A prince helps his sister escape a barbarian invasion by dressing up to take her place, but ends up at the mercy of the invaders’ chieftain. The setting is a broadly non-specific medieval fantasy world, without any real high fantasy elements. This one is something of a departure for me in many ways. Enjoy!
* * * * *
The barbarians were at the gates. The chaos which had blighted the lands of the kingdom over the last desperate weeks and months had finally arrived at the Palace Royal. Prince Erran was in his chambers, buckling on his ornate sabre when his twin sister found him. Princess Taali was visibly flushed with panic and exertion, the long trailing hem of her green velvet gown scuffed and dirtied from her headlong rush.
“Erran! Thank goodness! We have to fly, the brutes have breached the courtyard…”
“Darling Taali! Fear not, I shall defend you to the last-”
“Oh, Erran my dear; you could not hope to hold them all, with but your shiny blade. We must escape through the tunnels, if only we have the time…”
The point was undeniable. They hurried out into the palace’s corridors as the clamour of barbarian havoc drew inexorably closer.
“Then… Dearest sister, let me distract them at least, that you might get away; I would lay down my life happily to know that you were safe!”
“My dearest brother, do not speak of such a thing, I could simply not bear to think of it! But… Perhaps there might be a way to distract our invaders, which would not have you sacrifice yourself. I know it is a lot I ask, but would you do that for me?”
“My darling, you know I would in a heartbeat! Anything for my beloved sister-”
“Then come with me to my chambers, we must be quick! This way…”
* * *
Erran was transformed by the time he found the first barbarians roaming the halls. When they spotted him, he certainly held the whole of their attention. He rejoiced inwardly to know that every moment they occupied with him was another step closer to freedom for Taali. He was grabbed, coarsely but not too roughly, and taken to the captured throne chamber for presentation to their leader. They believed they had captured a princess.
This princess, who stood shaky but defiant before the huge barbarian chieftain, was dressed in a skin-hugging velvet dress of a rich crimson with gold filigree about the tightly-laced bodice. The garment hugged the soft curves of shoulders, hips and agile thighs, the sleeves flaring and hanging down past slender fingers and the hem laying on the floor behind delicate feet shod in soft scarlet slippers. The princess’ face was flawless and exquisite, expensive makeup coating full lips and darkly lining clear silver eyes, with a dusting of powder accenting sharp cheekbones. Shining-bright copper hair hung to shoulder-length, next to where the dress’ neckline plunged… The princess was clearly young, barely into adulthood and slim of figure, not greatly endowed about the chest; but otherwise a captivating beauty. Erran had himself not quite believed the results his sister had been able to achieve upon him in the brief time they had to prepare.
The chieftain growled something guttural to his subjects, who pushed the ‘princess’ forward before backing respectfully away. Another muttered burst was directed at Erran, but it was incomprehensible. Apparently the chieftain realised that he was not being understood.
“You are princess of this land?”
Head spinning, Erran realised how little he was prepared for this role; he had to maintain the subterfuge, but could not quite bring himself to sully his honour with an outright lie.
“I am… Heir to the kingdom, yes,” his voice still held the softness of his youth, so it was not so hard to mimic the higher tones of his sister.
The chieftain seemed to consider for a moment, stroking his chin in thought.
“Good. Fighting is done. This land is ours now, so this place is ours. I lead our people, now I have your people’s princess, lead them too. Come sit, here at my knee; now we feast. Then after, we rest in this fine hall…”
* * *
Food of all kinds was brought to the chieftain’s throne by cowed former royal servants, and some of it was passed down to his ‘princess’. The feasting lasted well past midnight, renewed whenever the barbarians found new stores to plunder in the castle kitchens and wine cellars. All the while, Erran sat demurely before the chieftain, his coarse hand resting every now and again upon the shoulder or hair of the princess. The touch felt possessive, but not un-gentle. When it was time to retire however, the large man was on his feet in an instant, then another instant later had swept Erran clean up in strongly-muscled arms. With a barbarian henchman guiding the way with a seed-oil lamp, the chieftain carried his princess through the corridors to the royal master bedroom, the lights in its alcoves already lit. The henchman did not enter with them.
Striding straight over to the sumptuous bed, the chieftain lowered his princess to a seat on the silken sheets and straightened, shrugging off his cloak and pulling off his woollen shirt. His bared chest was stout and hard, the skin weather-beaten and scarred. He tugged down his tartan trews and stood fully upright before Erran, naked and proud. ‘Stout and hard’ seemed to continue below the waist as well, right the way down. Erran froze in belated realisation of the chieftain’s intentions. A tremble ran down the captive heir’s spine.
