Princess' Passion

Young Ilyati styled herself a warrior and adventurer princess, and always dared delve deeper into the lands surrounding her home citadel; within the forests surrounding, the tracks and meadows seemed fewer, tighter and darker, but astride her grey charger, Melegar, she tackled the miles with habitual ease, leaving the woodland tracks behind and flying through the deeper, fuller growth. The many, close bound trees blurred past, but she was always a step ahead, swerving in and out, around and through; her proficient equestrian instincts kept her free from entanglement and collision. The beating of her brave stallion's hooves and the whistle of the wind streaming past enveloped her and filled her with energy. She had left behind her scaled armors, her greaves and helm, and settled for leather tunic and leggings with iron strips sown into them to add some protection, but she was in the mood for speed, and refused to set upon her valiant horse an encumbrance of such bulky armor that her guardians again and again bid her don.

Mighty Melegar leaped the many fallen trunks and streams with ease, and obeyed every command of his mistress, with barely a nudge needed to bid him turn this way or that. Recent months had filled her out more maturely, stealing away her teenaged girlishness, and replacing them with so many curves evident of her twentieth year, rendering so much of her dressings obsolete, and even this simple leather armor was pressed tight over swelling breasts, and sloping hips. Her cinnamon skin acquired a more even lustre, was more smooth; her black hair retained its sheen, the many tresses of curling midnight spires gleamed at the touch of the sun's rays, like the surface of a deep lagoon. Her face had developed noble features, an aquiline symmetry that betrayed her birth, for the ruling family was notable for their beauty and ability.

In swifter and less common bursts, the sun's rays flickered across her body from through the high, full trees, their branches becoming more entwined, the leaves covering more and more of the sky. The fresh scents of the foliage, the bark and the moss, the dew still yet upon the trees, it was all so exhilarating to her, filling her with emotions so eager and free. She gulped in the fragrant air, and heard nought but the snorts of her magnificent steed. She felt so empowered with the towering Melegar firm and solid between her legs; she felt more noble high astride this beast, than ever she did in any of her family's numerous estates and manors the country wide. Free of the world's cares, she fled into her own escape, deep into the wilds, away from the stifling streets, the musty chambers and the crowded halls of her homesteads. Out here, feeling free in her solitude, just her and her beloved, masterful Melegar.

Here, deep in the woods, where the sun was lost behind a full canopy of green and the land beneath kept in an ever twilight, she heard a prolonged cry, something inhuman, but deep and filling the air. Melegar halted by her command, and she looked back and forth, and yet couldn't make out the direction of this mournful sound; she was sure now, having paid it closer attention, it was a horn of some kind. Beneath her, Melegar huffed impatiently, fidgeting nervously. The blast of sound slowly faded and was answered by another, but this time both noticeably closer and from a different direction. Now she found herself shifting uneasily in the saddle, and, when a third sounding from a horn ever closer, she spurred Melegar into motion, fleeing from this something unknown.

Beyond the pounding of her own mount's heavy foot falls, she could already hear others galloping, she both hoped it to be imagined and knew by instinct that riders were nearing. She had oft times been at the hunt with her brothers, and was veteran to the sensations of other horses on the chase following close behind. It was the same pricking on her neck, the same tensing of her legs around her sturdy horse, but this time the excitement arose from fear.

From the corner of her eye, she caught a rider bursting from the foliage on her right, at such a fantastic speed. Her heart beat painfully within her chest, the air drying her throat and lips; but she held fast the reins and urged Melegar further, faster. It was never certain that she was the quarry until from the opposite side a second rider charged toward her, and both these made her their target. She was as good a hunter and horseman, better at the latter, as any of her brothers, and could calculate the path by instincts, made quick by practice. She took not the time to look over these riders, to acquaint herself with their outward appearances, only that they were excellent upon their mounts. But she couldn't despair, as she knew her own skill.

