****
As the sun began to set over the mountains to the west, Amelie brooded
over the map. Every degree the blazing orb descended tightened the pit in her
stomach. She dreaded nightfall and the ensuing dreams. Augras continued to
taunt her in them, and she continued to desperately sate her needs, to no
effect. Nor had her scouts had any luck in bringing her captives, though she
knew they had to be near. Some of her teams were no longer returning, and the
distances she had traveled alone meant she had to be drawing near. Amelie
stifled a yawn and arched her sore back, gently lifting and squeezing her heavy
breasts.
Even more concerning was that she hadn’t received a reply from any of
the pigeons she had sent to the Duke of Lisene, the Sanodran commander. If Augras
had been able to defeat the Sandorans, then the path to Orlous and Anna would
be wide open, with nothing to stop them but the thick city walls. At least they’ve been reinforced, she
thought, they’re stronger than they’ve
ever been.
Amelie pushed her worries and fears away to focus on the problem at
hand while she gently rubbed her nipples. The fact that her own scouts had been
unable to capture any prisoners, or even catch sight of the enemy, suggested
that she was being harried by light cavalry. A quick study of the map showed
her where the enemy would be waiting to ambush her. Not far ahead the road
would pass by the Elee Forest, thinly populated by pines with slopes and
ravines to conceal enemy movements while providing visibility of the road. Fortunately
she knew these lands better than any orc, and knew just the way to spring the
trap they had set.
A devious, cunning smile spread across her lips as one hand drifted
between her legs. An advance force will
continue on head to spring the trap, she thought, and as soft sniggers
erupted outside the tent she continued, and
Pierre, Jean, and Francois will be among them. Her finger traced a line
along the map, while the rest travel
along this deer trail to descend on the orcs from behind to cut off their
retreat once they commit themselves.
The Princess-Knight moaned softly, and then her eyes widened and she
ripped her hand out of her pants. What am
I doing, she wondered, but already knew the answer. Her body was hot,
horny, and desperate. All day long she had been fighting her needs, though
unsuccessfully. She was certain that some of her soldiers had noticed her
grinding her saddle earlier as they rode, and more than once she had found
their eyes on her bosom, which seemed to grow larger by the day.
She had already had to have her breastplate let out to accommodate it.
Amelie would have thought she was pregnant if she didn’t know better. Brief
panic gripped her when she thought of the night she had spent with the orc
prisoner, but that was months ago and she was certain she hadn’t gotten
pregnant from it. It’s Augras, she
realized, some new part of his curse.
It’s bad enough that I’m becoming as sex crazed as Jeanette, but now he’s
giving me a body to match! She even worried that her strength was diminishing,
and instinctively grasped the hilt of her sword to feel its power flow through
her.
Another yawn escaped her lips, and a shudder went down her spine as she
accidentally tasted the residue of her sex on her fingers after covering her
mouth. I need to get some sleep before
tomorrow, regardless of what dreams may come.
Amelie did not get the rest she sought. Her dreams were plagued by
Augras, though not as clearly as it was the night they spoke. They were more
surreal, with shifting landscapes, strange situations and stranger
‘activities’. When she woke her whole body was burning with need, and the only
thing that kept her from calling in her guards was anticipation of capturing a
prisoner who could better see to her needs.
Impossibly, the blistering arousal only grew throughout the day as she
led her troop on horseback through the broken, uneven ground of the Elee
Forest. It was all she could do to keep herself from grinding the saddle again,
and truth be told she didn’t perfectly succeed. More than once through the
morning she caught herself rolling her hips into the hard leather saddle, just
at the base of the pommel.
Fortunately they found the likely ambush spot before midday, so the
torture was not too onerous. Amelie could see her troops advancing along the
road through the tree line, steadily approaching what she knew must be the
ambush point. At the front of the column were Pierre, Jean, and Francois, just
where she put them.
Guilt began to gnaw at her within her for setting them up to be on the
front line. She had assured herself that it was normal, that someone would have
to be in front. If it weren’t them, it would be someone else having to face the
ambush head on. But deep inside she knew her motives weren’t pure. They had
been loyal soldiers before she corrupted them, among the best in Thesta like
the rest of her Falcon Guard. Now, because of her own weakness, she had set
them up to die.
Amelie chewed her lip and stroked the grip of the sword. It’s too late to change it, they’re already
committed she assured herself. But then she saw movement ahead, shadowy
shapes snaking between trees. It’s them,
she thought as she tightened her fingers around the grip. As she rode closer,
the blurry figures solidified, becoming corded muscle on hulking frames. Her
hot gaze traced the contours of their bodies as she pressed herself against the
pommel of her saddle.
She kicked her courser’s flank and began racing forward in a daze,
hungry to touch the hard bodies, though something tickled the back of her mind.
It’s the horses, she thought first, why are there so many destriers? Light
cavalry shouldn’t be on such a heavy horse. Then she noticed that the riders
weren’t orcs, or even humans. Their flesh was dark, and their bodies too long. Centaurs! The thought snapped her aware,
and she realized that she was darting through the forest towards the enemy.
I’ve sprung the trap too soon!
