In the midst of rape and pillage, dissension erupts. Phaeka tries to keep her hopes alive as she, her husband, and daughter suffer under the sexual torments of the rebel gladiators.
Fallen Kingdom – Part 2
Phaeka would do anything to save her daughter. That urgent motherly instinct surged in her despite the nightmare unfolding. The petite noblewoman had endured the worst of the rape already – or so she hoped. Now it was just one man fucking her, lying on top of her, pinning her to the patio table. He was a muscular specimen – brutish but not unhandsome. The whipcord muscles in his arms bulged as he tensed his body and kept thrusting. The Prythian noblewoman felt his cock plunge deep inside her with each merciless fuck, and to her abiding shame her body responded… almost craving each penetration.
‘I will endure anything if it means they will spare the life of my little girl,’ she thought. Her daughter Anaria was no longer a little girl though. She had seen 18 cycles of the seasons. She had been betrothed to marry Vellintius’ son, Elari, come summer. Their union would have bonded the two powerful families together. Anaria’s future would have been assured. That dream had died today though, along with so many others. Bheketha was not the first town to fall to the rebellion, and Phaeka realized with sorrow that it would not be the last. The Imperium – the affluent rulers of Prythia – had grown complacent. She understood that now, now that it was far too late to do anything about it.
The signs had been there. Her husband Lord Kaelon had muttered dark tidings of late. More and more, slave revolts had arisen, not just on the outskirts of Prythia but closer to the heartland. Always, though, they were swiftly snuffed out. Until now. This time the gladiator revolt of the House of Keresh had sparked a nation-wide rebellion like fire blown onto tinder. The rising of the gladiators and the speed with which the Xokothi slaves had joined the Arena commoners now posed a lethal combination of force which threatened to be the Imperium’s undoing. Before the town had fallen under siege, they had heard word that General Carpathiel was gathering several Imperium legions to march south and stem the tide of the rebel advance. By the time they reached here, though, would it already be too late? Would there be anything or anyone left to save?
So here she was now, Phaeka, a once proud Imperium noblewoman, reduced to this – naked, brutally raped, helpless to do anything. In her peripheral vision, meanwhile, she saw her daughter’s ordeal continue to unfold nearby. The tallest of the gladiators, their leader, a man named Gorlann, now had Anaria on her hands and knees. He fucked her roughly from behind. The sound of their bodies smacking together reached Phaeka’s ears like a tortuous song. She risked looking at her daughter’s face. Anaria grunted with each penetration, but the light in the girl’s eyes had not gone out yet despite all she’d endured.
‘Be brave, Ana. Be strong!’ Phaeka thought. Somehow she had to get her family out of Bheketha alive. The nearest town was at least two full days’ walk on foot. Perhaps they could take refuge with the Vellentius family. But what if Kharabesh had already fallen just like Bheketha? What if there was nowhere to run to?
“Am I boring you, Imperium cunt?” The man above her slapped her across the face. It wasn’t a hard slap, but it did startle her. She submissively slid her hands along his back, cupping his shoulders and grinding her sex to meet his fucks.
“F-forgive me, Sir,” she said, uncertain what else to say. What did one say to one’s rapist?
“Look into my eyes as we fuck,” the warrior growled. “I want to see the look on your face as I conquer this slimy pussy of yours. You can watch your daughter get fucked by another dozen men tonight later on, if you wish. For now, though, your attention belongs to ME and ME ALONE.”
He was the fifth man inside her. She could feel the mingled fluids of the other men ease the passage of his cock. Phaeka felt beyond filthy. She felt irrevocably shamed, and to make matters worse she knew that her husband was tied to a tree not far away, forced to watch and listen as the two women he loved more than anything in the world were now dishonored.
“Get ready, bitch. Wulfkar’s sperm will soon find your womb,” the gladiator hissed. The man’s shaven head gleamed in the sun as he licked the side of her neck. Phaeka’s hands gripped his shoulders tightly. She moaned as his furious thrusts wrested unwilling pleasure from her body. She felt herself convulse around his rigid length, her body’s responses reaching their pinnacle.
