Gwennalyn's Sexual Awaening

As usual, a big thank you to EmmaKendrick01 for providing her thoughts on the chapter!

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Gwennalyn sighed heavily, watching her father walk away, diving back into the social cesspool that was the nobles & elite of the kingdom. It was the post-meal portion of the farewell feast, thrown in honor of the orcs' departure tomorrow morning.

It had been an exciting and thrilling week, even if the brothers had been more manipulative than she would have liked.

They had not owned up to stealing her clothing the previous night, and she had decided not to to bring it up, acting instead as if nothing noteworthy had happened once they had left her.

"What's wrong, princess?" Deiara asked, coming onto the dais, standing next to Gwennalyn, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

She sighed again, slumping sadly, trying to care enough to put on a happy face, lest the overly curious and simpering guests inquired as to the reason for her gloominess.

"Father just told me that Lucien is coming back next week," she grumbled, "and that once he arrives, we'll start talking about the details of our wedding."

Deiara squeezed at her shoulder.

"Sorry to hear that."

"Why do I have to marry him?"

"Because your father says so."

"But I don't love him, and he doesn't love me. So why should we get married?"

The handmaiden was silent for a moment.

"You can take solace in the fact that he is a good man."

Gwennalyn harrumphed.

"I don't care. I don't want to marry him."

Deiara did not speak; her mannerisms were familiar to Gwennalyn, who after glancing up at her handmaiden, knew that the older woman was biting back some sort of remark, perhaps to not offend the princess.

"Say what you want to say," Gwennalyn sighed.

Deiara hesitated.

"I don't mean to belittle your frustration, but you're lucky, and you shouldn't forget it."

"I know I'm lucky. I've been told that many times. My father is king, and I want for nothing."

"It's not just that. I've seen plenty of arranged marriages, some where the man was cruel or vain or stupid. Your father chose a man who is none of those things. I don't know him that well, but I can tell he is a good man, and he will take care of you."

"I don't want to be taken care of."

"Then what do you want?"

Gwennalyn sighed heavily.

"I don't know. I'm not sure what I want, I just know what I don't want."

"And that's Lucien?"

"Exactly. I don't want him."

"Well, unfortunately, there's not much you can do about it. Although I see something you do want heading towards us right now."

Gwennalyn looked past her handmaiden to see Brand and Brash stepping onto the dais.

"Evening, princess," they said.

"Evening, good sirs," she replied, watching them warily.

They nodded to Deiara, who curtsied, and left them alone with the princess.

"You remember when we first met?" Brand asked her.

She raised an eyebrow.

"Of course."

I doubt I'll ever forget it.

"When you visit us tonight, wear what you wore then."

With that, they left the dais, leaving Gwennalyn wondering what they had in store for her.

"You've taken quite a liking to our orcish guests," came a gentle voice from the other side of the dais.

Gwennalyn smiled at her mother.

"They're a straight-forward people. I appreciate that."

Her mother smiled back.

"You say straight-forward, I say simple."

Gwennalyn rolled her eyes.

"They're not stupid, mother."

"I know that, darling. But they're plain. They say what they want to say. Terribly blunt."

I'd rather that than the simpering around here.

"Your father and King Victorin will probably arrange for us to visit them soon," her mother continued, sitting down next to Gwennalyn.

"Good," she replied, keeping a straight face, already imagining what the brothers might do to her in their home castle.

Later that evening, Gwennalyn crept through the servant corridors, having just left Deiara with two orcs, the handmaiden giddy at the prospect of having them ravage her.

There'll be plenty to clean up when I see her later.

When she exited the corridors, padding into the main room of the brothers' chambers, they were as usual playing some game at a table.

She had obeyed their command to dress as she had when they had met on the road.

Which meant that she was not wearing a dress or gown.

What she was wearing instead was a meticulously picked outfit; as the orcs had torn several pieces of the original outfit in their haste, she had been forced to find replacements for certain items.

The boots and trousers were the same dark brown, the former leather and the latter linen. The vest and tunic from that day had been torn and tattered, so she had chosen similar ones, while she had decided to not even put on any undergarments, as they would soon be thrown to the wayside.

"Evening, sirs," she said as she approached them.

