The Trials of Dara Firebird Ch. 06

All names and characters contained herein are fictitious and do not intentionally relate to any person, either living or dead. This story is a work of fiction, a fantasy -- so read it with a grain of salt and an open mind. All characters are at least 18 years of age. Voting and feedback is greatly appreciated, especially positive feedback and frequent "fives".

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Dara knelt behind the broad trunk of the gnarled, old oak tree and peered down at the covered wagon rattling down the grassy lane. Her icy blue eyes narrowed in determination, and her strong hands readied themselves on the stout longbow and nocked arrow in her grasp. Around her the thick, musty forest seemed to suck in its breath in readiness; even the trees above stopped their seemingly constant sussuration in preparation for the presumed carnage about to transpire.

Across the narrow road she heard the unmistakable sound of a whippoorwill trilling softly. She readied herself for action, drawing back the bowstring and setting her sight on the heavily mailed armsman holding the reins. Ahead of the large, armored wagon three other men rode on long-legged steeds, two with axes and swords belted to their waists. Their strangely-garbed black-robed leader, a dark-skinned man with a tattooed shaven head and alert eyes raised a fist and called for the procession to halt. Still several hundred paces from the ambush point, he raised a massive rune-etched crossbow and peered into the forest gloom.

The girl slowly eased herself back behind the oak. She was dressed in her leathers and soft doeskin knee high boots. A deep green hooded cloak fell across her shoulders and head to hide her golden hair and help her blend in with her lush forest surroundings. Dara knew it was not she that the dark-skinned man sensed, but she slowed her breathing and knelt on one knee stock-still just the same.

Dara smiled to herself as she thought back on how far she had come. A little less than a summer ago she had been a street urchin, a common thief living off of stolen bread and scraps of meat. For the last several months she had been living with the black forest bandits, learning how to hunt and shoot with a bow and fight with her gleaming blade. Gone was the wide-eyed innocent girl eking out a meager existence, now she was Dara Firebird, last great hope for the Le'Phoenix bloodline, and personal attendant to Jack Straticus.

In spite of her lineage and lofty new moniker, she still felt like a lost little girl in Black Jack's presence. Every night she shared his tent in the bandits' elaborate underground cave system. Each night she went to him, naked and docile, and each night he speared her with his knobbed manhood, sometimes taking her forcefully, sometimes not. Just thinking of his craggy, scarred face caused her heart to beat in her chest, and her breath grew ragged. Early this morn, Jack had left the hideout to go on a secret mission, leaving her with his second-in-command, a crusty old veteran named Ornn, to lead this merchant ambush.

As Dara studied the men below, a look of consternation passed across her pretty face. The black-robed leader did not look like a typical merchant, and his men-at-arms looked suspicious as well. Usually during these raids, the guardsmen were...noncommittal, almost to the point of laziness. These guardsmen looked...twitchy. Their fingers never strayed far from their weapons; their eyes never stopped moving and constantly made furtive glances into the trees lining the roadside.

A feeling of dread foreboding welled up in Dara's chest, and for the first time in a long time she could almost taste fear. Fifteen longbow-trained bandits versus three ambushed men-at-arms and one measly merchant should be over quickly, and always had been in past raids, but Dara's heart skipped a beat none-the-less.

The whippoorwill whistled again -- the signal for the bandits to begin firing. Dara drew her bow and sighted on the wagon driver's throat, and let loose, just as fourteen others did the same.

At almost the same instant, the dark-skinned man barked something guttural in an arcane tongue. Dara sensed a shift in the air, and felt a strange crackling energy that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. The bandits' arrows, instead of piercing mail and flesh and bone, sparked and cracked and snapped several feet from their targets, as if they had struck an invisible stone wall. The heavy wooden roof of the wagon burst off, and suddenly deadly red crossbow bolts were streaking through the air. Dara saw Ornn take a bolt in the eye, and he fell to the forest floor with a crash and a thud. All around her, Dara saw her fellow bandits fall, blood red shafts protruding from throats, chests, and guts. A bolt smacked into the tree trunk next to her head, and Dara ducked aside, trying to hide from view.

Within seconds, all in her party lay dead and bleeding on the forest floor except Dara. Moans of pain and agony from her fellow crew filled the heavy forest air. The guardsmen strode through the trees, silencing the wounded with deft cuts and chops from their axes. The dark-skinned sorcerer looked up into the trees and his piercing eyes homed in on Dara.

