Babala's Correction Read online

  The others became even more intense, panting and grunting, urging their comrade on, and she could smell their growing excitement, feel the heat of their bodies. The leader sank into her and his cock was long and thick, filling her with one long thrust. Such was his need that he scarcely had time to grind into her more than three or four times before she heard him grunt his pleasure and felt him come deep inside her trussed body.

  He slumped to the side, his hairy form drenched with sweat, his chest heaving as he filled his lungs.

  ‘It’s my turn,’ another demanded eagerly, giving his leader a shove to clear the way and then throwing himself upon her helpless body as he jabbed at her with his bursting erection. ‘You’ll not escape so lightly this time,’ he grunted. ‘This time it will be slower, will last longer...’ He eased his hands beneath Babala’s buttocks and began to thrust with his scrawny hips while he suckled and drooled on her nipples, and despite his confident words he soon stiffened and groaned and Babala felt him coming too as a cock-head nudged against her lips, demanding entry to the warm delights of her mouth.

  From then on Babala’s mind blurred, until eventually her weary captors slunk away to the shadows in corners and crevices of the cave, and she could hear their muffled breathing and wheezing as they settled down to sleep.

  She must have drifted into a troubled doze herself, because after what seemed like mere minutes Huru woke her. He knelt at her side, his comfortingly large hands fumbling with the knots of the ropes that held her spread-eagled on the straw on the cave floor.

  ‘They’re all asleep,’ he whispered. ‘We must leave here quickly.’

  ‘But, how did you—?’

  ‘Escape?’ Huru grinned and showed her his wrists, raw where the ropes had cut into his flesh. ‘Brute strength; it comes in handy sometimes.’

  ‘Oh, poor Huru,’ said Babala, taking first one hand and then the other and gently kissing the sore wounds.

  ‘Enough - we must go,’ he whispered urgently. ‘Before these little fiends wake up. Having taken their pleasure of you they will make no bones about carrying out Maxim’s orders.’

  ‘Maxim’s orders?’

  ‘They have orders to kill you,’ he said, sweeping Babala up into his arms and stooping to make his way from the oppressive dungeon of a cave. ‘And then me.’

  Shivering with fear and cold Babala felt a little better to be again snuggled close to the big man’s chest. ‘Where shall we go now?’ she asked timorously. There seemed to be nowhere safe for them.

  ‘You need rest,’ said Huru. ‘There is a woodcutter’s hut I know deep in the forest. We’ll get some rest there.’

  Soon they reached the forest, which was forebodingly dark and quiet despite the creeping dawn. Not even the birds were waking, but eventually they reached a tiny clearing and there was a small hut made of logs, roughly cut. Grey smoke trailed up lazily from a stone chimney.

  The door opened almost immediately upon Huru’s knock. The man who opened it looked genial and kindly enough, but Babala noticed how his eyes glinted as he drank in her beauty.

  ‘Huru,’ he greeted, his unsettling eyes not leaving her. ‘You’ve been given leave from the castle? About time - come in.’ He stood aside to allow Huru and his precious companion entrance, licking his lips with intent as she was brushed past him.

  ‘No leave, Maro,’ Huru said ruefully. ‘I left and brought this angel with me.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Maro, looking uneasy about the newcomer’s announcement. ‘A whore, is she? From Maxim’s seraglio?’

  ‘Not a whore, no,’ Huru insisted firmly. ‘As I said, she is an angel. A gentle girl who has been used badly at the castle, but who was still prepared to show me great kindness.’

  He laid her upon the truckle bed that huddled in the corner of the single room, and so exhausted was she that almost immediately her eyes closed again and she drifted into sleep.

  It was full daylight when Babala awoke, and she sat up with a start when she remembered where she was and realised she was alone with the woodcutter. ‘W-where is Huru?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘I’ve sent him to cut some wood,’ said the man, ‘as payment, you might say, for hiding you two runaways.’ He grinned at her and the expression made Babala shiver under the animal skins that warmed her. He was not old, but neither was he young, and the light from the opening that served as a tiny window shone on his bald head.

  ‘I promised him that I would take care of you, my pretty.’ He reached out and laid a rough hand on her bare shoulder, and began to stroke her in a familiar manner that made her cringe.