It became harder to keep her path immediately back the way she had come, as she was being flanked, but she pushed hard for the furthest point from these stalkers' paths. The veering around trees, and leaps over uneven terrain, influenced all three riders, but Ilyati at last felt her fortune change for the worse, when straight ahead a third rider came charging forward. She heeled Melegar, and he changed his direction abruptly, jerking her hard in the saddle, but she kept her seat. A cloud of soil and stick and torn moss flew from the brave horse's hooves, and catching his footing, off again was he with valorous momentum. She cheered her charger's quick reaction and steady wit, now braving to look back at the three riders behind.

But before she could make speed, she felt Melegar shudder and grind his hooves into the ground, trying to stop. She'd been unprepared for the sudden stop and slipped from the saddle, but kept hold of the ropes still. Skillfully, she swung herself back atop the steed, as he bucked up and reversed his run. She only just caught glimpse of that which had spooked her iron willed Melegar—in their previous path stood a tall protrusion of solid rock, grey and bare. Hoping Melegar's power and speed could force her through the oncoming riders, she bent down and held on tight. Before ever she made speed, her hair was caught up by something unseen, and with such a painful tear, she lost her hold and flew from the back of her mount. She was tossed backwards through the air, and landed hard to the forest floor, but stopping once she hit, held fast by something.

The impact shook the air from her, as she crumpled against the pain. She felt the cold of the stone against her neck; she'd fallen back against that outcrop of stone, it seemed. Except that the jutting of rock grumbled, and moved, a slow lumbering over her. She opened her eyes wide and looked back at this moving mound, and she saw a sight that brought a shriek to her lips; but it never progressed to escape her mouth, as a coarse hand pressed down to keep her quiet. A great bulk of a figure, molded in uneven clay it looked, for the skin was grey and knobbly. The face which looked down upon her, close that she could smell the strangely saccharine breath of the brute, was wide and angular, with many prominent bones—the cheeks, the chin, and even a sharp, large nose. The eyes were squinting and scorning, but the mouth was wide and full of so many curved fangs.

Looking up at that inhuman face peering down at her, seemingly scrutinizing her features, she panicked—a troll! She had only just caught her breath from the fall, and now it was threatening to escape again. Bringing her booted foot up hard, she struck against the monster's leg, just behind its knee. Releasing a grunt, the big, dumb troll kept its grip and looked over at Ilyati's other pursuers. She recalled the brief chase, and the surprising gain of her pursuers upon her, but then she also blamed it on her abuse of grand Melegar formerly, before ever this misfortune befell her.

Oh, poor Melegar, she thought, what a good beast you were, and friend too, if I may beg to name you, although I have failed you so poorly in the end. She sighed and quitted her resistance, not finally but only until an occasion should arise where this troll's hold abandoned her. Never was she a coward, nor could she be found out to be one in the past, but it would be folly to struggle fruitlessly, and in the meantime exhaust herself, testing this monster's grip. A troll's muscles were as iron, and although their intellects were far from praiseworthy, their resolve was firm, and they'd the physical power to defend it. She did not in fact know the fate of her beloved steed, but after her own painful dismount, she knew that at least one of the horsed followers had continued after him. To stop his lone return from perking interest, no doubt.

The three mounted men alighted, and one of them approached, grumbling scorn at the oafish troll. She could now see her pursuers better; each of them were clad in a medley of armors, but each wore a heavy cloak, the hood draped over their heads, obscuring their features. Their tongue was much more harsh, and strange, than any Ilyati had been accustomed, and only few of the words that escaped the nearest's mouth could she recognize. It seemed the language was just as assorted, pieced together by so many sources, as their clothing. They were each closer to her own size, at least in height; but still she could not see them, they that were covered entirely, with gloves over their hands, hoods pulled down to obscure the face.

Her curiosity would be quenched, as the single one who'd come up to her pulled back his hood to bare a malformed face—the face was too long, too protuberant in the snout. Indeed, the face was very much like that of a weasel, excepting it had a rough hided skin, nothing resembling hair, or fur, upon it. She pulled back in disgust at the sight, earning a snicker from the being. He reached down and molested her face, turning roughly her head this way and that.

Assuming her own language, albeit barbarized, the horseman introduced himself as Meluvian, (or at least so it sounded to her.) He called himself "sergeant" and gave some name unknown to her, perhaps his homeland, perhaps his lord. He continued to handle her face, paying especial attention to her ears, which seemed to fascinate him, which she would've found amusing, had it been different circumstances. Now, however, she kept control of the only emotion it inspired, disgust, keeping herself from attracting the brute's anger.

