Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 15

"Please, oh gods, please, I need it, my womb needs it..."

"Breed her!" came a shout from the crowd, followed by another one, and then another, until the room was filled with them, the brief silences in between them filled instead with her pleas.

"Breed me, breed me, please, give me every drop you have, please, every last drop..."

"Breed her!"

"Breed the princess!"

"Breed her!"

"Please, I need to be bred, please, I need it, please, my womb needs it, please, oh gods, please, please, please..."

The grizzled orc grunted, his hands gripping tightly to her, one at her hair, the other at her hip, his pace upping in roughness until he was pounding at her, shaking the contraption and her from the force, that grunt turning into a growl that lengthened, growing louder and louder, until it reached its crescendo as a roar of triumph when he slammed to the base inside her.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was that roar, a loud, bestial, victorious bellow that made her appreciate his might, his nature as the stronger creature, his ability to claim her body so easily. All she could do in the face of such strength was wait for that first gout of life-giving potency.

And then it splattered forth, a sudden rush of hot, thick semen that made her jerk and buck. An orgasm washed over her, a feverish shriek spilling from her, an exultant, delirious, joyful answer to that roar, which somehow was still loud and full-throated, the old orc barely stopping for breath as he continued to bellow. More spurts followed the first, overwhelming her cunt, the princess shrieking louder as she imagined the battlefield that was her womb, Jakash's determined soldiers battering that stronghold until it gave way, allowing for a baby to be planted there, the ultimate submission that she could offer.

The group cheered now, watching as her eyes widened, as she squirmed wildly, as she cried out in rapturous bliss. Yet more spurts burst forth; the feeling of warm fullness that came with such thorough insemination was always wonderful but now boasted the chance of pregnancy. Unsurprisingly, her body wholeheartedly accepted those gouts of seed, sending out sticky juices to gush onto the flood, her belly clenching almost painfully as she imagined how it might swell soon. Jakash had plenty to give her, not budging an inch as he stayed buried to the root inside her, his cock still throbbing as it sent out the rest of the load.

Those spurts died down, slowly but surely, but they left her suffused with warmth, that imagined battle easily won by the orc, his conquest claimed. Her orgasm abated, but the sheer pleasure still reached what felt like every corner of her body, and that warmth in her belly signified something beyond momentary delight, a possible lasting consequence of this night. The view before her of the crowd as well proved enticing, as even if the flood currently roiling inside her was unable to create life, there were a lot of orcs waiting for their turn. With her unprotected, and them eager, she would undoubtedly be with child before the morning. A tear of happiness rolled down her cheek as she accepted that fate.

Jakash pulled out, his cock squelching nastily through the rivers of seed on the retreat. The hand in her hair yanked back again, and she felt his breath on her neck as he leaned forward.

"My seed is strong, as my sixteen children can attest to. I expect you will bear my seventeenth. Boy or girl, they will be a healthy whelp, even if their mother is a skinny little thing."

She moaned whorishly, a smile forming as she imagined the child she would bear, whether it was Jakash's or some other sailor's.

I've heard tell of half-breeds, but never met one. Now I'll have one as a child. And more after that...

He let go of her hair, letting her head drop forward, her chin bumping against the leather cushion underneath her. As he moved back, the crowd applauded his effort.

"So," the prince spoke up then, "we'll go in order of experience, which means Torram, you're next."

"Please," Gwennalyn whimpered, "give me more..."

Laughter went up in the crowd, the prince chuckling along with them.

"Well, princess," he mused, "not so long ago you were begging us to stop. What changed?"

"I accepted it," she answered immediately, "I accepted my new life as breeding stock. I will bear many half-breeds and be all the happier for it."

Another round of laughter followed that pitiful declaration.

"You heard her, Torram," the prince said in amusement, "get on with it, give the girl what she wants!"

A cheer went up, and moments later, she felt another pair of hands clutch at her waist.

With a swing of his hips, Torram skewered her, making her cry out happily. There was no time wasted in this round, as he began to fuck her right away, each thrust squelching through the leaking rivers of semen.

