The Encounters Of Princess Blaire

[Wragg]

The Encounters of Princess Blaire

Being the Fifth part of the Chronicles of the Silver River.

Blaire sat on her dapple-grey mare, Mistral, in the pretty village of Rattington, gazing along the Heidraen High Road. She,felt as if she too, was at a junction in her life; her mind seething with conflicting emotions.

Rattington, and her sister-village Fieldmouseford, had grown up around the junction of the High Road and the Aestral Pass. It would be difficult to conjecture a more idyllic setting, to the south west there were views back to Aestrador and the Silver Sea, Mount Jedakk towered over the view to the north, with the winding thread of the pass climbing on its way over the top to Ystragarth. East lay the valley of the Silver River, its broad waters making their serpentine way down from Heidraen.

Smoke from the stoves of Rattington curled lazily up into the clear blue sky, the cottages snuggled into the hillside. Near to where Blaire and Mistral stood the Rattington Arms was clearing up after its lunchtime customers, though, with the harvest not due for a few weeks yet, a group of farm labourers sat outside with their pint glasses of Rodent’s Old Peculiar ale. The view they were admiring was not the landscape, but that of Blaire upon her horse. One man tipped his glass and poured ale into his lap, missing his lips entirely.

Blaire didn’t notice. The contrast between the rural tranquillity of Rattington and the emotions battling through her mind could not have been more acute. It had not been until that morning that she had heard of the dreadful events of the past few days. Tara was dead! How could that be? How could that lovely girl, so full of life, have been so cruelly and suddenly taken from them? She’d known Tara and Roxie from childhood, their mothers had been close, and visits common. And now there was war, and her stupid father had sided with Heidraen.

Sciuridan had killed Tara. She loathed and hated that man with every fibre of her being. Having to sit at table with him the other day had literally made her flesh crawl. Though her memories were dark, they began to replay in her mind as they had a thousand times before.

Mistral had been a present from her mother and father on her eighteenth birthday. She was a beautiful horse, and Blaire had loved her instantly. That very day she’d ridden her up from Aestrador, up to Rattington Fieldmouseford, and from there had taken the High Road into the woods on the lower slopes of Mount Zeke.

She’d turned Mistral off the main road and onto a bridleway, this was a route she’d ridden before, which wound back to the pass a mile or so above Rattington, passing mountain streams, waterfalls, and a small lake en route. A beautiful ride. She knew she really shouldn’t ride out alone, but she loved her own company, and out here on her horse amongst the mountains was perfection to Blaire.

But not that day. She’d ridden less than ten minutes along the bridleway when she encountered a hunting party. She urged Mistral forward quickly, she didn’t want anything to do with this crowd of unpleasant looking men. But one of them caught Mistral’s reigns and brought her to a halt.

“Sire! See, we have caught a pretty prize for you!”

From out of the woods strode King Sciuridan. Blaire had no choice but to dismount and kneel. “Your Majesty.”

Sciuridan took her by the chin and lifted her, a gesture that Blaire found most unsettling. He leered at her. “Well, well, if it isn’t Princess Blaire! What is that useless father of yours doing letting a pretty girl like you ride out all alone?”

“I – I’m not alone,” lied Blaire, “the others are following behind.”

“As bad a liar as your father, too. A real chip off the old block.” A thought struck him. “Isn’t it your birthday, today?”

“Y-yes, sir, it is.”

“Well, happy Birthday! Here, have a birthday kiss from good King Sciuridan!”

Before she could protest, he had his hand on the back of her head, and his tongue felt as if it was halfway down her throat. His breath smelled, and even tasted, foul, the stubble on his chin scraped her face, she could feel his spittle running down her own chin.

With an effort, she pulled away from him. “You BASTARD!” She wiped her mouth with her hand, and tried, in vain, to spit out the taste of him.

“You bastard ‘Your Majesty’!” corrected Sciuridan. He looked at the half-dozen or so men with him, who so far seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. “Eighteen years old, and she doesn’t seem to have learned much respect!”

For a long minute he gazed at her, while Blaire glared back, defiantly.

He came to a decision. “Strip her!” he ordered. “Tie her to that tree!”

“NO!” her voice was surprisingly controlled, she thought. “My Father is the King of Aestrador! Let me go!”

“Your father,” he informed her, “has got a lovely brown tongue from all the time he spends licking my arse! Do it!”

Blaire did her very best to fight them off but there were just too many of them. In moments she was stark naked in front of them. Despite herself, she felt the tension in her nipples.

Mistral munched grass contentedly, oblivious to what was going on.

One of the men nursed an injured forearm. “Careful, Sire, she bites!”

Blaire wished she’d bitten Sciuridan’s tongue off while she’d had a chance.

“Don’t be such a wimp!” snarled Sciuridan. “What are you waiting for? Tie her to the fucking tree!”

Blaire’s arms were forced behind her and her wrists firmly tied together around the trunk of a nearby tree. Then they pulled her feet back, and tied them together so that her knees were pulled apart.

The Fucking Tree. Blaire knew full well what was going to happen next. She’d dreamed of losing her virginity to a handsome prince in a four-poster bed in a fairy castle. Never in her wildest nightmares had she imagined it would be like this.

She stared at Sciuridan in horror. Whatever they’d said about the small size of his manhood simply wasn’t true. Was he really going to put THAT inside her?

He was indeed. She howled in agony as her hymen split, and she wasn’t moist, it felt like sandpaper around a log. He thrust and thrust, her screams inflaming him further. Eventually, after what seemed to her to be hours, he came, and withdrew.

“Your turn, boys!” he said.

It seemed to Blaire to be never-ending. One after the other they came and raped her. Her pelvis felt as if it was on fire.

She collapsed to her knees.

“As it’s your birthday,” said Sciuridan, “I’m going to let you go.” He leaned close to her, once more she could smell his foetid breath. He continued in a hiss, “but if you ever tell anyone of this, or if you ever cross me in any way at all, I’m going to bring you back to this very same tree for a repeat performance, and it’ll be your dead body they find here.”

“Cut her free! Let’s go home!”

They cut her bonds, and left her there, sobbing, under the tree. She staggered to her feet, and went and vomited into some long grass. Her brain struggled, but she was unable to grasp the horror of what had happened to her.

She gathered her clothes and dressed. She was not able to sit astride Mistral so she rode home side saddle.

 

[Wragg]

From that day to this she had not breathed a word about it to another living soul, save only one. But Sciuridan’s leers, every time he’d visited Aestrador, were hard to accept. One day, she’d vowed, one day…. she’d slit his throat.

And as she sat there in Rattington, gazing along the High Road, she was trying to screw up the courage to ride along there, alone, for the first time since her eighteenth birthday. Blaire had a will of iron, but dozens of times since then she’d sat her outside the inn, and dozens of times she’d turned Mistral and headed back down to Aestrador. “Come on, Blaire!” she chided herself, “You’ve got to face down your demons!”

She hadn’t consciously given Mistral the order, but the horse began to move forward along the road. Waves of terror swept over Blaire; she realised she’d broken into a cold sweat, despite the warmth of the day.

After a hundred yards or so she began to settle. She resolved to go as far as the bridleway. She would stay on the main road, and maybe one day in the future she’d be able to face the bridleway and that tree.

As she rode, another memory.

It was barely a week after her eighteenth birthday. Still her pelvis was sore, urinating was agony, but she had been able to keep her secret from those around her. Her mother had noted that she was ‘not herself’, but had been unable to discern why. But Blaire had been relieved when her period had started the previous day, at least the bastards hadn’t made her pregnant.

The servants had cleared up after breakfast, Xsordon had gone off about his daily business, and Penelope and Blaire were alone.

“I’ve got some wonderful news for you, darling!” Her mother had smiled at her, “We’ve found a lovely husband for you!”
Even before the black events of her birthday, Blaire hadn’t found any man particularly appealing. Sure, there were the idealised princes of fairy tales, but real life men weren’t like that. It was, she had reasoned, partly that it was expected of her – it was her ‘duty’ as a royal princess to marry and produce as many babies as possible. It’s hard to feel lovey and romantic about doing one’s duty.

So she’d always know this day would come. But, and of course her mother didn’t know it, the timing really sucked.
“Who?” she asked. There was a prince of Svendia who she’d thought might be tolerable.

“It’s Prince Shevak of Heidraen!”

She stared at her mother, her jaw falling in shock and surprise. “Shevak?”

“Yes! Isn’t it super?”

“Sciuridan’s son? No!”

The sheer horror of it overwhelmed her. Shevak, presumably, had the same attitude to women as his father, so when she wasn’t being raped by her husband she would be being raped by her father-in-law. She stared into an endless abyss of never-ending sexual abuse.

Dare she tell her mother what had happened? She remembered Sciuridan’s promise, and the foul breath that had carried it.

