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The Royal Line Pt. 06

Chapter Six: Vitalia

Princess Vitalia of House Greyleon seated herself of the stone lip of the fountain and the center of the Lilac Garden and breathed in the night air. The fountain was silent, filled with nothing but grey-green ice, and the trees and bushes that lined the gravel paths from the keep were bare. Even so, Vitalia thought the place retained a certain austere beauty, bathed as it was in silvery moonlight. The high walls of Castle Grey sheltered it from the wind and in her long sable coat, Vitalia felt quite warm.

A bray of laughter and the crunch of boots on icy gravel caught her attention. She turned to see a party of men making their somewhat unsteady way along the path. There were six of them in all and under their warm cloaks Vitalia could see the tabards that marked them as men-at-arms in the employ of House Shoareave.

"Good even, miss," one of them called as they drew near. He saluted clumsily, his gauntleted fingers clanging sharply against the steel of his helm.

"Good even," Vitalia replied levelly, eyeing the man up and down. He was too short for her tastes, she decided, and too drunk.

"That's not a 'miss'," one of the other men whispered loudly in his friend's ear. "That's a princess."

Vitalia smiled. She did indeed have the raven hair, currently coiled about her head in two long braids, and the deep blue eyes that marked her as one of the royal family.

"Oh sorry miss," the first man said hastily, saluting again. "I mean, your Highness."

One of the other men began to snigger loudly, covering his mouth with a mail-gloved hand. "Hind-ass," he burbled to himself. "He called her a hind-ass."

"What are you laughing about?" protested the first man turning angrily on his comrade, before starting to giggle in turn. "You're so stupid. A hind-ass isn't even a word."

"Ah, ah, it could be," put in another man. "It could be like a donkey, right, a donkey crossed with a deer. A female one, obviously."

"Donkeys can't fuck deer," said the first man in the reasonable tones of a drunk. "On account of being domestic."

"You shouldn't swear in front of the princess!" the man's friend whispered urgently. Vitalia just continued to smile.

"They might do, if, for example..." the proponent of the donkey-deer breeding program began, but one of his fellows cut him off, saying loudly,

"I just thought he meant because your ass is always behind you, see?"

"You shouldn't be talking about the princess' ass!" the whisperer said desperately.

"Not if you don't want a beating, any road," said a new voice.

A tall man stepped out of the darkness. He too was dressed as a guardsman, but his tabard showed the insignia of House Greyleon. Six more men followed in his wake.

"Ah Tomair," Vitalia cooed. "I'd wondered if you were coming."

"Of course your Highness," the tall man replied, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Have these Shoareave dogs been bothering you?"

"Well, if you'd care to put it that way..." said Vitalia, her gaze fixed on her gloved hands, neatly folded on her lap.

"Right," said Tomair, with a curt nod to the men who followed him. Then he spun round and punched the nearest Shoareaver in the gut. The unfortunate man doubled over gasping and Tomair took the opportunity to slam the man's head against his knee. There was a crunch as the Shoareaver's nose broke.

Vitalia watched, smiling beatifically, as Tomair and his companions fell upon the drunken guardsmen like wolves. They were all men of powerful build, fit and well trained, and though they wore tabards that proclaimed a variety of allegiances, they fought as unit. They left their swords in their scabbards, confining themselves to kicks, punches, and a few well-placed elbows. That proved more than enough to send the Shoareavers off whimpering.

Tomair turned to Vitalia as the noise died away, and respectfully doffed his helm. His dark blond hair was damp with sweat from his exertions and his blue-green eyes were dancing.

"I apologize for the spectacle, you Highness," he told her.

Vitalia laughed and stood, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss Tomair on the cheek.

"Don't be silly," she chided him. "You know I love watching you boys work."

