by Keep, J. E.
There was obviously some conflict within her, the trembling, pale little woman lowering her eyes and darting them about in frustration. “That’s no excuse to... to barter with the devil!” she exclaimed in a breathy voice.
This was all too much to handle for the young woman who’d only once been beyond the city itself, and then simply to be betrothed to her future husband, a prince of the Empire. Swallowing down her rage she asked, “What have you done, Mirella?”
“I’ve only looked out for your best interests, my lady. You are my Princess, and I only ever want what is best for you,” she responded, obedience in her tone. “I’m only sorry that you had to wake alone. I so wanted to be there to ensure you were feeling well.”
She seemed so sincere and downtrodden to be accused of such things, and her green eyes fell demurely.
The virginal princess could hardly wrap her mind about what had actually happened, and it seemed apparent she was struggling with the reality of it all. “I need some time to think,” she said, though before anything more could be said that familiar sound of people falling to their knees could be heard behind them.
His was a presence felt before it was seen, and so Mirella was able to turn in time to see the grand, dark man sweep into the tent. Once again, where others cowered or bowed, she gazed up longingly.
Her gaze was returned, for the large tyrant approached them both. His dark gaze moved to the princess however, eying her quivering little form. “Good morning, princess Flair,” came his dusky voice, so hard and masculine, using her official title for the first time.
Mirella had to pull her eyes from him, using all her will to look back to the Princess, stroking the backs of her fingers against her lady’s hand. “Princess, please,” she murmured softly. She wanted the praise of her god, and if she could only warp the princess to his will...
Why did she have to be so obstinate? Why did her father spoil her so? Mirella shoved aside the rage, her light caresses so encouraging, “He can help you.”
The princess didn’t flinch from her touch, which was a good sign, but she still remained cowering from the visage of the mighty giant towering over them.
“You needn’t fear me, princess,” he intoned evenly in that booming voice of his that seemed incapable of doing anything but commanding attention.
The princess, however, snapped then, “My father will come and save me! I don’t need you or anyone to take care of me until then!” Obstinately she pushed away Mirella’s consoling hand and rose up on shaky limbs, resolutely defiant in her ignorance of reality.
“Princess!” she gasped as she stood on far more certain feet. “You’ll be no good to anyone if you get yourself injured,” she murmured, leaning in to the other woman’s ear, “Be rational,” she pleaded.
Stumbling upon the cushions that lined the floor as she pushed Mirella away, Anabelle tried to escape them both but toppled onto a mound of velvet and silk, crying as she tried to separate herself from them both. “Leave me alone!” she cried. Mirella knew that tone of voice well, there would be no consoling the princess now, not until she had sobbed herself clean of her worries.
However, the greatest disappointment was the look on the ebon God-King’s face. He said no more, but he chose two other women then, leaving her there to wait out the sobs of the petulant princess.
Chapter 4
After hours of crying and pouting, Mirella’s anger had plenty of time to boil. Despite her calming and matronly tone, her rage at disappointing her god, at being denied him was the most intense emotion she had ever felt.
At the palace, the Princess’s moods like this could go on for weeks at a time on occasion. Here, under such dramatic circumstances, she feared for how stubborn she could be. Sleep claimed her eventually, and in the midst of the night the concubine-guards came to her in quiet, shifting through the dim, candle lit tent to rouse the handmaid from her rest.
There were no words, just a quiet look. Either it was ominous or they merely wished to not wake the sleeping princess.
She was a light sleeper at the best of times and disentangled herself from the sleeping princess, whose deep sleep was difficult to rouse her from at the best of times. Mirella primped as she followed them back the familiar route to the breakfast nook, and her heart beat with excitement and fear.
Surely he couldn’t have expected her to win over the princess so quickly. Perhaps if she had informed the woman of her dead father, to have instigated her rage sooner, she could have moved the process along quicker. Her footsteps were fast and she nearly outpaced the guards as she sought to see her god and bare her punishment for failure.