Blaire had fled from the room in floods of tears, leaving Penelope mystified and not a little angry.

Since then, she had thrown every excuse she could think of at her parents, whose anxiety had grown in proportion to her resistance. Sciuridan was not a man to trifle with, nor was he a man famed for taking ‘no’ for an answer - he had suggested Blaire as a bride for Shevak and Blaire he was going to have.

Blaire felt utterly, utterly trapped. She had never in all her life felt so miserable.

She and Mistral travelled miles. Sometimes she took her right over the Aestral pass into Ystragarth and then spent the night with Aunt Barbaria and her cousins.

She loved both her cousins, dearly, she always had and always would. On one of these occasions she’d been in her room, combing her hair before dressing for dinner, when there had come a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in!” she had called. It was Tara.

“Hi Cuz!” said Tara, brightly. Then she grew serious. “Blaire, can I talk to you?”

“Be my guest,” said Blaire, fetching over a chair for Tara to sit on.

“You’re engaged to Shevak, right?” asked Tara.

“Worst luck.”

“Do you love him?”

“Like hell I do!” snarled Blaire

Tara looked shocked “You hate him?”

“I hate him, and I loathe his father.”

“Oh yes!” giggled Tara, “His dad’s horrible!”

Blaire could not help herself. The floodgates opened and she sobbed, deeply and uncontrollably, onto Tara’s shoulder.

“Blaire? Whatever’s the matter?”

“Tara,” Blaire blew her nose, struggling to compose herself. “I have got to tell someone, but what I am about to tell you must never, ever pass on to anyone else. Promise?”

“Blaire, I promise!”

So Blaire told her everything, sparing her nothing. Tara flinched at some of it.

Afterwards, she said nothing, just hugged Blaire for long minutes.

Then she sat back, and looked Blaire in the eye. “My turn for secrets. The only other person who knows this is Roxie. Blaire, I love him.”

“Who?” asked Blaire, nonplussed.

“Shevak. He is the loveliest man on the planet.”

Blaire was stunned. “Shevak? How can you love him, he’s a skunk!”

“Blaire, he’s not like his father, he’s funny, gentle, considerate, and,” she paused, blushing, “he is just a dream as a lover!”

She sighed, her hand over her heart, gazing towards heaven.

There was a long silence while Blaire digested this.

Suddenly she smiled. Then she grinned. Then she sniggered, and then gales of helpless laughter swept over her. Tara joined in and they laughed and laughed until their sides ached.

Eventually they recovered. “Tara, you marry him, in fact please, please marry him, and then for your own safety, take him with you as far away from his father as you can possibly get. I would hate it, really hate it, if anything happened to you!”

Sitting on Mistral now, recalling that conversation, and thinking of Tara nailed to that cross, Blaire wept, as Mistral plodded onwards.

She remembered how much better she’d felt after sharing her dreadful secret with Tara. The day after her encounter with Tara, Blaire had gone for a walk along by the river, when she’d heard splashing. Working down through the trees, she’d seen Roxie, swimming nude in the water. The sight of her cousin’s nude body, her breasts, nipples tight and protruding in the cool water, had sent waves of erotic emotion flowing through her, and Roxie had taken Blaire from Hell and restored her to Heaven that afternoon.

The memory of it increased Blaire’s flow of tears. Her soul ached for Roxie. Her body ached for Roxie. And now there was war. Would she ever see her again? That bloody, bloody, Sciuridan!

Suddenly she tensed. Someone, also on a horse, was coming along the road from Heidraen!

She pulled Mistral’s head around, the horse turning in her own length, and was preparing to gallop back towards Rattington Fieldmouseford, when the rider called her. “Blaire!”

She sounded friendly. She looked back. “Queen Messaline!”

“Don’t get down!” called Messaline, as Blaire started to dismount. She urged her horse into a trot, and came up to Blaire and Mistral.

“Is your mother at home, Blaire?” asked the queen.

“She is, your Majesty, and she’ll be delighted to see you.”

“Drop the ‘Your Majesty’ bit, Blaire. Call me ‘Messa.’ My friends do.”

There was a silence for a few minutes. Then Messa spoke.

“Blaire, I’ve left him. King Sciuridan. I never want to see him again.”

Blaire didn’t blame her. She’d often wondered what kept a beautiful woman like Messaline alongside a scumbag like Sciuridan. But she dutifully said “I’m sorry, Your maj….Messa.”

“I have not had a happy married life, Blaire. But I have had a wonderful son, and I put up with the beatings, and the other women, and the coldness, because I was determined that Shevak should not turn out like his father.

“Now, Shevak has left. Naraku and Marcie are not….my children, though I have tried to bring them up well, too. I stuck it for less than a day after Shevak left. Now, look!”

Blaire turned to her. She had the worst black eye Blaire had ever seen. Should she tell Messa about her own encounter with Sciuridan? She decided not, for the moment.

“Do you think your mother will allow me to stay as her guest in Aestrador?”

“I’m sure she will, but….will you be safe there?”

“Safe? Where is safe? My husband is besieging Ystragarth. Then he will besiege Solithage. He wishes to rule the whole of Aestria, and he will take it by force. Your father thinks he is clever by forming an alliance, I tell you, Sciuridan will stab him in the back and grind him into the dust, when it suits him to.”

“You could leave for Gaul?”

“Not while my son is alive and living in Aestria!”

Blaire thought. Then she said, “There is a place in the Northern Forest called Alfheim. It is where the Elves come from. My mother has told me of it, but I have never been there. There are two important things about Elves, one is that they are fearsome fighters, and the other is that they are fiercely loyal to my mother and to my Aunt Barbaria. I think we might all be safe there.”

“Well, Blaire, that sounds good. Let us talk to your mother about it. Now, may I ask you, are you going to marry Shevak, or are you not?”

Blaire was taken aback by her directness. Once again there was silence as her brain whirled.

“He is a good boy, you know, Blaire, he is not like his father. I have seen to that.”

Finally, Blaire spoke.

“While Sciuridan lives, I cannot marry Shevak.”

Messaline looked at her, studying her face intently. Blaire felt as though she was reading her mind.

Then Messaline nodded. “I understand, my child. I understand.”

Soon they were approaching Rattington. Messaline sniffed. ”Food! They are cooking! At the Rattington Arms! Even I, a woman from Gaul , have never tasted food like they serve at the Rattington Arms! I am simply ravenous! Come, my dear, let us stop for food!”

Blaire had to agree that the food smelled good. She was hungry, too. “Yes, Messa, that would be lovely! Let’s do that!”

Soon the horses were happily eating and drinking in the stable yard, and Messa and Blaire were sat at a table outside the pub, each with a glass of wine, waiting for their food to arrive. Blaire found Messa really easy to talk to and soon they were chatting together like old friends. Messa told of old times back in Gaul, how homesick and lonely she had been when sent to Aestria, how she’d spent five years in black depression, living with a man who treated her like dirt. But she had formed friendships, Penny and Barbaria were particularly dear friends, very, very special.

Blaire looked at her. Did she mean something more than mere friendship? Was it not just her that found women far more attractive than men?

As she pondered this, Blaire watched a farmer and his wife as they drove their cart through Rattington en-route to Aestrador, presumably having brought it over the pass. She felt a pang of pity for ordinary hard working folk, struggling to eke out an existence, their lives made ten times harder because of stupid sods like Sciuridan. She said as much to Messa, who nodded.

Mrs Farmer was looking intently at the pub. Presumably they’d had a hard journey and she was wondering if she could spare a few coins for some sustenance.

Then, to Messa and Blaire’s utter astonishment, the woman cried out ‘Blaire!’

She jumped down from the cart and tore across to Blaire, administering a hug and a kiss upon arrival.

“ROXIE!!!” Blaire couldn’t believe she was here. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Paul had gone off to stable the horse, and park the wagon. Roxie told Blaire about the strange events in the woodland clearing, but when she mentioned the name ‘Dark Princess’ Messa just said “I might have known. Sciuridan’s been infatuated with her for years.”

As Roxie told of her father’s fury, and of his threat to crucify Shevak, Messa looked distraught, then beamed with delight when she heard how Barbaria had taken control of the situation.

Paul had joined them by the time she told them of the siege of Ystragarth, and of her disagreement with Eulalia.

Messa peered at Paul. “Aren’t you Shevak’s manservant?”

Paul bowed. “Your Majesty”

She looked a bit uncomfortable. “You’d better call me ‘Messaline’ for the moment.”

Roxie grinned. “Couple of surprises for you. Ever hear of a famous wizard called ‘Merlin’?”

“Yes of course,” replied Messa. “Everybody’s heard of Merlin!”

Roxie nodded towards Paul. “That’s him.”

Messa was amused rather than surprised. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a servant.”

