Oruale and the Saxons Ch. 05

Arthur felt the sting of her blow. In a reflex he gripped her wrists and pushed them down.

"You brute… pervert… keep your hands off me…!"

She resisted, mowing with hand and feet. Arthur felt his blood pounding in his temples when he saw her round mounds of flesh again. Then he smacked his hand down in earnest… Oruale howled in a mixture of pain and happiness.I slapped the King of Britain in his face. She thought of Aelfrith who taught her everything and a tear flowed from her eyes. He would be so proud of her. The King would first spank her to shreds and pieces before he would fuck her into oblivion. She closed her eyes and let his furious blows rain down at her overheated bottom. He had broad rough hands, unexpected from a King, and he definitely had talent.

"Let me hear if you have anything to say, by Camelot!" Arthur snarled.

"Fuck you…!" Oruale shouted at him. He was talented but he had to do much better before she be any chance would use the safe words. Silently she hoped her foul mouthing would give him the right idea. When Arthur pushed her on her back and split her thighs wide, he did just like she expected. Still she put up fierce resistance, forcing him to play rough to submit her. Only when he almost choked her with his hand around her throat, she loosened up her body.

"Don't make me pregnant, you bastard." She mumbled hoarsely. "At least fuck me the gentleman way…"

"The gentleman way…? You are speaking gibberish, you harlot…!"

Groaning Oruale turned onto her stomach.Do I have to tell him everything? She reached between her legs to take a scoop of her sweet honey, applying it to the puckered crater between her cheeks. It was the best she could do other than hire a ranger to guide the royal rider into her darkest canyon. Her bottom felt like it was wrapped in a smoldering blanket. She felt his knob knocking at her hind gate and the next moment it was all in, the massive invasion adding to her excruciating pain. He was pounding her mercilessly, the power of his battering ram reverberating as far as her bursting berry. It felt tremendous; it was so long ago since she felt anything like this. When she felt him expend, she turned around without hesitation took his spear in the cavern of her mouth. With his roar of excitement, his hand gripping her head and his rod pumping like crazy between her sucking lips Oruale drifted away in the abyss of submission.

"That was amazing" Arthur said when he was slowly recuperating from his orgasm.

"I told you punishment can be very… redeeming."

"Were you always… spanked, or did you receive other forms of punishment?"

Oruale first hesitated to disclose more but then saw no reason not to acquaint him.

"Sometimes my presence was requested down in the dungeon to be whipped. However I wouldn't commend the use of a whip to a novice."

Now it was Arthur who hesitated.

"Before I became King, I was known as Garth. I worked as a simple lad at a farm, rounding up cattle and sheep. I didn't use the stick or the whistle as so many others. Instead I used the whip and I became quite proficient. Do you know I could wipe a fly from the rump of a cow with one hit of my whip?"

"No, I don't."

In some way Oruale had difficulties imagining the King as a whip expert. It wouldn't matter anyway, because she already decided she would leave Camelot the next day. It was much too dangerous to mingle in royal affairs.

"I want to show you something."

Arthur slid from the bed, picked up a key from the nightstand and walked to the large cabinet at the far side. He knelt down to open the lowest drawer and returned with a large object he carried on his open arms. When he placed it on the low table Oruale saw it was a leather casing, about three feet long. It must contain something precious considering the way Arthur was handling the case.

"Open it."

He had released the clips at the side and spoke like his words were part of a solemn ceremony. Oruale was impressed, prepared for the unexpected. Nevertheless, after she opened the lid, she recoiled with a gasp… It was a leather whip! In the light of the room the bullwhip showed a shining patina, providing the leather a dark maroon color. The massive handle was cone-shaped with a wide rounded base. The whip it-self was made of several, extremely thin strips of leather twisting around a central core. The casing was specially made for this whip, allowing it to make a curve and a counter-curve so the total length of five-six feet could be accommodated.

"This is the whip Excrucitor."

"I never heard of it."

"Only a few of my relatives have the knowledge, I never told the people."

His face looked stern.

"My sword Excalibur is well known. In contrast almost nobody knows a few weeks before, I found this whip entangled in the branches of a tree. Only my brothers and my father ever knew. Later, when I took the sword from the stone and the old Druid Merlin explained its significance when he visited me at home and showed him the whip.

