Dragonheart Ch. 01: Awareness

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

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This story takes place in a mythical time and place. Mankind is the same as mankind seems to have always been. Mythology, belief, and legend can guide their lives or be ignored quickly when other pursuits, motivations, and new beliefs might lead to a personal or group perceived advantage in wealth, power, or standing in society.

This story is in such a time. A small realm that has existed peacefully for so many generations the people have no other recollection, even in the stories told by the old people. The realm has been led by a single family of descendants through the collective memory. The people live in equality and common comfort. Everyone shares work. Everyone shares in the fruits of that work. The leading family even lives in modest circumstances in the spirit of that attitude of common experience.

Despite open trade with other realms, their prized valley between mountain ranges has not been conquered, which is not to say it hasn't been attempted. The valley is rich in resources, fertile for crops, and abundant in water, forests, grazing land, and wildlife. There are two routes for trade into the realm, one in the north and one in the south. Both are severely restricted by narrow canyons that allow limited movement. Invading armies find themselves squeezed at these locations.

The realm never has had a sizable army. They never had the need. If the people ever heard anything about an attempted invasion, they never suffered the invasion. It became an accepted truth that they were safe. They became complacent. The significance of offerings according to their beliefs was soon seen as an opportunity for more wealth and substance that could be retained. That drove a shift in the attitudes starting with the leader and filtering into the society in general. A shift of attitudes that would change everything in terrible ways.

Ultimately, can someone distantly removed from the beliefs of the ages before, when they were more than mere myth, resurrect strength and courage among others to make a change? Especially, when claiming that belief in old myth means personal sacrifice.

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CHAPTER 1: AWARENESS

Ariana was a striking beauty. That beauty did not serve her well, however. She was 5' 5" tall, trim, and full of energy... despite her circumstances. Her long, wavy, blonde hair shined like gold from her head and cascaded over her back nearly to her butt. While most young women after reaching maturity would be thinking about a suitor to begin a new life in one of the villages scattered throughout the expansive valley formed between the two imposing mountain ranges, she was where she had been for her existence... toiling in the castle of the King, his family, and advisors. Nobody spoke of her, about her, or where she might have come from. She was the daughter of a woman who was herself part of a line of women who merely toiled in the castle in service to the current King.

If nobody spoke of Ariana or her mother or the line of women Ariana descended from, it was because it was an unlawful topic to be spoken of. Just as it was unlawful to speak of the belief the people of the realm had one time held so firmly to but eventually found so easy to relinquish into myth and legend. The line of Kings in the two generations since the realm was overrun by invaders made talk of the old ways a death penalty. Ariana was different, though. Not only did she have that spirit that burned but so did her mother. Her mother had repeated the stories at night, keeping the stories real, a tradition passed along the line of women from the old times to Ariana. She knew the old stories but they seemed like a magical myth to her, too fantastic to believe.

Unlike most of the women, young or old, Ariana's beauty and spirit did not seem to be able to be extinguished by the hardship of her existence. Her beauty and spirit, upon her reaching maturity, presented her with new opportunities in service to the King and others of his court... new but unwelcome, undesired opportunities.

She spent long days toiling with the other women, young and old, who served the King and castle doing everything from cooking and serving to cleaning and laundry. Then, at night, the King frequently requested her from among all the women forced into service in the castle. Part of his preference for her was her beauty, of course. But another part was a well-kept secret that Ariana was believed to be the direct descendant of the old leading family on the maternal side. It had to be the maternal side, of course, because all the males of the family had been killed after capturing the castle.

Once again, after the meager dinner allowed the servants, Ariana was summoned. As the young woman rose to leave the other women and prepare herself for the King, her mother reached out to touch her hand as she passed and whispered the words of encouragement that had become a ritual for them: 'Be strong, my daughter, and believe.' They were words of encouragement but also of hope; hope that a future of change might still be waiting according to the proficiencies... if you believed in the myths... myths that were criminal to express.

Ariana was taken to a room where she was changed from her well-worn, ill-fitting dress and apron into a light, free-flowing, gossamer gown that draped from the shoulders and fell to the floor. She put on delicate slippers and brushed her long, golden hair until it seemed to shine in the faint light provided by candles and wall-torches. The King was very particular and it wasn't even her survival that compelled Ariana to comply with these demands on her. The King had made it very clear to her that her compliance protected her mother and any other remaining women on her maternal lineage. Or, to be more to the point of how the King expressed it, Ariana's failure to comply willingly and enthusiastically would doom herself and others to a very painful and torturous death.

Ariana moved quietly from the lower servant levels of the castle up to the King's chambers. The guards standing on either side of the massive, heavy wood doors leered at her as she approached. The gown was so filmy that she knew her form would be apparent as she walked with the many torches in the hallway behind her. Also, the chill of the castle, whose blocks of stone held the cool night air throughout the day, caused her nipples to harden which in turn pressed against the flimsy gown and highlighted the unrestricted sway of her breasts underneath. She did not doubt that many more men of the castle desired to have her if the King allowed it. For now, though, he had greedily kept her to a small group.

