Gwennalyn's Sexual Awaening

Gwennalyn opened her eyes to a wet pressure on her shoulder. Zephyr was standing over her prone form, snuffling at his owner.

"I'm awake," she groaned, rolling over to pat him on the head. She used him as leverage to bring herself to her feet, her sore body complaining.

The sky was streaked with red, the sun setting already.

Damn, I need to get home! I'll miss the feast...

She rooted around for her clothes. Her tunic was torn, but when she fastened her vest over it, the tear was covered. In just a few minutes, she was fully dressed. The burbling of a nearby brook reached her ears, and although she was tempted to go wash up, she knew she needed to get home.

By the time she reached the castle, it was dark. She reached the royal stable, and gave Zephyr to the young stable hand. The guard nodded at her as she slipped into one of the private entrances; she hoped he would not recognize her as the princess.

She reached her room without incident. Deiara was at her sitting room table, tapping her fingers impatiently on the smooth marble.

"Where have you been?!" she asked, hurrying over to Gwennalyn, eyes widening at the state of the princess, face streaked in dirt and sweat, clothes rumpled.

"Long story," Gwennalyn said. "What happened with the feast? Are my parents angry?"

Deiara shook her head. "I told everyone you were feeling ill."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"What happened?" the anxious handmaiden asked.

"I'll tell you later," she said. "Please draw a bath for me."

"Ok. But then I have to head down to the feast, talk to those who you were supposed to charm."

Gwennalyn rolled her eyes. A large part of her was fine with being out so late, since she avoided the dull niceties of the feast.

She headed up the steps to her bedroom. When she pushed open the door, she had to stifle a groan.

"Hello, my love," Lucien said from the sill.

She smiled and curtsied.

"Your handmaiden said you were ill," he said, coming over to her, concern entering his expression at her state.

"I went for a ride," she explained, "they usually help me feel better. Zephyr threw me."

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Just bruised."

Lucien smiled. "Wonderful. Did the ride at least help you feel better?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Perhaps I can help you feel better," Lucien offered.

She shook her head, inwardly groaning again. "No thank you, my love, I need to rest."

Lucien smiled, as if relieved, and headed towards the door.

Gwennalyn watched him go, her husband-to-be moving quickly, as if wanting to leave before she changed her mind. She did not want to marry him, and was certain that he felt the same way. A strange boldness came over her, inspiring her to move after him.

"Lucien?"

He turned, raising an eyebrow. "Yes, my love?"

"As we are to be husband and wife, we need to be honest with each other, yes?"

He nodded. "Yes, my love."

"So I shall ask you a question, and I hope you will be honest: do you want to marry me?"

Lucien hesitated. "It is my duty."

"That does not answer my question."

He hesitated again.

"Be honest," she said, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder, "I will not be offended."

Lucien sighed. "You are very pretty, and charming. But I don't want to marry you."

She smiled. He seemed confused at her reaction.

"I feel the same way," she said. "I am sure some delightful lady would be glad to have you, but I do not want to marry you."

He winced slightly, just enough for her to pick up on it.

"But perhaps a certain love can grow," she continued. "Or at least trust."

"Perhaps," he murmured.

"Good night," she said, patting his shoulder. He nodded, and left, seeming pensive, as if considering what she had told him. Gwennalyn sighed, feeling somewhat better about their future union, that he could at least be honest with her.

She headed to the washroom, where her bath awaited. Steam came off the water, beckoning her in. She quickly disrobed, leaving her clothes off to the side. The soothing warmth teased her soreness as she lowered herself into the water. A few bruises littered her nude body, from the orcs' rough treatment of her. Her mind began to summon the memories, and her body reacted quickly. She bit her lip as her hand met her slit, swollen and leaking globs of orc seed. She had to remind herself that she had to clean up here. Once she was back in her bedroom she could pleasure herself again and again.

Gwennalyn washed up, the warm water and cleansing soap working wonders for her body. After washing off the dirt and sweat, she spent a good few minutes cleaning up her quim. The orcs had put a lot more seed into her than she had thought. She briefly wondered if the white blossom tea worked on orc seed as well as human seed. Once her quim was clean, she took time to relax in the tub. It took a certain amount of restraint to not let her hand wander down to her slit.