"Evening," they grunted back, focused on their game.

She took up a seat at the table, watching them play, fidgeting impatiently but unwilling to speak up, as begging would only play directly into their hands.

After a few torturous minutes, the game was finished, with Brash the victor.

"Your turn, princess," Brand told her.

She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not here to play whatever that is."

Brash grinned.

"You came here so that we could fuck you, yes? So that we could ravage and ruin you on our last night here?"

She nodded, unconsciously biting her lip.

Brand leaned forward, removing the pieces from the board. As he began to replace them with miniature figures in marble, of knights and archers and kings, Gwennalyn quickly recognized the game as siege chess, a game that her grandfather had patiently taught her when she was a little girl.

"You know this game, yes? We heard it's popular here."

She nodded.

"Good," Brash grumbled.

"If you can beat one of us," Brand began, "either me or him, you'll get what you want."

Silence descended in the room as she debated whether or not to leave.

Knowing them, there was something more to this, some way to manipulate and humiliate her. Walking away would be the only way to truly win whatever game they were playing.

But I would lose too.

"It's simple, princess," Brand continued, "two games, only of which you need win."

She sighed, nodding resignedly.

Brand was her first opponent.

Although her grandfather was long dead, Gwennalyn would still occasionally play with her father, so she was far from rusty.

At first, it seemed that the brothers were novices at siege chess.

Brand was too brazen at first, losing several units where caution would have been wiser. The princess had to fight back several smiles as she claimed his pieces. Over the first dozen moves or so, she found herself with a small collection of his forces.

The room was silent as the game went on, Brand seeming to stumble into a few lucky moves. Neither brother spoke; Gwennalyn eyed them, trying to figure out what they would have in store for her, how they would attempt to manipulate her.

It did not take long for the princess to remember their disdainful cruelty.

Brand was in fact far from a novice; in fact, he had played himself into a troublesome situation, only to show her how outmatched she actually was, a fact that dawned slowly and horribly upon her. It was not until his toothy smirk after another series of seemingly lucky moves that she realized what was happening. Her advantageous position slowly dissipated, the figures of her forces gradually occupying his side of the table as his returned to the board.

"Well played, princess," he grunted mockingly as he claimed her last piece.

She curled her lip, sitting back in the chair, watching as Brash took his place across from her. Several strategies popped into her head, the best ways to secure a victory and get what she wanted. Now she knew that the brothers were well versed in the game, so the element of surprise was lost on their end.

"Ladies first," Brash offered, letting her start the game.

All the times playing with her grandfather and father did not matter. Her stubborn confidence did not matter. The strategies that she had remembered did not matter.

Where Brand had been patient in his cruelty, Brash was vicious, easily defeating her in minutes, eradicating her forces methodically and relentlessly, the princess slumping lower and lower in her chair with each move the smirking orc made. No quarter or chance was given in the second game.

"Sorry, princess," Brash chuckled.

She summoned as much anger as she could and funneled it into her gaze.

They chuckled, bemused by her wrath.

Her only recourse was obvious.

She stood and made to leave, padding back to the entrance to the servant corridors.

"Where are you going?" Brand asked.

Don't answer, don't turn around, keep going.

"We thought you wanted to be ravaged and ruined," Brash added.

She spun, her anger getting the better of her.

"You said if I beat one of you, I'd get what I wanted! And I didn't beat either of you, so I'm leaving!"

She spun back.

The brothers laughed, the sound only increasing her anger.

"May I inquire, sirs," she asked acidly, turning back again, "what is so funny?"

They stood, slowly walking around the table towards her.

"You should know by now," Brand growled, "that this isn't about what you want."

Their laughter rose in volume, and she had a sudden realization.

Bastards.

"You were always going to fuck me, whether or not I beat one of you," she snarled.

Brash nodded.

"Of course, princess. We wouldn't leave without using you one last time."

"Then why? Why would you do this?"

Even as she asked, she knew the answer.

"Because it amuses us to see you so angry," Brash told her.

"You are easy to anger," Brand added.

The brothers were now very close to her.

"I should leave," she threatened, "right now."

They laughed.

"You know where the door is," Brash said.

She stood there, weighing her pride versus her lust, sure that the latter would easily win out.

