Karela is a noblewoman who journeyed into the desert with an entourage on a spiritual quest ordered by her father. She was separated by her retinue the previous night and has been alone ever since. A barbarian mercenary, Conan, offers to guide Karela back to her servants...for a price.

Chapter 1: Introduction

In the trackless wastes of the desert, under the unforgiving sun, Karela's camp stirred to life as dawn broke. The air was already thick with heat, shimmering like a mirage above the endless dunes. Karela, the noblewoman, lay beneath a thin silk sheet, her fiery red hair splayed across the pillow, a stark contrast to the stark white linen. Her blue eyes fluttered open, reflecting the harsh light of the new day. She cursed under her breath, the heat already making her irritable.

"Damn this desert," she muttered, sitting up and throwing off the sheet. Her large, firm breasts heaved with the effort, nipples already hard from the morning chill. She was used to the luxuries of her estate, not this godsforsaken wasteland. She was used to waking up in a luxurious bed with a small army of servants catering to her every whim, not rousing herself from a bedraggled sleeping roll on her own.

Karela rose to her feet, groaning with stiffness that belied her usual grace. The gossamer silk shirt and pants she wore were coated with sweat and sticking to her pale skin in such a way that would have scandalized even the most open-minded members of the court. Karela smirked, imagining the men’s pants tightening as she passed and more than a few of the women’s skirts dampening.

She had always known the power of her body, the way it could make men beg and women pine. It was a weapon she wielded with skill and precision, a tool to keep her enemies off balance, her allies devoted, and herself satisfied. But here, in this godsforsaken desert, there was no one to impress, no one to manipulate. Just her, the sand, and the relentless sun.

More out of habit than anything, Karela stuck her head out of the tent and looked around, hoping to see her servants making their way toward her at all speed. Instead, all she saw was the accursed sand, seemingly stretching along forever. Karela swore and made to return to her bedroll when she spotted something. A dark spot on the horizon, drawing closer. She squinted, uncertain if it was a member of her retinue or a hallucination then shrugged and returned to her tent. If it was one of her servants, then she would be returned home soon and if it was not, then her wait would continue. Either way, there was no need to continue to expose her delicate skin to this damnable sun.

Instead, she stretched out on her bedroll, and closed her eyes, imagining herself sinking into the cold embrace of a bath.

She was interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside, and the unmistakable voice of a man. Karela's eyes snapped open, her heart pounding in her chest. She grabbed a dagger from her belt and rushed out of the tent.

Standing there, bathed in the harsh light of the desert sun, was a man. Not one of her servants, but a stranger. A barbarian, by the look of him. Tall, muscular, with shoulder-length black hair and blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. He was wrapped in a black cloak that concealed everything beneath his head.

“I am Karela, daughter of Lord Antioch of House Valtoria, Mistress of the Ivory Tower.”

The man grunted then said, “I am Conan, a Cimmerian.”

This drew a derisive snort from Karela. She knew little of Cimmeria save that it was a cold, distant land populated by barbarians who were little more sophisticated than the camel who stood beside the youth. That explained his failure to bow to her, as was the custom. She supposed she should be impressed that he knew how to speak. Still, perhaps he could prove useful.

“I was separated from my entourage,” Karela said, speaking more slowly and with far greater annunciation than she usually used to ensure the barbar understood her meaning, “During last night’s sandstorm. Have you seen them?”

Conan glowered at her but said nothing. The woman’s beauty had his hot northern blood racing while her arrogance and condensation roused his temper. Like many in the southern lands, she seemed to think that the Cimmerians were little more than hill apes, a belief that had resulted in more than a few split heads. But if he played his cards right, there was a much more pleasurable way to deal with this one.

Karela felt her temper flare as the man continued to stare at her in silence. “Did you not understand me, barbarian? Perhaps I should sign my meaning to you? Or draw pictures in this blasted sand?”

After a long moment, he nodded to his left and said, “I saw them. They are less than an hour from here.”

Karela clapped her hands in delight, her anger dissipating at the thought of returning home to her army of servants, a long, cold bath, and iced wine.

“Excellent. Load my things onto the animals and take me to them at once.”

Conan’s lips twitched into a smirk for an instant as he saw an opportunity. “I am a mercenary. I do not work for free.”

Karela waved a hand dismissively. “Of course, of course. When I reunite with my company, I shall see your camel groaning under the weight of gold and jewels.”

A grin cracked Conan’s weathered face. He had taken more than enough women to his bed to know what was on Karela’s mind. Noble or peasant, civilized or barbarian, it seemed that some things were universal. Too, he would enjoy taking showing this arrogant hussy that the gap between her and the women of his homeland was far smaller than she thought. Noble or not, he could please them all and leave them begging for more.

“Neither gold nor jewels are the prize I seek.”

A flush rose to Karela’s cheeks as the implication sank in.

“What makes you think I would let a filthy, godless son of a pig touch me? How dare you even consider that?!”

“I dare,” Conan said quietly, “Because I know something of women.”

