The Barbarian: A Princess' Fantasy

Author's Comments:

This is a story of an unlikely pair and their thinly veiled lust hidden under layers intention. This story features themes of rough sex, adultery, impregnation, and rather rough behavior in general. Princess Arabelle is a bored royal in a loveless marriage who craves excitement in all the wrong places. When the infamous and murderous barbarian Aldrat is taken captive in her castle, her curiosity gets the better of her.

Thanks to my editors Kenjisato and CraggyMike!

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Aldrat the Despoiler: A Princess' Fantasy

Only the most prolific of stories spread like wildfire throughout the humble Kingdom of Valenholme. No tales burdened in tedium made it more than a village over. While recollections of heroic deeds were some of the most cherished; frightful retellings of cruelty, horror, and violence were the most pervasive.

This proved true with the tales of Aldrat the Despoiler. The brutal man sworn to Carneth, the God of Chaos and Deceit, had a reputation for dark, violent deeds. It was told he had a disfigured form, born of deep scars and rotten flesh. Survivors of his battles told of muscle-bound beast of a man, capable of ripping a foe in two. Chilling recollections of women and children screaming in terror at the sight of his blood-soaked frame charging their village, haunted an entire nation.

Aldrat was leading a campaign of terror across the East Marches, burning whole towns to the ground, at the head of his horde. There was little aim or logic to the bloodshed. The Despoiler simply went from town to town, sowing this chaos with little regard.

Amidst this razing, he left few alive, and few more escaped to tell the story of it. Aldrat cared not for the story, but regardless, it spread faster than his carnage.

Corpses laid in testament across Valenholme, peasants and nobles alike, cruelly hewn by Aldrat and his brigands. Equally as cruel as his soul, was his weapon— a hooked and rusted seax. In battle, he would wave it around his head like a whirlwind of gore, cutting through whole troops of soldiers as they futilely defended their homelands.

But the true horror, that laid in the whispers of his deeds, was the raping. Women were often Aldrat's mark, a reputation built on taking his pleasure with them amongst the chaos. It was told he took the virtue of a town's worth of fresh maidens personally; after, he would discard them, leaving them for scraps with the rest of his men. The stories claimed he collected girls like playthings, until he tired of them. Just a useful set of holes to the barbaric marauder.

Tales and rumors of this collective nightmare plagued the kingdom. Horrific stories like a tidal wave from mouth to mouth amongst the King's subjects. Even as far as Celestidel, the seat of the Kingdom of Valenholme, at the midafternoon tea of one Princess Arabelle Redus.

The firstborn daughter of the King craved stories and rumors. She lived to hear the tales brought to her by knights errant, merchants, or troubadours visiting her father's court. It was about the only thing that kept her living. Every new visitor was a present, the princess insisting they join her for tea. Arabelle was known for hosting lavish brunches in the courtyard, just to listen to every whisper they carried with them. The "Princess' Tales" as they were known amongst the servants of the castle.

Of late, the Princess' Tales had featured a lot of Aldrat the Despoiler. Despite its saturation, she would hear every last detail she could get of his evil deeds.

It was known that the princess wished to be spared no detail, no matter how uncomfortable. Thus, the word of the brigand's inhuman cruelty to his female victims had found the fair princess' ears unwavering and keenly interested. Those who recollected the gruesome details were often more bothered by it than she was.

Much to the dismay of her guests, she demanded to hear about every gruesome fucking, every deflowered maiden, and each slave to Aldrat's cock. Arabelle collected the tales of all the chaos Aldrat spread, relishing in the details as she squirmed in her seat.

Why shouldn't she be enticed by such stories? Life was a bore in the castle of her father. Thus, her favorite stories were always the dark ones. Those tales that went down a rougher path of depraved sexual action, especially made her stir. It was rumored that her marriage to the Duke of Greenham was the source of her boredom. It was no secret that after four years of being wed, the princess had yet to bear a child.

But few knew the cruel truth of it, that he left her entirely unsatisfied. The Duke was more content to go off on hunts or play games of wit with his merry men, than to bed the beautiful Arabelle with his meager sword.

