Kiri: Worg-Rider in the Tharunian Wastes, Part I [WARNING: GRAPHIC]

Disclaimer: The following story was posted just under a year ago on a fanfic board, where it was well-received. As my character origin thread has met only positive feedback so far, I repost it here.

This story includes graphic content including hardcore sex, violence, horror and bestiality. If these things are not your cup of tea, scroll no further down. However, if ye be a perverse follower true to the dark glory that was and is Acheron, read on.

 

 

 

Stuttering winds swept over the rocky wasteland, pushing ahead of the grim, amber clouds laden with sand churning between hoodoos and rock spire, bearing a threatening look that hinted of a full-fledged sandstorm. Cactus and ancient, dead trees swayed in the breeze, now and then the shifting winds collaborated to form rippling waves over the surface of the sand on either side of the pebble and broken cobblestone road .

Kiri. Tharunian slave and harlot. She had left her steed at the last outpost in the care of the border guard, having ridden there from the previous village not long past daybreak. From here, stealth was much more needed than speed, and she went on foot, her rogue’s skill allowing her to shadow the trail as she followed it, a hazy reddish sun flickering through the blanketing clouds at her back. She had been sent out here to watch the movements of the ever-restless Lurker tribes. The main trail was passed over here and there by smaller game trails. Hares and various fauna leaping or scuttling from cactus to cactus, from brush to rock.

At one time she had been spied by a worg on the prowl. For a lingering moment the worg’s gaze met her own blue-gray eyes. It was off a fair distance on the hillside where it inclined up the side of the valley, but close enough to reach her in one rushing charge if it chose to do so.

Casually she reached over her shoulder, slipping slender fingers about the hilt of her sword where it rested in its sheath between her bare shoulder blades, hanging from the chain baldric wrapped over her right shoulder and strapped securely between bared breasts, nipples dangling long and erect as they faced the sandy abrasion of the desert winds.

Finally the worg moved on, and her wrapped hide boots contoured the ground to just one side of the trail, avoiding the frequent patches of loose sand and the footprints they might leave. Metal bracers fastened on her wrists, her right upper arm sporting a silver-gilt armband, and a thick steel collar was clamped tightly on her pale throat. A thin strip of rubber elastic enclosed her waist, pulling tight a pair of white vinyl plastic briefs, the wide crotch of which was pulled tightly between her legs and stretched over firm buttocks. Salted from her sweat and stained and yellowed with urine. It was all the barbarian slave wore.

Platinum blonde locks draped over the silvered, metal circlet on her head, which Kiri brushed aside idly as she surveyed the land ahead and behind. One time she had spied a group of men; a Lurker patrol and there were four of them, making their way west. She would have to make note of that to village’s chieftain, but today it was her goal to reach the outskirts of the Lurker settlements; over a good league away in the wastes. Little did she suspect she was not going to make it there on this day. The ground was growing a bit flatter, receding from the lower rock formations.