The Prince moved down her body.
His belly dragged across her stomach. He reached her trousers. He pulled them. The leather came down her hips. The Count helped. They pulled the trousers down her legs. They threw them off the bed. She was in her smallclothes. White cotton. Simple. The fabric clung to the mound of her pussy. The shape of her lips was visible through the thin cloth.
The Lord pressed his face between her legs.
He inhaled. "She smells clean," he said. "Too clean. Let’s dirty her."
He pushed his finger under the waistband of her panties.
He pressed against the bare flesh. The hair of her pussy was coarse against his fingertip. He found the clit. He rubbed it. She cried out. The sound was weak and broken. Her body was drugged but her nerves were awake. The sensation was direct and terrible.
"Please—" she sobbed. "I am sorry— I am sorry I laughed— please—"
"Sorry?" the Prince said. He was at her chest again. He bit her nipple. Hard. "You will be sorry. You will be sorry when we are done. You will never laugh again. You will see our faces every time you close your eyes."
The Baron lifted his head from her tit. His mouth was wet. He looked at her face. "Did you laugh? Did you laugh at us? We are nobles. We are your betters. You are a whore. A cheap, sword-carrying whore. And we are going to fuck you until you understand that."
"Four of us," the Count said. He was stroking his own cock. It was thick and dark and weeping. "One after another. In every hole. We are going to fill you with our seed. You will carry our children. You will remember tonight every time you walk."
"Please—" she cried. The tears were running now. Her face was flushed. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat — the drug, the fear, the heat of the room. "Please— I beg you— I will do anything—"
"Yes," the Prince said. "You will."
He moved to her waist.
His fat fingers gripped the waistband of her white panties.
The cotton was damp with her sweat. The fabric was thin. He pulled.
Slowly.
The fabric slid down her hips. Down the curve of her mound. The hair of her pussy came into view. The lips were revealed. The pink, terrified, unbroken entrance.
He pulled the panties down her legs.
He threw them off the bed.
Vess lay naked.
Her armor was gone. Her tits were exposed and marked with teeth. Her legs were spread. Her pussy was bare. Her body was flushed and sweaty and completely open. The white cushions beneath her were already darkening with the sweat of her terror.
The four men stood over her.
Four fat, naked, hairy, drugged men with cocks that leaked and pointed and hungered.
The Prince looked down at her.
He gripped his own shaft. He pressed it against her inner thigh. The heat of it was obscene.
He looked at the others.
He smiled.
"Now," he said. "Let’s make this bitch realize how to behave."
The Prince did not wait.
He gripped his cock with one fat, sweating hand and pressed the swollen, purple-dark head against the tight, unbroken seam of her pussy.
The mercenary—Vess—looked down at the contact with eyes that could not process what she was seeing.
Her warrior mind had faced orcs and bandits, but it had never faced the intimate, obscene reality of a man’s naked lust pressed against her most guarded place.
The drug in her blood made the room tilt, but it did not dim the sensation.
If anything, it sharpened the nerves. She felt every hair on the Prince’s groin.
She felt the heat radiating from the blunt crown. She felt the tremor of his belly above her.
"Wait—" she whispered. Her tongue was thick and slow. "What— what are you doing to me—"
"Taking what you denied us," the Prince said. His jowls shook. His breath was hot and sour with wine and old meat. "Taking the cunt that laughed at a Prince."
He pushed.
The blunt head pressed against the virgin entrance. The small, pink lips resisted. They had never been parted by anything larger than her own finger in the dark. The membrane inside was a thin, precious barrier. The Prince did not care about barriers. He had been denied too many times. He had been laughed at. He had been made a pig in front of the court.
POP.
The head tore through.
"AAAAAANGHH~!! HIIEEEENGHH~!!"
Blood came out.
It was bright. Red. Immediate. It spilled from the stretched ring of her entrance and ran in a thin, hot line down the pale skin of her inner thigh. The pain was not like a sword cut. It was deeper. It was inside. It was the pain of a space that had been sealed for twenty years being opened by force. The Prince’s cock was thick, the head blunt and cruel, and the blood lubricated his path as he drove deeper into the mercenary’s unclaimed body.
One inch. Two inches. The walls of her cunt gripped him with the desperate, virgin tightness of a body that had never known intrusion. She was hot inside. Unbelievably hot. The heat made him groan, a phlegmy sound from deep in his chest.
"What—" Vess gasped. Her eyes were wide and streaming. Her mouth hung open. "What are you doing to me— blood— BLOOD IS COMING— what is—"
She did not know.
She was a maiden. She had never been told. She had never seen. She knew that men and women married. She knew that babies came from somewhere. But she had never understood that this—that a thick, hard, heated shaft of meat could be pushed inside her, tearing her, filling her, occupying the space where she was most secret.
"Shut up," the Prince grunted. He gripped her hips. His fat fingers dug into her flesh. "You are being fucked. That is what is happening. You are being fucked by a Prince."
He drove deeper.
Three inches. Four. The walls stretched around him. The blood made it slick. The wet sound was audible in the room—a soft, terrible squelch with each forward press.
"AAAAAANGHH~!! HNGHH~!! KYAAANGH~!!"
The Baron moved to her head.
He gripped her jaw with one hairy, thick-fingered hand. He pried her mouth open. His cock was out—shorter than the Prince’s but thicker at the base, matted with coarse black hair, the shaft dark and veined and weeping a thin, clear fluid from the slit. The smell of it was musky and sour. He pressed it against her lips.
"Stuff it," the Baron said. His voice was a wet growl. "Open, bitch. Open for the pig you laughed at."
He drove into her mouth.
SKHLRK—
"MMMPH~!! GLK~!! NGH~!!"
She tried to bite.
Her jaw worked. The command traveled from her brain to her muscles, but the drug intercepted it. The signal arrived weak, delayed, useless. Her teeth closed on nothing but air as the Baron pushed past her lips and filled her oral cavity. Her tongue moved involuntarily, trying to push him out, which only created a slick, frictioned suction that made the Baron throw his head back and groan.
"Pinch her," the Prince said. His hips were rolling now, a steady, grinding rhythm. His belly slapped against her lower stomach with each thrust. The sound was wet and heavy. "Pinch her tits. Make her understand her place."