  But she did not pull away, for she had been well trained and she knew exactly what the man wanted. ‘I’m... I’m a little sore, sir,’ she whispered honestly, not wanting to offend Huru’s friend, ‘from what I’ve had to endure these past days.’

  Maro stroked a hand over his large forehead, which glistened with sweat although the little room was not overly hot. ‘So I understand,’ he said with a nod, his voice becoming thick with lust, ‘but you have these...’ and he traced the tip of a grimy finger suggestively around the parted margins of her moist lips, inducing a familiar knot of warmth in her tummy despite her dislike of him.

  Maro fed the finger suggestively into her mouth, pumped it crudely in and out a few times, ginning lecherously, then slowly withdrew it from her lips and held it up, turning it this way and that to inspect the sheen of moisture that now coated it. ‘And I’ve noticed you have a very nice bottom, too,’ he said huskily, and threw back her fur coverings, smiling lustfully at her nakedness. ‘So why don’t you roll over like the good girl Huru says you are and let me look at your dear bottom cheeks again? Don’t you think it would be a nice idea to show me a little gratitude for risking the wrath of Maxim by giving you shelter?’

  ‘Well... I...’ Put like that, how could Babala refuse the man? So she turned onto her front.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Maro said quietly, almost to himself, his feverish eyes absorbing her lithe beauty, ‘such a lovely girl... such a pretty bottom.’ And then he reached out a little hesitantly, as though scared she might suddenly disappear, and smoothed a calloused hand over the luscious contours of her buttocks. ‘And...’ his voice, thick with carnal longing, caught in his throat, ‘...and do you like your little rear hole to be breached, my pretty?’

  Babala felt stubby fingers press into the valley between her buttocks, and one in particular probe at her hidden anus.

  ‘Ah, I see that you do,’ Maro breathed huskily, seeing and feeling the minute roll of her hips, and the finger pressed inquisitively against the tightness of the wrinkled bud. ‘And you’ve been such a naughty girl, haven’t you, my pretty?’

  ‘I have?’ Babala said innocently, unable to think why.

  ‘Oh yes,’ the man said, his eyes fixed obsessively to the soft mounds of her buttocks, his palm moulding the nearest one and his finger continuing to gently probe and test the elasticity of her rear hole, ‘very naughty. By coming to my home you risk bringing danger to me. For that I think you need to be punished, don’t you?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’ Babala was confused - confused by all that had happened to her in recent days and confused by the wicked sensations his crude attentions were coaxing from her.

  ‘Oh, I do, my pretty,’ he croaked. ‘And you do need to be punished, believe me...’ and then his expression grew suddenly more intense, his hand lifted from her bottom, hovered above her, she tensed, awaiting the inevitable, and then the hand swept down and cracked upon her unguarded globes, making her shriek and the beaten flesh quiver.

  ‘Ouch! Why did you ah—!’ the question was wrenched from her lips as his hand struck again, and then the brute set about spanking her with a steady, relentless rhythm and force. Babala instinctively tried to roll away from the onslaught, but she was wedged against the wall with nowhere to go.

  ‘Stay still and accep
t your punishment, my pretty,’ he said hoarsely, the effort of spanking her increasing the beads of sweat on his forehead and making him blink the salt from his eyes. But he was undeterred, focussed totally on the perfect quivering buttocks of the writhing beauty, his hand striking with precise uniformity.

  ‘Please...!’ Babala shrieked, despite the secret excitement simmering in the pit of her stomach, ‘why are you being so spiteful?’

  ‘Because you deserve it,’ he said flatly, his eyes glued to the rapidly reddening target of mouth-watering flesh. ‘And because you enjoy being spanked, my pretty, do you not?’

  He smacked her again and again, and Babala knew it was futile to try to writhe away from the labour-hardened hand. She buried her face in the stale-smelling blanket on the cot, and could protest no more; so intense was her humiliation - and her growing excitement. Then a wave of shamefully submissive bliss washed over her, and she even lifted her bottom a little higher to meet the downward sweep of the man’s rough palm.

  Maro noticed, of course, and slapped harder, first on one gorgeous cheek and then the other, as she began to move her bottom and hips in a rhythmic and encouraging motion. ‘Ah, I know what you want,’ he growled.

