Princess (21 page)

She didn't make it, her orgasm just rising as Oklin jammed himself deep one last time and filled her rectum with jism. Immediately she was begging him to stay inside her, and rubbing frantically, only to have him pull out as fast as he could and stick his still rigid erection into the woman's mouth. Iriel was going to come anyway, still rubbing herself as she watched the woman sucking on Oklin's cock, eyes tight in ecstasy, swallowing over and over, then pulling off, to push her face between Iriel's bottom cheeks.

Iriel gasped as the woman's tongue pushed up into her already pulsing anus, to lick and suck at Oklin's jism as it bubbled and squirted from the twitching hole, full into her mouth. The sensation sent Iriel over the edge, into a screaming, gasping orgasm that finished only as the woman pulled back, also spent. Iriel collapsed with a sigh, face down on the floor, bottom still lifted, knees sliding gradually apart on the smooth flagstones. As she opened her eyes again Builard came with a grunt, jism bubbling up over his hand from his still limp penis. For a long moment nobody spoke, Cruisack finally breaking the silence with a cough. Builard responded.

‘Yes, your pay. The two Imperials you may collect from my steward. My nympharium is yours for the night also, should you wish it. Seldom have I known such pleasure, nor, I imagine has my good lady.'

The plump woman nodded, smiled, then spoke.

‘Fine indeed. So now, Oklin, wash yourself and your barbar girl. You may bed her for the night if you wish.'

Oklin responded with a deferential inclination of his head and crossed to the spigot. Iriel stayed where she was, allowing herself to be washed, then led to Oklin's chamber, a mere niche among others in a low, crude extension of the villa in which the slaves were housed. For the remainder of the night she talked, slept and fucked, until at last Cruisack came to fetch her.

Dawn had began to brighten the sky as they left, and the sun was already rising behind Fujome city as they reached the encampment, to find Overman Broidat stood beside the wagon. Cruisack quickly took hold of Iriel's arm as the overseer turned to them.

‘What is this?' Broidat demanded. ‘An escape, or…'

‘An escape,' Cruisack answered hastily. ‘Somehow she forced the lock on the coffle chain. They are strong, these barbars, and perhaps not so stupid as they appear.'

‘Not stupid? To run? Looking as she does? Where did you think to go, slut?'

‘Nowhere,' Iriel answered sulkily, determined to keep her word.

‘What is to be done with her?' Cruisack queried.

‘She must be punished, and severely!'

‘How so? Mark her with worse than a few welts and you will have the Imperials to answer to.'

‘Oh it is easy enough to punish a slavegirl properly without marking her,' Broidat stated. ‘I will teach you to run, slut. Kneel, on all fours.'

Iriel glanced at him, and at Cruisack beyond, who was making frantic facial expressions while holding a spiced sausage half out of his pocket. Iriel sighed but got down, determined to keep her word, against which a spanking and probably another fucking seemed a small thing.

‘Push up your bottom,' Broidat ordered, reaching down to take Iriel by the hair.

He took a firm grip, making her wince in pain even as she stuck her bottom up into spanking position, her cheeks raised and spread. Broidat reached down to touch her, exploring between her cheeks, one finger loitering briefly on her anus before pushing into her cunt.

‘She is slimy,' he remarked. ‘have you fucked her?'

‘Not I,' Cruisack said quickly. ‘Perhaps she was caught by an ape?'

Broidat gave a sceptical grunt but made no further objection, fingering Iriel briefly, cupping the lips of her tuppenny and once more inspecting her anus before he spoke again.

‘Bring down the pot from the wagon'

‘The piss pot?'

‘The piss pot. What other pot is there?'

Cruisack shrugged and went to the rear of the wagon. Taking the heavy pot, he hefted it in his arms and placed it carefully on the ground. Broidat pulled on Iriel's hair, forcing her to crawl forward.

‘What… what do you intend?' she asked.

‘Silence, slut,' he answered. ‘You are to be pot spanked, a punishment I find seldom needs repeating. Get you head over it!'

Realising what was to be done to her she had begun to pull back, heedless of the pain. Broidat merely tightened his grip and moved the pot forward, using his full strength to bring her head over the wide mouth.

