A tale of the Ancient City of Ruins.
He looked down at her, as the slave leaned against the saddle, her shoulder resting against the brushed nap of his riding trousers. Winded, breathing harshly through her mouth, profusely sweating, big drops popping up on her gorgeous face, her fulsome tits rising and falling rapidly with her respiration.
The Mfalme chuckled from atop his saddle. She was disheveled, wet, stinking. To his dark and handsome eyes the girl looked like she'd just been fucked. He growled as his nose caught the full bouquet of her musk. Dismounting, boots crunching over the gravel, he unhooked a waterskin from the kaiila's high saddle, as the slavegirl continued to lean against the saddle.
"Nadu," he snapped out the command.
The girl all but fell to the smooth pebbles, her bountiful breasts heaving as she sucked in air. She spread her knees and placed her hands on her thighs, but she was too winded to arch her back and her head hung down as she continued to rasp in her breath and harshly exhale. Sweat poured off her sunkissed flesh, making her gleam bright in the tropical Sun.
She was lovely, vital. Female.
Mwindu unstoppered the waterskin, letting the bosk bone plug dangle down on its small linked chain. He grabbed the girl's sweat-matted curls in a big brown hand, using it to jerk her pretty head back and forcing her face up.
He upended the skin and squeezed cool water into the falarina's gasping, open lips. The clear, refreshing liquid gushed down into her mouth in a steady strong stream, bubbling as she attempted to swallow it all, but gagging after the first few swallows, making the water run from her mouth, over her chin and down her chest, to sheet off the heaving slopes of her drenched tits and leap from the points of her hardening nipples.
Mwindu righted the waterskin, replugging it as he looked down at the kijakazi for a moment, admiring the beauty of the slut, even in her state of disarray and exhaustion. He rehung the skin over the pommel and opened a saddlebag, taking out a small bunch of bananas, then breaking one off. He peeled the long yellow skin from the ripe fruit and held the blunt end to the slave's parted, panting lips.
"Yes, Maulana," she rasped.
Her sensuous lips pushed out, grasping the tip of the banana between them before she bit into the fruit with even white teeth. She chewed and swallowed, then took another bite, until the banana had been completely eaten from the Mfalme's hand.
"Asante, Maulana." Thank you, Master.
"Good girl," he praised, throwing the banana peel through the air. It splashed into the Lake, close to the shore. He left her panting in her kneel as he stepped aside, unlaced his trousers. He pulled out his cock, stroked the hood of his foreskin from the head and pissed into the roadside ferns.
The nameless slave knelt there, her stomach roiling slightly from the hard run and its load of water and banana. For a few frightful moments she was afraid her queasy stomach might rebel and vomit. But she willed that not to happen. She didn't think she could live with the shame of puking out water given to her by a Ubar, food fed to her from his own hands. And after a few ihn her belly did calm and she began to catch her wind.
To be watered and fed from a master's hand was to a Gorean slavegirl what being romanced with a candlelight dinner or given expensive jewelry was to a Terran girl. It stirred her heat as profoundly as the run had stirred her physically. The act aroused the sexually deprived kajira, she hadn't been used since being shipped from Schendi, several months in the past.
Mwindu finished emptying his bladder into the bracken and once more turned toward her, not bothering to lace up.