The glass shattered in front of her, wine splashing everywhere. She stood in shock, looking down at her wine-stained dress. Then she looked back at the glass again, which stood, unharmed, full of wine. Her dress was impeccable.

“Wha….what?” she stammered.

Paul bowed slightly. “Forgive me, dear girl. I felt that a demonstration might be in order.”

Messaline was stunned, partly at being addressed as ‘dear girl’.

“Surprise number two.” Roxie smiled at Blaire. “He’s your granddad!”

She explained the story of Princess Isopogon and the dragon.

Blaire sat with her head in her hands. This was all too much to take in.

They talked, and ate, for an hour or so. The idea of making for Alfheim seemed to be the most sensible way forward. As the talking went on, Blaire became increasingly concerned that, even disguised, Roxie would not be safe in Aestrador. She was likely to be snapped up as a hostage. Even here there might be spies, but that was less likely in a backwater like Rattington.

It was decided, therefore, that Roxie should stay in the inn that night. Paul said, “If I might make the suggestion, I should resume my role as a palace servant, accompanied by Messaline, and we will go and put the suggestion to Queen Penelope that she accompanies us to Alfheim. I wonder if I could prevail upon Princess Blaire to remain with Princess Roxie, both for company and safety?”

Blaire could believe neither her ears nor her good luck.

“Yes, I think I could manage that,” she said, winking at Roxie.

Messaline said, “Just don’t call me ‘dear girl’ again, whoever you are, and we’ll get along just fine.”

 

[roxie]

From that day to this she had not breathed a word about it to another living soul, save only one. But Sciuridan’s leers, every time he’d visited Aestrador, were hard to accept. One day, she’d vowed, one day…. she’d slit his throat.

And as she sat there in Rattington, gazing along the High Road, she was trying to screw up the courage to ride along there, alone, for the first time since her eighteenth birthday. Blaire had a will of iron, but dozens of times since then she’d sat her outside the inn, and dozens of times she’d turned Mistral and headed back down to Aestrador. “Come on, Blaire!” she chided herself, “You’ve got to face down your demons!”

She hadn’t consciously given Mistral the order, but the horse began to move forward along the road. Waves of terror swept over Blaire; she realised she’d broken into a cold sweat, despite the warmth of the day.

After a hundred yards or so she began to settle. She resolved to go as far as the bridleway. She would stay on the main road, and maybe one day in the future she’d be able to face the bridleway and that tree.

As she rode, another memory.

It was barely a week after her eighteenth birthday. Still her pelvis was sore, urinating was agony, but she had been able to keep her secret from those around her. Her mother had noted that she was ‘not herself’, but had been unable to discern why. But Blaire had been relieved when her period had started the previous day, at least the bastards hadn’t made her pregnant.

The servants had cleared up after breakfast, Xsordon had gone off about his daily business, and Penelope and Blaire were alone.

“I’ve got some wonderful news for you, darling!” Her mother had smiled at her, “We’ve found a lovely husband for you!”
Even before the black events of her birthday, Blaire hadn’t found any man particularly appealing. Sure, there were the idealised princes of fairy tales, but real life men weren’t like that. It was, she had reasoned, partly that it was expected of her – it was her ‘duty’ as a royal princess to marry and produce as many babies as possible. It’s hard to feel lovey and romantic about doing one’s duty.

So she’d always know this day would come. But, and of course her mother didn’t know it, the timing really sucked.
“Who?” she asked. There was a prince of Svendia who she’d thought might be tolerable.

“It’s Prince Shevak of Heidraen!”

She stared at her mother, her jaw falling in shock and surprise. “Shevak?”

“Yes! Isn’t it super?”

“Sciuridan’s son? No!”

The sheer horror of it overwhelmed her. Shevak, presumably, had the same attitude to women as his father, so when she wasn’t being raped by her husband she would be being raped by her father-in-law. She stared into an endless abyss of never-ending sexual abuse.

Dare she tell her mother what had happened? She remembered Sciuridan’s promise, and the foul breath that had carried it.

Blaire had fled from the room in floods of tears, leaving Penelope mystified and not a little angry.

Since then, she had thrown every excuse she could think of at her parents, whose anxiety had grown in proportion to her resistance. Sciuridan was not a man to trifle with, nor was he a man famed for taking ‘no’ for an answer - he had suggested Blaire as a bride for Shevak and Blaire he was going to have.

Blaire felt utterly, utterly trapped. She had never in all her life felt so miserable.

She and Mistral travelled miles. Sometimes she took her right over the Aestral pass into Ystragarth and then spent the night with Aunt Barbaria and her cousins.

She loved both her cousins, dearly, she always had and always would. On one of these occasions she’d been in her room, combing her hair before dressing for dinner, when there had come a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in!” she had called. It was Tara.

“Hi Cuz!” said Tara, brightly. Then she grew serious. “Blaire, can I talk to you?”

“Be my guest,” said Blaire, fetching over a chair for Tara to sit on.

“You’re engaged to Shevak, right?” asked Tara.

“Worst luck.”

“Do you love him?”

“Like hell I do!” snarled Blaire

Tara looked shocked “You hate him?”

“I hate him, and I loathe his father.”

“Oh yes!” giggled Tara, “His dad’s horrible!”

Blaire could not help herself. The floodgates opened and she sobbed, deeply and uncontrollably, onto Tara’s shoulder.

“Blaire? Whatever’s the matter?”

“Tara,” Blaire blew her nose, struggling to compose herself. “I have got to tell someone, but what I am about to tell you must never, ever pass on to anyone else. Promise?”

“Blaire, I promise!”

So Blaire told her everything, sparing her nothing. Tara flinched at some of it.

Afterwards, she said nothing, just hugged Blaire for long minutes.

Then she sat back, and looked Blaire in the eye. “My turn for secrets. The only other person who knows this is Roxie. Blaire, I love him.”

“Who?” asked Blaire, nonplussed.

“Shevak. He is the loveliest man on the planet.”

Blaire was stunned. “Shevak? How can you love him, he’s a skunk!”

“Blaire, he’s not like his father, he’s funny, gentle, considerate, and,” she paused, blushing, “he is just a dream as a lover!”

She sighed, her hand over her heart, gazing towards heaven.

There was a long silence while Blaire digested this.

Suddenly she smiled. Then she grinned. Then she sniggered, and then gales of helpless laughter swept over her. Tara joined in and they laughed and laughed until their sides ached.

Eventually they recovered. “Tara, you marry him, in fact please, please marry him, and then for your own safety, take him with you as far away from his father as you can possibly get. I would hate it, really hate it, if anything happened to you!”

Sitting on Mistral now, recalling that conversation, and thinking of Tara nailed to that cross, Blaire wept, as Mistral plodded onwards.

She remembered how much better she’d felt after sharing her dreadful secret with Tara. The day after her encounter with Tara, Blaire had gone for a walk along by the river, when she’d heard splashing. Working down through the trees, she’d seen Roxie, swimming nude in the water. The sight of her cousin’s nude body, her breasts, nipples tight and protruding in the cool water, had sent waves of erotic emotion flowing through her, and Roxie had taken Blaire from Hell and restored her to Heaven that afternoon.

The memory of it increased Blaire’s flow of tears. Her soul ached for Roxie. Her body ached for Roxie. And now there was war. Would she ever see her again? That bloody, bloody, Sciuridan!

Suddenly she tensed. Someone, also on a horse, was coming along the road from Heidraen!

She pulled Mistral’s head around, the horse turning in her own length, and was preparing to gallop back towards Rattington Fieldmouseford, when the rider called her. “Blaire!”

She sounded friendly. She looked back. “Queen Messaline!”

“Don’t get down!” called Messaline, as Blaire started to dismount. She urged her horse into a trot, and came up to Blaire and Mistral.

“Is your mother at home, Blaire?” asked the queen.

“She is, your Majesty, and she’ll be delighted to see you.”

“Drop the ‘Your Majesty’ bit, Blaire. Call me ‘Messa.’ My friends do.”

There was a silence for a few minutes. Then Messa spoke.

“Blaire, I’ve left him. King Sciuridan. I never want to see him again.”

Blaire didn’t blame her. She’d often wondered what kept a beautiful woman like Messaline alongside a scumbag like Sciuridan. But she dutifully said “I’m sorry, Your maj….Messa.”

“I have not had a happy married life, Blaire. But I have had a wonderful son, and I put up with the beatings, and the other women, and the coldness, because I was determined that Shevak should not turn out like his father.

“Now, Shevak has left. Naraku and Marcie are not….my children, though I have tried to bring them up well, too. I stuck it for less than a day after Shevak left. Now, look!”

Blaire turned to her. She had the worst black eye Blaire had ever seen. Should she tell Messa about her own encounter with Sciuridan? She decided not, for the moment.

“Do you think your mother will allow me to stay as her guest in Aestrador?”

