Gwennalyn's Sexual Awakening Ch. 10

A big thank you as always to EmmaKendrick01 for providing her thoughts on the chapter!

*****

Slumber shifted into wakefulness as Deiara opened her eyes. A familiar warmth was pressed against her from behind.

Yawning, she peeked back to see her princess curled up, peaceful in the realm of dreams. A few stretches, and her feet swung over the edge of the bed to hit the cool floor.

It was the last day of their stay in the orcish kingdom.

Her princess had spent every night with the brothers. After that first day spent whoring for them, her expectations had been sky-high. As usual, the brothers had decided to subvert said expectations, denying her further opportunities to whore for them claiming she had enjoyed it too much for a princess. They had still deigned to fuck her every night, sending her back to Deiara in increasingly wretched states.

The second night of their stay, her princess had stayed in their chambers overnight, but the brothers had not been nearly as accommodating the rest of the week. Deiara had continually woken up to the younger woman nuzzling against her. Usually, her dress and other garments were cast off at the foot of the bed, her nakedness streaked with semen, more of it burbling forth from her nether regions. Once or twice, the brothers had torn and ripped at her dress, mauling the expensive and exquisite garment in such ways that revealed an upper thigh or the curve of a shoulder or the nearly concave dip of her stomach. And after each visit to the brothers, she had returned with bruises marring her smooth skin; one night, the most noticeable had been a light purple ring around her neck, her princess murmuring something about a leash before passing out. Last night, the brothers had been careless enough to send her back with the leash, a simple length of rope, still attached, Deiara untying it in a sleepily impatient huff as Gwennalyn giggled blearily.

While her princess had been indulging in her nightly submission, Deiara had been inviting various orcs back to the quarters they shared. After hosting the first instance of the aforementioned nightly submission, her first partner had been Baltar, the brothers' attendant. After several warriors, another attendant, a servant, one cook, and the kennel master, Deiara the night before had spent several hours with one of the king's courtesans. Unlike the other partners she had chosen, Neya had the advantage of devoting her life to pleasure, so their entanglement was most memorable.

Padding into the next room, Deiara began to draw a bath. As it was the last day before they were to head back home, it was highly likely that her princess would be glum and downcast, forced to again think about her impending marriage to Lucien.

It was always a tricky situation consoling the younger woman.

Since her own life had been often far from easy, especially before having met the royal family, her first instinct was always to preach gratitude for the life Gwennalyn was afforded as a daughter of the king.

But she had learned over her years as a handmaiden that it was unfair to compare the lives the two women led. The life of a princess, even eminently sheltered and privileged, came with its own set of concerns and challenges, completely different from those in other lives.

And she did not choose her life.

Once the bath was ready, she went back out into the main room.

Gwennalyn had kicked the blankets off, revealing her alluring nakedness.

In the low light of the room, shafts of the sun peeking through the curtains, the pale swath of that alabaster flesh was exquisite, smooth and luscious, recently ripened fruit. Gentle breathing set her chest to a slow rhythm, pink nipples crowning each small swell, barely budded morsels of deliciousness. The faintest indent of ribs framed the flat plane of her stomach, which led straight down to the thin lips of her womanhood, still leaking strands of cooled semen. All over her were splotches of that same wasted potency, a few thick ropes reaching up from her forehead to mat down a portion of her blonde tresses. Adding to the lewd portrait were the bruises, smatterings all over her, loose arcs blooming on her hips, staining her breasts, the remnant of last night's leash smeared in angry purple around her throat. It was a sight that mixed beauty and salacity in equal amounts.

Those slender thighs opened slightly as her princess murmured in her sleep.

Probably dreaming about orc cock.

Another round of murmurs, and those thighs opened a bit more.

Or any type of cock, really.

Deiara slithered onto the bed, parting the thighs further, aiming for the prize between them.

Her tongue lapped at the cum-coated cunt, collecting the off-white trickles around it. The tender pink slice twitched underneath the attention. Running her tongue up the length of the slit, she poked her tongue through, meeting another sluggish rivulet of sticky seed. Her hands moved to the thighs framing her head, meeting more residue of bodily fluids.