She cursed herself, but the heat of battle soon quenched the heat in her loins
and renewed her focus. I can make the
best of this, and perhaps it will spare the men. She reached down to clasp
the hilt of her sword again, drinking it its power. Amelie pulled out a javelin
with her other hand, and squeezed her thighs tightly around her mount to steady
herself. Taking careful aim, she threw the missile with a strength she never
knew before.
It flew to its target, piercing the unprotected flank almost
effortlessly and burying itself deep inside the centaur. He roared out in pain
before collapsing, but before he even hit the ground Amelie had another javelin
ready. A centaur with a heavy chain hauberk turned towards her and began to
twirl his sling. Amelie launched her javelin first, and the point tip punched
through the armor and tore into the monster’s chest.
The centaur cried out and released the sling to early, sending the
bullet flying to the rear. A moment later though and another centaur loosed his
sling, and Amelie had to duck as the bullet flew passed her. As the horse-men
began to react to her charge, more stones cut through the air and sailed
between trees. Behind her a sickening crunch and a dull groan told her that at
least one had found its mark.
We need to close the distance
quickly, she thought. Her people were skilled at throwing the javelins from
horseback, but she knew they would never be as effective as the centaurs at
launching a projectile from horseback. Her own troopers began to throw their
javelins to varying effects. The centaurs made large targets it was true, but
their heavy armor was hard to penetrate, especially when having to be thrown
from a moving horse.
Amelie grabbed another javelin and scanned for a target, then let it
loose. The missile thrust into the equine front of a leaping centaur, sending
him crashing to the ground. Then she grabbed for the last one without pausing.
The standard issue for a Thestan soldier was two javelins; but Amelie carried
four. Ahead of her she saw a large centaur with a massive axe decorated with
bright blue feathers. He was shouting orders, and taking him for the chief she
readied her last javelin.
At the last moment a flash of movement and pure warrior’s instinct made
her turn hard to the left and thrust the javelin instead. Amelie slammed it
into the throat of a charging centaur, splashing blood across her gauntleted
hand. The momentum of the beast-man carried him forward, nearly yanking Amelie
off her courser. If not for the strength her sword gave her it might have
pulled her arm right out of its socket, but she avoided that fate and nimbly
steered her course around the stumbling carcass.
With no more javelins to throw Amelie unslung her shield and drew the
iron sword. The power of the blade pulsing in her hand made her bold.
Ordinarily she might pull back to better evaluate a new foe, especially one as
radically different as a centaur. Instead, she eyed the chief again and spurred
her horse onward.
Two centaur warriors moved to block her and protect the chief, a grim
determined look on their faces rather than the lusty grin she had come to
expect from her monstrous foes. She briefly wondered if they even knew she was
a woman, before they were locked in combat. The one to her left swung his axe
at her, but she deflected it with her shield while parrying the other centaur’s
spear with her blade.
The greater reach of the centaurs prevented her from getting close
enough to strike back, forcing her onto the defensive of blocking and parrying
their strikes. Using her legs to guide the horse, she slowly moved backwards,
planning to bring herself in line with her own forces so that one of her
troopers could relieve her from the side. Again and again she turned their
attacks, but before she could reach her own men for support the centaur with
the spear thrust lower, piercing her courser in the side.
Her mount whinnied and began to pull away but was caught on the
centaur’s spear. Sensing an opportunity, the other warrior moved forward to
press an attack with his axe. Amelie swung her leg over the horse without
thinking and kicked it toward the spear wielding centaur as she launched
herself away. She slammed her shield into the other centaur’s axe to check the
swing while slashing the iron sword along the beastman’s unarmored flank.
Amelie ignored the centaur as he cried out in his native tongue and
followed up with another slash horizontally across the back of the creature’s
horse body. The iron blade sank into the flesh, drinking deeply of the
monster’s blood and severing his spine, causing him to collapse. She pivoted in
place, turning to face the other centaur as he freed his spear, allowing her
own mount to stumble away.
By the Abyss! She was going
to have to fight the centaur dismounted, but also knew that was always going to
be the case. She could hopefully find another horse after dealing with her foe.
Once the courser had passed she sprinted forward, enjoying the look of surprise
on the centaur’s face. Amelie knew she needed to close the distance quickly,
and not give the horse-man room to charge. Sparks flew as her sword slashed
across the centaur’s heavy chain shirt. He grunted from the impact, wincing
away in pain from the blow.
I think I cracked a rib, she
thought as she looked at the gouge in the centaur’s armor. Several of the iron
ringlets had busted, but she hadn’t managed to penetrate the mail. Her iron
sword was good, but not that good apparently. Amelie continue to close the
distance not wanting to give the centaur space to use his spear.
The centaur kicked out with his foreleg, but Amelie twisted to the side
and brought her shield down, slamming it into the joint. Another crack rang out
and the centaur snarled in rage and pain. As he drew his spear back to thrust,
Amelie swiped down sharply and cut the tip off the spear. She quickly drew the
sword back to thrust at the centaur’s lower body when he grabbed her shield and
started to push forward.
Amelie planted her feet into the ground to brace herself, but the
horse-man continued to push her back, making her boots furrow into the ground.
