The Trials of Dara Firebird Ch. 05

All names and characters contained herein are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. This story is a work of fiction, a fantasy -- so read it with a grain of salt and an open mind. All characters are at least 18 years of age. Voting and feedback is greatly appreciated, especially positive feedback and frequent "fives".

This chapter contains some aspects of medieval torture – if this offends you, or you have a weak stomach, please skip the last part.

Dara smiled as she surreptitiously rubbed her pert naked arse cheeks wantonly up and down his hard crotch. The last several days had been surprisingly enjoyable, with her riding in front of the dashing rogue Black Jack Straticus, leader of the black forest bandits. After their first coupling, with her riding backwards and forcefully impaled on his manhood, Jack had allowed her to turn around and ride facing forward in front of him. He still kept her mostly naked, with her hands tied to the pommel before her, but as they worked their way up through the hills in elevation, the temperature had dropped, and Jack now allowed her to wear a woolen blanket over her shoulders. Still mostly naked, she began to delight in torturing him by rubbing against him as the long-legged stallion plodded along on their journey.

"Well then, you've gone and done it again, wench," Jack lustily groaned behind her. She could feel him unlacing his breeches and she grinned as he reached beneath her thighs and lifted her up, only to set her down on his turgid hardness. Dara moaned as her tight, wet young pussy slid over his thick shaft, and once again they jounced along, the up and down motion of the horse's gait eliciting choruses of moans and sighs. She gripped the pommel and pressed back against him, squeezing with her inner muscles, causing him to groan and grab two handfuls of her long golden mane. She arched her back until her shoulder blades pressed against his broad, leather hauberk-covered chest and whimpered as yet another orgasm rippled through her body.

"Twelve," she counted to herself, smiling wantonly as she felt his cock swell inside her. She swore she could feel every throbbing vein, every ridge on his swollen shaft. He grunted and slapped her arse cheek with one large, calloused hand, pulled her long flowing ringlets with the other, and then exploded inside of her. She felt his molten seed gush into her womb as she fell face forward, burying her face into the stallion's thick mane.

He reached out and pulled her to his chest and wrapped his strong muscular arms around her. She nestled back against him and sighed contentedly. Black Jack was definitely different than the village tales described him.

Growing up, the mothers and grandmothers would tell woeful tales of the black forest bandits stealing babies and eating them raw. The bandits were blamed for every bad thing that ever happened; whether it be drought or sickness, it was always a result of those dreadful "forest hooligans" bringing down the wrath of the gods. At one time Olaf sent a platoon of twenty of his best trained fighting men into the forest to root out the bandits. Their exit from town was heralded with festivals and dancing, and pretty maidens festooned the lane with flower petals, waving pretty handkerchiefs at the men-at-arms as they proudly rode off.

Three days later a lone horse rode into town, tied to its back was what was left of one of the soldiers. His tongue had been cut out of his mouth, and his thumbs broken in several places – on his back was a note from Black Jack to Baron Olaf, thanking him for the fresh mounts and armor and weaponry.

Dara found Jack to be rather taciturn, a direct counterpoint to her newfound garrulousness. Nevertheless, she learned a few things about his band of outlaws: they were comprised originally of most of Daggar Le'Phoenix's house guard, but had added men to their ranks as soldiers grew discontent with Rolf the Red's tyrannical rule. They rarely, if ever, stole from average, every day peasants – they preyed on the rich merchants who traveled the roads through the great forest; and finally, they wanted nothing less than for Rolf to be jerked from his ill-gotten throne and drawn-and-quartered in the streets of High Reach for what he had done to their great King.

Dara smiled as she snuggled back against Jack's wide, warm chest. She shivered in the chill, causing Jack to pull the edges of his thick woolen cloak snugly around the both of them. It was drawing close to the end of the day, and fading sunlight streaked across an orange and red sky high above the tree tops.

"So, ruffian, when will we reach your band of bloodthirsty hooligans," she asked with a grin.

"Tomorrow, wench, but tonight I have a special surprise for you," Jack replied in his deep, gravelly bass voice.

They traveled for a few hundred paces further, then Jack drew back on the reins to bring the stallion to a halt. He studied the right side of the trail until he spotted something that looked familiar, and turned uphill. After another five hundred paces or so, they topped a ridge and there, nestled against a cliff face, surrounded by a grove of massive evergreens, stood a sturdy log cabin with a stone chimney and a simple thatch roof. After pulling up in front of the cabin, Jack reached around and untied Dara's hands from the pommel.

