The Velcin Dynasty

Author's Note - This series is a continuation of 'The Prince's Potion,' and set around twenty years later. Though not necessary, I strongly recommend reading those stories prior to this one. I realize my stories are not for everyone. If you're not interested in exaggerated sex organs, incest, inbreeding, and medieval/fantasy settings, this may not be for you. I thank you all for the continued support and feedback!

All characters in sexual situations are 18 or older.

Chapter 4 - SAR SANROSAN

The road to the Holy Seat of the Redeemer was long and Princess Roslin Velcin hated long road trips.

The regally dressed young lady was just twenty years old, stunningly beautiful, and in no way built for such rough excursions. She detested carriage rides, travelling during winter, and especially went out of her way to avoid even the shortest of horseback rides. The reason primarily being that, standing at a mere five foot four, Roslin's petite frame was extremely curvaceously built, causing her to jiggle comically with every bump on the trail.

Her big, heavy boobs, resting high on her chest in a wonderful display of milky white cleavage, were desperately trying to wobble their way out of the tight confines of her lacy yellow corset. She was acutely aware of her sensitive nipples, usually inverted, now rubbing irritably against the fabric lining, and barely concealed by the constricting garment. Peering down, she could even see her rosy areola creeping just above the generous bustline. Her fat, bubbly bottom was bouncing up and down on the seat constantly... though that extra cushioning being something she was thankful for at present.

To look upon the first born daughter of King Rodmond and Queen Maymon, with her luxuriously long black hair and arresting emerald eyes, one would immediately deduce a lady of the court, not some travelling woman out here in the sticks...

And yet here she was.

Or rather, here they were. In addition to hating long trips by four-horse carriage in the early winter months of the North, Roslin also loathed travelling with her husband, Anson Sar, fifteen years her senior and terribly slow witted. Along with his personal guard of one hundred men, husband and wife had set out three days ago to travel east to the immense Holy Seat, the village-sized epicentre of the Holy Church of the Redeemer.

Presently steadying herself against the low arched wall of the carriage cabin, Roslin regarded her dozing husband. Anson was boring, dull, and, perhaps worst of all, horrendous in bed. Roslin had to think, for a long while, what his actual redeeming qualities were. He was the second in line to the throne of Sar Sanrosan, and they were inhumanly rich... but that counted for little in the husband department.

Married for just over three months, Roslin had had only a brief taste of marital bliss - all the extravagance, the spending power, and the over-the-top opulence of her husband's royal family's means, that they now freely enjoyed - had quickly lost its lustre once Roslin's life took a very boring routine not ten days after being married.

The rocky path continued on toward the holy city as Roslin considered her current position more carefully.

Pressures were mounting from Anson's family. They wanted heirs. This trip, though unofficial in nature, would see them representing the Sar family before the Holy Seat and it's representative, Roslin's aunt Gilly. At least Roslin didn't have to make meaningless small talk with Anson on their way there, she thought. Thankfully, her dullard of a husband was sound asleep next to her in the wagon. How anyone could sleep at a time like this was beyond her, but Anson seemed especially suited to the task.

She sighed audibly, all this jostling had her thinking about how badly she needed to get fucked.

Their sex life was a miserable affair and his little thing barely ever crossed her magnificently tight threshold before it shot off its meagre load and he was out like a candle. Roslin rolled her eyes. She needed a real cock to reach her womb... And now Anson's family had the audacity of requesting a child from her! From that pathetic little thing dangling between his legs?! They couldn't be serious...

In any case, Roslin's parents had expected this was going to happen.

Sooner or later his family was expecting a child from the union of Trevilan and Sar Sanrosan. Naturally, Roslin's parents had fought hard for the largely political marriage. The two kingdoms, historically, had been strong allies and the marriage of Roslin and Anson was an even stronger link in that union. But the next step, a baby, would be even stronger, of course.

She glanced at Anson again. There was no way she was going to squeeze out a screaming whelp of Anson's seed from between her perfectly shaped legs.

That was why she had secretly written to her parents and they had been quick to respond. Queen Marzanna had been clear in her instructions. Roslin was to travel to the holy seat, with or without her husband, and meet with Aunt Gilly, present High Priestess of the Church of the Redeemer, to bless them both and their procreation ambitions.