"Sssset down your weaponsss, girl, and come down here at once," he hissed, his evil serpent-like voice causing her to shudder in abject terror.

Dara stood and turned as if to run into the trees. She knew if she could get even a small lead she could outrun these heavily-armored men-at-arms. The forest had become her haven; she knew every hillock, every stream, every deer path within leagues.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the black-robed man make a twisting gesture with his hand, and Dara's feet tangled. She fell, banging her skull hard on a knotted, gnarled oak root, and stars swam in her head. She attempted to scramble to her feet and run, but lurched head first into two massive, leather-studded thighs. A huge mailed hand, easily the size of a dinner plate, wrapped itself in her long hair and pulled her face back. She looked up into the visage of death itself. The man was easily seven feet tall, and as wide as a barn door. His impossibly wide chest and shoulders were covered in black-enameled spiked plate mail, and in one hand he held a huge hand-and-a-half bastard sword, dripping in blood and gore. His hair was long and black and stringy, his beard equally matted with grime and dirt. Deepset black eyes glittered down at her with a malignant ferocity, causing Dara to quake in fear. Grinning a black-toothed evil grin he motioned with his sword hilt toward his bulging crotch.

"Loik what ye see, wench?" His monstrous cock traveled down the inside of one leg of his leather-studded pants and ended almost halfway to his knee. He chuckled and tugged her head back painfully.

"Mebbe later ye can have some 'o that," he winked and proceeded to lead her down the hill towards the wagon.

Dragging her by the hair, he pulled her in front of the dark-skinned man on the horse and threw her to the ground. The black-robed man was small and wiry, his skin almost stretched over his skull, as if he were a walking skeleton using borrowed flesh. Black arcane symbols and letters tattooed his face and pate, several of them glowing in the forest gloom. His eyes were completely red, with no discernable pupil. Dara's throat clenched with fear as he looked balefully down on her from his mounted perch.

"Allow me to introduce myssself. I am known as Spector, persssonal sssorcerer to his eminence Rolf the Red. The greassssy giant is Captain Slade, Rolf'ssss personal enforcer. King Rolf requestsss your presence in High Reach. I believe he hasss planssss for you, young lady. He has planssss indeed." Spector ran his tongue over sharp, pointed teeth. Dara shuddered, feeling queasy.

"Ssstrip her down and chain her inssside the wagon," Spector ordered.

Within moments, Dara was naked and shivering, her hands manacled behind her. The men leered and made catcalls, and several ran their hands over her, pinching and prodding. One man ran a hand down the crack of her arse and thrust a saliva-wetted finger painfully into her anus.

Slade pushed the men away roughly and bellowed, "All roight, then -- 'ands to yerselves. At camp tonoight she'll do 'er best to service yer needs. Fer now we 'ave a job to do."

The men grumbled, but acquiesced. In all, Dara now counted seven men, including Spector and Slade. Seven men had just wiped out fourteen bandits in a reverse ambush. Dara was forced to acknowledge that these grizzled veterans were highly trained professionals -- not your run-of-the-mill rented guardsmen.

"Danner, Grist, go get yer horses and fly to High Reach -- stop only to water yer mounts. Let Rolf know we 'ave the wench and are bringing 'er to him," Slade ordered, and two of the men hustled back down the lane.

That left five men -- three armsmen and Slade and Spector. Dara gritted her teeth and pondered her predicament. Maybe she would find a chance to escape after she "serviced" the men...

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Hours later, as night fell, Dara found herself sitting at the base of a great elm, her hands stretched around the trunk behind her, tied at the wrists. Impossibly sore and stiff and still naked, sharp bark scraped her tender back and her bum was aching from being rattled and bounced inside the wagon all day. She still looked as beautiful as ever, however, her golden hair cascading down in ringlets, partially obscuring her pert, rosy-nippled breasts. Her intent blue eyes shifted around camp, constantly observing, trying to find a weakness. The men were well-trained, unfortunately. They left no opportunity for escape, transferring her from wagon to campsite efficiently, albeit a bit roughly.

The three guardsmen were called Gandling, Hamish, and Burly Snead. Each of them kept stealing glances at her while they set up camp, Snead even stopped to lift her chin and whisper threats. Casting a sidelong glance in the direction of Spector, he pinched Dara's nipple, hard. "Hungry wenchie? You'll get fed soon enough." He leered and grabbed his crotch and moved off to prepare some stew.

