Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 15

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of dubious consent, non-consensual or reluctant sexual situations.

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Once again, a big thank-you to Emma Kendrick for providing her thoughts on the chapter!

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It was early morning in the princess' bedchamber. Six bodies lay sleeping on the spacious bed, but hers was not one of them.

Seeth woke up, stretching languidly, accidentally hitting a fellow sailor with his arm. The sailor grunted but did not stir further. There were three others around him; the handmaiden was in the center of them, her brown skin contrasting with their bright green.

On the bedside table was a half-full bottle of Estefaloni wine. As Seeth rolled himself off the bed, he reached out and grabbed the bottle. After a quick swig, he put it back down, and stood, wiping the excess wine off his lips with a swipe of his forearm.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the princess.

She was on the floor, tied to the bed with her hands bound behind her back, as had become customary for her. The sight made his cock twitch.

Prince Vyren had promised his crew that the princess would be a ready and willing servant. She had been that and much more over the past week, giving her time and body to them with no complaints. From that first night back, when they had inserted a bottle into her cunt while taking turns defiling her throat, to five nights ago, when they had first tied her to the bed and left her on the floor overnight, to now, after the intervening days which had also been chock full of unchecked debauchery, there had been only obedience from her. Although it had been Zarag's idea to tie her up in such a demeaning way, they had all enjoyed seeing her in that pitiful state, and so had made sure every night since to tie her up that way, leaving her there while they fucked the handmaiden. While most of the sailors would leave after some time, others, like Seeth himself, were lazier, and so slept in the princess' bed. Doing so also meant that they could have easy access to both women the next morning.

Seeth took another swig of wine, and then ambled over to the sleeping girl.

She was soundly in the embrace of slumber. That peacefulness clashed with the state of her body. There were splotches of dried semen clinging to her all over, with a pool of it sitting between her thighs, the flow having run from her quim and asshole through the night. Also dotting her pale figure were numerous bruises. The sailors were never gentle with her, but some were rougher than others.

It's fortunate that she enjoys pain.

He knelt over her, grabbing at one meager ass cheek, spreading it to show off her anus, still stretched from the previous night's escapades.

With one thrust, he sheathed himself nearly to the base inside it. The princess groaned softly at the sudden intrusion.

His hips started pumping steadily. It only took a few thrusts to fit the rest of his length inside her.

"I love waking up to a big cock inside me," the princess murmured breathlessly, stirring now, a shudder running along her.

Seeth chuckled at her relentless whorishness. His hips drummed against hers, the meaty flesh of his shaft beating at her guts, those shudders continuing as the haze of sleep lifted further off.

His strong pace continued, keeping her pressed to the floor. A wet thwacking sound began to ring out from his balls repeatedly hitting her fluid-slicked taint.

I'll bet since she hasn't had any elder salve yet that she is very sore. And yet she is moaning non-stop...

The sounds that she made as he put more strength into his effort would have worried him coming from any other human woman.

But Gwennalyn the Green, as the sailors had taken to calling her, had proven that she could take the rudest of abuses, weathering whatever they did with a wide smile and even sometimes begging for more.

So, he carried on with the increasingly brutal sodomy, ignoring the choked gurgles and pathetic mewls that she let out. Her ruined asshole clenched fitfully around him.

Some of the crew had grown tired of her. While her submissiveness was unquestionable, the novelty of degrading her over and over had worn off for them. Others had still shown up but directed the bulk of their desires at the handmaiden instead.

But Seeth, like a fair amount of his fellows, had not tired yet of the princess. While the handmaiden's breasts were larger and provided a lush expanse for his cock to rub against, and her ass was fatter and jiggled much more when she was fucked, the ability to degrade the princess as much as he wanted without so much as a protesting whine was one that he would miss once back out on the seas.

She should have been born a commoner...she would have made quite the whore.