While there, a surprise visit from her brother, Prince Roydan! Why, what are the chances? Then, some night over the course of their visit, while Anson undoubtably slumbers soundly, Roydan would do the deed... and plant his seed! Roslin giggled mischievously.

She had often thought about her giant of a brother, that incredible specimen of a man, but had never acted on her wicked impulses. Now she would finally get her chance with him...

Roslin sighed louder than intended. Nothing from Anson. Oh, how she wanted to be dominated. She wanted a man who could take her lush, fertile young body and ravage her the way she wanted to be ravaged. A man who would have his way with her perfect big breasts, her tight little cunt, and her fantastically fat ass.

Sadly, this man was not her husband. Luckily, this man was her brother Roydan. And soon... very soon, according to the coded letter she had received back from her mother, Roydan would be waiting for her at the Holy Seat.

Anxiously, and risking waking Anson, Roslin opened the door. 'Driver,' she called, 'how long until we reach the Seat?'

'A few more hours, your majesty.'

'So long?'

'We must travel slowly,' he turned and shouted back at her, 'the winds are picking up, reducing visibility... and there are... reports of bandits in the area, your majesty.'

'Bandits?' she asked, noticing the man's face redden.

'Er, have no fear, princess' he said, 'we are in no danger. But they are a troublesome lot and have been seen in the hills to the south. The road is only laden with traffic out of fear, but our vanguard is clearing the way as they ride ahead.'

'I see...' she said, aware of their shouting, 'thank you, driver.'

'Majesty.'

She smiled at him, closed the door, and sat back only to notice one of her fat tits had escaped her corset. 'Merciful Redeemer, Roslin,' she cursed herself. The driver must have gotten an excellent view! Now it was her turn to redden. She shoved it back in the tight corset and adjusted both meddlesome melons. Mercifully, Anson still slept. She soon picked up one of her books, pure smut, and got comfortable.

When the book failed to capture her thoughts her mind drifted back to Roydan. He would have no trouble giving her a baby. The only question now was what to do about Anson during the visit? Surely he wasn't just going to turn a blind eye at her blatant infidelity. Nor would he understand why she was doing what she was doing... her parents plans of eventually seating a king of pure Velcin blood on the Sarian throne...

Sure, he was dozing peacefully now but what would he do when they got to the Holy Seat? Go bird watching all day? And then there was the meeting itself. It had to happen. She wasn't planning on riding back with an empty tummy that was for sure.

She just hoped Aunt Gilly had some plan as to explain the chance encounter of Velcins... That Roydan just happened to also be there at the same time? That her and Roydan needed some private time for an hour? For two hours? Roslin's mind began to swirl and her legs began to moisten.

Aunt Gilly would think of something. Gilly was practically running that place now. If anyone could find a way to distract Anson, it would be her. Roslin was giddy with excitement; she just hoped she could contain herself until they finally arrived. The timing was perfect; she had her cycles lined up so that this would be the correct time to conceive.

She just needed her brother to actually be there...

***

Princess Cressia Velcin paced the massive sitting room nervously, her older sister was late and she refused to relax. The slender nineteen year old moved across the lavishly decorated room, her arms folded underneath her modest sized breasts, swelling cleavage plumped to its limit, oblivious of the expensive furniture, marble statues, all the great paintings of historical scenes and religious icons adoring every corner of the walls surrounding her.

Cressia had done enough sitting for a lifetime.

They had arrived in boring little holy city two days ago and were presently in the audience of Cressia's mother, thirty-eight year old Gilly Velcin, High Priestess here in the Holy City, and Queen-Consort of Trevilan.

Cressia had had time to prepare herself adequately this morning, bathing and washing her long black hair, and was now wearing her finest dress of Velcin black and gold, a richly embroidered gown that completely hid her slippers... though it did display a generous amount of her swelling bosom. Even here, in arguably the most devout place on the continent, a woman was allowed to bare some of her natural Redeemer given gifts.

She scoffed continued to pace.

