The White Hart

"Ah, Farrah..." rumbled the old man. "Call me Dougal when we're alone. You know that."

The girl blushed and looked out at the sea, noting the white breakers as they clashed against the rocks by the cliffs. The fishermen were a long ways off, pulling their small boats onto the sand of a beach half a mile away. "Yes, Dougal" she said, distracted as always by the sight of the wild sea meeting the green land.

His hand moved from behind his back towards the sound of her voice, and his thick fingers found her upper arm and caressed along it, following it down to the cup of water she held. The girl shivered and turned back towards him, remaining still as he took his drink from her hands and sipped from it. "Are you still afraid of me, little Farrah?"

At first she was tempted to lie, but maturity had taught her to hold in her rebelliousness and provide honesty instead. "You used to hit me, Dougal. Very hard, when I was a small girl."

"Aye, I did. I was an angry man back then, and full of cares, but that's no excuse. Now I'm old and I depend on you for my well-being, and to be quite honest with you... I don't know what made me behave like that to the servants. I should not have punished you so severely, my lovely doe." His hand held itself out to her, holding the empty cup for her to take away. She nervously reached for it, but his grasp found her wrist, pulling her closer. "How old are you now?"

Farrah looked up at his face, seeing how he was still in the habit of looking towards where he thought her eyes were. Or at least facing that way. His milky eye looked at nothing in particular, though his face was still expressive. "I'm twenty-one, Dougal. Sir." She couldn't help but tack on his title, given how for her entire life he had been the king of all the lands she could see. And now he was holding her by the wrist, wishing to know her age.

Every time the man had taken her to his bed in the past, back when he was still the king in this castle, he hadn't cared who she was. To him she was just another warm body from among the servants he kept, and she'd never once told him her name, nor had he asked for it. On that day on the ramparts, however, he seemed interested beyond that, and it frightened her. Carnality she could deal with - that was over with within minutes, and most often she took pleasure in it. But to know about her, that would let him further into her mind. The only other person she'd allowed to go there had been Lachlan, and that had left her heartbroken.

"A fine age for a maiden..." he rumbled, pulling her closer. The man smelled of leather and furs, smoke from wood fires and the roasted meat of his meals. He smelled, too, of soap and clean skin and the provocative scent of a large, strong man. As he drew her so close that she was pressed up against his cloaked, muscular body, his hand slid up along her arm to touch her face, his caress gently as he admired her beauty. Just as she was closing her eyes and tilting her head as he slid his fingers along the side of her throat, Dougal the old king asked softly "You were Lachlan's lover, weren't you?"

The girl tensed and pulled away, but the old king's reflexes were still quick. His hand dove into her hair and balled into a fist, pulling her back towards him even as she tried to run away. Farrah pressed her hands back against his chest, trying to push herself away even as he held her carelessly captive, and she said softly "Yes."

"I thought that's why they... Queen Avalbane, rather... sent you to care for me."

Farrah lowered her gaze, her eyes wet as she refused to cry or snivel audibly. Yet the sudden lack of fight in her body was enough, and Dougal loosened his grip on her hair, caressing the fine white mane until it lay smooth. "Fate is cruel, Farrah. Even to kings as well as servant girls." Again his hand took hold of her hair, pulling her down to her knees before him. Beneath his tunic and his cloak, trapped within his hose, Farrah could still see the shape of his arousal plainly. She gasped as he pulled her face in towards it, her head turning just enough for the bulge to rub against her cheek and neck rather than her lips.

"You know what I like, Farrah" Dougal muttered, and it was true. She did know.

Her bare knees scraped on the stone as she shifted position, until her back was up against the wall of the parapet. Hidden by his cloak and enveloped in his darkness, she unlaced his hose and pulled out his engorged member, suckling it greedily. Above her she could hear him grunt deeply, his stance widening just enough for stability before he gripped her hair tightly and pushed until her skull was against the wall. And then he slowly pressed himself into her mouth, further and further until he could feel the head of his cock push past the rise of her tongue and sink into her throat.