"We stop here for the night. I'll be back shortly with fresh game. Use the bucket inside the cabin and get us some fresh water from the creek through the trees over there," Jack pointed off to the right, then narrowed his eyes at Dara. "Don't try to run off. You won't get far way out here, and the mountains are full of hungry wolves and bear."

Dara slid off the stallion and landed lightly on the balls of her feet. Turning up to look at him, her wide innocent blue eyes practically glowing in the dying light, she asked, "What about my clothes? Are you going to leave me here naked?"

He smiled and replied, "You might as well get used to being naked. Also, it's a pretty good deterrent to running away, don't you think?"

With that, he wheeled his mount around and rode off into the forest, a lascivious grin on his handsome craggy face.

Dara entered the cabin and was pleasantly surprised. It was neat and tidy, composed of one good-sized room, complete with a large bed handmade from thick birch and elm, and a sturdy oak plank table and chair in the corner. The stone fireplace was large, with a high, wide mantle. Hanging inside it was an iron cooking pot, and off to the side was a cabinet filled with spices and seasoning.

Dara dutifully picked up a bucket sitting on the hearth and stepped back outside. Still a bit unaccustomed to her constant nudity, she shivered and walked briskly through the trees towards the sounds of a babbling brook.

By nightfall, Dara had started a fire, swept out the musty cabin, and had washed herself with hot, soapy water. Her beautiful golden tresses cascaded in playful ringlets over her shoulders and down to her waist. She heard the soft wicker of a horse outside the cabin, and she couldn't help herself, her nipples hardened and she felt a tingling in her cunny.

She knew she shouldn't feel this way towards the outlaw, but she couldn't help it. Every waking moment she found herself wanting his thick manhood buried in her to the hilt.

The door swung open and Jack stepped into the room, a fat grey goose in one hand and a plump jackrabbit in the other. He unceremoniously dumped them on the table in the corner and turned to look at Dara. His eyes widened as he took in her appearance. She stood, legs wide apart, hands on her hips, chin thrust forward. Her rosy nipples jutted out enticingly and her eyes glittered in the firelight. Her mouth was open slightly and her chest heaved as she panted in wanton lust.

He gruffly directed her to lie down, arms and legs spread akimbo, sideways on the bed with her feet on the plank floor. Dara complied, and then gasped as he securely tied her hands and ankles to the bed frame.

Jack turned to the fire and lifted the heavy cooking pot of hot water off its hook and brought it over next to the bed, between her feet. Dara's crystal blue eyes widened in sudden alarm.

"Wh-what are you going to do?" she asked, her voice thick with fear.

Jack ran a hand up the inside of Dara's long, sinewy leg, his knuckles brushing her thatch of thick coarse hair. Dara shuddered and goose-pimples spread across her slim thighs.

"I like my women bare, like a young girl," he absently stroked her distended nether lips with a thumb, and went on, "it's about time we shaved this off."

After unscrewing the cap off a jar, he slowly began spreading warm cream over her overheated mons, eliciting moans and cries of pleasure. She gyrated her hips, trying to force contact between his strong fingers and her sensitive clit.

"Hold still, wench," he warned, then she felt warm steel scrape her mound from the top down. Looking through half-lidded eyes, she watched as he slowly, tenderly scraped the coarse blondish-brown hair off her pudenda. Stopping every now and then to run his thumb up and down her wet, dripping cleft, he leered at the panting, heaving girl tied to the bed.

"Almost done now...just about...done." With one final scrape he leaned back and surveyed the beautiful pussy before him. It glistened wetly in the firelight, lips fully distended and plumply red. Her clit thrust out, begging to be stroked, her hips uncontrollably rolling and thrusting.

Jack leaned in and tenderly kissed her on the inside of one thigh, high up near her mound. Dara groaned and pulled at her restraints. Trailing his tongue wetly up, he dragged it across her lips and lightly tickled her distended clitty.

Dara was in heaven. Something about the lack of hair caused his tongue to send jolts of lightning through her loins. She moaned in ecstasy and spread her legs as far as the restraints would let her. His constantly moving tongue ran up through her cleft, delving deeply into her vagina, tasting her honey sweet nectar. He lapped her mons with broad, wet licks and relished the feel of bare pussy on his hot mouth.