"Fuck me," she groaned, "fuck me, breed me, please, give me a half-breed. Jakash filled me up, but I need more!"

Torram paid her ramblings no mind, jabbing through her channel, his pace unrelenting.

In front of her, the prince stepped into view, and she raised her head to meet his gaze.

"I know your father will disown you for this," he told her, reaching out to stroke at her hair, "but the Free Lands will know of you. We will make sure of that. Perhaps we'll take you around, put on a traveling show, let everyone see you, the folks in the cities and the people in the countryside as well. It would be free, of course, that way everyone could get a glimpse of their former princess."

His fingers teased then at her lips, and she dutifully sucked at them, still looking up at him, expectantly waiting for further commentary, those words helping to send her lust higher.

"I'm sure many women would wonder what such a life would be like. We would of course allow them to join you. You could even train them, show them how to be good breeding slaves. Pass on your knowledge and experience to the next generation."

The idea of her surrounded by countless like-minded women, taking cock and bearing half-breeds, was undeniably alluring.

Deiara would be at my side. I could convince her of that...

"We could even take you around the world. Make it an exhibition: come see Gwennalyn the Green, the Mother of Half-Breeds, come see her spread her legs for us, come see her take load after load, come see how she begs for more. Courts around the world would love to host you, even if your father would rage against it."

Every word pleased her, every image springing into her imagination helping to provoke orgasm, along with the throbbing cock pumping into her. She bathed it in her juices, struggling mindlessly against the contraption's straps as she tried to push her hips back at his thrusts.

As enthusiastic as she was, and as accepting as her body was, it did not take Torram long to finish, his cock stilling inside her as it spewed forth a load of spunk, making her shriek in exultation, this new flood roiling through her channel to wreak havoc on her womb, seeking to lay claim to it, to bless it with a bastard.

"Thank you," she murmured, "oh thank you, ooh it feels so good, so good..."

Torram was unceremonious in leaving her confines, a sudden retreat that left her whining, glancing around the room at whoever might sate her appetite for more debauchery.

"Next up," the prince announced, "is, I believe, Wurfim."

One of the sailors in front of her hurried forward, giving her a pat on the head as he passed. The sailors chanted his name as he took hold of her hips, and a moment later, sheathed himself inside her.

And so it went for the princess for the next few hours. Orc after orc took a turn, each spilling their seed inside her, her wild cries punctuating each breeding. The prince was the master of ceremonies, making sure that there was a steady flow of sailors, and that they went in order, with the greener of them waiting until the end to step up. Those who took their turn stayed to watch, the crowd greatly entertained by her, by how she begged for more seed, begged whoever was using her to give her every drop, begged the gathered sailors to give her no quarter nor even a few moments to compose herself between bouts. There were a few who declined their turn, which would always befuddle and slightly offend her, those feelings quickly replaced by joy when the next orc would take their turn.

All throughout this thorough breeding, she often found herself thinking about this new life of hers. It would be a simple life, a happy life, of usage and usefulness. No longer would she languish in her father's court, or socialize at stuffy feasts, or be promised to Lucien.

His father would not want a breeding slave as a daughter-by-marriage.

This new life would not just affect her of course, but also her family.

Father will disown me. It would be expected. But maybe I could still see Mother and my siblings from time to time.

As more and more of the crewmembers bred her, she could feel her womb straining, clogged by all the seed, every orc making sure to send every drop deep into her. A delightful warmth ruled her belly from all the fresh semen. Streams of it ran from her cunt, driven out by the constant thrusts, a squelching mess created quickly between her thighs.

The last to take a turn was Kosha, the youngest of the crew, an exuberant sailor who rutted her with a savage glee. He had fucked her plenty during the week, but the possibility of planting a bastard inside her had made him, and some of the others who had used her a lot already, even more eager to defile her.

After he drenched her womb in his seed, the crew applauded, both for his effort, and for the fact that they had reached the last of them. The young orc slipped from her cunt, and after a farewell slap to her rump, stepped back to join his fellow sailors.

