Princess Rides the Horse

This is, of course, total fantasy. Reflects no one living or dead, all characters over 18, in real life this would be bad, etc. etc.

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She stood tall in the throne room, well aware of the shackles on her ankles and wrists, but refusing to acknowledge them. She kept her gaze steady, her face turned toward the thrones now empty, but not seeing the stately chairs that had until this morning been occupied by her royal parents. Her once fine silk dress fluttered in the breeze coming from the windows, the shutters cracked and hanging drunkenly off their hinges, damaged by cannon fire. She refused to blush, though what was left of her dress didn't cover much of her body. The brutes that had taken her from her chambers during the coup had greatly enjoyed her struggles, holding on to her dress as she fought to get away, allowing the light silk to rip and make her think she could get free, only to tackle her to the ground the moment she had gained a few inches of distance from them. She thanked the gods that the manhandling hadn't gone further. They had touched and leered and even hit her, but her maidenhead was still intact, even if her dignity was as shredded as her dress.

"Well, Princess," a low, deep voice drawled from behind her. She heard the creak of leather and the jangle of chainmail as heavy footsteps approached her. "It seems you were not as quick as your parents to turn tail and run like cowards."

Fury boiled up in her, but she held her tongue. The man, flanked by two other soldiers, passed by her and ascended the dais. He flopped down onto her father's throne, throwing a careless leg over the jewel-encrusted arm of the chair. The other two soldiers stood at his shoulder facing the throne room. She tried not to look at him, but she couldn't help assessing the man who had invaded not only their kingdom, but the king's palace itself.

He was older, perhaps a few years shy of her father's age, but unlike her father he showed no signs of softness in the belly or anywhere else. Muscles were evident even under the light armor he wore, with big shoulders and a chest that tapered to a narrow waist. He dangled a dagger in his hand, turning it in what would seem a nervous gesture in anyone else. In his hands it looked like an extension of his arm, all sinew and danger. There was grey in his hair and wrinkles around his eyes, which even from there she could see were a dark brown the color of the bread the peasants made from rye. The man to his left looked like a young copy of him, with dark brown hair and eyes that matched those of the usurper. The man on his right shared the same heavy build and high cheekbones of the other two men, but his hair was blonde and eyes a sharp blue that made her think of the lapis collar a prince from the south had sent as a wooing gift the summer past.

The usurper studied her as she gazed at him and she could feel him take not of everything about her. Her hair, in wild disarray, long strands of flaxen gold tangled around bits of briars from where she'd tried to hide in a hedge. Her generous breasts on display from where the soldiers had ripped her dress, and her feet bare as a peasant's, lost somewhere in her desperate struggles. She refused to meet his eyes, gazing at a point over his shoulder, but she couldn't miss the vulpine smile that he gave her.

"You have two choices, Princess," he said, his voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. She hadn't looked around since she'd been dragged into the throne room, but she knew the room had been filled with his soldiers and those courtiers who had apparently decided to support this usurper instead of fight to the death for her father and their country. "You can marry my son, Meinolf, and show to the world that you support our rule. Or..."

He trailed off and she couldn't stop herself from meeting his gaze. "Or, what?"

"Or, I give you to both my sons to be used as their whore, right here, right now." His eyes were hard as iron and twice as cold. She trembled and she knew he saw her shiver because his lips curved up in a cruel smile.

She opened her mouth to deny him, to say she'd rather be their whore than support the usurper, but fear held her tongue. Her mouth was dry as dust and her body began to shake harder. She clenched her hands in the remains of her dress, swallowing hard. She heard titters of laughter from the nobles behind her, and one particularly loathsome whisper of "she's a whore either way". She looked around, trying to find an out, a friendly face or an escape. Her eyes landed on the window, one shutter hanging off it and creaking in the wind, the other shutter and part of the wall crumbled from the attack. Though they were many stories up, it was her only option. Before she knew what she was doing, her feet started moving and she darted towards the window.