‘Oh god!’ she thought. ‘I am truly and fully dishonored.’ Then it was happening. This Wulfkar, this cruel man blanketing her body with his, now stiffened and shot his load deep inside her all-too-willing sex, soaking her body in his sticky fluids. She felt each twitch of his cock, each spurt inside her, as if it was an eternal brand – damnation by defilement.
After Wulfkar had spent himself, he lay on top of her. He panted contentedly. She felt his heavy body sagging with post-coital bliss on top of her and she could barely breathe.
“Please, tell him to get off of her. Can’t you see he’s crushing her?” That was Anaria’s shrill protest. Her poor daughter, even in the midst of her own rape, was trying to protect her. Phaeka looked over just in time to see the gladiator leader’s reply.
“Quiet, little slut. You are my apprentice now. You will learn many things, including when to keep your mouth shut.” Saying this, Gorlann grasped Anaria’s dark silky tresses and yanked hard on her hair. With her head forced upward, he drilled her with frightening speed, his cock slamming into her wet folds again and again. She seemed to let out an incoherent moan, part protest, part surrender to lust. Then he bellowed as his climax took him, his body flush against Anaria’s backside, and the teenage girl squealed as he pulled harder on her hair in the throes of his bliss, emptying his balls in a delirium of joy. Anaria’s mother would never forget the sight of her daughter’s captor consummating his rape. Soon after, he withdrew from her and stood back up, relishing his handiwork. The harsh gladiator now looked down at Anaria as she kept panting while kneeling on all fours. His gaze seemed to linger on the girl’s pussy, watching his jism leak out of her in the aftermath of his conquest. To Phaeka’s horror, she too could see the long, copious streams trickle from her daughter’s sex to pool on the red-clay earth. There was no way any proper Imperium family would want Anaria as a bride for their son now… no, no, she had been permanently soiled. Tears welled in Phaeka’s eyes.
Meanwhile, Gorlann rested a hand on the smooth curve of Anaria’s right ass cheek.
“You are an excellent fuck, princess. I think you enjoyed yourself a little there too. Hopefully you will learn other skills to make you useful to the war band. Come. You can show us where in your parents’ villa we can find the best food and drink, and any possible hidden valuables to trade.” He pulled the girl roughly to her feet. Then, with a loud smack on her ass, he shoved her forward. “Lead the way, cunt. Do not tarry. I want to be out of this accursed place by nightfall.” The next words out of Anaria’s mouth broke Phaeka’s heart. The young woman turned toward the looming gladiator.
“Please, Sir, m-may I put my clothes back on?”
SMACK! The gladiator’s slap was deafening. Fortunately it sounded worse than it was; much like the slap Phaeka had endured earlier, this was a blow to show dominance rather than to harm. Still, Anaria clutched her stinging cheek.
“I have just agreed to spare the lives of you and your family and already you think to make demands of me, slut? No. You will not wear clothes – not until you earn them. You earn them by doing what I say, by fucking any of my men who show an interest in you, and by aiding in our cause to bring down your entire spoiled-brat race. The Imperium will fall, and you will help, in your own small way, to make that a reality. That is ALL that matters now. Your clothes are of no concern to me. Now start walking!”
Phaeka watched her nude daughter meekly walk toward their family villa. Gorlann followed closely behind, his sated, now semi-firm cock still glistening with the fluids from Anaria’s sex. Phaeka abruptly found herself unable to resist staring at the ridiculous length and girth of Gorlann’s prodigious manhood until the gladiator walked out of view.
“Are you jealous of your daughter?” Phaeka was startled at the closeness of Wulfkar’s voice. She had been so preoccupied with her daughter that she had temporarily forgotten about her own plight. “A lesser man might take umbrage, Mama-cunt. Are you envious that your daughter got her pussy reamed out by a larger cock? Was mine not good enough for you?”
