Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 18

Gwennalyn smiled, running her fingers over the seashells adorning her blonde tresses.

"They certainly have."

"Life here could be quite delightful," the goddess continued, staring pointedly at her. "A simple yet satisfying life."

The princess nodded sadly.

"Yes. But I can't stay here, as much as I might like to."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm a princess of the Free Lands."

The goddess shook her head.

"That is a title, not a destiny."

"It is a title given to me by birth."

Irezis pursed her lips.

"But it does not have to dictate the path of your life."

Gwennalyn sighed.

"My place is not here, or even in Coronhar. I am to serve in my role as a princess."

"Yes, and I'm sure you can't wait for all the important and crucial responsibilities that come with the role."

The sarcasm made the princess harrumph.

"If you were to ask my father, or the other fathers in the Free Lands, they would say bearing children for my husband is an important and crucial responsibility."

"You could bear children for the chieftain instead."

The princess bit her lip, a shudder running over her at the idea.

"I couldn't," she murmured. "Again, as much as I might want to, I couldn't."

Irezis leaned forward suddenly. Gwennalyn started in surprise, but all the goddess did was lay her hand on the princess' stomach.

"Your womb is fertile ground for half-breeds. You would do well to not waste such a gift."

The princess watched that hand caress at her belly. Her lewd mind eagerly conjured up scandalous images of it swollen up and stretched out from carrying a half-breed. But the scandalous images dissipated due to her certainty of their impossibility.

"My place is not among orcs. My father would never approve of me staying in Coronhar, let alone here. Neither would King Victorin."

Irezis laughed lightly, letting her hand slip off the princess.

"What is the will of a king, or two even, compared to the power of a goddess?"

Gwennalyn sighed.

"I would enjoy living among orcs. It would certainly be a lovely life. But it's not meant to be."

The goddess frowned.

"Nothing is meant to be. You must make your own way in life. If I had relied on what was meant to be, I would have never created orcs."

"But you're a goddess. I'm a princess, beholden to my father, my family, and my homeland."

"You are beholden to no one."

Gwennalyn shook her head.

"It's not that simple."

"Yes, it is. Your father cannot live your life for you. Not even I can."

"But my father can make certain decisions for me."

"That does not mean you must live by them."

The princess cocked her head.

"What, shall I just tell him I refuse to marry Lucien? That I would prefer to live among orcs and spend the rest of my days as their breeding stock?"

"Yes."

She gaped at the goddess for a second, and then shook her head again, firmer this time.

"No, it's not nearly that simple. You can say it is, but it's not. Father would never allow such a thing."

"Princess," the goddess said, with a touch of exasperation in her voice, "you must take control of your life. If you want something, make it happen."

"It's not that easy. I wish I could live the way you're saying, but I can't."

The goddess fell silent, and Gwennalyn looked away to avoid seeing the disappointment that had begun to bloom on her face.

More silence followed, and she finally looked back at the goddess.

But Irezis was gone.

In her place were the sailors again. All three were just as when she had last seen them. When she glanced over to the orc at the larger bowl, he nodded kindly, puttered over, and extended a hand. Looking around, still expecting to see the goddess, she let him help her to her feet, leaning slightly on him, feeling a slight unsteadiness. True to the sailors' warning, there was a slight throbbing at her forehead.

That trio was insensate, caught up in their own visions, so she left, thanking the orc on her way past him.

As she padded down the footpath, her mind went to the chieftain, and she suddenly imagined him laying claim to her in a much more permanent way. Although she knew that such a thing could never happen, the thought of him seeding her womb to pregnancy was thrilling.

But then she passed the next hut and stopped in her tracks.

I don't know the way back to his hut. I didn't keep track of where the children took me or where the sailors did...

She looked up then, at the night sky, idly noticing that it was markedly darker than when she had drunk the dream broth.

How much time did I spend talking to Irezis? It didn't feel like that much time...

A chuff sounded, and she looked down to see two tribals standing in front of her, smiling warmly.

"How do I get back to the chieftain's hut?" she asked absentmindedly, swaying slightly from her wooziness.

They shared a glance, shrugging in confusion.