“I’m sure she will, but….will you be safe there?”

“Safe? Where is safe? My husband is besieging Ystragarth. Then he will besiege Solithage. He wishes to rule the whole of Aestria, and he will take it by force. Your father thinks he is clever by forming an alliance, I tell you, Sciuridan will stab him in the back and grind him into the dust, when it suits him to.”

“You could leave for Gaul?”

“Not while my son is alive and living in Aestria!”

Blaire thought. Then she said, “There is a place in the Northern Forest called Alfheim. It is where the Elves come from. My mother has told me of it, but I have never been there. There are two important things about Elves, one is that they are fearsome fighters, and the other is that they are fiercely loyal to my mother and to my Aunt Barbaria. I think we might all be safe there.”

“Well, Blaire, that sounds good. Let us talk to your mother about it. Now, may I ask you, are you going to marry Shevak, or are you not?”

Blaire was taken aback by her directness. Once again there was silence as her brain whirled.

“He is a good boy, you know, Blaire, he is not like his father. I have seen to that.”

Finally, Blaire spoke.

“While Sciuridan lives, I cannot marry Shevak.”

Messaline looked at her, studying her face intently. Blaire felt as though she was reading her mind.

Then Messaline nodded. “I understand, my child. I understand.”

Soon they were approaching Rattington. Messaline sniffed. ”Food! They are cooking! At the Rattington Arms! Even I, a woman from Gaul , have never tasted food like they serve at the Rattington Arms! I am simply ravenous! Come, my dear, let us stop for food!”

Blaire had to agree that the food smelled good. She was hungry, too. “Yes, Messa, that would be lovely! Let’s do that!”

Soon the horses were happily eating and drinking in the stable yard, and Messa and Blaire were sat at a table outside the pub, each with a glass of wine, waiting for their food to arrive. Blaire found Messa really easy to talk to and soon they were chatting together like old friends. Messa told of old times back in Gaul, how homesick and lonely she had been when sent to Aestria, how she’d spent five years in black depression, living with a man who treated her like dirt. But she had formed friendships, Penny and Barbaria were particularly dear friends, very, very special.

Blaire looked at her. Did she mean something more than mere friendship? Was it not just her that found women far more attractive than men?

As she pondered this, Blaire watched a farmer and his wife as they drove their cart through Rattington en-route to Aestrador, presumably having brought it over the pass. She felt a pang of pity for ordinary hard working folk, struggling to eke out an existence, their lives made ten times harder because of stupid sods like Sciuridan. She said as much to Messa, who nodded.

Mrs Farmer was looking intently at the pub. Presumably they’d had a hard journey and she was wondering if she could spare a few coins for some sustenance.

Then, to Messa and Blaire’s utter astonishment, the woman cried out ‘Blaire!’

She jumped down from the cart and tore across to Blaire, administering a hug and a kiss upon arrival.

“ROXIE!!!” Blaire couldn’t believe she was here. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Paul had gone off to stable the horse, and park the wagon. Roxie told Blaire about the strange events in the woodland clearing, but when she mentioned the name ‘Dark Princess’ Messa just said “I might have known. Sciuridan’s been infatuated with her for years.”

As Roxie told of her father’s fury, and of his threat to crucify Shevak, Messa looked distraught, then beamed with delight when she heard how Barbaria had taken control of the situation.

Paul had joined them by the time she told them of the siege of Ystragarth, and of her disagreement with Eulalia.

Messa peered at Paul. “Aren’t you Shevak’s manservant?”

Paul bowed. “Your Majesty”

She looked a bit uncomfortable. “You’d better call me ‘Messaline’ for the moment.”

Roxie grinned. “Couple of surprises for you. Ever hear of a famous wizard called ‘Merlin’?”

“Yes of course,” replied Messa. “Everybody’s heard of Merlin!”

Roxie nodded towards Paul. “That’s him.”

Messa was amused rather than surprised. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a servant.”

The glass shattered in front of her, wine splashing everywhere. She stood in shock, looking down at her wine-stained dress. Then she looked back at the glass again, which stood, unharmed, full of wine. Her dress was impeccable.

“Wha….what?” she stammered.

Paul bowed slightly. “Forgive me, dear girl. I felt that a demonstration might be in order.”

Messaline was stunned, partly at being addressed as ‘dear girl’.

“Surprise number two.” Roxie smiled at Blaire. “He’s your granddad!”

She explained the story of Princess Isopogon and the dragon.

Blaire sat with her head in her hands. This was all too much to take in.

They talked, and ate, for an hour or so. The idea of making for Alfheim seemed to be the most sensible way forward. As the talking went on, Blaire became increasingly concerned that, even disguised, Roxie would not be safe in Aestrador. She was likely to be snapped up as a hostage. Even here there might be spies, but that was less likely in a backwater like Rattington.

It was decided, therefore, that Roxie should stay in the inn that night. Paul said, “If I might make the suggestion, I should resume my role as a palace servant, accompanied by Messaline, and we will go and put the suggestion to Queen Penelope that she accompanies us to Alfheim. I wonder if I could prevail upon Princess Blaire to remain with Princess Roxie, both for company and safety?”

Blaire could believe neither her ears nor her good luck.

“Yes, I think I could manage that,” she said, winking at Roxie.

Messaline said, “Just don’t call me ‘dear girl’ again, whoever you are, and we’ll get along just fine.”

Wonderful Wragg! You are a master storyteller!

 

[roxie]

"Blaire could believe neither her ears nor her good luck.
“Yes, I think I could manage that,” she said, winking at Roxie"


Well.....the girls seem to have managed things quite well.


Blaire is certainly a gorgeous woman, Roxie thinks to herself as the two of them share a quiet, dark booth in the back room of the Rattington Arms Inn along the Heidraen High Road. By now Roxie is feeling safe enough to have given up her unattractive farm lady garb for something more appropriate to her young figure. From her baggage she obtains a belted tunic to wear. It's plain, but short, and shows off her lovely legs to best advantage. And short it is! The hem of the flirty tunic barely comes to mid-thigh when Roxie is standing; while seated next to Blaire on the booth’s bench seat it hikes up considerably more, daring to expose just too much of Roxie's anatomy. Keep those knees together, Roxie reminds herself. A girl’s gotta be extra careful when she’s not on her home turf – and especially during times like these!

When she crosses her legs Roxie is well aware she’s exposing an almost indecent length of her well-toned, slender thighs. Roxie grins with a certain degree of justifiable pride. Good thing there's a table here. These legs could start a riot!

Blaire is also dressed in a similar tunic, though of finer cloth and more fashionable design. The two girls sit side by side in their booth, and Roxie can hardly fail to notice how Blair’s high, firm breasts gently swell the top of her tunic, their shape so lovingly suggested by the thin, clinging cloth. Her pert nipples further thrust forward, seemingly trying to escape their cloth confinement. Feeling a warm glow and slight tingle between her thighs, Roxie admits to herself that Blaire’s body is physical perfection, especially her legs, which seem to go on forever.

Roxie and Blaire always favored sitting shoulder to shoulder when at table, rather than across. It was physically more intimate (the girls love to touch one another) and made it easier to converse. With their backs to the wall they had a commanding view of the interior of the Ratting Arm's pub from their secluded location. They felt safe and secure, at least for the moment. Since spies could be present anywhere, they speak in low voices, almost whispers, as they discuss the stunning turn of events of the last few days. Roxie is turned slightly towards Blair and has her arm around the top of the bench and, thereby, around Blaire too. As Blaire continues talking Roxie inhales the sweet perfume smell of Blaire’s hair, and watches the soft rising and falling of her breasts inside the tunic top. She’s not even listening to Blaire at this point as she is completely entranced by the wonderful, beautiful, sensuous creature sitting next to her.

How could Shevak not love such a woman? She thinks to herself. Blaire is simply perfect, and I do so love her, muses Roxie with a slightly wicked grin. At least I’ve seen her naked! Poor Shevak! He’s a good man, brave, and an excellent lover. But he’s destined to marry a woman he doesn’t love and who doesn’t love him. And even more, Blaire seems to actually dislike him. Theirs is but a political match, and they may produce an heir – though the coupling will be chilly – but it will be no marriage made in heaven! Get used to separate beds, Shevak, she chuckles to herself. Or at least find a winsome scullery maid or two for company. It seems your renowned tongue and cock will be of little use to this one! She prefers girls!

Seated so close together with their exposed smooth thighs touching, Roxie’s warm glow and tingle soon becomes a more serious desire as she feels her pulse increasing and a growing sense of wetness deep in her vagina. She squeezes her pelvic muscles to intensify the delicious sensation. Blaire goes on talking, thinking Roxie is hanging on every word. Roxie smiles inwardly, knowing Blaire – who is usually able to quickly sense her every emotion – is, for now, oblivious to Roxie’s rising passion.

