Willow Sears - Witch Hunter

He released the slaves so that three could get on their knees and use their mouths to keep the other three hard. They all knew better than to coax an ejaculation. Doing so would lead to humiliating and most likely painful punishments. The sight of them going about their expert business was enough to ensure his prick was fully engorged when he released it. He so often fucked like this, with his chest bare, his black riding boots and animal-hide britches still in place, his cock and balls unleashed from the buttoned fly. He liked the way the still-fastened leggings framed his huge manhood, the dark background making it stand out even more. He liked how his tanned torso looked so sleek and firm under its sheen of sweat, particularly in the flickering light of a fire. And he specially liked the way that leaving his lower half covered made it all seem so impersonal, so full of urgency and free of tenderness.

He already had his hair tied back. Sometimes, if he was having a prolonged, wild fuck, he would free it from the band for effect, letting it drop back to his shoulders. His hair was jet-black and glossy, only slightly oily in appearance. It parted at the front to leave his large expanse of forehead bare, and flowed down either side of his face, framing it like curtains. Along with the goatee it created a swashbuckling look that pleased him. It was a good thick thatch for someone in his early forties and quite a change from what he was used to.

Until fairly recently he had been completely bald. He had been that way since his last days at university, when he had shaved it to mimic the Kurgan in his last, most frightening incarnation. It made him look brutish and ugly, especially with his cold eyes – but it made him feel even more powerful. People could barely stand in his presence; they all cowered around him. He realised his bald head, bony and white as a polished skull, was as good a calling card as any. His eyes were what had always marked him out but their effect was almost too shocking. They wouldn’t allow him to survive an identity parade. They needed to be used only when necessary, revealed at critical moments so as to have the same withering effect on his adversaries as if he had pulled out a gun.

He first shaved his head on the day he was ejected from university. He had celebrated his new look by punching a tutor to the ground for awarding a low mark to an essay he had put minimal effort into. He didn’t care about his expulsion. He had only gone to university to teach himself how to use his brain properly. He found that academic qualifications were just that: academic. He realised that there were better ways to make money than through kowtowing to the strictures of society. If university taught him anything it was that that the youngsters of today, and of any day, thirsted for more than knowledge. With the birth of rave culture and all-nighters, everyday youth wanted something more than a few beers down the pub. They wanted drugs, in great quantities. So he decided to make it his life’s work to give them exactly what they wanted. And he did far, far better out of it than they ever would.

Now he was safely within the confines his own realm the Ray-Bans could come off and the eyes could again be revealed to give him his full power. The way the girl regarded him showed her overwhelming desire to be put to his sword. Her eyes were fiery, wild, and her mouth was open in a wicked grin. She was in awe of all she surveyed as she busily stuffed herself with the raspberries. Some of the ooze inside her had already leaked and ran blood-red onto the cushion beneath her. He judged she was now full enough and bade her stop. He grasped his prick and moved slowly forward so that she knew what was coming. She breathed harder, gasping with the anticipation, parting her thighs even wider to welcome him in. Her fingers stayed at her crotch, ready to hold herself open to aid his penetration.

It was not his favourite position but it was the only way she could take him this first time. He guided the fat head of his prick up between her pale lips and saw an immediate trickle of her red juice upon it. As oily-wet as she was she still had to stretch herself apart as he pushed slowly forward. When the whole glans had been engulfed he steadied himself, grasping tightly under her hips to make sure she stayed exactly in position. He could feel that the mixture inside her was warm, so he knew she was ready. He then plunged inside her in one beautifully controlled thrust. It was slow at first, then built steadily into an unstoppable lunge, finishing with a loud wet slap as his balls and crotch met her soft opening.

Her wails increased as he drove into her, culminating in a shriek as he slammed home and forced the first burst of oily juice from inside her. He could feel the squash of fruit within, the tiny explosions as he filled her so suddenly and crushed the berries. He felt the splash on his belly and knew his balls would be dripping with the blood-red concoction. He saw the spatter shoot up her alabaster thighs, the oil making it cling to her skin before it gradually ran down.

He withdrew slowly so that she could witness his full length thickly covered in the gleaming claret mixture. Her eyes were wide and she was trembling with bliss. He drove home to the hilt once more. Another great splash of fruit juice shot up her inner thighs, leaving small lumps of the broken fruit upon her pristine white skin. She wasn’t just trembling now but shaking. It had to be the nastiest thing she had ever seen, and he knew she adored it.

He gave her several more thrusts until her cream started to take over and make the secretions too opaque to look like fresh blood. Then he withdrew and replaced her upon the dais. He manoeuvred her onto him and she was quick to impale herself once more, sliding down hard upon him to expel the remnants of the pulped fruit. She felt tight still, clenching his shaft as she eased herself up and down or rocked against him to press her swollen bud into his crotch. He grasped her plump bottom to aid her movements, squeezing the soft flesh as hard as possible. He hated skinny, bony arses. He hated huge, flabby arses too. They had to be just right, and this one was, which is why she had been initiated in the first place.

It was good to watch her with her head thrown back, those perky breasts bouncing up and down. He could eat those tiny, sugar-mice-pink nipples. In fact he just might. Everything about her was good enough to gulp down.

He put his arms around her and gently brought her down, arresting her bouncing movement. Her eyes had lost their fire and were glazed with ecstasy. He pulled her flat against him, still buried inside her. Her breasts squashed into him just above his belly and he could feel the hard points of her nipples pressing upon his muscle. He revelled in the fact that even tall girls like this still felt so small beside him. Her face was against his chest and she would be able to hear his heart pounding with divine passion.

She had forgotten all about the lads but now it was time to bring them into play. His hands went back down to her buttocks to squeeze them again and to ease them apart. Without even delving into her he could feel it was slippery from the oil enema that Morgana had earlier administered. He gave terse commands for the lads to stop their sucking and gather around him. They stood in a semicircle regarding her, all slowly stroking their erections and awaiting his command. He pointed to the eldest of the lads, the first he had brought under his wing.

‘You,’ was all he needed to say.

The lad climbed onto the platform and crouched down behind her. Although all the slaves were primarily there to service rather than take their own pleasure, during the various rites and orgies this lad used his seniority over the others to ensure he dealt out just as many buggerings as he received.