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Twigs snapped under her feet. She was raspy with panted breath. Panic gripped Agya, an animal fear that sent her pell-mell into the trees. Bracken pulled and tore at her fine, silken dress. Her ceremonial staff was discarded, left behind to aid in her flight. The clash of metal and cries of the dying followed her into the trees, but were left behind now; all she had for company was her fear, her heavy breathing.

She was a young thing; a priestess; or, so she fashioned herself. A trainee, really, little more than a scribe with a future. Or that was what she was, in the kingdom's ivory city, within the gleaming walls and under the shade of the proud spires. Out here, in the wilderness, she was a terrified animal; the young pantheress little more than terrified prey.

She heard them. Some instinct told her to dart this way, then that. To try and put the trees between her and the wild things that chased her. They would love this, she grimly thought, in what was left of her rational mind. This chase. This hunt. She hoped that their aim was true if they found her. She never much contemplated death; she knew she would ride in the celestial chariots with her gods and goddesses, but knew that it was possible a great deal of pain waited for her between then and now. If only they shot true, their arrows would send her spirit to the sky as gently as a blink, and not shrieking and clutching at her body as her now-dead guards had done.

Their aim ended up being very true, but it was not an arrow that caught her. The bolo struck her front ankle and soon her legs were cinched tight by the heavy roped balls; the entanglement snapped her legs together and she yelped, falling clumsily into the heavy brush. Something sturdy and sharp jabbed her in the ribs and she found it hard to breathe. True panic gripped her, all thinking ceased. She half-sobbed, half-screamed as she tried to crawl her way through the bushes. She didn't even make it five feet.

Hands grabbed her, dragging her back; she heard laughter. Her arms were grabbed; she looked back at them and there they were; the wild ones. Dark-furred panthers, like her, but totally unlike her all the same. They were not cultured, not from the cities; exiles, criminals, and wild men. Tribals. Their fur was not glossy, like hers, but marked all over by scars old and new, their bodies wiry and muscular. Their work was swift; her arms grabbed and sharply pulled behind her; bound. Her head grabbed, her begging silences as something wooden was pushed into her mouth, and then somehow secured there. She gagged on the heavy stick, her attempts to bite through it only earning her sore teeth. Then, the world went dark, a blindfold tied over her eyes...

They spoke to each other in a strange language, one in every twenty words even vaguely understood. Her arms were grabbed, then her legs; she could hear at least three of them. Her desperate pleas turned to muffled animal grunts and moans as the gag choked off anything resembling intelligent speech. She was hoisted up off the ground and felt herself being carried; the ease with which she was handled was entirely disconcerting, the pantheress priest wailing into her gag, twisting and fighting pointlessly against the wrist and ankle bindings, blind to the world and utterly under these tribals' control.

In a dark world, she was carried. She didn't know how far. Eventually, they came to a larger party of these tribals; hunters, perhaps, or warriors. Impossible for her to tell. Her mewling was ignored until it was apparently annoying, a fist to her gut silencing her for a good long while. Eventually, a rope was tied around her neck, and a momentary horror at the prospect of a lynching was replaced with the cold dread of her ankle bindings being released, just in time for a tug at the rope to lead her walking, or more stumbling, after her leader. With her eyes blinded, her wrists tied, it was slow going. She tripped over every root and branch; every stumble and fall annoyed her captors, who only urged her on harder.

On and on they walked. Hours, surely, passed by. Her legs burned, her feet were sore beyond her reckoning. At some point she was stopped with the party, forced to her knees, head pulled back by her black mane of hair. The gag was removed; she immediately tried to beg, but only managed to choke and gag as water was poured down her throat. A couple words barked at her got the idea through; drink, don't talk. She drank. As soon as the flow was complete, she was gagged, and on they went through the forest.

She could smell and hear the village as they approached. Hundreds of voices, big and small, as well as the smell of cookfires, fresh food, latrines, spices, and the rest of modest civilization's nasal miasma. By the time she was pulled past the boundaries of the forest and her feet were padding on soft tramped-down dirt, she was all but falling over in exhaustion. Whatever fight could have existed in her body had first been chased, then marched, out of her.