‘No!' Iriel babbled. ‘Not this! Not my face! No…'

Her voice broke off in a sticky splash as her face was pushed down hard, right into the pot, her open mouth filling, her eyes closing only just in time. He held her in, bubbles escaping her mouth and nose as she struggled against the grip in her hair, kicking her feet, her hands slapping the ground in useless protest, squirming in his grip. The spanking began, hard swats full across the seat of her bottom, making her cheeks bounce and setting her breasts swinging, to slap in time against the side of the piss pot. Agonising shame and humiliation filled her head, pain too, hot in her lungs as the need to breath grew sharper. His weight was on her neck, trapping her, until she had grown frantic, writhing in desperation, and all the time with her breasts jumping and her bottom bouncing to the slaps.

For a moment her head was pulled up, only to be re-immersed the instant she had caught her breath, so that her mouth filled once more with the contents of the pot. Again the spanking started, harder than ever, setting her kicking and wiggling her bottom about in a futile effort to escape the pain and breaking her fight to hold her breath. Broidat laughed as she began to blow bubbles in the piss, and forced her head deeper into pot, right down, pressing her face to the slimy bottom, still spanking, harder and harder.

Her head was jerked up, urine dripping from her nose and the fringe of her hair, bubbling from around her mouth as she fought for breath, her bottom still jiggling to smacks, but lighter. Again he laughed, and at last the spanking stopped, but only so that he could pull his tunic up to expose his cock, already stiff in erection.

‘There, slut, how does that feel? Will you run again?'

‘No! I swear it!' Iriel babbled.

‘I thought not,' he answered, and pushed her head under again, deep into the pot. ‘Cruisack, hold her head under while I fuck her, deep in, and bring her up only when I say. I like to feel them writhe.'

Cruisack ducked down to take Iriel's head, Broidat got behind her and she was dunked once more, even as her cunt filled with cock. Broidat began to fuck her, his upturned tunic rubbing on her warm bottom, his hands on her cheeks, splaying them to stretch her anus. Cruisack began to splash her face in the urine, then abruptly pushed it deep, laughing as her face went into the night soil.

Iriel broke, the betrayal too much to bear. Hurling herself sideways, her cunt slipped from Broidat's cock even as he came, hot jism spraying her bottom as she rolled. Cruisack leapt back with a curse as the contents of the pot washed over his feet, slipped and went backwards. Broidat rose, his cock still spurting jism as he snatched for his whip, only to fall to Iriel's driven fist as it struck his throat.

She stood, gasping for air, dripping piddle, her head a whirl of emotion, rage and humiliation and self-pity and a desperate desire to be elsewhere. The voices in her head were screaming at her to run, but at her first step she went down, tripped by her hobble, across Cruisack's body. He was limp, his head resting against the iron bound wheel of the wagon, a thin trickle of blood escaping from his scalp. Broidat was down also, clutching at his throat and retching air.

Without further thought Iriel dug her hand into Cruisack's pocket, pulling to spill out the contents, bits of dried meat, sausages, a leather bag, and tied to it, his keys. An instant later her hobble was open, but even as she turned to the wagon angry shouts sounded from across the encampment. For an instant she hesitated, staring at the sleeping Cianna, still chained and helpless, then jerked around as Broidat's hand clasped on her ankle.

‘I'll whip you ragged, you vicious she dog!' he hissed. ‘Make you eat camel dung until we reach Vendjome, have you buggered by horses, stuff your cunt with…'

He screamed as her foot hit his face and rolled back. Then she was running, everything but flight forgotten, across the road and into the vineyard. Yells of anger and demands to stop broke out behind her, soldiers pursuing, across an olive grove, a field of scrub, thorns pricking her bare feet, slowing her, the soldiers gaining, two of them, crying out in triumph as she turned at bay in the mouth of a gorge, to see one, then the other cut down by Aeisla.

Chapter Seven - Vendjome

‘They are not by nature violent,' Aeisla explained, ‘save when threatened, their territory invaded or taken from their natural places. This is difficult, as for best effect the troll must be angry, as was he in Oretes who took Yi.'

