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And now Conan used the barmaid to his liking, pumping her along his manhood as though he were running a keg dry. The slick sound of his working inside her cunt echoed through the room as he wantonly filled her hungry sex again and again, satisfying the full obscene length of his brutal erection.

Her buttocks ground faster now against his pumping, her groans and mewls becoming more desperate. It was clear to Diana that the more she received, the more she wanted. And Diana could sympathize. Her dazed, almost mindless gaze remained fixed on them watching in fascination long after she had grasped what it was they were doing.

The girl flung herself to Conan, thrust herself upon him, and was received with answering jabs from his driving hips, ramming deep into her hungry sex, jamming her back down to the bed. She let loose an obscenity as Conan threw her down so easily, and her hands scrambled pointlessly to retain her position, not that she was in any danger of being turned loose before Conan was done with her.

Fuck! The word that the barmaid had spouted sent a taboo tingling throughout Diana, impacting ceaselessly in her mind as if giving vent to the free-floating conflict of her mixed feelings. She felt a shock of guilt: what was she doing? What crazed masochism was making her watch this? She could not turn away, true, not when she was locked to Conan’s wrist, but she could put a stop to this insane coupling. And yet… she couldn’t. She simply did not dare to end the pleasure both Conan and this barmaid were availing themselves of.

She did not know why—she was as fearful of that fact as she was shocked by how debauched Conan’s behavior had become at literal arm’s length from her. And deep down, she knew… there it was, the flipside of her own philosophy. If every woman was her sister, and this was happening to a nice, pretty woman like their serving girl… if she could be driven to feverish submission by this barbarian… it could happen to Diana as well. It could happen to anyone. Diana felt electricity dart between her muscular thighs, touch her sex with a note of menace. She could actually want it to happen to her. Even the threat of violence somehow did not seem as intimidating.

That kind of fear brought with it a kind of awe, and Diana watched awestruck as the barmaid’s ass gyrated again, her legs splayed to either side of Conan’s plunging hips, her toes curling in lascivious enjoyment as Conan’s manhood rampaged inside her. She quivered far beyond how her body rocked with the man’s thrusts. Pleasure had a hold of her, was shaking her more forcefully, than Conan ever could.

Diana trembled violently herself. Despite the cool shadows of the room she was in, beads of perspiration flew over her body. She knew she would not stop this lewd display. She was compelled, fated, to see it through to its completion. She wondered how much of these animalistic delights she would witness. She wondered if she could end up addicted to a pleasure she not, not yet, known.

She shut her eyes. Still she heard the girl’s voice, deep and pleading, as Conan had his way with her tightly clasped sex. Even with her eyes closed, Diana could see his thick scarlet staff ravaging the girl. The barmaid’s words marked every thrust Conan gave her. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” came her frenzied chant.

A smoldering spark flared between her thighs. Diana clasped them together, trying to will her arousal to stop, but she couldn’t. She didn’t really want it to. She parted her legs, steepled one knee up to try and dissuade the sensation inside her. Maybe by keeping her thighs far apart—but that just made her feel a sense of invitation, of anticipation.

Her womanhood shivered with pleasurable tingles, like something was touching it, drawing across its sensitivities. This all seemed so far beyond Diana’s understanding that she felt like she was mesmerized. The sensation was drowning out all the considerations that usually occupied her mind. Instead, she found herself in a kind of trance—acutely trying to imagine what that woman was feeling as Conan burnt her up like a log in a raging fire.

Diana’s right hand slid down the curves of her body, over the chiseled plains of her belly to rest on the softness of her womanhood, or as close to it as her clothing allowed her to get. She did not dare to go any closer, to actually disrobe in any real way. Instead, she rubbed the fabric against herself—felt the slippery wetness of her arousal touch her quivering thighs as it was spread by her masturbation—more of it flowing freely from her eagerly trembling sex. She was sweating as though this arousal were an exertion her body was barely equal to.

Her left hand fluttered up—careful not to test the limits of the chain tying her to Conan’s left wrist, and so attract his attention—and cupped one throbbing breast. She squeezed it, grinding her palm into the stiff nipple, and it leapt into even greater arousal. Not so much at her caress, but at feeling her give into the air of depravity Conan exuded as he made the barmaid his.

As she touched herself, Diana turned her eyes once more to their naked writhing, knowing that this time she would be unable to look away again.

The barmaid’s words were incoherent now, and there was no more thought in how her sweat-soaked body writhed about on the bed either. Diana’s hands moved over the hills of her cleavage, touching them through the tattered rags that remained of her clothing. The heat of her own body drew her in. She reached through a rent in her clothing to supple, eager flesh. Kept going under the ragged edges of her loincloth and into the soft fire of her cunt.