'Patience, daughter,' the serene voice of her mother said to her from across the room. 'My reports this morning said Roslin's entourage will be here... soon.'

'Not soon enough,' Cressia threw up her hands in frustration. 'I'm tired of all this

waiting

! I want to see my sister

now

!' She knew how she must have sounded but she couldn't help it. The young princess was accustomed to getting what she wanted... when she wanted it.

She walked through an oblique beam of light cast down by the windows high up above them. The ancient stained glass windows of this building, which acted as a mere reception hall for the Holy grounds further beyond inside the Church's compound, were beautiful to behold. And must have cost a small fortune. A mere of example of the Redeemer's opulence.

Gilly had told them, Cressia and her older brother Roydan, this place was for receiving dignitaries and royalty visiting the grounds. No common folk would be permitted beyond this point. They would wait here to receive Prince Anson Sar and his lovely young wife when they arrived shortly.

Princess Cressia continued to glide around, her tapping slippers sending echoes across the long room. She glanced over at her mother, sitting there stoically in the center of the room, two of her closest handmaidens at her side... or were they nuns? She wasn't sure yet. They hadn't been properly introduced. And there was one more figure close by them, one more statue among the others scattered about the long hall.

Four or five feet in front of Gilly, unmoving, stood Prince Roydan Velcin. A marble obelisk of a man, and just as animated as one, the heir of Trevilan might as well of stood outside in one of the many gardens surrounding them.

During their long trip up north from the southern coast of Trevilan, Roydan had said... maybe five words to Cressia? Not that she complained. Not she went out of her way to speak with him either. Let alone occupy the same space. Roydan had stayed in the rear, just another soldier among the small retinue of fifty that left Trevilan. Cressia mostly stayed comfortably cooped up in the lavish six horse carriage, replete with bed and divan.

The same kind of royal carriage taken by Queen Marzanna and Prince Rhys on their trip to Gristult, who had set out around the same time as them.

Cressia guessed Marzanna's long trip to be much more fun than this one had been. It wasn't that she despised her big brother, on the contrary, she thought him quite handsome and he could even be kind, when he wanted to be. It was just that he was so bloody quiet and stone faced all the time!

Roydan rarely spoke and if he did it was either a series of unintelligible grunts, mumbles, or gruff orders that he was barking to his soldiers. Make no mistake, Cressia had at no point on their journey felt unsafe. In Roydan, she had all the security and comfort she would ever need. She just wished he was even the slightest bit a conversationalist.

She was feeling very starved for conversation. Not to mention for sex.

Cressia loved to talk, lived for gossip, and was, above all things, a rumour mongering socialite among the younger nobility of Trevilan. Royal intrigue and human drama was her daily bread and butter. Sure, she knew she herself was often the recipient of such drama, it being no secret she was sleeping with her father, but that was simply the cost of being a nineteen year old princess in Trevilan, whose life had largely been laid out for her since birth.

Cressia, barely more than five feet, was athletically built, and had perky tits along with a well-proportioned bottom. She wasn't as full-figured as her older sister Roslin, whom they had come all this way just for Roydan to secretly knock up, but Cressia knew how to use what her gifts her to full effect to get what her way.

That seemed to be the hardest part about this trip, she had to admit. Being so far away from the castle... and daddy's big fat cock. They had been sleeping with each other for almost a year now and Cressia was not so secretly obsessed with her father. She adored her king, and though at this point she used sex as a way of getting what she wanted, Cressia was also deeply aware that she loved getting pounded into submission by her much older father and his oversized appendage.

Oh well, she sighed, it couldn't be helped.

Gilly sat still in front of towering Roydan. Cressia understood that her mother was a powerful presence within the Holy Order, having risen their ranks in less than a decade, but now sitting before Roydan and herself, she simply looked like... well, her mother. Gilly was pretty and thin, but her years in the Order had restrained any aesthetic beautification. She now appeared somewhat plain, in her heavy white robes and wimple. If Cressia could think of one word to describe Gilly Velcin it was chaste.

Though there was no denying her mother had an absurdly big backside, wide hips, and a massive rear that defied her slender frame. Not that she used it, Cressia rolled her eyes.