She could hear voices around her. A crowd, maybe. Her sad, panicked whimpers were flatly ignored as she was marched further into the camp before coming to a sudden stop. Loops of rope were tied to her ankles, her legs pulled apart and secured. She had a group of males around her; she knew from the strong hands that grabbed her arms and held them steady as her bindings were undone, only for her arms to be pulled up and away from her. Her wrists were re-tied to what felt like poles on either side of her, leaving her standing in a spread-eagle 'X'.

Her heart was racing. Her tail lashed behind her. She chewed on the bit in her mouth, and when a hand slapped her rump with a stinging crack, she jerked and squealed in pained surprise. She heard more activity around her; voices, young and old, male and female. She didn't understand a word of the language but knew it from the cadence. These were the savage people. The ones who still lived in the frontiers in thatch-roof huts, the wandering tribes. Terror gripped her. Was she to be sacrificed? Tortured? Why had they left her alive from her traveling party, when all others had been killed.

A hand grabbed her blindfold and pulled it away, and many questions were answered.

She was tied to a pair of poles by her ankles and wrists, leaving her standing helplessly in front of the crowd. They were tribal people; barely clothed, the females with their chests exposed, crotches barely kept modest by loincloths. The youngest wore nothing regardless of gender, hovering near the legs of their mothers or orbiting the periphery, trying to get a good look. In front of her was a nude, huge male sitting on a wicker throne, reclining with his chin on his fist, regarding her with cool, dispassionate eyes. He wore a large headdress of colorful feathers and long reeds, interlaced with glass and gemstone beads that sparkled in the sun. His legs were spread and Agya's face burned when she glanced between them. She was not *entirely* unused to seeing a male's member, but this panther's maleness was thick and heavy, laying over a pair of thick round balls. The brazen nature of his exposure shamed and intimidated her, and she tore her eyes away.

More terrifying was the sight of the many females at his feet. Five of them, and she knew to look at them that they were not tribal-born; their peoples had been separated by enough generations that the savage panthers had an entirely different look to them, and she knew these females were like herself; civilization-born. They too were stark naked, kneeling or lying at the feet of what she assumed was the chief. Their only clothing were simple collars they wore around their necks; two were noticeably pregnant, and a third was likely on her way.

"I speak your tongue," the patriarch said, shocking Agya into focusing her attention back on him. "Few here do. You will listen, and obey." He turned his attention to the side and gestured, uttering a few words in their language. A pair of young males approached Agya, small daggers in their hands. She shrieked into her gag and thrashed in her bindings, but only succeeded in acquiring minor rope burns. The males stepped to either side of her and began cutting her dress. She looked at them wide-eyed as they first sliced along her sleeves, taking care not to thoroughly ruin the fabric as they split it down along the seams with their knives, peeling strips away until her sleeved were entirely gone. She panted with panicked breath as they then sliced from her collar to her shoulders. One of the males backed away, and the second used the dagger to slice all the way down the front of what remained of her garment. Agya's pitiful whining was ignored.

A hand from behind her then took her clothing and yanked hard. Agya's face burned as her dress was ripped away from her, leaving her standing in all that remained; a light wrap of smallclothes covering her sex and rump. Her bare chest was exposed, a pair of perky, youthful tits; round and tight, with just enough bounce for any male to appreciate. Her fur was sleek, well-bathed and maintained; in the sun she almost shined. Glossy and black as the night, her body's curves were highlighted by the shimmering reflection of the sun's harsh rays. The chief stood from his wicker throne, his heavy cock shifting over his nuts as he moved. She stared at this Adonis of a male, looming and imposing and exuding masculine power, approached her own light, curvy, helplessly bound feminine form. She stared up at him with wide, terrified eyes. He stared at her with pitiless scrutiny.