Seeing that this was getting her nowhere she chopped her sword again and
slashed the centaur’s forearm, cutting through the flesh and down to the bone.
As the centaur held his arm back, cradling it pain Amelie slashed again,
slicing her blade just below his breastplate where his equine and Mincenntti
bodies met.
As the centaur fell to the ground she brought the iron sword up again,
and as its magic power coursed through her it came down again at the base of
the centaur’s neck, decapitating the horseman. Before she could celebrate she
was flying through the air, reeling after a massive weight slammed into her
side.
Amelie crashed onto the ground and rolled until
she hit a tree. She stumbled to her feet, head still ringing as the centaur
chieftain wheeled around for another pass. Amelie kept the tree to her back so
he couldn’t ride through her again, and readied her sword and shield. The
centaur chieftain was quick to follow up on his charge and closed the distance
with her, bringing his forelegs up in an attempt to squash her.
She raised her shield to stop block the attack,
acting more from instinct than from a belief that the shield would stop the
centaur from crushing her. The terrible sound of splintering wood resounded in
the forest as the hooves smashed into her shield. It surprised her though that
she managed to hold her arm up, and that the impact didn’t reverberate down her
arm as much as she might have expected.
This
sword is even better than I could have imagined! I’ll surely be able to defeat
Augras with this! She swung the
iron blade around as the chieftain broke off the attack, slicing deeply into
his foreleg. He grunted in pain and stepped back, giving Amelie time to
recover. She discarded her broken shield and held the iron sword in both hands.
The centaur swung his axe, but Amelie leaned
back so it swung before her, then slashed forward. The magical sword cut
through his bracer and into the flesh beneath. The chieftain growled in pain,
pulling the arm back and holding the axe one-handed. “You must be the
Princess-Knight everyone speaks of.” He leered at her. “I am Golinchkar, chief
of all the centaurs. Augras has claimed you for his own, but he will give you
to me if I put a foal in your womb first!”
Amelie was not one to banter with enemies, and
instead of engaging with the centaur’s foolish boasting she pressed the attack.
Golinchkar parried with the axe, and then countered but she easily dodged. She
thrust the sword at his throat, but to her surprise the centaur caught the
blade with his wounded hand.
Even as the magical sword cut through his fingers he brought the pommel of the axe down on her forearm, hitting her hard enough that her grip on the hilt loosened as her arm went numb. She tried to wrench it away, completing the task of severing his fingers. Another blow from the pommel of the axe knocked the blade from her hand and sent Amelie falling to the ground. The magically enhanced strength drained from her, leaving her feeling weak.
Golinchkar towered above her, his fat equine
cock already dangling beneath him. Amelie swallowed at the sight of it. Though
the sight of the masculine centaurs had precipitated driving her into battle,
seeing it in all its glory up close send a shiver through her. Could I really take that she wondered?
Before she had a chance to find out she drew
herself out of the stupor. I don’t need
magic to beat him she thought as she drew her dagger. As he limped over she
rolled to the side and plunged the dagger into the back of his wounded leg,
crippling it. Amelie kept rolling so as not to be trapped beneath the centaur
as he collapsed, then sprung to her feet and leapt atop the back of the centaur
as he groaned in pain.
Before the chief even knew what had happened
Amelie ran the edge of the dagger along his throat, opening it and spilling his
life’s blood on the dirt. She threw him down contemptuously and then leapt off
his back to retrieve her sword. As the power rushed through her reassuringly
she looked around the battlefield. Jean and Pierre were leading the decoy squad
into the forest to flank the centaurs, but with the death of their chief the
beastmen were already starting to withdraw.
I
sprung it too early, she thought
sourly, and now more will escape.
Still, the day was won, and as she spied four of her men throwing ropes around
one of the fleeing centaurs she knew that the better victory was yet to come.
****
“We came here to plunder, not fight a pitched battle!” Markoz growled
angrily as he stalked back and forth across the main room of the coaching inn.
It had once been the center of trade in the village, and a stopover point for
caravans traveling from the Angrian March to Shropfordshire. Now it was
completely emptied out to make room for Markoz to hold council.
The hamlet had fallen easily. Most of the men were off to the north,
guarding against a Sandoran invasion from the east. No one had suspected that
an orc army might invade from the March. Somehow though, the Zentarans had
managed to assemble a force to protect Shropfordshire from the invading orcs.
“Where did they come from?” Markoz demanded, glaring at Drauken.
The wealthy orc merchant looked shaken by the news. “From the reports
of the scouts, they appear to be orcs from the Elfish Isles, led by King
Trogar, along with some elf spearmen and crossbowmen. But the last I heard, he
was refusing to join in on this war, let alone here. The plan was to send him
through to Heste if his forces arrived!”
Brigitte sat back in her chair, her hands cradling her belly. The open
vest left the proof of her breeding to all who looked. She hadn’t had her
quickening yet, but it would come soon, she knew. A smile crossed her lips at
the thought, before she banished it for more pressing matters. The appearance
of an army before them was an unexpected one, but truthfully one that didn’t
displease her. An army here is one not
fighting in Thesta or Heste, where the real war is she thought. Brigitte
couldn’t share that with her chieftain, though.
