Agate Boyd - Revenge of the Satyr

After half an hour of this unspeakable torture her knees and the tops of her feet had been scraped raw by the abrasive granite flags and the small of her back ached intolerably from the weight of the solid little gargoyle.

Lilliphane sighed with relief when Gargo called a halt and pushed a bucket under her arse – telling her to sit. The princess closed her eyes in shame as he reached down between her thighs, his thick fingers forcing apart her buttocks as he felt for the bung.

"Let's hope all that galloping about got most of last night's banquet," giggled Gargo unpleasantly, "or else its back on the horse and another hot infusion for Your Highness."

The cork came out with a 'pop' and to Lilliphane it felt as if the whole of her guts fell out into the bucket. Her breath caught in her throat as the foul smelling miasma rose up to envelope her. Desperately she fought to keep her gorge down for fear of choking on the vomitus, her mouth already partially blocked by the bulky tongue clamp.

Lilliphane gave a huge sob of relief when the hateful gaoler professed himself satisfied with the results of the enema. She even held herself still while he wrenched out the horn and replaced it with a fat wooden plug, before spread-eagling her against the wall and binding her to heavy black iron rings cemented into the ancient stone.

As she stood there, finally able to find some modicum of rest, she began to feel increasingly faint and feverish as the venereal ichors contained in the satyr's semen she had swallowed hours before began to do its dreadful work.

Prince Vulkan stood in the inky blackness of the void where it passed by Queen Amariza's sprawling apartments, his eye to the peephole as he watched the chambermaids undress their precious charge. Vulkan was once again naked save for his harness and his huge prick quickly grew to stand straight up against his belly muscle as he ogled Amariza's delightfully pear shaped arse and the long, pale sweep of her back and as she raised her hands above her head to let fall the long night gown.

Vulkan grinned cynically as he listened to Amariza confiding her anguish over the disappearance of her sister-in-law to her maids – she would be reunited with the royal whore soon enough, he promised her silently. The satyr waited impatiently until the departing maids had doused the candles and Amariza had been in bed a few minutes. His cock quivered with delicious anticipation as he carefully pushed open the tall bookcase trap and entered the bedchamber.

On softly padding feet, he moved to the door and turned the key in the lock with a metallic 'snick'. Then he took a big stride and leapt on to the bed, landing on top of Amariza and driving the wind out of her body as his better than eighteen stones in weight hit her solidly.

Laughing insanely to himself, he ripped down the covers and slipped his hand between Amariza silky smooth thighs as she lay gasping. He gathered the whole of her soft haired pubic mound in his palm, massaging the soft, hot pad of flesh before thrusting his middle finger deeper to seek out the incredibly tight bud of her anus, testing the resilient, virgin sphincter with short, sharp jabs that had the winded queen twitching mutely at the unaccustomed invasion.

His curiosity satisfied, Vulkan gathered her up in the coverlet, rolling her over and over until she fell off the edge of the bed with a crash. Quickly now, because speed was of the essence he wound the lashings he had brought with him around her swaddled form until she was completely immobilised.

Suddenly, there was an urgent knocking at the door accompanied by the anxious tones of one of the maids calling through the thick timbers. Vulkan threw open the picture windows and tied the rope he had brought to a pillar and carefully lowered it over the balustrade. Like a shadow, he rappelled down to the next balcony where he dropped on top of the unsuspecting guard stationed there.

The trooper was instantly poleaxed by Vulkan's huge weight hitting him. The prince took the nomad dagger he had filched from the trophy hall and slipped it between the unconscious guard's fourth and fifth ribs, directly into his heart. He tied a second rope to the balustrade in the same fashion and flung it over the edge where it dangled to the tops of the rhododendrons below.

Then he pulled himself back up the rope and stepped back into the queen's bedroom just as the first mighty impact of a battleaxe slammed into the door. On the floor, Amariza had regained her wind and was now screaming at the top of her voice for the guards, her shouts sounding muffled and breathless through the thickly padded rolls of counterpoint.

Vulkan picked up the hugely struggling bundle. Behind him, the heavy door vibrated under multiple impacts, the wood around the lock flying in all directions as the men on the other side gave it everything they had. The old iron lock finally gave way with a massive 'crack' and the door flew inwards, quickly followed by the soldiers, their axes raised above their heads, but the room was empty.

The king stood with the seneschal on the lower balcony, at their feet, the still cooling body of the guard whom Vulkan had dispatched only ten short minutes beforehand.

The king turned the small dagger over in his fingers. His tone was final, marking the end of the brief discussion, "it's definitely nomad workmanship, I recognise the design, and here, these runes on the top of the hilt."

The seneschal nodded despondently, he had recognised the workmanship as soon as he had pulled the blade out of the body.

"They must have come over the outer wall at some point; through the gardens to just below this balcony, scaled the masonry up to here and killed the guard," the seneschal craned his neck to look up the twenty or so feet to the queen's private balcony, "quite a climb, even for a mountain man."

"But why the ropes?" asked the king.

"Majesty, it's one thing for a man to scale a sheer wall, even one as eroded as this, but a damn sight harder to come back down with a hundred pound woman over his shoulder."

"How many in the raiding party do you figure?" asked the king, looking up at the sheer wall dubiously.

The seneschal shrugged, "one for the guard, one to carry the queen, perhaps another for unseen eventualities – it's hard to be sure sire."

The king made his mind up, "turn out every man you've got who can ride a horse, I want a hundred knights and ten times as many troopers scouring the countryside as soon as they can saddle-up. If we don't find them both by tomorrow morning, I'll march the entire army all the way to the mountains to get them back!"

When Vulkan unrolled the coverlet and spilled the queen out on to the hard flagstones, the dungeon master gaped in surprise.

"Holy shit! It's the queen… Leopold will go nuts when he finds out about this."

"He already knows," snapped the prince, " I made sure of that."

Gargo's face paled. "He'll tear the queen's tower down bit-by-bit until he comes across the adit, they'll find us eventually."

Vulkan grinned, his expression vulpine, "I don't think so, right about now I expect old Leo will be sending out all the available men he's got to pull up every bush and trash every hovel within twenty leagues."

And when Gargo continued to look dubious, "I left a calling card – a nomad dagger in one of the guards – they won't even be looking for her inside the keep and besides, I've sent the king a little present that will soon blunt his curiosity."

Naturally enough, as soon as Countess Jessica heard about the abduction of the queen, she hurried to be of service to the king as he sat in conclave with the seneschal and those few lords deemed too old to be thrashing around the countryside in the middle of the night.