“You have not pleased a cock before, pretty little one. Not to fear. We start off easy.”
The chieftain’s palms were warm as he pressed them softly to Erran’s cheeks. Then, gently but firmly, he pulled inward. Inexorably, Erran found his own delicate, made-up face hovering so close to the barbarian’s formidable, tautly-stretched manhood that focusing his gaze upon its tip caused his eyes to cross. The chieftain watched his princess’ breath shudder, felt the fluttering of it upon rough naked skin, and tilted Erran’s chin upward a little. Their eyes met. The stare facing down from this massive man had subjugated a kingdom, and it felt like it could become crushing in an instant; but still there was surprising depth there, unexpected warmth and intelligence and something strangely like indulgence. It was enthralling.
“Open your mouth for me, pretty one; give my cock a sweet little kiss.”
The words were charming, the tone reassuring. Erran bit his lip unconsciously. How could he even contemplate such a depraved act? The chieftain’s fingers still held his cheeks. He was heir to the throne for goodness’ sake, royalty, such a thing was utterly unbefitting of his station. The lamplit chamber glowed warmly and cosily around them. He couldn’t. His sister was reliant on his playing the part to the very best of his ability… Erran’s mouth opened a fraction and his tongue ran all around to moisten it. Suddenly the head of the chieftain’s cock was pushed against his lips, crushing them back against the teeth behind. It took a few moments to pull back. It took a moment or two more to realise that the chieftain hadn’t been the one to push in in the first place. Something inside Erran snapped, possibly his self-restraint, and he dove forward again with lips open wide.
The taste of barbarian prick was utterly unlike anything that Erran could have imagined, warm and lavish and savoury and masculine. The chieftain watched as his princess devoured the meaty length, feeling the bump of his tip against the roof of a mouth, the back of a throat. He heard moments of spluttering, choking, then greedy slurping. The princess leaned in further, hands reaching out to press against his crotch, one of them taking hold of the base of his shaft and squeezing. For a first time, for a spoilt scion of a decadent dynasty, this was going very well so far. The princess’ fingers had woven into his wiry pubic hair, cupping his balls as the other hand began to slide along his length below that hungry mouth. This was going very well indeed. The chieftain began to roll his hips in rhythm with his princess’ eager strokes.
Erran coughed and struggled to breath around the stiff rod splitting open his lips, punishing the back of his mouth. Slowing down the desperate gulps, letting that mighty pole slide a little way back out of his mouth, seemed to help enormously. His nose was full of the scent of the chieftain who towered over him, his skin tingled beneath the touch of the man’s fingers. It seemed as though the muscular thing in his mouth had begun to throb. Erran felt an answering throb down below the pit of his belly, beneath the velvet of his sister’s dress. He felt more inflamed than ever before, all from sucking on this barbarian’s virile member. Squeezing it, too, and holding the chieftain close…
An end came unexpectedly, the chieftain pulling him back with an easy, tender strength. Erran pouted, lips puffed and mouth watering, strings of saliva trailing from it to the chieftain’s tip. The massive man was staring down at him again; Erran blinked.
“Good, good. But not to rush. I am nice and hard, now we try going somewhere else…”
Erran could not have begun to summon resistance as the chieftain pushed him softly backward by the shoulder, the other hand going to a hip an twisting around. Erran ended up facing the headboard, on hands and knees on the marital bed of his beloved royal mother and the king. There was a light lurch behind him as the chieftain climbed up behind. Then there was the brush of velvet upward along the backs of his thighs, and the breath caught in Erran’s throat.
The chieftain felt his princess tense up before him as the hem of the dress lifted higher. Just nerves still, doubt beginning to creep back in, surely nothing more. A little more encouragement, that would do. He hauled on another fistful of cloth. Such ridiculous long tails on these fancy noble dresses; did their arses drag along the floor, to need such? Irritatedly, he flicked a swathe of material out of the way to expose the round swells of two shapely cheeks, atop flawlessly smooth girlish thighs. And… Something else, nestled in between.
Erran felt thick, blunt fingers land on his posterior. The slid down, slowly. The breath he held became painful as he realised the danger of the situation. He didn’t dare move. The fingers slithered along the valley of his rump, finding an unmentionable package below. The closed around its girth, squeezing. The pressure was soft, but the tension was almost unbearable.
“You are not a usual girl, pretty one. Some little game of your royalty, perhaps?”