Mirella found the man standing beneath the moonlight in almost nothing. The guard had not dared follow her in, and so she was left alone with the visage of her new idol, his dark, hard body seeming to glow in the moonlight. It took her awhile to realize he was glistening with some light perspiration as he stood there in his boots and pants only.
Turning around he looked to her passively, and his words shook reality, “She is a stubborn one.” So simple.
“Yes, Your Greatness,” she sighed as she moved towards him, her fingers working the ribbon of her dressing gown and leaving it partially open down the front. It was quite brazen, of course, but it was done with such a natural ease that it didn’t seem crass.
“I’m considering if her father’s death will help or hinder your progress with her,” she was no longer speaking to him, but to his body, her eyes working their way over his form. There was no jealousy to her, no lamenting why he continued on with other concubines. She accepted him as is and was only grateful for time alone with him once more.
She swore she could hear that familiar groan of leather as his manhood swelled within his pants again. The dark lord reached out and took her in his hands, held her shoulder and hip as he looked down over her body with such masculine desire. “You can bend her to me,” he intoned darkly, and it was only reassuring.
“I will, Your Greatness. If there is any one thing I will do in this world, it will be to see you happy,” she murmured. Her softer body yielded towards him as her material gathered around his wrist, revealing more of her feminine form. She swallowed as her heartbeat quickened, and she wanted him so badly. To see him happy with her. To be the one he visited more than any other.
“The Princess is headstrong, but easily led. She will take her time to be emotional, but she trusts me. I will make sure she makes the right choice for you,” she tilted her head up, looking over his muscled chest before finally meeting his eyes.
Brushing his hand over her cheek, he let the dress fall to the grass while his other hand stroked across her hip to one of her generous breasts. Standing so close to him, the swell of his manhood through his pants pressed against her, and she knew he wanted her. “Tell me, what can I do to soften her heart in the meantime. Will this stubborn princess be swayed by trinkets? Favours?”
He spoke of the other woman, but as he lowered and tilted his head, he seemed focussed only on her. He was consumed with desire for her as he supped at the flesh of her neck, kissing, suckling and biting her there.
“If you’ve spared some of her friends, it might be a relief, depending on how supportive they are of you. To gain good will,” she murmured as her hands pressed against his chest, feeling out his flesh so desirably. “Clothing, amenities. A bedroom. Things the princess wants. Return her life to as close as normalcy, and she will have an easier time processing this. Your men destroyed most of the things she put value into, and it is making her more stubborn than usual,” she purred out. One of her hands swept over the bulge in his pants and she trembled with need.
She leaned in, brushing her lips against his ribs, tracing them so hungrily as she kissed his flesh, rubbing his manhood with growing speed and pressure.
The depth of her advice, the cunning of it, seemed to please the giant of a man at least as much as her touches. “Then I shall do that,” he said with certainty. “I shall put her back in her room,
restore things as best as can be done...” he stroked her sleek, dark hair, cupped and squeezed her large breast, appreciated the beauty of her voluptuous form in its totality. “But none of her friends likely live. The court had to be eliminated, to make way for my reign,” he insisted, throbbing against her touch so thickly. “You are the only friend she can have.”
She smiled as her fingers found that sweet release of his pants, plucking his throbbing shaft from its confines with such relish. “I don’t know why that should please me, but it does,” she said as her fist began to worshipfully massage his member. “Certainly it isn’t that I enjoy her company, but to have her rely upon only me...” her grin widened. “Besides, those pissants deserved to die.”
Her harsh words about the dead nobles seemed to bring a toothy smile to his face, and he looked down at her as she began to pump his massive shaft in the night air. The roll of his foreskin exposed the thick bulging ridge of his crown, and a husky growl of pleasure brewed from within his chest.