After a little while, she climbed out of the tub, wrapping a cloth around herself. She sat next to the tub, giving herself time to dry off. As she reclined, yet again the memories of the day came to her. She remembered the way the orcs treated her, the way they spoke about her like she was some object for them to use. It made her blush, her body warming, and quickly she was reminded of her reaction to their behavior, at the memory of how she had orgasmed multiple times while they defiled her.

Princesses aren't supposed to act like that.

She at least had some solace in the fact that the orcs would just think she was a random woman.

Once dried, Gwennalyn headed back to her bedroom. The clothe hit the floor, and she clambered onto the bed. Her body was less sore, soothed by the warm water, but she could still see various bruises. Her thighs had a few round spots, where her pale skin was stained blue. One wrist had a mottled green spot, and one leg had a round, light-yellow bruise. Despite the ache that radiated from them, they reminded her of her trials with the orcs, of how good she had felt being their plaything.

Her hand drifted down to her slit, brushing across her heaving belly. This time she did not stop the downward trek, only shivering and spreading her legs. Soft sighs spilled from her parting lips as a finger brushed along her lips. That finger took a long time to trace along the slit, collecting the dew that formed there. She shivered, her body reacting to that delicate touch. Gwennalyn closed her eyes, sinking into the silk sheets as her mind replayed her debasement over and over again. The memory of being used like a cheap whore made her body jerk in pleasure. Those thick cocks had possessed her body, filling her mouth, her quim, her ass, reducing her body to a simple tool.

As she stroked her slit, her other hand slid up to her breasts, caressing the heated flesh. She bit her lip as she caught her nipple between two fingers, rolling the straining bud, tweaking it a bit too hard. That quick pain sent more sparks through her body.

The princess pleasured herself, her fingers slipping along her slit. Each movement provoked further sensations, making her squirm on her bed, gasping in the silent room. Her mind was swarmed with the images from not so long ago, of the two orcs fucking her. She imagined what might have happened had she left with them, going wherever they were.

Maybe there would have been more orcs. Maybe they would have fucked me too.

Her back arched as two fingers easily slipped into her cunt. It was dripping, sopping, accommodating another finger as well. The sheets were rumpled by her restless squirming, the assault of pleasure intensifying from her fingers shoving deeper into her channel. She moaned, whipping her head back and forth. Her mind swum, submerged in ecstasy. All she cared about was increasing said ecstasy. It was her world, her body and the pleasure she could provide herself. Of course, this pleasure was nothing compared to that which the orcs had given her, but it was certainly potent, reducing her to a writhing, whimpering wreck.

Her deft fingers twisted in her cunt, brushing along her clutching walls. She jerked, gnashing her teeth as the pleasure mounted. It felt so delicious, and at the same time illicit. Here she was, a princess of the realm, and she was masturbating to memories of being fucked.

Not fucked. Used.

Shivers broke over her body. Rivulets of sweat trickled along her creamy skin. Her hips shoved up, into the air, her fingers moving faster, frigging furiously at the nexus of her ecstasy. Streams of quim cream greeted her fingers, staining her hand up to the wrist, flooding down the length of her arm. Her other hand was still at her breasts, leaving harsh squeezes, salivating at the roughness with which she treated herself, hoping to mock the roughness of Brand and Brash. That had been part of the pleasure, the intensity of the sensations, the way that pain had melded with pleasure in an overwhelming symphony.

Another moan spilled from her lips as she kept on abusing her lower lips. A fourth finger slipped inside, and she upped her pace, fucking her cunt as best as she could. Every so often she would curl her digits, dragging them along her channel, caressing every inch they could reach. It made her bite her lip hard, made her groan and gasp. Her leg kicked out mindlessly, her back arching again. The haze of pleasure surrounding her thickened, her mind submerging deeper into the carnality.

By now, the princess could not have stopped, even if she had wanted to. Her body was far down the path to orgasm, a gripping tightness building up in her belly. Her fingers frigged in her channel, plunging back and forth, keeping her lower lips spread open. She was so wet, the sounds of her masturbation easily heard, a wet

shlick-shlick-shlick

filling the bedroom. It was obscene, it was lewd, it was incredibly hot. She could feel herself falling, could feel herself fully giving into the sheer pleasure, not stopping, not slowing. Fleetingly, she thought she should have been embarrassed. That thought had entered her mind a few times, but just like before, she pushed it away, that rational side of her mind defeated by the physical pleasure. It did not matter that she was masturbating to memories of her own defilement, only that it felt so good to think on that experience. The orcs had awoken some deep, dark lust in her. All she wanted to do was feed that lust.

