Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 14

As usual, a thank you to Emma Kendrick for providing her thoughts on the chapter!

Glass of wine and bowl of fresh strawberries nearby, the Princess Gwennalyn reclined in her lodgings, on a cushioned bench, intently reading about the adventures of Afeza the Charred, an infamous orc pirate.

It was one of the many books from the city's well-stocked library. Earlier in the day, Korak, the throne's official chronicler, had guided her on a tour of the venerable structure. While older, more decayed writings were off-limits to all but him and a handful of others, the rest of the contents were open to the populace. There were sections devoted to literature from other cultures, but by and large the tomes were the works of orcish authors. Many were previous official chroniclers, some sage poets, others learned researchers. Like the library back home in Crownhold, the princess found herself in awe at the gathered wisdom and knowledge in the countless pages.

Korak had allowed her to borrow as many books as she had wanted. Three others waited nearby, with the princess excited to return to the library for more, but right now, Afeza had her attention.

Until a few minutes later, when a knock came at her door.

She was halfway there when she heard it open, heavy footsteps tramping over the threshold, accompanied by boisterous voices.

"I told you it was open!"

"Yeah, why would you think we'd have to knock, she should know we're coming."

"Whatever, now we know!"

Six burly orcs came into view, each dressed in plain clothes.

"Ah, there you are, princess!" one of them said cheerily as the sextet passed her, a few looking around and commenting on the luxurious space.

She watched as they settled onto the cushioned benches, a few resting their boots on the smooth marble table. One reached for her glass of wine and drank.

"What is this, princess?" he asked her, holding up the glass to peer into it, swishing the remaining contents around.

"...Estefaloni wine," she answered hesitantly.

"Hmm."

He finished the rest, grunting in satisfaction, then holding out the empty glass towards her.

"Delicious. We'll take six."

The princess blushed, but only nodded, taking his glass and padding over to the table.

Her fingers trembled as she retrieved six glasses and filled each with the fragrant wine. The orcs were chatting among themselves, paying her no mind, but there was a definite humiliation in the moment. A silver platter was nearby, so she placed the glasses on top, and lifted it carefully. The glasses tottered ever so slightly at her first step and continued to do so on her way back to the orcs.

How do the servants make this look so easy?

The orcs thanked her as each took a glass. She recognized a few of the faces as those who had participated in fucking her throat two nights ago.

Although the others were probably present as well.

"Are you actually a princess?" one of them asked her suddenly.

She nodded, her blush deepening.

"Like, you were born into a royal family? Dad's a king, mum's a queen?"

She nodded again.

"Are you sure?"

Her humiliation and arousal were briefly replaced by confusion.

"Um...yes."

One of the others grunted in annoyance.

"Let it go, Elim. She's a princess."

Elim scrutinized her closely.

"Did the prince pay you to say you're a princess?"

"If he did," another orc cut in, "why would she admit that to you?"

A strange swell of pride crept into the swirl of emotions, and she straightened her posture.

"I am Princess Gwennalyn Castell of the Free Lands, daughter of King Freirick, Ruler of the Free Lands, and Queen Sabrina, Mother of the Free Lands, sister of the princes and princesses Darien, Dawn, Dalwyn, and Avalyn."

The orcs fell silent for a few moments.

"She could've rehearsed that," the suspicious orc finally said to his companions.

"Oh, give it up, she's a princess!"

Elim shrugged.

"Probably. But this is something Vyren would pull. Hire a common woman and tell her to act like a princess."

"True. And yet this one just doesn't seem like a commoner. And why would he put her up in these quarters just to trick us? Nah, she's a princess."

"Whatever. I just find it hard to believe that a princess would enjoy or even tolerate what's been done to her. We ganged up on her throat and then ruined her cunt, and now she's serving us drinks. What kind of princess would like that?"

"The kind that gets off on it."

By then, whatever pride had bloomed inside her was gone, in its place the previous humiliation and arousal. The dismissive way they discussed her only added to both feelings.

"I don't care if she's a princess or a fishmonger."

"Yeah, she's a massive slut, that's the important part."

Elim grunted noncommittally.