“You’re mine,” he stated possessively, his fingers knitted into her hair as he stroked her head. “Will it help your cause if she thinks you were responsible for negotiating these new arrangements? Or would it be more beneficial to me to take credit for my gifts?” he asked as his powerful hand, coarse and strong, kneaded her breast flesh, teased and toyed with her areola and stiff nipple.
She thought about it, or at the very least tried. Her mind was quickly beginning to give way to a haze of delight at his hands, his hardness throbbing against her palms. “Take credit,” she murmured. “The Princess must see you as her ‘saviour Prince’. I’m but a lowly handmaiden,” she purred. It sounded so incredibly selfless, but the deviousness was obvious.
Her body ached for him and that distracting wetness between her thighs grew as she massaged his member. Again there was no intent for him to cum, just a pure enjoyment of feeling him in all of his glory.
Leaning down, the obsidian giant plushly placed a kiss against her pouty lips. “You know your place well,” he husked so complimentary, “how can I meet with you without raising the Princess’s suspicions? I need your reports,” he stated, his voice hanging for just a moment before he squeezed her breast painfully hard, “I want your flesh.” Despite his magnificence, his power, when he spoke in that lust laden voice, it had a way of making her feel like all the world had fallen away and she was the sole object of his desire.
“She sleeps well, Your Greatness,” she whispered against his lips. “I need little sleep to be rested, and I would do without for months if it meant more time with you.” She swallowed hard, her hand and her stomach trapping his cock in the heated embrace of her flesh, her large breasts pressed against him as if encouraging his hard squeezes. The way she moaned with each new pain seemed to demonstrate her joy quite well.
With his hand in her hair and upon her chest, he twisted her around. To be manhandled by a god as she was bent over, pushed down so that she had to rest her hands against the soapstone table where he’d first taken her.
“You serve well,” he husked as he brought his thick pillar to her quim, the slickness of her cunny kissing the bulbous crown. “If you fail to produce me an heir, I shall be saddened by that.” He stabbed himself into her, forcing that thick girth to the very base of her quim and yet still more of his length unable to fit.
She braced herself and for only a second she wondered if this was where he took the other women before all thought and reason left her. All that was left was that aching fullness, that needy, hard cock as it battered into her from a new angle, sending familiar tendrils of ecstasy up and down her form. Though she didn’t cum right away as she had last time, her pussy tightened around that gigantic member, her breasts flattened atop the cold table and the sensation teasing her higher.
This time was rougher, harder, and more primal than the first. It was as if in the pale moonlight this beast of a king was fuelled in his dark desires. He held her generous hips in place, keeping her from moving too far from his hold as he pounded her from behind. If this was the kind of treatment he gave other women, there was no wonder as to why they looked so blown away after their encounters with him.
The hard, dull thuds of his iron cock shaft impacting her depths were each a new reminder of the throbbing pain she’d carry from this experience long afterwards. The slap of his heavy balls against her sodden clit and mons like a mocking clap in the dark of night. But the sweet sounds of husky male satisfaction were delicious enough to make up for it, especially as she felt his member swell and the flood of thick virile seed to follow.
She huffed against his force, and she wasn’t even entirely sure if she had yet cum herself. She had certainly felt pleasure coalesce within her body, but he had taken her to a place she’d never been before. Somewhere beyond mortal needs and flesh. Somewhere within herself and yet outside of all reality at the same time. When she felt him release within her, it grounded her instantly and all that otherworldly experience had her body shuddering around him with an intensity she didn’t know possible.
Panting over top of her, he stroked his fingers down her spine, eliciting a trill of excitement as his cock throbbed and disgorged the last of its virile seed into her eager cunt. “If only the princess were as agreeable and pleasing to me as you,” he remarked. A hand squeezed her ass cheek before he pulled out of her, leaving a void within that only a man as impressively large as he could ever hope to fill.
