The Trials Of Dara Firebird Ch 04

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

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Dara groaned as she awoke. The last thing she remembered was kicking Bruno's bloody head into the bushes. After that…nothing. Her memory slowly came back to her, while at the same time she became aware of her surroundings. Her head and face throbbed painfully as she slowly rolled and bounced, the motion causing her to feel slightly nauseous. Opening her eyes, all she saw was the side of a horse's neck and the edge of a well-oiled saddle. The pungent smell of horse and leather assaulted her senses, and she held back a retch.

Cool air wafted across her posterior, and in horror, she realized she was naked and bound face down over a saddle. A rough, calloused hand stroked one of her pert cheeks, and behind her she heard a deep, bass chuckle.

"Awake now, my sweet? I'm sorry I had to knock you out, but it made throwing you over my saddle and tying you up so much easier." The voice was rich and deep and educated, yet spoke with a lethal knife edge that warned her that this was a dangerous man.

The hand continued its soft stroking, and Dara gasped as he slid a couple fingers down between her legs. To her horror and chagrin, she was already sopping wet. Apparently he had been playing with her for quite some time before she had awakened. His light but demanding touch sent shivers cascading up and down her nude body.

"You are most responsive. Your body quivers at my touch, even while you are asleep. If you show this much promise while tied over my saddle, you should be quite the hot vixen in my bedroll tonight."

Dara groaned in resignation. Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Although this fire seemed a bit more…intriguing…than Bruno or Olaf ever hoped to be.

Trying unsuccessfully to keep his deliciously probing fingers at the back of her mind, she craned her neck to try to see her captor's face. Dara pleaded, "Please sir, if you are any kind of gentleman, you will untie me and let me go," she went on, a plan hatching in her thoughts, "I am on my way with a message to Father Remarkus at High Reach, and must not be delayed any further."

At the words High Reach, the man stiffened, and the stroking hand stopped its damnable action.

Behind her, the words came out as a soft hiss, "What message to Father Remarkus?"

"That is between me, and the Father himself, and none of your concern, ruffian."

"Ruffian?" he chuckled, "I haven't been called a ruffian since I was eight years old and caught stealing sweetmeats from the kitchen staff…but that is a story for another day. Do you know Father Remarkus, young lady?" The hand once again began its soft, agonizingly pleasurable stroking.

"May I at least see the face of my

savior

" Dara asked, sarcastically accenting the last word.

"Tell you what. If you take an oath that you will not try to escape my evil clutches, I will untie you and allow you to ride sitting upright."

Dara paused. Oaths were terrible and mysterious, and oathbreakers often lived to rue their actions.

With a deep sigh, Dara whispered, "I swear on the grave of my mother that I will not attempt to escape. Now please, ruffian, untie me and let me sit up before I spew!"

With two deft slices of a sharp, glittering dagger, the man cut through the bonds holding her hands and feet. He then effortlessly lifted her up and spun her around so that she was sitting on the saddle facing him, her long naked legs straddling his muscular thighs.

Her eyes widened and she gasped as she gazed upon his face. He was ruggedly handsome in a roguish, careworn sort of way. His hair was black as night, and hung down across his forehead, with the back pulled into a short swordsman's tail. His deep set eyes were as black as his raven hair and burned into her soul. His face was lined and craggy and deeply tanned, his lips thin and cruel. His sharp, patrician nose was slightly crooked, as though it had been broken in the past and never set correctly. He had shaven recently, but was still scruffy, his strong jaw line dark with shadow. Over one eye a nasty, puckered scar sliced through an eyebrow, giving him a scowling demeanor.

He slowly looked her up and down, salaciously taking in her beautiful slim figure, pert, rosy-tipped breasts, long golden locks, and finally, her wet, moist pussy surrounded by a tuft of thick golden hair.

He was impossibly broad, clad in a black leather hauberk and leather studded shoulder braces. Looking down, Dara stifled a scream as she saw his breeches were unlaced, and his manhood stood tall and proud and impossibly stiff, and lustfully pointed at her wet loins.

He cupped both her cheeks and lifted her up, "There, there, my dear. You took an oath not to escape."

