Agate Boyd - Revenge of the Satyr

The prince and the countess entered his chambers through the secret adit and dived straight into bed, where they remained, fornicating ardently until dawn. Only then did the exhausted Lady Jessica return to her own chambers; by which time the unfortunate footman had dragged himself off to his quarters, much puzzled and more than a trifle head-sore.

The prince lay in bed until early afternoon, well after the time that Lilliphane's mysterious disappearance should have been discovered. He enjoyed a leisurely bath and dressed in fresh linen before setting off in search of his bride-to-be, whom he found playing croquet with the queen and various ladies-in-waiting in the palace gardens.

Princess Flamia greeted her prospective husband somewhat coolly, but nonetheless allowed Vulkan to kiss her cheek as befitted his newly won status. As he bent close to brush his lips against her peerless young skin, Vulkan's senses were assaulted a rich, organic aroma that made the delicate membranes of his nose tingle and his mouth water – Flamia was menstruating!

The prince quickly considered and discounted a number of ploys to separate the princess from the group, so that he might strip her naked and feed upon the delicious essence flooding her sex. However, the situation was too exposed and so Vulkan was forced to fall back on the protection of autohypnosis to calm his suddenly buzzing appetite.

But being in such close proximity to so many gorgeous women soon took its inevitable toll and Vulkan began to find his eyes being drawn more and more down into the low cut bodices and over the thrusting rumps of the women as they stooped to swing their long handled mallets.

The Queen in particular, had a wonderfully soft, creamy looking cleavage that jiggled invitingly as she swung her shoulders with each stroke.

Once again, Vulkan was thankful for the knee length tabard he wore as his prick swelled and bulged within the murderously tight confines of his breeches.

In an effort to 'break the ice' between her stubbornly unwilling daughter and the saturnine, yet strangely magnetic prince, the queen dismissed Flamia's partner from the grass court and insisted that Vulkan pair with the princess to play out the rest of the match. And so it was that Vulkan spent a pleasant, but ultimately dissatisfying hour knocking the little, coloured wooden balls through the small metal hoops, whilst the queen did her exasperated best to fill the silences with all manner of innocuous small talk.

Fortunately, for Vulkan's slipping self-control, the game was ended prematurely by the approach of the seneschal who had come to report the apparent disappearance of Princess Lilliphane.

A hasty meeting of all available knights had been called by the king and a thorough, yet discreet search of the castle's many towers organised. For the sake of appearances, Vulkan volunteered to head up one of the search parties and soon found himself traipsing up and down the many flights of steps in one of the far most towers; a structure which seemed to be given over mostly to the storage of unwanted furniture and ancient artefacts.

In a small, flag draped hall at the base of the tower, Vulkan came upon a display of captured armour and weapons. He stopped in front of an imposing, if somewhat barbaric battle harness, running his fingers over the many stylised scales and plates.

"That suit was taken from the body of the foul Kragnar himself, war chief of the nomad raiders against whom the king led a great pogrom two summers ago," one of the accompanying squires proudly informed him, "note the primitive handiwork and the curious runes worked into the tooling – typical only to the raiders of the northern mountains."

Vulkan uttered a suitably impressed acknowledgement and as everyone moved away, he adroitly slipped a short bladed dagger from its cleverly concealed sheath beneath the armoured scales, that his sharp eyes had noticed as he had examined the piece.

Inevitably, the search of the keep yielded no sign of the princess, who was, at that very moment, lying belly down along the length of the flogging horse. Gargo had dragged her knees forward so as to expose her crotch and using strong ropes, firmly secured her wrists and ankles to iron rings set into the feet at each corner.

The gaoler assembled a few pieces of equipment on the floor behind her before going to look into her anguished face.

"Now then bitch," he announced nastily, "I'm going to clean you up a bit, ready for when Prince Vulkan gets back, not that I mind a bit of shit on the end of my cock mind you, but the prince now… well, he's a proper gentleman, so we're gonna flush you out with this." He dangled a length of tightly stitched leather tubing back-and-forth in front of Lilliphane's eyes,

Lilliphane gurgled wretchedly around the tongue clip, rolling her big green eyes and shaking her head in panic as Gargo bent to adjust the length of the horse's front legs. The princess vainly tried to pull herself free as the stocky gaoler adjusted the pegs to drop the front legs by six inches so that she found herself canted forward, her backside now above the level of her head. The gaoler disappeared behind her and planted a clutch of massive slaps on the fulsome buttock cheeks, cackling with delight as the princess reared up caterwauling at the unexpected pain.

Gargo selected a nine-inch length of curved, hollowed out antelope horn and screwed it narrow end first into Lilliphane's anus, only stopping when the horn was three quarters of the way in. As he worked, the princess let out another protesting gurgle, earning her a further round of ferocious slaps from the grinning torturer.

Next Gargo pushed one end of the tubing down through the centre of the horn and forced the other end over a small spigot in the bottom of a bucket, which placed on a stool beside him.

Lilliphane began to whimper in fear as she spied the bandy legged Tommy come up the steps from the sub-levels with a giant steaming kettle clutched in his knotty hands.

"Ah ha," shouted Gargo, "just in time Tommy – the princess was getting impatient for her toilet."

The gaoler took the kettle from the grull and poured the steaming contents into the bucket, adding a big dollop of foul smelling pepper oil from an old, chipped flagon and stirred the mixture around with a stick. Next, he lifted the bucket and hung it on a hook above the shaking woman's upturned arse.

The gaoler rummaged under his leather apron with his hand, pumping his rapidly hardening cock as he reached up and opened the spigot a crack. The hot infusion trickled slowly down into Lilliphane's open bowel, beginning to sear the tender tissues as the loosening mixture bubbled and roiled inside her.

The pain was indescribable and far worse even that the tit flogging Lilliphane had previously had to endure. With her tongue securely clamped, all she could do was vent her pain in a kind of hissing gargle as the sides of her belly pumped in and out in response to the monstrous agony.

Gargo stood transfixed as the woman's body flexed and shivered, her pelvis seeming to hump the flogging horse as if she were atop one of her many lovers. Her head came slowly back in an agonised arch, the taught, curving column of her neck flushed scarlet with strain as she gasped around the gag.

The gaoler shuffled up to her face, flipping the foul smelling apron over her head as he pumped his fist up and down his rock hard shaft until he ejaculated into her face in a great, heaving splash of hot seed. Lilliphane was powerless to prevent some of the stinking dollops from shooting into her mouth and could only lie there as the thick yield dripped from her bottom lip.

When he adjudged the right amount of liquid had found its way into her guts, Gargo yanked out the tube and stuffed a fat old cork into the end of the horn so that she was fully watertight. Then he untied her and dragged her down from the horse, slapping and cuffing her until she rested on her hands and knees. He plonked the bandy legged grull down on her back and had the unspeakable horror ride her around and around the dungeon chamber, the vile creature beating her sweating haunches with a switch whenever she seemed to be slowing down.