Years ago, Gilly had, as the Velcins recovered from the dramatic effects of the plague, only become more and more devout.

First she began under the tutelage of their great-aunt, Morrigan, herself being a high ranking member of the Order. Then upon acceptance into the ancient Order, Gilly quickly established herself as a keen acolyte. Years of study in the areas of mysticism and meditation made her stand out. Marzanna said she wouldn't let their royal name do all the work. Gilly had wanted to earn her achievements.

Cressia rolled her eyes again. She herself didn't truly believe in the Order's beliefs, but then, she didn't really ever spend much time thinking about them. Life had been different for mother and her generation twenty years ago. While the Velcin children, and indeed most of Trevilan now prospered, things had been quite dire back then. Giving oneself to a rigid belief system was one of the few things people could actually do to occupy their time, when chances were that at any moment you could contract a deadly disease.

Anyway, it had obviously worked out for her mother, though Cressia could not be bothered.

Gilly had mostly stepped away from the indulgences and splendour the other Velcins continued to enjoy. Wealth, power, incestuous sex... Cressia couldn't understand how Gilly had walked away from all that... or how easily Great-Aunt Morrigan had indulged in such vices upon her retirement. She didn't want to think about the bizarrely close relationship Morrigan had with her younger brother Vyman...

But Morrigan was so old now, Cressia shook her head, let the old girl have some fun. Gilly was still young and could absolutely have a fulfilling life back in Trevilan... yet something had evidently happened to her in her youth, Cressia had only a little bit of that information, which had moved her mother on to the path of the Order, and she had never looked back.

Cressia was about to throw her hands up and shout again about how much longer they were going to have to wait around for Roslin and her fat old husband to show up when two red garbed nuns silently entered the room and whispered something in her mother's ear.

Gilly nodded and smiled up at Roydan. 'They've arrived.'

***

Later, after a warm reunion, the five of them left the great hall and walked the snowy gravel trail of the holy grounds. Red garbed sisters of the Church escorted them towards the grand manse of the high priestess, Gilly's extravagant residence which she simply referred to as 'the manor.'

Presently, Gilly walked in step with red-haired Anson, giving him a guided tour of the grounds, the elaborate gardens, and the sculptures marking each building. Next came Cressia and Roslin, walking hand in hand, chatting all the while. Finally, Roydan took up the rear, several feet behind all of them. He had yet to say a single word.

'Oh but you must tell me everything,' Cressia said, reminding herself to breathe in between speaking. Sometimes she talked so much she forgot, Marzanna often chided her. 'I want to know all about life at Castle of Sar. What are the people like and what do they wear? What do you do for fun? Are you still not riding horses? Where do you go to do your hair? Who made that dress... where did you get it? Are the winters here as bad as they say? Have you made many friends? Are the handmaidens nice or are they terribly dull?'

Roslin laughed and patted her sister's arm. It had either been too long since they had last seen each other... or not long enough, she thought jovially. 'Sister,' she broke in, 'sister, please. One at a time!' she tried to recall a question or two. 'Well, the dress is locally made. A woman in the capital has them made especially for my... physique. I understand I am her only client.' The two girls smiled knowingly. The dress was outrageous. It was bright yellow and strapless. Roslin's huge tits were barely contained. It fell to the ground in a flowing display of bright fabric, but her huge bust drew all the attention.

Cressia couldn't stop staring at her sister's boobs, wobbling mesmerically with every step. The dress was beautiful as well. Lovingly shaped to accentuate her incredible cleavage, her enviable hourglass figure, the neckline of her bodice was on full display. Wasn't she getting cold out here? Cressia could see the blue veins traced on her pale skin. Roslin was a vision of fertility and grace.

Cressia knew the effect would not be lost on her stallion of a brother.

As the five approached the manor, Gilly made idle chit chat with Anson, whom she had only met the once or twice before. She in fact knew a fair deal about the man, her information entirely based on the missives she received both from Roslin and her agents at the royal court.

What she knew was of little interest. Anson was not particularly bright, out of shape, and getting on in years. Though only younger than his heir to throne brother by a year, Anson appeared to be much older than thirty five given his stationary lifestyle.