The Art of Princess Maintenance Ch. 04

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Hunter and hunted.
4.8k words
4.83
12.3k
14

Part 4 of the 4 part series

Updated 06/07/2023
Created 08/21/2015
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The more mundane denizens of the forest probably didn't quite understand what the wailing, naked human streaking through their forest portended. Ignorance, however, did not prevent all of them from coming to the immediate and unassailable conclusion that it was time to get the fuck under cover.

The princess had moved out of my hearing by this point, but we were able to track her at almost donkey-level speeds entirely due to my all-encompassing knowledge of wood-lore and Puppy's natural gifts as a hunting-mule. For those of you (most of you, no doubt) who are not expert at following the spoor of lust-crazed female human royalty with no survival instinct and less wit through an uninviting forest, the signs of such can be categorized as follows:

One - Detritus. Our quarry moved through the trees with all of the lithe subtlety of a boulder rolling down a waterslide clogged with fat tourists. Leafy carnage err'whurr.

Two - Silence. She may have moved beyond the range of my own modest aural senses, but occasionally Puppy's ear would twitch and angle forward, as though he were still picking up snatches of her banshee moan. The rest of the forest where she passed was quiet as a tomb, all of the various fauna no doubt fled or crouched deep in their burrows, trying to shit themselves as silently as possible.

Three - Geometry. A princess in deranged sprinting fuck-mode apparently only runs in a straight line, unless forced to deviate due to a sizable natural obstruction. And I do mean sizable. We passed a number of uprooted saplings before we hit the first oak ancient enough to deflect her. And most of the bark on the princess-facing side of the tree had been stripped away, leaving only exposed wood and shallow tooth-and-claw-marks. We contemplated the tree (and the wisdom of continued pursuit) for a moment, but Puppy resumed progress without any prodding.

Eventually we reached a small clearing. I was starting to consider calling off the hunt until the drider's venom had worked itself the rest of the way out of the princess's system, because at that moment if you'd asked me who I'd pick in a fight, I'm not sure I would have given a horde of angry barbarians even odds against her.

I was about to expostulate my internal debate to Puppy when the decision was rendered moot. Both of Puppy's ears swiveled to face front and he came to a full stop, unseating me. I caught myself with a curse and a flurry of my lovely gossamer wings. Closing my eyes, I tried to listen for whatever it was that had caught his attention. Faintly, just at the edge of my hearing, but getting closer, I heard the distinctive hunting-shriek of our missing charge.

Something was different about it, though, and it took me a moment to place the discrepancy. It seemed that her unearthly ululation had acquired a throbbing bass line. I chewed on the implications of this for about half a second, at which point I fell off of Puppy's head (this time on purpose) and flew down below his chin. I got a solid grip on his prized bib and began to tug it toward the forest, off the princess-cleared trail. To protect the delicate jewelry (and, unless I was wrong about the implications, his delicate life), he followed my urging with a snort. We'd just managed to get undercover when the source of the thumping beat burst onto the scene, fleeing for either life or virtue. Or both.

Ogres (of which this was one of... which) are not creatures renowned for the depth and breadth of their emotions. This isn't because they're misunderstood, it's because they're so tough that not even another ogre can really hurt one. When you spend your entire life more or less immune to mishap or physical consequence, you don't really end up with a very strong sense of empathy. They aren't even really that mean, per se, it just doesn't occur to them not to do whatever the fuck they want.

Let me explain it another way. Imagine you're sitting down over a beer with your best friend, and the two of you talk about the men (or women or spiders or whatever) in your lives. You might begin playing a round of Fuck, Marry, Kill (Giggle it. Goggle? whatever. If you can't keep up with your own culture, I can't be bothered to).

Well, when a couple of ogres sit down with a dozen gallons of grain alcohol and start talking about the objects of their desire, it's more like a game of Fuck, Kill, Fuck and Kill, Kill and Fuck, Sandwich. And then they stand up and go do everything they just discussed.

So, anyway, emotions. Prevailing opinion is that ogre emotions cover the entire spectrum from sandwich to kill, and that it's a short walk between the two. Which brings me back to the particular exemplar stomping into the clearing Puppy and I had just vacated. The only possible interpretation of the expression on its blocky, twisted features was abject, bowel-loosening terror.

