Night fell and the main fire pit slowly burned down, plunging the tent into a gloomy twilight. Tah-ri could sleep only fitfully, thanks to her uncomfortable position and the emptiness still aching in her.
Tah-ri shuddered involuntarily awake in the depths of the night as some of Jor's seed slowly seeped out of her. Her dreams had flashed again and again over how Jor had taken her, how hot and demanding he was thrusting in to her, his shaft moving in her with relentless rhythm...
She rubbed her thighs together, trying without success to bring some friction to bear on her sex. Thinking and dreaming of him had done nothing to abate her need for release.
She glanced over at Jor, who was snoring softly. She desperately longed to go to him, to slide her naked body next to his. But of course, she couldn't. She didn't even dare wake him to beg for relief. It was true he had never lashed her, but that did not mean he never would if inadvertently made angry enough.
She looked around, desperate to find some way to quench her inner fires. Perhaps her feet; she was fairly flexible. Her training as a harlot slave under her mother had included a great deal in the art of dancing to entice her future masters, and raw dexterity, to delight them. But, sadly, she soon discovered that she was not quite flexible enough. She could sit on her heels, yes, but the position was too uncomfortable to take much pleasure from it.
Looking around anxiously, her gaze suddenly settled on Jor's family sword, nestled in its scabbard by the map table. Her eyes grew wide, regarding it. The sword with its wonderful, long, vaguely penis-like handle and pommel. If she stretched way out, she could barely reach it with her toes.
But dare she? Her master would be angry if he found out. She would be lashed for sure. But the desires in her empty, empty womanhood were becoming unbearable. She fought with herself about what to do for many long minutes.
The more she contemplated the sword, the more she lusted for it in a way she could not quite explain. Almost as if it were calling her, strumming quiet music only her blood could hear. Maybe she would just have to be very, very quiet...
She extended her foot and tipped the sword over toward her, catching the crossbar quietly and expertly in the nook of her knees. She smirked. Perhaps all those dancing lessons had a pay-off for her after all. She stole a glance at her master, who thankfully still slept, oblivious.
Tah-ri flexed her knees outward, slowly using her toes to inch the pommel of the heavy sword toward the nadir of her furry patch. She bit back a soft cry as it made contact with her ribbon of pink flesh. The metal did not feel cold at all. It felt as warm and tingly as it had before. It felt not unlike a man's probing haft, hardened to supreme stiffness by lust for her...
She flexed well-practiced hips up and down, up and down, trying to work the thick knob of the rounded pommel into her wet nether lips. When it finally popped in, Tah-ri shivered and gasped sharply. At last!
She thrust herself back and forth minutely at the weapon, working up the lubrication to slip the weapon in further. Her breathing accelerated and her heart raced as it penetrated her an excruciating hair's breadth at a time. It was nowhere near as exciting as her master's magnificent tool, of course, but it would do. She smirked as a wave of pleasure shuddered through her as she felt its tingly warmth slide under her cervix. It would definitely do.
Finally she worked the entire length of the handle in, and her toes on the scabbard managed to twist the crossbar up at such an angle that she could rub the center of her sex against it. It took only a few heartbeats of the warm steel on her over-sensitized nub to create an overwhelming orgasm. "S-seasons, yes!" she exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. "Aaaaahhh! Gods and Seasons, I can't believe--!! AAAH!" She convulsed and went rigid, her inner folds gripping the sword's handle with spasm after spasm. She had to bite into the meat of her forearm to keep her loud whimpering from waking Jor.
She used the sword to visit two more delicious climaxes on herself, then gripped the sheath with her toes and slowly withdrew the weapon from her body. She panted breathlessly in satisfaction for a few heartbeats, then slowly, excruciatingly worked the sword into some semblance of its former position propped up against the map table.
- - -
Tah-ri was unaware of how or when she fell asleep just a few heartbeats later, only that it was a deep and satisfying slumber.
Which she was yanked abruptly out of as someone violently wrenched her by her hair. She began to cry out at the pain, only to have a massive hand clamp over her jaw. A cruel, strangely-inflected voice hissed, "Well, looks like the General there has some kinky habits."
Tah-ri's eyes darted back and forth. Darkness still veiled the night, and she could make out three silhouettes towering over her. Two were male, one tall and slender and the other massive and burly. It was the latter who held her. The third had definitively feminine curves.
The woman bent close enough to Tah-ri so she could make out some features. Reddish hair, freckles, light skinned. An off-worlder. She quickly and expertly cut Tah-ri's bonds loose.
"Listen closely," the female said, her thickly-accented voice razor sharp. "Cry out or disobey us in any way and you will suffer much agony at Ghend's hands." The huge muscular man smiled wickedly and wrenched her hair painfully for emphasis. "And you will answer our questions quickly and truthfully. Do you understand, slut?"
Tah-ri nodded quickly, her bladder barely resisting the urge to void itself. Oh gods, was this how she was going to die?
The tall, thin man protested, "Don't call her 'slut.' See those tattoos on her back? She's a harlot-slave. It is a profession of some respect, even for a slave." He was the only one of the trio who spoke with a local's tongue.
The woman rolled her eyes. "I little care for what you Zanrini think of your sell-slits, Ar-Ihl-dar. Where I come from, a slut is a slut."
Ar-Ihl-dar crossed his arms. "And that is exactly the sort of thing why you Ximenians will never be welcome here, Rylhan. If you off-worlders can't respect our customs..."
"Enough!" the woman hissed. "We are not here to discuss your gods-shitting customs!" She turned back toward Tah-ri. "So you are the General's little slut, right?"
Tah-ri glanced furtively at Jor, still sleeping soundly in his cot. Why had he not awaken with all this commotion in his very tent? Why had the guards just outside not noticed these three intruders? Had they been ensorcelled somehow? Had...
"Answer!" the woman called Rylhan snarled. Ghend pulled back on her hair violently.
"Y-yes!" she squeaked through tears of pain and terror. "I am his harlot-slave. I am the property of the House of ri. Don't hurt me, please..."
"How long have you been his, slut?"
