The Taming of a Princess

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sex.

*****

Once upon a time, a raiding party of Viking warriors fell upon a small Romany encampment along the coast of what would eventually become southern France. All who resisted were slaughtered, and the King of the Gypsies offered up His youngest daughter [LITEROTICA REQUIRED EDIT: SHE WAS EIGHTEEN] to the Viking warlord to save His own head. The journey back to the Norsemen's kingdom was some 400 miles, by open long boat and on foot, and the princess was chained to a long line of other slaves by an iron band riveted around her graceful neck. Yet even when she arrived at the Viking settlement, her once-elegant clothes in tatters, still she carried herself with the dignified bearing of royalty.

These Norsemen were not only fierce warriors, they were also fearless explorers who built fine ships able to cross the widest seas, and their village, at the end of a deep, narrow fjord, ringed on three sides by tall mountains, was a tidy grid of thatch-roofed, timber-framed longhouses set on sturdy stone foundations and warmed against the late season chill by huge open hearths, protected and presided over by an imposing stone castle. They wore not only wool from their sheep but also fine linens plundered from Ireland and silks traded along the Baltic coast, and they drank wine pressed from grapes plucked in France and Spain.

Their leader was a veteran of many such voyages of conquest, at 55 an old Man whose encounters with foreign cultures had taught Him many ways beyond might alone to achieve His ends. He was wise and just, respected and feared, benevolent to the innocent and merciless to the guilty.

A connoisseur of both horses and women, it was the King's privilege to take His pick of each after a successful raid. As the slaves were led down the gangplank to the shore, He inspected the promising ones - pushing back their matted hair to see the color of their eyes, lifting their filthy rags to assess their legs, examining their teeth to estimate their age and general health. The young and strong of limb were always desirable - there were fields to be tended, fuel to be gathered and sheep to be shorn - but if they were also fair of face and figure, they were sure to become personal servants to His Majesty, at least for a time.

Even after weeks at sea, the young princess' poise and posture as she strode down the gangplank immediately caught His Royal eye, and so her chains were struck off and she was taken with several others to His castle. Great oaken tubs bound with iron bands overflowed with soapy water, made steaming hot by fire-heated rocks dropped in by the scullery maids. Most of the other captives were confused and frightened, unfamiliar with the ritual of bathing, but the princess needed no persuasion to strip off her reeking clothes and allow herself to be thoroughly scrubbed and perfumed.

Most of the other girls were issued simple tunics and assigned to quarters near their duties, but the princess and a few others were led away to an antechamber protected by two eunuchs. The room glittered with exotic jewels and luxurious fabrics. Two handmaidens exchanged the princess' simple linen shift for a diaphanous silk taffeta bodice and leggings made of the same fluttery soft, gauzy fabric, open along the sides. She was adorned with necklaces, bracelets and earrings. A heavy line of soot mixed with animal fat was laid along the edges of her eyelids with a slim reed, red ochre brushed on her lush lips. She was led through another door flanked by two more eunuchs into the King's harem, where no Man save the King might enter. An enormous fire danced on the raised stone hearth in the center of the room, staining the thick timbers of the roof shiny black around the smoke hole far above. The King's wives and concubines lounged on the wide, goose down couches covered in thick cushions of cashmere and mink which encircled the room. Flickering oil lamps in the corners illuminated heavy tapestries covering the walls. A slave girl offered the princess a bunch of grapes while another filled her goblet with wine.

"Take my advice, eat and drink all you can, sweetie," said an older woman without looking up from her needlework. "His Majesty always calls for the new girl."

"The Romany girl from Gaul, Your Majesty," the guard announced before closing the heavy door of the King's chamber behind the princess.

"Come here by the fire, child. Let Me have a good look at you."

Although young, the princess was not cowed by this barbarian King. She sized Him up just as He was sizing her up.

"Look at you! Can't be more than twenty. And so fair! Nature has blessed you in other ways too, I see," said the King, helping Himself to a paw full of the princess' fine, firm young tit, jutting proudly through her wispy garment.

"I'm not some strumpet for Your amusement!" cried the princess. "My father is also a great King. I shall be treated with respect."

"Your father the 'great King' still lives only because His death would not serve Me as well as the life of His daughter might. You would do well to remember that, lest I change My mind. And the only 'respect' you'll get here will be that afforded any of My concubines. At best."

But the headstrong princess continued to struggle and resist, so the King twisted her delicate wrist very carefully and very painfully behind her back.

