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The Cimmerian And Two She-Devils update
🕑 Added 2021-04-15 00:00:03 +0000 UTCKaturah was five feet and four inches of pure sensuality, a woman who knew how to use all her assets to their fullest potential. A mane of thick, curly red hair—long, luscious legs that swept from full thighs—a beautiful, even radiant face—and best of all, full breasts more than befitting her voluptuous frame, as large as a man’s head, with fittingly sized nipples the color of roses, matching the hair falling down about her shoulders.
Conan swept off his traveling cape to beckon to her. All he wore, as was frequent, was his loincloth and his sword-belt—he set cloak and satchel aside before sitting, his legs spread, displaying himself to her in the knowledge that she would see and be drawn to him. His muscles did not need to flex to gather attention, not that they were oversized, but rather, like thick armor on a lean, pantherish frame. Although his skin was little blemished, his flesh not bruised, he was still a rough-hewn thing of traveling on his feet and working with his hands. His musculature made it moreso, bespoke that he was the ultimate of those whose wealth lay in their capableness, not what they could order or bribe or cajole others to do.
Katurah approached him, breaking off her dance without a care to come to him. She didn’t go so far as to sit in his lap, but instead parked her ample bottom on the table Conan was seated at, allowing him the best possible view of her body before they moved on to indulging his sense of touch.
“Conan. Finally. It’s about time a real man came back in here,” she purred, soft as silk, with the confidence of a free woman instead of the fright of a slave. It suited her. She made no apology for her body or the lust it engendered.
“I find it hard to believe any man worth the title wouldn’t be drawn here by you, Katurah.”
Katurah demurred, turning her head to the side, displaying her gorgeous profile behind a veil of her lush hair. “You’d be surprised, Cimmerian. Better men do come here than before—drawn by softer beds and stronger ale—but I find them little different. Perhaps they have richer tastes, better clothes, or sometimes sweeter words, but they’re still dogs. I barely trust them to appreciate the beds… how can I trust them to appreciate me?”
“Then you’re no one’s woman?” Conan asked, taking a long drag from his flagon, sensing it would be the last he would take that night. There were sweeter things to imbibe here, no matter how much stronger the ale was now.
“No.”
Conan stood, his body shooting up between Katurah’s spread thighs, and she crooned to feel him looming over her, ready to take her with no more preamble. “Tonight you are.”
***
Red Sonja charged through the batwing doors of the tavern like she was breaching a castle’s walls, her brown eyes devouring the interior. For long months she had been on Conan’s trail, had known he was going to Thessalo and that this bar had been one of his stomping grounds long before he’d met her.
Trusting that like any animal, Conan would return to territory that’d been well-trod, she’d expected to find him inside. Instead, she saw only the leering drunkards, slags, and slatterns that she could find in any city, imbibing anything from ale to whiskey.
One of them opened his mouth, no doubt to proposition her. Sonja froze him with a look. “No!” she barked, and then was sweeping across the floor to the stairs, leaping up them two at a time to the second story, where the bedrooms were located.
She went from door to door, smashing them open with her booted foot. Many were shocked to find her interrupting their evening. Others were pleased with the looks of her. She paid them no mind, only giving them the same hard stare she had given downstairs, freezing them in place.
She came to the last door on the left and paused. Sonja could hear something, even through the thick walls and solid door that made this place a cut above the usual disreputable establishment happy to take as much coin as they could get for as little as they could give.
Wood was creaking, beating hollowly as if under the feet of an army marching double-time. She heard too fleshy smacks, like two pugilists in the ring, and the bullish exhalations of a man exerting himself heavily. Sonja also caught the tail-end of a woman sucking in breath, and then heard her launching into a tawdry series of shrieks.
“NO, CONAN, DON’T, DON’T—OH GODS, YOU BRUTE—HELLS—YOU—YOU ANIMAL—FUUUUCK!”
Shocked by what she was hearing, the evident passion and pain in that ragged, feminine voice, Sonja unthinkingly reached for the doorknob. Before she realized what she was doing, it opened. The bastard had not even locked the door.
Sonja swung it open to find Conan across the room from her, though most of what she could see of him was his broad shoulders and bulky back. He was naked but for his boots, his ass as muscular as the rest of him, clenching and pistoning as he drove his hips back and forth, back and forth.
Before him, pinned against the wall by his body, was a redheaded woman, thick and full-fleshed, but not nearly so weighty that her heft posed a problem to the Cimmerian. He easily held her up, jaggedly thrusting between her open legs, which ended up in a sprawling tangle past his back and over his shoulders. Her arms clutched at his back, slipping and sliding on the sweat that glistened its way down his body, and the ripe curves of her flesh shook like wine sloshing in a bottle, creamy ass and pendulous breasts jiggling when he thrust into her. And when he didn’t, shudders of pleasure still kept them quivering.
“NO, DON’T MAKE ME COME AGAIN, I CAN’T, I CAN’T—CAN’T TAKE ANYMORE—CONAN, PLEASE, PLEASE… NO, DON’T STOP, MORE, I WANT MORE! BY ALL THE GODS, KEEP FUCKING ME, I DON’T CARE IF YOU KILL ME WITH THAT FAT COCK! I WANT TO COME AGAIN! PLEASE MAKE ME COME AGAIN!”