Able to contain herself no longer, Roxie suddenly leans in and gives Blair a soft wet kiss on her neck – at the pulse point -- the sweet spot that drives Blaire crazy!

Blaire pulls away, snorting slightly, at the tender intimate advance. “Roxie, what are you doing?” She shoots a disapproving glare, slightly annoyed.

“I’m kissing you silly. What else could I be doing?” As Roxie leans in closer, grinning mischievously, she presses her right breast into Blaire’s upper arm, knowing it will clearly communicate her desires to Blaire.

“Roxie, not now,” Blaire says in a hushed tone, pulling away. “Haven’t you been listening to me? I’ve been trying to discuss everything going on and how you are in so much danger and all you can do is think of kissing me!”

“Blaire,” states Roxie, in her best matter-of-fact tone, “we’re sitting so close together I can feel you breathing. Aren’t you feeling, well, somewhat turned on too?”

“Well, yeah, some, me too,” Blaire blurts out. “But now’s not the time for, for…this. In case you haven’t noticed, my darling, your life’s in danger and… and…and I can’t stand the thought that harm might come to you. Roxie, if war comes you could well be captured, and maybe even crucified like poor Tara!!! I could never bear the thought of that happening. It would kill me to see you nailed naked on a cross, left to die like a common criminal!”

“Sweetie,” said Roxie in her most comforting tone, “I’ll be fine, really. I’m not worried at all.” This reassurance does little to settle Blaire’s fears. Her agitation over recent events is still high and the thought of her dear Roxie suffering such a horrible death causes tears to well up in her eyes. Roxie moves in closer to comfort Blaire as her tears now start flowing freely. Blaire’s sobs and sniffles cause her chest to heave, which only makes Roxie more aroused as she watches Blaire’s nipples stiffen, judging from how they’re now pushing ever more forcefully against the fabric of her tunic.

Roxie picks up a napkin from the table and gently dabs at the flowing tears on Blaire’s rosy cheeks. She then cups Blaire’s wet face in her hands and, after quickly moistening her own lips, just as gently pulls Blaire’s quivering lips to her own. When their wet lips touch, just barely, Blaire seems to almost purr with contentment and she presses in closer. Roxie feels Blaire exhale slightly and moan softly as she proceeds to administer soft, wet kisses and Blaire’s full lips and face. Both girls feel the sudden hot flush of a driving sexual arousal. Now their tongues reach out to explore each other’s mouths. Their kisses become hard and passionate; their trembling bodies crush closer in the grinding, intimate embrace of lovers.

Blair raises one leg and puts it over Roxie’s adjacent thigh, making it clear she would welcome Roxie’s hand to begin exploring between her legs. With their lips locked together, Roxie reaches with her near hand to caress Blaire’s breasts, kneading the exquisitely soft, warm flesh through the thin tunic fabric. Blaire moans in pleasure as Roxie rolls her sensitive nipples between thumb and forefinger. Not satisfied, Roxie pulls at the ties at the top of Blaire’s tunic, opening the neckline. She slides her hand inside the opened tunic top, feeling for the soft mounds of Blaire’s breasts. Cupping one boob, then the other, she massages the sweet warm flesh, marveling at how wonderful a woman’s breast can feel to another woman. She softly moves the open palm of her hand over the tips of Blaire’s magnificently tumescent nipples. Blair responds by pressing in closer and kissing Roxie with an intensity matching her increasing sexual arousal.

Blaire’s moaning increases, becoming louder; her breathing rapid and deep. “Not so loud sweetie,” hushes Roxie, “they’ll hear us.”

“Can’t help it Rox,” huffs Blaire, “you just have this way with me! Suck on my nipples, now!” God, I’m getting sooooo wet.”

Roxie leans in and takes one of Blaire’s erect nipples in her mouth, gently licking and sucking on the stiff piece of brown flesh standing forth proud from its heaving breast. She takes in the entire nipple and areola, sucking with erotic intensity that cause Blaire’s heart to race. With her hand now free, Roxie lets it drop to Blaire’s lap, then grabs between her thighs and squeezes the soft flesh of her crotch. Blair gasps, moans louder, and begins to squirm. Roxie pulls up Blaire’s tunic and slips her hand under the hem to brush the tips of her fingers across the sensitive flesh on the inside of her thighs. Roxie feels Blaire’s muscles tremble as her fingers slowly trace a path up her thigh towards the inviting warmth of her cunt.

Roxie slips her hand under the folds of Blaire’s loincloth, running her hand all over the warm flesh of her groin – applying firm pressure to Blaire’s vulva and letting her fingers play in the tight curls of her bush. She grabs at the cloth running between Blaire’s thighs and pulls it free, fully exposing Blaire’s pussy to her penetrating fingers.

Blaire yelps, then moans as Roxie’s fingers seek the moist cleft between her labia. Teasingly, she slowly slides her index and middle fingers into Blaire’s cleft, gently separating the soft folds of her wet inner lips with her probing fingers, then to plunge them into the deep, pink wetness of her vagina.

Oh gaaaawd,” moans Blaire, her breathing shallow and rapid as Roxie’s expert fingers move up to find the little button of her clit. Her fingers moistened with Blaire’s own juices, Roxie slowly and rhythmically massages the sensitive tissues and feels the little shy button enlarge and become stiff.

Blaire moans in ecstasy as she is so expertly finger-fucked and clitorally stimulated by her lover Roxie as they sit side-by-side on the bench seat of the table in the far, dark corner of the back room of the Rattington Arms Inn located on the Heidraen High Road. Roxie well knows how Blaire responds to her touch, and she has Blaire full in her thrall at this time. “Damn girl,” whispers Roxie in Blaire’s ear, “you’re dripping wet, you horny little cunt! What a fucking little bitch you are!” Blaire laughs, and feigns shock at Roxie’s bawdy words. But Roxie knows Blaire loves it when she talks kinda dirty to her during sex.

Roxie continues to pleasure Blair in every way she can manage. Her mouth alternates between passionate kisses to Blaire’s lips and face, and nipping and sucking on Blaire’s exquisitely rigid and sensitive nipples. One hand grips Blaire’s far shoulder and works to keep Blaire pulled in close to own body. The fingers of her other hand remain busy stimulating the delicate erogenous flesh between Blaire’s spread thighs

Blaire’s moans and breathing suddenly become more rapid. Sensing that Blaire is close to orgasm Roxie runs her middle finger only over and around Blaire’s clit, carefully alternating the pressure and pattern, and especially being careful not to spend too much time on the ultra-sensitive tip. Roxie well knows what it takes to give Blaire an awesome orgasm – and this will be a fucking awesome one for her! Blaire’s moans deeper and she urges Roxie on.

“Oh yeah babe! That’s it. Just a bit slower, yeah, just perfect. I’m almost there, Oh! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Blair’s body goes into spasms of pure pleasure as waves of orgasmic energy ripple through her. Roxie holds her tight on the bench seat, hoping no has noticed what’s been going in the dark corner booth.

Roxie keeps her hand pressed firm against Blaire’s soaked vulva as her orgasm slowly subsides. The girls kiss softly waiting for the twitch of an orgasmic aftershock. Were they in bed together after having mutual orgasms, they’d be embracing in full body contact -- hip to hip, tit to tit, their long legs entwined and drenched in each other’s juices – as their sweaty bodies cooled and they drifted off into that hazy, sensuous slumber that follows great sex. Roxie, however, wasn’t upset she had no orgasm; she was just glad she could be so impulsive and give Blaire the release she so desperately needed in these troubling times.

However, the usually less impulsive Blair had a surprise for her lover. After somewhat awkwardly cuddling together on the bench for a few minutes, Blaire gave Roxie a soft, wet kiss in her ear, and whispered something surprising….

“C’mon Blaire, really. Here? Are you sure? Wait, wait it’s too risky. Someone will see us. Let’s just go to your room…”

“Roxie, no one saw what we just did – what you did to me you dirty little girl!” Blaire gave Roxie a sly grin. “See! We’re all alone here, so let’s take more advantage of that. It’ll be fun.

“I don’t know Blaire, it just sounds risky to me…..Hey! Wait! Blaire!”

But Roxie couldn’t stop her. With a wicked little laugh Blaire slid off the bench and got under the table. There she crouched in front of Roxie’s knees. She put a hand on each knee to push them apart and open Roxie’s thighs to her.

“Roxie, don’t fight me,” insisted Blaire. “Open your legs girl! Come on! You know you want to do this.”

Giving in to Blaire’s insistence, and after one last glance around the room to ensure they weren’t being watched, Roxie hikes up her tunic and, her face blushing warm, she spreads her legs open for Blaire.

“Hey, Rox,” said Blaire from under the table, “you gotta slide forward hon. My tongue isn’t that long, you know! Sit right on the edge of the seat and bring that sweet pussy to me.”