"Kunja," she said. "The chieftain. Kunja. How do I get to him?"

They nodded in understanding at his name and waved for her to follow them.

As all she needed to do was trail after them, her mind went back to thoughts of the chieftain breeding her. Those thoughts provoked a definite heat inside her.

She was too caught up in them to keep track of how much time it took to get back to the chieftain's hut. There was no one gathered outside, so she thanked the duo and slipped inside.

The chieftain was sitting at the table with a few tribals. The group was deep in discussion, but they looked over at her entrance. Gripped by surging desire, she padded towards them, the tribals chuffing at her, a few gesturing to her hair and nodding enthusiastically.

"Thank you," she murmured, running her fingers over the seashells and feathers there.

The chieftain stood, and stroked at them as well, the princess shuddering as he loomed over her, even though there was only gentle affection in his bestial features. Her hand reached up and trailed along his broad chest before sliding down to his loincloth.

Her desire was easily communicated, so he took her by the hand, and led her over to the bed. She peeked over her shoulder, as the tribals at the table went back to their discussion. Another shudder ran over her at the thought that they might not leave the hut while the chieftain fucked her.

The entire tribe has basically watched me have sex already...but this seems more intimate.

She clambered onto the bed, and rolled onto her back, watching Kunja come towards her. Her hand crept over her stomach and into her loincloth.

It took him no time to take off his. The sight of his shaft inflamed her neediness. She purred, fighting the urge to spread her legs so he could take off her loincloth.

I really need to figure these out.

The responsible thought lasted until he grabbed at her thighs, his hands wrapping entirely around their slim swathes. She moaned as his assertiveness found bruises from earlier assertiveness, and then moaned again as he forced her legs back against her chest.

His bulk shifted, until he was crouched over her, his length aimed straight at her slit.

The first thrust sent him to the base inside her.

He growled at her exultant shriek, and then drew his hips back, her stretched slit clasping desperately to his retreating shaft. Another thrust forced another shriek from her. More of both followed, the chieftain hammering into her trembling figure, piercing deep into her cunt, the tender channel used to such rude invasion. The pace was ruthless, her body juddered constantly but kept in place by his hands and the position he had put her in.

She reached ecstasy quickly, crying out his name as the orgasm washed over her. No mercy was given nor asked for, the chieftain rutting through her ecstasy, extending and intensifying it. His cock crashed against her core, forcing more cries out, these wordless, her mind wracked with bliss and unable to come up with anything but expressions of said bliss.

Her juices flowed freely, the rough pumping of his shaft splattering through them, sending out little sprays over him and her. A savage lust was written all over his face, his eyes ablaze, his lips drawn back in a grimace, a vein on his forehead standing out. He pounded into her, pinning her to the bed.

More ecstasy approached. She mewled, clutching at the mattress, gazing up at that savage lust.

Women in the Free Lands were expected to want tenderness and affection in their romantic relationships. She had heard her mother and sisters talk about gestures with which their husbands would show them love, and Lucien, her husband-to-be, would often serenade her with saccharine ballads in his dutiful attempts at romance.

But for her, although she did sometimes enjoy cuddling with Deiara or whichever orc would tolerate it, there was nothing quite like harsh subjugation, nothing better than bearing the brunt of a savage lustfulness, nothing that delighted her more than being put so viciously in her place. And while the chieftain had no desire to humiliate or debase her, as so many orcs in Coronhar did, his strength, ferocity, and stamina combined to render her completely helpless, in just the way she craved. There was no rude dismissiveness, no eager degradation, no hand around her throat tightening until she came from the asphyxiation. What there was, however, excited her regardless.

Her ecstasy arrived, and she cried out his name again. Just as before, he did not stop, his cock dripping with her wetness, his balls similarly drenched as they whapped into her taint.

It took a little while for her to come down from the rapturous bliss. Thanks to his insistent pace, the afterglow did not last long, her pleasure surging again.

She licked her lips at the sweat on his brow and the slaver that gathered around his tusk-like fangs. The adoring attention made him growl, and he squeezed at her thighs, the sparks of pain there thrilling, the princess hoping fervently that he would give her more bruises.