The words were husky and quiet, contemplative instead of confrontational. The gentle massaging of Erran’s intimate parts continued. It did not seem as though an answer was expected or required, but nevertheless something stammered out just to end the awful pause which had descended.
“I… Am a prince. I dressed this way so that my s-sister could escape. It was a d-distraction,” again the yawning chasm of silence came crashing down around Erran’s ears, prompting to add a shy “m-my lord…”
The chieftain’s chuckle could have been sinister, mocking or simply richly and unexpectedly amused; caught up in the momentousness of the situation, Erran could not tell. Still the squeezing of his sensitive organ continued unabated, keeping it hard and straining. With one deft hand, the barbarian kept him in his place. Then it stopped, and Erran felt a moment of pure deprivation. He felt himself pout. He realised he’d seen his sister do the same thing a hundred times before, though never over something like this. A firm grasp took his body and turned it slowly over, laying him down on his back. The naked chieftain loomed implacably above him, and reached again for the skewed folds of velvet.
Slowly the dress was drawn up over Erran’s legs and left to pool on his belly. Every part of his loins was exposed, and his thighs pulled upward and outward to open him completely to the barbarian above. The chieftain leaned in to lay his abdomen atop Erran’s, the bulk of the barbarian’s member lying comfortably flat beside Erran’s own and brushing companionably along its full length; and rather more. The young prince gulped at every sweltering sensation of raw, physical, sensual contact.
“I am Bersc. What are you called?” It was scarcely more than a murmur.
It did not seem as though the occasion was quite suited to a full courtly introduction and formal recitation of lineage.
“E-Erran, my lord…”
“Err-ann. Hah, a soft name. This is how men are called in your lands? No wonder you wear a dress. No matter; you need a man-name no more. Now I call you… Ranna, little one. Understand?”
The last thing Prince Erran did was nod his spellbound comprehension. Then, just like that, Erran became Ranna, woman of Bersc the High Chieftain. The first thing she did was let out a little whimpering sigh of longing and anticipation. Her barbarian understood.
Bersc raised himself up a little at the crotch, just enough to create a little space between their bodies. He reached down again to stroke a finger down the underside of Ranna’s pretty little royal prick, stopping to nestle the tip into the hollow between its root and the furrowed skin of the sack beneath for a second. Then the finger circled its way around and into the shady valley below, burrowing down in search of the crinkled entrance hidden within. Ranna breathed out pure lust into the lamplight. There was already enough perspiration present to coat Bersc’s fingertip as he made his careful exploration, teasing out every nook and cranny of the tightly-closed opening.
“So tight. Not to fear; I will go slowly.”
The chieftain rose, his naked back seeming to glisten in the cosy flames of the lamps all around as he crossed to one of the alcoves, and returned once more with a flask of lamp oil. Opening the flask, he dipped in a couple of fingers to the second knuckle, then put it aside and went back to kneeling between Ranna’s legs. This time when he began to push against his princess’ crinkled entrance once more, the pressure was more insistent. Slickened by the seed-oil, first one finger and then the second slid inside Ranna at last. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets as she sighed again, and her stiff little prick quivered.
Bersc took his time working his oiled fingertips around inside the princess’ rear entrance, softly massaging the flesh inside and gradually stretching wider as the muscles began to relax and accept the intrusion. He saw Ranna’s breathing quicken, and reached to stroke her pretty cheek with his other hand. Still the work of his fingers went on undisturbed, for seconds and then minutes, without hurry; as time went on he slipped more and more of their length inside. He thought Ranna would melt right into the bed’s fancy silken sheets before he was done. Finally, he judged the moment to be right for the next step.
By now Ranna could scarcely concentrate on anything except the stimulation taking over her loins and radiating out into the rest of her. When the soft invasion of her orifice was withdrawn at last, she could barely moan her disappointment. Then she saw her barbarian rise to his full imposing height before her, and in clear view, take his straining member in one hand and the lamp oil flask in the other. The oil glinted as he poured it along his considerable length, then began to massage it all over the swollen shaft to an even satin sheen. He gazed down into her eyes, and she prepared as best she could for what was coming next.
The chieftain lowered his body almost entirely over his princess’, belly to belly for a moment as he manoeuvred his lubricated cock to push against the now-relaxed muscles of her tight ring. Ranna raised her legs and wrapped them about his hips unbidden, heels pressing eagerly against his taut buttocks in anticipation. With the advantage of leverage afforded by his position, and with the entrance to her private inner chamber already well-greased beforehand, with one concerted push he was able to slide right in. All the breath left Ranna in a steamy rush, seemingly forced out by the fat, glossy cock that pressed its way inside her. As Bersc leaned down toward her she pulled with her legs and wrapped her arms around his stout shoulders, clinging on as tightly as her pleasure-drugged limbs could manage. Bersc stared into those wide, gorgeous silver eyes for a second before succumbing, dropping down fully on top of his clasping princess and kissing her hard and hot. His hips began to move, drawing his cock slowly back out and then smoothly in again, feeling the grip of her orifice sliding deliciously along around its whole circumference.
