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The sexual beast inside was breaking through my body, smothering any control that remained. I wanted Tore back inside of me. I wanted it hard, I wanted it rough, and I wanted Tore to continue to take my body with uncontrolled abandon.
He grabbed my hip with one hand and a handful of hair with the other. His cock impaled me with a force that made me scream. He pulled my hair back as he drove in and out with a carnal need. Releasing his grip on my hip, he spanked my bottom. Not like a punishment but a spank of pure erotic pleasure. He continued to spank while driving his hardness deep within me.
“Listen to me well, broken bird. Never disobey any of the huntsmen, or you will get far worse than what I am doing here. You are to be submissive, obedient, and compliant in all the ways we ask.” Tore continued the stinging slaps against my burning behind. I gasped with each reminding blow. “Some of my fellow huntsmen are not forgiving or tolerant men. Remember this warning.”
I arched my back further. The electricity from the spanking only enhanced the approaching orgasm returning to my body. “Yes, sir.”
He grabbed both of my hips with his hands as he pushed and pulled his cock within my warm depths. His breathing sped up; his moans increased. I screamed as another orgasm rocked through my body with more force than before. Tore thrust as deeply as possible as he called out my name while spilling his seed into my waiting womb.
CHAPTER 4
I awoke to the sound of laughter.
After a lifetime spent waking to cold, unfeeling silence, it felt strangely comforting. Pulling the heavy quilt over my shoulder, I curled up onto my side, closed my eyes and listened.
The harsh clang of metal. The scrape of a fork on a plate. Muffled conversation. The heavy thump of footsteps.
Life. Humanity.
Burying my face in the blankets, I hid a smile. It was ludicrous really. These were common sounds in kitchens across the land and yet, they swept over me like music. After being shackled with only my own meager thoughts for company, day after day, month after month, year after year, the break from isolation was thrilling. How odd that these quaint sounds of domesticity should come from these large, beastly men—my abductors. Yet, by stealing my freedom, they were setting me free. Free from a crushing solitude.
As I laid secure in my cocoon, I heard my name. Sitting up, I strained to hear. Was it Tore? Would he relate to his fellow huntsmen my humiliation? How despite my struggle, my body betrayed me in the end? Would he regale them with the story of my cries and moans? How I spread my legs and practically begged him to hurt me more? My cheeks burned at the thought. Reaching between my legs, I cupped my cunny, the soreness another reminder of his brutal taking of my maidenhood and my shameless response.
Still, there was no denying his raw savagery was tempered with a harsh, almost reluctant, kindness. Wiggling my toes, I was surprised to feel no tightness or pain. The salve Tore had used on my bruised and cut feet had done much to heal the wounds.
Brushing away a tear, I tried to focus. Hiding behind a false sense of normalcy, no matter how inviting those sounds may be, no matter his show of kindness with my feet, would not help me in my current predicament. The reality was, I had been taken from one prison to another. There was no doubt in my mind my stepmother was behind the deed. These huntsmen would have no reason to lie to me. Even if I wanted to escape back to the castle, what would be the point? I would either be killed the moment I crossed the gate or, worse, imprisoned even deeper inside the castle walls. Tossed in a cell, perhaps the dungeon even, until all my father’s subjects had forgotten my very existence...if they hadn’t already.
My stepmother’s tales of my madness and cruelty to myself and others had hit their mark. Even servants once loyal to me and sympathetic to my plight had begun to doubt my sanity as the years stretched on…not that I blamed them. It was a compelling story. The poor princess driven mad by her father’s death. What a sympathetic creature my stepmother must be! The woman forced to care for the mad daughter of her dead husband. Reluctantly taking on the role of sovereign since my weak mind would not allow me to rule. My, she played that role well. No one ever questioned it. No one ever thought that perhaps, just perhaps, she had stolen my birthright.
Bitterness rose in my throat like bile. Bitterness and regret. How could I have let my grief blind me to her machinations? How could I have believed a woman who had never shown me an ounce of kindness or a spoken a soft word while my father was alive would suddenly care for my well-being? That I actually believed her when she said she was giving me time and space to grieve! That I had never questioned her as she slowly usurped the throne which was rightfully mine. The cruel truth was I was as responsible for my own imprisonment as if I had turned the key in the lock myself.
