Chrema's Game
© 2004 by Nikki Isaak

Who will it be tonight?

Princess Chrema slipped into the dark alley.  A bag of coins jingled in her masculine trousers—a far cry from her usual royal attire—and brushed coarsely against her bare thigh.  The friction caused a stirring in her loins.

As her footfalls echoed in the alley, she grinned, again wondering what Lucas, her middle-aged mentor and wizard, had arranged for tonight.  A mugger who fondled her regal nose while he fucked her pouty little mouth, his balls slapping against her delicate chin? A dildo-strapped wereclown prostitute with a grudge against the privileged class?

Her fingers slipped through a hole in her front pocket.  As her fingers flirted with her inner thigh, she shuddered pleasurably, knowing that whatever happened, she was safe.

Lucas was somewhere behind her, a precaution.  If anything went wrong, his head would be the first to roll...

A scuffling sound to her left, among the shadows.  She glanced, but didn't slow her pace.  Her 'attacker' would come to her, more thrilling than those vanilla princes that her father paraded before her.

Her patience was rewarded.  She gasped as her attacker shoved her against the building to her right, leaning into her, his dick solid against her ass-furrow.  He smelled like cinnamon, ginger...

One of Lucas's hunky gingerbread men! Her grin left her face as her attacker slapped her hard across the left cheek, leaving a painful sting.

"Why are you grinning, trollop? You want to be robbed?"

He knocked her legs out from under her, ripped away the flimsy fabric of her workman's shirt and pants.  The gold was his now.

Chrema, winded, bruised and scratched, let her attacker flip her over, his nut brown bulk covering her supple, milk-white body.  A fresh heat rose within her, her heart pounding frenziedly as his prodigious dick filled, pounded her loins with anarchic precision.  His face was buried in her right armpit, her fragrant sweat making him harder, more aggressive.  His hands cruelly pinched her nipples, her thighs, her loins, causing her to gasp, partly in pleasure, partly in pain.

He pulled out before he came, his molasses-sweet jism sploshing her belly.  His eyes, black as the night above, gave no warning of the hard slap that scored the other side of her face.

She gasped, angry and excited, spasmodic in her orgasm.  Foreign profanities tumbled from her mouth.

Then he was gone, like he'd never been there.

Lucas stood over her now, amused and paternal.  He helped her up, handed her a towel, fresh trousers and a workman's shirt from the knapsack he'd brought along.

"Who is he?" She tried to sound casual.

"You know the rules, princess."

Yes, she did.  Rules that they'd made to preserve the spirit of the game: no names.

"Shall we head back, princess?"

Her smile was affectionate.

"Make sure you get some sleep.  Tomorrow, Prince—" Never mind that, Lucas.  Just tell me when and where the next game is."

© 2004 Nikki Isaak. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

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