Princess of Thieves

by Bella Beaumont

  The smaller woman had screeched the entire time Dered had javelined his cock inside her, pushing it upward and into her wet pussy.

  The pain was still present, and she complained, “Y-You’re just too big, Dered! Too much!”

  “You’re the tightest snatch yet, dear!” Dered replied eagerly, grunting as he forced as much of his big hard dick as he could into her.

  Her lady juices were flowing now, slobbering his cock as her togue slobbered on his pretty face, and she was veritably bouncing on top of him, riding him and trying to stay conscious as she took his huge girth and length. Her hand-sized tits smacked him in the face as she jumped up and down.

  Dered’s manhood was not only impressive, but he was strong and rough with her body, squeezing her and licking her face and biting her neck.

  She now understood why Sala had loved to tease the man and coerce him into feigned, forced sex . . .

  He felt so damn good!

  She had waited years to finally be skewered by the dumb, handsome brute, and now that it had finally happened, she wanted to do it over and over again.

  Nemya wanted to be stuck at the end of this man’s huge cock forever, if she could. She wanted to be turned into his little cum-dump slave, pulled along by a chain around her neck as he pumped into her over and over again.

  When he sprinted across the room to battle a foe, she wanted to be bouncing along with him, in front of him, that terrible python clogging up her wet hole, inflating her stomach with his thick, potent seed . . . the veins of his cock rubbing against the folds of her raw pussy lips.

  “U-Use me forever!” she cried in a harsh, raspy whisper. Her voice echoed down the tunnel corridor, but she didn’t care anymore—let Sala hear her, the damn bitch . . . always stealing him from her. Let Alberus hear what the brothers and sisters of the Solver Siblinghood were really getting into when he wasn’t watching.

  They weren’t kids anymore. They were eager, horny, emotional adults, and Nemya wanted her slit stretched and filled and brimming with cum just as much as all the boys wanted their knobs to be polished and licked and sucked and fucked.

  As her body bounced wildly in the air, Dered keeping perfect hold on her shoulders so she didn’t fly off his cock and fall five feet to the ground, she heard other noises matching her own pants and wails . . .

  Coming from the room—

  The soft crying of Filtray, it sounded like . . . and the unending, dark laughter of Sala . . .

  But Nemya had no time to investigate. Her body snapped into an explosive orgasm that rocked her very being, just as Dered pumped his sledgehammer high into her insides and kissed the deepest part of her greedy cock-tunnel.

  Then Dered said, “D-Do you hear that?” through his own sweaty, panting breaths.

  “It’s j-just Sala and Filtray, you big oaf! Keep pumping me full of your cum!”

  “No,” he slurred. “Coming from the other way. It sounds like . . .”

  The thump, thump, thump of boots on pavement.

  SALA WAS IN THE MIDDLE of pegging the absolute life out of Filtray, holding onto his bubbly ass as she skewered and worked him over with her glass strap-on. Her giant size towered over his smaller frame, and she couldn’t stop spanking that red, oversized, girly bottom of his.

  In return for her incessant hip-checks and stop-thrusts, Filtray was crying out like a little bitch, tears falling from his cheeks as he begged for even more punishment and humiliation.

  “Keep slaughtering my tight little hole, Mama, please! Don’t let me go without discipline and punishment! Enslave my greedy stupid bum-cave and make me yoursss!” the boy wailed.

  Sala laughed in agreement, then put her hands on her own knees. The constant pelting of her glass weapon was not making her legs weak because she was physically tired of railing into poor Filtray—that would never happen—but because the object was also protruding into her own wet pussy, and with every harsh thrust of hers, it spiked deeper into her cunt.

  She watched as the boy’s little balls jumbled around underneath his spread asscheeks. The size of the gaping hole that was his anus was alarming to see up close, especially when compared to the relative size of his body.

  He spewed watery strings of cum into a puddle between his legs, the spunk splashing between his knees on the hard ground.

  She was keeping him in place, but now her own powerful thighs and tree-trunk legs were trembling—quivering with pleasure as nerves of bliss catapulted up her spine.

