The Duchess of Lust Ch. 01 - The Barbarians

Akkar flopped back onto the grass, chuckling a bit. A witch handed him some wine, and he rose shakily to his feet and gulped it down.

"Thank you, duchess," he rasped. He reached down and gently stroked his fingers over her back, and she shivered as he stepped away.

Ulrik had yet to move.

"Are you ready, duchess?" he asked, his voice low and menacing.

She trembled, took a deep breath, then nodded.

But she was not.

The king lunged, shoving against her and forcing her onto her back. Those thick, scarred hands grasped her ankles and spread her legs almost impossibly-wide. She'd never been more exposed or helpless...or desperate for more.

Ulrik kept her splayed open like that and smirked down at her, then set to work.

Screams of pleasure burst from her lips at the first deep, quick and savage thrust. Another followed it, then another, each one tearing forth a cry, a moan or a whimper from her shaking lips. Her breasts jiggled and shook, her body burned with soreness and practically glowed with pleasure. Her pussy leaked almost obscenely onto that cock of his, the moisture gleaming in the blue firelight.

Sarya's vision seemed to fade: she could no longer see the fire, the camp, the champions or the shamans.

There was only that savage monarch and the largest cock she'd ever seen, fucking her with absurd power and strength.

Her voice was hoarse, weak and almost pathetic. It was the voice of a slave to pleasure, not the voice of a proud duchess of an ancient dynasty.

It was a voice that only cried out one word.

"More!"

Ulrik laughed and obliged, though he hardly needed the encouragement.

She felt as if she was about to burst, as if that mighty manhood might have been the end of her. A part of her didn't even care. Her mind went blank, forgetting about the ritual, about the city, even forgetting the other champions. Now, all that mattered was the king who had so brutally mastered her body.

Her next climax struck her like a thunderbolt: short, sharp, breathless. The next came a few seconds later when the king released her left ankle so he could reach down and possessively grip her breast. The simple shift in sensation had been enough, and she wailed and thrashed. Ulrik released her other leg so he could steady himself against the fur cloak beneath her, and she hissed with effort and wrapped her sweaty pale legs around his waist, as if somehow her weak grip could stop him from pulling away.

Her heels dug into his backside in a silent demand for more.

Again, he obliged.

Ulrik leaned down, his breath hot against her cheek, his muscular chest nearly crushing her. She felt small and helpless...and loved it. Her weak hands grasped at those massive shoulders, her nails digging into the scarred, sweaty flesh.

She climaxed again, and it spun forward into the next, and she started to lose count. Her soul, her life, her mind was now just one great storm of pleasure, and there was no way to tell where one climax ended and another began.

The storm seemed to fade as those wild thrusts slowed, and she sobbed and nearly wept when he pulled out of her. Ulrik laughed and said something that sounded reassuring, but she couldn't make out the words. Those rough hands gripped her hips and flipped her over, and her shaking fingers clutched the fur cloak beneath her and raised up her backside obediently: eager and ready for him to get back to work.

Sharp slaps rained down on her bare, reddened ass, then that thick, beautiful cock found its way back inside her.

She cried out with relief and delight, then with blissful agony as those brutal thrusts resumed.

He growled and his fierce hands grasped her wrists away from the fur cloak, and she pitched forward, her sweaty cheek shoved against the furs. His hand gripped both of her wrists, pinning them to the small of her back.

She was utterly and entirely at his mercy: no longer a duchess, only a body for him to use. Pain roared in her arms and shoulders and ass, but the fiery pleasure inside her pussy drowned it out. Bliss danced over her in waves, making her shake and tremble and sob. Drool leaked from her lips onto the fur, and she came again and again and again. The orgasms stretched together, forming one great chain of beautiful agony.

She heard groans and shouts of approval from the onlookers: some of the champions and shamans were perhaps starting to pleasure themselves once more at the sight, but she couldn't lift her gaze to see for sure.

Not that she cared. All that she cared about was the brute behind her and that thick dick that was no doubt ruining her for other men. Sarya was sure that she'd never have another fuck like this...

A twisted part of her almost wanted to surrender her city so she could be the king's slave...

"Please," she wailed.

"Please what?" he snarled. "Please stop?"

A part of her wanted to say yes, another part of her wanted to scream out 'no.'

"Please...please come," she sputtered. "I want...I want to feel your royal seed fill me.''

Laughs rose from around her, and Ulrik chuckled breathlessly, showing a touch of weakness for the first time that evening.

He laughed.

"A part of me hopes the ritual fails," he hissed, his grip tightening. "So I can seize your city at once...and keep you as my prize."

His free hand reached out, grasping her hair and pulling her face back up off the furs. With his hand pinning her wrists and the other grasping her hair, she was even more helpless than before: suspended and weak beneath him.

"Would you like that?" Ulrik demanded. He leaned down, his mouth clasping against her shoulder. He bit down fiercely, and she cried out with pain and pleasure. "To be my prize? My trophy? My toy?"

The pleasure, the degrading nature of the ritual...all of it nearly made her say yes.

But she had her duties, no matter how delightful the king's cock was.

