The princess squeaked from the loaf of cockmeat smacking down on top of her. Her watery eyes couldn’t turn away from that leaking cockhead, as more and more precum spilled onto her fair body from the rough slaps.
He lifted her legs, then, hefting a thigh over each arm, until they were standing straight in the air at a 90-degree angle from the rest of her body. Her toes were up near his face, and he dipped his head to lick the soles of her dainty feet.
Ocena curled her toes, so they closed around his nose and face. The king snorted and salivated on her toes and feet until he was satisfied, and all the while his cock began to lift from the surface of Ocena’s body.
Cartherus moved back, sliding his sweaty hard cock from her stomach like an oversized slug, leaving a sticky trail behind it.
Princess Ocena grimaced as the appendage disappeared somewhere beneath her.
The king set the young woman’s legs on his shoulders, holding them by the shins, her calves digging into his strong muscles.
Then he moved forward, and Ocena’s eyes bulged. The pressure of that large cockhead pushed against her slit, forcing the folds apart. It dove in through her wetness, penetrating her pussy and lighting a fire within her.
As the king brought his heavy body forward and stuck his cock inside his stepdaughter, she let out a howl. That howl quickly became a strangled sob, then a moan, as thick inches forced her vaginal canal apart and stretched her pussy wide.
Her lips suctioned against the wide shaft, wet like an octopus’ tentacles. He moved within her, gently thrusting his hips. Her toes curled again, but in immediate pain—though that pain was quickly replaced by a numbing sensation throughout her body.
Princess Ocena’s mouth fell open, but little sound came out.
The king leaned forward and enveloped that smaller mouth with his own greedy lips, roughly kissing her and sticking his tongue down her throat. His rough beard pricked her smooth face. All the while, his hips moved in a methodic rhythm, pushing more and more of his shaft inside her.
Ocena’s eyes shot open, worried that Cartherus had deigned to kiss her while he defiled her. She could do nothing to escape him, and knew that to attempt it would only bring a harsher punishment—to bite down on his tongue would mean violence. So she continued to just lie there, squeezing her wobbly thighs around his arms, curling her toes near his head, as he had his way with her.
“Still as tight as the day I met you, girl,” Cartherus said once he removed his tongue from between Ocena’s lips. His voice was a grating rasp, causing goose bumps to rise on her arms and the back of her neck.
And you’re still as big as the first time you fucked me, dear wicked stepfather, Ocena thought. Her mind was playing tricks on her, she knew. Though she dreaded these coital meetings, whenever they began, it wasn’t long before she was a streaming mess, blushing like a rose and leaking like a rushing river.
She never thought it would’ve been possible to enjoy something so heinous, so forbidden . . . but the king had proved her wrong, time and time again.
And as he pelted into her, his heavy balls swinging and smacking into her ass, she felt that familiar feeling again.
Bliss. Numbing, lethargic bliss.
She closed her eyes. She felt his fingers wrap underneath her buttocks, gripping and prodding her cushiony flesh.
Then she was being lifted from the bed, her body leaving the surface of the mattress just as her sane brain had left her head moments ago.
A sharp, initial orgasm racked her body as he lifted her and plunged his curving cock into the deepest parts of her wet tunnel. She writhed—not meaning to struggle, but in Cartherus’ eyes that’s what it looked like.
He growled and squeezed on her ass harder. Despite her small and slender stature and her budding breasts, her rear-end had always been big and round, and now the king was putting it to good use in his hands, as if molding wet clay with his fingertips.
Slowly, those hands slid up the curve of her asscheeks and landed at the small of her back, forming a platform. As he continued to lift her, now hovering over the bed, she was forced to lock her legs around his neck and clamp down so that she didn’t fall and slide right off his cock.
He held her backside like a trophy and slammed into her stretched pussy while her legs flapped at that sharp angle upward. She felt scrunched—used like a sextoy, but there was little she could do now but try to enjoy it.
Before long, the king had her body swinging against his own, her ass rippling against his bulbous belly as they smacked into each other with echoing claps.
A loud thwack rang out with each pendulous, momentous swing of her body.
He was using her raised legs as leverage—Ocena had never known she was so flexible!—while he held onto her around the waist with both hands and crammed her little frame onto his large penis, like she was just a simple cocksleeve.
Another tremor had her quivering and she moaned in rapture, her head falling back loosely below the rest of her symmetrical body. Her arms dangled uselessly at her sides, also lowered beneath the straightness of her torso.
As the king’s precum mingled with her dripping juices, he laughed and returned her to the bed. He had bounced her on his hard shaft good and well, but now it was time to exact his punishment.
Ocena found herself bending in a strange way, her neck being the first thing to land on the sheets. Her head craned forward until her chin touched the top of her sternum. Her perky tits spun wildly as her chest bounced.
Her legs were still in the air, but now the king was . . . groaning and climbing onto the bed. A moment of clarity rushed to her as he extricated his cock from her gaping cunt and pulled back, a soft, cool breeze blowing inside her.
He parted her legs up in the air and stood over her like a monster, his head nearly reaching the top netting of the bed. He crouched down into a battle stance and began ramming her from above, jackhammering into her with all his force.