Her hesitation was the only answer the brothers needed.

"I guess you'll be staying then," Brand grunted.

For such a large orc, he moved very quickly, grabbing Gwennalyn around the waist and throwing her over his shoulder. The dazed princess was jostled as he strode towards the bedroom; a small moan spilled from her mouth as she found herself feeling small and helpless, easily carried by Brand as if she weighed nothing.

They strode into one of the bedrooms, where Brand tossed her onto the bed. She was momentarily stunned, bouncing gently on the mattress, but the sight of the brothers shedding their trousers made her do the same, eagerly working them down around her ankles, exposing her already dripping quim.

Brash was the first to pounce on her, ignoring her mewl of anticipation, shoving her legs back against her chest, lining his straining prick up to her drooling slit and unceremoniously skewering her.

Her exultant cry filled the room, the cry morphing into stuttering grunts as her body was pounded down into the mattress by his vicious thrusts. The position that he had placed her in, with her legs shoved back, her body bent in a curved shape, meant that she had a perfect view of his thick green shaft impaling her pink cunt repeatedly, each stroke driving the breath from her lungs, each slap of his fat balls against her slit sending out misting sprays of her juices, each ruthless thrust stretching her slick sex around his girth to what felt like the limit.

The princess made to free her top half, feeling constricted by the vest and tunic.

Her fumbling fingers only got partway through the process when Brash grabbed her hands, holding them down against the bed just above her head. His forceful maneuver left him looming above her, her legs now resting against his broad chest. The lustful visage above her made her squeal, his face drawn in a savage grin, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.

"Tell me how it feels, whore," he ordered.

"So good," she whined, "so fucking good, don't stop, never stop, please..."

He grunted, squeezing at her wrists, the spark of pain making her groan, her back arching, her legs flailing against his chest.

Only moments ago, Gwennalyn had been seriously contemplating leaving the brothers to wallow in their own arrogance, depriving them of her body as punishment for their manipulations. Even though she had known deep down that she would have chosen to stay, it had still been the tiniest spark of rebellion.

That spark was now extinguished, the princess quickly unraveling, overwhelmed by the rough thrills that Brash was unleashing upon her. All she could do was moan up to him, sounding and feeling like the lowest of whores, taking the brutal fucking and begging breathlessly for more. Her body had by now become leashed to their desires, so that just a taste of their sexual prowess left her as weak as a kitten, helpless to deny the ecstasy in her mind just as she was physically helpless to rebuff their advances. Juices ran freely from her womanhood, mined by his thick shaft, the trickles flowing sluggishly down towards her belly on one side and her taint on the other.

"Fucking hell, brother," Brash growled back to Brand, "I think we've turned this one into a proper whore. She's wetter than any woman I've ever had."

Brand chuckled, stepping forward to the side of the bed.

"Is that true, princess? Have we turned you into a whore?"

She had no answer, save for the desperate mewl that came out when she caught sight of his erect prick, leaking pre-cum.

Brand followed her gaze, and chuckled again.

"We have our answer," he told Brash.

"Well," Brash shot back, "if we haven't made her a whore yet, we will soon."

She moaned brokenly, the orgasms starting to swarm her, the first striking unexpectedly, more appearing on the horizon. The moan segued into a series of breathless cries, which were matched in volume only by the slap of Brash's balls against her taint, flesh meeting flesh in a violently carnal manner. Her sex seized around the shaft, dappling it in a gush of ambrosia, slicking the dark green member.

Once the ecstasy passed, Brash let go of her hands and pulled out roughly, the orgasms that were hovering nearby retreating slightly.

She keened, squirming on the bed, reaching down to stroke at her drenched slit.

Brash reached out, his hand winding into her hair, freeing it from the modest bun she had put it up into. With a yank, he brought her forward onto her knees, his cock inches from her.

"Clean me off," he snarled, slapping his member against her cheek.

Her obedience was immediate, the princess of the realm running her tongue up and down the throbbing length, purring happily as she tasted her own juices. It was a trail of delicious nectar, leading from the broad head along the thick shaft and down to the fat balls. She giggled as she locked her lips around one of them, sucking wetly, tasting her feminine tang alongside his brutish musk. Her hand moved automatically to her mound, the orgasms approaching again as she stroked herself feverishly.

