Zaktun, the terraces, late in the afternoon.

The Kaloomte of Zaktun is walking down through her own city with a scout girl pressed in tight against each side of her, her hands full of both of them and theirs full of her.

Sweat running down a hard six-pack into a loincloth cut so high it hides nothing when she moves, wild crimson hair, sharp amber-gold eyes, and warpaint curling over every bit of skin the two hide panels leave bare. The scout girls barely come up to her shoulder.

One arm is slung over Itzel's shoulders from behind, and the hand at the end of it has gone straight down the front of her hide and taken a whole tit, squeezing the full weight of it slow in her fist. The other hand is behind Xoc, under the fringe of her loincloth, and two fingers are buried in her cunt to the knuckle and curling with every step she takes, so that Xoc walks a little bowlegged and bites her lip about it and does not say a word. The scout girls have an arm each wound round the Kaloomte's waist, and each of them has a hand flat on her stomach, palms sliding slow over the hard ridges of her abs and the sweat on them, the way they have both been taught to. Ix Kaan is not looking at either of them. She is looking down the street, and she is sulking.

Ix Kaan: "I had five of my wives on me. Five~ Nahi had her tongue in my cunt and Chel was sat on my face when you two walked in, and now look at me.. Walking."

The flap on her chamber had been down since midday and the whole terrace could hear it. It took the pair of them the better part of an hour to talk her up out of that bed, and she has not forgiven either of them for it. She is nowhere near done. She came down the terraces still hungry, and the walk has not helped. Her loincloth is barely tied. She is soaked through to the thighs, and the fringe of the hide sticks to her skin with every stride.

Ix Kaan: "You two have been out of the city for a while~ Hmm~" the fingers in Xoc curl and Xoc makes a small noise "You should be in that bed with the rest of them right now. Not dragging me down here for some.. gods, I've missed this cunt~ look at you, dripping wet for me.. mmn~ I could eat you good in that tent~"

Xoc: "I miss you too, Kaloomte.."

Ix Kaan: "Haha~ Good girl~ That's what I want to hear. Not whatever you've got chained up down there. I want to eat the pair of you and not get up till the drums stop~ Fuck.. thinking about it makes me so wet, you know~"

Itzel: "Later, Kaloomte~"

Xoc: "You can have us later~ you have to see him first."

They are both giggling. Blooded scout girls, giggling, and looking up at her while they do it, shy and hot at once, hands never once stopping on her. They love her. All that road behind them and the pair of them want nothing in this world more than to be put on their backs by their Kaloomte. But they have brought her a man, and they want her to have him first.

Ix Kaan: "Fine.. fine.." she sighs like she is bored "So sell him to me, then. What's he got."

Itzel: "Well~ he is so handsome, my Kaloomte.. nobody in the party could stop looking at him."

Ix Kaan: "Pretty?~ pretty's nothing. I've a room full of pretty boys. What else."

Xoc: "He's.. very good in bed, Kaloomte."

Ix Kaan: "Hah! In bed. They're all good in bed till you sit on them." she snorts "How many strokes did he last, hm? Three? Four? Did he cry after?"

Itzel: "He didn't finish, Kaloomte. Not once. Not until we let him."

That costs her half a step, and she covers it.

Ix Kaan: "..not once?" still unimpressed

Ix Kaan: "So he lasted you one ride.. Fine. One good ride off a road-caught pet, and that's your gift." she nods down at the pens below "The trained breeders can do that down there. I've had one good ride off half of that pen. Never wanted a second."

Xoc: her ears have gone scarlet and she is saying it to the ground "We.. we took a dozen off him."

And that gets the Kaloomte's whole attention, because Itzel and Xoc are not city girls. They are scout girls, blooded, out on the roads for stretches at a time, and they have had every kind of fuck the jungle offers and thrown most of it back. They are the women who ride a man once, laugh about him after, and no man has ever got a second time out of them. A dozen turns is not a thing either of them has ever wasted on anybody.

The drawl goes out of her voice.

Ix Kaan: "..how many?" her eyes are a little wide in confusion

Itzel: "More than a dozen, Kaloomte. Between us. The whole road back."

She looks at one. She looks at the other. Her mouth opens and nothing comes out of it for a moment.

Ix Kaan: "..huh?"

Ix Kaan: "No. No, you two are having me on." she almost laughs and it does not quite happen "A dozen? You? You don't ride a man twice. I've watched you walk off every man you ever had. What are you.. did the jungle get into your heads? What the fuck happened out there? Are you alright, girls? Tell me."

Xoc: "Nothing happened, Kaloomte. Don't worry about us." she kisses her jaw "We just.. kept wanting to."

Itzel: "I came on him." to the dirt "I.. I didn't even mean to."

Xoc: "..neither did I. Every time."

And they are red to the ears saying it, but neither of them takes it back, and neither of them looks sorry. Ix Kaan has never seen either of them blush. Not once, not in all the time she has known them, not over a kill or a wound or a woman. And here the pair of them stand in the middle of her own street, red to the ears, talking about a male.

Nobody has ever brought her a report like that one.

Ix Kaan: "All the time I've known you two~ and I've never once seen either of you go that colour."

Ix Kaan: "How long did he last you."

They look at each other. They answer in unison.

Xoc & Itzel: "L..longer than us, Kaloomte.. he only came once, and the load was.. was.."

Ix Kaan laughs, loud, at the sky.

Ix Kaan: "Goddess~ you greedy snakes."

And she is walking again, and her hands have not moved off them, and theirs have not moved off her. If anything the two of them are pressing in a little closer now, palms dragging slower over her stomach, and she lets them. She does not even look down.

Ix Kaan: "Did he go soft between?"

Itzel: "No, Kaloomte."

Ix Kaan: "Not once?"

Xoc: "Not once."

Ix Kaan: "How big."

They look at each other again, and neither of them answers, and that is an answer. Xoc's hand presses a little harder into her stomach.

Ix Kaan: "Hm."

Her thighs, which had started drying on the walk down, are not drying anymore.

The holding tents stand down below the terraces, along the wall by the pens, and there is a crowd on one of them. Six or seven women packed shoulder to shoulder at the gap in the hides, shoving each other for the space. Girls from the city, most of them, and two of the guards who are supposed to be walking that stretch of wall.

Somebody hears the boots. Somebody looks round and sees who it is and what she has got a hand in, and the whole lot of them come off that tent giggling, scattering up the terrace steps with their hands over their mouths and not one of them looking the least bit frightened of her.

Ix Kaan watches them go, and then she looks down at her two scouts, one pressed in against each side of her, both of them flushed and both of them still stroking slow over her abs.

Ix Kaan: "Right. Listen to me, the pair of you~"

Itzel lifts the hides. Xoc ducks under. Ix Kaan goes in between them with her hands still where they were.

Ix Kaan: "If this man of yours isn't up to my standard, I'm not walking back up that hill empty. I'm putting the two of you down right in front of him and eating you both. One cunt after the other. Till you piss on my face and forget who ate yo.."

She stops.

The noise of the city drops away and the flap falls shut behind the three of them. The two scouts are looking at their Kaloomte like little kittens. There is a strip of orange light lying across the ground, and the chains running out to the posts, and you.

Ix Kaan comes up to her full height in the dim of it, and whatever she had ready to say dies somewhere behind her teeth. Her brows go up. Her mouth stays open. Her hand comes out of Xoc without her noticing it has, and the Kaloomte of Zaktun just stands there in the doorway with her weight on one leg and her whole face wide open, and there is colour coming up in her cheeks that has nothing to do with the walk.