"What did he tell you?" Oruale asked, increasingly fascinated by the sinister attraction of the whip.

"The old Druid went into a trance, then blurted out some mysterious gibberish"

The Birch Tree embraced.

Twigs dropping in the whitest snow.

The King embraced.

The sacrificial sword planted deep into the darkness.

The Whip embraced.

Drops of blood lashing the triangle in torment.

Oruale knew there was a deeper meaning to these words but she didn't dare to ask.

"What do you think of Excrucitor? Did you ever use it?"

"When I am holding Excalibur, I always feel the sword will lead me to my bright side and bring me victories. Nevertheless it might have a core of tragedy." Arthur sighed and paused, he must think of the events in the last months. "When I am holding Excrucitor, I am afraid the whip will lead me to my dark side and bring me agony. Here too, it might have the core providing salvation. My fear, though, prevented me ever using the whip in battle. I only held it to get a feeling for it and to exercise for the situation I had to use it. It flows easily from the hand and I am confident I can hit a fly with pinpoint precision with Excrucitor as accurate as with my old whip."

Oruale shuddered when she looked at the tail end. Shining tiny black gems were interweaved into the thin strips of dark leather. The small specks would cut into the flesh making the whip feel like a real scourge. Being so small, the particles were only visible because of their reddish black shine but their effect wouldn't be less painful. Oruale was gripped by a strange fascination. Since she learned about her own nature, she understood why…

"It's hematite, the blood stone." Arthur explained. "It's the stone protecting the warriors but it's also the stone of purification. I always have the feeling the use of the whip leads to purification. The hematite crystals in its tail are often incorporated in jewels of mourning."

"I happen to be in mourning." Oruale spoke out her thoughts. Then she took courage. "Would you allow me to be kissed by…it?" She felt even calling its name was fraught with danger.

The King tensed up at her words.

"What is your birthday, milady?"

Oruale was flabbergasted. It was the last question she expected.

"I was born on New Years Day, milord." She saw him mumbling, but she couldn't hear a word. Suddenly he seemed to have reached a decision.

"Tomorrow afternoon you will ride with me." Arthur said regally. "Now we will have to rest. I will return you to your bedroom."

Around noon the following day two riders left Camelot, taking the road to the forest area in the northwest. First they met other riders but after thirty minutes the road was completely deserted. After another twenty minutes ride into the thick of the forest they reached an open area and dismounted. From a distance Oruale already could recognize the lonely birch tree at the far right corner. To the left she saw a stone table with a square top in front of an impressive monolith.

It's an altar… it's a sacrificial altar!

"Are there many people visiting this place?"

"None! This is Royal Domain. Only the King or the Queen and their company are allowed to come here. Once, Ginny had her yearly picnic in May at this place."

They had sparsely spoken to each other since they had left Camelot, each of them lost in thoughts. Oruale had a sleepless night, tossing and turning in her bed, musing on the enigmatic words she now knew by heart after repeating and repeating them again and again, wondering about their meaning and significance. They made more sense to her now.

What's your magic number, milady?" Arthur asked when they walked up to the tree. He already knew the answer but he wanted her to be aware of it too.

"Three… my magic number is three."

As they approached the birch tree, Oruale now understood its significance and the reason Arthur asked for her birthday the night before. In the Celtic Zodiac each month is associated with a tree sacred to the Druids. The period around New Year corresponded to the Birch Tree. It was her Zodiac sign…

The Birch Tree embraced.

She ruminated the words in silence. By the time they had crossed the field, Oruale knew what was expected from her. Without speaking a word she took off her clothes till she was naked except for her black riders boots and her black gloves. She had given her outfit a lot of thought too, remembering how Aelfrith had sent her to the dungeon. Because those wonderful memories she had chosen for an outfit somewhat similar.

Oruale looked at the tree. It was a tall tree, about fifty feet high, a weeping birch with the youngest twigs draping at the end of the branches. Without hesitation she stepped up and threw her arms around the trunk as in a tight embrace. Arthur was well prepared too. He moved her hands higher over a protruding stub and then tied them firmly together with a leather strip. Next he broke fresh twigs from the tree, disposed from the leaves and fastened three of them together to make a very special broom. The broom certainly wouldn't be used for regular sweeping. In nature the twigs of the tree ultimately would break off and fall to the ground, but these twigs would fall on the whitest snow.

