy and that delicious pain shot through her. She fell back on the cushions, but Hastaran matched her move and thrust right in pushing his cock so deep into her, filling her so full that Kaelen could hardly believe she was able to accommodate it. She let out a long moan of pleasure as she knew now for certain that she was Hastaran’s and that he could more than satisfy her. They would couple regularly and she would become his broodmare, producing the next generation of the chieftain’s family. This future stretched ahead of her and Kaelen saw herself as a proud mother fighting to protect her horse-borne children. For now, though it was just about her and her husband.

Hastaran pulled back, teasing Kaelen with the rock hard head of his cock, sliding it over her pussy lips before thrusting back in and each entry produced no less of a thrill than the first. Kaelen could imagine Hastaran pleasuring her for a very long time to come. Now he sheathed himself deep into her pussy, his body coming against her swollen clitoris, his muscles pressing down on her so-excited nipples so that Kaelen let out a howl of pleasure which sound into the night across the Plains of Voy.

The two men of the buildings looked in askance as Kaelen walked into the room. Nervously they reached for the swords at their waist. A third, rougher looking man appeared less concerned. Kaelen laughed and threw back the hood of her leather cloak exposing her raven hair braided with silver and semi-precious stones. She unhooked the clasp and tossed the cloak on the chair to expose her tattooed arms and shoulders; the bracers and gloves she wore and her tight leather breastplate.

“Are you Kaelen Khalor?” The rougher man asked in Voyar.

“Yes, I am Kaelen Khalor of the tribe Khalor.” She answered in Mosairan.

“You have Cerelia de Marasantel?” The richer of the two men asked.

“Yes …” Kaelen hesitated as remembered that the slave she had brought would be referred to by this complex name. “She is outside with one of my men.”

“You saw the horses and cattle?”

“Yes. They are good enough. I just wanted to see the men. You are Ranald de Marasantel?”

“Yes, this is my cousin Alois and our guide, Amarenold.”

The guide looked familiar to Kaelen; she guessed she may have seen him before when he stopped at her encampment.

“I am here to reclaim my sister from you, you … your people.” Ranald persisted with clear nervousness.

“Good.” Kaelen said and made a piercing whistling sound.

In a few moments the door opened and Fardatt entered leading the slave by her leash. She was acting lascivious as Kaelen would expect from a sex-slave trying to impress new buyers. Perhaps, Kaelen thought, as looked from Ranald back to Zuza there was some family connection between these two. Maybe Ranald’s father had produced Zuza as a by-blow and that was why he wanted her back. It seemed to be a long way to come to recover a whore, but then Kaelen reminded herself, there was no sensible explanation for the nature of the men who lived in buildings.

“This is …” For a moment Ranald seemed uncertain whether the woman was his sister.

Amarenold lent forward. “Remember what I advised you, my lord, she might be very changed. Look at her carefully and strip away what may have been put on her since you last saw her.”

“Zuza, go to him.” Kaelen gestured.

Smiling seductively Zuza walked in her long boots and lowered herself to kneel at Ranald’s feet. However, something in her manner changed and Kaelen took this as being a sign that she was kin to this man. The Zuza that Kaelen knew was usually eagerly sliding herself between the thighs of whomever she had been given to as she seemed to gain much pleasure from sucking a cock or licking a pussy. Ranald jumped up from his seat but looked down at Zuza intently.

“Despite these clothes and tattoos and whatever they have done to her mind, this is Cerelia.”

“You are content: this is the slave you wish to buy?”

“To buy? To buy? This is my sister I am ransoming. Have you barbarians no honour?”

In an instant Kaelen was standing with her dagger blade at Ranald’s throat. This was too confined a space for fighting, but Kaelen was sure she could down this one before the other two even drew their weapons.

“Yes, my lord. I think there is a danger in confusion of culture, of language.” Amarenold spoke calmly. “Kaelen Khalor, please sheath your dagger. You have what you need here.”

Kaelen recognised that the guide was correct. She had no idea how the soldiers of Terzover would react if she left these three dead. It would be difficult to get away without abandoning the livestock. It was certainly not worth a slave, even a fine, ornamented pleasure slave like Zuza. Kaelen returned the dagger back to its sheath and stepped back. Fardatt tossed over the leash but Ranald let it fall to the floor. He released it from Zuza’s collar which made her look displeased.

Amarenold came over to Kaelen as she watched and guided her to step to the door. “And what of Acanthus Gureance?”

“Who?”

“The companion of Cerelia de Marasantel. Alois has funds sent from her family for her return. Is she with you?”

For a moment Kaelen felt a sensation as if she had fallen from her horse or perhaps as if she had drunk too much kumis. Why was it that the name impacted so strongly on her? For a moment images of buildings of crowds of people like the Marasantel’s flashed into her mind’s eye, but were quickly overwhelmed by her memories of the steppes. From somewhere though, an answer to the guide’s question came.

“No, she will not be coming back. However, you can assure her family that she is healthy, probably healthier than she has ever been, and that she has made a good marriage. Though they might not know that for certain until the tribes of Voy bring their horses to the gates of Jarator.”

The latter phrase was something Kaelen recalled, though she was sure it had once been the city of Kerans rather than Jarator. She wondered why she had made that change.

Amarenold turned to gaze at Kaelen for some moments as if uncertain how to respond. Eventually he spoke.

“Thank you, that reassurance from a noble horsewoman is more than good enough.”

Now Kaelen smiled. “Perhaps we will see you at the camp with some party of Easterners?”

“Perhaps.”

“My husband’s father, Galaren, always says we need to bring in fresh blood to the tribe. Though I doubt her kind could contribute much.” Kaelen nodded towards Zuza.

“No, it takes a very particular type of woman to be a horsewoman and that can be difficult to spot. For your father-in-law, though, I will see what I can do.”

Kaelen grasped Amarenold’s forearm, recognising the man might be a useful ally here in Terzover. Then she turned and nodded to Fardatt that their time here was over. She strode quickly to the corral where the livestock was held. Soon she was directing the men who would ride the herds back to the encampment. Within a couple of hours, however, she was riding back over the Plains of Voy, pleased to be back home.