There was a particularly pitiful bleat now tumbling from her gasping lips, followed by more of the same, each one boasting a slight note of pain. Right after, a series of uncontrollable quivers commenced, accompanied by a stream of juices issuing from the neglected quim just below the spasming asshole taking his punishing pounding. Even at the sound of those miserable bleats, he did not stop, familiar with them by now, having heard them when the abuse caused anguish beyond what would have been deemed appropriate by even the most experienced whore. The sailors knew well by now that she found plenty of pleasure in those moments of agony.

More orgasms followed for her. He paid little mind to them, thrusting away, his hands gripping now at her shoulders to ride her better, his formidable muscles marshalled with each downward effort, his cock burrowing repeatedly to the balls inside her bruised guts, every inch fitting snugly inside with little difficulty.

Growling at an oncoming climax, he reached out to gather a fistful of her hair and yanked back.

The rope that tied her to the bed had one end wound around the foot of the bed, with the other around her neck. There was almost no slack in how it had been tied, meaning that when he yanked back, the rope cut into her neck, stealing what little breath she had gathered. The bleats turned back into helpless, sputtering gurgles, her body jerking and bucking, more juices gushing from her cunt.

Seeth rutted until he felt the pressure in his testicles creep up his length and kept rutting until the first spurt erupted out to bathe her bowels, and then kept rutting still through the deluge. Blast after blast spewed into her innards, warming them with fresh seed, replacing what had been lost during the night. Halfway through that flood, he let up on her hair, but did not stop rutting, his thrusts squelching through a sticky slurry. The worrisome sounds that she had been making as he blew his load into her guts, a weak rasping that resembled a death knell, now turned back into dazed whimpers.

Had I not eased on her hair when I had, it very well might have become an actual death knell.

Only when every drop had been sent deep inside her did he stop thrusting. The princess was limp, her breathing soft and slow, a sheen of sweat shining underneath the bruises and clinging spunk.

He lifted himself off her, his shaft slipping out from that distended anus. Burbling semen followed it to add to the pool between her thighs.

As he stood, his eyes once again took in the sight of her, bruised and ravaged. She groaned, her anus twitching weakly, more streams of semen spilling out.

I'm going to miss her.

Seeth spent a few more moments enjoying the view.

Maybe we can convince Vyren to take her with us. I'm sure she wouldn't mind.

The orc padded around the bedchamber, and after a few minutes, he left.

Gwennalyn sighed softly, stretching her legs out.

A deep ache lingered, and as she had yet to receive an elder salve rubdown, the brutal sodomy that had just finished only added to it. Last night's debauchery had left the usual toll of bruises and twinges, which were usually soothed by the elder salve.

While most of the sailors would leave once the carnal activities ended, some of the lazier ones would stay overnight, sleeping with her handmaiden in the spacious bed while the princess remained tied up on the floor, the hard stone a paltry cushion for her battered frame. And when they awoke, they made sure to abuse her more before leaving for the day. As that would happen, just like now, before the application of elder salve, the result was more soreness, leaving parts of her positively throbbing. That actual pain did nothing to diminish her submissiveness. The princess took pride in the fact that she had not yet as of once complained or asked for a recess, instead taking what they gave her with a certain meek gracefulness, even in the morning when the effects of the previous night went untreated.

All the pain means is that I served well, that I was a good slut for them. And it is so satisfying to hurt like this...

When her brothers had been old enough to spar seriously, they had done so almost every day. Those sessions had given them plenty of bruises and scrapes. Even after the most challenging of sparring sessions, they would boast of not just the swordplay but also the soreness that they felt.

"That pain is boyhood leaving the body," their father was fond of saying.

"But do not let it leave too quickly," their mother would usually follow it with, "once it leaves, you can never have that innocence back."

While her sisters would greet those smug complaints with either mild disgust or slight irritation, Gwennalyn would always be confused, wondering why her brothers would smile as they pointed out where the ache was strongest or where a particularly large bruise was located.

Now I understand...

Another orc lumbered off the bed, his footsteps slapping on the floor. After a few moments, he came over to her, knelt, and skewered her dripping quim. She squealed happily, his thickness piercing deep into her core.