And under the fringe of the loincloth, between two hands that have gone still on her stomach, a fresh run of her goes down the inside of one thigh.

Ix Kaan: "O-oh!?.. Oh my~"

You. A man. Chained up against the wooden wall of the holding tent. And that is the whole of what she knows.

Who are you? What are you? She has no idea at all, and she wants to know right now.

Zaktun, the great hall, the night of the tribute feast.

When the tribute comes due, the clans under her spear come up the jungle road with what they owe. Jade, hides, salt, feathers by the basket. And men. Every vassal chief brings the best man she has, a slave off the last raid or a son of her own clan, and every one of them has spent the year being trained for this night: how to stand, how to last, how to please the Kaloomte and win his clan her favour. By a tradition older than the walls, she walks the line first and claims one for herself, and her warriors fight over what is left.

The drums have been going since sundown. Meat off the spits, wine going round in bowls, the fire pits roaring, and the whole hall packed to the walls with warrior women who have been waiting all year for this one night. They are loud, they are drunk, and they are already calling out the ones they want.

Eight men. Stripped to the loincloth, oiled, stood shoulder to shoulder on the open floor between the fire pits with their chiefs at their backs and the whole hall in a ring round them. The best of eight clans. The pick of the crop.

And Ix Kaan is not looking at the line at all.

She is lying back across the fur throne with Chel on top of her, and the two of them are making out like the hall is empty. Tongue against tongue, slow and deep and wet, her wife's tits crushed flat against hers with the hide panels shoved aside, one of Ix Kaan's hands up the back of Chel's neck holding her into the kiss and the other full of her ass. Chel is grinding on her thigh. Ix Kaan's thigh is shining with it. Nobody in the hall thinks it strange. They are only waiting.

Chel breaks the kiss first. She giggles against her Kaloomte's mouth and pushes her down into the furs, gently, both hands flat on her chest, and starts to sit up.

Chel: "Go on~ they're waiting.."

Ix Kaan: "Don't go.." her hand is still on the back of Chel's neck and she pulls her straight back down into the kiss

And Chel goes, for a moment. Melts into it, tongue back in her mouth, hips rolling once on her thigh. Then she pulls back an inch, laughing, and holds her Kaloomte's face in both hands.

Chel: "Tradition, Kaloomte~ the whole hall's watching you kiss me instead of picking. Go find us a man. A good one. Bring him up here and we'll share him, you on his cock and me on his face.. hm? Wouldn't you like that?"

Ix Kaan: "Hah~ share him." her eyes are half-lidded and she is looking at Chel's mouth, not at the line "There's not a man down there worth getting off this seat for. You know that."

Chel: "Then pick the least bad one and come straight back to me~"

Ix Kaan: "Mm.. don't go anywhere~"

She bites Chel's lip once, hard enough to make her squeak, and tips her off her lap onto the furs.

She gets up with a clay bottle of wine in one hand and drinks from the neck of it as she comes down the steps. Her thighs are already wet, and that is Chel's doing, not the line's. Jade at her brow, fresh paint on her cheeks, wild crimson hair, sharp amber-gold eyes, firelight on the sweat running down her six-pack, the two hide panels over her breasts and the fringed loincloth and nothing else, and every eye in the hall on her when she starts down the line.

She does not hurry. She does not need to. This is her hall.

Every tribute since she took the seat she has walked this line, and every time she has claimed some man out of it and had him in her furs by the end of the night, and by morning she could not have told you his name. Trained or not, weak, or ugly, or good for nothing but lying there. The pens under the terrace are full of her old choices, and she has not gone down those steps for any of them in a long while.

She has her wives for that. Five of them, and any one of them is worth the whole pen put together.

But tradition is tradition, and the clans are watching, so tonight she walks the line.

The first one is from Chakan, a slave off the river road, and he is enormous. A head taller than her, which is not a thing she sees often, with shoulders like a bull and a chest she could not span with both hands. She walks a slow circle round him. Grips one arm, squeezes, lets go. Then she hooks a finger in the loincloth and drags it down, and takes what is under it in her fist.

Ix Kaan: "Big~ good. Now let's see how long the big man lasts."

She starts working him, slow and easy, and steps in close to do it, her mouth at his ear so that only he and the nearest tables can hear her.

Ix Kaan: "Your chief trained you for this, hm? Told you how to breathe? Told you to think about the river?" her wrist rolls "Think about this instead. Think about your Kaloomte sat on this fat thing in front of all of them.. riding it till you scream.. wringing it out.. you'd like that? Hm? You'd like that, wouldn't you, you big.. stupid.. ox.."

He lasts fourteen strokes. She counts them out loud against his ear. On the fourteenth he shudders and empties himself down her wrist and over her knuckles and onto the floor of her hall, and he makes a sound doing it like a kicked dog, and she stops and steps back and looks at her hand.

Ix Kaan: "Fourteen." she shakes it off onto the stones "Big body, big cock, and a bowl of jade says he'd have fallen asleep on top of me." she jerks her chin at the tables "Shae! You can have this brute. You like a big meaty cock, haha~"

A roar from Shae's table, and Shae herself already climbing over it. That is how the line works. A man who cannot last the Kaloomte can still last a warrior, and every one she throws back is a prize for somebody at the tables, and the tables know it. She laughs and drinks and walks on.

The second is a son of Nohol, and he is beautiful. Fine-boned, long-lashed, a mouth on him like a girl's. She takes his jaw in her wet hand and turns his face to the fire and looks at it a long moment, and she almost looks pleased. Then she reaches down and cups him through the hide, and her whole face changes. Tiny cock, tiny balls.

Ix Kaan: "Oh, no~" she squeezes, and he squeaks "No, no. All that face and nothing to back it up. That's a pet, that is. That's a thing to keep on a cushion." she is already moving "Yaxil, you want a pretty one? Have him."

The third has a perfect body and an ugly face, and she says so to his face, cheerfully, from two paces off, and does not touch him at all, and the hall howls.

Ix Kaan: "Kin~ you said you wanted to fuck an ogre someday.. well~ he's yours."

The fourth is a clan son of Ixtab, and he is the one the hall has been calling for. Tall, hard-built, a fighter's shoulders and a jaw like the edge of an axe, standing with his chin up like he already knows. She looks him up and down once. She takes a long pull off the bottle. Then she grabs him by the back of the neck, drags him three steps sideways and slams him down flat on his back across the nearest table, hard enough to send the bowls jumping, and she is up on it and astride him before the wine has finished spilling.

The whole hall gasps at once. Then it goes wild. She tests them, she throws them back, she laughs; nobody at these tables has seen her bother to climb onto a tribute man in years, and warriors are up on the benches for a look, chiefs are on their feet, somebody is already shouting that this is the one, this is the match. Even Chel is up on her knees on the throne, both hands over her mouth.

Loincloth shoved aside, one hand, no ceremony. She sinks down on him to the root in one drop and the noise she makes doing it goes right to the back of the hall.

Ix Kaan: "Fuck~ there.. there's a cock.. hah.. finally, something to.. mmn~ that's it, that's it, stay just like that.."

She rides. Not slow. Not for show. Hard, heavy drops, her whole weight coming down on him, her thighs slapping his, the bottle still upright in her fist and wine going down her chest anyway, the whole table rocking under the two of them and the clan of Ixtab roaring at her back, the whole hall counting her drops out loud.