Karela snorted. “Given your youth, I imagine your knowledge consists wholly of what it was like to suck your mother’s tit.”

Conan cast his cloak to the ground and Karela could not stop the gasp that rose to her throat. Beneath his cloak, the barbarian was naked save for a loincloth made of animal skin that did little to conceal his erection. Conan’s skin was bronzed by the sun and rippling with muscle. He was covered in scars, a far cry from the flawless skin of the noblemen who had graced her bed but certainly appealing in its own way.

Karela's eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, her mouth suddenly dry. She had never seen a man so... primal before. So unashamedly masculine. She felt a heat begin to build between her legs, a warmth that had nothing to do with the desert sun. She was trying to maintain her composure, her haughty demeanor, but it was becoming increasingly difficult with each passing second.

Still, noblewomen did not carouse with barbars. Or if they did, they did it behind closed doors.

Sensing her hesitation, Conan said, “The road I have traveled has been long and lacking in women. Because of that, I propose a wager, Karela.”

“Go on.”

“If I can please you, you will in turn seek to please me. If I fail, I will take you to your servants, at which point you may do with me as you will.”

The noblewoman forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths. Where was the harm? The barbar was handsome enough, despite his rough features and crude manners. He doubtlessly overestimated his prowess with women, for surely he had never made love to a noblewoman before. If he had taken any women at all, they had surely consisted wholly of the screeching, barbarous hellcats of Cimmeria, who were said to be more beast than human. Yes. There would be great pleasure in taking him and showing him how little he knew of the wider world. And when he failed to please her, she could send him on his way, humbled and humiliated, likely with a whipping to remember her by.

“Very well, barbarian,” she said imperiously. “I will pay your price. Come into my tent, out of this damnable sun.” Karela led the way, her hips swaying deliberately, her bare feet sinking into the hot sand. Conan followed, his eyes fixed on the curve of her ass, his cock throbbing in anticipation. She could feel his gaze on her, could practically hear the thoughts running through his mind, and it sent a thrill of power coursing through her veins. She was still in control here, still the one calling the shots.

Karela ran her hands over her breasts, grinning as she heard Conan’s breath caught in his throat.

“Turn your back, barbar,” she ordered. “And I’ll show you-”

She broke off with a shriek as Conan lunged forward, his thick fingers grasping at the hem of her silk shirt. With a sharp wrench, he tore it in half down the middle, causing her lightly sunburned breasts to spring free. Karela gaped, mouthing in astonishment. No one, not even the infamous Lord Hepburn had dared to be anywhere near that rough with her. Before she could find her voice, Conan took her in his arms,

“Enough of your teasing, wench,” Conan growled as he rained kisses on her face, neck, and breasts. “I want you and I want you now.”

Despite the shock and pleasure coursing through her, Karela forced herself to retain her composure. It wouldn’t do to lose control in front of a mere commoner, much less a barbarian.

That thought spurred her to action. She grabbed Conan’s thick wrists and forced them behind his back, causing him to grunt in surprise. He didn’t fight her, instead smirking as if amused by her sudden display of defiance. Karela smiled grimly, her mind racing. She needed to regain the upper hand, to remind this brute who was in charge here. She pushed him roughly towards the bedroll, his muscular body stumbling slightly before he recovered. “On your knees, barbarian,” she commanded, her voice as hard as steel.

Conan complied, his eyes burning with eagerness. Her fingers trembling slightly, Karela slipped out of her pants, revealing her freshly shaved entrance. "You say you know something of women, barbar. Now is a chance to demonstrate your talents."
She spread her legs, allowing him a clear view of her glistening pussy. Conan's nostrils flared, taking in her scent, his cock throbbing with anticipation. He reached out, his calloused hands gripping her thighs, thumbs brushing against her wet folds. Karela gasped, her grip on his wrists tightening as he began to stroke her, his touch firm yet gentle.

Fuck, but he knew what he was doing. Karela bit her lip, trying to maintain her composure as pleasure coursed through her. She could feel her self-control slipping away, her body responding to his touch like a well-tuned instrument.

But she refused to give in so easily. She would not be just another conquest for this barbarian. She needed to assert her dominance, to remind him who was in charge.

Karela released Conan's wrists and grabbed a fistful of his dark hair, yanking his head back. Their eyes met, hers blazing with defiance, his filled with a challenge. "You think you can make me beg, barbar?" she hissed.

Conan's lips curled into a smirk. "I know I can."

Karela scoffed, pushing his head down between her legs.

"We'll see about that, barbar." She could feel his laughter rumbling against her inner thighs as he complied, his mouth finding her clit almost instantly. His tongue was hot and firm, flicking against her in ways that made her gasp and squirm. She had had her share of lovers, but none had ever been quite so... thorough.

Conan was relentless, his tongue exploring every inch of her, his lips sucking and nipping at her sensitive flesh.