Rumors were all she had. And if she was not hearing rumors, she was spreading them. The court of Valenholme was often festering with salacious gossip. From stable maids to elder noblewomen, no one was safe from the twisting of words fed from the princess' mechanism of tittle-tattle. So deftly she dispersed these tales, be it truth or not, that no one was the wiser as to their origin. Whether it was tales of scandalous infidelity, corruption, or hurtful deceit, Arabelle spread them. Often, she had little reason to do so other than the sheer entertainment of the havoc it caused.

Few suspected she was the culprit of it all. The princess enjoyed most suspicion that couldn't quite be proven. Often, her playful grins made her feel just one step ahead of them all, as their reputations were torn to shreds for her amusement or gain.

Arabelle was jaded with boredom, and little could break her of it. That was until the day word reached the castle, that Aldrat the Despoiler had been captured. The knights of the kingdom shrewdly countered his mindless violence with strategic action.

But the most tantalizing fact was that he was being brought to Celestidel to face judgment.

Upon learning of this, she had every intention witnessing the moment they drug him through the gate. The subject of so many stories that had tantalized her to her core, would be in her very home.

"Your Highness, I must insist you return to your quarters." The knight guardians of her family were irritatingly protective of her. They acted as if the mere sight of Aldrat would strike her feeble, feminine form down.

Arabelle knew she was made of solid stuff, even if she played the part of the fair lady well.

A dismissive wave of her hand ended any discussion of it. The elder knight of the guard huffed, irked by the princess' dismissiveness. Arabelle looked at him from the side of her eye, she was certain she had spread some tale about his wife and her muff-warts not too long ago. It was simple retribution for her snide remark about the late night activities of one of Arabelle's handmaids. She was, at least, protective of her own.

Standing just inside the gates of the keep, she listened to the chainfall before they creaked open. The giant forged gate, made by smiths a millennia ago, soon let what little daylight was left stream through. Sounds of struggle and chain clatter crept into her home.

It took no less than five men to wrangle Aldrat across the threshold of the keep. Chains were wrapped around his neck, arms, and legs as they pulled him. He was a giant, at least half a body taller than the guards around him. His frame dwarfed all other men that Arabelle had seen.

"Your Highness, please back away for your safety!" The older knight put a hand on the bare shoulder above the cutoff of her gown.

It was quickly removed, when it was met with a glance that could pierce all glances. Arabelle's striking green eyes could cut through most men, the elder knight guardian included. But as she continued to watch Aldrat being dragged across the foyer of her home, much to the dismay of her guards; she knew her glance would be nothing to him.

Unlike the tales, he did not have a deformed body of rotten flesh. Each muscle and stretch of bare skin was chiseled, almost like a statue of an old glorified hero. He wore little in the way of clothing, save for a pelt around his waist. She was thankful for that, as Arabelle could drink in the sight of him all she wanted. Her eyes feasted on each stretch of tanned skin he bore. While there certainly were scars, it only added to the aesthetic. He bore many tattoos across his chest, arms, and face. Dark marks of the god Carneth that blessed Aldrat's endeavors as a warrior.

For a brief second, their eyes met. The brutish hulk of a figure standing still in the foyer of her home as they looked at each other. Each feasted on the sight of the other's body, Aldrat being more overtly aroused at the sight of the fair-bodied princess. His sickening grin directed at Arabelle spurning on the guards around him.

"Common yew scum!" One knight struck him on the back with the pommel of his sword. The barbarian hardly flinched, licking his lips as he looked at the princess.

Arabelle held her chin high, watching as they carried him away deep in the dungeon. Their grunts and shouts faded away as she processed the sight of the monstrous man.

—-

Night set in, and the flickering candle in her hand was all the light Arabelle could use to find the rough-hewn stone step spiraling down. She eventually found the torch-lit landing of the dungeon after several long, twisting moments through the damp shadows.

Awaiting her there, two guards stood to attention at her arrival and looked at each other concerned.

"Milady, you must go back, this is not a proper place for you to—"

The clatter of a coin purse in the guard's hand silenced any more talk of 'proper'.

"You both will leave, and never speak of this."

Conflicted, the guards eyed the purse and the princess. However, greed always wins and accordingly they did just as they were told. But it was not before Arabelle had lifted the cell key from the guard's pocket discreetly, the bag of coins distraction enough for her purposes.