“It doesn’t matter why they’re here, the question is, what are we going
to do about it?” The old chief Jogarth asked.
“It does matter,” Brigitte interjected, “the only way they could have
gotten an army here so quickly was if they knew we were coming. Someone has
betrayed us.”
Jogarth glared at her not only for presuming to speak in a war council,
but for contradicting him as well. It was unheard of for a woman, let alone a
pregnant one, to accompany her chieftain on a raid. She had to use every ounce
of determination and guile, sexual or otherwise, to convince Markoz to bring
her. In the end, her knowledge of the area and its political, economic, and
military leaders and sheer dogged persistence won the day and she was allowed
travel with the invasion.
“How could a spy even have sent word?” Drauken asked. “There are no
pigeons in the Angrian March, and to have an army assembled and deployed here
so quickly would mean they had word of our intentions months ago!”
“It might just be bad luck.” Markoz turned to face them again,
steepling his fingers as he calmed himself and considered the situation more
carefully. “They may have been coming here anyway, to attack Sandora from the
east.”
“They wouldn’t be able to take the Seven Forts with that army, not even
when combined with the forces they have to the north.” Brigitte countered
decisively.
“Regardless, there is an army here now, so what are we going to do
about it?” the fat orc asked again.
“What do you know of this Trogar? What kind of leader is he?” Markoz
asked Brigitte.
“He was too young to fight in the second rebellion with Grotok and
Belkor. I don’t think he’s ever led an army at war before.” Brigitte closed her
eyes to better remember the lessons she had on the orc leaders in her youth.
“He’s headstrong, and proud. No, that’s not entirely right. He is smart and
will general from a manual, but he also has something to prove, and can be
provoked by wounding his pride.”
“He is the father of Augras, the sorcerer” Drauken added, “though they
do not get along. There was a falling out, I’m not sure why, and Augras
left…only to return with an army of monsters and magical powers. Whatever the
reason, Trogar did not want to fight in this war, and has been resisting
committing any of his men to the fight.”
“He hardly sounds like an orc at all” the fat orc snorted, “no wonder
he consorts with elfs.”
“This is good though,” Markoz said as he nodded slowly, “his heart is
not in it. He does not want to spend strength against us. If we give him a
reason to withdraw, he will.”
“So we must provoke him into making a mistake and taking early
casualties, then give him an opening to escape?” Brigitte asked. Bloodying
Trogar was good, but she didn’t want to drive him back to Ruar where he could
redeploy to either Heste or Thesta. It
would be better to push him north and bottle him up between the Seven Forts and
our army.
“Exactly so. The trick will be to make sure that he doesn’t retreat
into the city, or linger to protect it or attack us after we sack it.”
“Will he answer to the woman who rules Shropfordshire?” Jogarth asked.
“No” Brigitte responded simply. “Trogar may have had some affection for
Susannah in his youth, but he is not one to let nostalgia influence political
reality.”
“Then we don’t want to drive them back towards the city, but sweep them
from the side. He will want set himself on the defensive, to lure us into
charging his spears and crossbows. He will try to provoke us with his orcs, and
draw us in.” Markoz grunted softly as he thought out loud.
“We have more cavalry then he does. We must fix his horse in place with
our own mounted archers, then attack their right flank and drive them north.”
Brigitte’s heart jumped to her throat as she waited to see if any would object
to the direction of the battle, but the conversation continued without the
others taking notice.
“That will work.” Markoz decided. “Once they pull away to the north we
can move on the city.”
“Meanwhile, I shall return to Ruar. The remaining human Dukes should be
in position to seize the city and Greenthorn Castle from within. With the Queen
in chains and an army occupying Zentara, Grotok and Belkor will have no choice
but to surrender.” Drauken rose from his chair looking satisfied.
Brigitte frowned at Markoz’s disinterested shrug, but also at Drauken’s
assurance that it would end the war. That might have been true before the orcs
entered Thesta, but the campaign had moved much faster than anyone had thought
when the war began. If Grotok and Augras were able to defeat her people’s army,
the road to Orlous would be open, and if they captured Princess Anne they would
have adequate position to negotiate the return of Queen Jeanette.
“Good luck then. You are going to need all the luck you can muster in
order to seize the Queen and as much of the family as possible.”
“Yes…quite.” For a moment it looked like there was something more
Drauken wanted to say, but it passed and he left the tent.
“Shropfordshire has been growing wealthy off our trade for years”
Jogarth said, a greedy look in his eyes, “now, like a fattened calf, it is
ready for the slaughter. I cannot wait to see what treasures we’ll find within.”
The fat orc waddled out of the tent, mind already thinking of how to spend his
soon to be found gold.
“He isn’t doing nearly enough to warrant the share he’s allotted.”
Brigitte said
“Jogarth is doing what is required of him. Without his influence we
wouldn’t even be here.” Markoz replied.
“You’re right of course, my chief. We all have our jobs to do. Jogarth
is our spiritual and political leader. You are our warchief, the leader in
battle. As for me, I am neither of those things.” Brigitte moved towards Markoz
in slow, measured strides. “I am your slave, and though I cannot fight with
you, I wish to do what little I can to support you.” Her leather vest slipped
off easily, falling to the floor as she revealed her breasts.