"You will be my slave girl, like the others," he said, gesturing to the collared females still kneeling by his throne. You will serve my pleasures and bare me strong warrior sons." Agya shook her head, tears streaming down her face. The chief nodded seeing this and went on: "You will resist. It does not matter. You will be broken, as all are broken, and serve, as all serve." With barely any effort, he took hold of her smallclothes and pulled them apart, tearing them from her waist and groin. Her entire body shivered and she looked down and away, closing her eyes tightly as she was stripped naked in front of all these people. With her legs bound apart, there was no hope of retaining any modesty whatsoever. Her smooth young pussy was on display, her firm, rounded rump exposed to call; her tail clamped down over the crack of her ass, but that did nothing to hide her youthful curves, or cover how firm and round her backside was.

The chief felt her chest with each hand, making Agya whimper into her gag as she felt his hands on her tits, groping and stroking them. His thumbs slid over her nipples and they responded; his grunt sounded approving. Then he grabbed her between the legs, making her squeal as his fingers traced the lips of her cunny. "Virgin?" he asked. When she didn't respond, he let her feel his claws down there, shocking her to attention. "Virgin?" he asked again, and this time received a shamed nod.

He next moved behind her. His hand gripped her tail and yanked it up; Agya moaned in shame as her ass was fully exposed. He clapped a hand first over one rump cheek, then the other, stroking and feeling her back there. "A fine ass," he said, before letting his fingers slide into the crack of her rump. He teased her pussy from behind, before finding her tailhole and sliding a single digit over it. By the way she clenched it suddenly and jerked in her bindings, he knew without having to ask that she was virgin there, too.

He suddenly grabbed her from behind, his hands each taking hold of her tits while he pressed himself against her naked rump. He growled into her ear, making her legs quiver. "I will taste every bit of you," he snarled, "and you will grow thick with my offspring, slave whore." She rapidly shook her head at his dark promise, and for the first time, he cracked something like a smile, chuckling into her ear. "You no longer get choices, female." One of his hands slipped between her legs, once again groping her naked pussy. "You are my pet, and will learn to obey."

He stepped away from her and barked a few orders. A pair of male warriors stepped forward, carrying objects she recognized very well; flags bearing the emblem of her religion. Amatoph's Rising Sun. The bright yellow design on the silky green flags was a familiar bastion in this world of foreign terror, and her eyes tracked them as they were brought in front of her. Two were laid a distance in front of her, and one was placed on the ground between her spread legs. The chief folded his arms and said, "Make water on it."

The request was utterly preposterous. That was the symbol of her god, a god she served as *priestess*! It was an impossible request. She stared at him and shook her head desperately. She mewled into the gag. No! No, she couldn't!

The chief snapped his claws and two of the slaves came forward, their eyes downcast. One, and then the other, stood over the other two flags and then dropped into low squats. Knees bent and spread apart, Agya watched in shameful horror as the two females started pissing immediately, their golden streams soiling and disgracing the Amatoph's dazzling flags beneath them.

"They, too, served your false god," the chief snarled. "Now they serve me. You will serve. Obey." When Agya shook her head at him again, tears in her eyes and begging him unintelligibly through the gag, he nodded and made another gesture. "You will learn," he said, moving to sit back down in his throne.

There was a sharp whistle behind her, and a lashing pain against her back. Agya wailed, eyes wide and staring at the sky, her teeth digging into the gag. She turned her head a little, but couldn't exactly make out what was happening behind her. Someone had whipped her! She looked back at the chief and saw his expectant gaze. She shivered, glancing away, and did nothing; another painful lash was her reward.

All around her, she heard a song be taken up by the crowd. Drums were tapped in rhythm and voiced rose in merry melody as she screamed into the gag, another lash, then another, striking her on the back. She fought the restraints again, her naked body thrashing uselessly as more lashed fell against her. She'd never been struck before, not like this, and the pain was incredible. She begged the chief with her eyes. He merely flicked his gaze at the flag on the ground between her legs, then back to her expectantly. When she shook her head, another lash fell against her.

