The Will of the Gods Ch. 01

Fire boiled immediately inside her. Without warning, she gave a jerk. Catching him off guard, she managed to free her right leg. She pressed her foot against the bench and tried to use it as a lever to free herself from him. The hand on her sex never left her, but he moved the other hand up to her throat, stretching his fingers around it.

As she continued to struggle, his grip grew tighter. She tried to pull free, screaming against the gag in anger, but he cut off her air supply, his fingers tight across her windpipe. Trembling all over, the fight in her died down as she panicked, struggling to catch her breath. Just as her vision began to darken, he released his grip. She gasped, hungry for air, but otherwise stayed still.

He waited until she gained her composure and her breath returned to normal, although somewhat ragged. When he spoke, his voice was slow and methodical.

"Put your leg back over mine," he said against her ear.

Still shaking, she did as he said, placing her leg once more over his.

"You're not going to move again, are you?" He moved his hand to her chest, gently palming her breast as if to test her.

She shook her head quickly.

When his voice came again, it was low, even and distinctly not amused. "Your task is very simple, Regina. If you want to prove to me you're not a dove, don't coo."

Her breath, still heavy from exertion, quickened as his thumb deftly found her hooded clit. Gently, he made circles around it, teasing the nub until it hardened between his fingers.

Regina held her breath as a tingling feeling began to build in her stomach. He pinched her clit between two fingers and rolled it gently. Her back arched against him involuntarily, her hips thrusting outward toward his hand. She heard him snigger behind her.

"That's a good girl," he crooned, pressing her hips back against him with his free hand so that his manhood pressed against her. Her supple hips continued to writhe of their own accord. He could feel her body growing complacent as he toyed with her. Her legs spread wider as if she were offering herself to him. He grunted as the motion of her hips massaged his stiff cock.

She could feel something building inside of her. Something she had never quite felt before. She had touched herself, but not like this. There had never been such intensity before. His warm fingers danced over her soft folds, and his hand seemed to know what she wanted even better than she did. Against her will, she felt herself arching upwards to meet his hand again. Behind her gag, she let out a soft, breathy moan.

"That's it," he whispered. "There's the coo."

Soon, her moans and whimpers echoed in the stillness of the morning as the cart rambled down the road. From somewhere outside her head, cloudy with need, she realized she was not just hearing the clop of hooves from the two horses pulling their cart. She could hear another set of horses coming from a little ways away. She looked up and noticed a cloud of dust roughly a hundred yards from the cart. Someone was coming toward them.

She immediately began to fight against him, more ferociously than before. It was bad enough that Ivan was sitting next to him, chortling at every little moan or whimper that she made. It was bad enough that she was making those moans and whimpers at all. She tried to break his grasp, aiming to wiggle out of his lap sideways. When that did not work, she let her body go slack in an attempt to slip out of his arms and to the relatively hidden area on the floor beneath his feet. He simply cupped his hand over the mound of her legs and held her steady.

"Uh-uhn, princess. You will stay precisely where you are." His voice took on a dangerous tone beneath the mirth, and she felt her body go rigid. She wanted to fight him, but the note in his voice made her still. It seemed unwise to make a move against him when her hands were bound so tight her fingers tingled. Even if she managed to free herself, it would mean a long, nearly naked walk back to her father's castle.

Repositioning his grip on her supple young form, Gregar's fingers began to move against her clit again. She gave a pleading little whimper into her gag, shaking her head. Against her will, the pleasure began to build again. She watched the cloud of dust move closer and closer until she could make out the horses, then the shape of the man driving the cart, and then his face. All the while her cries of pleasure grew in volume and intensity. She turned her head away as his leering eyes came into view.

Gregar did not relent. His fingers began to move faster against the moistened bud of her clit. Her spine curved as the pleasure mounted and she pushed her hips against his hands. She tried to keep the motion minimal, involuntary as it was.

The man in the cart tipped his hat to Gregar. "Feisty slave, she is." He called from the cart.

Gregar nodded. "Aye," the word came with a chuckle. "Thinks she's a princess."

"Don't they all," the driver called back, laughing.

The cart passed.

"Are you ready to yield for me, little girl?" His fingers pressed harder against her clit.

Regina was not sure what he was asking. The fact that he was the one asking it, however and the mirth in his voice made her fairly certain that she did not want it. She shook her head stubbornly. She was decidedly against anything he wanted her to do.

"Not yet?" He asked. "Not to worry."

He slipped a long finger inside of her. His thumb stayed on her clit, working in circles as his finger began to thrust into her soft, velvet slit. She let out a muffled cry as she felt his finger touch her hymen, and then push past it. Even just the single digit felt too big inside of her. His finger curved slightly, and her eyes widened as a new sensation somersaulted through her body. His finger began to rhythmically rub this newfound spot inside her. Her breath began to come only in gasps and left with screams. Nothing in the world seemed to exist outside of his fingers on her body.

"There it is," he whispered in her ear. "Yield, Regina."

Her teeth bit into the gag. A scream burst from her throat as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Her body thrashed against him, riding his hand until the pleasure began to fade. Her chest heaved against the thin shift. In the light of day, Gregar could see sweat glimmering on her collarbone. He removed his hand from her dripping crevice.

"Already, you yield on command like a slave," he whispered into her ear. He raised his fingers so that she could see the glimmering juices. She swallowed, feeling her cheeks grow hot as her body cooled down from the rush of her orgasm. Filled with shame, she hung her head. He wiped his fingers off on the cloth of her stomach. "In the future, you will use your tongue clean yourself from my fingers and cock, but for now I rather enjoy your silence."

He ran his thumb over her the leathery ball gag in her mouth. She could smell the sweet mustiness of her juices still on his fingers. His grip loosened around her slightly so that he was no longer crushing her to his chest. Thinking he was finished with her, she tried to wiggle out of his grasp and onto the bench beside him.

"No, girl. If you behave like a slave, you will be treated like a slave. You've just proven what you really are." He pushed her to the floor of the cart's bench seat where she landed with a surprised thud. There was just enough space for a person to sit, but not comfortably.

Gregar would have been happy to let her stay in his lap, rubbing against his cock with each bump of the road, but he was not sure how long he could keep that up without taking her. He was not ready for that, yet. Gregar liked his slaves writhing in pleasure beneath him. He liked them wet and willing, not screaming or crying. He would wait until the princess was trembling with need before he fucked her. She would beg for his cock.

"She doesn't quite coo like a dove, does she, Ivan?" He asked as he glanced down at her with a smirk.

"No, Highness. She's much too noisy to be a dove. They only go..." He imitated the ruffling coo of a dove. "But your little princess here, she sings." He gave a breathy impression of how she had sounded that Regina very much hoped sounded less ridiculous coming from her.

Gregar laughed. "Too right, Ivan. And she sings much louder than one would expect from such a small bird. More of a wren than a dove." He smiled and ran his fingers over the braids in her hair, scratching at her scalp as if she were a dog. "Yes," he mused. "Just like a little wren. Sleep now, wren. We'll get to the camp by this evening."

Regina was somewhat dismayed to find that she fell asleep easily after her climax, curled around Gregar's feet on the floor of the cart.