Sarya managed to smirk.

"No," she rasped. "I am...the duchess of Fellhaven. Your goddess will accept my offering, and my city shall stand."

A few champions and shamans gasped, but the king merely laughed.

"Defiance suits you," he growled. "You would be a poor pet, anyway."

She wasn't so sure about that, but was too weak and dazed to say much more.

He then suddenly fell onto his back, his strong hands gripping her hip and shoulder to pull her back with him. Her back was still to his, and her breasts and pussy were wonderfully exposed to the onlooking shamans and champions.

Ulrik's pace barely slowed: he hammered that cock up into her, his hands gripping her tightly, keeping her helpless and suspended above him.

She mewled, moaned and cried out, her back arching. Her dazed eyes stared into the blue flame, and she silently prayed that the Spirit of the Dancing Forest would accept the offering. The fire seemed to brighten, and Ulrik's fingers dug fiercely into her soft skin, leaving nasty red marks that would likely persist for days.

But she didn't care.

"Come," the king snarled.

By the time he'd even finished the word, she obeyed. Her back went rigid, her hips shook and she took in a single deep breath, then let out a long, exultant and hoarse cry that echoed over the camp. Bliss burned through her, batting at her senses and dispelling the pain and exhaustion. The climax took her over, claiming her, turning her into a helpless, mewling being of pure pleasure and delight.

The shamans and champions roared back with approval, and their roars were soon matched by their king's.

Ulrik's own cry of pleasure drowned out theirs, then turned into a series of hungry, bestial grunts and growls...almost as if some wild monster was claiming her, and no mere man.

Those fierce hands gripped her so tightly she almost feared she would break.

The first spray of his warm seed rushed deep into her clenching pussy, then another. The cum dripped down and out of her ravished sex, overflowing her, making a terrible and wonderful mess. Ulrik continued to growl and groan, still thrusting up against her, still grasping her with all his might.

Nearly a minute passed before he finally slowed, before the last drop of his seed left that magnificent shaft.

With another grunt, he lifted her off his cock and gently set her upon the ground. She laid in a twitching, breathless heap, but Ulrik had no trouble rising to his feet.

The champions and shamans looked towards the great raging blue flame. Her dazed gaze followed suit, and she took a deep breath, hoping and praying that the offering would be accepted by the goddess, that her people would thus be spared an immediate assault.

Sarya took a deep breath, and the fire abruptly winked out, disappearing in a puff of smoke and blue sparks. Now only moonlight glowed over that portion of the camp.

She exhaled deeply and slumped back onto the grass. The champions erupted into cheers at the answer of their goddess, but she found it a bit odd that they were celebrating a delay to their conquest. But she was too spent to dwell too much on their strange ways.

"The Spirit of the Dancing Forest has spoken," a shaman said, her voice carrying through the darkness. "Your offering has been deemed worthy, and has been accepted."

Sarya's feeble hands reached for her clothing, and Akkar stepped forward to help her. She smiled gratefully up at him, then relaxed and let him do the work. The other champions snickered at how dutiful he was being, but she patted his cheek gratefully once he'd helped her pull on her dress.

A shaman offered her a cup of water, which she gulped down.

"Five weeks," Ulrik said, still panting a bit from his exertions. He stood above her: naked and sweaty and awe-inspiring in the moonlight. She stared, and despite her exhaustion, she felt a flare of arousal rise within her sex. "I shall give your city five weeks of a reprieve."

"Five?" one of the shamans hissed. "The traditional truce is for four."

"This offering was anything but traditional," Ulrik said. "In honor of that, I shall give her five weeks of peace."

"Thank you," she rasped. "But surely...surely there is a way we can come to some other agreement."

"I have already bucked tradition by granting you a longer truce," Ulrik growled. "Do not dare ask for more concessions."

"I do not speak of a truce, I speak of a true lasting peace," she said quickly. "A way to save both of our peoples from bloodshed and misery."

"Our gods demanded that we march south and bring ruin to the soft cities of the Empire," he said with a shrug of his strong shoulders. "Such is the way of things."

Her mind churned for a moment, wondering if she could perhaps convince him to march on some other city instead. But she cursed herself for that thought as soon as it arose. Though she loved her people dearly, she'd not sacrifice thousands of other innocent lives just to spare her home. Besides, once the Iron Blades were done with those other lands, they'd certainly return to Fellhaven to finish what they'd started.

"Very well," she said softly. "It is a shame. But I understand your zeal and piety."

"And I understand your desire to save your people," Ulrik grunted. He smirked. "Perhaps when this is over, when I have seized your city and your wealth, I shall make you my concubine."

She shivered at that, and hated herself for being excited by the thought.

"Go," he said firmly.

She nodded, slipped on her boots, and her weak and exhausted legs carried her out into the darkness, beyond the edges of the barbarian's camp.

Sarya swooned as she walked, overwhelmed with exhaustion and by the lingering aches of pleasure from that wild, untamed lovemaking. She had never experienced a night like that before, and was sure that she likely never would again.

And it had been a sacrifice she had been happy to make.