They focused on her back, making the helpless female writhe and scream. Then, blows landed against her rump. A hand grabbed her tail and pulled it away as the talented torturer managed to land a few blows right against her backside, even sneaking one or two between the twin globes of her ass. Then, against the back of her legs, making her thighs shake and quiver. She was fully sobbing, having screamed herself nearly hoarse. She knew this wasn't going to end. They'd lash her until she passed out... and would likely only wake her up for more. She knew there was one way to make it stop.

The crowd's song turned to laughter and cheering as Agya managed to get her shaking body to obey her; from her exposed pussy flowed a healthy golden stream, the priestess pissing openly on the flag of her god and faith. Tears dripped down to mix with her urine. At least the lashing stopped...

When she was finished, she could feel her arms and legs being untied. The flag was dragged away. She was left standing alone and stark naked, the warm feeling of blood droplets trickling down her back. She was shaking, still gagged. When her hand tentatively reached up to fiddle with her gag, a slap on her too-sore rump made her raspily shriek, and her hand dropped back down.

The chief said, "Approach me." Unsteadily, she obeyed. Step by step she approached his throne, until he stopped her with a lifted hand, and then pointed at his feet. "Kneel." She sobbed gently as she obeyed this command, too. She fell to her knees in front of his large male; he smelled musky and wild. He reached forward and deftly undid her gag, pulling it away.

"Please-" she began before a slap jerked her face to the side. He'd struck her!

"The bitch's mouth," he said, "if for serving her master and eating food. Nothing more, and only when commanded. You speak when spoken to. Understand?"

"I-"

Another slap, across the other cheek. She cowered, looking up at him, and his stern gaze bored into her. "Understand?"

"Y-yes..."

"You say 'master' when you speak to me."

She swallowed. "Y-yes, master..."

He leaned back in his chair. His legs were parted, his fat cock thickening between them. She stared at it in fear. He pointed. "Make me hard."

Wary of the lash, she knew she would have to act quickly. She leaned in close; his penis was thicker than any male's she'd ever seen. She reached out and touched him. He was warm, hot even, and his cock moved in her hands when she touched it; growing fatter, and longer. She could hear him start to groan, growing impatient already! She shivered and worked faster, grabbing his length in both hands and stroking him.

"You are not milking a cow," he scolded her. "Use tongue. Cup my balls. Worship it as your new god."

She obeyed him, leaning in. Reluctantly at first, she touched her tongue to his member, taking in his musky scent. Her tongue dragged up the length of him, her other hand finding his heavy nuts and stroking them; feeling a male's testicles for the first time. This at least seemed to please him, and she was left to her task as he turned his attention to the crowd, addressing them. A few of the things he said drew cheers. She could feel his body's small movements through his cock and balls, his member thickening under her attention. He reached down and grabbed her by the head, forcing her mouth over the tip of his cock; she could see the fleshy spines under the spongy, swollen head. "Lift your tail to them," he commanded. With a hot face, her tail slowly lifted before the crowd. "Good," he growled, pushing her mouth down over his cock. She gagged almost immediately, her eyes wide as she swallowed the first few inches of his length, but he didn't stop...

Soon his hand on the back of her head had her bobbing up and down on his length. She gagged, again and again, but soon learned that if she wanted to breathe, she'd need to figure it out on her own. At one point he pulled her off his length to give her a light slap across the mouth, reminding her that he had balls for her to pay attention to. Soon she was back to bobbing her mouth on his thick, hard length, only now her hand was fondling his testicles as she was forced to suck her new master's cock.

When his speech was ended and his people were roaring their approval, he pulled her mouth from his member, leaving her to gasp and pant for breath, a string of his salty pre connecting her mouth to his cock. He stood, pulling her forward along with him as he stepped more towards the center of the open area. He threw her to the ground in front of him, standing over her with a hard, throbbing cock casting a shadow over her naked, vulnerable body.