A low chuckle ran around the circle of men. She knew each of them. Adun was bearded and serious, with the swarthy complexion of a southerner. Calens looked almost boyish, with his wide blue eyes and roguish grin, save for the long scar across his brow. Harkun and Derrin were brothers, with dark curly hair and high cheekbones. Falstett had fox-colored hair that he wore in a long tail and eyes like green frost. Orac was the biggest of the lot, with a slow smile and fair hair shaved so close as to be little more than peach fuzz.

"The pack's all here then," Vitalia said, looking around.

"That we are, your Highness" Calens replied grinning. There was blood on the knuckles of his gauntlet, though he seemed not to have noticed.

"It is cold," said Adun. "Shall we go in?"

"Thin southern blood," rumbled Orac, shaking his head. "In my village, the lads would be chopping the ice off the pond for a late night dip."

"That's because everyone in your village is crazy," pointed out Falstett.

"I'd be happy to go in," said Vitalia, snuffing out the spark of an argument. Tomair smiled gratefully at her.

"Shall we carry you, your Highness?" he enquired.

Vitalia nodded and Tomair motioned to Harkun and Derrin. At once the brothers came and knelt down, side by side, in front of Vitalia. She settled herself on their shoulders and they hoisted her into the air. A bare twenty years of age, Vitalia was slender, even petite, and the big men carried her without difficulty. The others fell in around them and Tomair led the way, not towards the keep, but towards the old gatehouse set in great wall on the far side of the Lilac Garden.

Guards on duty had not used the place for many years. A chunk of the cliff on which Castle Grey stood had crumbled and fallen into the sea during Vitalia's grandfather's time, rendering the section of wall the gatehouse guarded inaccessible to anyone without the wings of a gull. Still, the living quarters here were well, if sparsely, furnished. Harkun and Derrin set Vitalia down gently on a low couch, while Calens cheerfully built up the fire. Orac tossed his cloak on the back of a chair and strode over to the hickory the cabinet that held the bottles.

"Orac," Tomair said. His voice was not loud but it stopped the bigger man in his tracks.

"Oh, very well," Orac sighed. He caught the cloak up once more and hung it neatly from one of the pegs by the door before, making a great show of checking the chair for stray snowflakes.

"It's only manners," said Tomair, more gently.

"It wasn't as though I was going to leave it there indefinitely," Orac responded.

Falstett passed him a leather jack with a generous measure of something amber in it. "Buck up, Orac. We all know that manners don't come naturally to you northern barbarians."

Orac took the drink with a snort. "You'd best give one to Adun too. A few drams of Hawkshead Whiskey ought to warm even his thin southern blood."

Adun glowered but accepted the proffered jack.

"Speaking of Hawkshead," said Derrin, who had joined Calens before the fire. "Did you all see the Baron arrive today?"

"Aye," said Falstett, with a vulpine grin. "His lady wife looks like a conker about to pop."

"She's not the only one," put in Harkun. "Those step-daughters of his..."

"Please boys," said Vitalia, sighing and stretching herself out on the couch. "Don't speak ill of my nieces." She wordlessly held up her own snowy cloak and Calens sprang up at once to accept it and hang it by the door.

"Your pardon, Highness, " said Harkun with a bow. "I meant no ill, I assure you."

Vitalia smiled and nodded at him, then turned back to Tomair.

"What of my eldest brother?" she asked him.

"Crown Prince Prowess?" said Tomair. "Why, well enough."

"Happy with the new captain of his personal guard?" Vitalia inquired.

"His Highness seems thoroughly satisfied with my services," Tomair replied with a smile, swift and sharp as a sickle.

"I am glad to hear it," Vitalia purred. She patted the couch beside her and Tomair removed his mail shirt and tabard before joining her. The other men too were losing their heavier layers as the fire on the hearth warmed the room. Calens brought a pewter cup for Vitalia and she drank deeply before gesturing for him to be seated on her other side. The princess leaned back, curling a slim arm about each man's broad shoulders. Her fingers twined themselves almost absently through Tomair's dark blonde hair.

