Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 21

Harrum moved suddenly, sneaking his hands under Gwennalyn's thighs, and forcing her legs back against her chest. His hands settled on her head, putting her in a full body-lock. She mewled, left entirely at his nonexistent mercy, her cunt and asshole on display.

"So weak," he snarled up at her. "Can't ride hard at all. Worthless slave..."

Deiara raised an eyebrow, but her princess only mewled again.

"I'm sorry, Master...I tried..."

"And failed. What good are you? You let your handmaiden untie you and you can't even ride me hard."

"I'm sorry..."

"Yet more apologies. What a pathetic little bitch you are."

"I am, I'm a pathetic little bitch, I'm sorry, Master, I'll serve you better, I swear it, I swear it on Kulzis and Irezis and all the gods, I'm sorry..."

"Shut the fuck up. Good slaves don't blubber and whine."

Gwennalyn managed to stay silent. Her eyes met the handmaiden's, the heady blush of humiliation across her face.

His cock had slipped slightly from that distended asshole. He drove back through it with a swing of his hips, slamming to the base in those welcoming innards. Gwennalyn grunted, the exhalation forced from her by that thrust, her eyes widening from the rush of meat. A strained cry followed a few seconds later.

He was able to summon much more strength and viciousness than her. Both were put to good use. Her cries continued, accompanied by snarls as he made noise now, adding to the cacophony.

Deiara felt her own orgasm approach. Her eyes were pinned to the spectacle. Gwennalyn was too caught up in the brutality to meet her gaze, but she did not care, watching her take that spirited abuse, thrilled by that submissiveness even if its extent was perplexing.

I love being fucked hard too. Maybe some degradation sometimes. This much degradation, and humiliation, I can't quite get behind. But to each their own...

Those cries died down, replaced by pitiful bleats and breathless grunts. Harrum pressed down pointedly on her head, a groan of discomfort briefly joining those noises. Strain appeared on her face from weathering the savagery, but there was boundless pleasure along with it, her eyes fluttering, lips gasping, tongue lolling out.

An orgasm swept over Deiara a few seconds later. She squirmed in the chair, keeping her fingers at her folds even as the orgasm ran its course.

A loud wail came from Gwennalyn, agonized euphoria crossing her face, a vein standing out on her forehead, her tongue lolling out again, a thin line of drool dangling from her lips.

Her wail died back down into bleats and grunts. The agonized euphoria disappeared, but strain was still visible, along with more pleasure.

"I bet you love seeing her like this," Harrum said to Deiara.

"I do...she loves it so much."

"You enjoy seeing her laid low. Makes you feel superior to her."

She laughed lightly, rolling her eyes, not deigning to reply with an actual answer.

Her princess was mostly silent now, save for weak gasps, and the occasional whimper when Harrum would squeeze at her head. He was also mostly silent himself besides the occasional snarl or insult. Even otherwise, the room was loud with the sound of their bodies crashing together.

That sound stopped soon, however, and that cock slithered out from Gwennalyn. The position he kept her in provided a perfect look at her nether holes. Her bruised asshole twitched helplessly, stretched out by the ruthless thrusts, while that soaked slit gleamed with juices, still neglected.

The full body-lock relaxed, and then he unceremoniously shoved her off him. She yelped, landing on the mattress in a heap of limbs. His massive bulk shifted, and he came up onto his knees, tugging at her leash, his other hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking slowly. Her eyes went to it as she hurried onto all fours before him.

The spurts came hard and fast, bursting across her face. She shuddered excitedly, closing her eyes as a few splatters dappled the lids and lashes. The amount left her face even more coated, the dregs of his load adding to the stickiness in her hair.

"Thank you, Master," she sighed, scooping up the strands on her eyes and sucking them off her fingers.

He did not answer, only leaning back against the headboard, tugging again at her leash. She scurried forward, quickly lapping along his softening shaft. The handmaiden watched her clean it off, the dark green flesh gleaming with mingled fluids, that dedicated tongue working eagerly, gathering up that slickness. Once that task was completed, she ducked down to his balls, giving the same attention to them.

Another tug at the leash soon brought her away from that idle delight.

"On your stomach."

She stretched out on the bed, smiling up at him as he reached over to the bedside stand for another jar.

The familiar scent of elder salve reached the handmaiden. Harrum let his hands run all over Gwennalyn, focusing on each dark pink streak and wherever numerous bruises were clustered.