“No, Sir!” Phaeka said quickly. “Please, it was good enough for me. I swear!” Wulfkar’s manhood was still nestled inside her sex, slowly softening. He shifted. He slid out of her, then watched as the thin, pearly-white stream of cum slid down to Phaeka’s ass crack.
“Good answer, bitch, but I’m not entirely convinced. I think you need another experience to help you appreciate the comparatively gentle fucking I just gave you. Nothing like a little adversity to make a whore appreciate her place.” Wulfkar’s gaze swiveled, now focusing in on Phaeka’s poor husband. Lord Kaelon stood naked and still tied to a tree trunk. He looked miserable, but there was a telltale trace of something else. Shame burned on his cheeks, and his cock… it was as hard and stiff as the tree trunk the gladiators had tied him to.
“Come, noble lady,” Wulfkar said mockingly, “I have an idea.” He reached out his hand like a gentleman, but the dark smirk on his face unsettled her. Slowly Phaeka sat up, took his hand, and let him help her down from the table. In the background she could hear the occasional scream or shout. Other noble families holed up in their villas were now having those villas broken into and raided. Those families were now experiencing much what Phaeka’s family now endured. She shuddered, feeling sympathy for them. But there was very little time to mourn their loss, for she had her own losses and horrors to face.
Wulfkar dragged Phaeka by the hair over to her bound husband. Lord Kaelon was not a typical man. He served as an aide to one of the senators in the Prythian capitol, Caeleph. His fine cheekbones, thin reedy voice, and narrow eyes all accentuated a sense of delicacy rather than the warrior-class of which his heritage had long boasted. Kaelon’s family had been furious with him for choosing to marry Phaeka, who had come from a more modest mercantile family. The match was deemed lopsided, but Kaelon was too smitten with her to care. He and Phaeka had had a beautiful baby girl together when she was quite young – only 16 years of age – and they had never looked back with any regret. Never, though, in a hundred years did Phaeka think that their journey together would lead to this moment, this awful, nightmarish moment.
Phaeka met her husband’s stricken look, her own eyes just as fearful.
“Well, well. It looks like your man got hard watching the show you and your precious daughter put on together. I bet he’s yearning for some relief. Just to show you I can be merciful, I think I’ll let you provide it. Go ahead. Suck your husband’s cock.”
Phaeka gaped. She looked up at the scar-faced gladiator. He had a livid, angry cut that ran down his left cheek like a canyon of sandstone. “P-please, let us go and take everything you want. You can have our villa and everything in it. Just please let us take our daughter and go, let us –”
Wulfkar ignored her and walked away. He proceeded to retrieve his knife from among his flung-off weapons, clothing, and armor, and then strode back up to the tree. He pointed the knife at Kaelon’s erect manhood.
“Either you suck it off or I cut it off. Which will it be?”
The color drained from Phaeka’s face. Although Gorlann had promised her daughter that he would spare their lives, Phaeka didn’t know how strong of a control the leader had over his men, and she certainly had no desire to risk this one’s ire. The beautiful woman knelt. She looked up at her beloved husband. ‘I’m so sorry,’ her eyes spoke to him, the tears blurring her vision as she took the tip of his shaft between her lips. Soon she had a rhythm going, her head bobbing sedately yet steadily, sucking the shaft of the helpless man she loved. She tightened the seal of her mouth, bobbing lower and lower, ever so gradually, until her tongue cradled the base of his cock as she slurped loudly and tenderly on his straining erection.
Lord Kaelon’s face was scrunched up in the agony of pent-up release. He clearly had no desire to come in these brutal circumstances, but nature and the body’s instincts had a way of overriding the wishes of the mind. Phaeka tasted her husband’s pre-cum on her tongue. She knew how very close he was to losing control. Her hands stroked his stomach and abdomen as she lovingly brought him toward rapture.
Yet before she could, she heard the crunch of many feet. Many, many pairs of feet. There was a shout, and then a murmur of voices.
