She gasped as the water reached the tops of her thighs, soaking through the layers to reach the hidden mound of her sex, cold shock that made her close her eyes and sent dark ripples of pleasure up her spine.
Deeper. So deep that the dress stuck wetly to her stomach, then, as she slid forward and began to swim, to the high, firm peaks of her breasts. She was a little fuller-breasted than was typical for an elf; her mother had had the same problem. Tight corsets minimized the effect when she went out in public: full breasts were considered unseemly on a princess. But there was no firm lacing to hide them now. She opened her eyes and glanced down at her body. Her dress outlined her curves as lewdly as even the tightest gown worn by some street harlot. She blushed at the thought, though it brought with it another, deeper rush of heat. The wet dress barely hid her from view, now, the white fabric turned semi-transparent, the outline of her nipples and the soft golden hair between her thighs just visible. Its wet bulk was starting to feel constraining, stifling. Of course, she couldn’t possibly take it off; she was a princess. But this was a daydream…
She ducked her head beneath the surface, hauling the hem of her dress up at the same time. She was confident in the water, quick and slippery as an eel, and with a twist and a wriggle, the dress was up over her head and off. She cast it aside and broke the surface, and suddenly she was naked in the sunlight, the rush of freedom and defiance like a drug. Her long golden hair was plastered to her back, water sluicing down her upper body, leaving her pale skin shining. The cold shock of the water had made her nipples stiffen to erect peaks, atop her full, ripe breasts. She stood, the water just below her breasts, and looked around, getting her bearings.
That was when she saw him.
He was watching her and he wasn’t hiding. He was standing on a raised outcropping of rock across the lake, like a statue on a pedestal, gazing down at her unashamedly. He was one of the Ceracee: the knights guardian, his long black robe tied with a midnight blue sash, his hair cropped short as was the norm for those in service.
She should have gasped, have covered her breasts and called for her guards. She should have had the man arrested and whipped, or at the very least taken to the dungeons for a month, for not immediately covering his eyes. She should have been shocked, and mortified. But she just stood there, waist-deep in water, her eyes locked on his, each soft breath making her breasts rise and fall.
He stared back at her, and now there was a look in his eyes that made her lips part unconsciously, her eyes widen. A flush rose in her face, but it wasn’t embarrassment at being discovered naked: it was a response to being viewed so; with such pure, unfettered, unapologetic lust. The heat seemed to travel in a wave down her body, through her breasts, her stomach, and lower, where the water’s touch cooled its fire but did nothing to stop the tightening of her groin as it passed, or the weakness it left in her legs.
She was focused so intently on his eyes that it was some seconds before she realized he was unfastening his robe, the sash slipping softly through its loops. Before she could look away, he had pulled it open, and it was dropping back over his shoulders. Suddenly he was naked; tanned skin and hard, corded muscle. She only had a brief moment to drink in the sight of him, before he flexed his powerful legs and launched himself into the air, arcing down in front of her to break the water headfirst, out in the middle of the lake.
The water closed behind him, and the waves ebbed away. She turned, looking around her, panicked, imagining him unconscious underwater. Then he broke the surface and stood up, scant feet from her, close enough that he could have reached out and touched her, and she cried out in shock and relief.
This was madness; she should be calling for help, swimming for the side, but...as she looked at the man, as she watched the beads of water run down his neck and his broad shoulders to course down his chest, she couldn’t seem to find her voice, or will her legs to move.
He was only a shade taller than her and his eyes bore the slight narrowing and the gold flecks amongst the green that marked him as Delraazi. His ears were delicately pointed and only a little longer than a human’s; he could have almost passed for human, albeit a slender one. His training had left him lean rather than heavily-muscled; not an ounce of visible fat on his hairless chest. He was still staring into her eyes, refusing to drop his gaze even for an instant, as if he knew that he was holding her in his spell, and to break the gaze would free her.
Then he took a step forward.
Her breathing came faster. But she didn’t move.
Another step; and now he was close enough to touch her without even stretching out, so close that she could hear his breathing. Rivulets of water were running down his cheeks from his soaked hair, twinkling and shining in the sunlight.
If he took another step, they would be touching.
This is insane!
She thought.
Why can’t I move?
Then he took the final step and they were touching, her nipples just grazing the hard muscles of his chest, and it sent such a wave of fire through her that she had to stifle her cry of pleasure, so as not to alert her guards. She didn’t want them to come; didn’t want this to end.
He moved in even closer, and she realized he was going to kiss her. Her heart leapt, and she made a sudden, last-ditch attempt to end this before it got out of control. She turned to move away, but the movement made both breasts brush his chest, and the sensation left her giddy with desire, her nipples hardening almost painfully from the contact. She froze in place, and then his lips were on hers, his tongue exploring her mouth.
Her eyes closed, and she seemed to be spinning; she was so lost in the kiss she didn’t know if he was sweeping her around in a circle, or if her own lust-addled mind was playing tricks on her. His tongue was dancing with hers, and without willing it she realized she was kissing him back, her lips wide, her mouth eagerly chasing his, both of their faces dripping wet from the lake.