  She came with the object still suctioned to her pussy, her cunt muscles working overdrive to keep it in her hole and not fall out . . . but it was getting so slippery and wet with every ass-clapping, nut-slapping thrust . . . her sticky fluids spilling out in a torrent from her hole.

  After another teeth-gritting orgasm, she took a step back, and the makeshift dildo glided out of her sloppy cunt with a wet plop. It stayed lodged in Filtray’s raised ass, sticking straight up like a sword in a stone.

  The dandy whined, cried, and a constant stream of cum dripped from his little sausage. His dick was soft, elastic, and floppy from his prostate and asshole being pounded so hard and thoroughly.

  Sala thought to take a seat and catch her breath, but the lovely sight of Filtray’s wiggling butt in the air, that huge glass wand wedged in his throbbing asshole like a beacon . . . it was too much to handle.

  She stepped forward and slapped her hands to his large buttocks, preparing to start again.

  Then a voice called out, “S-Sala, wait!”

  Her head swiveled, fury in her eyes that she was being denied her prize . . . her dandy slaveboy.

  It was Nemya, naked and sweaty and lithe and beautiful as ever, and Sala could have throttled her then and there—or pegged her—but she really wanted to keep pumping away at poor Filtray.

  “G-Guards! Quick, find Alberus! We have to leave this place at once!”

  Sala growled. “What are you talking about, little woman? Where’s your hunky lover—does he grow tired of you already? Does he need some bigger bones, some more meat on the flesh to gorge himself with—”

  Nemya’s eyes screwed up, her face grimacing as she saw the position and state of Filtray, panting, red-faced, red-assed, cum glittering his rump and the ground all around him, little wiener flopping uselessly, dog-fucked in front of Sala like a used and abused fucktoy.

  “Focus, whore!” Sala roared.

  Nemya’s eyes shot up to the big woman, who was starting to stand straight, recognizing the panic in Nemya’s fair, flushed face.

  “Royal Army! In the tunnels! Dered’s holding them off while we escape!”

  Nemya growled like an animal, rushing away from Filtray as the boy plopped onto his side and the glass fuckwand made a lewd schlorp. It squelched free out of his anus, his clenched, abused kegel muscles flexing and firing the rod next to him, leaving him a gaping, heaving mess.

  He started to rise on wobbly legs, dazed and languid, his eyes half-lidding as he used the wall for support. At the same time, Sala retrieved her bludgeoning club—not the glass sex-stick she’d used on Filtray, but her weapon of death—and stood at her full, intimidating height.

  “Like hell I’m going to give that pretty bastard all the fun with the baddies! Nem, lead me to them!”

  Nemya was shaking her head. “N-No, I’ve already tried, Sala. Please, we must find Alberus and go—he said that’s your job! You must plant Alb on your back and run with him, he’s too old to flee on his own! We must make Alb understand—damn his pride and ego! ”

  Sala bared her teeth in disbelief.

  Tears rolled down Nemya’s cheeks.

  And far off down the tunnel corridor, the first sounds of steel on steel blared and echoed through the labyrinthine chambers.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dered gathered his longsword from his heaped clothes on the ground, then sped down the aisle of the tunnel toward where he heard the footsteps approaching, around the mouth of the intersecting tunnel.

  He didn’t
have time to clothe himself, so he ran naked, big cock flapping wildly in the acrid air.

  The man didn’t consider himself a hero or virtuous, by any means, but rather dutiful. He knew that the only chance of his people escaping—especially with dear old Alberus in tow—was to fend off the enemies as long as he could, while they ran.

  He just hoped they had a contingency plan. Alb usually did.

  As he turned the corner and popped out from behind the curving wall of the tunnel, he eyed three armed and armored guards just a stone’s throw away—two men and a woman, sporting shields and short swords for close-quarters combat underground.

  At the sight of his nakedness, his strong body flexing into a bent-knee battle stance, his large flaccid appendage slapping wetly against his thighs, the rushing soldiers hesitated for a moment, coming up short and stopping their charge.

  “By the Four Hellish Seas,” the frontmost guard called out. “What the fuck are you?”