"You take such good care of me, Master..."

He growled, not-so-gently working the salve into her skin.

Once he was finished, he put the jar back on the bedside stand, and slipped off the bed. Gwennalyn came up onto her knees as he began to dress.

"Where are you going now?" she asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice.

He sent a harsh gaze her way.

"How would that be any concern of yours?"

She looked down meekly.

"Sorry, Master...I forgot myself."

Deiara smirked, straightening in the chair now, smoothing out her dress.

He pulled his boots on and headed to the door.

"Are you going to tie me up?"

Deiara smirked again at the hopeful question.

"No."

Gwennalyn frowned but offered no complaint.

"And what about the beads?"

Harrum glared at her.

"When I showed up, you were untied, and they were out of place. What's to say that wouldn't happen again when I return?"

Gwennalyn opened her mouth to answer, but then hesitated.

"No, go ahead, slave," Harrum said darkly, stalking over to her. "What were you about to say?"

Her eyes widened, and she looked down again.

"It won't happen again, Master, I swear. That's all I was going to say."

"You want me to tie you up? And put the beads in place?"

She glanced back up at him, more hopefulness in her expression, and nodded.

"No."

That hopefulness disappeared, replaced by disappointment.

"Can I still have a goodbye kiss? Please?"

Goodbye kiss?

His hand lashed out, striking her across the cheek, the impact forcing her head to the side. She purred, her eyes fluttering.

"Thank you, Master."

He left brusquely, slamming the door behind him.

"Good-bye kiss?" Deiara asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gwennalyn smiled dreamily, caressing over her reddened cheek.

"You didn't see how tenderly his palm kissed my cheek?"

Deiara laughed, rolling her eyes in bemusement.

"I've done a terrible job of minding you."

"I'd say you've done a wonderful job," Gwennalyn replied, mischievousness creeping into her smile.

"Your father would disagree."

"Well, he'll never find out about this."

"Good. Or else he'd find you a different handmaiden."

Gwennalyn frowned.

"I wouldn't let him."

"You wouldn't have much of a say in the matter if it came to that."

She padded over to Deiara, that frown giving way to determination.

"I wouldn't let anything come in between us."

Deiara laughed suddenly at the sight of that determination amid the semen on her face and the abuses across her figure.

"What's so funny?"

"You talking like that while you look like that."

Gwennalyn glanced down at herself and burst into laughter.

The handmaiden reached out, grabbing her by the hips, bringing her closer.

"You wouldn't even let your new master come in between us?" she teased.

"Never," Gwennalyn murmured, climbing into her lap.

"Good. And don't listen to him. You're a good slave."

Deiara kissed her princess, that slender frame nuzzling against her, some of the semen on it rubbing against her dress. A hand moved from one of those hips, caressing over a few lashes on that battered back.

The kiss broke as she slid her mouth down, targeting unblemished spots on her princess' neck, and sucking at them. Gwennalyn purred, tilting her head to the side.

The handmaiden leaned back after taking a little time to leave a few of her own bruises.

"Get on your knees, princess. I've missed your mouth."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"I kept meaning to come to these training pits in the city. Guess I just lost track of time."

"I would've thought a shameless whore such as yourself would've visited all of them by now. You love watching orcs spar."

"Mm, I do..."

Gwennalyn followed Harrum through the gate to the pit and down a ramp to the right. Another gate waited to the left once they reached the bottom of the ramp, and they slipped through it, coming onto the floor of the pit.

Twelve orcs stood in the center, arranged in three neat rows of four. Unlike the orc pacing in front of the rows, and the others gathered in the area to the left of the gate, these were adolescents, shorter and less muscled than the adults. The pacing orc barked out directions, and the adolescents, each one wielding a long wooden staff, swung them around.

"Left! Three, four five!" the next direction rang out, each adolescent grunting as they arced their staffs through the air.

"Ah, Harrum!" came a voice from nearby.

Gwennalyn turned to see an orc walking up, just as old and grizzled as Harrum, but wearing a friendly grin she had yet to see on him.

"Nagasa," Harrum said, nodding in acknowledgement. "The slave, as promised."

Nagasa nodded back.

"Good to finally meet you, princess. It's nice to know you've deigned to visit our humble little training pit only after you've fucked your way through the rest of the orcs in the city."

She blushed and curtsied politely.