“Blaire, you little potty mouth!” Roxie almost shouts, not used to hearing Blaire talk so…so…slutty. “Listen to you! Honestly, you’re starting to talk like me! And I like it!”

Roxie slides forward as told and sits at the edge of the bench to spread her thighs wide for her lover. She tenses slightly feeling Blaire’s hands on the inside of her thighs and immediately begins to feel her juices flow as Blair undoes her loincloth. Then she feels the glorious sensation of Blair’s warm, strong tongue probing between her wet pussy lips. Blaire’s arms wrap around Roxie’s thighs as she hungrily presses her face into Roxie’s crotch.

“God Rox,” comes Blaire’s voice from under the table, “you’re sopping already!” Roxie grins, luxuriating in the incredible intimacy of the moment.

Roxie’s passion flares anew as Blaire’s tongue flicks at her clit, teasing it and sending waves of pleasure through her loins. She leans back on the bench, putting one arm down on the seat for support and with her free hand reaching for her breasts, massaging them through the fabric, pinching and squeezing their nipples. Little bolts of pleasure travel from her nipples down to her pussy, there to join with the rippling energy building up between her legs. When that energy is released, Roxie knows she’ll have an epic orgasm.

After several minutes of Blaire’s wonderful tongue action to her clit and her own self-stimulation, Roxie is approaching her own climax.

“Oh god Blaire, don’t stop! Faster, faster, faster, faster!” Roxie urges her on, as she prefers more sustained, direction attention to the tip of her clit, as opposed to the more circumambulatory approach preferred by Blaire.

The orgasmic pressure inside Roxie suddenly crests with the ineffable pleasure she feels as shuddering waves of sensual euphoria crash through her body. Her intense orgasm renders her body at first rigid, then jerking spasmodically with her head thrown back, gasping and moaning in the pure ecstasy of sexual release. Then her body becomes limp and she’s left panting and exhausted in the seat, her pussy still tingling and her thighs quivering, sitting in a puddle of her own juices. Oh how she wanted to crush Blaire close to her as the orgasm spent its force! Blaire now comes out from under the table with an impish look on her face, a face coated with Roxie’s wetness. Yeah, you did a right good job on me girl, thinks Roxie. Blaire seats herself next to Roxie and the two girls cuddle in a tight embrace, kissing gently.

After several minutes the girls notice that the bar is beginning to fill with patrons. The secluded booth they shared was suddenly becoming not so secluded. Composing themselves as best they can, the giggling girls slip out the back exit and make straightaway for Blaire’s room.

Once there they quickly strip off their tunics and fall naked into bed together. The embers of their passion reignite and they achieve the mutual orgasms not possible back down in the bar. They sleep for several hours in each other’s arms lying naked on the silken sheets. When they awake they bathe together, have a light meal, then back to bed for some tender caresses and kisses before giving themselves over again to sleep. They spoon throughout the night and greet the new day far less worried and tense as the day before.


Submitted by Roxie. Wragg was very kind to invite me to write about Blaire and Roxie at the inn.

 

[Wragg]

....and Wragg thought it was abso-bloody-lutely fantastic!!!

Only Roxie could have come up with a racy scene like that in the lounge bar of a pub...I shall ever be able to enjoy a quiet pint again without thinking of Roxie and Blaire!!

 

[RacingRodent]

Well a nicely bucolic interlude there Wragg and Roxie and some interesting scene setting for the times ahead

 

[Wragg]

Well a nicely bucolic interlude there Wragg and Roxie and some interesting scene setting for the times ahead

And thank you, RR, for "Rattington Fieldmouseford"!

 

[cxslave]

The Encounters of Princess Blaire

Being the Fifth part of the Chronicles of the Silver River.

Blaire sat on her dapple-grey mare, Mistral, in the pretty village of Rattington, gazing along the Heidraen High Road. She,felt as if she too, was at a junction in her life; her mind seething with conflicting emotions.

Rattington, and her sister-village Fieldmouseford, had grown up around the junction of the High Road and the Aestral Pass. It would be difficult to conjecture a more idyllic setting, to the south west there were views back to Aestrador and the Silver Sea, Mount Jedakk towered over the view to the north, with the winding thread of the pass climbing on its way over the top to Ystragarth. East lay the valley of the Silver River, its broad waters making their serpentine way down from Heidraen.

Smoke from the stoves of Rattington curled lazily up into the clear blue sky, the cottages snuggled into the hillside. Near to where Blaire and Mistral stood the Rattington Arms was clearing up after its lunchtime customers, though, with the harvest not due for a few weeks yet, a group of farm labourers sat outside with their pint glasses of Rodent’s Old Peculiar ale. The view they were admiring was not the landscape, but that of Blaire upon her horse. One man tipped his glass and poured ale into his lap, missing his lips entirely.

Blaire didn’t notice. The contrast between the rural tranquillity of Rattington and the emotions battling through her mind could not have been more acute. It had not been until that morning that she had heard of the dreadful events of the past few days. Tara was dead! How could that be? How could that lovely girl, so full of life, have been so cruelly and suddenly taken from them? She’d known Tara and Roxie from childhood, their mothers had been close, and visits common. And now there was war, and her stupid father had sided with Heidraen.

Sciuridan had killed Tara. She loathed and hated that man with every fibre of her being. Having to sit at table with him the other day had literally made her flesh crawl. Though her memories were dark, they began to replay in her mind as they had a thousand times before.

Mistral had been a present from her mother and father on her eighteenth birthday. She was a beautiful horse, and Blaire had loved her instantly. That very day she’d ridden her up from Aestrador, up to Rattington Fieldmouseford, and from there had taken the High Road into the woods on the lower slopes of Mount Zeke.

She’d turned Mistral off the main road and onto a bridleway, this was a route she’d ridden before, which wound back to the pass a mile or so above Rattington, passing mountain streams, waterfalls, and a small lake en route. A beautiful ride. She knew she really shouldn’t ride out alone, but she loved her own company, and out here on her horse amongst the mountains was perfection to Blaire.

But not that day. She’d ridden less than ten minutes along the bridleway when she encountered a hunting party. She urged Mistral forward quickly, she didn’t want anything to do with this crowd of unpleasant looking men. But one of them caught Mistral’s reigns and brought her to a halt.

“Sire! See, we have caught a pretty prize for you!”

From out of the woods strode King Sciuridan. Blaire had no choice but to dismount and kneel. “Your Majesty.”

Sciuridan took her by the chin and lifted her, a gesture that Blaire found most unsettling. He leered at her. “Well, well, if it isn’t Princess Blaire! What is that useless father of yours doing letting a pretty girl like you ride out all alone?”

“I – I’m not alone,” lied Blaire, “the others are following behind.”

“As bad a liar as your father, too. A real chip off the old block.” A thought struck him. “Isn’t it your birthday, today?”

“Y-yes, sir, it is.”

“Well, happy Birthday! Here, have a birthday kiss from good King Sciuridan!”

Before she could protest, he had his hand on the back of her head, and his tongue felt as if it was halfway down her throat. His breath smelled, and even tasted, foul, the stubble on his chin scraped her face, she could feel his spittle running down her own chin.

With an effort, she pulled away from him. “You BASTARD!” She wiped her mouth with her hand, and tried, in vain, to spit out the taste of him.

“You bastard ‘Your Majesty’!” corrected Sciuridan. He looked at the half-dozen or so men with him, who so far seemed to be enjoying the spectacle. “Eighteen years old, and she doesn’t seem to have learned much respect!”

For a long minute he gazed at her, while Blaire glared back, defiantly.

He came to a decision. “Strip her!” he ordered. “Tie her to that tree!”

“NO!” her voice was surprisingly controlled, she thought. “My Father is the King of Aestrador! Let me go!”

“Your father,” he informed her, “has got a lovely brown tongue from all the time he spends licking my arse! Do it!”

Blaire did her very best to fight them off but there were just too many of them. In moments she was stark naked in front of them. Despite herself, she felt the tension in her nipples.

Mistral munched grass contentedly, oblivious to what was going on.

One of the men nursed an injured forearm. “Careful, Sire, she bites!”

Blaire wished she’d bitten Sciuridan’s tongue off while she’d had a chance.

“Don’t be such a wimp!” snarled Sciuridan. “What are you waiting for? Tie her to the fucking tree!”

Blaire’s arms were forced behind her and her wrists firmly tied together around the trunk of a nearby tree. Then they pulled her feet back, and tied them together so that her knees were pulled apart.

The Fucking Tree. Blaire knew full well what was going to happen next. She’d dreamed of losing her virginity to a handsome prince in a four-poster bed in a fairy castle. Never in her wildest nightmares had she imagined it would be like this.