She could feel her orgasm approaching. It thundered towards her, like a hundred raging riders on powerful mounts. Seconds passed, the finish coming closer, her fingers not letting up, driving over and over into her quim, making her body jerk and squirm, making her mouth open as ragged gasps spilled from it, making her other hand squeeze and grip at her breasts. The heady pleasure came to a crescendo, and after one long moment, it broke. Sparks of ecstasy broke out all over her body, the orgasm bathing her entire body in pleasure, from the tips of her toes to her head. She shuddered, writhed, twisted, her pussy sending out thick streams of juice, sticking quickly to her hand, plastering the sheets to her thighs. A low, long, plaintive cry filled the room, the aural evidence of her peak.

Even once the orgasm subsided, she kept going. Her fingers continued to move in her drenched channel. Their incessant motion kept the pleasure from lessening too much. In mere moments, another orgasm wracked her body, and she was yet again made to writhe and moan, tight in the grip of ecstasy. Only after two more after that did she stop. The pleasure had been pushed to the point of too much. Soreness from before cropped up again.

Gwennalyn stretched out on the bed, sweat dappling her body. Her juices stained the bed beneath her, a light fragrance tickling her nostrils, wafting from her still-spread legs. Sparks of pleasure still surged through her body, the last remnants of her orgasms refusing to go quietly. She sighed, relaxing on the bed, the silk sheets feeling so cool and refreshing against her overheated body.

She marveled at how good she had just felt. It had been far from the first time she had masturbated, but had been far and away the most pleasurable time. The memory of her encounter with the orcs had spurred her to such heights. As she came down from those dizzying heights, she bit her lip, this time from shame instead of lust. It was easy to push aside the shame and embarrassment when she was feeling such ecstasy, but now, in the afterglow, the more rational parts of her mind scolded her, reminding her that she was a princess, above such depravities, no matter how good they felt, no matter how much she seemed to crave them. She was all too aware of this mental conflict.

Choosing to ignore it, she rose from her bed. Gwennalyn pulled on a silk shift, and padded down to her sitting room. She selected

Sir Haverbrook's History of the Battles of the Red Wolf,

paired it with a sumptuously red wine, and headed back up to her bedroom. The princess sat in her armchair, settling deep into the plush cushion, wine in hand, and began to read.

She had just finished a chapter when hurried footsteps sounded outside her door. Moments later, the door creaked open, and Deiara peeked inside.

"How was the rest of the feast?" Gwennalyn asked, grinning.

Thank the gods I did not have to go.

Deiara scowled. "I enjoy those feasts about as much as you do."

Gwennalyn giggled. "You don't like talking to the high-brow nobles? But they're so interesting, with their courtly matters and trade talks."

Her handmaiden sat on the edge of the bed. "The nobles are boring. No offense."

"None taken," Gwennalyn said with a shrug, standing to go to the bed, placing the book and goblet on her bedside table. She sat down next to Deiara.

"So what happened to you?" Deiara asked. "You must've gone far out to be so late."

Gwennalyn bit her lip. She knew she should keep her adventure to herself, but she felt she needed to get it out, to spill her secret. Deiara was the only person she knew she could trust with such a salacious and scandalous story.

"Well," she began, "it started out normally. I took Zephyr for a ride, like I said I was going to."

Deiara raised an eyebrow. "So then what happened?"

"Well, I ran into these two orcs..."

Once she got going with the story, it all tumbled out. A heat rose in her loins as she told the story of her own defilement to her handmaiden, whose gasps came out at the various details. Her hand strayed down between her legs, but she forced herself to keep it away from her slit, instead focusing on the story. She told Deiara how the orcs had been so rough, how they had used her, taking their pleasure from her, unwittingly giving more back. Her breathing sped up, the words spilling forth, telling her handmaiden how they had taken both of her nether holes. Deiara was a captive audience, her eyes wide. Gwennalyn was half-moaning by the end of the story, telling Deiara how they had left her a cum-clogged wreck on the side of the road.

"It felt so good," she finished, "I never had anything like that before, and I can't stop thinking about it."

"They raped you," Deiara said, hand coming up to the princess' shoulder.