"I could break it if I wanted to. But I prefer to leave your bones intact. It's only your spirit that needs breaking."

The King pushed her past an arras concealing a narrow, winding stone stair. Down they went, past a series of dungeon cells to a heavy iron-bound door at the end of the cellblock. The torture chamber.

"Down. On your knees. On. Your. Knees!"

Powerless to resist, the princess sank to the rough stone floor. At last, the King released His agonizing twist on the princess' wrist, only to lift it above her head and secure it in a shackle suspended from the ceiling. This was affixed to a long iron bar with another shackle at the other end, in which the princess' other wrist was soon restrained.

"Now ... let's get a proper look at you."

He untied her bodice and fondled her fine, firm young breasts with obvious approval.

"Stop!" she cried.

*SMACK!*

The princess was stunned. No one had ever before dared to strike her. The blow stung like angry hornets and would have swept her off her knees had she not been chained to the ceiling. He grabbed her by an eye-watering fistful of her long, dark hair and hissed:

"Do you think you're the first princess to be taken as a prize of war? Do you think you're the first one who resisted? They ALL did."

The King fastened the princess' ankles in shackles affixed to each end of another iron bar while she was still woozy.

"I'm going to let you in on a little secret: the more they resist, the more I enjoy it!"

*SPLASH!*

The King threw a bucket of freezing cold water in her face, soaking her from head to toe. She spluttered and shivered in the cold, damp dungeon as He slowly circled His captive prey.

"To me, you're just another cheap Gallic whore whose only function is to please Me, understand, 'Your Highness'?"

*SWAT!*

A new red welt rose on the princess' lovely young face, and her ear rang with the blow.

He untied her leggings and let them fall to the floor.

"Well, would you look at that! I'd heard the young tarts in Gaul had taken to shaving their cunts. Makes you look like a little girl. His Majesty approves!"

The King thrust His thick, rough fingers inside her.

"You're shivering as though you're cold, but you feel warm enough to Me," He leered. "I've also heard little French demimondaines now like to make love with their faces."

"I'm no whore, I'm a princess of the Royal Romany blood!"

"You're a goddamn little bitch from Gaul with a bald pussy. Gypsy or French, I'm sure by now a tramp who keeps her cunt groomed to the latest fashion who was blessed by Zeus with a mouth as pretty as yours has learned everything there is to know about using it on a Man's organ."

"I swear I don't, and I won't!"

"You don't? You won't? Oh, but your King says you do. And so you shall."

"Never!"

"Trust me, princess: you'll be BEGGING Me to fuck that pretty young face of yours before this night is over."

The King selected just the right fresh cut willow twig from a basket: neither too thick nor too thin, not too long and not too short.

*SWISSH-CRACK!*

The King softened the switch by smashing it against a heavy wooden table. The princess shuddered at the fearsome sound. The King flexed the twig, then gave it another blow.

*SWISSH-CRACK!*

Satisfied, He walked slowly around the princess.

"Whatever you once may have been, here you're just your father's ransom paid in flesh, a pretty little Gallic cock sheath, a fine new French whore, and you live only to pleasure His Majesty's cock."

*SWISSH-CRACK!*

A thin, searing-red line of fiery pain burned itself into the princess' firm young bottom.

"That pretty little smart mouth no longer belongs to you. It's Mine."

*SWISSH-CRACK!*

The princess howled as a second stripe of deep, burning agony spread across her pretty ass.

"This little pussy that has never borne a child?"

*FLICK!*

"It's Mine too."

*SWISH-FLICK!*

The princess jerked helplessly against her bonds as a smaller stripe painted her smooth shaven mound of Venus.

"These tits that have never given suck?"

*FLICK! FLICK!*

"Also Mine."

*SWISH-FLICK!* *SWISSH-CRACK!*

Each of her fine, pale breasts was now crossed by a dark, angry red slash of pure agony. She shivered and whimpered, which only served to amuse the King.

"That's it! Fight it, girl! I love it when dumb little fucking sluts like you try to be brave."

*SWISSH-CRACK!* *SWOOSH-CRACK!*

Two more seams of white-hot pain shot across the princess' delicate young tits.

"More? You say you want more? Whose tits are these, you stupid fuckin' French cunt?"

*SWOOSH-FLICK!* *SWISSH-SMASH!*

*FLICK! FLICK! FLICK!* *SWAT! SWAT! SWAT!*

These softer, staccato blows directly across each of the princess' pale pink nipples made her writhe in her bonds.