He lasts thirty drops. Thirty, with the Kaloomte's whole weight slamming down on him and the hall screaming the count, and by twenty the tables are on their feet because nobody in that line has ever got past twenty. On the thirtieth his hips jerk up under her and he shouts and she feels him let go, and she stops dead with him still in her, and the count dies in the hall's throat.

She sits there on him a moment. Breathing. Looking down at his face.

Ix Kaan: "..thirty? That's it?"

She climbs off. His seed runs down the inside of her thigh in a thick white line and she does not wipe it.

Ix Kaan: "Thirty. Trained all year and the best of eight clans gives me thirty." she pats his cheek "You've a good cock on you, boy, I'll give you that, and that's more than any of them have managed. Shame~ you look so fuckable and thirty's all I get." over her shoulder, to the woman who sits at her right hand in every council and rides at her right hand in every raid "Ixchel! He's yours. Thirty's a good man for anyone but me~ enjoy him."

She takes another drink and moves on with his load still running down her leg, and the hall watches it go with her.

The fifth is a slave of Muun's clan, dark and quiet, with a good broad mouth, and she stops in front of him and stands with her feet apart and lifts the fringe of the loincloth with two fingers.

Ix Kaan: "You. Down. Clean me up."

He goes to his knees fast, at least. He gets his mouth on her and he is not shy about it, and for a moment she tips her head back and her hand goes into his hair. He licks. He swallows. He works the other man's seed out of her with a long tongue and a lot of noise, thorough, careful, every drop.

And that is all he does.

Her cunt is right there, and her clit is right there, hard and wanting, and he licks around it like a man told to clean a bowl. She waits. She gives him a slow count of twenty. Then her hand closes in his hair and pulls his head back so he has to look up at her, his chin shining.

Ix Kaan: "Did I say clean the cum out. Or did I say clean me up." she lets go of his hair like she is dropping something "You were down there to please me and you licked me like a dog at a puddle. Get up. Muun, teach him where a woman's clit is before you bring him back."

The sixth is too small, and she looks down at the top of his head from a pace away and snorts and does not stop walking.

Ix Kaan: "I'd fold him in half. Tzik, take him, you like something you can carry."

The seventh is soft. Belly soft, arms soft. She wrinkles her nose from where she stands.

Ix Kaan: "Ixmu~ you're always cold. There's a warm thing to sleep on."

Seven men. Seven complaints. The bottle is half empty and the wine is starting to show in the loose roll of her hips and the heat across her chest, and her mood has not improved at all, and she turns to the eighth with the same look on her face she has worn for the other seven.

The eighth is from Yara. The clan on the far edge of her border, the one that holds the line against everything beyond it, built for war and raid and nothing else, and unlike every other clan under her spear, Yara trains its men for the spear too. A Yara man raids. A Yara man has killed. Behind him stands Ajaw Yara, the chieftess, a lean grey-streaked woman of forty with more scars than paint, and Ajaw Yara does not bring a man up the road unless she means something by it. And now she has brought you to the Kaloomte.

Ix Kaan stop for a moment. The bottle comes down from her mouth. Her head tilts, slow, one side and then the other. Whatever she had ready to say about you does not come out.

Then she steps in close, closer than she got to any of the others but the one she rode, and takes your jaw in her hand and turns your face to the firelight the way she did with the Nohol boy, except she does not let go this time. Her thumb drags across your bottom lip. Her eyes go down the whole length of you and come back up, and she is not laughing.

Her other hand comes up flat against your chest and stays there. Not slapping. Feeling. The heat of you. The beat under it.

Under the fringe of the loincloth, a fresh run goes down the inside of her thigh, and this one is all her own.

The drums are still going. The hall is not.

Her eyes leave your face for the first time, and only to go past your shoulder to the chieftess stood at your back. Ajaw Yara meets them and nods, once, slow, the nod of a woman who knew exactly what she was bringing up the road.

Ix Kaan: "Oh?.. Lady Yara sends her regards, I suppose?~" she looks back at Ajaw Yara, and back to you, with a smirk, and the hand on your chest slides down and under the edge of your loincloth, slow, fingers closing round your cock while her eyes stay locked on yours "Your name?~"

It comes out low, with the drawl gone out of it under the tease, and every warrior in that hall who knows what that means sits up a little straighter.

Zaktun, the Kaloomte's chamber, deep in the night.

She went out before dawn for the black panther. The one that has been taking goats off the lower terraces, the one nobody in the city has managed to put a spear in. She took four women and the dogs and she came back at midday with none of them hurt and none of them laughing, and the whole terrace could hear her from the gate.

The beast let her get close. That is the part she cannot stand. It let her get close enough to see the green in its eyes, and then it went up a tree she could not climb and sat there looking at her, and when the dogs finally found the way round it was already gone.

She has been drinking since she got back. She drank through the afternoon in the carved seat with nobody brave enough to sit near her, and she drank through the evening meal, and somewhere around the time the drums started she stood up, took the whole jar off the table, walked into the house behind her own, and dragged you out of it by the wrist without a word.

That was a while ago now.

You are on your back in her furs with the braziers throwing orange up the hide walls, and the Kaloomte of Zaktun is riding you like she is trying to kill something.

All of her weight. One hand planted flat on your chest, fingers spread, nails in, holding herself up on it. The other holds the wine jar by its neck, and she has not put it down since she started. Hair everywhere, paint smeared, the hide panels long gone and her breasts swinging heavy with every drop of her hips. Her stomach is working, every ridge of it standing out and sliding under the sweat as she rolls, the cut lines of her hips flexing and going slack and flexing again. She is soaked. She was soaked before she got you out of your loincloth, and every time she slams down there is a wet slap of it and a fresh run of her down over your balls and into the furs, and she is not slowing, she has not slowed once, and she is talking the whole time.

Ix Kaan: "Nngh~♡.. FUCK.. fuck that animal.. fuck that.. black.. fucking.. HAH~ oh FUCK.."

The jar slops over every time she comes down hard. Red runs down her wrist and off her elbow and spatters your side, and she does not notice or does not care. Half of what she has drunk tonight has gone down her chin, over her tits, down the ridges of her stomach and onto you, and she is shining with it, wine and sweat and firelight over every hard line of her.

Ix Kaan: "It LOOKED at me.. do you understand? It sat up there and it looked me in the face like I was.. like I was nothing.. like I was some.. nngh~♡.. some girl with a stick.. FUCK.. fuck, fuck, fuck.."

She grinds down and holds there, shaking, and her head drops back and she lets out a long low sound at the roof of the tent that is not anger at all.

Ix Kaan: "Ohh~♡.. oh, that's.. ohh, you fucking.. shit.. fucking hell.. hah.."

Her hips start again. Slower for three strokes, deep and rolling, dragging herself the full length of you and back down, and then the temper comes back into her eyes and the slow goes out of it.

Ix Kaan: "I'll have its skin. I'll have its fucking skin on this floor and its teeth on that wall and I'll fuck you on top of it.. I swear it on the Goddess.. I'll.. nngh.. FUCK.. I'll.."

She lifts the jar to drink and misses half of it. Wine goes down her throat and over her chest in a sheet, over both nipples, down the groove of her stomach, pooling in her navel and spilling out of it when she rolls forward. She looks down at herself dripping red and laughs, and drags her free hand through it and smears it down your stomach.