Ogres are an elder race, just like the Sidhe, so I don't know what their origins are. What I was seeing was making a pretty strong argument for evolution as a primary mode of development, though, because it was pretty clear that something way, way, way back in the ogre's gene pool knew how to piss its pants with the best of them.

Speaking of pants, and clothes in general, while the ogre was, to all appearances, unharmed, its clothing hung in tatters on its massive frame, like a less handsome version of the Incredible Hulk. Its willy (scratch that, too big to be a willy. William? Sir William? Of Hungstudhamshire?) was swaying around loose like a brutish, fleshy club. Given the claw marks in what remained of its hide poncho, it seemed the princess had already made a new friend.

Even though it looked slow in motion, it made pretty rapid progress across the clearing. I put it at around fifteen miles per hour, and it looked capable of sustaining that pace indefinitely.

Indefinite became definite about ten seconds later. The princess erupted out of the treeline like a blonde, uh, something blonde and fast and feral. Occasionally dropping to all fours and making bounding strides like a hunting cat, she had no trouble closing the distance to her quarry once she'd cleared the clinging undergrowth. The ogre looked backward at the penultimate moment, tiny eyes widening below the overhanging granite slope of its brow. It was just in time to see the princess in the midst of her final leap, hurtling through the air with every limb extended toward her prey.

The ogre half-stumbled as it turned around and stuck its treetrunk arms out in an effort to ward her off, but the princess sailed between the outstretched hands and slammed into its chest like a naked, horny cannonball. She probably didn't weigh a twentieth what the ogre did, but momentum and paralyzing shock did their respective work. The monster fell back with the ponderous dignity (and rigidity) of an ancient tree.

The ground beneath Puppy's feet rumbled when the ogre impacted the earth. Its arms were still stretched out to either side of the princess's clinging body, its fingers opening and closing, as though not quite sure what they should do. The princess, meanwhile, had torn the remains of the ogre's poncho off of its muscle-shrouded torso. She currently had her face buried in the hair of its chest, moaning and pumping her hips against its solid keg (ogre aesthetics do not include mere six-packs) with mindless fervor.

The ogre lowered its outstretched arms, looking down on the small woman trying to have her way with it. When no actual physical harm seemed to be accruing, the ogre began its journey to a second entirely unfamiliar emotion: outrage. It was a fascinating process to observe (from the shelter of the forest), as the monster began to suspect that this wasn't some sort of heretofore unknown ogre-killer after all, and that its own atavistic reaction and the ensuing emotional whirlwind were no more necessary than the first few dozen times it had encountered humans. Granted, usually they had a metal shell, but they were tasty enough once you peeled them. This one was small, but it had the advantage of already being shucked, and was apparently eager to be eaten.

Still, though, it wasn't right. The human should be cowering in terror, and it certainly wasn't acting frightened. It was acting like a predator. Sort of. At the moment, actually, it was just rubbing itself lewdly against the monster, her hips making a rhythmic slapping sound against its stomach. The ogre extended a finger down and tapped on the top of the princess's head. She pulled her face away from the trove of male pheromones she'd found and looked up at him with glazed eyes. Gently, delicately, it grasped her head between its thumb and forefinger. Holding her still, it craned its neck to put its face as close to hers as possible. It drew back its thick lips, revealing blunt, rocklike teeth and enormous incisors. Its great mouth yawned open and it cut loose with an enraged bellow that threatened to remove the leaves from all the trees surrounding the clearing.

I was pretty sure that my tenure as a fairy godmother was about to end. The princess's eyes opened wide, her lust stupor clearing momentarily as the force of the creature's roar made her long hair flap like a flag streaming behind her.

Finally, the better part of a minute later, its lungs were emptied of air and its bellow trailed off. It closed its mouth, looking down at the girl again to see the effect of the echoing roar. Her eyes were still wide, but whatever the ogre saw in them, it wasn't submission. An expression rippled across its broad features, and what that expression said was "Oh, shi..."