"I did mean to visit. I apologize for taking so long."

"Better late than never."

"Fall in!" came another direction from the pacing orc.

The adolescents quickly arranged themselves into one long line, and then the pacing orc sauntered over towards her. As he approached, she took a good look at him, finding features less heavy than other orcs, almost resembling a human face with orcish coloring. His build was slightly smaller than the rest of the adults in the pit.

Huh.

"Yonarrion," Nagasa began, "this is Harrum, and his slave Gwennalyn."

She curtsied again, biting her lip at that introduction.

Yonarrion nodded respectfully.

"I haven't seen many half-breeds in the city," she murmured. "I had expected to see more."

"There are more of us spread throughout Valenzis. I imagine it's the same in the Free Lands. And now that our two great nations are recommitting to a strong relationship, perhaps there will be even more of us in both places."

Perhaps...

"Are you thinking of having your own half-breed?" Nagasa asked, smirking at her.

"Yes. If my master would see fit to grace me with one."

Harrum grunted noncommittally.

Mm, if only...

Yonarrion walked away now, heading over to an equipment rack in the corner of the pit.

"So, what am I to do here?" Gwennalyn asked Harrum.

"Serve."

"So generous," she purred, sidling up to him, "sharing me like this."

"We paid for the honor," Nagasa told her.

"Really? Wouldn't be the first time I've been whored out. How much did you pay?"

"Not much at all. He said you were cheap and easy. Said all we had to do was growl a bit and you'd spread your legs."

"He's not wrong..."

Yonarrion came back over and handed her a leather vest.

"What's this for?"

"Put it on."

She slipped it over her dress, immediately feeling weighed down, the heavy vest reaching well past her waist. Nagasa stepped forward, helping her tighten the laces on the sides.

"And this," Yonarrion added, offering a helmet.

She put it on, Nagasa helping her buckle the chinstrap, chuckling softly, that amusement summoning the familiar sting of humiliation.

Yonarrion handed over a staff last, this one shorter than the ones the adolescents were wielding. She took it with both hands, testing the thick, burnished wood in her grip.

"I look ridiculous," she said, hearing Yonarrion chuckle now, more humiliation bubbling up inside her.

"I think you look like a fierce warrior," Nagasa joked, making Yonarrion laugh again.

Harrum put a hand on her shoulder and shoved her towards the line of adolescents.

"Am I sparring?" she asked incredulously, glancing back to him, blushing furiously as the two other continued to laugh.

"This is to be your service. Yonarrion needed someone to spar with his trainees."

"Trainees?"

"They're training to be warriors," Yonarrion told her.

She bit her lip, taking a good look at the twelve, all of them larger than her even in adolescence.

"Duzrik!" Yonarrion called out.

The first trainee in the line stepped forward, the others moving back to make room.

Yonarrion glanced over at her and nodded towards the center of the pit.

This is not what I was expecting.

She stepped forward. The staff was heavy, but she managed to hoist it up.

"We're sparring her?" Duzrik asked Yonarrion, gesturing dismissively with his staff.

"Yes."

"But...she's so skinny. I could knock her over with one finger."

"Never underestimate an opponent, even if they look weak," Yonarrion said, raising his voice to address the rest of the trainees as well. "Especially if you know nothing about them."

Duzrik shrugged.

"What do I do?" Gwennalyn asked Yonarrion.

"Spar. Come at him or defend when he comes at you. It ends when one of you yields."

"I wonder who that'll be," Nagasa joked, the subsequent laughter adding to her humiliation.

"Begin!" Yonarrion shouted.

Duzrik charged.

She squealed in surprise and backpedaled hurriedly. The cumbersome vest slowed her, however, and the unwieldy staff presented another difficulty. Her feet caught on the dirt, tripping over each other, pitching her onto her back. She hit the ground, yelping from the impact. Laughter erupted around her, adding to her humiliation, that burn translating into arousal.

"Get up," Harrum called over. "Show them how a Freelander fights."

She heaved herself to her feet, her dress rumpled from the tumble, and mimicked Duzrik's stance.

I probably look so ridiculous...

Duzrik came on again. This time, she held her ground. His staff swung lazily through the air, and she brought hers up to meet the blow. The vibrations of the impact thrummed through her arms, making her yelp again, her hands reflexively letting go of the staff. More laughter sounded as it dropped to the ground.