“Hey Arena-scrapper, you think you can hoard all the prettiest ones to yourself?” The voice was thick, accented. It was a slave’s voice. A Xokothi’s. He was clearly addressing Wulfkar. Phaeka slowly withdrew her mouth, wiped away the pre-cum dangling at her lips, and turned around. What she saw made her stiffen. There were at least 14 men in the group that now approached. These were dark-skinned Xokothi, all with eyes of fierce intelligence. The Xokothi had been bred to be accountants, bookkeepers, treasury clerks – the bureaucrats who helped the machinery of the Empire run smoothly. But the Xokothi were also naturally strong and physically fit, only slightly less so than the Prythians from the old days of the Empire’s founding, before the Imperium had grown soft.
Phaeka saw that the gang of slaves had a girl with them. She looked to be Anaria’s age. She had a face more delicately-boned and innocent than Anaria’s. She had long, dark hair, more deep brown than black, and she stood exceedingly slender, with a petite body more similar to Phaeka’s than to Anaria’s. Her eyes were the same deep-brown-to-black as her hair, and the tint of her skin was darker than a typical Prythian’s but much fairer than a Xokothi slave’s. With a start, Phaeka recognized the girl.
It was Shinatri. It was Anaria’s best friend, and yet the girl was hardly recognizable right now. She was naked. Her wildly disheveled hair, minor cuts to her face and arms, and the slight bruise growing on her right cheek all spoke of rough handling. The slaves had bound her wrists in front of her with rawhide. One of them idly fondled and groped her supple breasts. Her eyes looked straight ahead, deadened almost, or like one looking from beyond a dream.
“This little beauty has taken all 14 of our cocks up her cunt. She’s all used up. I suppose we will keep her around to pass around the campfire later, but now we need fresh pussy. Yours still looks fresh to me,” the lead Xokothi added pointedly. Wulfkar’s broad face remained taciturn and unreadable. He adjusted his grip along the hilt of his knife.
“I’m busy, as you can see. Why don’t you run along and find someone not yet claimed?” Wulfkar rumbled. “The only beauty I have which I am willing to let you sample is the one in my hand,” the gladiator added sharply, his knife glinting in the sunlight.
Phaeka held her breath. The tension in the air was thick enough to be sliceable.
“You Arena-maggots are all the same,” the Xokothi slave leader spat back. “You claim you want to do away with the Imperium, to build some new and equal society, but you look down on us just as the Imperium always has. And the proof, ah, now the proof is right here before us. You refuse to share your bounty with us. You could prove us wrong, you know. We are happy to share our booty,” the Xokothi offered. He curled his arm around Shinatri’s shoulders, caressing her with deceptive tenderness. “She’s truly exquisite, is she not? Why don’t we trade? You share your prize and we’ll share ours.”
Wulfkar grunted, unimpressed.
“Your ‘prize’ needs some rest and a good bath. I said it once and I’ll say it again. Leave me to my spoils. Go find your own or taste cold steel. You Xokothi are all the same. You think that all property should be shared. Some things are not for sharing,” he finished, and as he said this he put his hand possessively on top of Phaeka’s head. He stroked her hair, petting her like a dog as she knelt there, frozen, waiting for violence to erupt.
The Xokothi leader grinned. He was handsome despite his gap-toothed smile. He abruptly pinched Shinatri’s nipples, making the girl yelp before he shoved her into the arms of one of his followers. “Hold onto the little bitch while I deal with this stubborn ox.” The slave leader’s nearest companion immediately cupped Shinatri’s perky tits and resumed caressing them. Meanwhile, the confrontational Xokothi drew out a knife of his own and turned back to Wulfkar.
“Ah, I see how it is. You want to play hard to get. We can do that, Arena-scrapper. These Imperium haven’t put up much of a fight lately anyway. Perhaps you can help me practice my knife skills.” As he said this he began to advance. With each approaching step, Phaeka felt rising hope. In the midst of the fight, with all the men’s attentions distracted, could she untie her husband and get him out of here? As the gladiator and the Xokothi began to circle, blades in hand, Phaeka felt the tiniest glimmer of opportunity emerging at last.