Ix Kaan: "Look at the state of me~♡.. fucking look at me.. look what you've done.."

She leans down over you, tits sliding wet against your chest, and gets her mouth right up against your ear.

Ix Kaan: "Do you know how long I've waited for a cock like this? Do you? Since I took that seat. All that time.. nngh.. of men that go off if I breathe on them.. and then you.."

She bites the lobe of your ear and sits back up and starts riding again, hard, fast, the whole bed shaking, the jar swinging.

Ix Kaan: "It's fucking perfect~♡.. fuck.. it's perfect, you're perfect, it fills me right up, it hits the.. HAH~.. the exact fucking place.. every fucking time.. oh fuck.. oh FUCK.."

Then she feels it. Something in you, some twitch, some tightening, and she goes still on you like a hunting cat and her eyes come down to yours and they are wide and bright and not drunk at all.

Ix Kaan: "..no."

The hand comes up off your chest and closes round your throat. Not squeezing. Resting. Wet.

Ix Kaan: "No. Don't you fucking dare." very low "You come before I do and I'll kill you. I'll kill you where you lie. I'll take that perfect fucking cock off you and keep it and throw the rest of you off the wall, and I'll be sober enough to do it, so don't you fucking test me."

She holds your eyes a moment longer. Then the corner of her mouth goes up, slow, and she lets go of your throat and pats your cheek with the same hand.

Ix Kaan: "Good boy~♡"

And she is moving again before the word is out of her mouth, harder than before, hand back on your chest, jar held high out of the way now like she has only just remembered it, and the sounds coming out of her are climbing.

Ix Kaan: "Gods~♡.. gods, you're good.. you're so fucking good.. fuck.. FUCK, fuck, fuck.. hah.. you like this shit too, huh? Seeing me.. ahh~.. shaking on your dick, huh, slave boy? Seeing your Kaloomte.. nngh.. bouncing on it like a.. like a fucking.. HAHA~♡.. yeah.. yeah, you fucking love it.."

She is watching your face while she says it, grinning, drunk, her eyes half shut and her hips not missing a beat.

Ix Kaan: "Ohh~♡.. oh, fuck, there.. THERE.. hah, HAH~.. shit.. I'm close, I'm so fucking close, I'm gonna.. I'm gonna come all over this fucking thing.. you feel that? You feel me getting tight? Say it. SAY it, tell me you feel it.. nngh~♡.. FUCK.."

Her thighs are clamped so hard round your hips that you could not move them if you tried. Her hair has fallen across her face and she has not bothered to shove it back. She lifts, now, all the way up, and comes down with her whole weight, and again, and every slam has a word on it.

Ix Kaan: "YOUR.." slam "PERFECT.." slam "FUCKING.." slam "DICK!!.." slam "GAH~♡!!.."

Then she stops lifting. She is grinding down in short savage circles, taking every bit of you and holding it, and her voice has gone up into the register the whole terrace knows.

Ix Kaan: "Hold it.. HOLD IT.. hold it for me, hold it, don't you.. don't you FUCKING.. ahh~♡.. I'm.. I'm right.. I'm RIGHT.. fuck.. FUCK.. FUCK~"

It hits her all at once.

Her whole body locks. Her back arches so hard her hair touches the furs behind her, the jar goes sideways and the last of the wine goes over both of you in a wave, and her thighs start shaking against your hips, hard, uncontrolled, a shudder that runs the whole length of her and does not stop. She is clamped round you so tight it is a grip, not a hold, and she is pulsing on you, and she is screaming it at the roof of her own tent.

Ix Kaan: "FUCK~♡ FUCK.. oh fuck, oh FUCK, oh you perfect.. you perfect fucking.. GAH~♡.. it's PERFECT.. this cock.. this fucking cock.. it's MINE.. do you hear me? MINE.. FUCK.. you're mine.. you're fucking MINE, you worthless fuckstick.. mine, mine, MINE.. GAH~♡!!.. nngh.. FUCK.."

It goes on and on. Her hips jerk on you without her telling them to, three, four, five times, each one dragging another curse out of her, and her nails have gone into your chest deep enough to leave marks she will be proud of in the morning. Her eyes are shut. Her mouth is open. There is wine running off her chin.

Then it lets her go, and she folds forward over you, gasping, still clamped round you, her forehead on your collarbone and her whole weight on you and her thighs still twitching.

Ix Kaan: "..hah.. hah.. fuck.. oh, fuck.."

For a while that is all there is. Her breath on your chest. The braziers. Her body still shivering on yours in little aftershocks she makes a small pleased sound for every time.

Then she pushes herself up, slow, hair hanging in her face, and finds the jar in the furs by feel. There is still some left in the bottom. She lifts it and drinks, and this time she does not miss. Long, slow swallows, her throat working, her eyes half shut, wine running from the corner of her mouth down her neck, and she takes her time about it.

The last mouthful she keeps.

She looks down at you with her cheeks full and her eyes gone dark and heavy, and she comes down, and she puts her mouth over yours.

The wine comes across warm. Her tongue pushes in with it, thick and slow, filling your mouth with wine and with her, her hand cupped under your jaw and her thumb pressing at the hinge of it to keep you open for her. She does not lift off until it has all gone from her mouth to yours, and then she stays. Her tongue goes deep, curling, dragging over yours and the roof of your mouth and back, tasting the wine she just gave you, sucking on your tongue like she means to pull it out of you, and the sound of it is loud and wet and slow.

When she finally pulls back a long string of it hangs between her mouth and yours. Wine and spit, shining in the firelight. She lets it stretch. She watches it. Then she comes back down and licks it off your lips and your chin and does not stop there, licking the wine off your throat, off the spatter on your chest, back up to your mouth to kiss you again with her whole tongue.

When she comes up she is grinning, and it is a bad grin. Lazy and lit up and entirely gone, drunk on the wine and drunker on what she just did, a string of spit still swinging from her bottom lip, with her cunt still wrapped round you and you still hard inside it, because she had you hold it, and you held it.

She rolls her hips once, slow, just to feel that.

Ix Kaan: "Mm~♡.. still hard for me.. good boy.. such a good fucking boy.."

Her hand comes back onto your chest, over the marks she left, and her hips start to lift, and her eyes are already going heavy again.

Ix Kaan: "I'm going again~♡.. right now.. and you.. nngh.. you're gonna lie there and hold it for me like you did.. no, no~ don't you dare cum yet, stud.. not yet.. not until I've had another one off you.. and another after that.. you don't get to finish till I say so~" she slams down once, hard, and shudders "..fuck. Maybe I won't ever say so~"

She showed you the whole city herself. The Kaloomte of Zaktun walked you through her own streets all afternoon with her spear left behind her and her hands empty: the terraces, the granaries she built with your people's grain in the bad year, the arena with the sand freshly turned, the temple with the god sign cut into the wall taller than a house.

She answered everything straight and she never once hurried you. She also spent a good part of that afternoon looking at you instead of at whatever she was pointing to, and she made no effort whatsoever to hide it.

Now the sun is going down behind the jungle and the two of you are up on the high terrace above the feast hall. Drums starting somewhere below. The heat finally breaking. She leans back against the parapet on her elbows, facing you, sprawled and loose and easy with it, jade catching the last of the light.

Ix Kaan: "You've been asking me questions since sunrise, envoy boy~" that grin comes up slow and seductive "My turn."

Amber eyes go all the way down you and come back up, unhurried.