A thick dollop of slaver hung off his fangs now, and she opened her mouth just in time for it to fall and splatter right onto her tongue. A coo spilled from her as she swirled it around, luxuriating in her shamelessness. Seconds later, beads of sweat dripped off his brow, landing on hers, the warm splashes making her coo again, a hand moving there to gather the beads up so she could slurp them off her fingers. He growled again at the lewd display, squeezing harder at her thighs, her coo turning into a groan of discomfort, the pain harsher and thus all the better.

More slaver and sweat dripped down, some dollops landing on her tongue, others her face, the princess enjoying them wherever they fell, gargling with the ones in her mouth, loving their musky piquancy, and smearing the ones on her face into her skin, showing off her whorishness. She squirmed and purred, juddered constantly by his thrusts, her pleasure rising from the brutal rutting.

Her mind went back to her conversation with Irezis.

My womb is fertile ground for a half-breed...

She glanced down to her belly, picturing the chaos happening deep inside her, that cock hammering harshly into her core, squishing through the steady streams of her feminine ambrosia. Soon, her channel would receive a deluge of seed, an infusion of potent spurts seeking to lay claim to her womb.

However, it would be protected.

A princess of the Free Lands getting knocked up with an orc bastard would be bad enough by itself. But a tribal orc bastard? Father's heart would stop on the spot from that news.

A desire surfaced anyway in the face of the chieftain's passion, a desire to give herself completely to him, body and mind but especially womb.

So, the next time she found her voice, she began to pray.

"Please, Irezis," she murmured, fixing her eyes on the chieftain, hoping to communicate the meaning of those words through that gaze.

The chieftain growled, another dollop of sweat splattering onto her.

"Let him claim my womb, please, bless his seed with your power..."

Another growl came from him, as he seemed to interpret her prayers as encouragement.

He's not wrong...

"Let me carry his child, Irezis, so I can serve your children..."

Her orgasm struck her almost as soon as those words were uttered, turning the prayer into a squeal, her mind briefly emptying. She bucked wildly underneath him, even that spasmodic movement unable to slow or dislodge him in the slightest. His hips pumped insistently, sending his shaft deep inside her.

When she found her voice again, instead of praying, she began to encourage him.

"Please, Kunja...my chieftain...please, seed my womb, claim it as yours, fill it with a strong half-breed, please..."

When the encouragement turned into a breathless moan from the ferocity of his thrusts, she managed to gather her thoughts for another attempt at beseeching Irezis.

Please...I promise to serve your children well...I'll bear many strong half-breeds...lift the protection on my womb, please...I know you can...what is some herbal concoction compared to the will of a goddess?

The chieftain snarled, his eyes flashing, his muscles tensing, his cock throbbing.

"Breed me, my chieftain, please..."

His head tossed back, and she mewled in anticipation of the roar that would soon erupt from him, heralding his climax and the rush of seed that would come along with it.

The roar built up in his chest and throat, a low rumbling that made her tremble excitedly. She watched the muscles in his throat work, forcing the roar up and out.

When it burst forth, the boisterous bellowing filling the hut, she mustered up one last fervent prayer.

Please, Irezis...let him claim my womb...let me serve your children...

The chieftain came inside her, the spurts rushing through her channel, his balls twitching against her taint as they sent up more of his load. The roar carried on, loud and robust, her own mewls soft and meek. After her prayers, she was more excited than usual, so another storm of ecstasy washed over her. He had stopped his thrusts, making sure every inch of him was inside her, and he held himself there, dumping more fresh spunk into her, the flood churning hotly. His bulk was draped over her, that proximity and security so wonderful.

More spurts followed, his load prodigious as usual, soaking her tender womanhood, the slick rushes sending shudders over her. His roar began to dwindle, slowly turning into a husky growl, her mewls continuing as the dregs of his load added to the gooey mess inside her.

The final spurts topped off that mess. She purred, sneaking a hand to her belly, again picturing the chaos inside, her womb weathering a merciless onslaught, the roiling seed battering at it, hoping to conquer that well-protected sanctum. Another climax hit her, right on the heels of its predecessor.