But her feet were still shackled and she couldn't move quickly enough. The blonde soldier on the dais was faster than she was and stopped her with an arm around her waist, lifting her easily off her feet and turning her back to face the usurper. The air was driven from her lungs and she felt how helpless she was, unable to escape. She could feel the man's hot breath on her neck as he laughed softly.

"Careful, Princess, or we'll think you don't like us," he said. His voice was soft, but the flat tone made the short, fine hairs on the back of her neck rise. "Perhaps, father, she needs some encouragement. Shall we bring in the horse for her to ride?"

Laughter rippled around the chamber, the soldiers guffawing and the man holding her lifting her a little higher. She felt something hard pressing against her backside. A terrible suspicion filled her, but surely it was just an axe or other weapon and not what she feared. Calls of "give her a ride" and "bring in the horse" filled the room, echoing in her ears, until the usurper raised his hand and silence descended.

"Bring in the horse." The men ringing the room cheered and she heard the squeaking of wheels. She couldn't turn, held as she was against the hard body of her captor, his arm holding her tight to him. Her pulse sped up even more as her heart hammered in her chest. When the noise stopped, the man holding her turned and she saw the horse.

It wasn't an animal, but an odd, low table shaped almost like a gingerbread man, but bent in half. Chains were placed at the feet and hands. The men in the chamber roared their approval as her captor carried her, struggling with all her might, to the strange device. He shoved her down over it until her upper half was laying on the table and her legs dangled over the side. Another man approached and grabbed her arms, stretching them out and attaching the chains to the shackles she wore. She was bent over this strange table, arms extended, legs spread, and her backside in the air. A knot of wood on the table pressed up between her thighs causing an oddly pleasant pressure. Her head hung down over the edge. She felt a cold blade at her neck and wondered for a moment if this was an oddly shaped guillotine, but instead of removing her head the knife was used to slice her dress from her nape to the floor.

Mortification flooded her. She was exposed, naked in front of all these men. Some she had known her whole life, but most were the rough soldiers of the usurper. She couldn't move, the chains keeping her splayed open and on display. A hand caressed her bottom for a moment, raising goosebumps on her skin. Then it lifted away only to come down with a resounding thwack. She couldn't stop herself from crying out in pain and fear. Her cries only brought more laughter from the men watching her humiliation.

She could no longer see the throne, but she heard the usurper rise and his heavy steps as he approached her. She saw his worn leather boots stop in front of her. "Remember, Princess, you brought this on yourself. You did not submit immediately to me, and so this is your punishment."

Then, in a louder voice he said, "she now belongs to my sons to do with as they please."

His boots left her sight and she heard him as he ascended the dais back to the throne. She could feel the eyes of the men around her and hear their low laughs and lascivious comments. Soon a new pair of boots was in front of her. A hand grabbed her hair and yanked her head back and she saw a sight she'd never before seen. It was a man's... member. She'd been told about them, about what to expect when her father made an alliance and married her off. She'd been taught how to please them... in theory. But she'd never before seen one. It was long and thick and the bulbous tip was a dark red.

"Open your mouth, Princess," the man told her. She couldn't tell which of the sons it was, but she supposed it didn't matter. She clamped her jaw shut, refusing to obey. A meaty hand reached down and pinched her nose. She started to panic, afraid to open her mouth, but unable to breath. Her lungs burning, she surrendered and opened her mouth, gasping for air. As soon as her mouth was opened, the member was shoved into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat and making her gag. "That's right Princess, take my cock, you royal whore." His hands released her nose and moved to her hair, gripping it like handles to pull her mouth onto his... his cock, as he'd called it.

After a moment she felt her jaw relax and felt the rhythm of his thrusts. It wasn't entirely horrible. The taste was salty but pleasant and there was something about the feeling of this piece of flesh in her mouth that made her squirm. But before she could dwell overmuch on it, she felt hands on her backside again. They stroked over her buttocks and then one hands dipped between her legs. As if she could feel more embarrassed, she felt her cheeks flush and a strange wetness gathering between her legs. The hand stroking her bottom moved between her legs, venturing where she'd never even dared touch herself. He plunged his fingers into her and she shook with the shock of it, half choking on the cock in her mouth.

