Teral was thrusting himself into one of the younger pregnant slave girls. She was crying which only lit his fire more. He couldn’t get the tear streaked face of that boy-girl out of his mind. He laughed like a madman pounding away mercilessly at the girl under him. That scene the other day was amazing. When Jerhal was the first to spar against that fag, he was hoping something like that would happen. Jerhal didn’t know how to hold back when he sparred. He saw Malak and his group of sycophants almost stop Jerhal from heading up for the spar. They just were a step too slow.

They clashed shields, the giant started to take charge of the flow of the battle, then they clashed shields again. He could see every drop of sweat on his face, as Jerhal abandoned his shield and spun away from the charge. The big dumb animal knew he was had and instead of diving forward which might have extended the fight another swing or two he turned his back to Jerhal in order to bring his sword around to intersect the incoming strike.

Had he pulled it off it might even have been an impressive desperation move. His own breath caught seeing he was going to get that blade around. But how could an amateur pull off something an expert would never manage? His fear was unfounded he saw Jerhal’s sword and knew where it would intersect. He almost could hear the screams before the blade connected.

That child, oh the screams of that child they almost made the last two years’ worth every minute. He sounded like a stuck pig. It was amazing. What a weak boy.

He shot his load into the pregnant girl reveling in the memory. Then slapped her face, sneering, “I don’t like it when you cry. That might be my bastard in your belly.” He slapped her again, almost absently. “Slave are you listening? That bastard might be mine. I won’t have my son raised by a crying bitch. Stop sniveling.” He actually loved it when they cried and screamed. He was very careful not to harm them in a way that left a mark, they were expensive property after all, but the cries just made him more excited. What usually got his engine going again was when he played this game afterwards. He’d tell them he doesn’t like them crying. Of course this only made them cry harder, or if they were stupid they’d try not to cry, which fit his needs just as well. He’d just pinch or slap until the tears flowed again. There was nothing quite so fun as a living sniveling plaything to take out his anger on.

He could almost taste the pain, his memory of that fight replaying over and over again, the sobs of the girl under him starting to merge with his memory of the sobs of that boy-girl. He needed to hear that noise again. He wanted, had, to hear that noise again. He had to draw that idiot into a contest that would give him a chance to make him make those noises again.

He needed to hear that noise again

He needed to hear that noise again

He needed to hear that noise again

He needed to hear that noise again

He needed to hear that noise again

He needed to hear that noise again

He came again. The release was the best one yet. He was so happy with the sensation he almost felt like praising the girl. Then he opened his eyes and noticed the girl was nowhere to be seen. Gone. His right hand was holding his manhood. His release came from himself. Not the slave girl. He scowled and pulled his pants up, not bothering to clean himself. And went searching for another girl. His mood was still good, the sounds of that boy-girl’s screams cleaning the scowl off his face. He needed to hear that noise again.

The girl noticed the evil and insane look in the eye of Teral growing far stronger. He was laughing with an insane laugh while tears poured down his own face, the twisted mélange of pleasure and pain crafted a horrifying mask of insanity as he started to jerk his own manhood a singular memory that would give her nightmares for weeks. The scene was so terrifying she did something she hadn’t done in years. Her survival instinct was shrieking at her, and she gave in to the terror. While Teral was staring at nothing, laughing like a lunatic, she escaped from him, cursing the slave’s chains for making noise when they scraped against the stone. She fled through the corridors, panic giving flight to her feet. She eventually hid herself in a distant dark corridor trying not to sob, and quietly prayed to every god she knew of for help.