ONE

 

Ryan Hunter hurried through the busy crowd, her long legs moving with an athlete's grace, glancing at her watch unhappily. She could not be late for this interview. It was too important for her future. Maclean, Jardin and Burger were one of the city's top law firms, and clerking for them this summer would give her a leg up on a highly profitable career when she graduated from law school next year.

Her hair was pulled back tightly behind her and she wore a dark blue suit, both designed to hide her femininity as much as possible. Old line law firms were notoriously sexist, and she neither wanted to be dismissed as a blonde airhead, or hired by some sleazy, grey haired lawyer who thought he'd get his hands on her full young breasts and shapely bottom.

She was going to be a lawyer, and that meant she would be treated with respect. She would demand that. No matter that she looked like a model and drew eyes wherever she moved, no matter that her hair was as perfectly golden as a summer field, her deep, soft green eyes could entrance idle minds and her legs looked as though they had been sculpted by an artist. She would be treated with respect, and not as a sex object!

After all the years of late night studying and days spent in research, all the dull, boring classes, and desperate efforts to make it to the highest levels of academic success she would simply not allow anyone to treat her as a body rather than a person.

Ahead of her she saw an odd looking man. He was tall, with a mass of gray hair spilling out over his shoulders. He wore a blue cape over some sort of outlandish robe, and he was staring at her. She scowled almost instinctively, warning him off. She had no time to deal with would be Lotharios today, especially weird ones.

 

Gareth muttered to himself as he pushed through the door onto the street, immediately angered by the discordant sounds of traffic and machinery, the noxious smell of rotting garbage and gasoline fumes. He felt a throbbing within his skull and a fury at the dull mass of humanity he was forced to move through.

He thought of Shey Hadar and its miles of gardens and fountains, the perfect, shining stone rising into the sky, and the gentle singing of songbirds, and then gazed around him with a curled lip at the filthy cars and rusting trucks rolling past, the boxy structures lining the street, and the ugly mongrels of humanity shuffling back and forth.

Whores. They were all whores, men and women alike. Cheap and tawdry as they went about their miserable, pathetic lives, desperately seeking things, objects in which to take pleasure. They had no Gods, no purity, nothing to give meaning to their existence. How had things come to this? How had the elites allowed power to fall to the lowest common denominator, to the dull eyed, slack jawed cretins who should, by rights, be crawling in fields doing menial work and bowing to their betters?

His eye was caught by a young woman clad in a mannish business suit. Her features were striking, and her golden hair, what wasn't pulled tightly back and bound behind her, looked lovely. She carried a large briefcase in one hand, a large handbag in another, and was striding purposefully along, no doubt intent on some trivial business pursuit.

This young woman should be naked and in chains, lounging at his feet, eager to please him with her body. It was what her she were made for.

His mind drifted back thousands of years in an instant and he smiled for a moment as he recalled the decision to breed a select group of females so that their hair became golden like the early sunrise so as to flatter Rahala. They would be the pleasure toys of the senior priests of Rahala, perfect of body, biddable of mind, with flawless silken flesh and hair.

The line had clearly bred true in this female, yet she hid her body behind this ugliness and went about her misguided life without ever realizing the true joy servitude could bring her.

Her green eyes noted his gaze and turned cold and distant, even faintly contemptuous, and his anger was raised again. She dismissed him!? He was a descendant of the great To'Ra! He had led mighty armies and crushed Rahala's enemies for centuries, and she, she was the descendant of a pleasure slave, bred to comfort his officers.

His eyes narrowed and he swept his mind about him, almost effortlessly creating a screen around himself, a vision of normality, and as the female swept past he reached for her hair, where it was bound behind her neck and yanked her head savagely up and back. Her scream went unheard by the rest of the shuffling mass, who saw merely a small group of overweight, unpleasant looking vagrants gathered together, and averted their eyes.

He turned her and slammed her into a pole, then his clawed fingers moved, lightning quick to the centre of her torso, ripping open blouse and jacket and tearing them back over her shoulders and off.

"Wh- what! Let me - "

He turned her and slammed her belly-down across a newspaper box, gripped the back of her trousers and tore them open to the crotch, letting the ragged pieces slide down her long, pale legs to her ankles. In seconds she was naked, and he used the convenient hold on her hair to yank her head up and back, bowing her body so he could examine it.

Her hands pawed feebly at his wrist up behind her head, and she thrashed and twisted uselessly as he ran a hand fondly down the downy soft flesh of her torso. The breeding program had clearly gone astray, yet this female still exhibited most of the traits. Her skin was softer than normal, her hair more silky, her breasts exceptionally firm and rounded, the nipples small yet perfectly moulded.

Her mind was a neat tracery of open connections, but there was something wrong, a blockage, like a rusted gate never used. He smiled and opened his fingers. Power arced from his fingertips and he traced a line across the gaping girl's forehead. She arched her back and shuddered, and he saw the connections close.

He let heat slide through his fingertips as he traced them down the nape of her neck and over her breasts and the girl shuddered, her hips bucking helplessly, her cries halting, turning to gasps of shock and confusion. He smiled down at her, his sharp nails tracing a line across nipples which instantly went rigid. He let his fingers ease downwards to her pubic hair, so silky and fine, and then along the line of her sex.

Her hips humped back violently and she cried out, shuddering again.

Such a waste, he thought. The whore had barely been used. It was no wonder there had been a blockage.

He bent her forward across the box again, and her legs spread wide, her bottom raising as he undid his robe. His manhood sprang forth, thick and long and powerful as he centered it at the entrance to her already moist hole. He thrust in sharply and she cried out in pain and ecstasy. She was tight, but she was made to take men such as he, and her elastic opening spread wide around his shaft as he drove himself deep.

 

Ryan tried to cry out but her chest was locked, unable to expel the air. Her body was on fire, her mind spinning out of control. Her nails broke as they clawed at the cold metal of the box over which she was bent. Her hair spilled out around her eyes as she stared wildly around. At the people passing her by. She was completely naked on a busy street, being raped, and no one was noticing. It was impossible! Cars and trucks continued to rumble past, and people did not so much as glance at her, nor even interrupt their conversations.

Filled with horror and shock, she felt like a passenger in her own body, helpless to affect it as the sensual fire raged out of control, the pressure building up past anything she had ever imagined, becoming a feverish sexual desire which overwhelmed and stunned her. She grunted with desperate satisfaction each time she felt his immensely thick cock drive into her body. Yet she ached terribly. Each savage thrust sent an intense flood of pain rolling through her body and mind.

And it didn't matter. She endured the pain, and her body ignored it. She came, shuddering and bucking back against the man who was raping her. She cried out in rage, or at least, started to, but the sound was one of bliss as she came again, even more powerfully. He was enormous, the largest cock she had ever felt. She could not believe how deeply he had driven himself, or how much it hurt.

She came again, whining like a bitch in heat, rutting back frantically onto his impaling cock as his hands clutched her hips and his torso slammed against her raised bottom.

She came, her head thrashing from side to side, the veins bulging in her neck. She had never felt such pleasure. It was burning out her mind, and nothing else in the world could compare to the joy of it.

She could feel her breasts hot against the hard, cold, rusting surface of the newspaper box, grinding and rolling back and forth as her upper torso was slammed and pounded forward and back by his cruel hammering pelvis, and then he yanked her head up and back painfully by the hair, and his hands moved beneath to cup and squeeze her breasts.

She came, gloriously, her breasts afire, throbbing, boiling with pleasure and pain.