Standing up, he went to the fire and lit a candle. Bringing it back towards her, he leaned over her and dripped hot wax on her lower belly, just above her cunny. Before it could burn her, he scraped it off with the nails of his free hand. She stifled a scream as the heat spread through her and the feeling of his nails scratching down past her clit brought her close to her first climax of the night.

He crouched down and held the candle close to her mound, eyes searching. Suddenly his breath caught and his jaw set in consternation.

"What is it?" She whispered.

"A mark. High on the inside of your thigh, right next to this beautiful wet pussy." He lightly spanked her cleft. "You really don't know, do you?"

"All I know is that my loins burn for you. If you don't take me now I might die..." Dara couldn't believe the words coming from her mouth. In the last few days she'd gone from innocent street urchin to over-sexed tavern harlot.

With that he stood up and unlaced his breeches. Fisting his long, knobby, hard cock he rubbed the fat mushroom head up and down her steamy cleft, getting it wet with her copious juices.

Setting the head just inside, he reached up and roughly tweaked a nipple. "You have a birthmark, my dear. In the shape of a phoenix."

"I...have...a...what...?" Dara gasped as she felt his hand roam over her naked breasts, and his turgid cock nestled at the entrance to her opening.

"Daggar didn't sire a boy – he sired a girl, a bastard daughter, and hid her far away from High Reach. You are that girl, Dara. Your rightful name is Dara Le'Phoenix, daughter of Daggar Le'Phoenix, and rightful heir to the throne!"

With his final words he plowed into her to the hilt, his pelvic bone slapping her thighs. He held her tightly by the waist, his manhood buried deeply inside her. She arched her back in ecstasy as he filled her up, and a lustful cry burst from her lips.

"From...this...day...forward," he accentuated each word with a hard, vicious thrust, "you will be known as. Ugh...Dara Firebird!"

Dara felt the heat building with each thrust; she pulled on the ropes binding her and writhed and arched her back with each plunge of his hard manhood. Panting in lust, she moaned as he pulled out and squatted down to lick her from bottom to top, lathing her bare cunny with the flat of his broad, wet, hot tongue. He continued this torturous pattern of thrusting, pulling out and licking until she could take no more. Finally he drove himself into her like a madman, thrusting deeply over and over, his brow dripping sweat onto her pert, rock hard nipples. It was when he rubbed his rough, calloused thumb over her swollen, hyper-sensitive clit that she lost it. Something about not being able to stop him, tied as she was, added to her sensations. Her pussy sparked and wave after wave of orgasm crashed through her entire body, centering in her loins.

He cried out and exploded into her, she could actually feel his hot seed spreading through her womb. She climaxed again, and her body rocked and shivered uncontrollably under him. Spent, he fell onto her chest in a heap, his face nestled between her pert breasts, his hands tangling in her long golden tresses.

"We will teach you how to fight, how to lead men into battle. You will become a warrior princess for all to follow; and when the time is right, we will cast Rolf down from the throne." His deep gravelly voice was dark and choked with emotion. "Are you with me, wench?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spector ran his tongue over the tips of his sharp, pointed teeth and tasted the tart, delicious flavor of tangy blood. In the corner, chained securely to a sturdy chair and bleeding profusely, sat a weeping fat Olaf, count of castle olafson. His face was covered in seeping bite marks and tears streamed down his face.

A pitiful groan drew Spector's attention to the other side of the room. Countess Olafson wailed miserably as she was bent over obscenely with her hands and head poking out the far side of the heavy wooden pillory holding her in place. Her once beautiful deep indigo ladies gown was hanging in shreds, her bounteous breasts swaying back and forth. Her skirt was pushed up over her waist and huge Slade stood behind her, fucking madly, a huge half-eaten turkey leg in one hand, and a thick two foot-long wooden spoon in the other. Once considered beautiful, the countess had grown rather plump in recent years. Her arse cheeks jiggled merrily as Slade pumped his hips and smacked her with the spoon. Slade still wore the majority of his armor, with the exception of his breeches. His leather pants were gathered around his feet in a heap, next to his hand-and-a-half bastard sword and poniard.

Spector tuned out the joyful sounds of Slade's animal lust, and turned his attention back to fat Olaf.

"Well, Olaf...Rolf sendsss his regardssss," he hissed. "Now, back to the quesssstion...we are looking for a girl – Daggar's girl, to be exact. Remarkusss says he placed her in the care of a mercenary and chandler here in your town. Unfortunately, the chandler didn't know her whereabouts. At least he didn't tell usss while I was stripping the skin off his chessssst."