"At first," she admitted. "I felt helpless, vulnerable, but I enjoyed it. They didn't hurt me, not really."

Her handmaiden gaped at her. Gwennalyn smiled.

"It reminded me of how that guardsman took you."

Deiara's face went blank for a moment, and then her eyes widened again.

"You saw that?"

"Yes," the princess admitted. "I had just been with Lucien, and I was hoping you might make me feel better."

"You watched me?"

"Yes. I watched him use you. You enjoyed it like I did when the orcs used me."

Deiara bit her lip. "I never got his name, but he fucked me so good."

"I know. When I saw you two, it interested me, two people fucking like that, instead of making love. And then the orcs were using me, and it was so new, so good. God, just thinking about it makes me wet."

She ended her sentence with a moan, her hand finally darting underneath her shift, finding her slit soaking wet. She shivered, her eyes darting to Deiara, who watched the display with a hesitation. Gwennalyn quickly realized that with the handmaiden here, she could have more pleasure, could have more than just her hand.

"Please," she said suddenly, shifting, taking her by the shoulder, "make me feel good..."

Deiara bit her lip. "We shouldn't do this. Lucien-"

"Can't please me like you, or like those orcs."

The handmaiden let her princess push her down. Deiara was on her back, glancing up at the princess, who quickly yanked her shift up and over her head. Her body was on full display, including the bruises the orcs had inflicted upon her. Deiara gasped, her hands darting to those bruises, softly stroking them.

Gwennalyn's lust was back to its previous height. She straddled Deiara, and shimmied up to her head. Her handmaiden was trapped, but not at all troubled about this fact. Her lips parted, a pink tongue peeking through. The princess lowered herself down, until her lower lips met Deiara's upper set, the soft warmth making her shiver. She felt that tongue slide along her slit, lapping up the juices trickling from it.

She began to move, undulating slowly on Deiara, who took hold of her hips, keeping her steady. That tongue worked wonders along her slit, darting up to her clit, sending sparks through her body yet again. She moaned, running a hand up her heated body to stroke her nipples again, teasing the hard buds. Her handmaiden continued to lick along her slit, just as lustful as she was. The view from her lofty position was of the handmaiden's dark eyes, alight with pleasure as she tasted her. Those eyes locked on Gwennalyn, who could only shiver at the love and lust in them.

Deiara's tongue slipped into her snatch, the slick lips eagerly accepting it. The soft walls clenched at the invader, drawing it deeper, Deiara arching her back, murmuring in delight at the sweet taste of those wet depths. Her hands tightened on the princess' hips, fingers digging greedily into flesh. The taste spurred her on, the slaking of her immediate thirst leading to further desire. Gwennalyn could hear the wet slurp of her tongue, working incessantly, provoking streams of creamy juice to trickle forth, to stain the handmaiden's cheeks and chin. Her balance was compromised as Deiara dug deeper into her prize; she fell forward, hands moving from her breasts to the headboard, shuddering at the abounding joy inside her core. Her mouth opened of its own accord, impassioned moans coming out, actual words mixed in, beseeching the other woman to keep going.

Whenever Deiara had pleasured her before, it had been with her fingers. As talented as she had been, bringing the princess to satisfying orgasms with those deft digits, they paled in comparison to her wet, warm tongue, exploring and tasting Gwennalyn's cunt. Her hips sped up, grinding onto her handmaiden's face, that tongue inching a bit deeper, curling naughtily against those still-clenching walls.

She could hear Deiara moaning, even with her mouth muffled. The handmaiden was enjoying this very much, squirming wildly, her eyes now glazed over with lust. One hand moved from her hip, moving quickly to her clit, stroking along the sensitive nub. She gasped, tossing her head back, blonde hair flying across her sweat-slicked face. Deiara was providing her with a delectable and dangerous combination, the conflagration of pleasure burning brighter, concentrated in her core. Gwennalyn ground harder, fucking her sopping cunt onto that wriggling tongue, one hand moving to curl into Deiara's hair, using it as leverage. Deiara's hand squeezed at her hip as if in response.

The flares of pleasure came faster and faster, tearing through her body. She whimpered, writhing atop her handmaiden's face, feeling that intense rush fill her. Deiara stroked harder at her clit, pushing her towards the edge, her insistent tongue doing its part as well. Gwennalyn gasped, the edge in front of her, the chasm of ecstasy yawning open, beckoning her into its depths.