The room had been ringing with her cries only moments before. But now, as the afterglow of that furious orgasm washed over her, all she could do was squirm and gasp, her pleading eyes fixed on the crowd, as if with that gaze she could convince them to start another go-around.

But their attention switched from her, to something behind her, a something made evident when the prince spoke up.

"Anyone who turned down the chance to father a bastard on the princess, now is the chance to rethink that decision."

The room fell silent for a few moments.

"Please," Gwennalyn mewled, "take a turn with me. My womb needs more seed."

"Your womb took a lot of it," the prince mused, "you must already be heavy."

"It still needs more, please..."

The sailors chuckled at her shamelessness.

Another few moments passed, with no one stepping up, and then the prince spoke up again.

"Well then, the party should be starting, so let's give the princess some time to herself before we open the room up to everybody else."

A moan fell from her at the realization that her service tonight was far from over.

The sailors tramped from the room, and then the door closed.

The princess sighed, gripped by a delirious happiness.

If the sailors were unable to leave me with child, surely by the end of the night I will be heavy.

Along with the happiness came an untethered hopefulness, one that looked ahead to her new life, a life of obedience and subservience, but a much more fun sort than what her life in the Free Lands would have held. She would still bear children, but they would be half-breeds, sired by myriad, unknown fathers. There would be no stuffy feasts, no tiresome politics, no limiting etiquette.

I won't be a princess anymore. I'll be a breeding slave.

"Well, princess," the prince spoke up from behind her, "how do you feel?"

A smile crept over her lips.

"So full," she purred, "so much seed inside me."

He chuckled.

"Indeed. My sailors were enthusiastic."

She frowned then, remembering something as the prince's footsteps came around her.

"I could not help but notice that you did not take a turn with me," she said accusatorily.

He chuckled again.

"I did not. Nor do I plan to."

The prince came into view, and she pouted at him.

"Do you not want to get me pregnant?"

His eyes fixed on hers as he crouched in front of her. There was a queer expression on his face.

"I am helpless," the princess whined dramatically, "and my womb is vulnerable."

The queer expression melted into mirth, and the prince let out a soft laugh.

"Surely you are not this naïve."

She frowned.

"What do you mean by that? Do you not want to give me a half-breed?"

The prince laughed again, shaking his head in disbelief.

"It seems you are. I wonder, princess, is it cock that turns your brain to mush or were you not so intelligent to begin with?"

Her frown turned back into a pout.

"There is no need to be mean."

He leaned forward and arched an eyebrow.

"Do you truly believe I would let my crew get you heavy?"

She nodded resolutely.

"Then you are a fool. We orcs are good at keeping secrets, but one like that even we would be hard-pressed to hide. And once your father found out, well, you can imagine his reaction. It would at a minimum ruin the relationship our fathers are trying to rebuild."

Her frown returned, accompanied by a confused tilt of her head.

"What are you saying?"

"Princess," he said in a disappointed tone, "what Baltar said about the bloodclove tea was a lie. Your womb is protected. You will bear no half-breed."

"But-but Baltar said...the bloodclove tea..."

"Baltar lied."

"But he said you paid him..."

The prince nodded.

"I did. I paid him to lie."

Her face fell as the reality struck her like a blow to the body.

Of course...of course it would be a lie...why would I ever think it would be the truth?

The images of her new life that had ruled in her mind now dissipated. Gone were the days spent spreading her legs for lustful orcs, gone were the hours spent taking seed into her womb, gone were the numerous half-breeds she would bear, gone was that alluring life of debauchery and submissiveness. Sadness came quickly, but it was accompanied by anger.

"Why did you lie to me!?"

The anger unfurling inside her was pitiful given the context of the situation, her wrathful snarl aimed at someone much bigger than her, while she was still tied down to this contraption.

The prince merely shrugged.

"It was not entirely for your benefit. I wanted to send my crew off with a night they would remember. What would be more memorable than getting you pregnant?"

His calm gaze matched her fruitless fury easily.

"I have a habit of playing these tricks on my crew. I may have inherited a bit of the trickster from my mother, as my brothers have. But some of my crew have caught on to this habit of mine. I expected some to be suspicious. So, I needed to make it seem real, and to do so, I needed to make you think it was real."

