Good Themysciran Girls, Bad Cimmerian Cock

Diana was a goddess. Mature, obviously experienced by the way she carried herself, but not a single line or crinkle marred her perfectly formed face. She still had the figure of a well-built teenager: long legs, a slender waist, and a full, firm ass. She was nearly six feet tall, and superbly muscled, but with a delicate bone structure that made her sweet to look at no matter how fearsome her mien.

But lest it be thought she was too svelte to be put to proper womanly purpose, her child-bearing hips and motherly breasts put paid to the idea. Both sets of curves were large and firm, with her chest especially sporting two creamy white melons that jiggled no matter how she restrained them, capped by fat nipples that were evident through whatever covered them. Even without thinking that she was his long-lost Yanna, Conan would’ve wanted to claim her.

At the moment, though, he feared to move her. She was green at the gills, looking like the slightest motion might dislodge the bile she sought to keep inside. However mannish her aptitude with a blade, she tended toward the feminine when it came to drink. If Conan drank like he had a hollow leg, Diana handled her liquor like both her long legs didn’t have an inch of room to spare. Not that he took issue with their construction. He just wished she were the kind of woman who grew amorous with drink, instead of seasick.

The barmaid, Aya, approached them with another pitcher of ale. She was no goddess, but she wasn’t bad to look at by only means. She was young, scarcely to twenty seasons, and womanhood had left her well-endowed. She had big firm breasts, long lissome legs, and the supple hips of a dancer, carrying her about beautifully as she dodged pawing patrons and stumbling drunkards to bring Conan his order. She competed both for his attention and his coin, but what he had to give the hotly curved blonde was a tremendous erection. She wasn’t Diana, but she was one lovely, tawny little creature, and she paled only in comparison to the raven-haired—

“Goddess, why is the room moving so?” Diana moaned, her head down on the table. In battle, she was invincible, but here, she’d been defeated by the mere prospect of more imbibition.

“I think your friend is done for, handsome one,” Aya simpered, leaning over Conan’s broad shoulders to lay the ale on the tabletop. Her breasts, inside a billowing blouse that was barely there to begin with, and left nothing at all from just underneath her breasts to the skirt just above her pubis, touched to Conan’s bare back. “Perhaps Aya could take her place, for an evening?”

Conan considered it. He was chained at the wrist to Diana—but the chain had a fair amount of length between him and Diana. And she hadn’t much right to gainsay him indulging himself, not when she’d spent days arousing his lust without offering fulfillment. He was not a man to demand it from her, even if she couldn’t defend herself, but while he had no right to take the pleasure from her, neither had she right to deny him the pleasure freely offered from this trollop.

“’m dying,” Diana gurgled, cutting into his thoughts. “Why are we bobbing, are we on the sea again Mother…?”

The next thing he heard from her was a long snore.

That decided it. She wouldn’t even be awake while he sated his lust. There was no way that could infringe on her delicate sensibilities.

“An entire evening?” Conan asked Aya, giving her an appraising stare, which she preened for. “Aye… we’ll see if you can last that long.”

Aya tittered. “My room is upstairs. You can enjoy the sight of me in private—and none will attempt to join in.”

“I’m afraid one will have to join in,” Conan replied, giving a pull on his manacle. Diana was unseated. She fell from her barstool onto the floor. Her snores rose up from there.

“Well, she is rather cute…” Aya muttered.

“You’ll have enough trouble handling me,” Conan informed her. “But I’ll have no trouble handling the both of you!”

With his free hand, he grabbed up Aya, slinging her over his shoulder. With his other hand, he gripped the chain so as not to chafe his wrist as he pulled the snoring Diana along across the floor.

Bump… bump… bump…

It was good that Diana was so lushly proportioned, Conan thought. All the more flesh to cushion her trip up the stairs.

***

Diana awoke to darkness. Her eyes were shut and she couldn’t bear to open them—the darkness was unbearable, but any amount of light she could not stand. But she thought she’d heard someone cry out.