As she passed through the heavy doors opened by the guards, she scanned the large chambers for the King, finding him standing with a goblet of wine in his robe at the sunken tub where two other servants poured hot water by the bucket-load. The ties of his ruby-red robe hung loose and the robe gaped open as he stood near the tub and women. They glanced at her nervously as she entered and Ariana thought she caught a look of relief pass over their faces. The relief is that the King's attention would not be forced on them as he took his bath.

Ariana slowed her pace and took a deep breath to remember what her mother and the other older women who fussed over her had instructed. She was two years past the maturity age and for two years she has now been the preferred companion of the King in his chambers. For the past six months or so she has been shared on occasion with several of his closest advisors. In all that time and all that experience, she has never enjoyed sex, never experienced the pleasure reaction from it that many of the women talk about. In confiding with her mother, she was told to pretend, act as if she were enjoying the experience to appease the King. She asked if not enjoying it might not the King leave her alone? She was told that might be true but the outcome might be worse, as a result. So, Ariana became adept at acting out her pleasure to stroke the fragile ego of the men.

When the tub had sufficient hot water, the other women gratefully and quickly took their exit from the room. Ariana stood at the opposite end of the tub from the King. He sipped from the goblet as he looked at her, then smiled and motioned with his hand. It was a short sweep of his hand at waist height as if he were parting an unseen drape. She had experience in this situation. She knew what the hand motion was intended to convey. She took another deep breath as she lowered her eyes. After only a moment of hesitation, her right hand moved to her left shoulder where she released a button and her left shoulder became bare. She repeated the opposite movement to the right shoulder and the filmy gown seemed to flutter down her exquisite body to the floor. She stood before the man she knew as King with the same trepidation she felt every time. Her hands moved in front of her crotch but were quickly pulled back before he could remind her.

"You are an exquisite creature," he said. He gazed at her form. A trim body with firm breasts that seemed to beg to be squeezed, a flat stomach, and shapely hips. Her face had the look of innocence no matter how many times he called her to his chamber. Her hair was long, as if it had never been cut, and golden in color so it seemed to shine in the flickering light from the torches and candles. "Do you know why I ask for you so much more than any other?" Ariana shook her head. "It is because you are special. You are a very special young woman." He laughed and it was the laugh of ridicule. "What makes a lowly servant girl special? You don't know, do you?" She shook her head, again, to protect the ruse. "That's what makes it all so special, don't you see? You may be special and you don't even know why." He laughed, again.

She honestly didn't. There was nothing about her life that she could look at to think she was special in any way... except for her mother. There was something about her mother, the stories she insisted on telling, repeating, and continuing to repeat. Stories about the old times, times before a King and a castle existed. Stories about the times of the myths. Stories she was told to remember but never speak of to anyone... except a daughter if she ever had one. If the myths were true, she was told, there would be a time when the stories would be important to know and then share with everyone. She was rarely ever outside the castle as if it were her prison despite the movement she had within it.

Her attention was brought back to the King, though. He set the goblet on a small table and the motion caused his robe to open further. She saw his penis had hardened since she was exposed. She covered an involuntary shudder that coursed over her body at the sight of it and the knowledge of what was following. She sometimes wished her body could react even in her dread of the act. Maybe, just maybe, if her body responded, the act might not seem so disgusting, even revolting.

But she moved as she knew she must. She stepped up to the King and behind him. She put her hands on the collar of the robe and gently slid it off his body. Maybe if he were handsome or especially masculine or caring, it might make a difference. None of that was true, though. He was tall but overweight. His body was soft and round. She sighed in resignation.

He took her hand confidently in his and stepped into the tub, leading her into the waist-deep water. He sat and she reached to the side for a cloth to begin washing him but stopped herself. She must use her hands, only. He wants her soft hands to wash his skin and body. Sitting in the water behind him, she strokes over his back and into his hair. She strokes water up under his arms and spends as much time at his back as she can before sensing his impatience. She presses forward so her hands slide over his chest and stomach, the preferred way to do it, according to him. This forces her breasts to squeeze against his back and he presses himself back against her. It takes her several moments after adequately cleaning his chest, stomach, and upper legs before she finally, reluctantly begins stroking her fingers over his groin and hardened penis.

This is how it begins and she suppresses another shudder of revulsion in anticipation of what will inevitably follow. He presses more firmly back against her, leaning back so his relaxed weight is supported by her as he pulls her other hand to join in 'washing' his 'cock'. He has chuckled at her defiance in using words he has impressed on her, words that the whores use. It is small defiance but it seems that it is tolerable to him as long as she satisfies him like a whore. Well... maybe almost like a whore.

She feels it grow more as her fingers stroke it. It is not overly large. She has seen larger ones on other men when she was used by him in the presence of men and whores. The King's didn't require two hands to stroke so the other one was used to massage his ball sack and scrotum. He began groaning and moaning from her stroking and thought, maybe, this time he might be satisfied with only her hand. Then, he abruptly rose with her hand firmly grasped in his. He pulled her to the edge of the sunken tub and abruptly pressed her against the side, bending her upper body over the ledge and kicking her feet further apart. She closed her eyes as she obediently pushed her butt back toward him, her legs spread wide, and felt his penis touch her bare, hairless pussy, which she was required to shamelessly clean of hair regularly for his inspection and touch.