"Look at me," Brash commanded.

Her light blue eyes met his dark brown set. The sexual fury there made her shudder, sucking harder, as if to prove her submission through the wet smack of her lips and tongue against his testicles.

"You're to be married, yes?" he asked.

She nodded, by now too addled with lust to care about the ever-present damper on her good spirits that was any reminder of her impending nuptials.

"Maybe we'll visit you more often once you marry," he mused.

Her eyes widened.

"We'll visit every month and breed you multiple times every night. That way you can go to sleep next to your husband with your womb full of our seed."

Gwennalyn came whorishly, mewling in a very unladylike manner, the thought of such depravity sending her euphoria higher, her cunt gushing onto her fingers.

"She likes the sound of that," Brand cut in.

"I do," she gasped, breaking off Brash's testicles to give them several ardent licks.

Brash chuckled, interrupting her indulgence by shoving her back on the bed, again grabbing her legs, holding them by the ankles, her trousers still tangled around her boots.

His cock met her slit, and one thrust impaled her again, leaving her quivering in orgasmic bliss, moaning softly, Brash starting up the same violent rhythm as before, driving relentlessly into her quim.

She laid there, writhing and wriggling, battered incessantly by the overwhelming thrills. The rough impact of his length driving down into her sent shivers down her spine and set her creamy flesh jiggling. He was putting a considerable amount of strength into the thrusts, but somehow, she was aware that he was still holding back, to not completely ruin her. No small part of her wanted him to unleash every ounce of his fury, to shatter her mind and leave her utterly senseless and mindless.

"Fucking take it," he snarled down at her, receiving only a pitiful whimper in response.

As he pounded ruthlessly into her subjugated body, she could only take such punishment, cumming constantly, moaning shamelessly, her back arching as she endeavored to shove herself into his thrusts, to help him root out every inch of her channel. Her actual participation was minimal, given his strength and ferocity.

The stream of sensations resulted in a steady rush of orgasms, her quim caught in a series of wild spasms, bathing Brash's shaft in copious juices, clutching at the throbbing member with an uninhibited neediness. Gwennalyn lost track of time, deep in the throes of ecstasy, only caring about the brutish prick pounding deep into her drenched sex. Her cries combined with Brash's growls to form a complementary cacophony, neither set of noises articulating anything beyond lust and pleasure.

When that deliciously animalistic growling became a savagely exultant roar, when his thrusts increased in force and decreased in rhythm, when the muscles all over his body tensed, she knew he was close.

Despite the desire to feel his seed claim her womanhood, she found herself unable to speak, buffeted by his forceful thrusts and overwhelmed by the sheer thrills running all over body.

So all she could do to beg for his load was moan loudly and shamelessly.

Once when she was a child, she had happened on the castle kennel, where one of the hunting dogs had been busy breeding one of the bitches. As a naive and innocent child, she had been unaware of the nature of the act, thinking that they were playing as dogs often did. It had not been until she had been older and again witnessed such a display when she understood what had been happening.

One thing she had always remembered was how the bitch sounded, how she had whined and panted, letting her mate know how needy she was.

The noises now spilling from her mouth sounded a lot like those, like the pathetic mewlings of a bitch in the hottest of heats, craving her mate's seed, her womb aching to be claimed forcefully.

Brash ignored her wordless plea, focusing instead of wringing every bit of pleasure he could from her before his orgasm struck. His grip tightened on her ankles, and he reared up above her, driving down harder, the angle granting him more leverage.

There were only a handful of thrusts left before he rammed every inch of his throbbing length back inside her clutching heat, his roar spiking in volume as he came inside her. The pulses were intense, surging along his member, heralding another blast of creamy semen, her sex massaging the shaft to milk as much of it out as possible. She bucked underneath him, wailing joyously as her young womb was flooded with his potent seed. It was such a salacious sensation, the rush of warmth and wetness that was his load spurting out into her insides, marking his climax, provoking several of her own. Along with the depravity of being bred by this vicious orc was the knowledge that she was nothing more than a dumping ground for him, only a willing body to unleash his passions upon, only a place to empty his load.