After the guards ascended the spiraling steps, Arabelle was content she was alone with Aldrat, who eyed her from across the room.

It was quiet, all the other prisoners had been removed save for the Despoiler. He was kept in the furthest back cell, his eyes flickering in the torchlight as she approached.

Arabelle stood before his cell with haughty pride to her stance. Her pink gown glided across the stone, and her dark hair blended with the shadows.

"Come to see a real man, princess?" Aldrat sneered, standing from his position against the cell wall.

"Hardly, I am married to a real man." She shot back, eager to egg on his response.

"Your husband is a puny fool."

Arabelle lightly gasped, as she saw his large frame come into the light. His visage was, even more, dominating close up, and his presence tantalizing.

"My husband is a fine warrior; he would defeat you on the field of battle." She paced in front of the cell confidently. Her eyes lingered on him, almost long enough to give him a hint of desire.

Aldrat grinned widely. His eyes were full of hatred for her and her kind. Yet there was the standard lust behind it that he was known for.

"I would snap your lord husband in two, given the chance." He japed, as he sat back against the wall, intrigued by the beautiful princess' unexpected visit.

"Hmmm. Perhaps, you would." She clicked her tongue and came in front of the cell.

Aldrat furrowed his brows, coming to the cell bars, a breath away from the sweet fragrance of the noblewoman.

"And perhaps after you snapped him in two, you would capture me. And do things to me." She looked at him intently, still out of reach.

Aldrat didn't say a word, he let her go on.

"You would defile me, use me, rape me until I was of no use that way, wouldn't you." Her tone had a thinly veiled eagerness to it.

Aldrat stayed silent. She had his full attention.

"Is it not true, all those girls you played with? The conquests you took for yourself."

He grabbed the cold iron bars in his hands and leaned forward.

"Why don't you come in here and find out? You have the key." A friendly nudge to let her know he saw the sleight of hand.

Arabelle's breaths were heavy. Indeed, the key was in her palm. It was frustrating, usually she was the one with the secrets to reveal. No one thwarted her in that arena, or challenged her aptitude to surprise.

She held it up before him, letting the brass shimmer in the torchlight as he looked it and her body over.

Committed, Arabelle took one deep breath, and with one hand behind her back, she undid the lace of her gown.

The pink trappings around her body fell away, and she was absent the normal undergarments of a woman of means. Instead, the sleek white skin of her body glistened in torchlight of the dungeon, every curve and dimple of her feminine form playing in the shadows of the dim flames.

A satisfied huff was shared between the unlikely pair. Arabelle stood there willingly, uncovered, unabashed by her nakedness. She was baring in full, her laden breasts and blushing slit crowned with a tuft of dark hair. Her eyes sought his satisfaction with the sight, as she watched his eyes dance around her lower half.

A long quiet took them; only an anxious breath from her, and a satisfied growl from him, came in passing.

She carefully walked closer to the bars. Close enough that the feeling of his large frame and its warmth kissed her bare skin. It was a purposeful distance, intending to let him feel her, and carefully weigh her next move.

Aldrat did not initially reach out. He simply looked down on her. She was three heads shorter and much smaller than he.

"What is your aim, princess? Do you undress for all of your captives?" He gruffed.

Arabelle looked to the side, rocking her upper half so her breasts swayed with the motion, and her nipples slipped along the steel bars.

"I've heard all those stories."

Aldrat chuckled.

"It's no laughing matter." She crossed her arms in front of her chest, the first time she made any effort to conceal herself.

"Oh?"

"You're a monster, all that you did."

Before Arabelle could even cry out, Aldrat grabbed her from between the bars by the throat and pulled her against them. Her hands struggled with his thick claw as he pressed her face against the cold iron.

"And you want a monster. What does that make you?" His other hand groped her, feeling the princess' perky tits. They were unlike any peasant woman's. They were well-fed breasts meant for royal lips, be it babe or prince.

Arabelle didn't answer, simply letting him degrade her from inside his cell.

"I feel your heart." He pressed his palm against her tit, until the panicked thumps of her pulse could be felt. "Use the key, you want to."

"You could kill me."

"I could... but not until I had the chance to fuck you. That's what you want anyways, the danger. A whore through and through. It doesn't matter the richness of your gowns, you women are the same. You crave a beast between your legs. Not all men have that."