Irezis be praised...

The unlikely couple came down together from the heights of ecstasy, their sweaty bodies pressed together. As she wallowed in the afterglow, she dragged her fingers over his chest, collecting more sweat and licking it off each digit.

But he moved, too soon for her liking. As he eased off her and let go of her thighs, his cock slid back through her stretched channel. The departure of those thick inches left an aching absence behind. When the last inch slipped out, followed by thick dribbles of his load, a despairing groan tumbled from her, and she clutched desperately to him. He indulged her neediness, slumping down on the bed and pulling her closer to him. A coo replaced the groan, the princess nuzzling into his burly frame, her head resting against his broad chest, her leg thrown onto his massive thigh.

The afterglow dissipated slowly, allowing her to relax and unwind, supremely comfortable draped over him.

But when the afterglow dissipated entirely, a cold, hard reality took its place.

That wasn't Irezis, that was a vision. And I'm a princess. I'll never be orc breeding stock, no matter how much I might want to be.

Sadness crept in alongside the brutally simple logic.

She leaned over to kiss at the chieftain's chest and fixed a mournful gaze on him.

"I'm sorry...but I can never be yours. Not truly. I'll leave in a few days, and we'll go on with our lives. You'll lead the tribe, and I'll marry Lucien."

He chuffed in concern.

"I would enjoy being yours. But I can't truly be. I just lose my mind to lust sometimes."

He chuffed again, confused by her sadness.

"I'm alright," she told him, summoning a smile, "just a bit sad."

Another chuff came, and she kissed again at his chest, hoping to convey that her sadness was not due to him. The affection seemed to communicate that. He chuffed again, caressing at her cheek.

As she put her head back on his chest, she thought about one of her many sexual experiences back in Coronhar.

A little over a month ago, Vyren, the crown prince of Valenzis, had returned to Coronhar on a weeklong leave from his naval duty. Brash and Brand, the younger princes, had told him of her submissiveness and whorishness, and he had put both to the test over that week. Unsurprisingly, she had risen to the occasion on both counts.

On his last night in the city, Vyren had thrown a party. Although she had not been officially invited, he had ordered her to show up early, and of course, she had obeyed. In the back room, he had strapped her to down to a strange contraption, rendering her incapacitated, before leaving her alone for a little while.

Eventually, he had returned with his crew in tow. As she had squirmed before them, vulnerable and shamelessly desirous, a horrifying announcement had been made.

The crown prince had told her and his crew that he had paid her attendant, Baltar, to deceive Deiara. Her handmaiden prepared the bloodclove tea that the princess regularly drank. Thanks to its properties, her womb was kept safe from the potential consequences of the onslaught of orcish seed it weathered every day. But her attendant had allegedly given her handmaiden a different, but very similar looking item, so the tea appeared but would not work the same. As the crown prince had crowed to his crew, her womb was thus rendered unprotected, and her helplessness gave them the chance to get her pregnant.

At first, she had reacted appropriately, rejecting subjugation and submission for the first time, pleading with the crew and the prince to rethink their course of action. But her submissiveness and whorishness had won out in a shamefully short amount of time. She had ended up begging for the gathered sailors to leave her with child, already imagining her new future, a life spent as orcish breeding stock, helpfully described by the prince as she had taken load after load from the sailors.

Once all of them had taken a turn, he had revealed that he had in fact pranked both his crew, and her, making them think they had a chance to get her pregnant and her believe the same so her reactions would be genuine. The understanding that there would be no resultant pregnancy had provoked sadness, that new and delightful future dissipating so cruelly. However, the promise of more debauchery, both that night and over the rest of her time with the orcs, had eased her sadness.

So, as she laid next to Kunja, she thought ahead to the next few days she would spend with the tribe. The promise of more debauchery again eased her sadness.

Her mouth found his chest, kissing eagerly over its muscled swath. He watched her make her way down, her tongue peeking out to slurp up the streams of sweat dappling him.

That softened cock waited nearby, and she nuzzled at it, finding it coated with their combined bodily fluids. She lapped at it, seeking out the exquisite flavor of that combination.