She stared at Sciuridan in horror. Whatever they’d said about the small size of his manhood simply wasn’t true. Was he really going to put THAT inside her?

He was indeed. She howled in agony as her hymen split, and she wasn’t moist, it felt like sandpaper around a log. He thrust and thrust, her screams inflaming him further. Eventually, after what seemed to her to be hours, he came, and withdrew.

“Your turn, boys!” he said.

It seemed to Blaire to be never-ending. One after the other they came and raped her. Her pelvis felt as if it was on fire.

She collapsed to her knees.

“As it’s your birthday,” said Sciuridan, “I’m going to let you go.” He leaned close to her, once more she could smell his foetid breath. He continued in a hiss, “but if you ever tell anyone of this, or if you ever cross me in any way at all, I’m going to bring you back to this very same tree for a repeat performance, and it’ll be your dead body they find here.”

“Cut her free! Let’s go home!”

They cut her bonds, and left her there, sobbing, under the tree. She staggered to her feet, and went and vomited into some long grass. Her brain struggled, but she was unable to grasp the horror of what had happened to her.

She gathered her clothes and dressed. She was not able to sit astride Mistral so she rode home side saddle.

Oh my goodness! We learn some valuable insights into Blaire's past indeed!! Hard to imagine the hard, man hating, and merciless warrior we know as a sweet, young, and girly Daddy's girl! This chapter was masterfully written Wragg and I have to admit I am more than a little wet even though the coupling was not my preferred way! Am I showing my bias if I think this is your best one yet...

 

[cxslave]

"Blaire could believe neither her ears nor her good luck.
“Yes, I think I could manage that,” she said, winking at Roxie"


Well.....the girls seem to have managed things quite well.


Blaire is certainly a gorgeous woman, Roxie thinks to herself as the two of them share a quiet, dark booth in the back room of the Rattington Arms Inn along the Heidraen High Road. By now Roxie is feeling safe enough to have given up her unattractive farm lady garb for something more appropriate to her young figure. From her baggage she obtains a belted tunic to wear. It's plain, but short, and shows off her lovely legs to best advantage. And short it is! The hem of the flirty tunic barely comes to mid-thigh when Roxie is standing; while seated next to Blaire on the booth’s bench seat it hikes up considerably more, daring to expose just too much of Roxie's anatomy. Keep those knees together, Roxie reminds herself. A girl’s gotta be extra careful when she’s not on her home turf – and especially during times like these!

When she crosses her legs Roxie is well aware she’s exposing an almost indecent length of her well-toned, slender thighs. Roxie grins with a certain degree of justifiable pride. Good thing there's a table here. These legs could start a riot!

Blaire is also dressed in a similar tunic, though of finer cloth and more fashionable design. The two girls sit side by side in their booth, and Roxie can hardly fail to notice how Blair’s high, firm breasts gently swell the top of her tunic, their shape so lovingly suggested by the thin, clinging cloth. Her pert nipples further thrust forward, seemingly trying to escape their cloth confinement. Feeling a warm glow and slight tingle between her thighs, Roxie admits to herself that Blaire’s body is physical perfection, especially her legs, which seem to go on forever.

Roxie and Blaire always favored sitting shoulder to shoulder when at table, rather than across. It was physically more intimate (the girls love to touch one another) and made it easier to converse. With their backs to the wall they had a commanding view of the interior of the Ratting Arm's pub from their secluded location. They felt safe and secure, at least for the moment. Since spies could be present anywhere, they speak in low voices, almost whispers, as they discuss the stunning turn of events of the last few days. Roxie is turned slightly towards Blair and has her arm around the top of the bench and, thereby, around Blaire too. As Blaire continues talking Roxie inhales the sweet perfume smell of Blaire’s hair, and watches the soft rising and falling of her breasts inside the tunic top. She’s not even listening to Blaire at this point as she is completely entranced by the wonderful, beautiful, sensuous creature sitting next to her.

How could Shevak not love such a woman? She thinks to herself. Blaire is simply perfect, and I do so love her, muses Roxie with a slightly wicked grin. At least I’ve seen her naked! Poor Shevak! He’s a good man, brave, and an excellent lover. But he’s destined to marry a woman he doesn’t love and who doesn’t love him. And even more, Blaire seems to actually dislike him. Theirs is but a political match, and they may produce an heir – though the coupling will be chilly – but it will be no marriage made in heaven! Get used to separate beds, Shevak, she chuckles to herself. Or at least find a winsome scullery maid or two for company. It seems your renowned tongue and cock will be of little use to this one! She prefers girls!

Seated so close together with their exposed smooth thighs touching, Roxie’s warm glow and tingle soon becomes a more serious desire as she feels her pulse increasing and a growing sense of wetness deep in her vagina. She squeezes her pelvic muscles to intensify the delicious sensation. Blaire goes on talking, thinking Roxie is hanging on every word. Roxie smiles inwardly, knowing Blaire – who is usually able to quickly sense her every emotion – is, for now, oblivious to Roxie’s rising passion.

Able to contain herself no longer, Roxie suddenly leans in and gives Blair a soft wet kiss on her neck – at the pulse point -- the sweet spot that drives Blaire crazy!

Blaire pulls away, snorting slightly, at the tender intimate advance. “Roxie, what are you doing?” She shoots a disapproving glare, slightly annoyed.

“I’m kissing you silly. What else could I be doing?” As Roxie leans in closer, grinning mischievously, she presses her right breast into Blaire’s upper arm, knowing it will clearly communicate her desires to Blaire.

“Roxie, not now,” Blaire says in a hushed tone, pulling away. “Haven’t you been listening to me? I’ve been trying to discuss everything going on and how you are in so much danger and all you can do is think of kissing me!”

“Blaire,” states Roxie, in her best matter-of-fact tone, “we’re sitting so close together I can feel you breathing. Aren’t you feeling, well, somewhat turned on too?”

“Well, yeah, some, me too,” Blaire blurts out. “But now’s not the time for, for…this. In case you haven’t noticed, my darling, your life’s in danger and… and…and I can’t stand the thought that harm might come to you. Roxie, if war comes you could well be captured, and maybe even crucified like poor Tara!!! I could never bear the thought of that happening. It would kill me to see you nailed naked on a cross, left to die like a common criminal!”

“Sweetie,” said Roxie in her most comforting tone, “I’ll be fine, really. I’m not worried at all.” This reassurance does little to settle Blaire’s fears. Her agitation over recent events is still high and the thought of her dear Roxie suffering such a horrible death causes tears to well up in her eyes. Roxie moves in closer to comfort Blaire as her tears now start flowing freely. Blaire’s sobs and sniffles cause her chest to heave, which only makes Roxie more aroused as she watches Blaire’s nipples stiffen, judging from how they’re now pushing ever more forcefully against the fabric of her tunic.

Roxie picks up a napkin from the table and gently dabs at the flowing tears on Blaire’s rosy cheeks. She then cups Blaire’s wet face in her hands and, after quickly moistening her own lips, just as gently pulls Blaire’s quivering lips to her own. When their wet lips touch, just barely, Blaire seems to almost purr with contentment and she presses in closer. Roxie feels Blaire exhale slightly and moan softly as she proceeds to administer soft, wet kisses and Blaire’s full lips and face. Both girls feel the sudden hot flush of a driving sexual arousal. Now their tongues reach out to explore each other’s mouths. Their kisses become hard and passionate; their trembling bodies crush closer in the grinding, intimate embrace of lovers.

Blair raises one leg and puts it over Roxie’s adjacent thigh, making it clear she would welcome Roxie’s hand to begin exploring between her legs. With their lips locked together, Roxie reaches with her near hand to caress Blaire’s breasts, kneading the exquisitely soft, warm flesh through the thin tunic fabric. Blaire moans in pleasure as Roxie rolls her sensitive nipples between thumb and forefinger. Not satisfied, Roxie pulls at the ties at the top of Blaire’s tunic, opening the neckline. She slides her hand inside the opened tunic top, feeling for the soft mounds of Blaire’s breasts. Cupping one boob, then the other, she massages the sweet warm flesh, marveling at how wonderful a woman’s breast can feel to another woman. She softly moves the open palm of her hand over the tips of Blaire’s magnificently tumescent nipples. Blair responds by pressing in closer and kissing Roxie with an intensity matching her increasing sexual arousal.

Blaire’s moaning increases, becoming louder; her breathing rapid and deep. “Not so loud sweetie,” hushes Roxie, “they’ll hear us.”

“Can’t help it Rox,” huffs Blaire, “you just have this way with me! Suck on my nipples, now!” God, I’m getting sooooo wet.”