It was the last day of the sailors' leave. There was a feast planned for that evening, to celebrate the prince and his crew before they would leave the following morning.

I wonder what he has in store for me, was her last thought on the subject for a while, as the orc using her started up a rough pace, bringing pleasure to the fore in moments. The crashing impacts of his hips slammed down against hers, adding to the soreness and the pleasure.

After a few minutes of enduring that onslaught, the princess heard soft moans and gruff growls coming from the bed.

Sounds like Deiara woke up. Or the orcs did first and woke her up.

The orc atop her found his release soon, depositing fresh seed into her womb, her exultant cries mingling with her handmaiden's. There were slick slapping sounds accompanying that chorus from the energetic fucking that was taking place on the bed.

Once the orc was finished, he pulled out from her, and stumbled back to the bed, clambering onto it to join the proceedings there. The princess was left once again neglected on the floor, listening as the quartet fucked her handmaiden. It had become obvious to her that many of the sailors now preferred to focus their attention on the older woman.

I can't be too offended. She has a wonderful body.

So, all Gwennalyn could do was take in the sounds of the debauchery. Her body was still aflame with need, fresh seed burbling inside her, its presence provoking a craving for more.

But when the orcs on the bed finished with her handmaiden, they ignored the princess, not even deigning to untie her before they left.

That task fell to her handmaiden, who took her time in leaving the comfort of the bed. First, the rope around Gwennalyn's hands was untied, and she let them run along her handmaiden's figure, the brown flesh streaked with semen. That attention made it slightly difficult for Deiara to then untie the other rope, but she persisted, and its tight embrace quickly slackened.

The princess reached out for her handmaiden, who hoisted her onto her knees, that voluptuous warmth cushioning her. Summoning her strength, Deiara heaved Gwennalyn upright, the duo swaying for a moment before they tumbled sideways onto the bed.

A moment passed, wherein the princess luxuriated, the hard floor replaced by soft bedding, the comforting presence of the older woman pressed against her.

And then that presence inflamed her lust. She mewled desirously, her mouth finding the older woman's body, kissing at those breasts, her tongue collecting a dollop of clinging cum recently put there by one of the sailors.

But her handmaiden took control, as she so often did these days when they were in bed.

Those gentle yet assertive hands rolled her onto her back, and Deiara moved swiftly to straddle her head. A few of her fingers reached down, framing her folds and showing off the slit, streams of seed oozing out. Her other hand took a firm fistful of the princess' hair and used it to yank her head up, bringing her mouth towards the drenched cunt.

"They filled me so much," she purred, "be a good slut and clean me up."

"Sir Andrell was bearing down on me. I gripped my lance tight and urged Swiftstride onward. All I could hear was the sound of hooves pounding the ground. Even the cheering from the stands did not reach my ears. I tried to remember the advice my father had given me, but in that moment, my mind was empty."

Sir Hathwell continued with the telling of his tale, his wife entranced, the rest of the table either mildly interested, slightly amused, or in the princess' case, entirely bored.

"You know, Sir Andrell is regarded as one of the best horsemen in the Free Lands. They even call him Saddleborn because his mother always joked that he was so good at riding because she gave birth to him while riding. Well, anyway, I knew it would take the perfect strike to unhorse him. I angled my lance as he came closer and closer..."

"Princess," came a voice from behind her, "a moment of your time?"

She turned to see the prince waiting expectantly. The story had paused as everyone else had glanced over as well.

"Of course," she replied immediately.

Thank the gods.

She smiled politely at Sir Hathwell and the others at the table, and then followed Vyren towards a corner of the hall.

"I must thank you for saving me from that story," she said to the prince.

He chuckled.

"I have heard plenty of them in just one week. Which one was it?"

"Jousting against Sir Andrell."

"Ah yes, the Saddleborn."

She giggled, glancing back over her shoulder at the table, Sir Hathwell taking a sip of his wine in preparation for more storytelling.