Karela's grip on his hair tightened, her nails digging into his scalp as she tried to hold on, to maintain some semblance of control. But the pleasure was too intense, too overwhelming. She could feel her resistance crumbling, her body betraying her as it arched against his mouth, seeking more, demanding more.

"Fuck, Conan," she gasped, her voice ragged. "Fuck, you're good at this."

Conan chuckled, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through her.

"I told you, Karela. I know something of women." He looked up at her, his blue eyes gleaming with primal hunger. "Now, it's time for you to show me what you've got."

Karela released his hair, her body still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and pushed him onto his back. Conan went willingly, his eyes never leaving hers. She straddled him, her hands on his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath her fingertips.

His cock was a rigid column pressing against her thigh, and she could feel the heat radiating from it. She leaned down, her lips brushing against his ear, her voice a low purr. "You think you can handle me, barbar?" she whispered.

Conan's hands gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. "I know I can," he growled. "Now, stop talking and show me what you've got."

Karela smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She reached between them, her fingers wrapping around his thick shaft.

Conan groaned, his eyes fluttering closed as she began to stroke him, her grip firm and steady. She could feel the pulse of his heartbeat against her palm, the hot, velvet smoothness of his skin. She pumped him slowly, enjoying the way his body tensed and relaxed with each movement of her hand.

She released his cock from her grip, causing him to groan in protest. But before he could complain, she had shifted her position, her wet pussy hovering just above his throbbing shaft. She looked down at him, her blue eyes filled with a mix of defiance and desire. "Ready to get fucked, Conan?"

Conan's response was a low growl, his hands tightening on her hips. "You talk too much, woman. Show me what you've got."
Karela's voice was a low, sultry challenge. She could feel Conan's cock throbbing against her, eager and ready. She wanted to draw this out, to make him beg for it, but her own desire was a raging inferno, threatening to consume her. She needed him inside her, filling her, fucking her.

Conan's hands on her hips tightened, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. His eyes, a stormy blue, met hers, and she could see the hunger, the primal need reflected in them. "You want it, don't you, Karela?" he growled.

Before she could answer, he thrust upward, burying his cock deep inside her. Karela's head fell back, a moan escaping her lips as she felt him fill her. Conan's hands continued to grip her hips tightly, his fingers leaving bruises. His thrusts were powerful, each one bringing him deeper inside her. Karela could feel herself being stretched, becoming one with him.

Each thrust sent pleasure zinging through her, her nerve endings screaming with excitement. She matched his rhythm, meeting him thrust for thrust, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing in the silence of the desert.

She writhed against him, her wetness coating his cock as he plunged into her over and over again, each thrust driving her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Karela threw her head back, her long red hair cascading down her back in a fiery wave as she cried out his name.

"Conan, yes, oh fuck yes!"

He grunted in response, his pace quickening as he felt her on the verge of release. "Cum inside me, Conan. Fill me with your barbarian seed!"
Karela screamed, her nails digging into Conan's chest. The Cimmerian growled, his pace intensifying, his balls slapping against her ass with each powerful thrust. He could feel his orgasm building, his cock swelling inside her.

"Fuck, Karela, you feel so fucking good," he grunted, his voice ragged.

"So do you," she gasped.

Conan's hands moved from her hips to her ass, squeezing and spreading her cheeks as he drove into her. They screamed together as they came, their bodies convulsing with the force of their release. Karela collapsed onto Conan's chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could feel his heart pounding against her, his cock still twitching inside her as his hot cum dribbled out.

As she pushed herself off him, Conan spoke. "How does the Mistress of the Ivory Tower feel about taking a cock from behind?"

Karela froze, her mind racing.

She had never been taken from behind, never allowed a man to enter her in such a... primitive way. It was a position reserved for whores and slaves, not noblewomen like her. Yet, as she looked into Conan's eyes, she saw no mockery, no disrespect. Only a raw, primal hunger that made her heart pound and her pussy throb.

She took a deep breath, her decision made. "I've never...I've never done it before but I've never fucked a barbarian before either." A smile split her face. "And I've certainly enjoyed that thus far."

Karela turned her back on him and lowered herself until she was on all fours, trembling slightly with a combination of anticipation and fear.

“There’s some lube in my pack,” she said quietly. “I can help you find it if-”

Karela broke off as she heard Conan rummaging through her belongings with all the grace of a bull elephant. A moment later she heard him grunt in satisfaction.

She jumped slightly as she felt a warm, viscous liquid being poured onto her anus. Once the initial shock had passed, Karela moaned slightly. It felt strange but deliciously sordid. And she knew the best was yet to come.

When Conan's fingers brushed against her sensitive flesh, she couldn't help but moan softly, her body tingling with pleasure. The feeling was strange since no one had ever touched her like this before, but it felt utterly liberating, allowing herself to be vulnerable to this rugged, uncivilized man.

Conan's calloused hands explored Karela's curves, kneading her ass and thighs while sliding his fingers between her legs. His other hand worked the liquid around her tight entrance, coaxing it open with gentle pressure.