Not only did he plunge deeper than ever before, but she felt as if her womb was being kissed by that wet cockhead. Her eyes bulged, her body ached in pain, and she panted with every thrust delivered from the squatting king. Her legs were out to her sides now, spread in a V above her.
She was so scrunched that the king’s weighty nutsack pelted into the base of her ass, creating red bruises all around her crack.
Trapped in a position she could have never expected, or thought of, she gave in to the pain and pleasure in equal measure, and climaxed over and over as the plunging cock dove ever deeper, until her belly was inflating from the sheer size and pressure of King Cartherus’ manhood.
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She tried to breathe but struggled against her curved neck—the brutality of the position sure enough to snap her spine if it continued for too much longer.
Growling and grunting angrily over her as he squatted and rammed down into that yawning pussy, Cartherus chuckled in a dark way. “Ah, I see you love getting piledriven into the bed like a useless doll! Not much of a princess now, are you, girl?”
“N-Nooo!”
“And what are you, besides a cock-drunk whore?!”
“Y-Your slaaave! Your fuckdoll and good-for-nothing pet!”
She would say anything to stop the overflow of cum she felt swirling inside of her—to stop her own juices from spouting out like a tidal wave.
“The only use I have for you is at the end of my thick cock,” Cartherus muttered. He was slowing down, his pumps losing their energy and vigor.
Spit frothed around her lips, smearing her face.
And then the king’s body grew as taut as a pulled rope, his muscles flexing, his neck veins bulging, and his big dick throbbed inside of her.
He came with all his might, roaring his orgasm as he pumped his load deep into Ocena’s pussy. She could feel her tender lips suctioning around his shaft, eating his cock just as her womb swallowed his viscous seed.
In order to stay conscious, Ocena wrapped her legs around his waist, pullin
g him deeper, closer.
“Ha! You bitch! If that doesn’t get you pregnant, then nothing will!” he yelled happily, then slid his cock out of her and let her body flop onto the bed uselessly. She lay there panting, chest rapidly rising and falling, spunk leaking out of her in rivulets.
Cartherus hopped off the bed and turned to leave her as he’d tossed her—now done with the toy he called his stepdaughter.
“W-Wait, Master,” Ocena mumbled.
Ears perking at the mention of his self-proclaimed title, he turned, hands on his waist, large penis slapping against the insides of his cum-smeared thighs. “What is it, girl?”
“Y-You don’t have to worry anymore about that.” She looked away ashamedly, then rubbed her belly. “I already am.”
Chapter Eighteen
Stecker watched Alberus go, then his eyes honed in on the shifty man his boss had been speaking to. The hooded fellow left the docks and set out into the greater city, away from Stecker.
He quickly leaped from behind the fish cart and marched down the length of the docks in pursuit.
The hooded man was quick—lithe and deliberate about his movements, but he never once looked over his shoulder to see if he was being followed. It was clear to Stecker that too many things were on the man’s mind.
A fool, Stecker thought as he closed in on the man. They had reached a section of the city that was middle-class, with streets winding away in all directions. Nearly all of the buildings were intact, for once, without chips on any of the walls. It was like a whole new world to Stecker, one he hadn’t seen very often in his life.
The hooded man squeezed between merchants’ carts and crowds of people. He seemed to be going somewhere specific, or else he was leading Stecker on a roundabout path, just trying to get the thief lost in the tumult of the city.
And it was working—for a few heartstopping moments, here and there, Stecker had thought he’d lost the man. But then he would reappear on the other end of a mass of people, or making his way down the edges of a road as carriages passed.
Stecker had the nagging suspicion that, even though he didn’t look over his shoulder, the man knew he was being followed.
Eventually, they came to a wide-open court, and there was no one and nothing that Stecker could hide behind. The circular yard was opening up and clearing out—the day was coming to an end, and all the traders and merchants were packing up their wares and wheeling them off.
Stecker maintained his pursuit regardless of the danger of being caught. His hand went to the hilt of his long dagger as he neared within ten paces of the man, who seemed to be slowing down.
Please don’t let me recognize this man, Stecker found himself thinking. Don’t let this be someone I know . . . I don’t know how I would react to another betrayal right now.
Stecker realized that his meeting with the king had been a long adventure filled with turmoil. He had been led astray from his initial path and mission, by quite a ways—first going to the docks, then to the middle-class district of Sefyr City. If anyone had been following him up until this point, they would’ve had to think that he’d gone insane.
The hooded man suddenly turned a corner, disappearing from sight.
Stecker held his breath, cut along a path through two arguing merchants, and rushed into the mouth of the alleyway where the man had vanished.
A knife flashed out, nearly catching him in the side, but Stecker wasn’t foolish enough to enter a dark alley without caution. As the dagger dove in from the side, Stecker side-spun out of the way in an acrobatic fashion.
The man was on his heels within a moment, growling and swinging his dagger in a diagonal slash like he was wielding a sword.
Stecker’s long dagger gleamed from its sheath and caught the blade in a ringing of iron. He flipped his wrist and deflected the knife blade down the length of his steel in a singing choir of metallic noise.