This Meluvian pulled upon her ears in confusion, then yelled over to his comrades. "Here, now! This one is not the one we seek, fools!" he shouted at them. "We are after an elf creature, our employer made it quite clear. Seemingly not clear enough for you incompetents!"

He spat upon the ground at their feet. "Sounding the alarm at this one's trail, you've probably cost us much time. Pray we still catch our prey. You two will stay here, and keep this one occupied sufficiently, we don't need anyone bearing witness that we're here, now do we?"

Watching this one called Meluvian remount and ride off again, young Ilyati found it both encouraging and bewildering that her capture was a mistake. These other two—she could only tell them apart by minor differences in their features—were already standing over her, their own hoods since discarded. One was uglier than the next to her delicate senses, the larger of the two was wider at the snout, he resembled, very remotely, a bull, and the smaller, tall and long, reminded her of a rat. To her discomfort, the troll made no move to take his leave. His large hands kept hold of her arms, sulking from the sergeant's reprimand. And her two captors chattered away in their own patchwork language, but evidently concerning her, as their eyes and gestures made it clear.

Surprise soon changed to mortification when she realized only now that, what these two brutish bugbears leered at, the tough leather of her outfit had been torn along the right side, either from the fall or the grip of the troll's claw. She cared not how it had happened, and had been too terrified to notice earlier, but now she was too aware of the bared flesh. The long rip was enlarged and strained over her figure with her hands held beyond her head; a long line of her side, and the very edge of her breast were exposed to the beasts. The two ogres mumbled to one another in their barking speech, and leaned over her nearer, their eyes hungry and aggressive.

Her arms were getting sore and weak, and her nerves were jumping at each syllable of these monsters' grating speech. She wanted to hide herself, a second nature through all her discreet upbringing, in the palaces and courts where ladies were to be covered entirely but for their faces and hair. It was so easy to make known her disdain of the formal codes, setting the standards of dress and behavior, when she was coddled in the royal fashion. But here, among a foreign race, held against her will, she was all too sensitive to any of her delicate, naive flesh showing. Rolling as much onto her right side as she could, and pressing the skin bared by the tear against the cold, damp earth, she only provoked the temper of her captors.

The rat moved fast, grabbing her shoulders and twisting her again onto her back, he hissed with stale breath, "oh, do not hide yourself on our account, deary." His hideous, malign grin caused a shudder to traverse her body. His talons slid down her, catching her frayed garb, he pulled at it hard, rending it from hem to hem. "My apologies," he slavered over her, his lips inches from her face. "I seem to have ruined your fine leathers, my lady."

Enraged yet she couldn't show her anger, and terrified yet she dared not look away, nor close her eyes and let them feast upon her fear. She stared hard, with all her courage and willpower, straight into the creature's eyes, even as he tore away at the leather, uncovering her from neck to hips. His hands played upon her, fondling and squeezing her breasts, and all the while she yearned to cry out, but kept it locked inside. His calloused hands were not gentle, as he felt her up, pinching upon her nipples. The brutish thing let his wet tongue slither from between his grinning lips to lick her cheek, and he laid a strong, forceful kiss upon her. Spreading her tightened lips with his, he sunk his probing tongue within, tasting her, and moaning his pleasure as she squealed and tried to push him from her.

In her panic, Ilyati had almost forgotten entirely of the Bull, but he was close behind, prepared to make his presence more than remembered. He rushed forward and knocked his comrade from atop her, grumbling incoherently, driven by an angry lust. Ignoring the yelp of his smaller fellow, the Bull hung over her leering at her topless, helpless form. He soon put his hands to her hips and began feverishly yanking, ripping, tearing at her trousers, rending them in seconds to a mass of tattered leather strips. Her young, intimate flesh was thus exposed to the stout monster and his smaller friend; young, and smooth, and entirely delightful to their eyes.

