Sleen

Sleen were a large man and Abby a small woman. In this arena Abby's nimble movements, and instinct gave her an advantage over the lumbering and cumbersome Torvaldslander. The slave arched her back as her soft puffy labia met his upward thrust. Her breast offered as tribute to Sleens wanton tongue. Feverishly flicking, lapping and licking droplets of sweat from her cleavage. Then suckling, and nibbling; pinching and kissing her perky pink nipples. A welcome distraction intended to lure his attention away from the real war being waged beneath their waist. The sound of flesh-meeting-flesh rang off the walls in the nearly empty hall. Sleens eyes rolled back in his head. Soon he would succumb to the assault perpetuated by the posterior of the bouncing wild beast. Prior to resting on top; her clitoris, a barely visible dot, so precious, so gentle had now swollen to the size of a thimble. Coming close to exploding from the pressure of being pinched between Sleens waist and the base of his cock. Her hips grinding in a back-and-forth rock. Then switching to a circular motion, like she was stirring a pot. Her eyes narrowed then opened in shock. Her expression, if larls could be vixens slowly she’d stalk. Then spring an attack and prey upon cock. Insidious clawing and scratching the bones on his back. Moaning and growing in pain more than pleasure but too intoxicated to fight back. Out of desperation and self-preservation he wrapped his arm firmly around her waist and tightened his embrace. He used her own momentum from her rocking and griding to lift himself off the chair and pick his sexual assailant up in the air. His cock a hardened weapon he’d driven into her heat with repetition and rhythm. In and out was the knight as he joust. Or the Olympian tossing his javelin stabbing in her abdomen. A valiant effort to impale her. His goal? An unforgettable climax or the total annihilation of her cervix.