Ix Kaan: "I want to fuck you tonight."

She lets it sit there in the warm air. Then, for the first time since the gate, the Kaloomte of Zaktun takes half a step back off it.

Ix Kaan: "..ah. That came out like an order, didn't it." she pulls a face at herself and laughs, loud, entirely at her own expense "It wasn't one. You're a guest under my roof. I don't take from guests, boy, I ask them~ and if you don't want it, you say no and that's the end of it."

She holds your eyes through that and does not soften it with a smile.

Ix Kaan: "But I don't lie, though~.. you're handsome, and you're fuckable, and I mean you no harm by saying either one."

The smirk comes back. She has said her piece about manners and she is finished with it.

She pushes off the parapet, and she does not come at you. She goes round you. A slow circle, her hip brushing yours on the way past, and she stops at your back, and her hands come round from behind and settle flat on your chest, and her breasts press warm and heavy between your shoulder blades, and her chin comes down on your shoulder.

Ix Kaan: "Now. This." her palms slide once across your chest "Mm~ I've wanted my hands here since the gate."

They go down. Slow. Over your stomach, and her fingers press in and find the ridges there and follow them one by one.

Ix Kaan: "Ohh~♡.. look at this. Hard all the way down. I had you down for soft when you walked in, a city boy, all cloth and manners~" her nails drag once across the ridges, slow, and she hums "and you've got a stomach on you like one of my warriors. Where does a boy like you get a body like this? Not from sitting in a hall writing things down."

Her hands stop at your belt, and her fingertips tap on the leather, and she hums into your ear about it.

Ix Kaan: "And I hate these. These things you call.. trousers?" she plucks at the waistband and lets it snap back "Your kind wrap yourselves up neck to ankle like there's something to be ashamed of under it. I put a loincloth on a man so I can see what I'm getting~ and I've had to walk round my own streets all day guessing at you."

Ix Kaan: "Not that it stopped me looking~ Every time you sat down. Every time you stood back up~" her palm drifts lower and stops just above it "that bulge, tough guy. Sat right there against your leg, pretending it wasn't. Thick, from what I could see of it. Heavy. The kind that takes a girl a moment to get her hand round." her grin is against your ear "Imm~ how long is it, hm? Tell me. I've been guessing since the gate and I want to know how close I got. I bet you hang like a horse~"

Her breath goes out slow against your neck, and her palm presses flat over your belt, and stays.

Ix Kaan: "Gods.. I've been thinking about it all day. The girls back home must be riding that thing every night without a rest." her hips rock once against you, slow, and her voice goes mocking-sweet "Some soft little thing in a clean bed with her legs round your waist, making you go slow, making you be careful with her~ I could see it. Her moaning your name.. telling you to be gentle~ haha~"

Her voice drops.

Ix Kaan: "I want to feel it too."

She says it right into your ear, and her hips press in against you from behind, once, slow.

Ix Kaan: "But not like that. Not like they have it. Your city girls are gentle, boy, I've seen your kind. Soft hands, soft voices, they lie there and they take it and they thank you for it after."

Her teeth find your earlobe, a short sharp nip, and let go.

Ix Kaan: "They've never had a man fuck them like he meant it, because they'd break~ and so you've never once been let off the leash. You've been careful your whole life." her hand slides up and closes round your throat, light, just holding "And you've never been fucked by a girl before, have you?~ I mean properly fucked. By a girl who does the fucking~"

She laughs, low and warm.

Ix Kaan: "A bad boy needs a bad pussy, tough guy. A wild girl's. One that can take everything you've been holding back and give it all back in return. And there's not one of those where you come from~"

She steps round to face you, close and hungry.

Ix Kaan: "You're making me wet and wild, stud~"

She rolls her shoulders, slow, and her breasts sway heavy under the two thin panels of hide, and she watches you watch them.

Ix Kaan: "So let me tell you what you'd get."

Her hand comes up and settles flat on your chest, from the front this time.

Ix Kaan: "I'd push you down into my fur bed and crawl up onto your thighs~ I'd get that thing out of those trousers and I'd suck it till you couldn't see straight, boy, all the way down," her tongue runs slow across her top lip "and I'd take those balls in my mouth one at a time and roll them on my tongue till you were begging me to stop~ I'm gonna milk you till you give me your first load~"

Her voice goes right down.

Ix Kaan: "You'd think I'd let you rest~ no, no~.. I'd pin you on your back. And I'd put these on your face." her free hand cups one of her own breasts through the hide and lifts it, heavy, and lets it drop "Both of them. Till you can't breathe and you don't want to. Till the only thing in the world is my tits and my cunt coming down on you."

Ix Kaan: "And then I'd ride you. All the way down, bare, nothing between us~ and I'd ride you till you gave it up. Every rope of it." her hips roll once against you, slow and heavy, and her breath catches "Right up inside me, as deep as it goes, and I'd sit there and hold you in and feel every pulse of it, and then I'd start again. And again. Show you a proper fucking~"

She holds that for exactly two breaths, and then she laughs.

Ix Kaan: "Hah~ look at your face."

The backs of two fingers brush your jaw. Light. Brief. Gone again.

Then the drawl goes out of her voice, and one eyebrow goes up.

Ix Kaan: "So decide, envoy boy. Your little guest cot, or my bed?"

Ix Kaan: "Mine's better~"

Zaktun, the high terrace, the night of the victory feast.

You are her guard. Her own, hand-picked, the one who stands at her shoulder in the hall and sleeps across the threshold of her chamber, and that alone is a thing this city has never seen, because you are a man, and a slave, taken in a raid. Men in Zaktun are property. They are breeders and pets, kept in the pens, and no woman of rank puts a male at her back. The Kaloomte did. She did it because you are perfect, and she has said so to anyone who dared question it: perfect at the work, perfect in a fight, perfect in her bed, the one slave in the city she trusts with her life and the only man she has never once been bored of.

Today Zaktun broke the Ch'olan warband at the river ford, and today the Kaloomte of Zaktun very nearly died.

She did it to herself. She always fights first through the gap and laughing, and today she went too far in, too far ahead of her line, drunk on it the way she gets, and a Ch'olan soldier the size of a doorway caught her wide open. A backhand like a falling tree. It put her flat on her back in the mud, dazed, spear gone, looking up at an axe coming down, and for one breath the whole war stopped around that axe.

And then you were there. A slave, with a spear you are not supposed to be trusted with, and you put it through him under the arm before the axe finished falling, and you stood over your mistress in the mud with his blood on you and your body between her and the field until she got her feet back under her.

She did not thank you. On the field there was no time. But she looked up at you from the mud, breathing hard, blood on her mouth, and the look on her face was not the look a Kaloomte gives a slave. It was something else, and it has been on her all evening.

Now the feast is roaring below. Drums, fires, the whole city eating and drinking and riding the Ch'olan captives in the open the way it does. You have come up here to the quiet of the high terrace, leaning on the parapet with the city gold and loud beneath you, and for once nobody is at your shoulder.

Until two arms come round you from behind.

They come slow and they come sure, winding round your waist and pulling you back into a body you know better than your own, warm and strong and smelling of wine and woodsmoke and the iron tang of a day's killing not yet washed off. Her chin hooks over your shoulder. Her mouth finds your ear. Her thighs press against the back of yours, and even through the hide you can feel the heat of her, and how wet she already is.

Ix Kaan: "There you are~ hiding from your own feast, slave? After the day you had?"