With his voice thickened by arousal, he muttered "yes, good girl" and began to slowly take her mouth, pulling out now and again to let her breath. Such use only lasted a short time, but that was only because the old king wanted his pleasure to last. He pulled out of her mouth and commanded her to lace his hose once more, then took her to his chambers and locked the door. There he removed his cloak and pulled off his tunic, revealing the myriad scars on his broad chest and back. The truncated stump of his left arm moved at his side, helping to brace him as he pushed Farrah onto the bed and moved in beside her, pushing up her dress and reaching in between her legs with his right hand.

She struggled, half out of nerves and half because she knew he liked it when she fought. The sudden feel of his rough, thick fingers rubbing slowly over her delicate folds made her gasp, and her dress rode up to her stomach as he moved her to lie on her back. As his middle finger began to push inside her, Dougal growled "Which one of us fucked you first, little doe?"

Farrah moaned and arched her back, her thighs tensing as he slid his own leg in between her own to keep them parted. "Y... you, sir" she whispered, gasping as he suddenly slapped her sharply on her most tender flesh. "Dougal!" she barked, realizing her error too late.

His hand slid up along her stomach to her chest, his dry thumb caressing the knot-work embroidery at the neckline of her dress before summarily demanding that she remove it altogether. Farrah gasped and pulled her summer dress up and over her head, tossing it to the floor as the old king gripped at her smallish breasts, pinched at her nipples, and then struck each mound of soft flesh hard enough to leave a welt there. It made her cry out and writhe, but she could feel herself growing wetter by the moment.

"You like this, don't you?" he murmured, catching the scent of her arousal thickening the air. When she refused to answer, he struck her across the face hard enough to turn her head.

The girl gasped at the feeling of it and swallowed. "Yes Dougal" she breathed. Truth be told, when she had been struck by the king in her teens, it had felt oddly good as well as bad. It had hurt and had secretly aroused her just as much, which was why she had misbehaved so often. When she had been more or less new to lovemaking and generally inexperienced, the king had used her roughly, wanting his use to be painful and terrifying to punish her. To his surprise she had cum hard, the bruises on her legs and arms aching pleasantly as he'd plunged into her over and over again. Later that same season, she had convinced Lachlan to practice being a man with her out in the barn, though secretly she always wished he would handle her more roughly.

Again the king struck her, pulling her from her daydream with another gasp. "On your hands and knees" he demanded as he moved to sit up against the headboard and guided her to brace beside him with her head over his lap. She unlaced him once more, setting his rigid shaft free. The sight of it made her mouth water and her cheeks flush. Again he gripped her hair and pulled her mouth down onto his cock, and as she suckled him and swallowed at him he released her hair and reached over and struck her backside hard, each slap leaving her cheeks and thighs redder and redder. Every so often he would plunge his digits into her wanton sex and finger her roughly, making her moan and shiver around his cock, but then he would pull his fingers away moments later and hit her directly on her slit, making her jump and scream around his flesh and gulp at him eagerly.

"Ride me, Farrah, you little whore" he hissed, feeling himself grow close within the velvety clutch of her throat. The girl moved herself to straddle his lap, her tingling fingers sliding to grip his broad shoulders as she lowered herself onto his hard shaft. At first she wasn't sure he would fit, though like every time he used her in the past, that moment of tight tension relaxed away and she finally sank onto him, filling herself completely. Farrah and the old king both groaned hotly, the girl not bothering to let herself acclimate before she started to ride him with aggressive fervor. Dougal's large hand clapped to her hip and slid around to grip her ass, squeezing it and slapping it as she moved.

"Faster" he commanded, and Farrah's thighs burned as she worked to obey him. His hand slid up from her ass, sliding along her taut, tense stomach and up between her breasts to her throat where he clutched and began to squeeze. The girl gasped and felt her neck clench shut, denying her breath as she was still made to ride him. Her hands moved to his wrist and gripped at it, and she struggled and trembled, feeling her vision start to haze. At the last possible moment, just before the blackness at the edges of her vision closed in completely, the old king groaned and his cock pulsed, filling her with his seed. His hand released its hold and the girl coughed, shaking and on the verge of tears as her sight returned. Even as her chin quivered and her lower lip trembled, the king drew her in for a passionate kiss.