Spector's feral eyes blazed with crazed intensity, his crimson nailed hands clenching and unclenching as she spoke with his soft, yet penetrating voice. He was dressed all in black, the sinister black tattoos of unfamiliar and arcane markings standing out clearly on his completely shaven head.

Olaf's eyes bugged out and he began to blubber in his high-pitched girlish voice. "MiLord, I swear to you on the grave of my dead mother – I had no idea the girl was here – you have to believe me!"

Spector looked down at his leather apron, and absently ran a finger through a droplet of blood dripping down. Licking his hand clean, he looked up at Olaf and leered. "Mmmm, you tasssste deliciousssss, Olaf."

He then reached for a pair of wickedly bent pliers and a small handsaw and stepped towards the terrified fat man.

"She would be about eighteen summersss right now. Knowing Daggar's tassste in misstresssses, she is probably blonde and quite beautiful. How many blonde, beautiful girlsss can there be in this cessspool of a town, Olaf? Think clearly, your life definitely dependssss on it."

Olaf's eyes grew wide, and he screamed in terror, "Wait! I do know of one such girl. She was caught stealing in the market! We had her here in our dungeons!" Then Olaf's face fell, as he realized what was coming next.

"Excellent, Olaf. Take me to her now. We'll sssee if shhheee is the one we are looking for..."

"Uhhh, MiLord, I'm afraid she is gone...we had her executed..." Olaf turned his eyes away from Spector's riveting gaze and studied the ceiling.

"Did you now? Somehow I don't think you are telling me the truth, Olaf," Spector hissed menacingly. "Shhhhall we cut off a nipple...I love the texture – spongy yet crunchy at the sssame time..."

"NOOooo! Please, I beg of you! She escaped! She somehow got out of her cell and made it to the black forest. My gaoler, Bruno, caught her there, but he was found dead with arrows in his throat and chest! You have to believe me!" Olaf sobbed uncontrollably, his eyes rolling at the saw in Spector's hand. "The fletchings were black! The black forest bandits have her now! You have to believe me!"

"That issss very unfortunate, Olaf. Countessss, your nephew Hendrik will inherit Olafssson upon fat Olaf's untimely death, issss that correct?"

The Countess looked up through matted tangles of raven hair and grunted as Slade pumped her mercilessly.

"Ye-ye-yes. Hendrik is next in line, MiLord Spector." Drool leaked out the side of her mouth and she groaned as Slade stopped his thrusting and simply stood behind her, his manhood embedded deep in her cunt.

Slade pulled his thick manhood out and Olaf's eyes widened. The big man's cock was massive – long and thick, with a huge plum-sized purple head, dripping juice down across his gauntleted knuckles.

The huge man-at-arms then did something strange. He thrust the hot, glistening turkey leg between the countess' arse cheeks and ran it slowly up and down, wetting her backside with drippings. Pitching the meat back over his shoulder, he stripped off a gauntlet and ran his thumb up and down over the plump woman's brown crinkly anus.

His thumb slipped inside up to the third knuckle, eliciting a whimper from the countess. "Roit then, brace yerself, milady."

He pulled his thumb out and replaced it with the knobby purple head of his massive veined cock. With one deep thrust, he plunged it in, hilting himself in her ass.

The countess grunted as she stifled a scream and her eyes bulged as she locked her gaze with that of her hapless husband.

Slade gripped her hips with both hands and thrust himself in and out, his pelvis slapping her plump cheeks with every forceful plunge. After ten or so thrusts, he groaned and arched his back and with one final flex if his hips, exploded into her ass.

The countess' head lolled, and her hands hung limp from the stocks. Drool ran down her chin and dripped onto the floor, and she mewled pitifully. Slade's gauntleted hands kneaded her red, ravaged arse cheeks as he continued to pump her full of his hot seed.

Finally he fell back and into a chair, his massive cock half limp and hanging down between his knees, juices dripping off the tip. Reaching down, he found his half-eaten turkey leg and brought it to his mouth, tearing a large chunk out in one massive bite.

Spector turned back to Olaf. "By order of Rolf the Red, following Olaf's unfortunate and untimely demise, young Hendrik shall take his place asss Count, with his loving and trusssting aunt as regent until he reachesss adulthood."