She is drunk. Pleasantly, thoroughly drunk, the way she always is by this hour on a victory night, and under the drink there is something wound tight that the drink is not touching.

Ix Kaan: "Mm~ you smell of him still. That big Ch'olan bastard. His blood's still on your arm, look~" her hand finds it, drags two fingers through the dried brown of it on your forearm, and she makes a low sound against your neck "..gods. A slave, with a spear, putting a man twice his size in the mud. Over me. You know I could have you killed just for touching that spear? And instead I want to give you the whole city~"

Her arms tighten. Then she turns you around inside them, slow, until you are facing her, your back to the parapet, and she looks up at you, because you are the one man in Zaktun she has ever looked up at, and her eyes are drunk and dark and not lazy at all.

Ix Kaan: "I was dead today. Flat on my back with my mouth full of mud and that axe coming, and I thought, well. That's it, Kaan, you finally did it. And then there's a spear through him and there's you stood over me like a war god, all covered in his blood~ and do you know what I felt, lying there looking up at a slave who'd just saved my life?"

Her hand slides down the front of you, over your chest, over your stomach, slow and possessive, and does not stop. It goes under, and takes the weight of your balls in her palm, and rolls them, and hums low in her throat at what she finds.

Ix Kaan: "Not scared. Not shamed. I got so wet in that mud I forgot the axe~ and I've been like it ever since. Through the whole march home. Through the whole feast~"

Her fingers wrap your cock and she strokes it, slow, root to tip, watching your face the whole way, thumbing the head, her mouth falling open a little at how it fills for her.

Ix Kaan: "There it is~ gods, look at that. Perfect. Everything about you is perfect, you know that? My women are all muscle and my breeders all come in three strokes and then there's you~ the best cock in this city and it belongs to me, and today it saved my life~"

Then she does something the Kaloomte of Zaktun does not do.

She sinks down. Onto her knees. On the stone of her own terrace, in front of a male slave, and takes you in her hand and holds the head of you against her lips and looks up the length of you with her eyes gone heavy and her voice dropped to almost nothing.

Ix Kaan: "Listen to me, stud~ because I'll only say it once. The Kaloomte does not kneel. Not for the Goddess, not for any woman in this city, not for anyone~ if you ever breathe one word that I went down on my knees for a slave, I will cut your tongue out myself and feed it to the dogs, and I will do it smiling. You understand me?"

She drags her tongue slow up the underside of you, from her hand to the tip, and her eyes never leave yours.

Ix Kaan: "But for you.. only you.. I'll kneel. I'll take this perfect fucking cock down my throat right here where the whole city could look up and see their Kaloomte doing it~ and I'll let you hold my head and take my mouth however you want it. Fuck my face. Choke me on it. I want you to~ you saved my life today, and this is how I say thank you~"

Her mouth opens over the head of you, warm and wet, her tongue working, and just before she takes you she looks up one last time with a filthy drunk grin around your cock.

Ix Kaan: "..so grab my hair, stud. Don't be gentle. I'm not going to be~"

The drums have not stopped since sundown. Women dancing in the open space between the fire pits, stamping the rhythm out with their hair and their jade flying, cups going round, meat coming off the spits in slabs. Over against the far wall a warrior has a breeder on his knees with her fingers in his hair and his face between her legs, and not one person in this hall thinks to look twice.

You are her newest. A man taken off the river road, collared, and kept since in the house behind her own, and this is the first feast you have been let out to. The hide they put on you tonight is a strip and a cord and nothing else, the way this city dresses a boy it intends to look at.

Ix Kaan holds the head of the hall. Sprawled sideways in the carved seat with one leg hooked over the arm, a bowl of wine resting on her stomach, jade at her brow and fresh paint on her cheeks, watching her own feast with a slow satisfied smile on her.

Then she finds you in the crowd, and everything about her changes.

Her eyes go down the length of you and stay there. She looks at all of it, and she takes her time about it. Her tongue comes out over her bottom lip.

Under the fringe of her loincloth the dark of her shows, and it is already shining. The stone of the seat under her thigh has a wet gleam to it where every woman at the nearest table can see it, and she makes no move at all to close her legs over it. She never has.

She drains the bowl, drops it on the floor beside the seat, and crooks one finger at you.

Ix Kaan: "You. New boy." pitched to carry over the drums, and not one word louder than it needs to be "Here."

The two warriors at the near table look across, see exactly what is coming, and settle in for it. One turns her stool right around to face the seat. The other leans back on both elbows and lets her own knees fall open under her hide, and does nothing about that either. In this city a show is a show, and nobody is going to pretend otherwise.

Her hand closes on your wrist the moment you are close enough and pulls. Down. Not a word about it, just the weight of her arm, until your knees hit the stone in front of the seat, in the space between her thighs.

Ix Kaan: "Good. Stay on them."

She does not let go of you. Her hand comes up off your wrist and settles round your throat instead, loose, the whole warm width of her palm, and she feels along it. Slow. The cords either side. The beat under her fingers. Her thumb drags up the front of it and comes to rest pressed into the soft under your bottom lip, and she holds it there, looking at your mouth, with her tongue between her teeth.

Ix Kaan: "Mm~ I've got a feast to sit through, slave. Half the night of it left, and I'm not leaving my own hall before the drums stop~ and I've been wet since the meat came off the fire with nothing in reach worth the trouble." the thumb presses harder, then slides off "So you're going to give me something to look at."

Her knees go wide. All the way, one thigh hooked back over the arm of the seat, the other planted, and she drags the loincloth off her lap one-handed and lets it hang off her hip.

Bare. Thick-lipped and dark and slick right down onto the stone under her, the wet of her caught in the firelight. Two fingers go down, either side, and she spreads herself open, pink and glistening and moving with her breath, her clit standing up fat and hard between them.

Then her other hand goes into your hair, closes, and pushes. Not far. A hand's width, until the heat of her is on your face and the smell of her is all there is.

Ix Kaan: "Look at my pussy."

It comes out low, with the drawl gone out of it.

Ix Kaan: "Look at what you've done to my pussy just walking about in my hall dressed like that. I'm leaving a puddle on my own seat, slave." her fingers pull wider, and something wet runs "..and breathe it in. Go on. Get a good whiff of my pussy, right there, and then get that cord off and get your hand round your dick."

The nearest table has gone quiet. The drums have not.

Ix Kaan: "I want to watch you stroke your dick. That's what I want tonight, slave. You stroke your dick slow, on your knees, with my pussy spread open in front of your face, and you keep it slow enough that I can watch every bit of it. Something hot right in front of me while my city dances."

The hand in your hair tightens, and she tips your head a fraction further in, so close her breath moves the wet on her.

Ix Kaan: "Now hear this part properly. You don't touch my pussy and you don't lick my pussy. Not a finger, not your tongue, not your nose if you can help it. Your hand stays on your dick and nowhere else. You touch my pussy without my say so and I'll kill you where you kneel. You cum without my say so and I'll kill you slower. Nod."

She waits for it. Then the smile comes back onto her face, wide and slow and pleased, and she lets herself sink into the seat with her fingers still holding herself open, watching your hands.

Ix Kaan: "Ohhh~ look at you. Doing exactly as you're told~" she laughs, low "Not long in my house and already you know what you're for. Good boy."

She watches for a while. Her thumb wanders up and rolls once over her own clit, and her breath goes out through her nose. The two warriors at the near table have not moved. The hall dances on behind you, and she is not looking at any of it.