After the men ate their fill, they crouched around the campfire and traded ribald jests in deep, hushed tones. Spector had disappeared into the forest soon after nightfall, leaving Slade in charge of the group.

"Bout time to 'ave some fun, aren't it?" Slade called across the camp, motioning towards the naked, trussed girl. The three guardsmen got up and sauntered over, unlacing their breeches as they walked.

"Can I lick her?" Gandling asked, his eyes traveling lasciviously up and down her nude form.

"Aye, get her nice and wet for me," Slade growled from deep in the shadows across the camp.

They untied her wrists from the back of the tree, and retied them tightly behind her back, allowing her just a bit more freedom.

Gandling laid a thick, worn blanket down on the ground and laid down, his hands busying themselves in his trousers. Hamish and Burly Snead lifted her up effortlessly and set her down, her knees on either side of Gandling's face. She felt his hot tongue begin lapping at her folds, and she squirmed at his touch, already feeling herself go slick and wet. His tongue licked up and down, back and forth over her hairless cunny, and he slobbered and grunted with animal passion.

Snead and Hamish presented her with their knobbed, veined cocks, and each grabbed a handful of her beautiful, golden hair.

"Suck it, bitch," Hamish rasped, pulling her mouth over to his groin. He was relatively small in comparison to Bruno and Black Jack, measuring perhaps five digits in length. For a moment of wild-eyed desperation, Dara pondered her situation. If she resisted, she would probably be beaten and bloodied by her captors. If she relented and gave them what they wanted, perhaps later she could find some way to escape after they were sated. With a sigh of resignation she looked up into the one called Hamish's bearded face and slurped his steel-like cock into her mouth. Causing him to groan in appreciation, she lustily sucked his length down her throat, until his scratchy pubic hair pressed against her nose, his hairy balls tight against her chin. Using her tongue and throat muscles, she milked him until he gasped and forcefully pulled her tightly sucking mouth off his turgid knob.

"Gods, she's good at that," he moaned, stroking his veined cock up and down.

"Let me try," Burly Snead snarled, tugging her mouth over to his manhood. He too was shorter in length than Bruno or Jack, but what he lacked in length he more than made up in girth. His fat mushroom head was the size of a small apple, and pre cum poured out the end and down to his fat, hairy balls.

Dara licked her way up his shaft, cleaning the salty treasure as she went, and swirled her tongue over the bulbous purple tip. Smacking her lips in feigned appreciation she attempted to swallow his girth and was able to get nearly half his length down her throat before gagging and retching. Making things even worse, Gandling's ever slurping tongue had found her sensitive anus and he was now thrusting it like a small stiff dagger in and out of her ass, causing her to squeal and shiver uncontrollably.

Hamish and Snead began passing her mouth back and forth, from one cock to another, each one gripping her hair tightly in a fist, barely giving her time to breathe between sucks. They speeded up her slurping and she could feel the tension rising; Hamish's cock twitched several times in her mouth as she sucked him down to the root. After a few interminable moments he bellowed and held her down over his rock hard shaft and pumped her mouth with salty hot come. She swallowed as fast as she could, but some seeped out and dripped down onto her pert breasts. Gripping her painfully by the hair, he pulled her hot mouth up and down his shaft, all the while spurting wave after wave of endless hot sperm. Finally he was spent and staggered back toward the campfire and his bedroll.

Snead leered down at her and pulled her mouth back to his enormous purple head. "My turn! Lick it, wench...swirl your tongue around the tip while I stroke it."

"Don't you want me to stroke it for you," Dara asked between licks, her eyes narrowing.

"I don't think so, wenchie, you just keep that tongue of yours moving."

The salty taste of Hamish's thick come still in her mouth brought back memories of her captivity in Castle Olafson. Despite her revulsion in being forced to service the men, she couldn't help becoming intensely aroused, as some deep down animalistic part of her enjoyed the power of sucking cocks until her belly was full to bursting. Succumbing to her wanton lust, Dara's tongue flickered wetly over Snead's cock, and every so often she would steal a quick suck of the huge mushroom head, until it shined in the firelight. Snead pumped his fist up and down, his glittery eyes locked on Dara's licking tongue.