His tongue was more adept than Lachlan's had ever been, and he invaded her mouth as if he owned her. Which, of course, he did. The girl, beside herself with fear and arousal, melted against him, her hands bracing on his shoulders before sliding up into his dark, gray-streaked hair. Pulling away just enough to part the kiss, he rumbled against her lips "turn your back to me."

She carefully did as he commanded, moving to straddle his lap with her back to him. His cock, albeit having cum once already, was still hard and he pulled her back down onto it. Farrah cried out, feeling his hot seed gushing out down her legs and his as he filled her again. The sudden, sharp press of his teeth into the subtle and elegant inner curve of her shoulder made her gasp and tense, and as her stomach sucked in she could feel his hand quickly move around to her front to start rubbing in circles at her inflamed pearl. Immediately she shuddered and tensed, gasping as she gripped his strong, immovable arm and began to ride him once more, wanting the stimulation. Yet on one of her upward lifts, he cupped his hand around her pubis and lifted her off of him, tilting her hips and pushing her back down so that his cock, slippery with his cum and her own nectar, would push into her star.

Farrah almost sobbed as he forced his way inside of her, taking her without any preparation. It hurt but felt so good as she sank down onto him, shaking and shivering every now and again as her feverish body acclimated to his invasion. More of his seed spilled out from her heated pussy onto his thighs, dribbling over his fingers as he began to rub at her pearl once more. And once more she began to ride him, sawing his fat prick in and out of her small, arched body, feeling herself get closer and closer to release. Every so often his hand would slap hard over her blushing hot, wet, drooling sex, the strike making her grit her teeth and quiver. Each time he pulled his hand away, gossamer strands of her need came away with it. At her shoulder his teeth sank into her skin, crushing the muscle firmly until a deep bruise began to blossom around his white teeth. A drop or two of her blood rose from where his teeth had broken through the skin, her own frantic movements cutting his bite in deeper.

As she grew closer and closer, his hand lifted and wetly struck her in the face, leaving her cheek welted and glistening with her own nectar. Tears of passion slid down her cheeks, until his hand struck her sex one last time and gripped it tightly. Again he came, filling her other passage with seed just as she cried out and found her own finish, her hands gripping his arm tightly. Time seemed to stand still as Farrah arched her back sharply, her mouth and eyes opened wide. She thought for a moment that she might split apart upon the old king, but the pain he'd given her kept her grounded.

A single trickle of crimson red slid down her back from where she'd been bitten, the wound angry and red, bruised and sore and wet with saliva. Her face stung and throbbed from where she'd been struck, and her slender throat was already sporting a bruise from his crushing grip. Very slowly they both began to relax, though every once in a while the king would rub at her tender pussy and make her whimper. Her sensitivity made him chuckle, and he sent her off to fetch a wet rag to clean him with. Pulling herself off of his slowly softening prick made her ache as her body tightened up once again, and her legs could barely support her as she set her feet to the floor.

The wash basin was kept on a small table by the hearth, over which hung an impressive rack of antlers. As always, the girl looked up at the mounted display, tracing the lines from the base to each point as if each antler was a small tree made out of ivory. To her eyes, it almost looked as if the antlers were inlaid with silver or mother of pearl, glimmering in the low fire within the hearth. With the rag in one hand, she reached up with the other towards the display, her fingertip almost close enough to touch it when she heard Dougal's voice. "Farrah! Don't dawdle."

Immediately she withdrew her hand, glancing at the old king guiltily before she plunged the rag into the water to soak it. Within moments she was back, cleaning him of the signs of their congress, even going to far as to wipe a small smear of her blood from his mouth. Just as she went back to the basin, the old king chuckled and rumbled "You were looking at the antlers again, weren't you, my pretty girl?"

She soaked the rag again and bathed herself, biting her lip as she washed the painful bite on her shoulder. "Yes, Dougal. They are beautiful."

"Have I ever told you about the hart I took them from?" he asked as she returned to sit on the edge of the bed.

"No. I haven't heard that story."