The other orcs changed the topic of conversation, ignoring the princess again for a few minutes. Unsure of what exactly to do, she stood to the side, waiting for them to call upon her again.

"Princess," one of them addressed her after a few minutes, "why are you still wearing clothes?"

Her quim twitched at the question, and she immediately began to undress.

The same orc shook his head.

"Why are you undressing?"

Now confused, she paused the process of taking off her dress.

"Because...I thought..."

The orc stood and sauntered over to her. His imposing size forced her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact.

"Did any of us tell you to take off your clothes?"

She shook her head, still confused, but as aroused as ever with him looming over her.

"Then why are you taking your clothes off?"

Her hesitation was met with disapproval.

"Answer me, girl. Why are you taking your clothes off?"

Had she any of that pride that had gripped her recently, his manner of speaking would have infuriated her. As it was, her submissiveness was such that it was instead met with a meek murmur.

"I thought you wanted me to take my clothes off."

The orc turned back to his fellows.

"Did we say anything about wanting her naked?"

They all shook their heads.

"Seems you misunderstood what we wanted."

The princess lowered her head in capitulation.

"I'm...I'm sorry."

A silence fell over the room for a few seconds.

And then the seated orcs burst out in laughter.

"Vankar is only messing with you, princess," one of the other orcs told her, still chuckling.

"Yeah," another chortled, "why wouldn't we want you to take off your clothes?"

Vankar turned back to them, scowling in annoyance.

"Damn it, you fuckers, I was going to mess with her a little more. You couldn't hold it in for a few minutes?"

"The look on her face, Vankar," one of them said in apologetic explanation, "it was just so funny."

"Yeah, she looked so ashamed," another chuckled, "we couldn't help it."

Vankar grumbled angrily, and then rejoined his fellows at the benches, leaving her standing there, still somewhat confused.

When he looked back to notice her having not moved, he gestured in impatience.

"Come on then, take off your clothes!"

His beefy hand lashed out and landed a slap across her backside, drawing a yelp from her, and more laughter from the others.

The spank galvanized her into action. The orcs watched as she stripped, revealing more and more of her nubile figure, until she was naked, the swath of her ivory flesh mottled with a blush from the attention.

But they made no move towards her, only returning to their conversation. Again, she was left unsure of what to do, but stood there regardless, baring her nudity for their occasionally appraising eyes.

"What book is this?" one of them asked her, noticing the tome on the table.

"It's...it's about Afeza the Charred."

"Oh, I've heard of him," another orc said brightly.

"Come," Vankar ordered, "read it to us. We're in the mood for a good story."

"...of...of course..."

The orcs cleared off the edge of the table closest to her, and she perched herself there, Vankar handing the book over.

She found her place and began to read.

The orcs listened surprisingly intently at first, but quickly began to grow bored.

"Put the book down," one of them grunted after a little while.

"Of course," she murmured, "what shall I do for you now?"

"First, fill our glasses again."

Six of them were shoved towards her, and she retrieved the platter as quickly as possible. Quivering from the illicit combination of humiliation and arousal, she took the glasses back over to where the bottle had been and filled each one carefully. The first bottle was quickly finished, but she had several more.

When she returned to them, and handed the glasses back to them, they were ready with another request.

"Sing us a song, princess!" one of them called to her, the others nodding their heads in agreement.

"Of course. Uh...what kind of song?"

"Are there any songs about slutty princesses?"

Gwennalyn bit her lip.

"Not that I know of."

"Well, maybe one day there'll be one about you."

"Ha, yeah, the Princess Who Couldn't Keep Her Legs Closed!"

"No, Gwennalyn the Green!"

"The Slut Princess of the Free Lands!"

The orcs guffawed, leaving her squirming in embarrassment, still perched on the table.

"We don't care what kind of song you choose," one of them told her after a few moments.

"As long as it's not a sad song," Elim grumbled, "I hate sad songs."

"Yeah, they make you cry."

"They don't make me cry! I just don't see the point."

"Whatever. Princess, sing to us."

It took her a few moments for her to pick a song, but eventually one came to her.

While her singing voice left something to be desired, the orcs listened intently, entertained by her choice, and obviously by the image before them, the naked princess sitting there and crooning like a songbird. Their eyes raked over her figure, provoking a warmth that combatted the cool of the marble underneath her.