  Dered gave the company a dark, crazed smile—

  He lunged, taking his opportunity while the three were temporarily . . . distracted. His feet pattered on the hard slimy stone of the tunnel and he moved with a quickness that belied his ample size.

  He watched as the front guard’s eyes went wide, then the soldier’s jaw locked and he dipped into his own fighting stance with his sword and shield raised.

  Dered barreled into that shield with a flying knee, crunching hard into the barrier and pushing the man back to ruin their V formation.

  A sharp pain, followed by a spike of numbness, ripped through Dered’s leg, but he landed nimbly on the ground and crouched low—

  Just in time to dodge an overhand sweep of the soldier’s sword, meant to take his head from his shoulders.

  Dered lashed out with his blade, running the tip along the man’s kneecaps, opening the thin flesh to the bone. His eyes were already roving to the left as the guard screamed shrilly, his legs wobbling as he backed up and began to go down.

  The woman to his left was short and stocky, and unfortunately her eyes were aimed down at his swinging manhood, her face a mixture of fear and desire.

  She looked up just in time to see Dered’s foot rise from the ground and kick her in the chest. The impact drove the wind from her lungs and cracked her leather armor into her ribs, fracturing more than a few.

  With her momentary loss of discipline came an immediate shock to her system, and she wheezed raspily and dropped her sword, clutching at her concave sternum.

  Dered’s eyes moved right and saw the shadow of the last man charging in silently. The naked fighter swung his sword wildly to the right and the man was forced to evacuate his lunge and stop short.

  Bringing the sword back around for a forehanded swing, Dered saw the man’s sword point jetting in under his guard, right for his chest. He parried the sword out of the way just in time, but its changed trajectory still manage to stick him in the side, albeit shallowly.

  Dered grunted and cocked his free left arm back, knotting his hand into a fist.

  The man’s eyes raised as he slid his sword out of Dered and raised his shield to combat the incoming punch—

  That never came.

  Shield raised, belly exposed, the soldier was blind to everything beyond him, for just a moment . . .

  Long enough for Dered to crouch once more and eviscerate the man with a ragged slash across the stomach, his insides spilling out in front of him.

  The guard screamed as he watched his intestines tumble free from his body. He dropped sword and shield to scoop up his guts and try to shove them back inside, but then shock took over and he dropped to the ground with a frothing mouth.

  More stomping feet rang out through the corridor, coming from the same direction from whence these three had arrived.

  The lone female soldier gasped and stumbled toward him, arm outstretched toward Dered’s muscled body as her other hand clutched her breast, her mouth agape and a grotesque whistling sound coming from her throat.

  Dered punched his blade through that open mouth, shutting her up with a sharp scoff, then shrugged her dead body to the ground. He dragged his sword across the throat of the screaming man on the ground nearby, and the man’s hands fell away from his bloodied kneecaps.

  The shouts of agony went quiet, but the echoes of heavy footfall still shook the tunnel walls. Grunting, Dered squinted down the tube-like corridor and saw shapes heading in his direction from the dark gloom.

  He wiped his bloody sword on the armor of the nearest man, took that man’s short sword in his free hand, and dashed away from the three dead soldiers, back toward the tunnel corner he had popped out from.

  ALBERUS STARED AT THE disheveled clothes of Sala Annas, her tunic opened at the front to reveal her heavy breasts, and the crotch area of her trousers were suspiciously torn open, a bush of dark hair poking through.

  Filtray didn’t look much better as he came into view from around the corner, nursing a nasty limp and stepping gingerly toward his boss. He winced as his cherubic face looked up at the disapproving glare from his large father figure. The boy’s limp reminded Alberus of . . . himself.

  Alberus had his hands on his hips. He’d already heard the rumbling sound of marching and knew that the underground tunnels were compromised. He had thought he’d had a little more time.

  “Where’s Nemya and Dered?” he grunted.

  At that moment, Nemya came bounding around the corner, sword drawn, with only a long tunic covering her nude body. Her powerful legs poked out from beneath her shirt, and even though it only went down to the tops of her thighs, at least her naughty bits were covered.