She felt the penis press against her pussy, part the delicate lips, probe for her opening, and plunge dominantly into her body. It was a mystery to her how her body lubricated itself in preparation of penetration when it would not achieve a level of stimulation for the climatic experience she heard women were capable of... like a man's climax but somehow different. Her mother only advised that the lubrication was good and the climax, orgasm, can be faked. So, that's what she did. She pressed back against the invading penis as it was thrust into her. The water splashing around their bodies as his hips impacted against her butt as the penis drove into its deepest. She even learned to flex her muscle so her vagina, her pussy, tightened around the member. She would act the whore, if she needed to for the security of her mother and the other women. She would pretend at the pleasure if she must. Her body would cooperate only in the activity but not in the result.

She felt the man who was King strain and grunt as he pressed hard into her. She felt him take hold of her hips to more aggressively thrusting his penis into her pussy. Then, he turned her aggressively and began moving her to the end with the steps, all the while his penis inside her. He pulled out and sat on the higher step and pulled her to him. She straddled his legs as she was pulled and his hands on her hips pulled her down. She understood his desire and reached between them for his hard penis, rubbed it against her pussy until it sank into her already open hole. She sat down immediately and firmly, drawing a gasp and moan from him as his penis was suddenly deeply embedded. He raised his hips as she sat down on each up-and-down stroke. He twisted her erect nipples and he began grunting with his thrusts. That was the signal she recognized and she increased the verbal sounds she learned to make, adding her moans and gasps to the increasing sounds from him.

She felt him swell inside, then his body and hips jerk. When she felt his cum enter her, she moaned louder and fell onto him. It was her game and it seemed to work on him.

In minutes, the King rose, pushing her off as he stepped out of the tub and put on his robe over his dripping body. She hoped she was done, but he insisted on her serving him. She poured wine and offered him pieces of cheese and bread while remaining naked. He seemed to enjoy her discomfort by keeping her naked and frequently touching her body intimately. He even pushed a finger into her pussy, looked at it, and put it up to her mouth, instructing her to lick it clean. Fucking her was something she had become used to but he had begun wanting her to suck his penis and not just to make him hard. He now wanted to cum in her mouth and for her to swallow it. After experiencing it several times, it was no better or worse than being fucked.

He watched her suck off his finger and preceded to open his robe as he reclined in his bed. After the first few times of being used, she learned not to act dumb as it only made the situation worse. So, being shown his soft, flaccid penis, she crawled on the bed to his hips where she bent at the waist to take his soft penis in her hand and then to her lips. She kissed it up and down the length, then licked its length before taking the head between her lips after another kiss. She sucked on the head as if taking the last morsel of meat off a chicken leg bone.

She felt his hardness throbbing, pulsing in her mouth as she moved her mouth up and down his length. His hand was on the back of her head assisting her fucking his penis with her mouth. Being fucked by him was demeaning and humiliating; this, with her mouth, was more so as he watched and strained up with his hips. She didn't know what could be more demeaning but it only reflected her relative innocence.

His penis jerked in her mouth and pulsed as she felt him cum, his seed deposited on her tongue. She dutifully sucked and swallowed, then sucked and licked his penis clean. Past practice told her she would now be done but sounds from behind her made her tremble while she completed her duty of cleaning his penis. She heard the massive doors close... why hadn't she heard it open?... and the sounds of feet moving into the chamber. As she pulled her mouth off his penis, she took a frightened glance back to find three of his advisors and generals dropping their clothes. She looked with fear and apprehension to the King who she found smiling, a low chuckle escaping from his throat at seeing her reaction.

"You've always thought of yourself as better than the other wenches. Perhaps you've sensed that you were somehow special or it was your mother filling you with the old stories." He smiled. "Yes, I know. There are spies everywhere in the castle. I will deal with her but it is time for you to learn you are nothing more than a wench." He rolled off the massive bed and moved to a chair placed nearby, taking another goblet of wine from his advisor. He smiled as he raised the goblet to his lips as the three naked men crawled onto the bed around her. Her eyes were wide in fear as the men approached. Their penises were already hard in anticipation of finally getting her. A common wench, she thought in horror. Was her life-changing terribly in this moment and just how much was it changing?

She was thrown on her back and the Northern Army General moved quickly between her legs. He jammed his hard penis at her crotch, bouncing off her pelvis before sinking brutally into her hole. She gasped, not by any pleasurable sensation but the forcefulness of the action, though they all mistook her reaction judging by the smiles on the three faces around her. As the general began driving his penis into her the other two appeared at her head which was turned by a hand and shoved into her mouth. Her hand was moved to the other penis. While being fucked, her head was moved from one penis to the other but both were always being held in her hands.

The first man climaxed, shooting his cum into her pussy. He quickly pulled out and another man moved between her legs as her head was held on the penis in her mouth. After the next man plunged his penis into her gaping pussy, her head was turned to the other side and the penis that had just fucked her was thrust into her mouth. This continued back and forth, her mouth moved from one penis to another even as the one that had previously fucked her began softening in her mouth.