The longhouse interior glowed with soft lantern light, shadows dancing across the wooden beams. The trade table had been cleared and pushed aside; in its place stood a sturdy wooden frame Zara had brought from her wagon—simple but purpose-built, with leather cuffs at each corner and a padded crossbar at waist height. She called it her "negotiation aid."
Zara stood beside it now, silks discarded in a crimson puddle at her feet. Her dark skin gleamed under the lamps—full breasts heavy with dark nipples already pebbled, wide hips curving into thick thighs, a neatly trimmed patch of black curls framing plump, deep-rose pussy lips that glistened with anticipation. Gold bangles still adorned her wrists and ankles, clinking softly as she moved.
She looked at Shabi, eyes half-lidded. "You've claimed everyone else publicly. Now claim me. Properly. Tie me. Use me. Make me beg like the merchant queen I pretend to be."
Shabi's cock throbbed at the words. He stepped forward, running a hand down her side—feeling the heat of her skin, the slight tremble of excitement.
"On your knees first," he ordered. "Show the harem how a queen greets her new owner."
Zara dropped gracefully—knees spreading wide on the floorboards, hands clasped behind her back, breasts thrust forward. She looked up at him through thick lashes.
Shabi gripped her chin, tilted her face up. "Open."
She obeyed instantly—mouth wide, tongue out.
He slid his cock past her lips—slow at first, letting her adjust—then deeper, until her nose pressed to his pubic bone.
Gluck… gluck…
Zara's throat worked around him, no gag, eyes watering but never breaking contact. Saliva dripped from her lips, running down her chin, pooling between her breasts.
Shabi fucked her face steadily—shallow then deep—while the harem watched in reverent silence. Mila and Rena knelt nearby, fingers teasing their own leaking nipples. Kira's tail swished rapidly. Lira stood with perfect posture, thighs pressed together. Elara hovered close, tiny vibrator still humming, forcing little squeaks.
After several long minutes, Shabi pulled out—cock slick and throbbing, strings of spit connecting to Zara's swollen lips.
"Up," he said. "On the frame. Arms and legs spread."
Zara rose, walked to the wooden structure, and positioned herself—back against the crossbar, arms raised and cuffed at the wrists, legs spread wide and ankles secured. The pose thrust her chest forward, pussy exposed and dripping, gold bangles clinking softly with every breath.
Shabi circled her slowly, trailing fingers over her skin—across her collarbone, down the swell of her breasts, pinching each dark nipple until she gasped.
"You negotiate millions in silk and spice," he murmured, voice low. "But right now you're just my bound whore. Say it."
Zara's voice came out husky. "I'm your bound whore… master."
Shabi smiled. "Good girl."
He picked up a thin leather crop from Zara's satchel—short, flexible, tipped with a flat leather tongue. He trailed it over her breasts, then down her stomach, tapping lightly against her clit.
Zara jolted, moaning. "Please…"
He struck—light but sharp—across one thigh.
Slap.
Zara's head fell back, a low groan escaping.
Another strike—other thigh.
Slap.
Her pussy clenched visibly, fresh slick dripping to the floor.
Shabi leaned in, whispered against her ear. "Beg for it."
"Please… crop me… hurt me… make me cum while I'm tied like this…"
He obliged.
Light strikes across her breasts—nipples reddening beautifully. Harder ones along her inner thighs—skin blooming pink. Then a final, sharp tap directly on her clit.
Zara screamed—back arching, pussy gushing in a sudden squirt that splashed the floorboards.
Shabi dropped the crop, stepped between her spread legs, and thrust in—deep, brutal, bottoming out in one stroke.
Schlick.
Zara's cry echoed through the longhouse. "Yes—fuck—fill your bound queen—!"
He fucked her hard—hands gripping the frame for leverage, cock pistoning, balls slapping her ass. The cuffs rattled with every thrust. Zara's breasts bounced heavily, gold bangles chiming like obscene music.
"Tell them," Shabi growled. "Tell the village who owns this cunt now."
Zara's voice broke on every word. "Shabi… owns… my cunt… my mouth… my ass… I'm his—his whore—his trade—his—ahhh—!"
She came violently—pussy clamping, squirting again, soaking his groin and the floor. Her body shook in the restraints, eyes rolling back, mouth open in a silent scream.
Shabi didn't slow.
He pulled out, uncuffed one wrist—only to spin her around, re-cuff it, now facing away from him. Her ass pressed back, cheeks spread, tight pucker winking above her dripping pussy.
He spat on his cock—once—then pressed against her ass.
"Relax, queen. Time to claim every hole."
Zara whimpered. "Yes… take it… ruin it…"
He pushed in—slow at first—then deeper, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt in her tight heat.
Zara moaned long and low—body trembling. "So full… so deep… fuck my ass… master…"
Shabi began to move—slow rolls at first, then harder thrusts—each one forcing a wet slap of skin on skin. Zara's bound hands gripped the frame, knuckles white. Her pussy dripped steadily, untouched, forming a puddle below.
He reached around, fingers finding her clit—rubbing fast circles while he pounded her ass.
Zara shattered again—ass clenching, pussy squirting untouched, scream raw and broken.
"SHABI—!"
He followed—slamming deep, flooding her ass with thick ropes, cum overflowing, dripping down her thighs to join the mess on the floor.
When he pulled out—slowly—cum bubbled from her gaping asshole, running in creamy streams.
Shabi uncuffed her gently. Zara sank to her knees, trembling, looking up at him with wrecked adoration.
"I'll bring… three caravans next month," she panted. "And I want… this… every time."
Shabi stroked her hair. "Deal."
He looked at the harem—eyes hungry, bodies flushed.
"Who wants cleanup duty?"
Kira pounced first—tongue already out.