"Get on your hands and knees and present to me, cunt." She knew better than to expect leniency. She scrambled to her hands and knees, facing away from him. Tears fell to the dirt in front of her nose as she lifted her rump and flicked her tail up over her back. Her smooth, glossy-black pussy lips were fully exposed to him, as well as the light-pink star of her virgin tailhole. He mounted her like a wild beast, dropping not to his own knees but instead squatting behind her on the balls of his feet, his thick cock slapping down to rest between the ample cheeks of her youthful ass. He reached down and looped something around her neck; a thick leather collar, with two steel rings set in the front and back; something his people had clearly looted.

"Slave, now," he announced to her as he tightened the collar around her neck; the former priestess sobbed at the feeling, knowing her freedom was completely stripped from her, along with her clothing and dignity. Then, cuffs were attached to her wrists. He pulled her arms up behind her, making her cry out in discomfort. He crossed her wrists under the back of her neck between her shoulder blades; then, using a rope, he tied them together, and then to the ring in the back of her collar. Her arms were entirely helpless, and the posture forced her to keep her chest sticking out. All the while, he stroked his cock between her ass cheeks to keep himself hard and ready for the rape that was to come.

He grabbed her by the head, steadying her with her body horizontal to the ground, her ass sticking out, tail up; bound and helpless. She looked to the crowd; many males had erections, either tenting their loincloths or brazenly on display. A few of the females had slipped into their own subservient roles, dropping to their knees to suck the cocks of their warriors and hunters. Agya whimpered as she felt her master adjust behind her, the head of his thick cock slipping down to tease at the opening of her virgin cunt. In her mind, she offered a brief prayer; perhaps her god would show mercy...

... Or not, as her master's cock thrust deep inside her. She shrieked as her virginity was torn from her; virgin walls pushed apart and fresh pussy stuffed full of over-large male cock. Worse still was his groan of satisfaction, knowing that her tight body was bringing him sublime pleasure, whatever her own feelings might be.

Her tits rocked back and forth during the rape that followed. It was a straightforward fucking; not anything resembling lovemaking, but a point communicated through the collision of yielding flesh. He rutted her like a beast, his balls rocking in time with her tits, her ass jiggling every time his muscular hips slapped against them. The whipping from earlier had stolen her voice from her, and so she could only mewl and offer raspy cries as she was fucked hard in front of the tribe, her new role made obvious to one and all. His muscular ass clenched, his tail flicking back and forth as he pulled her into his thrusts with hands on her hip and hair, making the slave priestess arch her back as she was pounded. Both of their mouths were wide open; his in a harsh mating snarl, her's in a silent wail. Now and then he would slap her whip-marked rump, or pull on her hair, in case she could ever forget who was truly in control.

Her young pussy struggled to handle his experienced, full-grown cock. His tip punched against her unyielding cervix. Her body twisted and shook in his grip, helpless and being claimed. Moaning pitifully, she felt her old world slip away; the comforts and safety of civilization, the protections of cold steel and high walls. Out here she was prey, helpless and dominated, mounted and fucked and enslaved.

When he came, it was with a thunderous roar she would never forget. How his claws dug into her flesh, how hard he thrust his cock deep inside her gently bleeding pussy. Her own yowl of despair and loss as she was utterly claimed. The feeling of cum being ejaculated inside her, in such quantities that she was leaking him before he'd even pulled out of her.

His grip on her hair never left her, even as he pulled out and stood up. She knelt there, bound and leaking cum. He pulled her around to face him; still on her knees, the tip of his cum-slickened cock bumped against her nose. A look from him told her all she needed to know. She opened her mouth...

Soft gurgles and gagging sounds were all that came from her as he spoke again to his own people. It seemed that was the last of the 'show' - she could already hear them as the crowd dispersed, many of them likely retiring to spend their lusts on each other, after such an erotic display. She was given no time to ponder it, as she was struggling with handling the cock her master was feeding her; the rich taste of copper adding to the salty tang of his semen. His balls occasionally tapped her chin as she was forced to messily suck him off, the dominant male standing there in the open, his hand on her head, the other resting on his hip, fucking the young priestess' face.