  Alberus cocked his head. “Why is it that I give the order to leave in an hour . . . and your first thought, to a man, is to debase yourselves in a reckless orgy of filth and pleasure?”

  Sala snorted. “Perhaps we’re frightened for our uncertain futures, Alb.”

  Nemya nodded. “In the moment when our mortality is laid bare, we wish to partake in things we’d never . . . usually do. To feel good?”

  “Is that a question or a statement, young lady?”

  Nemya shrugged. “Please, can we discuss this later? We must leave this place, or else Dered’s defenses will be for naught.”

  Alberus saw the heightened color on the woman’s beautiful face, the sweat sticking her lanky golden hair to her scalp; those imploring eyes. Combined with her poetic statement about mortality, and doing unorthodox things, Alb nodded. “You’ve finally fucked Dered.”

  “And I don’t want him to die!” Nemya cried.

  Filtray tried to sneak off to Alberus’ peripheral vision, flanking him, trying to avoid becoming the center of the big man’s ire, he guessed.

  Sala showed her broad back to Alberus. “Please, boss, hop on my back. We have to run!”

  Alberus rumbled with dark, humorless laughter. “By the gods, I’d rather die, woman.” He unclasped his heavy club from his hip—a weapon similar in stature to Sala’s preferred beatstick. “I won’t be subjected to something so belittling and—”

  Filtray jumped and smacked Alberus across the back of the head with a rock. A loud crack followed by a gasp and the thudding of his dropped club, and Alberus was crumpling forward.

  Sala’s eyes widened. She scooted back and let Alberus fall onto her at a diagonal level. With a heaving grunt, she locked her arms back, around the big man’s substantial waist, and lifted herself with her grinding haunches, her hindquarters flexing with all her might.

  “Gods, Fil, did you need to hit him so hard?!” Nemya cried.

  Filtray nodded. “Had to make sure he’d be out. He’s one thick-headed old man, Nem. You know that.”

  Nemya sighed and nodded. “I suppose he’d never have let us get out of here without Dered . . .” She sniffed and wiped her runny nose with her forearm. “Not that I want to, eith—”

  “You can dream about the man’s fat cock later, Nem!” Sala grunted, struggling to keep Alberus’ dead weight on top of her. It was
like carrying a sack of bricks. “You know where we’re going, right?” she asked Fil.

  The young man nodded and scooped up Alberus’ club from the ground.

  “Then lead on, baby boy!”

  Filtray broke into a sprint, with Nemya close behind, and the hunchbacked Sala in close pursuit.

  BACK AGAINST THE WALL, breathing as slowly and calmly as possible, Dered waited. He had to admit that his buttocks felt nice pressed against the cold, crummy wall—

  Four soldiers rushed past the enclosure, the force of their travel carrying a whoosh of wind with them.

  Dered launched out from his spot as the last of the four men passed, baring his teeth in a snarl. His longsword chopped down, slicing into the man’s shoulder and severing his arm.

  The three other soldiers spun at the sound of the surprised squeal from their comrade, and the thudding of his arm dropping to the ground. That dying man wheeled, the spurt of blood from the ravernous wound showering all of them in gore.

  Dered spun in a circle, a terrible tornado of whirling steel and sharp edges, and the point of his shortsword stuck into the raised shield of the closest man.

  That man struck quickly while the naked attacker’s sword embedded in the face of his hardwood shield. He stabbed like a viper and caught Dered underneath the armpit in a glancing blow that opened up a flap of bloody flesh.

  Dered roared his anger, but he was too close to swing his longsword. He smashed the pommel of that weapon into the man’s nose, crunching cartilage and breaking bone. The man went down in a howl of blood.

  The two other soldiers descended upon him from both sides, flanking him in a disciplined way, not underestimating their enemy no matter how nude he was—not after seeing three of their comrades dead on the ground in passing, with two more quickly on their way.

  Dered kept his body low, crouching to protect his core, both swords swirling at his sides in circles. The blades glinted as he backed up and kept his enemies at bay with his fancy footwork and dancing weapons.