Everything was silent now, save for a certain muffled rushing and a wet repetition. Sounds of nature; they reminded her of wildlife. Nothing that could truly make its way through the pounding in her skull. She waited for the stifling headache to clear up or to stop getting the impression that the world was unaccountably spinning beyond her shut eyelids or for her mind to return her to sleep, but before anything else happened, the sound came again, lower, as though from an animal.

It was answered by a pleading tone… almost as if someone was being tormented. Someone feminine. Flickering thoughts of duty eased their way into Diana’s consciousness. She hovered at the brink of sleep, rooted there until she heard the outcry again.

“Oh Godddd!” a woman’s voice came from far away, muffled but clearly human.

As if ordered by hypnosis to account for this sound, Diana slowly opened her eyes. The voice became clearer, groaning tremulously with a seriousness that even forced aside Diana’s hangover. Whatever this woman suffered, it was intense. Above her words, Diana heard a low, inhuman keening. She could not even begin to think what monster might let out such a sound.

Then: “Please, it’s so good, I want it like that!”

This was the woman begging for her life? No, as if her life depended on it. Diana forced her eyes to open and saw she was lying on the floor beside a bed. She saw the underside of the mattress roiling, impacting the bedframe’s slats with stiff blows. The female moans penetrated down as if following in the wake of the physical force. They reverberated in the space below the bed with great urgency.

Diana could not sort out all the echoes she heard, below the bed and beyond, filling the room. The woman’s whimpering tones seemed to shift from insistent moans to low, breathless gasps to sounds of undeniable pleasure. Pain, yes, but pleasure too. As fearful as the woman sounded, she was enjoying herself!

For long moments, Diana lay there as if paralyzed. Her mind whirling in confusion. Already suffering from the aftereffects of the ale she’d consumed, finding herself in this added situation was further upsetting to her equilibrium. She hadn’t asked to wake up to this, but through her own overindulgence, here she was. Now she must do her duty as a defender of woman, an enemy of evil. And there was only one way to find out what manner of evil she needs must deal with.

Diana breathed deeply and reached up to lace her fingers delicately on the side rail of the bedframe. As thought watching herself in a dream, she slowly pulled herself up. The bedframe made a tiny squeak and she stopped, fearful of being detected.

Yet the sounds above her went on, the woman pleading and gasping so earnestly that surely she could hear nothing else. Diana pulled herself up, grappling with her nauseous vertigo too much to anticipate what she would find happening atop the bed.

“Oh, do it! Hnnh! Do it!” The girl’s high-pitched voice sounded familiar. It curdled Diana’s inners to think of how much she had drank last night, but she seemed to recall the source of the voice was a… barmaid? It was hard to hear her through the rhythmic creaking of bedsprings. Diana strained her ears, now hearing heavy, staccato breathing, the stressed tempo of the bedsprings being contorted, and an animalistic snarl. What beast was doing this to the barmaid? What was it doing to her?

Diana’s whole body tensed as her head crested the side of the mattress, spilling the source of the noise onto her bleary eyes. And she realized what she should have grasped from the first. It made her pale, though she blushed so much her face felt like it was on fire.

There on the bed was the barmaid—whoever she was—her golden hair flailing around her head as she continued in the intercourse she was locked in by big meaty Cimmerian hands, continued being fucked by a big meaty Cimmerian cock!

Conan had the barmaid pinned on her hands and knees, his hands seeming to encompass all of her lithe thighs, prying them apart even though his wetly glistening prick was already buried deep underneath her obscenely raised buttocks. The soles of the barmaid’s feet pointed directly at Diana; between them, the Amazon could see Conan’s cum-swelled scrotum hanging as heavily as the man’s coinpurse after a profitable night’s work, as well as nearly the entire length of his hotly skewering manhood. He brought it almost all the way out of the barmaid before he thrust it back in, letting her know intimately all the inches she was to take of him on every stroke. It was a depraved sight, beating at Diana’s vision with every second as Conan pistoned into the barmaid again and again, as if there were no end to what the poor girl might take.

Diana shook, biting the back of her hand to keep from crying out in shock. She could not believe how the barmaid was enjoying this, enjoying being used—it was like her moans of pleasure were incompatible with the reality of the lewd act that Diana was seeing. And Diana just hung onto the bedframe, helpless, trying to regain her composure. She could do nothing to help. The barmaid obviously didn’t want any help. Diana couldn’t even leave the vicinity, not when her wrist was chained to the arm Conan had holding the woman’s body in place for his fervent thrusts.