Holding the loincloth aside, she caressed herself, now with the taboo thrill of being naked—being almost joined with the two lovers on the bed—added to her pleasure. In a dim part of her mind she knew this was far from normal, but so was the enjoyment she gave herself. Her middle finger gingerly slid along her quivering slit until it came into maddening contact with her clit. She circled her fingertip around the engorged bud and it was like opening a floodgate, allowing into her cunt a new, surging delight that consumed her with its warmth, its potent combination of relaxation and adrenaline. She did not know how it was possible to feel so loose and so tight all at once.

Diana felt the heat burning through the folds of her sex, the moistness rushing inside her, and she lowered the pad of her finger to that tightness, that clenching. A second later, her mind reeling with pleasure, she had her finger inside herself, sucked on by the arousal of her cunt. She twisted it, turned it, flicked it up and down, always feeling an answering throb of pleasure from inside herself. With her thumb, she toyed with her hotly tingling clit, and her delight swelled until it threatened to take her breath away.

She could still see Conan’s lewdly glistening prick striking the deepest core of the barmaid’s sex, plunging through her blonde pubic curls like it was being sucked into her by her lust. More than that, though, was entire decadent scene. Conan’s broad back arching up over the lusciously naked body of his lover, all his might focused on thrusting into her, while her heels pounded at his flanks to spur him on. The barmaid’s face was twisted into a lewd grimace, her eyes bulging with each plunging stroke of Conan’s hardness, like she was in perpetual, continuing disbelief of how thoroughly he was able to ream her.

Diana shut out all her reservations about what she was doing. All she allowed to matter to her was reaching the kind of delicious orgasm the barmaid had been blessed to enjoy. It should’ve been hard for her to turn her back on all morality and sense of decorum, but no, it was easy. All she had to do was admit to herself the lust like a time bomb inside her body, counting down to an explosion.

Diana saw Conan’s blazing hardness, still rutting into the woman. The barmaid had given up on trying to respond to his thrusts and only tried to weather the storm, being buffeted by his unending onslaught into her wildly writhing pussy. Fitful groans spilled from her lips as her ravishing went on and on.

Her blonde hair flew in burnished flurries from the hearty drives of his hips traveling all the way through her body, leaving every inch of her naked skin rippling with the impact of the blows. It became a tangled miasma about her face, hiding her ecstatic grimace as Conan fucked insanely into her cunt. His strokes grew more rapid. The bed shouted its protests, but the girl screamed even louder with her approval of this hotly rutting fuck. The meeting of male aggression and feminine reception.

Weakly Diana arched her body, bending her knees to totally expose her sex. Her full breasts trembled sensually, her entire body quaking with electricity. The feeling swept over her, raced through her, touched the warmly throbbing lips of her cunt and went deep inside to where she was deliriously empty.

Her pale face flushed deeply with the wild pounding of her heart. Her own climax was coming, building within her like a tidal wave, and she clung to the bedframe, savoring the almost frightening pleasure as the wave crested and prepared to wash over her.

Before Diana, the two figures on the bed contorted spasmodically, a low bestial snarl escaping Conan’s throat as the woman’s palely gleaming buttocks flushed under the wild staccato pounding of his loins. Diana felt the wave hit—her body spasming violently, her release a series of gushing spurts around her penetrating fingers. It soaked her hand, then ran in warm torrents down her quaking thighs.

The barmaid buried her face in the bed and let out a muffled scream, its piercing fury even through the mattress a fitting counterpoint to the hard grunt Conan let out as his release hit at the same time as hers. Perhaps it was because she was so subservient at that point that coming simultaneously with him was just another way of giving in. Perhaps it was that Conan had held back until he’d finished his work on her before he allowed himself culmination.

Either way, Diana froze there for several moments, her legs trembling wearily as she found herself both so close and so far away from being a part of the savage frenzy that had gripped them both. She couldn’t bring herself to pull her fingers from her cunt until the last dying throb of her orgasm went through her body. Then she heard the bed squeak, jarring her back into awareness.

Conan rolled off the bed, stepping right over Diana. She looked up to see the barmaid lying alone on the mattress, her legs parted, her ass raised as though she were still being fucked by him. Her face was taken up by a blank stare, her hands clasping her heaving breasts in a gesture of complete satisfaction. Slowly, Diana’s fingers came away from her own pussy and she went limp, allowing herself to be dragged away from the scene by Conan, feigning unconsciousness.

Great Hera—what kind of a man was she manacled to? What kind of woman could take that punishing ravishment and enjoy it?

And why did Diana envy her so?

Soon, Conan had pulled her back to the bar, where he resumed drinking with Diana huddled at the foot of his barstool. As if her mind was overworked—as if it had relaxed when no longer having to process that intimate savagery on the bed—Diana felt cool unconsciousness tickling her body. She dozed off in exhaustion and did not wake up until Conan had had many more rounds, when she had enough distance from what he’d done to at least begin to act as though it had not happened. That she hadn’t seen the things she’d seen. That she did not now desire the things she desired.