"Say it, you dumb little fuckin' whore! Whose tits are these?"

The King lifted each ripe young udder in turn by its burning nipple.

*SWATT!*

"Owww!"

If the thin, flexible willow switch was agony crashing down on the upper surface of the princess' ample bosoms, it was twice as excruciating striking up at the tender flesh beneath.

*SWATT! SWATT! SWATT!*

"Aaaah God help me!"

"Yes, that's it, scream, bitch! Scream your fool whore's head off. There isn't anyone coming to save you."

The King took a firm handful of the princess' left melon.

"Now, let's try again: whose tit is this?"

"Let me go!"

*SMACKK!*

Her head jerked with the blow; the princess tasted a warm, salty trickle of her own blood in her mouth, and her eyes began to well with tears.

"Wrong answer. Again: who does this big fuckin' teenage bosom belong to?"

*SWISSH-CRACK!*

"Aaaah! You, Your Majesty! It's Your tit! Oh, God. Oh my God!"

"Yes, now we're getting somewhere. I hope you're enjoying this as much as I am, your Highness!"

"Fuck you!"

"Ha ha ha! And so you shall. All in good time, princess: all in good time. Again: whose little Gypsy bitch's teats are these?"

"Yours, Majesty!"

"Good, very good! And this little bald teenage Gallic cunt? Whose is this?"

"I hate You!" sobbed the princess.

"That's the spirit!"

Again the King stuffed His rough, calloused fingers into the princess' tiny young womanhood.

"My, doesn't it seem a little small? And awfully hot? I think I have just what you need ..."

The King donned a heavy leather glove and reached into a large box lined with straw and woolen blankets. He pulled out an enormous icicle, as long and pointed as a sword.

"No, I think that might be a little TOO big, even for a little Romany French whore like you."

The King smashed half the length of the icicle against the table, spraying the shivering princess with tiny shards of ice. He dunked and swished the jagged stump of ice in a bucket of water until He was satisfied.

"Ever wonder what it's like to get fucked by a frost giant? You're about to find out."

With that, the King stabbed the poor princess right in her tight young pussy with the thick wand of ice. It was nearly as stout as a Man's wrist, as smooth and hard and cold as steel. He stuffed and shoved and twisted the giant ice dildo in and out of her helpless, unfucked young cunt until her knees were shaking.

"Oh God, it burns, it BURNS! Please STOP!"

"Burns, you say? We'll soon take care of THAT."

The King threw another dipper full of icy cold water on the shivering princess, the relentless heat of her tiny cunt melting away at the icicle until, at last, it fell to the floor. She sobbed.

"This ridiculous little bald French beaver: who does it belong to?"

"Fuck you! Let me go! I hate you!"

"Yesss ... I know. But there's something that YOU should know: I. Don't. Care!"

Again the King violated the princess with the thick, smooth stump of ice, raping her tender young pussy with the thick, transparent shaft.

"So pink inside, pretty as a flower! I think that I should like to have this poxy little Gypsy girl's pussy for Myself. Whose pussy is this, princess?"

"Aaaaah! Your pussy! It's Your pussy, Sire! Please stop! Oh God, it hurts!"

"Why yes; I'm sure it does. Once again, whose big teenage tits are these?"

"Yours, Majesty!"

"And this ... this silly little shaved Gypsy cunt?

"Yours! It's Yours, Sire!"

"Excellent! Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No, Majesty."

At long last, the King withdrew the frigid spear which had stretched the young girl's pussy almost to bursting. The princess' teeth chattered and she sagged against her manacles as her shaking knees gave way.

"And this pretty young mouth, with its saucy little tongue. They belong to ...?"

"I don't know what you've heard, Sire, but I could never do that. For any Man."

"You'll do it and like it. For Me and, for any other Man I might tell you to."

"I'd sooner die."

"Don't for one moment think that's not also an option," hissed the King in her ear, lifting her by her dark, straight hair until her knees left the floor. "I have fifty warriors who at this moment are getting gloriously drunk after months at sea. I could summon them here and tell them 'Teach this Gaul whore a lesson,' and they'd love me for it. You'd be dead before sunrise. Did you not see what happens to young tramps who aren't fortunate to be taken as spoils of war?"

The princess shuddered: in fact, her own Lady in Waiting had lain unconscious, bleeding from internal injuries and near death after she was taken, screaming, from her court by the raiders. Only her Father's pleading had spared the princess from a similar fate.

