Flesh Gambit by Mark Adam Page B

the waters to the tower where all of Khat’s plans converged. The witch slowly bent over at the waist and leaned against the window edge. She arched her back and exposed the naked folds of her sex like a cat.
    She looked back over her shoulder and smiled.
    “I need what I need, corsair. I do not lie.”
    “No,” Khat said but he was already poised.
    “Then I say no to your fourberie. If the girl would dream of the grimoire, then I must have what I need.” Her voice was raw, like a drug addict in the presence of their poison.
    Khat knew she had him, knew he must gamble now or lose everything he had planned. He stepped forward between the braziers. He made no pretense at romance. He pulled the sweaty linen of his loinwrap to the side, not bothering to remove his weapons or battle harness.
    With eyes as big as saucers the slave girl watched him mount the coven-whore. Out on the deck, the cutthroats would hear the witch’s screams and grow bitter.
    Khat grabbed his ready cock with a big hand and pushed the head of it against the boiling, moist folds of the coven-whore’s exposed and swollen vagina. She grunted hard and shook her head back and forth as he pushed his erection in her. He gave her a moment to take him, felt the velvet grip of her inner muscles squeeze along him, drawing him further in.
    He reached out with his long, brawny arms and grabbed the coven-whore by the shoulders. He yanked back on her as he thrust his hips forward, impaling her along his length in a swift, vicious movement.
    The coven-whore groaned low in her throat at the hurt, and Khat moved his hands down to the sweaty curve of her hips. He began to fuck her in earnest. The coven-whore started to shriek her pleasure. Her hands slapped the glass panes of the cabin windows and dug into the wood of the frame. To the slave girl sitting just a few feet away, the smell of the woman’s damp was pungent and the sound of Khat’s wet, slapping rhythm was vibrant and pugnacious.
    “Is it working,” Khat growled as he sawed in and out of the coven-whore. “Do you feel it? Say it!”
    “Uh, uh, uh,” the coven-whore grunted.
    She bit down on her lip hard as she struggled to take what Khat was giving her. A line of drool rolled out of her mouth and dropped in a rope of salvia to the bouncing, sweaty slope of her breasts.
    “Say it!” Khat snarled again.
    The muscles of his arms stood out in vivid relief as he squeezed his hands hard, digging his blunt fingers into the soft flesh of her hips. The coven-whore’s head rolled back, and he thrust his hips forward hard, snapping it back then pushing it forward. He continued to grind his cock into her, relentless, merciless.
    “I- I feel it,” she managed to promise.
    Her voice was rough and hoarse from the sex and came up from deep within her. Khat lifted his right hand up and brought it down hard against the curve of the coven-whore’s buttocks. The slap echoed in the room like the pop of a drover’s whip. Her ass turned red immediately and began to puff up. Khat lifted his hand and slapped her again.
    The coven-whore screamed long and loud as she came, and Khat felt the heat around what he had in her increasing. Slick, warm fluids spilled out of her opening and splashed his balls and the flat plane of his hips. He grunted and began to thrust even harder.
    He pushed his cock in and pulled it out, pushed it in and pulled it out as the pressure and fire began to build at the root of his penis. He thrust hard into the trembling woman, shoving her rudely up against window jam. He felt his cum roll up the length of his shaft like lava and spill into the gasping, moaning coven-whore.
    He leaned forward and rested his weight across the woman’s back as the tingling shiver washed over him and his balls drew up tight between his thick thighs. He forced himself to stand and stepped quickly back, withdrawing from the coven-whore’s grip in one fast pull.
    She moaned in protest and collapsed to her knees with