"Look at this, Siegmar, the royal bitch's cunt is wet for us. Who knew the Princess would be such a little slut?" He laughed and she heard others in the room laughing along with him. She could feel herself blushing all the way from her cheeks to her chest and a strange ringing in her ears. His hand disappeared only for her to feel something else there, something hard and thick. He pressed forward and she could feel the cock in her mouth go deeper as what must be the other brother's cock pressed into her... what did he call it? Her cunt. A sharp pain pierced her and she couldn't stop the tears from dripping down her face.

"Well, well, a royal virgin, weren't you?" The man behind her smacked her bottom hard again. The sting between her legs matched that where his hand had landed. It burned, but not badly, more like the fire of a tallow candle used to light a bonfire. And her body was that inferno. Pleasure and pain mingled and she felt so full, as if she'd been missing a part all of her life. When his cock was seated all the way inside her she couldn't help moaning at the feeling. He dug his fingers into her hip and hissed out a breath. "She's so fucking tight. You've got to try out her cunt next."

The two men started moving rhythmically, both of them thrusting into her at the same time. A strange feeling was starting in her belly and her breasts, smashed against the table, ached in a way she'd never before felt, as if her skin was too tight, but in a way that shot pleasure through her. That odd knot of wood thrusting up from the table pressed against the nub of her cunt with each thrust, filling her with even more pleasure. She writhed, but instead of trying to get away, she found herself thrusting back against the man behind her. She couldn't stop herself from sucking on the cock in her mouth, either. It tasted so good and her whole body seemed to buzz as the two men thrust into her.

The hands in her hair tightened and the man above her grunted. "Fuck, I'm going to cum in this royal slut's mouth! She's such a cocksucking little whore!"

The words were like fire to her. She'd never heard them before today, but they cause pleasure to run along her skin like the static shocks one got from rubbing velvet. She bobbed her head on his cock, taking it as deeply as she was able when she felt him tense and hold her head steady. Thick warm jets of a salty liquid filled her mouth. She swallowed convulsively, the taste strange but delicious, like the salty roe caviar they sometimes got from the ambassadors sent by the northern kingdoms.

The man, Siegmar he had been called, stepped away from her and her head dropped down now that it was no longer held up by his hands in her hair. Her attention went to the brother behind her, his cock still pounding into her, bumping her against that wood with each thrust. She couldn't help the wave of pleasure or how her body began to shake. A strange cry erupted from her mouth and she felt her cunt rippling and clamping down on his cock.

"You fucking love this, don't you whore?" he asked in a rough voice. He leaned over her as he thrust, his hot breath on her neck. He bit down where her shoulder and her neck met and the pleasure rose again, swamping her. Another wild wail escaped her mouth and she heard the man behind her laugh. He panted into her ear in time with his thrusts. "That's right, slut. You love me fucking you, don't you? Who knew the prissy Princess would love cock?"

With these words, he erupted into her cunt. She could feel him pulse and the hot liquid fill her. His body was rigid over hers for a few moments, then he collapsed on top of her, pressing her into the wood of the table and making it hard for her to breathe. But the weight of him felt delicious and when he sat up and pulled his cock from her, she felt empty and cold. A trickle of hot liquid slid down her legs and squirmed at the uncomfortable sensation.

The world, which had disappeared during this momentous event, started to come back to her. She felt the way the wood table dug into her skin, the weight of her manacles. She could once again hear the people who had watched her degradation, some laughing, some talking about how they wanted a go at the "royal cunt". Shame swamped her as she remembered the pleasure she'd felt while being used by the usurper's sons.

As she tried to gather her wits, the boots of the usurper came into her line of sight once more. "Now, Princess," he said, "Are you ready to cooperate, or do I let my lieutenants have a turn at you next?"