"Please, Your Majesty," she pleaded. "Upon my life I know nothing of this lovemaking with the mouth, or indeed anything of what may happen in the whorehouses of Gaul."

The King grabbed her by the throat, crushing the breath out of the princess with His large, strong hand.

"Most ignorant young sluts so free with their little tongues would have them cut out," He snarled. "Best you'd find a reason for Me to let you keep yours, My lovely. Now quit pretending you're a good little girl, open your mouth and show Me how a fashionable young French trollop makes love with it!"

The King stood before her, unbuckled His belt, and dropped His leggings. Even flaccid, He had a well-formed cock: neither too long nor too short, not too thick or too thin. Bruised and humiliated, in spite of herself the princess was also aroused by Him. Although more than thirty years her senior, the King was still a powerful warrior, with the lean, muscular legs, big balls and strong, straight cock of a much younger Man. His searing blue eyes and blonde beard tinged with grey stirred half-forgotten longings in her, childhood fantasies about being spirited away by a strong, handsome horseman from the north.

"These lips: ripe, thick, soft, young," said the King, handling her face roughly, as if inspecting the teeth of a horse or hunting dog. "Use them well. And this dainty little pink tongue. But these teeth: straight, hard and sharp. Guard Me from them at all cost or by Thor I'll make you regret it."

But the princess, defiant to the last, pursed her lips firmly when the King at last released his grip on her throat.

*SMACKKK!*

She saw a blinding white flash, felt a new wave of searing pain in her numbed, swollen cheek, and sagged against her shackles. It was only when the princess startled back from nearly passing out that she realized why she couldn't breathe: the King's rough, vein-gnarled hand was again clutched tight around her pretty neck.

"Open up, you little fucking trollop!" He growled. "And be careful: that's the Royal sceptre you're polishing. Any nicks, scratches or grazes will be taken out of your soft young hide."

The King forced His still-growing manhood into her helpless mouth. Cradling the princess' head almost tenderly in His strong arms, He pushed it deep, and just left it there, letting it stretch and swell and widen and grow until it reached her soft palate, making her gag. The poor young girl retched, but He retreated only a couple of inches before driving in again, choking her once more.

"Oh my yes; that is quite nice, now, isn't it? Extraordinary how that tiny little opening at the very back of your throat grabs the head of My cock, and twitches as you gag."

The King was so fascinated by this new discovery He seemed genuinely oblivious to the princess' distress: she was barely able to keep her food and wine down and gulp in sharp, wheezing breaths of air between thick, throat-filling thrusts of Viking cock, but He fucked her poor, helpless throat just as He pleased, pulling her down onto His turgid shaft with thick fistfuls of her dark, luxuriant hair.

At last, the princess was unable to control her coughing and gagging and one of her incisors fleetingly glided against the King's relentlessly thrusting shaft. He yanked His pole from her gasping mouth, held her by the hair with one hand and spanked her face with His tumescence for emphasis, as if scolding a misbehaving dog:

"No! Teeth! On! The! Royal! Shaft!"

*SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!*

The princess spluttered and sobbed. Tears streaked her dark eye liner down her reddened cheeks. Drool mixed with the King's juices dripped from her helpless chin.

"Forgive me, Sire! It won't happen again!"

"See that it doesn't, you worthless little Gallic fuck-puppet! You aren't the only new young French whore I pulled off the boat, you know. Klan means everything here, and you have no klan. Your father only lives because he gave you to Me. Here you can never be anything but a slave. As a princess I should not have to explain to you the advantages of being a concubine of the Royal harem and not just the newest wench in the tavern.

"If I'm to keep one of you little French girls for Myself, it will be the one who understands that her livelihood depends on WORSHIPING her Sovereign's cock. Her only usefulness is PLEASURING the Royal cock. It is only by SERVING his Majesty's cock with focused, attentive obedience that this little Romany cum bucket will be suffered to live among My other concubines! Now, whose fuckin' mouth is this, you ignorant little French slattern?"

"Yours, Majesty. It's all Yours."

"And what is it for?"

"It is for worshiping and pleasuring His Majesty's Royal cock."

"Very good. Say 'I'm an ignorant little French whore, and my mouth exists only to please and worship the King's Royal cock.'"

"I'm Your ignorant little French whore, Majesty, and my mouth exists only to please and worship Your Royal cock."