Never would she forget the helplessness. The complete feeling of loss and defeat. The struggle to breathe as he, again and again, claimed her throat for himself, allowing her to breathe only when he deemed it necessary, depriving her of any freedoms at all. When he came again, he ordered her to stare up at him as she was made to drink his seed; she would forever remember the look in his eyes as she swallowed his thick ropes of cum. The ferocity, the ownership, the dominance...

She lost her last virginity just that night. He'd had her watered, fed, and cleaned. She was re-bound, arms helplessly wrapped together behind her, tail bound to the back of her collar, leg's belted together. She was bent over a table; the other slaves were made to oil up her tailhole and her master's cock. Her begging for mercy annoyed her master; she was thoroughly spanked until she was weeping, then re-gagged with the bit from before. Oiled up and helpless, she couldn't even struggle as her master mounted her from behind, the other slaves watching dispassionately as Agya wailed into the gag. Even with the oil, her anus was not ready; he pressed himself on anyway, and soon was sheathed fully inside her tailhole.

The sodomy took three times as long as her rape earlier. He took his time, slowly fucking his new slave up the ass, exploring her body at his leisure. More than once he would stop to re-apply the oil. Agya could only moan and, after a while, pant silently as her ass was fucked into submission. She barely noticed when he came...

***

Rescue never came.

She learned quickly that her master was the only one who would speak to her. The tribes-people did not speak her language or seem to have any interest in acknowledging her as anything more than their patriarch's toy and breeding sow. The other slaves could speak as well, but were thoroughly broken, not one of them daring to talk to her, or each other.

She soon learned the routine. In the morning, the non-pregnant females would urinate in front of their Chief, who Agya only ever knew as 'master'. This, she was told, was to see if anyone was going into heat. For the first few weeks, none were, and Agya absorbed the majority of her new master's attentions. She would suck his cock at least once per day and was likely to be mounted once a day if not twice. Her pussy and tailhole were both frequently stretched by his cock, his whimsy determining which at any particular moment.

She was leashed, and in the presence of her master at almost all times. She was well fed, bathed frequently, and exercised with simple running or aerobic activity; her master explained this was to keep her shapely and appealing to him. She could feel the jealousy of the tribe females; despite her position, she did very little work, and yet ate the same servings as her master, as did the other slaves.

Only once did she attempt to escape. She learned just how efficient the tribe's hunters were; despite her ample head start, they had no trouble finding her and dragging her back to the tribe. Her punishment was a terrible one. She was whipped all over her body, not an inch spared - with particular attention paid to her sensitive areas. Nipples, anus, vagina. She was then passed around for the sport of the males; she was facefucked and assfucked until she passed out (though never in the pussy; that belonged to her master). She was starved for days, and only when she begged until she'd nearly lost her voice was she allowed to once again enjoy the warm comforts of her master's hut. From then on, any meaningful resistance was crushed.

Months passed. Routines became normalized. Her master enjoyed morning blowjobs, and she traded off with the other slaves on the occasions her master did not choose for them. She would eat, exercise, and please her master. On occasion, they would have visitors from other tribes, and there she would be with the other slaves: collared, naked, lying supine at the feet of her master.

After a fashion, she was trained to start orgasming. Her first orgasm was while bound on the master's bed, her legs forced apart; one by one the other slaves would lick her cunny, bringing her from one guilty, writhing orgasm to the next. Then she was flipped over, her master fucking her sloppy cunt hard and deep until she was wailing in pleasure underneath him. As the days went, she was trained to enjoy sex in this way. To move her hips and give in to the master's cock. From then on, it was hard for her not to grow wet when her master would beckon for her to approach him. Hard not to moan with his cock in her mouth, or to cum when he was pounding her hard underneath him...

After a while, she stopped blushing when she would squat and make water in front of him. She would keep her tail raised, no matter who was looking. As a reward to his hunters or warriors, sometimes he would order her or the other slaves to suck their cocks; this, too, she soon grew used to. She grew used to the feeling of her tailhole stretching around his oiled member. She grew to long for his growled praising as he filled her in one hole or another...