His long, thick cock slid into her like a hot knife into butter. He slipped into her deeply, their coarse pubic hair mingling; for a few moments he just held her down, his cock nestled deep in her womanhood. The gentle rolling of the horse's gait jounced her slowly up and down on his shaft, making her gasp and shudder. His rough, calloused hands reached around and cupped her cheeks, stroking and kneading.

She groaned into the crook of his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. She could feel his thick, hard manhood sliding in and out, up and down, reaching places she never knew existed.

"That's it, lass, just ride it out, ride it out. You're safe with me, I won't let anything happen to you." His voice was deep and soothing, the words softly whispered into her ear. His arms pulled her into his broad, strong chest, strong hands still roughly clutching her cheeks, helping to slide her up and down on his hot, hard manhood.

With a heavy sigh of resignation, Dara circled her arms behind his head and sobbed into his neck. For several minutes they rode along, their bodies pressed against each other, her steamy sex freely dripping juices as she slowly slid up and down. She felt a strange sensation from deep in the core of her being, and as her first ever climax thunderously poured through her, all worries momentarily washed away. She shuddered and twitched and gasped as she came, and felt his fat cock head throb inside her.

"Oh, you are amazing, lass. Your pussy is like a molten vice on me. I can't…hold…on…much…longer," he groaned through clenched teeth.

Dara softly kissed his scratchy cheek and trailed her tongue up his face and gently licked his earlobe. "Come for me! Come for me now…yessssss, don't hold back!"

Dara felt a heady rush again as another, deeper, longer climax crashed through her. She felt his cock impossibly expand inside her, and his hot come gushed into her womb. They both moaned long and hard as the soft bouncing of the horse's casual saunter thrust their hot sexes against each other.

Dara snuggled into his chest, breathing in the heady aroma of leather and the intoxicating scent of male sweat. She sighed and fell asleep, feeling safe for the first time in over six long years, his manhood still firmly ensconced in her tight, wet sheath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She awoke much later next to a roaring fire, curled up in a tight ball, wrapped in thick blankets. Night had fallen, and a cold breeze nipped at her exposed nose. Humming a deep, melodious tune, her captor/savior sat on an upturned log and held two stick-speared coneys hissing and sizzling over the blaze. Her mouth watered and she sat up in the blankets.

"Why am I still naked?" she asked quietly.

"Because I plan to sheath my sword in that glorious cunny of yours again, my sweetling," he replied matter-of-factly.

"Oh." Dara cast her eyes to the ground. She should have been planning her next escape, figuring out how to slip away from this ruffian, yet part of her yearned for his soft touch.

Instead she asked, "Where is my blade? And my leathers?"

He thrust his chin toward the edge of camp, "over there. Don't worry, I'm not a thief. A ruffian perhaps, but no thief." He smirked impishly as he said this, and she recalled her words before they…made love.

He laid a seared coney on a plate before her, and placed a jar of hot spiced honey mead on the ground beside it.

"Eat up. We need to talk. Tell me about this message to Father Remarkus in High Reach."

Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, Dara sat up and began to eat ravenously, using her hunger to give her time to think about her answer. She took a long pull of mead, and smiled inwardly as it warmed her from the inside.

Perhaps it was the delicious food, or possibly the strong mead, but she decided to give him her tale, holding back nothing.

"I was born the daughter of a mercenary and a chandler. My father died fighting for the king – the new one, the usurper. After his death my mother started a chandlery. We did well for a time, but then she fell ill and died." Dara paused to collect herself.

"Her dying words to me were to go to High Reach and seek out someone named Father Remarkus. She said he would recognize me, and that he would help me." She said these last words with disdain, as if it were a cruel joke. "Until I met you, I didn't even know if there really was a Father Remarkus. I just figured my mother was hallucinating in her last dying moments."

The man's eyes narrowed, and then widened. He leaned back and looked at her with his piercing eyes – really looked at her. He took in her long, beautiful golden hair, her heart-shaped impish face and upturned pug nose, and then he sat back against the tree stump.

"There really was a Father Remarkus. He was Cardinal during King Le'Pheonix's reign. He and Daggar were thick as thieves, the two of them plotting together on how to expand the kingdom. Unfortunately, Le'Phoenix's wife was unable to give him children. Daggar spread his seed far and wide, hoping to sire a bastard son or daughter. The latest rumor is that he did father a babe – a son – and that Remarkus hid the child among the commoners. Rolf the Red will stop at nothing to find the boy and have him flayed alive."