He shifted to lie down, sighing pleasantly as he gripped her by the arm and pulled her over to him. With her pale body cuddled up against his, and her hand idly sliding from his soft cock to his chest and back again in a lazy circle, the old king sighed. "It was a killing winter, and there was little food. I was a younger man then and led a hunting party out into the forest for deer, when this white hart, this glorious creature, was just standing there in the trees. It was as if he had been waiting for us. For the dogs, for the horses, the hunters, and for me."

Farrah rested her head on the pillow of his shoulder, closing her eyes to imagine it.

"I knew that this hart was no normal deer. Some, deep within the wood, are not truly deer, but wild things that can take the shape of men. In my heart I dared not kill it, for it's poor luck to defile the wood with a murder. But my family was starving. The land was starving. We needed food, and he gave himself to us. I saved his antlers so that I wouldn't forget him, sentimental as that sounds."

"Is it true? Are there creatures that can turn themselves into men?" she asked softly.

"Haven't you enough cock to satisfy you, girl?" Dougal asked with a chuckle, and Farrah flushed hotly in embarrassment. Perhaps out of pity, the old king caressed her back and gently shrugged. "There are some. There are stories of deer prints leading up to the doors of lonely women in the village, and the footprints of a man leading away. The white hart was a legend in this region for a very long time, but now he is a legend no more." Ruffling her white hair, the old king laughed and mused "With such beautiful white hair, one might think you were one of his many bastards, hmm?"

The old king died peacefully in his sleep half a year into his retirement, the heart of the old warrior having given out. By then Farrah was finally with child, carrying the last of his progeny. As Farrah was his only real attendant, his death was blamed on her. She begged Lachlan to spare her, but in his grief he ignored her pleas and cast her out into the deathly cold of winter, not knowing that she was carrying his brother, for she wasn't showing yet. Many thought that Farrah had died, for she had fled from the castle but hadn't made for the village lower in the valley. The last that anyone had seen of her was a trail of foot prints in the snow leading deep into the wood, and the remnants of a dress hanging like a grim banner at the very edge of the ancient forest.

Yet in the night, Lachlan would ride out alone searching for her. He'd regretted his cruelty and hoped against hope that she was still alive and could be saved. All season he looked but found no trace, and in the spring he had all but given up. His own son was healthy and his kingdom was blessed with good crops and bountiful harvests from the sea. But he was lonely. Avalbane's ego had swollen as a queen, and they had grown distant. They were not hateful towards one another, but where once there had been some affection there was now only duty and honor, like two lone soldiers left to maintain their stations with little hope of relief.

There was news that spring of a white hind, a doe as pale as the snow. Lachlan had heard his father tell him the story about the antlers in his chambers, though he had only been a quickening in his mother's womb at the time that the hunt had taken place. Again he rode out, though not with a hunting party as his father had done. He was alone on those night, riding through his woods to see if the stories of the white hind were true.

And then one day he finally spotted her. Upon a hillock in the sunlight there she was, with a pelt of snowy fur glimmering in the sunlight and smooth as satin. Lachlan quietly dismounted his horse, looking with wide eyes at the beautiful creature. Deer were majestic creatures, but her beauty surpassed them all. A star of pink, a gleaming scar left by a hunter's arrow, shined at her shoulder and didn't seem to bother her. He watched her for hours as she gently cropped the grass, her slim legs idly carrying her forward as she fed. As the sun began to set she lifted her head, narrowing her dark eyes against the glare before turning an ear directly towards Lachlan himself.

"Where is my invitation?" she asked softly, turning her head towards him expectantly.

The king held his breath. That was Farrah's voice, and as he looked at the doe he could see that those were her eyes, and the delicate features of her face were still there, blended in with her new form. "Farrah... I've looked so long for you." His voice was barely more than a whisper.

She remained where she was, looking at him imperiously even as he got to his feet. Having been king for little more than a year, she could see how the weight of it had aged him. There were wrinkles by the corners of his eyes, and his dark beard, even now, bore the first silver hairs of age. Out of pity she folded her ears back and said "Yes... I know. I hid from you. I was angry with you."

"Forgive me, Farrah. I'm so sorry." He dared not approach her, not this magical creature. It was obvious to him then that Farrah was one of the blessed people of the woods and she always had been. That was why she had been so different, and so silent.