He could see the yellow of the man’s bared teeth—but little else of his face—as they held the parry for a moment.
Then they were separated, with Stecker giving the man a shove.
The hoodlum came on again, flipping his dagger into an underhanded stance so the blade stuck out the bottom of his fist.
Stecker watched as the man lunged and tried to give him a backhanded slice across the face. Stecker leaned back, narrowly avoiding a nasty scar across his pale features.
Then he kicked out with his foot, hard, lifting it into the man’s stomach. The man groaned and fell back, stumbling, one hand clutching his belly.
All sense of decorum and honorable fighting was out the window as Stecker advanced on the doubled-over thug.
The man snapped back to his full height in a hurry, and the hood on his head flew back to reveal a face that was as dark as worn desert sand.
The hooded man lifted his dagger to fend off the incoming approach of Stecker, who had his own dagger raised in a vicious stabbing stance.
Backpedaling with nowhere to go, the de-hooded man snarled and lunged out at Stecker.
Stecker thrust with his own dagger, and the man was forced to abandon his lunge and parry. But Stecker glided his motion into a stop-thrust that had the man coming up short, stumbling forward.
And with a hefty crunch and gasp of air, Stecker kneed the scrambling man hard in the groin.
He doubled over again, but this time it would take him much longer to get up. He dropped his dagger and groaned, hands instinctively reaching for his damaged crotch.
Before he could fall over, Stecker reached out and snagged the man’s hood from behind his head, then pulled up roughly, forcing him to his feet, while pushing back at the same time.
The man wobbled where he stood, pain evident in his eyes, the veins on his neck bulging.
The man with the desert skin bared his teeth again, seeming as if he was going to try to bite Stecker.
Then Stecker was just inches away from him, not fearful of the man’s imposing grimace. His dagger flashed up to rest delicately on the bobbing core of the man’s neck, and all fight seemed to leave the man in one quick gasp.
Taut as a puckering asshole, the man’s eyes widened, shifting downward to see the reflection of that blade’s edge against the softness of his neck.
Stecker’s other hand grabbed a fistful of dark hair and hoisted the man upwards, until he was completely pushed up against the wall of the alley. His dagger-hand was unmoving, as still as death, on that sunburned neck.
“Your name,” he growled.
The man spat at Stecker’s face, but the experienced thief didn’t so much as flinch as the gross phlegm spattered on his cheek.
Stecker wheeled his dagger away from the man’s neck and stabbed him in the thigh.
The man groaned, his face twisting in pain, but said nothing.
“You look like a foreigner,” Stecker said, pulling his dagger free and sliding the blood-tinted blade up along the man’s neck again. “Do you speak my language?”
The man simply growled.
“I’ve stabbed you in a vital spot—not just the fleshy part of your thigh, mate. You’ll bleed out if you don’t seek assistance soon.”
A frown.
“And I’m not going to let you go until you answer some simple questions. Understood?”
No response.
“Why were you talking to that man at the docks? What did he have to say to you?”
“Keep track of your own people, fool,” the man said with a bit of an accent.
So, he is a foreigner. Even with those seven words, he’s told me a lot. He’s not from the Sefyr Kingdom.
Stecker furrowed his brow, thinking. Still holding the man by the hair, the back of his head crunching against the rough wall, he used his dagger hand to peruse the man’s collar.
His dagger edge bit underneath the man’s cloak, then tore aside the clasp that held his cloak and hood on his shoulders. As it fell, a studded leather hide of armor was revealed beneath it.
And on one of the shoulder pads of
that armor was an engraved symbol that Stecker recognized: a light blue rose inside a black shield.
Whereas the Sefyr royal crest was a red rose inside a white shield—it was the same crest adorning every soldier in town . . . this one stuck out like a sore thumb.
The crest of the Geread Kingdom!
His eyes widened.
The fuming man in his grasp smiled, as if he’d just turned the power in his favor, even though a blade still danced close to his neck and his hair was being tugged like a bratty whore.
“Seen what you need?” the man grunted, pleased with himself.
“You’re a spy for the Gereads?”
The man scoffed. “I am a Geread soldier, fool. Will you take me to your barracks now?”
Stecker shook his head. He found that his hand holding the dagger was trembling—not a good sign for trying to act imposing. He was quickly losing any authority.
He’d either need to kill this man soon, or be gone from him.
“And you won’t take me there . . . because you’re an outlaw yourself, yes?”
Stecker nodded. He gulped.
“I see the notion of death crossing your mind, young man,” the dark-faced hoodlum said. “If you kill me now, you’ll set in motion a horrible mess. I must return to my kingdom, don’t you see?”
Stecker was starting to. His mind was working quickly, and everything seemed to fall into place all at once.
Alberus . . . and the Geread Kingdom . . .
Kicking away the man’s dagger on the ground, he released his hold on his rugged hair, then jumped back with his dagger askance.
The man rubbed at his neck but made little movement besides that.
“Begone, scoundrel,” Stecker growled.
Chuckling, the man eyed his dagger on the ground—too far to make a jump for. He reached down anyway, and Stecker stepped forward with his dagger ready to skewer—
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