Conan grunted from deep in his throat, his voice husky with the exertion and the satisfaction of pumping her as he was doing. “Crom, woman, perhaps no real man has come here! You’re tight as a maiden and ask for twice the fucking! You dirty slut, Katurah, you call me an animal, but you take to being rutted like a bitch in heat!”
Conan slammed her against the wall she was braced against, fucking her with such power that Katurah could not begin to return his ministrations. All she could do was stay where she was, sandwiched between his hulking body and the unyielding wood of the wall, and enjoy being ravaged. She tried to open her legs further, so Conan could get to the very core of her, but was only successful in spreading them like a sheet of metal being pounded flat by a smith’s hammer.
Conan fucked all the way in to the root of his cock, pushing into her until her ample buttocks were flush up against his engorged balls. Then he pulled back, almost all the way, all ten inches leaving her cunt, but with the same skill Conan practiced on the battlefield, he halted himself before slipping out of her and reversed course, crushing his body to hers again, provoking another round of Katurah’s whorish entreaties.
“I BEG YOU, I BEG YOU, DON’T STOP! LET ME COME AGAIN! I’LL DO ANYTHING, LET YOU DO ANYTHING, I’M YOURS, YOURS! FUCK ME HOWEVER YOU WANT, USE ME, MAKE ME YOUR WHORE, I’LL BE YOUR WHORE, JUST… JUST… Conan…”
Her last exhalation was in suitable contrast to the rest of her fervent howls, as Katurah evidently came, her convulsions harder and deeper than ever, Conan groaning as the action of her cunt worked hard around his girthy shaft. He held still, concentrating on withstanding its massage, while Katurah went limp save for her hips, weakly pumping against his loins in an attempt to cajole Conan into joining her in orgasm. But the man would not come, no matter how inviting a vessel Katurah made for any amount of seed.
The end to their rutting—or at least the pause in the action—spurred Sonja out of her paralysis and into action. She kicked the door shut behind her with her heel and drew her sword, leveling it at Conan with battle rage replacing the frustrated tension that had flooded her body, the voyeuristic enjoyment of watching this Katurah be so thoroughly despoiled.
“Face me, cur! Coward! Dog!”
Catching his breath, Conan looked over his brawny shoulder at her. His sweaty face twitched with recognition, but he made no move to defend himself. “Oh. It’s you. I’ve expected your coming. What made you tarry so long?”
“Quiet! Do not presume to speak so familiarly to me!”
“You were the one who invited yourself into such an intimate gathering. This is an inconvenient moment for you to sort out your feelings for me.”
“SILENCE!” Sonja roared.
“But I won’t turn my nose up at an oasis just because I found another a league ago.”
Conan at last pulled himself from Katurah’s pussy. Her gleaming juices coated his manhood clear to the scrotum. His lengthy shaft dangled like a freshly made sausage. And seeing it, drenched with the liquid enjoyment he had given another woman, Sonja yearned to have it for herself.
“You’ve thought of this, haven’t you?” Conan took his prick in hand and shook off some of Katurah’s cream. “My size. My potency. How I used it on Belit before your very eyes. And then beat you in battle, leaving you free to enjoy my touch. As she did.” He nodded to Katurah, slumped on the floor, as asleep as a woman could be with her eyes still open. “As they all do.”
While Sonja watched, Katurah’s glazed eyes focused. Her lips worked soundlessly. She remembered something of how Conan had used her, how thoroughly he had played his cock into her pussy, again and again and again, until she had no more pleasure to feel or strength to endure feeling it.
Then, thinking of how he’d fucked her, she came again, groaning as a spring of her juices jetted from her cunt.
“Shades of Erlik,” Sonja gasped, her sword trembling in her hands for the first time she could remember.
Conan took a step towards her. He had not armed himself. His erection had not diminished. It throbbed as if hungry, like Katurah’s fertile body had only whetted his appetite, and now he wanted to see if Sonja’s tautly-muscled flesh could withstand the demands of his lust.
“I’ll be gentle,” Conan assured her, a typical man’s saying, but for some reason she believed him, his barbarian sincerity. “As gentle as you want me to be, which isn’t very. What you really want is what she got. To be the whore she was and enjoy it as she did. It will take time, but I’ll make the woman in you outweigh the warrior. And I’ll do it on the bed as well. Katurah tells me that the mattress is soft and the sheets are clean. Clean enough for us to dirty, at least.”
“You… you bastard,” Sonja said weakly, a virulent plague of curiosity infecting her anger, killing it. She had so much more willingness than rage now. “You defeated me!”
“Is that why you came after me? To avenge yourself on everyone who crosses swords with you and lives?”
“It’s more than that! You bested me! I was yours! You spurred me!”
“Would you rather I claim my prize or let you give it to me?”
“Bastard!” Sonja said again. Her sword seemed very heavy. Conan seemed very close, very warm, and she could not forget how loudly Katurah had enjoyed being his whore. As Conan had promised to make her. “I came here to pay you back for your cruel jest!”
“You came here to give yourself to me,” Conan said, correcting her firmly but gently. “And I am here to take you. Put aside that toy. I’ve no interest in those old games. And the desires she left unsated are yours to experience.”
He pushed the blade of her sword aside. So loose was Sonja’s grip on it that it slipped right out of her hand.
Comments
Shendude
This is fun. And it does feel like something Conan would so