Her hand instantly went down, cupping herself and hoping not to drop a single glob, though it was a fruitless thing. It poured over her fingertips, both of their juices leaving her hands sticky and slippery in the dim light. “I wish so too, if only to better aid you,” she sighed, genuine desire hidden in her lust laden voice.
Placing a hand on her cheek, he guided the servant up and tilted her gaze to him as the pair stood in the grove, her legs wobbly after the hard fucking. “Find a way to fulfill my wishes, and you shall be lucky compared to her in the end, sweet concubine,” he promised, and then a thought seemed to take him. “What is your name?”
“Mirella, Your Greatness,” she whispered. It was as though she’d been utterly humbled, and his asking for her name was the greatest gift she could have been offered, even more so than the rutting that had left her weak and dizzied. Gratitude flooded her body and she wanted, even more so, to please her god.
His hand released hold of her head and he stroked back over her dark hair, “Mirella,” he repeated, as if tasting her name upon his tongue experimentally and liking it. “Go back to your charge, Mirella. And dream of a day when you no longer tend to prickly princesses, but are mother to warlord princes.”
She bowed, but her eyes never left him, still so eager for him even as she limped back, feeling the exquisite ache so deep within her, hand still lovingly cupping her sex and her robe haphazardly closed around her.
Chapter 5
Mirella awoke to an odd sound. The princess had somehow awaked before her and was talking to someone else in the tent. She could only attribute it to the late nights spent serving the God-King. Those moments were so deeply satisfying, but they had a way of leaving her exhausted the next day, of course.
“Those savages couldn’t have defeated us fairly,” declared Anabelle. “They don’t even have a real army!” The petite little princess was speaking to three of the other concubines, women of Ariste who—in their new scanty little outfits—seemed more amenable to their leader’s speech, nodding along. “The King is out there somewhere. Don’t listen to the lies! Our soldiers will return home and liberate us.”
Before Mirella could intervene, one of the northerners responded in her stead. “We may not have the sort of army you once had, little woman,” declared a short haired barbarian, “but we have our own special ways. And the God-King knows best how to use them,” she said, down casting her eyes at the mention of their leader.
Outrage and insult flooded Mirella’s face, but she quickly swept it aside, once more hiding her true feelings unde
r a mask of calm. “My Princess, war is never fair, but if your father were alive, he hasn’t come back for us.”
That denial sent Anabelle’s expression into a state of shock. Her eyes wide in disbelief at Mirella’s ‘outrageous’ assertion, she looked ready to either break down into tears or attack the servant. “How dare you,” she muttered with barely any force to her words. The petite princess struck out with a slap, her weak wrist able to do little more than inflict a mild stinging at her insolent servant.
She made it seem like it hurt a lot more, her hand clasping her jaw as her eyes widened, “Princess!” she gasped. “It’s obvious to any here! His daughter is in danger—the Princess!—and yet he’s done nothing to save you from your lot! We’re surrounded by the dead! I only want what is best for you, my lady, to see you protected and safe, and if your father will not, then I will!”
She saw from the fire in Anabelle’s eyes that her words would not sink in just yet, however. The princess was too full of indignations rage to see the reason of her ‘false’ words.
Before things could escalate further, however, He returned.
A hush consumed the room, and as the God-King strode in he had a smile. A light smile, “Princess,” he addressed Anabelle, “I have come bearing good tidings for you.” The look on Anabelle’s disturbed and repulsed face almost seemed to betray hope for a moment.
“What tidings could YOU bring me that would be good?” she said scornfully, making her reference to him sound insulting by itself.
She took a step back away from the Princess, embarrassed at having been caught so with the Anabelle. She would hang that little bitch herself if she didn’t submit to the god soon. Her rage dissipated, however, as her eyes scanned him greedily, and her desire to make the Princess his rose.
Dressed in his usual attire, the cloak draped diagonally across his exquisitely sculpted torso, he looked as stunning as ever, his immaculate hair so rich and lustrous in its dark glory.