Oruale had her hands so high, she had to hollow her back, her bottom cheeks conveniently presenting themselves, just in case Arthur would be in doubt where to direct his attention to. Her splendid bottom cheeks were the most amazing he ever had seen. Under the reddish shine of the twin mountains the contracting gluteal muscles made for a thrilling spectacle. The sight was almost too perfect for words. His hands tightened around the handle of the broom. It wouldn't take long before the white snow would be flawed by red stripes crossing all over the expectant vibrating surface.

Small hard burls were scraping against her skin, following the gracious curve of her lower back in a slow, teasing caress. Oruale wondered how many blows of the birch broom she would have to greet. Secretly she hoped for a symbolic birching of three or nine slaps. Arthur ceremoniously rounded the tree, once, twice and a third time ending at her back. She felt him raising the broom.

"Count till thirty-three, milady."

Thirty-three! So far for a symbolic birching.

"One…"

The first strike felt more like a playful touch than a real punishment, which make her relax. However, with each following blow Arthur increased the force of his blows and by the time she counted "Ten!" she already was shouting the number out at a high pitch. Blow after blow came down at her heated bottom. She felt fortunate to have her gloves, considering the way she was hanging at the tied knot. At least the pressure at her wrists remained tolerable. With each burning blow she feverishly chafed the fork of her thighs more and more against the rough bark of the birch, bringing her heartwarming sweet enjoyment. Her crotch wriggled against the tree, fueling her inner heat to frantic heights.

When her voice was reduced in a rattling "thirty-three" and she had absorbed the last blow with a piercing screech she was finally released. Her arse looked raw and was so overheated she was unable to walk. Instead she tiptoed and jumped till she collapsed forwards on the stone altar, her abused red-striped white mountains arching upwards into the cool air. Her hands were crawling forwards till they suddenly a reached a wooden bar she gratefully gripped and squeezed in her flaming pain. His hand in her back pushed her engorged nipples against the hard cool surface. Another hand was pushing her lower back down and she had to spread her long legs wide to accommodate for the difference in length with the height of the altar.

The King embraced.

The sacrificial sword planted deep into the darkness.

She felt the plum of his penis pushing against the entrance to her dark tunnel. The following penetration of her anal channel was instant, massive and merciless. The King's cock felt extremely wide. Without any concern he bumped against her tail, unconcerned her tissues were sensitized by the foregoing birching. Instinctively her body tried to slip away, only slipping into even more masochistic positions. When her pelvis ultimately tipped over, her body was reduced to one gaping hole, presented for his pleasure.

Arthur felt carried away in this glorious copulation. He knew he just had to fill the part of King in this ceremony and he was not supposed to enjoy himself so much. But good heaven, the grip of her arse was an utter delight! He jabbed thickly into her, filling her with his bludgeon, forcing it to the hilt without mercy. The enclosure of her darkness felt excruciating and painfully wonderful. He continued his slow, powerful strokes. With each plunge Oruale felt her sphincter stretched more and more. His stabs were brutal and relentless until her gape was melting around his hot, palpitating organ.

She cried out loud when she felt a last needlepoint of sharp pain and his sperm gushed into her bowels to fill the great gape between her shivering cushions to capacity. The sensation of his hot liquid streaming inside made her sob and scream at the same time. When she felt him pulling back, she knew the moment was there to show her appreciation. She dropped to her knees, her eyes focusing at the scepter that gave her such bliss. The staff, still half erect, was slowly bobbing up and down before her shimmering eyes. With her hands on the ground she slowly crawled forward and let her tongue roll over his tight scrotum. She closed her eyes when she smelled the aroma of her own arse and then moved along his shaft. Slowly she licked the slime off his penis like a grateful puppy. Passionately she indulged in one of the most obscene, humiliating and submissive acts a woman could perform for a man.