He lay there on top of the copper-haired princess in her disarrayed red velvet dress, pinning her down against the sumptuous bed, filling her with his burning desire and conquering length, fucking her slowly. Every shudder she made was absorbed in his arms, every shiver transmitted straight to his cock. It was all too much for Ranna, this overwhelming first time experiencing the fullest passions of a barbarian lord: his belly slid along her trembling prick, its excitement swelling with every motion as it lay trapped by the press. Smothered by his kisses and surrounded by his whole massive body, she could no longer contain herself. With a cry that was stolen from her throat by his invading tongue, she felt hot liquid erupt between them. Bersc’s steady thrusts seemed to speed up in response, as if striving to help pump out every last drop of cream from her spasming tip. The eruptions went on far longer than Ranna had imagined.
Bersc raised himself up at last, breaking their kiss and leaving his princess lying back against the sheets, a panting mess of flushed cheeks and streaking makeup. Their was a smeared puddle of sap pooling on her belly and the bottom of her ribcage, the last few tardy droplets tumbling from the head of her trembling little prick. A considerable amount of the stuff was sprayed across (and now slowly soaking into) the finely-stitched velvet of her dress. His beautiful princess looked utterly spent, and desperately satisfied.
He was still inside her, though, and he was not done. A few measured manoeuvres with his hands to disentangle and guide her legs, turning her over carefully on to her belly. Her cream would stain these luxurious silk sheets; it would be his gift to this conquered kingdom, and a fitting send-off for the old rulers. He would likely be adding to the gesture soon. At last Ranna was slumped before him, lying on her front with head lain on one side, the better to look back up at him through the mists of bliss that fogged her mind. He had just managed to stay within her, the fat bulb of his tip clinging to the inside of her ring. She could not be more relaxed. There was no need to hold back any longer.
Spent as she was, Ranna felt herself energised anew by the first pounding thrust. There was no hesitation, barely any warning, before they were coming thick (so very thick!) and fast, pushing down upon her abdomen, the barbarian’s muscular thighs slapping constantly against her soft, yielding buttocks. This was deeper than before, this was wild and savage; she felt as if she were to be crushed beneath the onslaught. She felt punished, pummelled by this merciless ravishing. At the same time, she felt the deepest, most molten pleasure building inside her, stoked with each thrust, setting her loins ablaze and forcing her exhausted, diminished prick back into tense, stiffening life. By the time her barbarian lord came to his summation, she was ready once more alongside him.
Their shared climax was mighty, joining the two of them together crotch-to-rump each with backs arched skyward, bonded together by the shared inferno of their intimate embrace. Ranna’s young prick spurted forth her joy once more, albeit the amount somewhat diminished, further staining the sheets. Bursc’s culmination was much more copious, bulging out inside his princess’ pretty rear, gushing out in waves to coat her insides, stirred into a froth by his slowing, finishing strokes, bubbling up and out around his powerful, meaty trunk and dribbling from Ranna’s opening. Everything grew slick and just a little sticky. With a final emphatic push, Bursc buried himself in his captivating captive’s insides, then pulled back to reluctantly withdraw. His cock was coated with strands of silky cream, the same as that which was now free to trickle from the princess’ thoroughly-fucked hole.
Later, recovered to a degree, they lay together, her enfolded in his thick, encircling embrace. He had spread his prized fur-lined cloak across them both; the silk sheets had been thoroughly soiled with their exertions, and he had felt no compunction in using a remaining unsullied corner to wipe clean his body and hers. Her dress too, coated in sap, was discarded in a corner of the chamber with the sheets. He imagined there was someone in this palace he had captured that would clean them eventually. She had moulded her body to the shape of his, huddling close under the cloak, in his arms. She had never imagined this morning that she would end up here, but could not now think of anywhere she would rather be. Tomorrow morning would bring so many new, exciting possibilities. She closed her eyes, face pressed to his chest, and listened to his breathing.
“My little royal Ranna. Now you are my Lover?”
It scarcely seemed to need answering at this point. Ranna squeezed in a little closer.
“Yes, my lord. Always…”