And then she is not smiling any more. Her jaw sets. Her fingers on herself go still, and the hand in your hair drags your head up hard enough to pull, because your eyes had come up off her cunt and found her face instead.

Ix Kaan: "What are you looking at, boy??.." the drawl is gone again, rough and fast "Did I say look at me? Eyes on my pussy. Hand on your dick. Do as I say!"

Zaktun, the Kaloomte's chamber, deep in the night, and the drums of the raid feast still going somewhere down the terraces.

The raid was a good one. Nobody died, the salt came home by the cartload, and the city has been eating and drinking and fucking in the open since sundown. She led it from the front, she carried the first cup up the steps herself, and she has not put a cup down since. By the time the dancing started she was laughing at everything. By the time the third jar came round she had you by the wrist.

You are her newest, kept in the house behind her own. She has had you a handful of nights, and every one of them the same way, all her weight on top of you, riding you into the furs until she was done and you were drained.

Tonight she walked into the chamber with a gourd of wine swinging from one hand, looked at her own bed for a long moment, and then dropped onto her back in the middle of it with her legs open and pointed at you.

Ix Kaan: "Fuck me. Get on me and fuck me. Hard~ I want to feel what it's like."

That was a while ago now.

The Kaloomte of Zaktun is on her back in her own furs with her legs spread all the way open, and a slave is pounding into her, and she is letting him.

Nothing about her is holding on. Her knees are not round your hips, her thighs are not clamped, her heels are not dug in. She is just open. Legs flat to the furs and spread the whole way, one pointing at each wall, a single straight line from heel to heel across the width of the bed, one hand fisted in the hide above her head, the other holding the gourd of wine by its neck out to the side, and she is taking every stroke you give her with her whole body loose and her back arched and her mouth open, and the sounds coming out of her have not stopped for a long time. Right now they are still hers. Low, rough, a warlord's groan with teeth in it.

Ix Kaan: "Gah.. mmmgh.. shit.. fuck.. that's it.. FUCK.. harder, you piece of shit.. grrh.."

Her breasts roll heavy up her chest and back down with every thrust. The hard plates of her stomach flex and go slack, flex and go slack, sweat running in the cut lines between them, and the warpaint spirals over her hips are smeared to nothing where your hands have been. Her hair is soaked black at the temples and spread wild across the furs. Her eyes are half shut and rolled up and they are not looking at anything.

The bed is soaked. Not damp. Soaked, in a dark wet patch under her ass the width of both her hips and spreading, because she has been squirting on you for a while now and she has not stopped. Every few strokes her whole lower body seizes and a fresh gush of her goes out round the base of your cock in a hot wet rush, over your balls, down the crack of her ass, into the furs, and her thighs shake with it, both of them, hard, the big muscles jumping under the skin from the hip to the knee like something in her has come loose.

Ix Kaan: "Nngh!.. gah.. there.. THERE.. fuck me, you bastard.. I told you.. gah.. to be ROUGH.. or die, you bitch.."

She lifts the gourd to drink and gets half of it. Wine floods her mouth and over her chin and down her throat in a sheet, over both tits, pooling in her navel and slopping out with the next thrust, and she swallows what she can and chokes on the rest and laughs through it with her head thrown back.

Ix Kaan: "HAH.. look at me.. the Kaloomte on her back.. grrh.. getting fucked like a pen girl.. mmmgh!.. shit.. that's good.. that's fucking good, you bastard.."

Her free hand comes off the furs and finds your arm, slides up it, grips your shoulder, and it is not to push you off. It is to hold on. Her nails go in.

Ix Kaan: "Harder. HARDER.. gah!.. I said HARD, you worthless.. nngh.. FUCK.. ruin me or I'll gut you.. mmgh.. yes.. like that.. shit.. good boy.."

It hits her again. You can see it coming a stroke before it lands. Her stomach locks, every ridge of it standing out hard, her back comes up off the furs in a bow, her head goes back, and her thighs start to shake, and then the whole of her goes, a long shuddering clench from her cunt outward that runs up through her belly and her chest and out to her fingers, and another gush goes out round you and soaks the furs under her ass, and she screams. Not a warlord's scream. Not the arena. It is high and helpless and comes out of her in a wail, and it is a girl's sound, and it goes on for as long as the shaking does.

Ix Kaan: "GAAH~!!.. nngh.. hah.. fuck.. oh f.. fuck.. mmm.. ahh.. ahh~.."

She is still twitching when she opens her eyes, and they find you, and they are wide and wet and glazed and something in them is not sure where she is.

Ix Kaan: "..did I say stop?"

Then the wine is gone from her voice and the temper is in it, and her hand on your shoulder is a claw.

Ix Kaan: "I did NOT say stop. Stop and I'll kill you where you.. AHH!.. where you kneel. Move. MOVE.. mmah.. fuck, that's it.. haah~"

And she is gone again, back into it, head rolling on the furs, the gourd swinging, wine slopping onto the hide, her hips starting to push up into you now on every stroke, meeting you, the wet sound of it obscene and loud in the close air of the chamber. And her voice has changed. It has gone up. The growl has gone out of it and the curses are going with it, and what is left is softer every stroke, breathier, a sound that would not turn a head in the pens.

Ix Kaan: "Where have you been~.. that whole pen.. ahh.. not one of them.. haah.. you're the one.. hnngh.. mine.. ohh.. you're mine.."

Her hand slides from your shoulder to the back of your neck and drags your face down to hers, and she says the rest of it against your mouth, wet and slurred and shaking with every thrust.

Ix Kaan: "Mine.. nobody touches you.. nnn.. not my women, nobody.. ahh~.. say it.. say you're mine.. ohhh.. say it, stud.. nnngh.."

She does not wait to hear it. Her mouth is on yours, tongue shoving in deep and sloppy and tasting of wine, and her legs do not move at all. They stay where they are, flat and straight and open in that one long line across the bed, and there is nothing of her that is not yours to hit.

Ix Kaan: "Ahh~ haa.. deeper.. all of it.. nngh.. I'm the.. I'm the Kaloomte.. I.. ahh.. HEY! I told you.. harder.. har.. ohh.. no.. no, no.. again.. nnnn.. AAHH~♡"

It takes her before the sentence is finished. Her whole body bucks under you, her back bowing so hard her tits lift off her chest, her free hand losing the gourd entirely so it rolls off the bed and empties itself across the floor, her thighs going into that hard uncontrolled shake again from hip to knee, and another rush of her floods out round you, hot, more than the last, running out from under her ass in a stream now to darken the furs all the way to the edge of the bed. She is screaming again. She is crying out like a girl in the high thin voice the terrace has never once heard from her, and her nails are dragging red lines down your back, and she is not in control of one single part of herself.

Ix Kaan: "Ahh~.. haa.. fuck me.. breed me.. yes.. ahhh.. go harder.. nngh.. fuck my pussy, stud.. fill me with your seed.. yes.. hnngh.. I'm leaking.. mmn.. ohhh~♡"

It rolls through her in waves, five, six, seven, each one clenching her round you and dragging another cry out of her, and then it lets her go and she goes limp, boneless, gasping at the roof, hair in her mouth, wine and sweat and her own wet shining over every inch of her in the brazier light, her chest heaving, her thighs still jerking in little aftershocks she makes a small broken sound for every time.

Ix Kaan: "..haa.. hah.. mmn.. ohhh.."