The prince passed several more tables, these reserved for attendants and other important servants. Deiara was at one, sitting across from Baltar.

When they reached the far corner of the hall, the prince stopped and turned to regard her.

"First, I would like to thank you for your service to my men. I hope they have not been too troublesome."

Her lips tugged upwards into a mischievous smirk.

"Oh, they have, but I do enjoy it. I will miss their visits."

"Some of them I am sure would like me to take you with us when we leave."

She could not help but bite her lip at the thought.

"I would not mind that."

He chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement.

"The second reason I wanted to speak to you is to let you know that I will be hosting a gathering in my chambers after the feast. I will be inviting more than just my crew this time."

"And am I invited as well?"

In the few seconds before he answered, memories of the last time he had hosted a gathering surfaced, of how he had made her serve drinks to him and the other sailors, the humiliation so powerful. That service had been followed by debauchery, the highlight of which had been the prince fitting a bottle into her strained quim. That ache had been something special, a throbbing pain so exhilarating.

"No," came his firm answer.

She felt disappointment burbling up inside her, but his next sentence quelled it.

"But you will be there, nevertheless. I expect you at my chambers in an hour, ready to serve as usual."

Her acceptance was immediate, the disappointment replaced by arousal, shudders running along her spine at the thought of what the rest of her evening would hold.

"Of course," she murmured.

The prince nodded.

"I shall see you there soon."

With that, he strode back towards the center of the hall.

Back to it, she mused, taking time in winding her way through the other tables.

"Ah, princess," Sir Hathwell greeted her enthusiastically, "you've returned to us!"

She took her seat, smiling politely.

"No need to worry," he continued, "I haven't finished my story yet. I thought you might want to hear the rest. Now, where was I?"

Since the prince had returned to Coronhar, Gwennalyn had been in his chambers three times.

The first time, for a gathering of his crewmates after the feast that had welcomed them, the room had been filled with tables, where they had played games and drank.

The second time, when the prince had invited her for dinner, the room had only one table, upon which she had laid along with two female orcs, the food displayed on their bodies for him and his friends.

The third time, two days later, had been a much simpler layout, as there had been one table, since she had been the only guest. Unlike the other two instances, this had led to no sort of debauchery, as the prince had rejected her advances.

I wonder what will happen this time.

She padded over the threshold to his chambers.

Like that first night, there were tables arranged around the space, with smaller tables against the far wall.

From a side door at the other end of the room, the prince's attendant came in, nodding when he caught sight of her.

"Very good," he said, and then gestured towards the door he had just entered through, "in here."

The room he had come from was empty save for one piece of furniture.

Some sort of strange chair?

Instead of a full seat, there were two slats, distanced enough apart that sitting would require either balance or flexible legs. The back was too short to provide cushioning for the head, and the top of the back extended behind it at a slightly downward angle. Although there was cushioning aplenty, nothing about the chair screamed comfort.

And then she noticed the straps.

There were seven in all: two for each slat, one on either end of them, two more on either side down by the end of the back part, and a larger one located in the middle of the entire contraption.

"What is this?" she asked the attendant.

"Take off your clothes," came his answer.

She shrugged, and as she undressed, continued to muse about the importance of the chair, why it was the only thing in the room, and what it might mean for her. The presence of the attendant stoked a warmth inside her as more and more of her figure was revealed; his disinterest did nothing to cool that warmth.

Once she was naked, the attendant gestured for her to move closer to the strange chair.

It was only when he bent her over the back of it and yanked her legs onto the slats, that she understood. The straps there were quickly brought over her ankles and calves, and tightened, the press against her flesh a delicious sensation. She quivered as he next grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms forward. Moving efficiently, and ignoring her moans, he slid her arms off the cushion until they were flush against the sides of the contraption. The straps there were wound around her wrists, incapacitating her further. The last strap went over the small of her back, keeping her in place, stopping her from moving too much beyond the restless squirming that had begun once she had realized what her role in this gathering was to be.