Roxie leans in and takes one of Blaire’s erect nipples in her mouth, gently licking and sucking on the stiff piece of brown flesh standing forth proud from its heaving breast. She takes in the entire nipple and areola, sucking with erotic intensity that cause Blaire’s heart to race. With her hand now free, Roxie lets it drop to Blaire’s lap, then grabs between her thighs and squeezes the soft flesh of her crotch. Blair gasps, moans louder, and begins to squirm. Roxie pulls up Blaire’s tunic and slips her hand under the hem to brush the tips of her fingers across the sensitive flesh on the inside of her thighs. Roxie feels Blaire’s muscles tremble as her fingers slowly trace a path up her thigh towards the inviting warmth of her cunt.

Roxie slips her hand under the folds of Blaire’s loincloth, running her hand all over the warm flesh of her groin – applying firm pressure to Blaire’s vulva and letting her fingers play in the tight curls of her bush. She grabs at the cloth running between Blaire’s thighs and pulls it free, fully exposing Blaire’s pussy to her penetrating fingers.

Blaire yelps, then moans as Roxie’s fingers seek the moist cleft between her labia. Teasingly, she slowly slides her index and middle fingers into Blaire’s cleft, gently separating the soft folds of her wet inner lips with her probing fingers, then to plunge them into the deep, pink wetness of her vagina.

Oh gaaaawd,” moans Blaire, her breathing shallow and rapid as Roxie’s expert fingers move up to find the little button of her clit. Her fingers moistened with Blaire’s own juices, Roxie slowly and rhythmically massages the sensitive tissues and feels the little shy button enlarge and become stiff.

Blaire moans in ecstasy as she is so expertly finger-fucked and clitorally stimulated by her lover Roxie as they sit side-by-side on the bench seat of the table in the far, dark corner of the back room of the Rattington Arms Inn located on the Heidraen High Road. Roxie well knows how Blaire responds to her touch, and she has Blaire full in her thrall at this time. “Damn girl,” whispers Roxie in Blaire’s ear, “you’re dripping wet, you horny little cunt! What a fucking little bitch you are!” Blaire laughs, and feigns shock at Roxie’s bawdy words. But Roxie knows Blaire loves it when she talks kinda dirty to her during sex.

Roxie continues to pleasure Blair in every way she can manage. Her mouth alternates between passionate kisses to Blaire’s lips and face, and nipping and sucking on Blaire’s exquisitely rigid and sensitive nipples. One hand grips Blaire’s far shoulder and works to keep Blaire pulled in close to own body. The fingers of her other hand remain busy stimulating the delicate erogenous flesh between Blaire’s spread thighs

Blaire’s moans and breathing suddenly become more rapid. Sensing that Blaire is close to orgasm Roxie runs her middle finger only over and around Blaire’s clit, carefully alternating the pressure and pattern, and especially being careful not to spend too much time on the ultra-sensitive tip. Roxie well knows what it takes to give Blaire an awesome orgasm – and this will be a fucking awesome one for her! Blaire’s moans deeper and she urges Roxie on.

“Oh yeah babe! That’s it. Just a bit slower, yeah, just perfect. I’m almost there, Oh! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Blair’s body goes into spasms of pure pleasure as waves of orgasmic energy ripple through her. Roxie holds her tight on the bench seat, hoping no has noticed what’s been going in the dark corner booth.

Roxie keeps her hand pressed firm against Blaire’s soaked vulva as her orgasm slowly subsides. The girls kiss softly waiting for the twitch of an orgasmic aftershock. Were they in bed together after having mutual orgasms, they’d be embracing in full body contact -- hip to hip, tit to tit, their long legs entwined and drenched in each other’s juices – as their sweaty bodies cooled and they drifted off into that hazy, sensuous slumber that follows great sex. Roxie, however, wasn’t upset she had no orgasm; she was just glad she could be so impulsive and give Blaire the release she so desperately needed in these troubling times.

However, the usually less impulsive Blair had a surprise for her lover. After somewhat awkwardly cuddling together on the bench for a few minutes, Blaire gave Roxie a soft, wet kiss in her ear, and whispered something surprising….

“C’mon Blaire, really. Here? Are you sure? Wait, wait it’s too risky. Someone will see us. Let’s just go to your room…”

“Roxie, no one saw what we just did – what you did to me you dirty little girl!” Blaire gave Roxie a sly grin. “See! We’re all alone here, so let’s take more advantage of that. It’ll be fun.

“I don’t know Blaire, it just sounds risky to me…..Hey! Wait! Blaire!”

But Roxie couldn’t stop her. With a wicked little laugh Blaire slid off the bench and got under the table. There she crouched in front of Roxie’s knees. She put a hand on each knee to push them apart and open Roxie’s thighs to her.

“Roxie, don’t fight me,” insisted Blaire. “Open your legs girl! Come on! You know you want to do this.”

Giving in to Blaire’s insistence, and after one last glance around the room to ensure they weren’t being watched, Roxie hikes up her tunic and, her face blushing warm, she spreads her legs open for Blaire.

“Hey, Rox,” said Blaire from under the table, “you gotta slide forward hon. My tongue isn’t that long, you know! Sit right on the edge of the seat and bring that sweet pussy to me.”

“Blaire, you little potty mouth!” Roxie almost shouts, not used to hearing Blaire talk so…so…slutty. “Listen to you! Honestly, you’re starting to talk like me! And I like it!”

Roxie slides forward as told and sits at the edge of the bench to spread her thighs wide for her lover. She tenses slightly feeling Blaire’s hands on the inside of her thighs and immediately begins to feel her juices flow as Blair undoes her loincloth. Then she feels the glorious sensation of Blair’s warm, strong tongue probing between her wet pussy lips. Blaire’s arms wrap around Roxie’s thighs as she hungrily presses her face into Roxie’s crotch.

“God Rox,” comes Blaire’s voice from under the table, “you’re sopping already!” Roxie grins, luxuriating in the incredible intimacy of the moment.

Roxie’s passion flares anew as Blaire’s tongue flicks at her clit, teasing it and sending waves of pleasure through her loins. She leans back on the bench, putting one arm down on the seat for support and with her free hand reaching for her breasts, massaging them through the fabric, pinching and squeezing their nipples. Little bolts of pleasure travel from her nipples down to her pussy, there to join with the rippling energy building up between her legs. When that energy is released, Roxie knows she’ll have an epic orgasm.

After several minutes of Blaire’s wonderful tongue action to her clit and her own self-stimulation, Roxie is approaching her own climax.

“Oh god Blaire, don’t stop! Faster, faster, faster, faster!” Roxie urges her on, as she prefers more sustained, direction attention to the tip of her clit, as opposed to the more circumambulatory approach preferred by Blaire.

The orgasmic pressure inside Roxie suddenly crests with the ineffable pleasure she feels as shuddering waves of sensual euphoria crash through her body. Her intense orgasm renders her body at first rigid, then jerking spasmodically with her head thrown back, gasping and moaning in the pure ecstasy of sexual release. Then her body becomes limp and she’s left panting and exhausted in the seat, her pussy still tingling and her thighs quivering, sitting in a puddle of her own juices. Oh how she wanted to crush Blaire close to her as the orgasm spent its force! Blaire now comes out from under the table with an impish look on her face, a face coated with Roxie’s wetness. Yeah, you did a right good job on me girl, thinks Roxie. Blaire seats herself next to Roxie and the two girls cuddle in a tight embrace, kissing gently.

After several minutes the girls notice that the bar is beginning to fill with patrons. The secluded booth they shared was suddenly becoming not so secluded. Composing themselves as best they can, the giggling girls slip out the back exit and make straightaway for Blaire’s room.

Once there they quickly strip off their tunics and fall naked into bed together. The embers of their passion reignite and they achieve the mutual orgasms not possible back down in the bar. They sleep for several hours in each other’s arms lying naked on the silken sheets. When they awake they bathe together, have a light meal, then back to bed for some tender caresses and kisses before giving themselves over again to sleep. They spoon throughout the night and greet the new day far less worried and tense as the day before.


Submitted by Roxie. Wragg was very kind to invite me to write about Blaire and Roxie at the inn.

Notice in my last post I said it was the best post Wragg had written... THIS is the best post of the story so far! Truly fantastic Roxie! The real issue now is my teammate in the bed across from me in this hotel room! There is a massive situation in my shorts (which I hate having to sleep in!) and noway to take care of this!! Damn you Roxie!!

 

[Wragg]

Notice in my last post I said it was the best post Wragg had written... THIS is the best post of the story so far! Truly fantastic Roxie! The real issue now is my teammate in the bed across from me in this hotel room! There is a massive situation in my shorts (which I hate having to sleep in!) and noway to take care of this!! Damn you Roxie!!

Knew I needed Roxie to really hit the heights and cause a 'shorts' situation

 

[RacingRodent]

It gives a whole new interpretation to shorts fall

 

[cxslave]

At least I was tires so I got to sleep pretty easily! Not that easily though, it took me a while to..ahem..dry out...