Arthur felt his blood pounding in his head and its pulse echoed in his genitals. Never had he experienced anything only remotely similar like this. Was it the nastiness, the ritual or this woman? He didn't know. He thought of Guinevere the only woman he loved, but yet there was the resurgence of his flesh and the returning urge in his loins for this red-haired lady. With an agonizing howl he gripped her face and plunged his pole in her mouth. Within seconds he was pumping in and out like a man possessed. Ultimately he honored her ceremony of submission with a second outpouring, thundering along his burning tube into the far end of her constricting throat.

Warm-heartedly Arthur straightened Oruale from her kneeling position and prepared her for her final reward. First he disposed of her boots and gloves, then tied her hands up high and wide and finally spread her ankles to iron rings mounted in the ground.Everything is prepared for a sacrifice. Her nude body was stretched in a large inverted Y, proudly highlighting her jutting breasts. Her shivering buttocks, already marked with numerous red stripes, presented themselves for some more loving abuse.

Arthur carefully fetched the mythical whip from its case. Oruale heard from the swooshing Arthur started swinging the whip in large circles above his head. Excrucitor differed from other whips, making a dark sound like a low rumble.The Whip embraced. Oruale dug herself in. "One!" The first lash embraced her like a burning flame circling around her body. Her cry melted into helpless grunting when another fire started licking its way along her calves.

"Two!" This time the whip lashed her lower body and made her stomach clench. For the first Oruale realized the individuality of Excrucitor's blow. Because of its length and its unique tail, after the first impact the whip circled on, finally wagging its painful end to another hit. Each lash felt like a shortly spaced double lash. Tschik, Tschik.A double kiss. Oruale felt the second kiss just missed her sex lips.

"Three!" For the first time Excrucitor hit her breasts, the after-crop punishing her flat stomach. In an instinctive reaction she tried to bend forwards, but her restraints held her tight and her efforts only resulted in a series of plaintive little yelps. "Four!" Her widespread legs were too inviting. Like a snake Excrucitor twisted its way up, leaving the second impact just next to her swollen sex-lips. Fixed as her ankles were, Oruale's feet nevertheless started the urgent shuffle of torment.

Blow after blow, each stroke was accompanied by a burning embrace and a second staccato hit. The scourging lashes were covering her everywhere, approaching her nipples and her clitoris more and more. Her whole skin felt aflame. Semiconscious Oruale heard the counting past ten and the she knew. "3 x 3 x 3" Twenty-seven! Excrucitor would consume her and she wouldn't make it.By Camelot! She had to tell… she had to! In panic she decided to get the words out. She tried desperately, but she couldn't, the words just refusing to leave her mouth. The lashes kept coming in their terrifying double hits and just as inevitable her internal fire blazed out of control, the flames sneaking up her extremities like she was a Lady at the Stake.

She became conscious of Arthur in front of her, swinging Excrucitor in wide circles as he let the leather sing its ominous melody. She closed her eyes.He can hit a fly with his whip. Whack! The tail of Excrucitor hit her full at her right breast, scorching her nipple. A guttural cry rising into the empty sky escaped her throat. She sobbed and cried while her head dropped. Calmly he waited until she had raised her head and presented her breasts like a martyr. Whack! Her left breast was shaking under the impact of the furious blow. Her left nipple now tortured by numerous pebbles burning in the swollen, sensitive currant.

Arthur walked over to her back. Oruale was just hanging in her restraints but he noticed her legs were spread even more. She was softly whining at an awkwardly high pitch.Drops of blood lashing the triangle in torment. WHACK!! Excrucitor hit her at her lower back, the tail snaking between her legs, inflaming her crotch till it reached her slit and scourged the ultimate target. Oruale convulsed and for a moment remained frozen in an extreme overstretched position. The fire in her lower belly exploded. The molten heat blinded her to a swelling climax. She came and came, her body moving in endless convulsions, till the ecstasy was slowly receding into an emptiness that seemed to take forever…

Arthur let her sleep in an Inn before they returned to Camelot the next morning. They barely spoke to each other, each of them feeling an exalting sense of purification. Arthur still had his political problems but for his heart he felt having found a way to conciliation. For Oruale feelings of mourning were purged. She would return to Bamburgh Castle to pay all her attention to the problem of the Saxons.