In terror, the young princess pulled her arms against the iron grip of the troll's hands, using all the might she could muster, but was only left exhausted and despairing. The two ogres had ceased their mauling and prodding to watch her wrestling for freedom from the troll. They laughed and mocked in their horrid language, but as soon as she had stopped her fruitless struggle, the beasts molested her once again. The Rat squirmed his way against her side, seemingly intrigued by her breasts, as he recommenced tugging upon her hardened nipples, and pinching around the soft contoured flesh. His long tongue darted out again and again flitting all over the small, twin mounds of her yielding breasts; his lips soon replaced his fingers on her nipples, and with still the same force, he sucked on her.

She found that she could almost enjoy the handling of her breasts, the wetness of Rat's mouth and tongue left all over her swollen, aching mounds. But much to her horror, she caught in her eyes a sight most horrid and terrific. Standing to his full height down by her feet, Bull had disrobed himself, baring to her wide eyed fright a manhood, if such a member upon a beastly ogre could be termed thus, even loosely, a manhood of such immense proportions. The suckling and mauling of her tits was soon disregarded as she numbed with disbelief; more than once she looked away, only to return her gaze upon the same, disheartening vision.

It was very true that this young princess had never been with a man, at least not in any sexual way, but she had seen the male genitalia. She'd seen her brothers, and even had a few glimpses of her father's manhood, and while she had since then always thought him very praiseworthy in size, she now saw near her that which mocked her father's and seemed a nightmare parody. Seeing this brutish creature naked now, his muscles bared, and that titan's masculinity at his groin, she could term him still very faithfully to the image, the Bull.

Depictions in art and discussions she'd witnessed, or even been party to, made her quite enlightened on the nature of what was all too clearly her nearing fate. She felt so tiny, while she stared at the long trunk of his shaft, heavy and thick even as it hung still semi-flaccid, and the massive pair of balls settled at the base, of this ogre's full organ. A single tear slid from her eye, as she mourned for her soon inevitably lost virginity, and when she saw the Bull kneeling down, feeling his hands grip her legs and spread them out, she turned her head aside, and without any more rebellion she let free the sobs that had been welling up since first she was attacked.

All too quickly he was on top of her, his erection now full fledged—she could feel it, large, bulging, pulsing, heavy upon her belly. A second time the smaller Rat was pushed aside, giving the Bull full access to her body. She felt he would surely crush her beneath himself, keeping her eyes fixed on nothing in particular, just staring off into the otherwise serene forest around her, she tried as mightily as she could to separate herself from the present, to leave her body empty while this outrage played itself. The grunting Bull reached his hand between them, holding his engorged phallus steady, leveling it with her entry. She could feel him hesitate, and a cloud of anticipation, so thick it was smothering, consumed her. She knew it was imminent, but she could never have imagined the pain, the filling, that this monster would inflict upon her.

In the next instant, he pierced her body, thrusting with the bulk of his weight and strength deep into her body. The violence with which she was torn was so much that the rending of her maidenhood drove a stake straight up her spine—as the rush impacted with her brain, so she loosed a shriek. Beneath the giant, she squirmed, writhed, impaled upon his massive fleshy lance. She could feel him sinking himself deeper, deeper into her body, each centimeter more agony than the prior. She felt he must split her in half, convinced by the burning, sharp pain, that she should surely die from this wound. From the very first of his entrance, all of her senses dimmed, mercilessly giving to her sense of touch and feeling the more influence. With that last thread of her willpower, she wished it were not so, she concentrated on any of her others, trying desperately to hear her heart and breath, or to see the trees all around. But she was left blind and deaf from the shock of the cruel ogre chiseling into her.

He drove her breath away with every thrust of his massive cock, and every time he would drive himself as deep into her as her small body would possibly allow. Her soft, intimate tissue expanded as much as it could yield, but always she would feel about to split apart, that her tiny channel could not withstand the savage invasion for long. Her slender arms had long since gone numb in the motionless troll's grip, her legs felt as dead weight, splayed out, wide to appease the heavy ogre settled upon her, spearing her like a doe. She could not feel even his rough handling of her newly blossomed breasts, only that horrible, throbbing, giant phallus spreading her young, untouched pussy. And how much longer she could stay sensible and connected to that pain, that outrage, she could not tell—but plead she did, for merciful oblivion.