by Rowan Bree
You apologize to the little creature and ask him to help you escape.
“I’m very busy, you know.”
If Berwick, whatever he is, can materialize itself in a ray of sparkles and read your thoughts then common sense suggests he would just magic away the mess.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” he says through gritted teeth as he sets upon a particularly nasty spot. “But it’s a condition of my servitude. My master thinks it’s a riot having a magical being do manual labor.”
“Can you help me or not?” you ask.
Berwick stops scrubbing and looks up. “For a price.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Accept the not-gnome’s help.
Tell him you’d rather rot.
You stop fighting the men long enough to realize they’re quite good looking. They might be a bit rough around the edges, but they don’t look like they belong locked up in the castle.
They pull you against the bars, their hands exploring your body. You encourage them under your clothes. Their rough hands feel good against your skin.
“I bet I can guess why you were locked up,” one of the men says. His fingers slip into your panties. “But you’re too tight to be a whore, though you’re dressed like one.”
Another man pinches your nipple and you whimper. “She’s probably one of those church types gone bad. You know, found in the rectory with the priest’s tongue up her snatch. Thought she could make it on the streets.”
“Nah,” the third says. “She’s definitely a whore. No one wears a hideous thing like that unless they’re paid to.”
You reach into his trousers to shut him up. In no time you have him hard and moaning.
The men pull your clothes off you and make you kneel. Two of the men have you jerk them off. The blond man drops his pants. “Let’s see how good you are.”
Unable to use your hands, you instead use your tongue to coax the man’s cock into your mouth. He grasps the back of your head and pushes you against the bars, thrusting forward as he does so. You gag and he laughs.
“Sorry,” he says. “Was that too much for you?”
You want to prove you’re equal to the challenge and take him as deep as you can. Your mouth slides along his cock until you can feel it hit your throat. You relax your muscles and take it in. You can feel the two cocks in your hands jump at the sight of you deep throating the blond man.
The blond man moans, encouraging you to keep going. Drool drips down your chin and onto your breasts as you suck him off. The other two men take your hands off their cocks, not wanting to cum too soon. They watch as you make the blond man fill your mouth with cum. You let it flow out past your lips, smearing it across your chest. You give the blond man a naughty smile.
“She’s all yours,” he says to his friends. He looks dazed. He must not have expected you to be that good.
The bearded man steps forward, “I wanna see if that pussy is as wet as her mouth.”
He yanks your legs out from under you and pulls you against the bars. Your knees hit painfully, your thighs stretched wide.
He drops his pants and shoves into you. Luckily you are soaking and ready to take him. He thrusts furiously, his face full of desire. He lifts up his shirt so you can see his rippling muscles. You reach out to stroke his chest, toying with his nipples.
“Fuck,” he shouts, his hips bucking against you. His cum dribbles from your pussy as he pulls out. He must have been full to bursting, not able to cum during his captivity. You massage his pulsing cock until it stops twitching. He staggers backwards to give the third man his turn.
The messy-haired man smiles at you. He reaches through the bars to gently stroke your body. His touch makes you shiver. It’s different from the others.
“I’ve got a special request, only if you’re comfortable,” he says. His fingers brush against your sensitive pussy. “I don’t want to fuck you here,” his fingers move downwards, towards your other hole, “but here.”
Let him fuck your ass.
Tell him you’re not comfortable.
You tell him you don’t mind.
You turn around, pressing your ass against the bars. The head of his cock brushes against your hole. It relaxes to welcome him as he slowly eases himself into you.
You’re extremely sensitive after already being fucked and it doesn’t take long to come. He does too, moaning loudly enough that you’re sure all the women outside the wardrobe heard him. You hope it stirs up their repressed sexual urges.
You dress and leave the wardrobe. The women who put you in there are no longer there, nor is anyone else. The room stands empty, the doors locked. You’ve been left behind.
As you sit on the empty bench wondering what to do, you notice a shimmer in the air. A sparkle of light materializes by your side. It looks like a reflected sunray until you notice the pinks and blues shining through it. Captivated, you stare as the light solidifies into a rather ugly little gnome holding a bucket and brush.
“I’m not a gnome,” he says.
“I didn’t say anything,” you reply.
“Yeah but you thought it,” the not-gnome says. “And I’m not about to help anyone who calls me a gnome. My name’s Berwick.”
He jumps off the bench and goes to work scrubbing the floor.
You apologize to the little creature and ask him to help you escape.
“I’m very busy, you know.”
If Berwick, whatever he is, can materialize itself in a ray of sparkles and read your thoughts then common sense suggests he would just magic away the mess.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” he says through gritted teeth as he sets upon a particularly nasty spot. “But it’s a condition of my servitude. My master thinks it’s a riot having a magical being do manual labor.”
“Can you help me or not?” you ask.