Iriel nodded, grimacing as she looked down at the huge lowland troll in the shallow valley beneath them. He was browsing on a feather tree, unaware of their scent with the wind blowing towards them, although she could sense his musk. He was full grown, at least as large as the one in Oretes, and if he seemed passive enough she knew just what he was capable of.

For over a week they had moved down the broad Phaetes valley, keeping to the concealment of the northern escarpment, feeding on grapes, melon and whatever else could be stolen from the fields. At first they had moved due east, eluding pursuit by walking a full league in an irrigation channel and hoping the soldiers would assume they had headed west towards Oretea. It had worked, and beyond Fujome they had turned south once more, shadowing the column of wagons on the Vendjome road, as Aeisla had been since the battle at the Erijome Forts. Now, with Vendjome itself marked by a smoky haze on the eastern horizon, Aeisla had declared the need for a supply of troll's jism to see them through what lay ahead.

Iriel had been half hoping that it would prove impossible to find one of the lumber man-beasts as they walked up into the low, wooded hills that now bordered the Phaetes. They had been lucky, from Aeisla's perspective, finding spore, then catching scent to discover the fine adult male, ideal for their purposes.

‘The art,' Aeisla explained, ‘is to coax, coming to the edge of the territory. He must see you first, creating anger at the intrusion of a human into his territory, then smell you as female to create arousal. They scent tuppenny well, and care little if the tuppenny in question belongs to another troll or a human girl. As you would expect, there is no art to their fucking, the cock goes in, they pump, they come. Having come, they lose all interest and their aggression wains markedly. Yet it is crucial to be ready first, or you risk being split. Thus and so, lick me for a while, then we move somewhat up wind. He sees me, scents me, fucks me. You catch the jism in your jar.'

Iriel nodded, taking the jar from Cruisack's leather bag, which she still carried. It had been stolen from a farmhouse at the dead of night, as had the loose robes they wore. Aeisla lay back, casually spreading her thighs to show off the pink centre of her tuppenny with a large, glossy bump pushing out from among the folds. Iriel giggled nervously as she got down, pressing her face in to lap at Aeisla's sex. Aeisla sighed and began to stroke her breasts, cupping the heavy globes and rubbing her nipples through the material of her robe.

It was not the first time, they having taken comfort in each other's arms each night since Iriel's escape, for warmth and friendship as well as pleasure. Iriel's own tuppenny was quickly in need of attention, but as her licking began to grow urgent Aeisla pulled away.

‘Later, for now I need my juices for the troll. Come.'

She rose carefully, ducked low as they moved along the ridge and down into the valley, all the while keeping careful watch on the troll. He was busy browsing and paid no attention until they had reached the far side of the valley, Iriel now with her stomach fluttering and a heavy lump in her throat, Aeisla tense. The troll looked up, to sniff the breeze and Iriel's trepidation became abruptly stronger as Aeisla pulled her quickly down.

‘He must not scent us,' Aeisla whispered.

‘I scent him,' Iriel replied, wrinkling her nose at the thick troll musk.

‘Strange,' Aeisla commented, ‘so strong and us across the wind, unless…'

She broke off at a bellow from the valley. The troll turned, his face creasing in anger, then the great mouth coming open in a bellow louder even than the other.

‘Two!' Iriel exclaimed. ‘Let us leave, quickly…'

‘No,' Aeisla answered, extending a hand to Iriel's arm. ‘I could not have hoped for more. The elixir is stronger by far when the troll is truly enraged.'

‘But they will tear us to pieces!'

‘Why so? When we fought the guard did you pause to attack the eunuchs?'

‘No, yet…'

‘So it is with trolls. They will fight and the victor will fuck me, providing prime jism.'

She moved forward slowly through the bushes, Iriel following with her heart in her mouth. A narrow stream cut down from the slope of the valley, forming what seemed to be a boundary, as the two trolls stopped at either side, bellowing at each other. They were much of a size, but the newcomer's skin was darker and coarser, shading to near black across his shoulders and on the heavy cranial ridge.