Markoz’s dark grey hands covered her fair flesh, and kneaded her tits
beneath them. Brigitte moaned softly and pressed her lips to her chief’s,
nestling them between his sharp tusks. Heavy breaths escaped her lips as they
kissed, and her heart beat faster with each passing moment. Brigitte’s hands
drifted down to his pants, quickly finding his shaft. She stroked and squeezed
it, caressing it up and down as she brought him to erection.
His cock formed a lewd bulge, tightly outlined by his pants. Brigitte’s
fingers danced expertly along it, applying just enough pressure to titillate
his member while she kissed and suckled on his lips. “It is not safe for you to
take me, my chief, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take you.”
Husky breaths escaped her lips as she kissed down his chin, then neck,
slowly sinking to her knees. She repressed the shiver of excitement she felt as
her hard nipples rubbed against his chest, instead focusing only on pleasuring
him. When she fell between his knees she eagerly brought out his cock and
started to stroke the twisted staff. Her hot lips pressed into his sac, kissing
his heavy balls.
Markoz’s grunt of satisfaction brought a smile to her lips, and she
flicked out her tongue to lap between his nuts. Brigitte’s hand never stopped
stroking his dick, rubbing it along her face as she nuzzled between his legs.
Soft, mewling purrs escaped her lips as she kissed, licked, and sucked on his
sac and the treasured gems kept within.
“Ah, that’s it, Brigitte. You know what I like.” Markoz gasped as he
placed his hand atop her mousey brown hair, caressing it affectionately while
working his hips to rub against her face. His corkscrewed cock pulsed and
throbbed as his excitement grew, causing him to pant eagerly.
Brigitte knew not to tease him. She ran her tongue up along the
underside of his cock, tracing the twisting pattern before quickly taking the
slanted tip into her mouth. The former princess began to suck it inside,
bobbing up and down as she worked the shaft around between her lips.
Her dainty hand continued to stroke the base, while the other replaced
her lips on his balls. Brigitte rolled them across her palm and squeezed them
gently between her fingers as she sucked harder and faster on his shaft. This
wasn’t foreplay, it was pure service. I
must show him what he can come back to. I must show him what he means to me.
Kneeling a little straighter, she thrust her chest out and rubbed her breasts
around his cock as she tongued the slanted tip of his cock.
She jerked him faster, squeezing the meat firmly between her tits as
her tongue lapped away his leaking precum. “Please Master, let me swallow your
cum. Let me take it down my throat!” Brigitte moaned heartily as she worked his
cock with everything she had available.
“Take it then Brigitte, feast from your chief!”
Brigitte dove down the cock again, relaxing her throat so she could
take it inside. She sucked furiously now as she bounced between his legs,
fucking her throat on his shaft until it finally swelled and shot his seed
right into her belly. She continued to service him, draining him dry. As she
pulled up his shaft his last spurt overflowed from her lips and dripped down
her chin onto her heaving breast.
“Thank you my Chief. Now go forth, and conquer.”
****
Her nipples hardened in the night air, poking through her through as
she stalked through the camp. A slight tremor rippled through her, and
goosebumps formed on her bare legs as the tunic swept over her thighs. She was
naked from the waist down, and her pussy was already tingling in anticipation. This is insane, she thought, though her
pace didn’t slow. If anything it quickened as the excitement swelled up within
her. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
She had been thinking of nothing else since the battle, nothing except the
centaur that her men had taken prisoner. Amelie always knew that she was going
to fuck the next prisoner they found, hoping it would scratch her itch and give
her the satisfaction she craved.
The Princess-Knight hadn’t expected a centaur though, and the thought
had given her pause at first. Then she remembered the sight of their massive,
muscular bodies and her imagination turned to the size of their cocks. It had
been intimidating, but Amelie always loved a challenge. Indeed, the lewd voice
in the back of her mind convinced her that she needed to overcome it as a
matter of pride!
Stars twinkled brightly in the sky above her like a million tiny eyes,
all watching her and what she was about to do. The thought sent a perverse
thrill through her, even as she feared and dreaded the thought of one of her
men catching her in the act with the prisoner.
Fortunately, most of her army was encamped outside the small village of
Mirmeil that had been abandoned as the orcs approached. They’re probably all in Orlous now, safe behind the walls. At least, I
hope they are. The prisoner had been confined in the village’s stable, with
men posted outside to prevent any escape.
I should have dressed, then at
least I could have sent the men away…now I’ll have to be quiet. Amelie’s
fingers drifted over her nipples as the thought of letting loose, screaming in
pleasure for all to hear consumed her imagination. Her other hand slid beneath
her shirt as she crouched beside the blacksmith shop, stroking her pussy gently
as she considered the best way to sneak into the building.
At least I had the presence of
mind to not allow any of the guards inside the stable. She glanced to the
side of the building, and saw an overturned barrel next to a window. That’s it, she thought. Amelie crept
silently in the shadows, hugging the wall of the shop as she circled out of the
line of sight of the guards. When the coast was clear, she sprinted forward,
gliding like a mare, silent on her bare feet as she ran to the stable, then
quickly scrambled hopped on the barrel and slipped through the window.