Orac came and knelt before Vitalia. With surprising delicacy for so large a man, he removed the princess' snowy boots and peeled off the warm woolen stockings beneath. Vitalia curled her little pink toes in pleasure as Orac massaged the soles of her feet with massive fingers. He chuckled and planted a courtly kiss on the top of her foot.

"Such a gentleman," Vitalia laughed. "I fear you boys were wrong about northern manners. For this, Orac, you may be first tonight."

So saying, Vitalia lifted the skirt of her blue gown and the layers of petticoats beneath, hiking them up past her narrow waist. It was plain for all to see that the princess wore no smallclothes. The porcelain skin of her thighs and the flushed lips of her cunt fairly glowed in the firelight.

"You honor me, Highness," said Orac, reverently. He lifted Vitalia's legs to rest on his great shoulders and then lowered his mouth.

The huge man's broad tongue pressed its way between the lips of Vitalia's cunt, then swept upward in a slow lapping motion, rubbing across the hard nub of her clitoris. Vitalia moaned softly and arched her back, thrusting her hips towards Orac's mouth. The princess' fingers curled and her nails stabbed into Calens' and Tomair's necks.

Orac arched his tongue against her nub, flexing the rough length of hot, wet muscle. Then her began to work his tongue like the clapper of an ever more frantically ringing bell, faster and harder, until the princess' individual moans ran together into a desperate keening, broken only by the occasional gasp for breath. Then he slipped a thick finger inside Vitalia's dripping cunt and began to gently probe that patch of tender skin that every member of the pack had grown to know so well.

Vitalia hissed like water spilled on a hot stove and Tomair leaned across to kiss her. She moaned into their locked lips, which only drove the guardsman on, his darting tongue tasting the heat of her ecstasy. As her vision swam, the princess felt Calens' hand slide down the front of her dress and cup the great swell of her plump breast. On her other side Tomair did the same.

Then Orac added a second finger and Vitalia came. Lightning coursed through her brain, the walls of her cunt shook, and a spray of her musky juice splashed Orac's grinning face, making him laugh. Undeterred, the big man added a third finger and redoubled his pace. A moment later, Vitalia came again with even more violence than before.

Now Orac stood and dropped his trousers to the flagstone floor. His cock stood out proudly like the ram on a warship. It was not so long as one might imagine for a man of Orac's mighty bulk, but was thicker around than could be easily believed.

Without preamble, Orac brushed his pack mates aside and pulled Vitalia's dress up over her head and tossed it on the floor. Then he bent low over the naked princess and thrust his fat cock into her. Vitalia moaned and rolled her hips, thrusting against. Orac responded with slow, powerful strokes, so that the princess' body trembled and shook to stead rhythm.

"Look at her!" Calens marveled. "Two already and she's still as hungry a she-wolf!"

"She's getting close again," remarked Falstett in neutral tones that belied the naked avarice in frost green eyes.

He'd spoken truly and now Vitalia came again, her cunt clenching down hard on Orac's terrible girth. The big man let an impassioned grunt, sweat running down his temples, and without further warning he emptied his balls into her. He continued to thrust his pulsing, spurting cock into the princess, prolonging her orgasm. When at last she lolled back, gasping for breath, he withdrew. Thick seed spilled from Vitalia's cunt, splashing onto the flagstone floor.

"Me next," cried Calens as Vitalia struggled back into a sitting position. She nodded and reached out for him, drawing him down onto the low couch. His hose were already about his ankles, revealing his throbbing cock. Vitalia dropped forward, sweaty strands of her raven hair slipping free from their braids to brush against Calens' thighs. The princess ran her tongue lightly over the swollen purple head of his cock. Calens shuddered in pleasure and pushed her head with both hands. Vitalia gagged and spluttered for an instant and then the hot flesh was sliding over the back of her throat. She could feel its heat, warming the blood in the veins of her slender neck and running down into the pit of her stomach. She let out a satisfied moan and began to suck and slurp lustily at Calens' cock. As she did, she arched her spine, lifting her pale, shapely ass and dripping cunt high into the air.