He peeled back his pelt, dropping it down his legs. Between them, the most notorious of his weapons rested, half-cocked and menacing. Arabelle had heard tales of cocks so large, but never saw one since the day of losing her maidenhead. It matched his arms in being veiny, and sat atop an engorged sack. She was surprised he kept himself shaved; perhaps, it made it easier to deflower all those maidens that way.

He released her neck, letting her fall back with a cough. Bringing his body close to the bars he put his cock between the iron and looked at her with a grin.

"No words, princess? Not what you were expecting? It's not your lord-husband's sweet, washed pecker, my dear." His chortle made her gulp.

Her eyes were fixed on it; a fact that excited Aldrat, as he stood waiting.

"I'd hate to dirty your regal bod with it." He wrung his hands around the bars as he watched her.

Arabelle didn't need a hint to get the innuendo. Only a second of hesitation preluded her kneeling before the prisoner behind his bars. Eye level with Aldrat's manhood, she prepared herself, clearing her throat and licking her lips. A dainty hand reached out and gripped its half-flaccid length, stroking its grimy skin as she stared it in the eye.

He was quite filthy, but Arabelle was here for it. He wouldn't be known as a barbarian if he was clean. Although, as her mouth opened wide she intended to get him as clean as possible, if only for the sake of the act of it.

"Mm-hmm. Do you nurse your husband's tip like this? Or, is he only as long as my mushroom?"

Arabelle furrowed her brows as he taunted her, taking him past the head and down his length 'til a healthy gag stopped her.

"Hahaha! I can tell just how long he is. I imagine that is why you have yet to be with child, he cannot reach your womb!"

Arabelle adjusted and slacked her jaw, his girth a struggle for her as he hit her across the cheek with it. She didn't know how frustrated to be with him, since he was right about her husband.

"You'll be but a long hall to him after I am done with you." He pulled at her hair as she moaned. All the threats added to her eagerness to take him deeper in her mouth. A few more passes of his cock, and she had made him slick with her spittle, her eyes watering as she pressed herself to go further.

On one such pass, deep along his shaft, his hand grabbed the back of her head and pushed her an extra inch. A long heave accompanied her falling backward in a coughing fit. His cackling mixed with her exertion, as she sat on her bare ass atop the dirty stone of the dungeon floor.

"Like a fine piece of art. A sight to behold, yet brittle. Give me a hardy maiden any day." He turned his back to her, walking away from the bars.

No one turned her back on her. Not only was it an affront to royal decorum, but to her ever-inflated pride.

A metal clatter and an unbearable whine accompanied the opening of the cell door. Arabelle stood on the threshold with the key in hand, shaking both in fear and frustration. How dare he defy her, how dare he turn his back.

"I am not brittle." An unsure string of words shook on her tongue, as her body trembled in fear of what would transpire.

"Oh?" He tormented her with a sideways glare, showing no regard for the unlocking of his confines.

Arabelle's heart dropped, it was like staring into the eyes of a predatory beast, the silence his stalking before the strike.

Like a hunter, he pounced. Like a flash, he was across the cell, his large hand grabbing a wrist of the dainty princess and pulling her into him. Her naked body pressed against his grimy, unwashed flesh and muscles. His cock was erect and pressed against her opulent abdomen between them.

He held her possessively; like a spell, she was frozen. His strength was like a curse to her. It was all inevitable as there was no turning back from his jaws.

Wriggling in his grip, Arabelle fruitlessly fussed with her predicament. Annoyance wrinkled her nose, yet fear lingered in her eyes.

"You are a strange princess." His hand caressed her cheek and sniffed her long, black hair. It smelt of flowers and purity, a sickening aroma for such a man. But unlike most, he associated the scent with a wet prize to be claimed.

"What is it you want, girl?"

Reduced of her royal title, Arabelle was silent. Her naked body glistened in a cold sweat, at the mercy of a thug thrice her size.

"You can forget your title; in this cell, I'll call you as I please."

His hand ran across her skin. Arabelle had a rich feminine form, full of curves and valleys that were interesting to touch. The elasticity of her flesh amused him. Swatting her rear and squeezing her breasts just to see how they bounced back into place.