Chains rattled from the corner, and a heavy weight shifting made the
walls of the stable creak. “Who there?” a deep voice rumbled in uncertain
common tongue.
“Shhh” Amelie whispered as she rose from the ground and stepped out of
the shadows. Her heart pounded furiously as she approached the centaur,
drinking in the sight of the dark humanoid torso atop a black equine body. She
didn’t have to explain; she knew her appearance and her scent conveyed
everything that needed to be said. At
least I had the foresight to have him chained.
Animal instinct and an overwhelming desire to breed swept over the
centaur. His massive cock began to swell and slip free from his sheath. Despite
the differences in their race and culture, the lewd grin that spread across his
face was unmistakable. He walked forward, then snarled in frustration as the
chains went taut when he reached the edge of their length.
“Not so loud” she whispered as she placed his hands on his chest. The
centaur backed up slowly, his hooves clopping on the dirt floor. The chains slackened enough for him to wrap
his arms around her and grasp Amelie’s ass, groping it firmly as he lifted up
her tunic. He lifted it up over her head impatiently wasting no time to strip
the willing female.
Amelie’s breasts, seemingly larger every day, slapped against his chest
as the shirt was pulled off her body. A week of built up lust with no release
left her eager to begin, and as the centaur didn’t seem to need foreplay either
she moved beneath his massive form. It took both hands to lift his cock, and it
wasn’t even entirely hard yet. The girth of the shaft was thicker than her
forearm, at least it’s softer, she
thought as she gave it a squeeze. Her hands drifted up and down the length,
jerking it slowly as she crouched down on her knees and bent over.
She guided the broad flat head between her legs and started to rub it
against her wet, swollen pussy lips. The centaur whinnied and bucked his hips,
grinding forward as he tried to push his dick inside. Despite her need, and
despite the recent expansion in her sexual activities, the passage was too
small to accept his cock, at least on this position.
Gripping the shaft more tightly, Amelie slapped it against her clit in
frustration, whining in need at having come so close to relief but still
getting denied. Her fist squeezed around the head, trying to condense the
spongey flesh narrow enough to fit inside her sex. “Ah!” she cried out as her
vaginal passage stretched, and though she was able to get the tip inside the
top of her hand hit her labia, and when she tried to adjust his dick popped out
of her again.
“What doing? Put in!” The centaur whinnied impatiently, pulling at the
chains as he attempted to reach beneath himself to grab a hold of Amelie.
“It won’t fit!” She hissed back as she resumed stroking his cock while
looking around the room, desperate to find a solution. Her eyes lit up as she
spied a breeding stall across the way. She slipped out from beneath the centaur
and walked into the stall, running her fingers over the wooden beams on the far
end. Almost, almost, she thought,
panting heavily in excitement. She dragged over a long bench and place it in
the stall, then climbed atop it and grabbed onto the beams. “Here, now, come
get it!”
The chains rattled again, and the bolts on the wall and floor groaned
as the centaur pulled at them, trying desperately to get closer to the
princess-knight. “Too far!” He groaned. The centaur’s muscled flexed as he
strained forward, trying to rip the chains off the wall in order to get to his
mare.
“No!” Amelie whined, “Not when we’re so close!” Her mind was swimming,
and the burning lust spreading through her veins dimmed her mind and smothered
rational thought. In a trance she pushed off the bench and walked to the wall,
where some basic shoeing supplies were waiting. Amelie grabbed a hammer and a
fistful of nails and moved to the wall. I
don’t care, I don’t care, I need it! She angled the nails at the seam in
the wall where the chains were bolted in and began to hammer them in, wedging
in between the metal and the wall and creating enough give for the shackles to
be pulled free.
“What in the darkness of the Abyss is going on there?” One of her
guards shouted from the door.
Amelie sunk to the floor, her heart in her throat as she tried to hide
from the sentry.
“Release! Release me!” The centaur shouted! He began to flex his arms
forward, and Amelie quickly grabbed the metal base to create the illusion that
it was still bolted into the wall.
“Stop pulling or we’ll hobble you! The commander wants you alive, but
you don’t need legs to answer questions!” When the centaur appeared to settle
down the guard left again.
“That was close…” Amelie whispered, mostly to herself, before crawling
over to the breeding stall again.
“Be quiet. Try not sound like mare in heat.” The centaur muttered as he
rotated his shoulders, enjoying the newfound freedom. He clopped over to
Amelie, who had already positioned herself on the bench. He lifted his forelegs
and placed them on the wooden beams, and positioned his flanks to bring his
formidable cock to bear on the willing, wanton woman.
The new position left her body open to the beastman’s massive cock, and
as the flat, broad tip prodded her pussy lips she reached beneath herself to
spread them apart. I should have brought
my sword…how am I going to take that thing without the strength it gives me
was the last rational thought she had before the centaur slammed into her.