Her anger receded now in the face of his calm, sadness taking its place. As those images of her promised life disappeared, they were replaced by images of that life she had known would be her lot since girlhood. A milquetoast husband, squalling children, squabbling nobles, a staid and stuffy court, an utterly boring and unsatisfying life...

I'll marry Lucien and be a dutiful wife...

Tears brimmed at her eyes as she felt that delirious happiness give way to a hollow resignation.

"Did you really think that a princess of the Free Lands could become breeding stock? That someone of royal blood would end up bearing half-breeds?"

She nodded, sniffling.

Of course I did...stupid, stupid girl I am...

The prince wiped away a tear with a quick swipe of a finger.

"I would love to see you heavy with a half-breed. But such a thing will not happen. There are more important things in the world than our depraved desires."

She nodded again.

"I thought...I thought I was to be a breeding slave. I wanted that life."

"I know, princess, I know. I must admit I did not expect you to take to the idea so readily as to be crying now. I hope my crew will not be so sad when I tell them the truth after we set sail."

She nodded a third time.

Why did I think I would be a breeding slave? I am a princess, and I will only ever be a princess.

The prince patted her on the cheek.

"Look on the bright side. There are still orcs waiting to use you tonight, and you still have plenty of time left here."

"I know," she murmured, still sniffling lightly.

With a nod, and the slightest of smiles, the prince straightened, and left the room. This time, she was left alone for a few minutes. A strong sense of disappointment crept over her, the heaviness of her heart keeping her from feeling too excited, even with what waited on the other side of the door.

But then the door opened.

The ensuing cavalcade of debauchery helped ease that disappointment, for even if her life was never to be as simple and joyful as that of a Valenzian breeding slave, it for now had its own pleasures.

The first two over the threshold took up positions on either end of her, one of them ramming his shaft deep into her cunt, the other using her hair to yank her head up off the cushion so that he could push his member past her lips.

From there, it was a stream of delightful abuse. A few times, she was made to serve a female, a dripping mound brought against her mouth, but mostly she was ravaged by males. Curiously, no one paid any attention to her asshole. Every time she gathered breath to beg for someone to tear it open, her plea would be cut short by a cock shoved down her throat or a quim ground down onto her mouth. Despite that queer neglect, she was undeniably happy, her disappointment lifting thanks to the ceaseless pleasure and constant climaxes. As more partygoers used her womanhood, it was left even more of a squelching mess. Some pulled out to spray a fresh load onto her back or face, ensuring that her skin was quickly glazed with haphazard streaks of creamy white.

After some time, she was again left alone. There had been consistent visitors for a while, so the sudden emptying of the room struck her as strange. A mewl spilled from her but once again no one was around to hear her desperation. She could feel spent seed leak from her thoroughly fucked cunt and drip sluggishly from her flesh. The taste of orcish essence was slathered all over her tongue, that musky bitterness complemented by the piquant sweetness of orcish ambrosia, those females who had used her letting their juices gush onto her face and mouth.

The door opened again.

An attendant hurried into view, crouching before her, holding in one hand what looked like a small burlap sack. Ignoring her whimper, he put it over her head, and pulled it all the way down over her face. The material was thin enough to let some light in, but not enough that she could see anything besides the inside of the sack. Her breathing sounded loud in her ears as she shuddered from further humiliation. The facial features that she took a far from small amount of pride in were now concealed, entirely unnecessary as they were for her continuing subjugation. All that mattered was the availability of her nether holes.

And if they want me to suck cock, they can pull the sack up a little bit...they don't need to see my face at all...

The attendant hurried back out, closing the door behind him, again leaving her alone.

After only a few minutes, the door opened.

"And here she is," came the familiar voice of Prince Vyren, "our main attraction."

An equally familiar voice answered, one that made her squirm at the utter naughtiness of this situation.

"Well, this is certainly a surprise," Sir Hathwell commented.

"Why? You did not expect us to have a whore in here?"