Berwick stops scrubbing and looks up. “For a price.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Accept the not-gnome’s help.
Tell him you’d rather rot.
You tell him you’re not comfortable being penetrated there. His fingers move back up to your pussy.
“If we had more time, I’d be happy to train you,” he says as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock brushes against your clit. He slowly slides into you.
You’re extremely sensitive after already being fucked and it doesn’t take long to come. He does too, moaning loudly enough that you’re sure all the women outside the wardrobe heard him. You hope it stirs up their repressed sexual urges.
You dress and leave the wardrobe. The women who put you in there are no longer there, nor is anyone else. The room stands empty, the doors locked. You’ve been left behind.
As you sit on the empty bench wondering what to do, you notice a shimmer in the air. A sparkle of light materializes by your side. It looks like a reflected sunray until you notice the pinks and blues shining through it. Captivated, you stare as the light solidifies into a rather ugly little gnome holding a bucket and brush.
“I’m not a gnome,” he says.
“I didn’t say anything,” you reply.
“Yeah but you thought it,” the not-gnome says. “And I’m not about to help anyone who calls me a gnome. My name’s Berwick.”
He jumps off the bench and goes to work scrubbing the floor.
You apologize to the little creature and ask him to help you escape.
“I’m very busy, you know.”
If Berwick, whatever he is, can materialize itself in a ray of sparkles and read your thoughts then common sense suggests he would just magic away the mess.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you,” he says through gritted teeth as he sets upon a particularly nasty spot. “But it’s a condition of my servitude. My master thinks it’s a riot having a magical being do manual labor.”
“Can you help me or not?” you ask.
> Berwick stops scrubbing and looks up. “For a price.” He waggles his eyebrows. “I’m sure you know what I mean.”
Accept the not-gnome’s help.
Tell him you’d rather rot.
You stop fighting the men long enough to realize they’re quite good looking. They might be a bit rough around the edges, but they don’t look like they belong locked up in the castle.
They pull you against the bars, their hands exploring your body. You encourage them under your clothes. Their rough hands feel good against your skin.
“Why’d you get locked up?” one of the men asks. His fingers slip into your panties. “You’re too tight to be a whore.”
Another man pinches your nipple and you whimper. “She’s probably one of those church types gone bad. You know, found in the rectory with the priest’s tongue up her snatch.”
“Nah,” the third says. “She’s too experienced for that. Look.”
You reach into his trousers and take his shaft in your hand. In no time you have him hard and moaning.
The men pull your clothes off you and make you kneel. Two of the men have you jerk them off. The blond man drops his pants. “Let’s see how experienced you are.”
Unable to use your hands, you instead use your tongue to coax the man’s cock into your mouth. He grasps the back of your head and pushes you against the bars, thrusting forward as he does so. You gag and he laughs.
“Sorry,” he says. “Was that too much for you?”
You want to prove you’re equal to the challenge and take him as deep as you can. Your mouth slides along his cock until you can feel it hit your throat. You relax your muscles and take it in. You can feel the two cocks in your hands jump at the sight of you deep throating the blond man.
The blond man moans, encouraging you to keep going. Drool drips down your chin and onto your breasts as you suck him off. The other two men take your hands off their cocks, not wanting to cum too soon. They watch as you make the blond man fill your mouth with cum. You let it flow out past your lips, smearing it across your chest. You give the blond man a naughty smile.
“She’s all yours,” he says to his friends. He looks dazed. He must not have expected you to be that good.
The bearded man steps forward, “I wanna see if that pussy is as good as her mouth.”
He yanks your legs out from under you and pulls you against the bars. Your knees hit painfully, your thighs stretched wide.
He drops his pants and shoves into you. Luckily you are soaking and ready to take him. He thrusts furiously, his face full of desire. He lifts up his shirt so you can see his rippling muscles. You reach out to stroke his chest, toying with his nipples.
“Fuck,” he shouts, his hips bucking against you. His cum dribbles from your pussy as he pulls out. He must have been full to bursting, not able to cum during his captivity. You massage his pulsing cock until it stops twitching. He staggers backwards to give the third man his turn.
The messy-haired man smiles at you. He reaches through the bars to gently stroke your body. His touch makes you shiver. It’s different from the others.
“I’ve got a special request, only if you’re comfortable,” he says. His fingers brush against your sensitive pussy. “I don’t want to fuck you here,” his fingers move downwards, towards your other hole, “but here.”
Let him fuck your ass.
Tell him you’re not comfortable.
You tell him you don’t mind.
You turn around, pressing your ass against the bars. The head of his cock brushes against your hole. It relaxes to welcome him as he slowly eases himself into you.
You’re extremely sensitive after already being fucked and it doesn’t take long to come. He does too, moaning loudly enough that you’re sure all the women outside the wardrobe heard him. You hope it stirs up their repressed sexual urges.
