This is my second submission to Literotica and I am a budding author who could benefit from feedback. PLEASE LEAVE SOME FOR ME OR FEEL FREE TO MESSAGE ME.
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Tazmeneron walked through the desert, the night sky above him shining with such light that it lit the wasteland for miles. The land surrounding him was dry and desolate, lifeless, save the rare desert weed and the carrion eaters. Only the occasional crag or ridge broke the monotony of the hard pan. Dust, from dunes long swept away, blew threw the air, stinging Tazmeneron's eyes and drying his throat. It was so clear that he could easily see no ambush nor raid lay ahead, yet he remained vigilant nonetheless, he was so accustomed to constantly watching for attack that he never let his guard down even when he slept. He surveyed his surroundings warily, like a predator hunting for his next kill and took in everything with his cold hard stare. Any onlooker who had the chance to meet his gaze then would have said he was a man whose eyes shone more like an animal's than a human's, if they dared to get close enough to look. His long hair was bleached from many days in the sun and his face was a combination of hard lines and brutal scars. His tall, muscular body and sun-darkened skin were covered in the hides of beasts that no man but he had dared to hunt. More frightening still however were the weapons he carried, but most menacing about him of all was simply the way that he walked; he had the grace of a panther and the determined stride of a conqueror, this man's walk was the walk of a killer.
As he stalked through the night, he noticed the light of a campfire shining in the distance. "What fools would make themselves visible in this place?" he thought. He spat in disgust, feeling no pity for the pathetic souls who would openly make themselves the target for some terrible tragedy simply because they wished to be warm or have the luxury of cooked food.
A strange curiosity came to him then and he knew he had to find out who had lit this beacon in the darkness. He turned and began making his way towards the fire. As he drew closer he heard the voices of children and the sounds of crying babes. "This can't be," he thought, no group of children could survive in this place save as slaves and no slaver would be so bold as to light a fire and make his presence known.
Tazmeneron approached slowly, not wishing to give himself away. He crept on all fours until he crested a small dune and set eyes on the group. He stared in shock at the sight he witnessed. "All women and children," he muttered, "and none of them bound." These were escaped slaves, he realized and defenseless ones too. Suddenly he heard a noise and his eyes darted to his left only to see a small boy pissing a stone's throw away. The child met his gaze and gasped. "Shit!" Tazmeneron cursed, now they would know he was here unless he killed the boy; as cold as he was though, he would not do that. He rose up from his position and revealed himself to the camp before him. The former slaves set eyes upon him and gazed at with him abject terror, several fled and the boy screamed.
"Shut your mouth you fool, I mean you no harm and you'll likely bring back your former masters if you don't cease howling," Tazmeneron had no idea why but he felt compelled to help these people, perhaps it was his own past as a child slave or perhaps it was the screaming boy who looked so like him when he was young.
He made his way towards their camp and saw it was little more than a pack of starving slaves scattered around a fire. No supplies, no water skins, no food; these people looked as if they were doomed to die. The few women were unwashed and dressed in nothing more than soiled rags. The children were even worse off, most looked malnourished and sickly but a few seemed as though they might live if they found food or water. When he reached their fire all but one of them had backed away, most of the women held their babes to their chests and the children hid behind their mothers.
A young woman stayed where she was though and raised her dark eyes to meet his, she was beautiful, not like any woman he had seen wandering the wastes. Her skin was tanned yet smooth and her face was unblemished and perfectly feminine. Long dark hair ran down to her breasts and fell between the gentle curves of her chest. Tazmeneron could not help but to gaze at her beauty and when she stood he was drawn to her even more, for like the others, she wore little more than rags. Her half naked body made Tazmeneron burn with desire. He watched intently as she strode towards him, her long bare legs sweeping over the desert sands.
"Why have you come here?" she asked him commandingly, stopping a few strides away.
Tazmeneron was not used to such boldness from women, nor men, save hardened warriors, and for a moment he was left without words. "Because I saw your fire," he replied without lying, "you drew me here with that flame, it is unwise to make yourself so visible in this place."
"True enough," the woman muttered. "The children needed warmth though, the women too," she added with compassion in her voice.
"Still, it'd be better to risk death from the cold than to attract slavers and die fighting," Tazmeneron replied, thinking of how these people could have escaped.
"There are no slavers here," she said, "all those living in this desert have died, we are the last survivors," no hint of remorse echoed in her voice.
"What?" Tazmeneron asked in shock.