Gandling, in the meantime, was lathing his own thick tongue up and down her steamy cleft, stopping every lick to focus his attention on her hard, engorged nub. Dara felt her first orgasm rising just about the time that Burly Snead exploded in her face. Hot come flew in all directions before she could get her mouth over his fat crown, and sperm splashed across her forehead and into her beautiful hair. She slurped and sucked him as he came, swallowing as much of his seed as she could. She groaned over the fat spurting head stuffed in her mouth as a powerful orgasm crashed through her, causing her to tremble and quake on Gandling's wet, sticky face.

She thoroughly licked Snead's cock clean of any trace of seed, and finished by lapping at his spent, hanging balls. Finally he gasped and lurched back to his bedroll, collapsing in a heap.

Gandling pulled himself out from under her and stood up, stroking his stiff manhood. His cock was about average, maybe a handspan in length, and curved sharply upward like a ripe banana.

"Is she nice and wet for me?" Slade growled from across the campsite.

"Yes, Cap'n, she's slicker than hot butter, thanks to me." Gandling puffed out his chest and ran his sleeve across his wet chin, which was dripping in nectar.

Slade eased across the campsite, moving with a feline fighter's grace belied by his great bulk. He stopped a few feet from her and slowly unlaced his breeches. Reaching down into his pants, he pulled out the biggest, knobbiest cock Dara had ever seen. It was relatively narrow at the head, with a plumb-sized purple crown, but the shaft was long and thick with great red veins running down the sides. His massive balls hung low and swayed back and forth as he slowly stroked his great length.

"Gand, grab me some 'o that suckling pig fat. I think we're gonna need it."

Dara's eyes widened as she stared at the monster before her. She'd seen numerous cocks during her time in Olaf's prison, servicing men through the bars of her dank cell, but she'd never seen anything close to this size before. Even her gaoler Bruno's girth paled in comparison. She gulped in fear and felt her blood run cold.

Slade slathered the pig fat up and down his massive cock, until he was shiny and wet and hard as granite. He then lay down on his back, his erection pointed obscenely up to the stars.

"Roight then, climb on, wench."

Dara froze in fear and cut her eyes toward the darkness around the camp, like a scared rabbit looking for an escape route. Cruel Gandling grabbed her by the hair and roughly pulled her up and kicked her feet apart. He positioned her until she was standing over Slade's massive cock, then pushed her down by the shoulders. Slade guided the fat, purple head to the comparatively tiny entrance of her slick, dripping cunt and pulled her down gently by the thighs.

"I'll go slow fer ye, wench. We 'ave dozens of camps to go before we reach High Reach. Don't want to break ye on our first night out, do I."

Slade slowly but firmly began to pull her up and down his manhood, his fat head plowing into her tight canal insistently. It hurt at first, but after a few additional generous dollops of pig fat and some time to get accustomed to his massive girth, she was finally able to slide most of him inside her. He slowly pounded her, his big, hairy balls slapping her pert little rear with every thrust. They got into a slow rhythm, and Dara could feel heat bloom in her lower stomach. Slade grunted with each upward thrust, and his hands pinched and pulled her nipples until they burned and throbbed.

Gandling was forgotten until she felt his hand stroking up and down the crack of her arse. She felt something warm and slick brush her sensitive anus, and she clenched down as he thrust a finger into her rectum.

She bit down on her lip and stifled back a groan and focused her attention on Slade's massive cock coursing in and out of her dripping snatch. Gandling's hands went to her shoulders, and his hot breath wafted across the back of her neck; seconds later she felt his sharp, hard cockhead nestle against her nether hole.

"Don't try to run away, wench. Spector's out there, and if he gets you alone he might try to eat part of this delicious body," Gandling whispered in her ear as he cut the bonds tying her wrists. Dara collapsed on Slade's chest, her arms and hands tingling and numb.

Slade stopped thrusting and waited while his cohort slowly but insistently thrust his sharp, rigid cock into her tight little anus. Dara flinched and whimpered and tried to relax her muscles, but it was hard to do with Slade's massive bulk filling her cunt. Finally, after a few moments of grunting and straining, Gandling was sheathed completely inside her, his strong hands gripping her shoulders roughly and pulling her back onto his cock.

He leaned forward and whispered into her ear, his putrid breath almost making her gag.