Up stepped Falstett and plunged his cock into her from behind. His scarred swordsman's hands seized the tender flesh of Vitalia's rump and proceed to maul it, leaving blushing ghosts in the shapes fingers behind. He slammed their bodies together, fast and rough, his cock squelching loudly against the entrance to her royal womb. The sound seemed to drive Vitalia wild and in moment she was coming again. She yowled as her body shook with pleasure and the vibration of the sound and of the shaking thrummed along the length of Calen's throbbing cock. He came with a yowl of his own, his seed spurting into the princess' hungry mouth and spilling out over her rosy lips.

Lifting her head from Calens' lap, Vitalia twisted to look over her shoulder at Falstett. Deep blue eyes locked with pale green ones. She ran her tongue around her mouth in a futile effort to clean up the seed that was already dripping from her chin. The sight was too much for Falstett. With a muffled curse, he came.

Vitalia purred, her sticky smile wide and wicked. She hooked two outstretched fingers at Adun, drawing him in like a fish on the line. Slowly, she reached behind herself and trailed those fingers down Falstett's sculpted abdomen until they reached the place where his still twitching cock was slowing withdrawing of the dripping tunnel of her cunt. Her fingers continued to roam, coming to rest lightly upon her pink and puckered rosebud. Even more slowly, she slipped first one finger, slick with the many mingled juices of her loins, then the other into her ass. All the while, Vitalia kept her eyes on Adun's face.

The swarthy man shoved Falstett roughly aside and thrust his own ramrod cock deep into the princess' cunt. Her hiss of boiling pleasure had not died upon her flower-petal lips before Adun withdrew his cock, now slick and shining, and plunged it with even greater force into Vitalia's ass.

"God's horns and hooves," he swore, thrusting his hips wildly, "Your highness is so goddamn tight."

Vitalia did not reply, but her ravenous grin widened and she began to twitch and buck her rump in time to Adun's brutal pounding. Adun moaned and reached around, his clever fingers feeling out the princess' clitoris. He began to rub in tight circles, with a control and delicacy that was at odds with the raw force of his crazed rutting. For Vitalia, the thick cock in her ass seemed to make every other part of her more sensitive and when Adun set his other hand to work, she could hold out no longer. Vitalia came and Adun with her, emptying himself into her forbidden chamber.

With tortuous slowness, Vitalia eased herself off of Adun cock, the tight ring of her asshole pinching every poppyseed of its oozing length. The southerner groaned, dark spots swimming before his glazed eyes. Once free, Vitalia rose from the couch and stalked over to the hearth where Harkun and Derrin stood like paired statues, guarding the sacred fire of some forgotten temple. The brothers had undressed and the flickering fire painted their muscled bodies with shadow and light like golden oil. Vitalia stepped between them. She was white as marble and a myriad matings could not sully the perfection her flesh.

She ran her fingers lightly over the swell of her breasts. Even had those tender orbs belonged to woman a foot taller than the princess and outweighing her by seven stone, they would have been accounted bounteous. On her petite frame, they were riches beyond the ken of mortals. Under her fingertips, Vitalia's nipples stiffened to attention. The brothers stood transfixed, but not for long.

Hastily, they dropped to their knees, putting their mouths at the level of Vitalia's breasts. Each took one in his hands, cradling and caressing, then wordlessly and simultaneously, they slipped those stiff and rosy nipples into their watering mouths. The princess moaned, her head thrown back. Her raven hair was swaying the shudders of pleasure that washed over her. Fours lips, two tongues, and gently nibbling teeth coaxed and quested. Unbidden, her loins began to tingle. She laced pale fingers through the brothers' sweaty locks, crushing them to her. The feeling within rose to fever pitch and Vitalia gasped as a sudden orgasm, leaping from breast to cunt to brain like summer lightning, swept her legs from under her.