Amelie bit her arm to keep from squealing too loudly as the inhumanely
large dick thrust deep inside of her. The tip quickly impacted her cervix,
which pushed her forward against the wooden beams, driving her hard into the
makeshift wall as he thrust into her again and again. Her bare tits bounced and
rubbed painfully again the coarse wood as she was forced forward. Without the
enhanced strength from the iron sword she couldn’t push back against him.
The centaur’s massive frame kept her pinned against the bars as he rode
her, riding and using her like a simple fuck hole. Of course she was loving
every moment of it. “Aaaah! Mmmph! Ng!” Amelie had to bite harder to keep her
moans under control as she was stretched and filled so deliciously. A year ago
and she had never so much as fantasized about an orc, let alone contemplate
taking something the size of a horse inside her. Now she was being impaled by a
centaur and on the verge of cumming deliriously.
The lewdness of it all was too much for her. Between her sex getting
ravaged and wrecked by the centaur, the once narrow tunnel stretched
unimaginably wide so that every never ending was stimulated, and the sheer
depravity of mating with a beastman prisoner where any of her soldiers could
find her was a humiliation so exquisite she had to give in.
Her first climax exploded within her, making her shudder violently
around the centaur’s dick. Her pussy pulsed against it, rippling up and down the
length as she convulsed in ecstasy. The centaur, whose name she had never even
learned, continued to fuck her relentlessly. His powerful thrusts split her
thighs apart, and threatened to fracture her hips as he jammed himself inside
her.
Amelie began climaxing again, and then with each smash of his dick
against her cervix another aftershock rippled through her, drowning her in
pleasure as he fucked her senseless. Her gigantic tits continued to mash
against the wooden bars, and as her hard nipples rubbed against the rough
surface extra painful chills of delight ran through her.
The Queen was so lost in the mind numbing orgasms that she barely
noticed when the centaur’s cock twitched and started to unleash a torrent of
hot centaur seed to flood her abused sex. She didn’t even notice when he pulled
out of her, leaving her pussy gaping open, stretched to the limit leaking cum
like water pouring out of a fountain.
It wasn’t until she heard a sundering of wood as the centaur smashed
through the wall of the stable and galloped into the night that she regained
her senses. She rushed to stand, but her weak knees betrayed her and she
stumbled off the bench, which tipped over and spent her spilling into the dirt
with another crash.
Amelie’s heart stopped her in chest as she waited in dread for the
guards to come bursting into the stable. Seconds passed as she contemplated her
humiliation and ruin before she heard the shouts of her men. Fortunately, they
had the sense to chase after the fleeing prisoner before investigating the
prison. Their pursuit of the runaway centaur allowed her to pull herself off
the floor. She waddled bowlegged across the room to grab her tunic, and then
slipped back out the window she entered into, leaving a trail of cum splattered
across the floor.
I have to hurry, she thought,
they’ll want to report to me that the
centaur escaped, and I don’t want to be looking like this when they do!
****
The moon’s bright light illuminated the site of the battle, both a
blessing and a curse. The sight of the dead curled her stomach, and made her
clutch her swollen belly protectively, but it also allowed her to avoid
stepping in the gore that littered the field. Elfs and enemy orcs lay where
they fell to rot. The only tending their bodies received after the battle was
to strip them of weapons, armor, and any valuables they might have had.
“What are you going to do when the war is over?”
The question still hurt to think about. Drauken had meant it kindly, to
give her a way out of her situation, but she knew there was no way out. “I will
return to the March, and give my Chieftain strong sons and fertile daughters.”
He had approached her before he departed their camp, looking to extend
hope. It was gallant of him, she
decided, but not realistic. He had lived
his life in a Kingdom with a mixture of orcs and humans, and just doesn’t
understand what life is like in the human kingdoms. Brigitte’s jaw clenched
as she stepped around a fallen body. It
will be his undoing, but that doesn’t mean we can’t use him to win this war.
“You’ve done a brave thing, Your Highness, and you should be proud.
You’re a hero!” Drauken insisted. “Wouldn’t you like to go home again?”
“This is my home now.” He just
doesn’t understand, she thought, he’s
spent too much time in Zentara. I cannot return home with an orc child. “I
pledged myself to Chief Markoz. I am his.” Brigitte held up her hand to stall
his protest. “I knew I would never return before I left Megdis. This was my
choice, Master Drauken.”
A scream cut through the night, but only briefly before it was silenced
again. In the distance, the ever present din of shouts, clashes, and the hiss
of flames continued unabated. Light from the flickering fires mixed with the
silvery rays from the moon, unveiling in even greater grisly details the
aftermath of Markoz’s horde’s attack on Trogar’s forces.
“If you can’t go home, you could come to Zentara, live in Ruar as the
royal ambassador. You’ve lived among orcs, who better to negotiate with them?
You don’t have to return to the March.”
He had seemed so earnest, for a moment he reminded her of her late brother.
She pushed that away quickly, before it led to the horror of his dying beneath
a castle of rubble. Brigitte had been tempted by Drauken’s offer, but only a
little. She had no interest in being an ambassador, and despite her experiences
knew she wasn’t suited for the role of flowery language and false compliments.
“I want to return to the March. I belong to Chief Markoz, and that is
my place now.”