  Babala felt the cot sink a little and heard it creak, and looking up she found him kneeling over her, his bloated cock bared and thrusting from the dark patch of his humid groin at her flushed face.

  ‘Suck it, my pretty,’ he grunted. ‘Show me your gratitude for giving you shelter. Suck it!’

  Babala, knowing it was pointless to deny the man, rested on one elbow, took the throbbing cock between her fingers and touched the globe to her lips. With the very tip of her tongue she probed into the pore and tasted the salty bitterness of the man. She heard him sigh gutturally and began to draw the stubby organ into her mouth, very slowly, feeling the smooth skin and the bloated veins which wound around its girth.

  Her bottom still smarted from the spanking, but she diligently caressed his cock with her lips and tongue, pumping with her small fist, and he thrust his groin harder against her face, burying her nose and lips in his course pubic thatch. She heard him growl his pleasure, grunting crude humiliating words, which secretly excited her.

  ‘Yesss... suck my cock, you lovely little harlot,’ he croaked, but in her submissive mood she did not mind the insults; for some reason, probably because of her training by the Taskmaster, she wanted to please Maro.

  ‘Ahh!’ he groaned, and she felt his cock pulse mightily in her mouth. He thrust even harder against her face and the tip of his turgid length throbbed deep on her tongue, butting into her throat, almost making her gag, but she steeled herself and tried to relax. Maro gripped her head, his strong fingers like iron in her hair, clamping her tight to his groin and holding her still as he shuddered and came, his cock buried in her mouth to the root and his spunk bitter as it discharged down her throat.

  His chin slumped to his chest and he closed his eyes, wheezing heavily, and the crush on her head gradually eased. He remained kneeling like that for long moments, the dank little room still and quiet except for his heavy breathing, which slowly returned to a steadier rhythm. Babala felt his flesh softening and the stretch of her lips lessening, and waited patiently until he was ready to slump away from her and flop back onto his creaky chair, relaxed and replete, his sturdy arms dangling by his side, his eyes closed and a faint smile on his fat lips as if he was dozing and enjoying a pleasurable daydream.

  ‘Sir?’ she whispered. ‘Maro? Do you sleep?’

  He frowned and grunted, his eyes still shut. ‘What do you want?’ His tunic was still above his waist and his shrivelled cock was resting on one of his parted thighs.

  ‘Are you pleased with me?’ she asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the man too much and risk incurring the foul temper she sensed he possessed. ‘Are you pleased with the way I thanked you for your generosity in giving us shelter?’

  ‘What?’ he said gruffly, opening one beady eye. ‘What’s it to you if I am or if I’m not?’ His penis twitched on his thigh. ‘You’re just a wench who should know when to please a man and when to hold her tongue.’ His other eye opened and his gaze crawled over the shapely contours of her body, finally coming to rest on the lovely up-swell of her rosy buttocks, and he licked his lips as his cock twitched again and began to thicken with intent. Babala’s eyes were drawn to it as it lifted clear of his hairy thigh and bobbed in the air, pointing at her, and he sniggered as he enjoyed the questioning look of surprise on her face.

  ‘Aye,’ he grunted, ‘have you ever known such a potent man?’

  Babala had, particularly the Taskmaster, but she felt it wise not to say so. ‘No sir,’ she whispered respectfully.

  Maro raised his bulk and reached for her bottom, hunched over her delicious prostrate form. Thick fingers prised her buttocks apart and searched for the tight little orifice. He pressed, and the tip of a finger eased past the determined muscle and popped just inside. Babala moaned, for this rude intrusion only served to renew her simmering excitement.

  The finger sank deeper and began to dip in and out of her pulsing rear passage.

  ‘My,’ he wheezed, ‘but you are a tempting, naughty little morsel...’ The finger eased from her rose-hole and the slaps began again, making Babala gasp and her bottom quiver with each blow. ‘You deserve to be punished severely,’ he hissed hoarsely, as tears filled her eyes and she began to sob with humiliation and frustration, wanting to huddle away from the man yet secretly yearning for more.