The brothers caught her as she fell, drawing her down with them to rest on the sheepskin rug the lay before the fire. Laughter bubbled freely from her lips, which shone like ripe berries in her flushed face. The brother's met Vitalia's dancing eyes and even through her giddiness she saw their raw desire.

"Fill me," she ordered. Her voice thrummed with that harmonic that none of the pack could hear and disobey.

They did so, Harkun from above and Derrin from below. Vitalia hissed like cat in heat when the scalding tip of Harkun's throbbing cock brushed against her tender rosebud. He did not linger there however but continued to descend until he found the slippery seal where Derrin's thick cock was crammed deep into Vitalia's cunt. The princess whimpered, high and hungry, as Harkun mercilessly drove his own bulging cock slowly into her loins. She felt so full, full to bursting. The two cocks moved gently inside her, rubbing every slippery inch of Vitalia's cunt.

"Harder," she whispered and they obeyed.

The first orgasm made Vitalia scream aloud and after that every tiny movement of the brothers' fat cocks, every slippery whisper of flesh over raw and quivering flesh, was enough to send her off into fresh paroxysms of ecstasy. She thought she must have come more than twenty times before the brothers' iron control finally broke. They released their seed together, flooding the princess and sending sticky rivulets cascading over her pale thighs.

Now Tomair, as hard and naked as a barren cliff face, plucked Vitalia from the tangle of bodies and carried his waifish mistress to the center of the room. Her eyes were glassy with exhaustion and euphoria, but she rubbed herself feebly against him as he grasped her by the waist. Still standing tall, Tomair brought her down bodily, impaling her upon his giant cock. He drove into her with shallow, powerful strokes, his head bowed just enough for his hungry mouth to savage the princess' bounteous breasts. Neither of them could long endure this; one was too spent, the other too taught.

When they came as one, Tomair seated himself cross-legged upon the floor. Vitalia collapsed against him, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The captain of the guard patted the flagstones beside him and the other pack members hastened to sit in a circle on the floor beside him. They were lusty young men, when all was said and done, and their cocks were already stiffening for another bout.
Vitalia was passed from lap to lap like a party favor, losing track of cocks and orgasms, of names and the passage of time. All was blur of flesh and heat, of pleasure and the pack.


The hour was near noon, when Princess Vitalia awoke. She was in her own bed, with no recollection of how she came to be there, but this in itself did not unduly trouble her. The smell of the pack was still strong on her skin and from the hall outside she could distantly hear the low rumble of Orac's voice. As long as she had the loyalty of such men, she might count herself well guarded from ordinary threats.

The woman seated beside her bed, however, was far from ordinary.

"God give you good day, sister," Duchess Delicacia said quietly.

"And you also," Vitalia replied. Her voice felt warm and rough in her throat.

Delicacia filled a goblet from the silver ewer on the bedside table and passed it to her little sister. Vitalia sat up in bed to receive it, the coverlet slithering from her shoulders to reveal her nakedness. Delicacia made no comment and Vitalia no move to cover herself.

"The Lady Rue arrived in Greyport late last night," Delicacia informed her as she set the cup down.

"Ah." Vitalia sank back against her pillows, her eyes roving over the rafters, unseeing. "Then we are all here," she mused.

"Indeed," agreed Delicacia. "Is your young hound ready to play his part?"

"Is yours?"

"Fear me not, sister. All is arranged."

"I think that failing to fear you would be a mistake I would likely not have the luxury of repeating."

Delicacia smiled at this and stood, with barely a rustle of her silken gown. Then she reached down and tapped Vitalia in the valley between the snowy mountains of breasts. Her fingertip pressed down gently over the princess' heart.

"Flatterer," Delicacia whispered.

Then she turned on her heel and strode over to a hanging tapestry. The cloth was twitched aside and there was the faintest rasp of stone on well-oiled stone.

Then Delicacia was gone.

royal   the   line  

Apr 11, 2018 in anal