Barbarian Whore in Stygia

Arriving by ship on Akhet Isle in Khemi, where foreigners are tolerated

Making her way to the Souk

The exotic wares and many vendors in the marketplace

Their eyes had been on her from the moment she’d passed through the Souk, and not as if any could be blamed for their voyeurism. The collared bitches’ hair gleamed pale, her eyes blue-gray and skin pallid like a cow’s, clearly marking her as a northern barbarian. It was the tight band of iron at her throat and almost total lack of clothing that quickly got her marked as a slave and whore. Of course, both insults were completely true, but Kiri wore both appellations with excitement and pride.

Wearer Of The Pants: A barbarian and her prized, scandalously tight briefs

It got some of regulars in the market to solicit her; her northern accent and the fact she was clearly a stupid, illiterate barbarian made the negotiations challenging, but she didn’t need to speak for what they wanted her to do, and the indecent harlot had no reservations in putting out. She sucked an erect cock as if it was the last she’d ever enjoy, gulping come thirstily as if she’d not had sustenance in days. She’d reared like a bitch in heat at their behest, taking even more loads in her cunt or deep up her ass, always offering the courtesy of licking the penetrating member spotlessly clean afterward. Some of Stygia's soldier took meticulous care of their camels and horses, and reportedly she'd been paid to service at least one stallion, but needed no urging for others.

Noticing the scornful gaze of the Stygian women

Attention gained by the haughty Issa, who oversees the market

There was something licentious and sexual about her every move. Her body, plainly displayed for all to see was skinny, emaciated, with knobby elbows and knees, what insufficient sinew and muscle her gaunt form possessed seemed tightly drawn. So it was that she walked with an awkward gait brought on by obvious weakness and much abuse, but with a sensual grace that seemed to beg the prurient attentions of all around her.

The scanty briefs she wore were her only clothing; short pants of dulled silk that fit snugly to begin with, doubly secured with a copper-gilt girdle that hauled the bottoms up ever tighter between her skinny, pale thighs and over barely-covered arse. The undergarment was small even for a breechcloth, and if anything resembled a diaper…given the degree of heavy staining on them this was very likely the case. Especially visible was the staining on the backside of the briefs, and hint of spume in her pale gold locks that was clearly the seed of something spilt vigorously, but with an off-white thickness, and in quantities too great to have been human.


Sliding off the silk bottoms at her side with each orbit of her hips, she wore a sheathed long sword, but it immediately begged the question if she had the strength to use it. Judging by the stripes and scars crossing her body, some obviously from whips but many having disfigured her naked teats, the query seemed to answer itself.

"What do we have here? Another barbarian cow come to whore herself on the island? My day has been busy enough."

"Look, if you're looking to suck some cock while you're here, you'll need a license like all the other whores."



"You're filthy naked even for a barbarian whore. I could call the guards, and they'd have you in chains in an instant...that means you're getting my special for northern cows like you: A poisoned spear shoved up your ass, and your clit and tits hung on hooks. Something tells me you'd get off on that..."



Browsing the vendors

“Northern barbarian slut! …sordid harlot! Look at how she dresses- the golden-haired hussy thinks all of Akhet is her whorehouse! The guards should have her whipped, and the priests order them to nail her to a tree and crucify her! So salacious is her undress, the way she presents like the stupid animal she is! She should have the opportunity to seduce the crucifixion tree with her ignoble writhings. Let her then see if her lewd barbarian ways avail her!” So came the venomously hissed words of local Stygian noblewomen, come to trade on the island, their open threats often following just behind her.


She heard them, of course…she’d heard them all, but maintained her silence just to keep her mounting arousal hidden from all passersby. She felt their vicious eyes on her, taking in her pale, skinny physique clad in little more than a tight-fitting, high collar and scandalously short Nemedian-styled breeches, considering all the tortures that could be prepared for her.

At times one noblewoman or a pair would plainly mention the things that might be done to her, in most explicit and gruesome detail. Browsing the wares in the Souk, she bit her lip firmly, the sweat on her brow perilously in danger of giving her away. It was becoming momentously difficult to control the gathering feeling between her lean thighs.


“Why not call the soldiers now? It would be a simple thing to have her arrested on the spot, simply for her obscenities.”


Why not, indeed? Sooner or later, the half-naked Æsir-Brythunian was certain to be arraigned on charges that would stick, and force her to understand punishment and torture as it was practiced in Stygia.


Little did those noblewomen suspect, perhaps, that the very reason Kiri had come to Stygia was in the hope of an opportunity to be brutally whipped and tormented, then cruelly, horrifyingly crucified without mercy? They would gather for the very humiliating and public spectacle of her death. They would be there to laugh and scorn derisively as her clothing was torn from her in the very streets of Khemi. They would be following her on her death march, with scornful words and suggestions that would cut like daggers, as only another woman knew best how to intensify her hurts. Abusing her body, running with their spittle as it flared under the desert sun, and with burning red stripes from the whips that hurried her on. The heat of her fantasy coupled with the droughty desert air had her almost delirious, so ardent her desire to suffer at their hands…

The collared barbarian-slave attracts the eyes of many...

Having spent a night in the Serpent's Head Inn

Her contacts have given her another mission

Crossing the common room

Having mounted and ready to ride to the piers

Upriver in Khopshef Province

On the deep sands, the ship of the desert makes the best mount

Stayover in Caravanserai