Vacating the first inch of that slick channel, she returned to the folds outside it, licking up and down with a gentle persistence. The expanse of her princess' form was directly above her, such a view enticing her to drag one hand up to stroke those breasts, careful to avoid the bruises littering the smooth terrain. The pads of her fingers teased along a nipple, brushing past the sensitive nub, eliciting a sleepy groan.

The continued stimulation woke her quickly. Deiara peered up to see those eyes opening, bleary and briefly unfocused. The tiredness shifted almost instantaneously into arousal once the view between her legs crystallized. Her princess stretched carelessly, wincing as last night's aches made themselves known. Her hand slid down to pet at Deiara's dark locks. Soft moans began to tumble from her lips, her hips hitching up slightly, the stillness of sleep becoming restless squirming under the dedicated affections of that talented tongue.

Along with the seed seeping from the slit, Deiara gorged on the feminine juices there, lapping up trickle after trickle, the taste bittersweet on her tongue. Her princess did her best to match her gaze, moving up onto one elbow to maintain that position. Her eyes flitted briefly to the handmaiden's fingers, teasing along one hardening nipple, a sultry breath escaping in response to that sensation.

Gwennalyn had presumably spent last night being fucked into oblivion.

As not much time had passed since then, her body was still sensitive, very receptive to the movements of that tongue, dancing on the petals of her sex.

The blushing of her flesh, the increased desperation in her groans, the way she faltered propped up on that elbow, her head dropping back as the trembling intensified. All those and other signs augured an oncoming orgasm.

Deiara did not let up, stroking at the tender swath of those breasts, lapping at that slick cunt. The push towards climax left her also heated, light quivers running down her body.

A strained cry came forth from her princess at the moment of ecstasy.

More juices spilled out from her sex, giving the handmaiden more to snack on. Her tongue was positioned just outside the twitching slit, in the best spot to receive as much of that honey as possible, feeling the orgasmic spasms rocking the glistening folds.

Not wanting to overwhelm the young woman so early, Deiara pulled away from the streams of fluid.

She was met with the pleading gaze of her princess, whose face was lit up with a needy expression, mouth fallen open, tongue peeking out to run over the lips. It was a look that was very familiar, the unspoken desire easy for the handmaiden to discern.

The blankets were kicked further aside as she scrambled up towards the head of the bed. Her princess let out an excited coo as Deiara threw a leg over her neck, straddling her, quickly lowering her cunt right onto that mouth. A subsequent moan was muffled, but the handmaiden's own delighted sigh was loud in the quiet room.

An eager tongue pushed through her slit, wriggling insistently, tasting those clasping walls. Deiara swayed atop her, content to allow such indulgence for now; since they had started fucking, her princess had become quite proficient in eating quim, so it was easy to allow.

But soon, she began to rock against that mouth, feeling the tongue squirm in reaction. Her pace swiftly increased, her drooling slit smearing along the opened lips, a hand thrown down to curl into those blonde locks. She grunted harshly, glancing down at those wide eyes, the placid blue clouded with lust. Tightening her grip, shudders cascading along her provoked a faster, more demanding rhythm. A giddy squeal from underneath her was muffled by the weight and warmth of her quim.

"Fuck yes, princess, don't move that tongue..."

Her directive was followed by her ever-obedient princess, whose tongue remained in place. Deiara groaned, her free hand moving to her bouncing breasts, caressing them breathlessly. The pleasure mounted steadily, her juices flowing liberally, coating her princess' lips and chin, trickling into her open mouth.

It had been quite the pleasant surprise to see Gwennalyn descend into mindless wantonness. When she had first begun having sex, her only partners had been Lucien and Deiara, and her carnal identity had been nascent. The run-in with Brash and Brand had awakened her submissiveness; the night at the Pink Petal, plus the subsequent experiences with the brothers, had taught her just how much she enjoyed capitulating wholeheartedly to her partner's desires. And more than simple submission, she had come to crave roughness and degradation in a way and of such magnitude that would make even seasoned whores think twice.

I can be very submissive with the right partner, but I've never liked being choked or leashed.