I am his, and this, this is mine,
she thought, looking out upon the flaming ruin that was Shropfordshire. After
Trogar had been put to flight the orcs moved quickly to sack the city.
Shropfordshire was a trade city, the first major settlement caravans from the
March would pass through. It hadn’t been threatened in war since Zentara was
founded. Even during the First Rebellion when the old Duke of Haverset turned
against Jeanette the fighting had never reached the city. It didn’t have any
defenses to speak of, and most of the Duchy’s levies had either joined one of
the Royal armies or fought alongside Trogar’s forces.
Screams continued to ripple through the night around her, riding the
wafts of smoke drifting through the air. They grew louder as she approached
Duchess Susannah’s manor house, and when she entered the town square the harsh
reality of the conflict was laid bare. The bodies of the remaining townsmen
were piled in the center, with blood and bile pooling around them in a perverse
moat. All around the periphery their women were being defiled, claimed as war
prizes by the rampaging orcs.
This is what I have wrought.
Brigitte thought of her brother again, and her heart hardened. She continued
on, stepping around a young woman and the pack of orcs ravishing her. Further
along one of the chiefs was finishing another maiden, and even as the orc’s
seed gushed from between her legs she tried to cover herself modestly.
A sudden breeze lifted her loincloth, allowing the cool air to caress
her own naked sex. A high pitch giggle slipped from her lips as she recognized
her own nearly naked state for the first time in weeks. I don’t even think of it anymore, she thought, and in time, neither will she.
Brigitte straightened her gaze and focused on the Duchess’ manor. Its
red doors were splintered and broken open during the initial rush into the
building. The lords of Haverset had once had a stout keep that might have
offered Susannah succor even as the city burned, but it had long been
dismantled, the stone sold off and replaced with a more luxurious manor.
“Alright, Your Highness” Drauken had finally said, “but if it gets to
be too much, if you change your mind, send word to me and I will make sure you
get home.” The orc merchant had left after that, leaving her behind with the
horde while he returned to Ruar.
With luck he’ll soon have the
Queen in custody. She found her chief in the great hall, surrounded by a
growing pile of the Duchess’ treasure. Susannah herself was with him, looking
frazzled and tired, but otherwise unharmed. Her
age protects her maybe, or her potential for ransom. Steel glinted in her
eyes as she looked at Jeanette’s dear friend.
Markoz stood tall beside the Duchess, holding her by the arm and
looking every bit the conquering hero. His armor was scarred, but nowhere had
it been pierced. His bloody axe sat behind him next to a chest of treasure, a
stark contrast to the narrow, jeweled, blade sticking out the top.
“My chief, congratulations on your great victory. The plunder looks to
be immense,” Brigitte lifted a gold necklace from a chest and rolled it through
her fingers before dropping it again, “as I said it would be.” Brigitte smiled
tightly as Susannah glared at her.
“This is your doing? Who are you, traitor? How could you turn over our
city to this horde?”
Brigitte laughed harshly. “The effrontery of a Zentaran to accuse me of
that is astounding. I am Brigitte, once Princess of Sandora, now, a slave to
Chief Markoz.” Brigitte’s heard pounded faster as anger and excitement flushed
through her body. “And I am paying you in the same coin you’ve given the rest
of the Western Kingdoms.”
Susannah paled, but just for a moment before laughing bitterly. “Is
this a stratagem to you then? Well, it will gain you nothing. Even the gold and
silver you’ve taken will be returned and the blood too. You may have won here,
but your war is already lost.”
“I don’t think so. Across every Kingdom your armies are reeling. The
true King of Heste has defeated Belkor. Trogar has been put to flight, and
Grotok is being bled white by the Queen of Thesta. It is only a matter of time
before your Queen and her sons collapse.”
Silence reigned for a moment, before an even louder laugh erupted from
the captive Duchess. “Is that what you believe? How long have you been with
these orcs? King Belkor has slipped passed Henry and threatens Dromstadt.
Prince Augras’ Minotaurs are ravaging the Catabrian Tribes, and listen closely
to this, once Princess of Sandora, your army has been destroyed in battle.
Prince Augras struck them down with his magic. Now nothing protects the
heartland of your Kingdoms.”
Brigitte’s throat closed at the news. She could see the truth of it
written all over Susannah’s face. But
what of Amelie she wondered. If she
is still in the field, the war isn’t over. Henry hasn’t lost yet either, he
defeated them once, he can do it again!
Susannah turned to Markoz, “It is not too late, Chief. Ransom me back
to Queen Jeanette, she will pay for me I promise you. Do that and I will ensure
that your people aren’t hunted through the Angrian March. Once all the Western
Kingdoms are united the March will no longer be safe for you.”
Brigitte saw a moment’s hesitation flicker across Markoz’s face and
knew she had to act. Without thinking her hand found the hilt of the jeweled
dagger and drew it from its sheath. The stiletto blade sunk into Susannah’s
stomach just below her sternum. The Duchess’ eyes widened in shock even as
Brigitte stuck her again, and again. Blood coursed over her hand and dripped
onto the floor as life drained from the later Duchess. I am no longer a Princess Brigitte thought, I belong to the orcs now.