You dress and leave the wardrobe. The women who put you in there are no longer there, nor is anyone else. The room stands empty, the doors locked. You’ve been left behind.
As you sit on the empty bench wondering what to do, you notice a shuffling sound in the corridor. You see a figure in a dark robe like that of a monk, his back hunched over as he sweeps the floor. A hood obscures his face, but around his waist you notice a ring of keys.
You call to him and he stops sweeping. As he looks up you see that his face is covered for a reason. It would be rude to call him ugly, but you are sure he is ridiculed for his goblin-like appearance. His back seems to be permanently hunched over as well. It’s unfair that someone so young should be so afflicted.
You ask him to let you out.
He looks nervously down the hall then goes back to his sweeping.
“Please,” you say. “I’m not meant to be in here.”
He scoffs. “And I’m not meant to look like this.” His broom keeps a steady rhythm. “But isn’t luck a funny thing?”
You expected someone with his looks to be kinder. You know, beauty and the beast and that other one with the guy in the bell tower. You shake your head, unable to remember such childhood faerie tales.
You notice the hunchback keeps sweeping around the same patch of floor even though it’s cleaner than the floor around it. He must not be sure he doesn’t want to help you. But he might need some encouragement.
Flash him some titty.
Lie and promise to marry him.
You tell him you’re not comfortable being penetrated there. His fingers move back up to your pussy.
“If we had more time, I’d be happy to train you,” he says as he positions himself between your legs. The head of his cock brushes against your clit. He slowly slides into you.
You’re extremely sensitive after already being fucked and it doesn’t take long to come. He does too, moaning loudly enough that you’re sure all the women outside the wardrobe heard him. You hope it stirs up their repressed sexual urges.
You dress and leave the wardrobe. The women who put you in there are no longer there, nor is anyone else. The room stands empty, the doors locked. You’ve been left behind.
As you sit on the empty bench wondering what to do, you notice a shuffling sound in the corridor. You see a figure in a dark robe like that of a monk, his back hunched over as he sweeps the floor. A hood obscures his face, but around his waist you notice a ring of keys.
You call to him and he stops sweeping. As he looks up you see that his face is covered for a reason. It would be rude to call him ugly, but you are sure he is ridiculed for his goblin-like appearance. His back seems to be permanently hunched over as well. It’s unfair that someone so young should be so afflicted.
You ask him to let you out.
He looks nervously down the hall then goes back to his sweeping.
“Please,” you say. “I’m not meant to be in here.”
He scoffs. “And I’m not meant to look like this.” His broom keeps a steady rhythm. “But isn’t luck a funny thing?”
You expected someone with his looks to be kinder. You know, beauty and the beast and that other one with the guy in the bell tower. You shake your head, unable to remember such childhood faerie tales.
You notice the hunchback keeps sweeping around the same patch of floor even though it’s cleaner than the floor around it. He must not be sure he doesn’t want to help you. But he might need some encouragement.
Flash him some titty.
Lie and promise to marry him.
You dawdle a bit, but the guards don’t seem to notice. You quickly duck into a side passage and hurry away. After a while you start to hear the sounds of the feast, the laughter of guests and lively music.
As they grow nearer you imagine all the lords and ladies enjoying themselves. You also think of the serving staff in their drab clothes, invisible to the king’s guests.
Try to sneak into the feast.
Leave the castle.
You dawdle a bit more, but the guards don’t seem to notice. You quickly duc
k into a side passage and hurry away. After a while you start to hear the sounds of the feast, the laughter of guests and lively music. There’s no way you were going to let them have their way with you.
As they grow nearer you imagine all the lords and ladies enjoying themselves. You also think of the serving staff in their drab clothes, invisible to the king’s guests.
Try to sneak into the feast.
Leave the castle.
You stay in line, following the guards up to a large tiled bath. The air is filled with a fragrant steam. The guards tell you to line up inside the room then leave you to the women working there.
The women have you undress and get into the bath. Anyone that doesn’t listen gets spanked with the wooden end of a scrub brush.
The water is warm and the fragrant oils make you sleepy. If they are bathing you it must mean you are going to the feast after all. You try not to think of what a slave’s job might be at a feast. You hear more murmurs of human sacrifices, but choose to ignore them. The Dorians might have a reputation for black magic but you doubt there will be any sacrifices tonight.
A portly elven woman works over you with a sponge. She scrubs your skin so hard you feel like it’ll rub right off, then pours a bucket of water over your head. You sputter as the water runs over your face.
The woman slaps you on the back and makes you get out of the tub. You wonder why she’s so averse to using her words. She roughly dries and powders you, then spritzes you with oils. Finally, she slips a light linen dress over your head and clamps a collar around your neck. You look around to see other women receiving the same treatment.