Life as a royal handmaiden could be stressful, as one was equals parts confidant and attendant, subject to the whims of the princess. One of the handmaidens to Princess Dawn, Gwennalyn's oldest sister, had warned Deiara early into her service of the headaches and annoyances that such a position held.

Whereas her first few years as the handmaiden had seen her helping to guide Gwennalyn through the late stages of girlhood and into young womanhood, nowadays her duties unofficially included having regular sex with her.

Such a rough life I lead.

Deiara felt the first twinges of a climax, rocking faster atop that obedient mouth, clutching at the blonde tresses. Peeking back over her shoulder, the trembling alabaster of that slender form was revealed, her princess having already inserted several fingers into her own quim, happily frigging herself.

Ecstasy struck quickly, the resultant tremors provoking her to grind harder down against her princess' face, sending out streams of her juices, her breasts bouncing to the fervent beat that she had set. Muffled moans came from underneath her, accompanied by loud slurping.

The afterglow settled over the handmaiden. Glancing down at Gwennalyn, who was still sucking at those folds settled atop her, she stroked at her princess' hair, purring with delight.

Unfortunately, they could not spend all day in bed, so the handmaiden slid off her perch, receiving a pout and harrumph in response.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she said, clambering off the bed, Gwennalyn reluctantly following.

The bath had cooled slightly, but it was still warm enough to elicit a satisfied sigh from her princess once she settled in the tub.

Grabbing a washcloth off the side table, Deiara joined her, watching as she dunked herself underwater, her hair floating on the surface.

And then she whipped back up, blonde locks plastered to her scalp.

Deiara moved up in front of her and set to work.

There was a lot of sweat and other bodily fluids still clinging to her princess, but Deiara was persistent. As she scrubbed and daubed, she could not help but marvel at just how many bruises were before her. Even then, there was no holding back on her part, Gwennalyn wincing occasionally, a breath sometimes sucked in between her teeth.

"I love it when the orcs are rough with me," she murmured, "not so much when you are."

"It's hard for me to feel sorry for you when you practically beg for it."

Gwennalyn giggled.

"I love begging for it. Makes me feel so naughty."

Deiara rolled her eyes, but could not hold back a chuckle.

After her front was scrubbed clean, her princess turned around, bringing her hair over the front of her shoulder to fully expose her neck and upper back. Yet more bodily fluids were scattered all over, but they all fell before the handmaiden's effort. More winces and sucked-in breaths came in response to the continued carelessness of said effort.

Finally, that expanse of pale flesh was left freshly clean, glistening with droplets of water.

Gwennalyn extended a hand. Deiara passed her the washcloth and stayed still as her princess moved up in front of her to return the favor. There was much less sticky residue on her own body, but her princess was still thorough, giving back that same attention.

The first time the younger woman had reciprocated in this duty had been a pleasant surprise. It had also coincided with the growing interest in her generous ampleness. When that washcloth had lingered at her breasts and sex, her princess biting her lip as she washed those sensitive areas, Deiara had understood that it was a partly selfish desire, wanting to touch and squeeze her as much as she wanted to clean her. Of course, there had been no attempt on her end to resist such liberties taken with her body. Such unchecked enthusiasm for her curves was a heady feeling.

Once again, her princess began to let her lust show itself, running a finger delicately along the edge of an areola while the washcloth lingered in the valley between the two heavy breasts. A sly smirk graced the edges of her mouth as she locked eyes with her handmaiden.

After the bath, they would go back to the bed for a little while longer. These days, her princess was predictable, at least when it came to her carnal urges.

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Gwennalyn sat at the table, using her fork to idly push around the remnants of the sausage and eggs on her plate. The eating portion of the feast was over, so her father was chatting with King Victorin.

This would be their last day in Valenzis.

It had been a week of unchecked depravity.

To say the least.

One of her hands moved surreptitiously to her neck, around which was wrapped a silken scarf, to conceal the bruise there. All over her was further evidence of her submission to the orcs and their rough usage of her. Thankfully, a great many of said evidence was placed in areas entirely covered up.