And once the song was finished, the orcs demanded more.

As with the book, they eventually tired of music, and in between calls for more wine, began to simply chat among themselves.

At one point, one of them had started picking at the bowl of strawberries that she had left on the table.

"Come here, girl," Vankar called, nudging the orc currently chomping on a fistful of strawberries, taking the bowl from him.

Vankar handed it over to the princess, and then nodded to the floor.

"Kneel."

Biting her lip at the rush that ran through her, she sank to her knees, holding the bowl up for the orcs to pick strawberries from. Down between her thighs, the juices of her cunt were flowing freely.

When the bowl was empty, she was told to bring the bottle over and hold that instead.

Gwennalyn lost track of time. It was a strange situation, kneeling there, acknowledged less and less as the conversation continued.

I feel like a piece of furniture...

After some time, she heard the door to her lodgings open.

More sailors? Please be more sailors...

Deiara appeared, and stopped short, noticing first the six orcs, and then the kneeling princess. Her eyes rolled in resignation, and she ignored the enthusiastic greetings from the sextet, instead padding over to Gwennalyn.

"This is ridiculous, princess," she said, "getting fucked half to death by them is one matter, but this is something else."

"She likes it just fine," one the orcs cut in.

The handmaiden ignored him, instead plucking the bottle from the princess' grasp and pulling her to her feet.

"Seriously, how are you not embarrassed?"

Gwennalyn bit her lip.

"I am. But...it makes me feel naughty. Not as much as getting fucked. I like it though."

The handmaiden sighed heavily.

"I've done a terrible job at minding you, haven't I?"

The princess smiled and reached out to stroke at the older woman's shoulder.

"On the contrary. I think you've done a wonderful job."

"Yeah," one of the orcs cut in, "you have, so why don't you join her? Take off your clothes and entertain us."

Deiara turned to finally regard the orcs. Her gaze landed on the speaker.

"I serve the princess," she said tersely, "not you."

"And she serves us," another orc spoke up, "so you do by extension."

"She doesn't truly serve you, though" the handmaiden corrected him. "She just gets off on this. But she's a princess, and you are a bunch of sailors. When you return to the seas, she will stay here and continue living this life of luxury."

The orcs grumbled in annoyance, but Deiara ignored them.

"It's almost time for your dinner," she told Gwennalyn.

The princess hesitated.

"Which means the orcs have to leave for now," Deiara clarified.

"We're not going anywhere," one of the orcs declared, "the prince said that we could call upon her whenever we want."

"Oh, he did?" Deiara asked in mock concern, the façade quickly crumbling. "Well, send him my regards. If he wants words with me, he knows where to find me. Now leave. There will be plenty of time to demean her later."

The orcs grumbled again. But after a few more moments, with the handmaiden waiting expectantly, they left.

"I really shouldn't be too surprised," the handmaiden said, partly to herself, clearing the table as the princess sat on one of the benches.

"They could have stayed," the princess pouted, "I'm not hungry right now."

"Do I really have to explain the importance of dinner to you?"

Gwennalyn frowned.

"Can I just skip dinner and get right to them fucking me?"

The bedroom was filled with heated cries and bestial grunts as the orc fucked the princess.

Gwennalyn was hoisted into the air, one unyielding arm wrapped across her back, pinning her to the orc's front, his sweaty muscles currently being peppered by her loving kisses. The paleness of her flesh contrasted with his dark green shade, closely juxtaposed where her legs attempted to wrap around his broad waist and her arms clung desperately to his massive bulk.

While originally, he had been simply rutting her into the bed, he had decided to take her into his grip, and now was hunching his hips furiously, jabbing roughly into her drenched cunt, the princess helpless, the treasures of her figure readily available to be plundered. She was of course content in her station, experiencing his strength in such an intimate way, unable to do anything other than take the thrusts and squeal in empty-headed glee at how she was thoroughly stretched out by them.

What added to this was the sight she could just barely glimpse over his shoulder.

Eight more of his fellows were gathered in front of the bed, a few watching the proceedings, the rest chatting among themselves. The group had decided that they would take turns, one after the other, giving themselves individual time with her.