At roughly facehugger speeds, the princess launched herself from her position astride the monster's torso and wrapped herself bodily around its head. She began to emit a softer version of her hunting moan as she jammed her hands between the monster's closed lips. She strained for a couple of moments as the poor creature's arms flailed helplessly toward her. When one of them began to try to get a grip on her, she lashed out with a foot. It connected with the ogre's forearm with a terrifying crack, and that was the end of its efforts to pull her off.

The monster's mouth began to creak open, slowly yielding to her insane venom-derived strength. She had one fist wrapped around a long upper incisor, and one around a lower, and she slowly forced the his mouth as wide open as it would go. Once she was satisfied, she planted a leg on either side of the enormous head, facing the ogre's feet, and began to lower her hips into the open maw.

Puppy and I watched in open-mouthed astonishment as the princess settled into the monster's mouth. Her slender thighs passed its long, sharp incisors, wedging themselves snugly between its thick molars. She just sat there for a moment, panting, as the ogre's eyes moved wildly in their sockets. Then she released his teeth. Unbelievably, he didn't immediately snap his mouth shut. The princess began to coo wordlessly, her hands stroking his enormous chest. She began to shift her hips back and forth in their tight cradle.

For long moments, the tableau held, until the ogre's eyes stopped jerking around, and the fight in them died. Presumably, that was the same moment it began using its blunt tongue in earnest to pleasure his tormentor, because the princess gasped and began to laugh delightedly, finally getting precisely the stimulation the drider's venom had been demanding of her. Her hips began to jerk spasmodically in the ogre's mouth, and her fists gripped his lower fangs like handles as her prey serviced her with increasing enthusiasm.

I say increasing enthusiasm, because Sir William Of Hungstudhamshire, previously draped lewdly across one of the ogre's meaty thighs, began to show signs of life. I don't think that domination fantasies are as common for ogres as gnomes, but I do think that the princess's new toy was rapidly developing one in self-defense.

The princess had noticed his cock hardening, too. Now, I'm still not certain that she knows what a penis is for, precisely, and our adventures weren't exactly highlighting proper procedure for her. She knew they were important, though, and I think she had an inkling they were somehow related to the magical sensations originating in her crotch, but she was far, far too invested in the ogre's tongue to give up her perch at the moment.

So, instead she just watched as the monstrous organ bobbed in time with the ogre's pulse, licking her lips. The monster itself had begin to make whuffling noises around its mouthful of girl, and its own fat lips had relaxed enough to close around her waist as it tasted her. Its hands moved down and it began to stroke itself as it lapped at the royal pussy.

So, there she was, orally raping an ogre, and making him like it. I guess her continued survival shouldn't have shocked me by this point, but I will admit to feeling the tiniest bit superfluous, in terms of Fairy Godmothering, given her apparent invulnerability.

That said, I'd gotten more action in the last few days than I had in the previous eighteen years, so I suppose there were compensations. Speaking of action, it seemed like the ogre and the princess were both pretty close to their respective peaks. The ogre had reached up with one hand and was gripping the princess's hips with his fingertips, pressing her even deeper into his mouth as his busy tongue rasped across everything south of her navel. His hips were straining upward, pushing his cock as close to her has he could get it as his other massive fist jerked it. The princess, for her part, was panting heavily, and occasionally making a swipe at the head of the fat phallus just out of her reach.

Suddenly she got very quiet. Her legs began to jerk, and for about fifteen seconds, she didn't make a sound. Then she began to grunt, her eyes wide open and staring at nothing. The muscles of her taut belly spasmed and she went completely rigid as her orgasm tore through her. Her head flew back, her mouth slack, and I could see a single tear trace a path down her cheek. I waited for her banshee wail to start, but she suffered her exquisite agony in silence, save for the occasional grunt of the ogre below her.

Finally, she arched her back, her hands reaching behind and scrabbling for purchase on the skin of the ogres cheeks. She seized a double handful of his flesh, bracing herself. This was apparently all the stimulation the monster could stand, because it moaned, and thick ropes of pearly white semen began to pulse out of its shaft. The leading edge of each torrent passed just over the princess, but the bulk of each streamer came to rest on her, sticky and pungent. Her senses were so overloaded by this point, I'm not certain she even noticed, but I did see her slender throat bob as she reflexively drank down a glob of spunk that happened to settle in her mouth.