He paused in thought for a moment, then went on with his story. "Remarkus went into hiding; it is said that he became a mountaintop hermit, giving up all of his former life to live a simple existence – just he and the gods. Last I heard, Rolf found him, and even now is torturing him for information about the mysterious bastard."

He stopped and stroked his chin pensively. "A child of Daggar Le'Phoenix could lay claim to the throne, upsetting the usurper and his cronies."

Dara's wide piercing blue eyes flashed and her delicate brow furrowed. "How do you know so much about the old king and his court?"

"Because I was there, girl. I was captain of Daggar's honor guard. The day Rolf had him killed was my last day as a man of honor. I failed my king that day. Back then I was known as Captain Straticus. Today I am simply known as Black Jack."

He held his hands out wide in front of him and smiled viciously, "Welcome to the black forest bandits, my dear."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Far away in cold, dark High Reach, a man sat astride a huge stone throne. On his cruel brow perched a heavy crown of bejeweled gold. A plump, young, short-haired blonde girl rode his turgid cock, facing away from him, panting as she bounced up and down on his hardness, her sweaty naked body glistening with sweat. Between their spread legs kneeled another naked young girl, this one with long shiny brunette hair, her mouth and tongue fervently trying to keep up with their movement.

"Lick me balls, wench. Get em nice and wet." His voice was deep and gravelly, and commanded her with an edge that bespoke power and dire consequences if he was not pleased.

She frantically licked his hanging scrotum, sucking first one, then the other into her hot mouth.

The blonde girl squealed as she bounced, her heavy breasts jiggling up and down. He reached a mailed hand around and pinched one, hard, tweaking her nipple with strong, swordman's fingers.

"Keep bouncing wench – I'm almost there. Fuck me through to the end now – don't stop. You there, down on yer knees – lick up all my seed, you hear?"

The girl looked up, juices dripping off her chin. "Yes, Milordship, I will." She resumed her frantic licking, this time her tongue lapped up along the man's bobbing shaft and into the blonde girl's wet folds, lingering and dancing wetly on her hard, engorged clitty.

With an animal grunt and a slap to the blonde girl's ample arse, the man thrust upwards, humping wildly. The blonde girl whimpered and sped up her bounces, feeling his hot seed pumping and gushing up into her. Between their legs, the brunette lapped eagerly at the steamy pussy lips. Hot come poured out the sides and dripped down his prick. She licked and slurped it up, lathing his balls with her hot tongue.

He shuddered and twitched, his cock plopping out of the blonde girl. The brunette eagerly sucked it deeply into her throat and drained it of any remaining seed, then ran her tongue up into the wet, come-streaked folds of pussy.

With a loud smack, he pushed the blonde off his lap and called for his flagon of wine. "Damnation, that was good. Go get yerselves some food, and come back later this evening."

The two girls scurried off, their naked asses jiggling merrily. As they left the throne room, they screamed in fear at the sight of someone else entering.

A man stepped into the room and bowed deeply. He was small, dark and wiry, his head shaven completely bald, and covered in dark, mysterious tattoos. His eyes were cold and cruel and stared balefully out from under thick, shaggy eyebrows. He wore a leather apron, stained with blood and spattered with wet chunks of gore. In his right hand he held a blood-soaked corkscrew.

"Mi Lord, Remarkus has finally seen the error of his ways…"

Rolf blanched and held a mailed fist up to his nose. "Get on with it then, Spector. What did he say?"

Spector's voice was a soft rattling hiss, like a viper slithering across a pile of human skulls. "He wishes me to let you know that Le'Phoenix's bastard is…a girl. And that she lives with her adopted mother and father near Castle Olafson."

Rolf pounded his fist down on the throne's great stone arm. "Ah-HA. A frigging girl. All this time we've been looking fer a miserable male child. Go. Take captain Bale and some of me blood guard and find this wench. I don't care what it takes. Torch the whole miserable town and string up Olaf if ye need to. Find this girl and bring her to me." His voice was soft and edged with malice. "I'm going to spear this loathsome bastard girl's arse with me kingly cock and spin her like a fool's top on me lap."

Spector smiled evilly and backed out the door, his fingers absentmindedly smearing bloody circles on his leather gore-spattered apron.

THE END

Part 5 coming soon…