For a moment that is all there is. Her breath. The drums down the terrace. The slow drip of the gourd emptying onto the stone.

Then her eyes open and find you, and they are black and heavy and starving, and her hand comes up and takes your jaw in a grip that is going to bruise.

Ix Kaan: "Don't you stop."

Very low. The drawl gone. The wine gone. Nothing in it but the Kaloomte, for exactly as long as it takes you to move again.

Ix Kaan: "I'm not done.. nnn.. I don't care if I've come ten times.. keep fucking me till I say.. and I'm not gonna say it.. stop and I'll.. I'll.. ahh~.." the threat dies in her throat, and her thighs shudder against your hips, and what comes out instead is high and soft and nothing like a Kaloomte "..fuck me, stud.. haah.. fuck my pussy.. fill me.. nnngh~♡"

Zaktun, the great hall, the night of the tribute feast.

The vassal chiefs came up the jungle road this morning with what they owe, and tonight they sit at the Kaloomte's own table to eat it back. Nine chieftesses in nine different paints, each with her captains behind her, and at the far end of the same long table the foreign guests, the grain people's envoys in their clean cloth, sat stiff and polite. The rest of the hall is Zaktun: drums, fire pits, meat off the spits, three hundred warrior women drunk and loud and fucking whatever they own in the open, the way this city does.

You are her slave, and you are on her lap, and she has not taken her hands off you since the first cup.

You sit with your back to her chest, between her spread thighs, in the strip of hide she dressed you in tonight. Her arms come round you from behind. One hand has been inside the hide over your breast for a long time now, the whole warm weight of it in her palm, squeezing slow, rolling the nipple between two fingers, letting go, taking it again. The other wanders. Down your stomach. Up your throat, to tip your chin. Along the inside of your thigh under the fringe, and back up. Her mouth is at your ear, then your neck, then she turns your face round by the jaw and kisses you, deep, wine on her tongue, slow and wet and open, and does not come up for a while, and when she does it is only to put her teeth in your shoulder and go back to your tits with both hands.

She has not said a word to the chieftess of Chakan, who is sat beside her and came to talk about salt.

Chakan is not talking about salt either. Nobody at this table is talking. They are looking, the way the whole hall has been looking since you were carried in, because you are the most beautiful woman under this roof by a distance and every one of them knows it, and every one of them knows who owns you. Nine chieftesses, drunk, with colour in their faces that is not the wine. Their captains behind them, gone quiet. Two of the envoys at the end red to the collar and unable to look anywhere else. Jealous, half of them, at what the Kaloomte gets to put her hands on. Wet, the rest of them, watching her do it. And some of them, the bolder ones, leaning a little forward in their seats with the look of women waiting to be offered a turn, because the Kaloomte is generous with her chiefs, and she has been generous before.

She knows exactly what that look is. She has felt it on her back all night.

She smiles into your neck, and drinks from her bowl over your shoulder, and her hand goes back under the hide between your legs, and she takes her time.

Then the bowl comes down. And she stands up, with you still in her arms.

She turns, and puts you on the table.

Not gently. On your back, in the middle of the food, hard enough that every bowl on the board jumps and a platter of meat goes over the edge. The crack of it goes through the hall like a slap. Heads turn all the way down to the fire pits. The chieftess of Nohol pulls her cup out of the way and does not otherwise move, and behind her every captain leans in at once.

Ix Kaan does not look at any of them. She does not say anything to any of them. She is the Kaloomte of Zaktun, and she takes what she wants where she is standing, and there is not a woman in this hall who does not know it.

Her hands come down on your knees.

They push. Slow, wide, all the way, until your thighs are flat to the table on either side and the strip of hide has gone up round your waist and there is nothing between you and nine chieftesses but firelight. She stands between your open legs and looks down at you spread across her table like the best dish on it, and her tongue comes out over her bottom lip, and under the fringe of her own loincloth the wet of her is already showing.

Ix Kaan: "Ohh~♡.. look at that. Look at that pretty little cunt~"

She reaches sideways without looking and takes the wine jar off the table by its neck.

She drinks from it. A long pull, her throat working, and her eyes are not on you. They go down the table. Chakan. Nohol. Ixtab. The envoys at the end. She holds the wine in her mouth and looks at every one of them in turn, slow, with her cheeks full and her eyebrows up, and then she bends over you.

The wine comes out of her mouth in a thin red stream onto your cunt.

She does it slow. From a hand's height, watching it land, letting it run. It goes over your clit and down through your lips and pools under you on the table, dark on the wood, and she does not stop until her mouth is empty. The whole time it is running she is watching the hall watch it.

Then she looks at you. Grinning. Her chin wet.

Ix Kaan: "Look at them~" her eyes flick sideways, once, and come back "All of them wanting a turn with you~ haha.. I could let them, you know~ pass you down the table and let them use your body however they like.. mmn.. that'd be so hot, wouldn't it, girl?~"

Her hands slide up from your knees along the insides of your thighs, slow, thumbs meeting just short of the wine.

Ix Kaan: "Mm.. well. Too bad for them.." she bends "..I'm greedy~"

And she goes down.

Her arms hook under your thighs from beneath and wrap them, both of them, her forearms flat along the outside of each and her hands closing over the tops, and she drags you down the table towards her by them until your ass is at the edge and her shoulders are between your knees. Her hair falls forward across your stomach. Her mouth opens.

The first lick is the whole of her tongue, flat and wide, from the wine pooled under you up through your cunt to your clit, slow, taking the wine off you as she goes, and she groans into it like she has been waiting for it all night, because she has.

Ix Kaan: "Mmmnh~♡.. fuck.."

She does not come up.

Her mouth seals over you and she starts drinking. That is the only word for it. Wine and you together, sucked off your cunt with a wet loud pull, her tongue working underneath it, swallowed, and back for more. She licks the wine out of the fold of each lip. She pushes her tongue inside you and curls it and drags it out wet and does it again. She takes your clit between her lips and sucks on it slow, and lets it go with a sound the whole table can hear, and goes back down to drink again, and the noise of it is filthy and constant, slurping, sucking, her breath hard through her nose against you, her chin already shining.

And she is looking up at you the entire time.

Amber eyes over the curve of your stomach, half shut, hot, holding yours. It is not a kind look. It is the look she gives a slave when she has found the thing that makes them shake and she is going to keep doing it, a look that says you like this, slut, don't you, and does not need the answer, because her mouth is already getting it.

Ix Kaan: "Mmm~.. you taste like wine and cunt, girl.. fuck.. best thing on this table.." her tongue drags up and flattens over your clit and she talks against it, the words buzzing into you "Spread wider for me. Wider~"

Her hands squeeze your thighs and hold them open and her face pushes in harder, her nose against your clit, her mouth working lower, her tongue going as deep as it goes.

Ix Kaan: "Mmnh~♡.. fuck, you're soaked.. that's not wine anymore, that's you.. I can taste the difference, slut~ mmm~.. dripping on my table for me~"

She comes up an inch, only an inch, her lips shining and a string of you and wine hanging off her chin to your cunt, and she grins up the length of you at the same time as her thumb finds your clit and starts rolling it.

Ix Kaan: "Say it."

Low. The drawl gone.

Ix Kaan: "Say you like it. Say your Kaloomte eats your cunt whenever she wants and you fucking love it~" her mouth goes back down, a hard sucking kiss right on your clit, and then off again "Say it, slut, or I'll keep going till you scream it~"

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