By the time the flood of jism had slowed to a dribble, the ogre's hips had slumped back to earth, and his arms dropped to either side. I'm not sure if the princess was conscious, coated as she was, but her hips had ceased their incessant motion, and after a moment, the ogre let his head loll to one side and ejected her with a gentle 'ptui'.

I waited until I could hear snores from both of them before I led Puppy over to quietly collect our little ogre-slayer.

----

An hour (and a couple of leagues) later, we stopped on the banks of a little stream. The princess was still groggy, probably from a combination of lingering traces of venom and the fifty thousand calories she'd burned during her hunt.

She still didn't (couldn't, really) know that I existed, so I don't know how her mind was rationalizing the occasional dense cushions of air that gently nudged her off of Puppy's back and aided her stumbling process to the water's edge, but once I got her there she knelt down and took a long drink. Then she began using some sand to scrub herself clean in the shallows while Puppy stamped a likely campsite flat and I began dragging in some wood for a fire.

By the time she made her way back to the mule, there was a cheery blaze going. She flopped down between the flames and Puppy's recumbent form. I'm pretty sure she'd slept for forty hours out of the last fifty, between the effects of the venom and general exhaustion, but after she wolfed down some cheese and an apple I'd retrieved from the mule's pack, she lay down and promptly began snoring. Puppy followed her example, and soon I was the only one left awake.

I was pretty wiped out myself (lifting a bunch of junk with magic isn't exactly a calorie-free endeavor), but I was a little paranoid that some new monster would snatch her the moment I closed my eyes. So I flew up to perch on a handy branch and decided to just keep an eye on things for a little while.

So, for the first time in days, I found myself with a little peaceful solitude as the sun cast the last rays of daylight through the trees before dipping below the horizon. The forest was filled with the soft bustle of diurnal creatures bedding down and their nocturnal cousins beginning to stir. I have to admit, it was kind of nice. Sitting there, pleasantly tired, the soft snores of the princess wafting up to me, I was almost... content.

Not really a natural state of being for me.

Which is probably why the first emotion I felt was relief, instead of panic, when a wasp with a foot-wide wingspan flitted into the firelight and landed next to the princess's sleeping face. Now, at least, I didn't have to wonder what the next stage of our endless torments were.

Before I could so much as uncurl my wings, the creature swiveled its fat thorax around and rested the tip of its large stinger against her throat, right on the carotid artery. Then it turned its head, its multifaceted eyes glittering like black jewels in the firelight, and stared directly up at me on my branch. Needless to say, I froze.

-Good- said a voice inside my head. Let me state here, for the record: telepaths are fucking creeps, every single one of them.

I felt a sort of low mental chuckle after that thought, and the wasp withdrew its stinger from the princess's slim neck. It moved from the ground to hovering a few inches in front of me in less than a second. Its wings were a silent blur, and its rust colored chitin glowed bronze, lit by the fire below us.

-We offer trade-

"Sorry, she's not really mine to barter. Well, kind of she is, but you can't have her have her, if you know what I mean."

-No. We guard, through dawn.-

"Guard? You mean guard us?"

-Yes. We hear you.-

My thoughts, that meant, about our safety through the night.

"Her, me, and the mule."

-Yes.-

"Who is 'we'?"

Instantly, I was surrounded by half a dozen more wasps, hovering in a semicircle in front of my perch in the tree. I have to admit, they were pretty intimidating. I don't think most of the forest's dangers would find us worth the trouble if they were on watch. Or at least, not for very long. A dagger sized stinger in the eye can make you rethink a lot of bad decisions.

"Okaaaaay, and what would you want from us."

-You.-

"Uh."

-Queen is laying. We cannot go near. We need relief.-

"Uh."

But apparently negotiations were over. Something shoved me from behind, and suddenly I wasn't standing in front of a semicircle of horny insects, I was lying flat on my face in front of a semicircle of horny insects, bent over the wide curve of the fat branch I'd settled down on. Weight settled on my shoulders, pinning me down, and I began to draw on my magic, preparing to teach these would-be bodyguard-rapists a lesson. Began is the word, though, because summoning my power was suddenly like trying to pull water from a boulder. In the desert. On an airless moon.

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