Diana could only watch as Conan’s broad, muscular body rutted obscenely between the trembling columns of the woman’s long pale legs, taking perfect advantage of how wide apart they were. From her position, Diana could see clearly how Conan’s hands moved to clasp the barmaid’s slender shoulders, then reaching down at precipitous intervals to the jostling tits underneath the kneeling woman.

His scarred back was taut and sculpted with an excess of muscle, almost ugly in its functionality, his tanned skin contrasting sharply with the smooth white curves of this unvarnished city-dweller whose delicacy he was usurping. He looked like a beast devouring a virgin, but no virgin could enjoy being despoiled this much. And yet, no slattern could be prepared for the use Conan was putting her to.

For Conan was no mere animal. With his keen intelligence and keener senses prying into the woman’s cries, the flushing of her skin, he knew precisely what to do to her. He applied the crude cudgel of his manhood like a surgeon’s scalpel. Sensing how close the girl was to her finish, he slowed the pace of his thrusts dramatically, leaving himself deep inside her to let the barmaid feel how harshly he throbbed with lust for her. Then he slowly withdrew his massively rigid cock from her tightly clasped sheath, preparing to spear back into her accepting sex more pleasurably than ever.

This let Diana see the true size of his bestial prick. She gasped. It was much larger than she’d imagined even a large man like Conan sporting—she did not know how it was not visible even below the dangling fabric of his loincloth. Perhaps he wore some kind of briefs underneath the outer covering. Or perhaps when flaccid it was not evident how well-endowed he was—in which case Diana counted herself lucky to have discovered this way just how big it could get.

She had been greatly attracted to Conan, although unwilling to complicate their partnership with sex, but now that she knew his size, Diana didn’t understand how she or any other woman could take such a massive impalement. It seemed like it must be all the way in the barmaid’s stomach. She wanted to demand Conan stop before he hurt the poor girl, only the barmaid’s cries held no pain. Why then did Diana want so fervently for him to stop fucking her and start doing… something else…?

Conan grunted, throwing himself forward, and that massive erection sluiced warmly back inside of the wildly gasping barmaid. She welcomed it with an eager cry, her whole body a wanton invitation. Conan seated himself in her until his groin was against her pert buttocks, groaning as his manhood was embraced by the burning tightness within her. The barmaid let out an unearthly whimper as she was pierced through and through, and it hit Diana’s ears like the cry of a wounded animal, but she could see the woman’s face and it was contorted in evident rapture!

Diana’s heart raced, pounding until she felt sure they could hear it. She pressed her free hand to her own heaving chest like she could muffle the telltale sound.

The obscenely merged bodies on the bed remained still for a moment, then Conan heaved a sigh and extracted himself from the tightness the barmaid had to offer. She sighed in dismay at every inch he withdrew, and it was a slow, gradual process, pulling himself inch by reddened inch from the confines of her body. Only to thrust back into her, the barmaid moaning both contented and overwhelmed by having all his bloated length inside her.

Again he pulled out, until the engorged head of his member was actually visible to Diana. She stared at it so intently she felt hypnotized by it. It was emblazoned by a wanton amount of cream from the girl’s inner folds, while blinding white precum dripped from his glans to mark the bed, as if anointing it his territory.

“Don’t stop!” the barmaid whined, and kicked her feet upward, striking Conan’s flanks as though she were riding a stallion.

Diana’s mouth dropped in shocked disbelief as the stallion charged, flattening his bristling pubic hair against the girl’s curvy buttocks, muscles corded as he strained to push himself even further into her. The barmaid’s clenching buttocks rose up off the bed as she took this pitched thrust—her feet pedaled in the air, suddenly disinterred from the sheets.

Conan let out a laugh at the absurd sight. Big hands grasping the girl’s comparatively tiny body, he held her to his loins, as if she were a wheelbarrow he were pushing along. Even kneeling, he was such a towering figure that the woman’s upper body hung down from where her groin was impaled.