"Why does she smell aroused?" Duzrik asked Yonarrion, eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

"Because she's a depraved creature," Harrum answered instead.

"What he said," Yonarrion told the trainee.

Gwennalyn picked up the staff, the laughter behind her increasing her humiliation and thus her arousal.

Duzrik came on again, but the blow was noticeably restrained. She managed to meet it, the impact weaker. A few more blows came, these just as weak as the previous, allowing her to defend them. Her arms quickly began to tire from moving the staff around, the heavy leather of the helmet and vest weighing her down as well, sweat building across her body.

"You're taking it easy on her," Yonarrion commented to Duzrik after those blows.

Duzrik hesitated, but then shrugged.

The next charge was quicker, and although she managed to get her staff up, he went low, slipping his behind her ankle and using a deft maneuver to sweep her off her feet. She yelped again, landing clumsily in the dirt.

"Do you yield?" he asked her hopefully.

"She does not," Harrum grunted.

Gwennalyn glanced over to him, taking a moment to catch her breath.

"Stand up, slave."

Very well then.

Duzrik came on several more times, consistently sweeping her off her feet despite her best attempts at defending, her lack of skill and the unwieldy equipment combining to hamper those best attempts. Aches arose from her tumbles, more sweat building up on her. Constant laughter sounded from the audience, adding to her humiliation, already quite high from the embarrassment of those ungainly tumbles.

"She yields," Harrum finally spoke up after those several times.

Duzrik nodded respectfully to her, then to Yonarrion, and stepped back towards the other trainees.

The next eleven came on, one after the other. Each match left her more dirtied, sore, and sweaty, the lower half of her dress scratched up from all her tumbles. The heavy leather of the helmet and vest added to the exertion, rendering her even slower than before. Harrum, Nagasa, and Yonarrion had been watching from the start, but soon, the few other adults in the pit began to watch as well, laughing at her pitiful performance. After a certain point, others had begun to trickle into the pit, each one immediately interested in the bizarre sight, each one adding to the chorus of laughter that followed her tumbles, each one adding in turn to her humiliation and arousal. Much like the first match, Harrum dictated when she yielded, letting her take plenty of embarrassing tumbles before ending each match.

"Alright!" Yonarrion called out after the last match ended. "Equipment to the rack and fall in!"

The trainees hurried over to the equipment rack and began to take off their helmets and vests.

Footsteps crunched on the dirt next to Gwennalyn as she caught her breath, still on her back on the ground.

Nagasa extended a hand, and she took it gratefully.

"Let's get these off you," he said, helping her remove the helmet and vest, taking the staff as well, handing the equipment over to Yonarrion.

She glanced down at her scraped and scuffed dress, and then up to the orcs in the pit, who were laughing amongst themselves, keeping her humiliation heightened.

The trainees hurried into a line, a few giving her some last looks.

"And out!" Yonarrion called, setting off on a jog, leading them from the pit.

Harrum stepped up to her now.

"Am I finished serving?" she asked.

I certainly hope not. All these orcs will need someone to take care of them. In a much more fun way than sparring, at least.

He answered by tearing at her dress, rending the expensive garment. The remnants fluttered to the ground, revealing her figure, the flesh flushed pink from her arousal. Bruises added color as well, as did the letters Harrum had touched up on her stomach.

"Property of Harrum?" Nagasa laughed, the other orcs chuckling as well.

"I am his property," she murmured, the pink flush deepening.

"Yeah, we know," an orc spoke up. "It's just funny to see it written on you."

"Like chattel at a market," came another comment.

She bit her lip, her cunt twitching at all the attention.

"By Kulzis," another orc muttered. "That is a lot of bruises."

"And are those whip marks?" another asked.

She let a hand trail over her back, the skin there healing very well from the lashes Harrum had given her yesterday, the elder salve rubdowns as always working wonders.

All the better to keep taking his abuse.

"Look at her cunt," another orc pointed out. "It's drenched."

"What, you can't smell her?" Nagasa asked in disbelief.

"Of course I can. Anyone with a nose could smell her from a mile away. I just didn't expect her to be so wet."

She shuddered at the commentary, glancing around at the group.

Harrum took hold of her leash now. The strip of fabric was faded and stained, a far cry from the elegance it had been a part of before he had torn it off her dress, but it was still tight around her neck. He began to walk, leading her towards the far wall. More comments and chuckles came from the group, sending more shudders over her.