Her master's kinks grew on her. The spanking soon became tantalizing. He would find her hands and she would grow wet between her legs. He would gag her and she would desperately present to him. Though they never spoke, she grew friendly with the other slaves; soon it felt perfectly normal for her to be kneeling in front of her master, licking his balls while his other slave bobbed on his cock; then switching, so that she was sucking his shaft and the other licking his nuts, tasting the other slave's spit on her master's slick cock. One of the females gave birth; the child, a girl, was soon handed off to a wet nurse in the tribe.

That fate was soon presented to Agya; one morning, she made water and her chief detected what she already knew. He dragged her into his hut and for the following week, she was the sole target of his lusts. She had the wildest sex of her life. She was a cat in heat, yowling under her dominant tom as he bred her, over and over. Her former life as a priestess seemed as alien and distant as the moon, as her master's hand pulled on her hair, filling his orgasming slave for the fifth time that day.

She grew heavy. His attentions turned more loving, more sensual. When she sucked his cock, she did so slower, more passionately. When he fucked her pussy or ass, it was with languid thrusts, with a tight loving embrace. Many months later, when she birthed the young male cub, her tears were dried by her loving master, and she believed him when he explained it was the way it had to be.

***

Five years passed.

The tribe had moved a few times. The slave formerly known as Agya awoke in her master's hut, alone save for him; the other slaves had been sold off, others had come and gone, but he'd kept her. Though they were both older, she had matured into a fine, healthy female; he had grown only slightly more aged, his body still thick and powerful. She gazed at him from her mat on the floor; sometimes she shared his bed, other nights not. It was her master's choice, not her's. He was sleeping on his back, and her eyes darted immediately to his morning erection.

She climbed onto his bed, dipping her head to his groin. She gently fondled his balls as her mouth took him in; a taste more familiar to her now than any in the world. Her gag reflex had long since been beaten into complete submission, and she was able to easily take him down to his root. He grew thicker and harder in her mouth, and she moaned as she started bobbing her head on him, oblivious to all the world aside from his wonderful cock.

At some point he must have woken, as his hand came down on the back of her head; she surrendered to his touch, and he moved her head up and down his length. He took his time, and she serviced him for as long as he wished. When finally he snarled and rewarded her with his morning load, she gulped it down without a thought and without an effort. By now, such things were as routine as the rising sun.

She'd given him three healthy boys. She saw them now and then, growing up strong; they would make fine warriors. She would give him more. Her mouth pulled off his cock when he allowed her, and she gave him a show of swallowing the last of his load. He playfully slapped her rump, and she darted off his bed to allow him room to wake up. Hands on her knees, eyes on the floor, she awaited her master's command.

"Come, slave," was all he said, walking to the entrance of his hut. She scrambled to follow him. He led her to the back and into the brush a ways. He stopped with his hands on his hips and emptied his bladder. She waited for him to finish. Without having to be told, she moved in front of him and cleaned him when he was done. Then, she stepped away, squatted down, and made water in front of him.

A moment passed as the sound of trickling water carried. "You're in season again," he remarked. She nodded. "Do you remember how I first claimed you?" he asked. She nodded again. "Fetch your cuffs."

She scrambled back into the hut, searching for and finding the gear he was speaking about. When she emerged into the morning sun, he was standing there in front of the hut, waiting for her, hard and ready. She was almost leaking down the insides of her legs by the time she reached him, tail flicking excitedly.

He tied her hand together, crossed between her shoulder blades. He forced her gag into her mouth. She was pushed to her knees, and she arched her back, lifting her rump, and flicking her tail up and away.

A young boy watched from near a cookfire as the slave was mounted, her passionate yowling filling the air. She saw him looking; likely unaware his father was making him a new brother. The slave's body rocked with her master's rough thrusting, her pussy spurting clear lubricant from around their joining. She turned her head to the other way, and saw the sun rising over the horizon. It was a familiar image; though she could not recall how. Her master pulled her head back; all she saw was the sky, and she came.