‘Had I money, we might wager,' Aeisla joked in a soft whisper.

Iriel didn't answer, but moved close, pressing herself to Aeisla's side. Quickly Aeisla unfastened her sash, setting her axe to one side, then pulling her robe up over her head. Taking Iriel's hand, she put it to her sex.

‘Keep me warm, no more.'

Iriel began to rub, gently, moving her fingers in the wet flesh of Aeisla's tuppenny. The trolls were still bellowing, neither keen to make a definite move. Her own tuppenny was more in need of attention than ever, and she was trying to tell herself that there was a difference between being ravished by the victor of a fair combat between men and fucked by a troll which just chanced to have fought another. Yet their musk was strong in her nose, pungent, compelling and very male.

‘Slower,' Aeisla gasped suddenly, ‘or you'll make me come.'

‘Sorry,' Iriel whispered, embarrassed at the realisation of just how urgently she had been rubbing.

She slowed, just teasing Aeisla's sex lips but wishing she could do it properly, and with their tongues stuck well up each others holes, also that the trolls would get on with their fight. Her spare hand went to her own tuppenny, sure that it didn't matter if she came when she was not the one due to be fucked, only to be jerked away as a crackle of foliage from behind her. She realised it was a third troll at the same instant it snatched her, lifting her by her robe, screaming, her legs kicking frantically, and screaming louder still as her cunt was unceremoniously stuffed full of troll cock.

Then she was being fucked, held by her robe and by her hair as she was jerked up and down on the huge erection, each stroke jamming painfully deep, to knock the breath from her body and set her breasts bouncing wildly on her chest. Her arms and legs were flailing in empty air, her screams ringing out across the valley, her bottom cheeks slapping firmly to his belly. Shock, pain, terror flooded her mind, then sudden ecstasy as she came, her body tipped over into orgasm from the sheer friction of cock in cunt and the strain on her bump as her entire belly bulged out to a massive explosion of jism inside her.

She was dropped, the huge cock pulling from her hole, to land face down in the soft grass, bottom stuck up in the air, cunt bubbling sperm. As the troll lumbered off, Aeisla quickly clamped the jar in place over Iriel's hole, and was whispering soothing words to her as it filled, only to break off with a curse. Iriel looked up, to find one of the other trolls almost on top of her, a creature half as big again as the one who had fucked her. She scrambled back in terror, but it already had Aeisla, dragged backwards, her bottom put to his crotch and her cunt filled.

The troll began to fuck, Aeisla to grunt and squeal and curse, eyes tight shut, mouth wide and running drool, clutching at the grass with her hands, legs spread wide across the man-beast's huge hips. He came, in moments, deep up her, but still pumping as he pulled free, to soil her bottom and back and hair with thick, cream coloured jism as she collapsed to the ground.

Iriel glanced around, half expecting to see the dark troll, but it had disappeared, crashes from up the valley suggesting that it was in pursuit of the smaller one who had caught her unawares. Quickly she took the jar, putting it to Aeisla's tuppenny just as a thick clot of troll sperm squeezed from the hole and keeping it in place as she scraped up the remainder from her friend's back and buttocks.

‘You see,' Aeisla remarked with a sigh, ‘simple.'

Vendjome lay below them, an enormous city straddling the huge Ephraxis and spreading out across the plain beyond, with many buildings lying outside the walls. Much of it was a vast sprawl of two and three story box shaped buildings, huts and lean-tos, yet the centre alone had to be close to the size of Oretes. There were also fewer towers, and yellow or white stone in place of blue-white, but several buildings were as large or larger than the Palades' palace. One stood out, a vast structure of pinkish stone topped with roofs of turquoise blue and domes of verdigris covered copper. A great plaza fronted it, with broad steps running up to a colonnade.

Elsewhere in the city's heart magnificent arches and colonnades marked many of the grander streets, and most houses were tiled in turquoise or viridian, while other buildings, perhaps temples, showed domes of gold and silver inlay on vermilion tiles. Awnings of bright silk showed in front of many houses, scarlet, lemon yellow, emerald and a dozen rarer colours.