Even after the brothers had denied her another chance to whore for the guards, the week had still been satisfying, allowing her the chance to descend into rampant lustfulness. The memories made her shift in her seat, of how they had unleashed their desires upon her, of how they had brutally fucked her, of how they had leashed her like a dog multiple times, last night even going so far as to leave the rope around her neck for her trek back to her quarters. All that treatment had opened her eyes further as to what she enjoyed and what she craved sexually.

But now, they were heading back home.

Gwennalyn sighed, barely glancing at the others seated at the table. Her mother was listening politely to the conversation between the kings, while Brand and Brash sat quietly, ignoring her, occasionally murmuring between them.

Going back to Crownhold would have been worse had it not been for Lucien's absence, her husband-to-be still in the Southern Seas on the expedition to combat piracy. With him not there, and not set to return for another six or so months, she would not have to suffer through any talk of matrimony.

"So, King Freirick," his orcish counterpart began, Gwennalyn listening idly, "have you any plans once you return home?"

Her father nodded.

"Yes. I have a wedding to plan with my daughter."

She jerked fully upright in her seat.

"What?"

"We have your wedding to plan."

She gulped.

"But Lucien is still on the expedition."

Her father smiled.

"He does not need to be there. We can plan it without him."

He turned to King Victorin, saying something else, the words nothing to her, only sounds, her mind now focusing on the torture that would be planning her own wedding.

The only ones at the table to notice her numb shock were Brand and Brash, who took it upon themselves to twist the proverbial knife.

"I am sure it will be a most magnificent ceremony," Brash grunted, his entry into the conversation taking her father by surprise.

"Yes, of course," he agreed enthusiastically, "it shall be most magnificent!"

"Princess," Brand began, "surely you must be excited for such an event."

She forced a polite smile.

"I cannot wait."

Smirks appeared on their lips as she fought to maintain the polite façade while her spirits sank.

Delighted by the brothers now speaking up, her father engaged them, the talk shifting to other matters. Every so often, Brand or Brash would glance at her, their smirks still there.

A hollow feeling had sprung up in her belly.

For me to plan my own wedding is akin to having me plan my own torture.

The conversation around the table faded away as she glanced around. Where her mind had been inundated with memories of her submissions throughout the week, now it began to be assailed with thoughts of her wedding day.

Across the hall, Deiara was chatting with the brothers' attendant.

Murmuring an excuse, she slipped away from the table and approached the duo.

"Pardon me, but I must borrow my handmaiden."

The attendant nodded.

"What is it?" Deiara asked as Gwennalyn led her from the hall, out into an adjoining garden.

"Father just said that when we get home, we will start planning the wedding."

A resigned look settled on the handmaiden's face.

"Princess, I know you don't want to marry him, but you have to accept that it will happen."

Gwennalyn harrumphed.

"There must be something I can do."

Deiara shrugged.

"Short of you running away, I don't see a solution."

Hmmm...wait a moment...

Deiara frowned.

"You can't run away."

"No, of course not. But if I'm not there, he can't plan the wedding, right?"

"I don't know. I guess not."

Gwennalyn nodded, her mind starting to work.

"But where would you go?"

"I could ask to go stay with Dawn for a little while."

A faint smile crossed Deiara's lips.

"Or you could ask to stay here."

"What?"

"Your father and King Victorin have started rebuilding the relationship they once had. How better to seal the deal than to have you stay here for a little while longer?"

"Hmmm...that could work."

"It can't hurt to try, can it, princess?"

"No, it can't," she murmured, slipping past her handmaiden, heading back to the table.

The two kings were still in conversation, with her mother listening politely. Brand and Brash had left.

"Father," she interrupted demurely, "may I speak with you?"

"Of course," he said, glancing up at her with a wide smile.

She stood there awkwardly for a moment, finally gesturing out towards the garden.

"Ah, I understand. King Victorin, my Queen, I shall return soon."

He followed her out into the garden, past the benches ringing the outer section, deeper into the neatly trimmed hedges.

You & King Victorin have been rebuilding your relationship. How better to seal the deal than to have me stay here for a little while? I could learn about their culture and bring ours to them. And...hmmm...what else can I say to convince him?