Keeper and slave

Amazon Mandy moves like fire through the brush, bleeding from a deep cut at her ribs, and finds her fresh prize waiting. The girl kneels exactly where she left her—slim wrists still tied with vines, skin gleaming with the sweat of fear and heat. The brown little cloth barely covers her breasts; every shallow breath lifts it and lets Mandy see the stiffening points underneath. Blood trickles warm down Mandy’s thigh, yet her eyes still track the slave’s parted lips, the soft bounce of those full tits when the captive shifts her weight. Mandy lets her hand slide between her own legs, fingers already slick, while she drinks in every curve her war bought her. She keeps standing there even though she should be lying down, because stopping to touch is worth the pain.