  Eventually the onslaught slowed and Maro began to stroke her bottom, his mood changing once more. ‘You have aroused me again,’ he said, somewhat unnecessarily, for the pulsing evidence sprouted from his groin for Babala to see. ‘And your wicked bottom beckons for me to sink my manhood into its tightness.’ Once more he touched the snug pleats of her anus, pressing and teasing until the hole gave under the pressure and a digit entered the dark, warm place, making her sigh and instinctively raise the soft hillocks of her bottom to his teasing.

  The cot creaked as he clambered in ungainly fashion onto it, and she felt the strength of his thighs against the backs of hers as he easily positioned her just as he wanted. Then she felt the thickness of his slippery globe nudging between her buttocks, using his own issue to lubricate the secret entrance, and she could not help but bear up and back against him.

  ‘That’s good...’ he croaked, his voice thick with arousal, and then Babala stiffened and her forehead lolled down onto the musty blanket as he took his weight on his straightened arms and dropped his hips, impaling her with one easy thrust and pinning her to the cot. Babala groaned, part in discomfort and part in delight. His cock stretched her and pulsed within the tight confines of her bottom.

  ‘How do you like that, my pretty?’ he whispered hoarsely in her ear. ‘Do I feel huge inside you?’

  ‘Y-yes sir,’ she sighed into the blanket. ‘Yes sir, you feel very big.’

  ‘Does it hurt?’

  ‘N-no sir... I don’t think so...’

  ‘Does it feel good?’

  ‘Yes sir,’ she whispered honestly, ‘it does feel good.’

  Maro started to move, sweating heavily from the exquisite exertions, but then the crack of a fallen branch made him stop and look up at the door, holding his breath and listening intently, wanting to concentrate on the delicious girl who was gently rolling her smooth hips beneath him, her tight rectum milking his cock, but his overriding instinct to sense any possibility of danger coming to the fore.

  Heavy feet stamped, as though kicking mud from the soles of boots. ‘Maro,’ Huru called from the other side of the door. ‘I’ve collected enough wood to sustain a hundred fires for the winter.’

  Babala heard him now too, and froze beneath the weight of the sweating man. The door opened and Huru filled the entrance, from where he stopped and stared at the two on the cot. ‘What... what are you doing to my ang
el?’ he said simply, but the anger was evident in his tone.

  Maro did not move, but relaxed again now that the threat of being caught with the girl by a patrol from the castle had passed. ‘Nothing,’ he said, a mocking grin on his coarse features. ‘Just keeping her company, that’s all. Now leave us alone, Huru, so I can finish what I’ve started,’ and he turned his attention back to Babala, lifted his hips and then stabbed his cock down to plug her bottom completely, making her whimper and the cot creak.

  ‘Release her.’

  Beneath the straining man Babala looked up at Huru with wide appealing eyes, and could see he was trying to control his temper. But Maro ignored the man at the door, his attention directed solely on the delights of the delicious girl sandwiched between him and the cot, and how wonderful her snug bottom felt as it cosseted his rampant cock.

  ‘Let her go,’ Huru said.

  ‘Ha, that might be difficult,’ Maro sneered between rhythmic grunts. ‘Now go away Huru and leave me in peace to enjoy her properly.’

  With two great strides Huru was across the dingy room and he grabbed Maro’s shoulders. ‘I told you to let her go!’ he roared, and pulled his adversary up from the cot, savagely interrupting his onslaught upon Babala’s bottom.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Maro challenged, with an air of dangerous calm. ‘I was enjoying myself there.’ He sneered. ‘And so was she, believe me...’ and then from nowhere there was a flash of metal in the gloom and he held a knife, pointed threateningly at Huru’s throat. ‘Now, I suggest you do as I say and leave the two of us alone,’ he hissed. ‘I’ve some unfinished business with the little whore.’

  Babala scrabbled up and sat with her legs folded beneath her, cringing back against the damp wall, holding the furs up around her nakedness. ‘Stop it, both of you,’ she pleaded.

  ‘Don’t call her that,’ said Huru, ignoring her attempt to intervene.

  Maro sniggered. ‘What, whore?’ he goaded. ‘And why shouldn’t I? For that’s what she is. And she knows how to use those pretty lips to please a man, that is for sure. And as for her arse...’