Returning from the valley in which they had been fucked by trolls, they discovered they had missed the column in which the others were held. The land had been growing richer and more populous, making travel risky, so rather than follow the river road they had moved cautiously east among low hills, at first wooded but growing slowly more barren and inhabited only by herdsmen.

On the third day Aeisla had killed a brush pig, its dying squeals alerting the owner, who had fled at the sight of them. Iriel had taken a crude machete from the house, also leather harness straps to make belts and crude necklaces to allow them to activate the troll jism, and sewing materials. Using the bladder from the brush pig, she had made twin purses, into each of which they had poured a measure of the precious sperm before sealing them and inserted each into their tuppennies. That night they had risked a fire in a secluded niche among the rocks and gorged on pork, moving on the next day across ever more broken country.

As they had mounted one ridge no different from any other they had come out over the flood plain of the vast Ephraxis, a river greater by far than the Phaetes. A spur of the hills to the south had allowed them to approach Vendjome itself without venturing down into the rich farmland of the valley, leaving them no more than a league from the bank of the Ephraxis and directly above one of the poorer quarters of the city.

For a long while Aeisla gazed out at the scene without speaking, then raised her arm, pointing.

‘The great pink building somewhat towards the river from the centre is the Imperial Palace. Nearer, roofed in glass, is the Pelucidome, where livestock and slaves are kept prior to auction. There is a great square to the front where the market is held. It is there that the Princess Talithea Mund, Baroness Elethrine Korismund and I were sold. No doubt Kaissia, Cianna and Yi will be also.'

‘Matters may have changed,' Iriel put in. ‘The wagoners stated that we were already Imperial property.'

‘Perhaps this is true of girls taken in war?' Aeisla suggested. ‘We were picked up at a border post as we sought to make our way north on the Ephraxis. No matter, in any event they are likely to end up at the palace, and it is there we must go.'

‘We can not hope to pass unseen in the city,' Iriel answered. ‘Do we surrender ourselves and trust that we are taken into the seraglio?'

‘No, ‘Aeisla answered. ‘I have had my fill of feigning submission to these honourless pygmies, or any others. No army has approached Vendjome in some two thousand years. Thus the defences are slack and designed more to deter thievery and for the collection of taxes than serious purpose. There are tithing points on the docks and at each gate, or I assume each gate. We passed out before hidden in honey jars. To get in we wait for nightfall, cross the river, approach the palace, scale the walls, find the others, slay Aurac and depart.'

‘Now, tonight?'

‘No, it is possible the column has not yet arrived. Kaissia would think me rude if she were to arrive and find Aurac already dead.'

‘No,' Iriel answered, shading her eyes. ‘They are here. Note, on the southern road, a line of wagons leaving the city. The third is Cruisack's. I recognise the awning.'

‘You are certain?'

‘Certain.'

‘Then they are already there. Let it be tonight. Why wait?'

Iriel pulled herself from the boat, a flat punt they had stolen. A single, mid-sized moon hung overhead, gibbous, and providing only enough light to glaze the river with dull pewter. Ahead of her, the narrow streets of Vendjome were sunk in absolute blackness, but the distant light of a cresset cast red gleams on the jetty they had reached.

Aeisla joined her, leaving the punt to drift off into the gentle current of the Ephraxis. Together they slipped into the shadows, robes drawn tight around their bodies. Some way off across the city a mandril called, answered by another, then silence. Moving with their arms extended to touch the rough stonework of the houses, they followed the twisting streets, judging direction by the moon and glimpses of higher buildings at the city's heart. At length they crossed one thoroughfare, then another, broader, at last reaching a jumble of small streets and alleys behind the palace.

‘I have been here before,' Aeisla whispered. ‘Across from us is the palace kitchens.'

‘I can smell.'

‘If we climb to the roof, it is possible to go higher and enter by a window. We escaped from one high up, somewhat to the right, but I am uncertain which. Not that it matters. We enter as we may. Within are corridors, stairs, chambers beyond counting. First we must find the seraglio. I was never taken there, as we escaped first, but it needs must be large and convenient for the Imperial chambers. With the girls free, we seek Aurac's chamber.'