And then after they've all had me once, hopefully they'll take me together...

A few of those gathered were from the group that had visited her earlier. Others had shown up together, eager to check out what the prince had promised them, having already witnessed her whorishness and submissiveness two nights prior.

The orc currently hammering at her quim, whose name she had forgotten, shifted then, surprising her. His heavy frame moved smoothly, bringing him back into a seated position. The natural result was that she slid down the rest of the way, leaving her impaled securely on his member, shuddering in his lap. Both of his hands went to her hips, and he lifted her with the most minor of efforts, and then slammed her down, the sudden rush of meat drawing a delirious shriek from her. As light as she was, and as strong as he was, it took little time and that same minor effort for him to repeat the same maneuver again and again, until a rhythm was established, her body pulled up the length, and then yanked back down, used simply for a sheath. She leaned forward, returning to her previous homage, breathlessly kissing and licking at his chest, delighting in the taste of his sweat.

The disparity in size and strength between her and orcs was a detail that she always appreciated. While they were often content to let her show off her whorishness, they were just as often happy to ravage her holes and wielded the might to leave her an insensate wreck. Over the past month, she had grown used to the ache that followed weathering their appetites, welcomed it most days as the sign of a satisfying submission, tolerated it other days as the price for capitulating to their whims. And when a large, lustful orc was hammering away at her, it only inflamed her submissiveness, the fact that she was weak and powerless before their savagery such a boon to her wanton sensibilities.

She continued to lick the sweat from his chest, squealing every time her womanhood was forced to make way for that member. The pace was steady, driving her pleasure higher and higher, streams of her ambrosia leaking all over, reaching down to stain the swollen testicles underneath it.

Her next climax added more nectar to that mess. The orc grunted at the way in which her walls spasmed, caught up as she was in the throes of ecstasy. The rhythm paused as he took a few moments to savor that feeling, making sure to yank her down to full impalement to better experience every bit of her wrapped around him. His grunts rang loud in her ears, drawing a pitiable mewl in response. She wriggled in his grip, that spear driven deep into her, resulting in that familiar feeling of a penetrating vitality, centered in her lower belly, the throbbing of the formidable meat creating a cadence that hummed in the confines of her channel.

And then he began to move her again, her slit closely clasping the veined shaft on the way up. The princess acutely felt every inch leave her, the increasing emptiness making her whimper, a low rumble of amusement coming from the orc and a few chuckles from his fellows. Just as he had taken his time in savoring her skewered on him, so did he relish feeling the lips of her sex twitching around the head of his beast, resisting total abandonment, hoping to keep that intruder there for as long as possible.

The orc slammed her back down with a growl.

A fevered cry ripped from her throat as another bout of ecstasy walloped her. The thickness bulled its way through her channel until it was thrumming in her core. Her cry trailed off into ragged moans, the princess nuzzling against the orc's massive chest.

All too soon, she was again slid along the length.

It was back and forth, up and down, slow and steady, a calculated torture. Gwennalyn could do little else but whine restlessly in his grip. The neediness that she displayed was soothed when he would yank her down to full impalement. But that generosity was always short-lived, as inevitably she would be again guided back towards the tip moments later.

These days, Gwennalyn craved a merciless fucking, one that would necessitate an elder salve rubdown to help her recover.

A second and only slightly less important craving was just to feel a thick cock inside her, its weight settling inside whichever hole it had torn asunder in search of release.

But the orc currently using her refused to either fuck her roughly or let her indulge in the sensation of fullness.

Whatever complaints came from her, however, were purely instinctive, only the petulant bleating of a needy slut.

Those complaints were only instinctive, because to the princess, the orc was well within his rights in using her in such a way.

He can do whatever he wants to me.

So, she simply basked in whatever sensations were available: the surge of meat on the way down, the sharp thrills that boasted a sliver of pain when the shaft barreled through her quim, the pressure of his testicles smushed against her slit, the harsh grunts and low chuckles from him, the tang of sweat on her tongue as she continued to kiss breathlessly at his chest, the grip squeezing at her hips, the rippling of his muscles around her, every little detail very much appreciated.