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.