His hands found her breasts, lifting and squeezing them together and she let out a sob of pleasure into his open mouth. His fingers, so hard and strong against her soft skin, his palms rubbing against her wet nipples in a way that felt
so good—
He drew closer still, and suddenly she felt it: the thick, warm hardness of his cock against her thigh. His knees pressed her legs apart, supporting her in the water, lifting her up; and suddenly she felt the head of him brush her tender lips, and it sank in that he was about to take her. She was about to lose her long-guarded virginity to a nameless elf: a stranger. It was unthinkable, terrifying, everything she’d been brought up to avoid: and yet it was what she wanted, what she needed.
His cock brushed her again, and this time she parted her thighs, lifted herself in the water and let her legs wrap around him. She felt her outer lips flower open, the shock of the cool water entering her there, and then she could feel it: not just brushing her this time but pressing against her, the smooth, blunt head of him. He met her eyes, waiting for her, wanting to be sure this was what she wanted. She gave a quick, panicked nod. And before she could change her mind, he was thrusting into her, his thick cock spreading her wide. Gods, the feeling of him: the feeling of hot, male flesh in her most secret place, sliding up into her, burning hot. He pulled her closer to him, her breasts squashing against his powerful chest.
He looked deep into her eyes and leant forward, and suddenly he was kissing her again, their lips hungry, quick tongues and hard teeth. He pushed into her again and she felt her body resist, her eyes widening, and there was a second of pain. The shock of him rushing up into her, filled her, was as powerful as the pain itself, and she cried out into his open mouth. Then he was fully in her, her body stretched around him, and the pain ebbed away, replaced by pleasure, a million nerve endings lighting up, sending dark waves of heat through her.
Then he started to move.
Slowly at first, the size of him stretching her on each entry, her hands clinging hard to the muscles of his broad back, clawing at him, every inch an agonizing delight as he slid in and out, inch by inch. And then faster, and her legs were squeezing at him, wrapping right around him, ankles locking behind his back, heels on his tight ass. He was thrusting into her now, his hands hard on her hips, pulling her down onto him with each stroke, his cock sliding almost out of her each time, then ramming in to the hilt, taking her breath away, the feel of him so deep, so big.... Her head hung back, her back arching, breasts pressed hard against him. She could feel it building inside her, dark currents swirling and joining, spinning into something that had to be released. Her hands suddenly slid up to his shoulders, pulling herself close to him, and her mouth was against his ear.
“Yes,” she hissed, her breath coming in pants now. “Yes, yes, yes!” And she felt her words, her shameful begging, taking her right to her point of release. As she wavered on the edge of control, clutching him tight with her hands and thighs, he let out a loud, low grunt and thrust harder, faster, plunging into her, and suddenly hilted himself, his hands grabbing at her ass, holding her in place. She knew what was coming, and squeezed her eyes tight shut, feeling the orgasm rushing up inside her, the blood pounding in her ears. And then it was happening: he was spurting inside her, jet after hot, thick jet and the thought of it, of a stranger’s seed inside her, inside a princess, sent her over the edge. Her climax thundered through her, the dark heat exploding through every part of her. She didn’t care anymore, didn’t care if the guards heard her or her maids came running; she bent forwards over his shoulder and let out a long cry of release--
“Ma’am?” It was Gwenian, her maid.
“What?” Salranna blinked as she snapped back to reality.
“You were leaning forwards, ma’am: I was concerned you might fall.” Gwenian was riding behind her, but Salranna could hear the smirk in her voice. She realized that she was leaning right forwards in her saddle: she’d been unconsciously grinding her clit against the hard leather as she fantasized.
She felt her face flush red. “Thank you, Gwenian,” she said, a little breathlessly. Then, without thinking, “I was daydreaming.”
“About
who,
ma’am?” queried Gwenian, in a voice loud enough to be heard by Tonalee, her other maid, and the guards riding behind them. Salranna blushed further and turned sharply to admonish her.
There was a tiny, fleeting gust of air just in front of her chest: she thought for a second that a bird must have flown past her, and jerked back in response. But when she turned to follow its path, towards Gwenian, she couldn’t see anything. There was something odd about Gwenian, too: a stick poking out of her chest. She was looking down at it, just as puzzled as Salranna. Then her white dress blossomed red, outwards from the stick, and Tonalee started to scream.
Raw dread filled Salranna’s heart, slamming through her as if she’d been physically punched. She was on the ground, standing with her back to Dargadus, pulling the horse side-on across the track so that it made a wall between her and the archer, before she was even aware of dismounting. Her father’s influence at work.
Gwenian’s lifeless body slipped slowly sideways from her horse and fell to the ground. Salranna couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t relate the body to the smiling woman she’d been talking to a moment before. They’d been as close as sisters: Gwenian had asked her to be maid of honor at her wedding next year.
The guards were galloping towards her, one of them with his hand outstretched, telling her to stay down, stay where she was, in the scant shelter her horse provided. Their faces were taut, white masks: anger at the attack, guilt at their failure to prevent it.
The horses thundered past her. The guards already had their swords drawn, and as they leaned forward over their horses, snarling, Salranna felt a rush inside her: of pride, of hope. No-one attacked a servant of the King: much less the Princess herself. The archer, whoever he was, was about to experience the full wrath of Tyrelia: the guards were avenging angels sent by the gods, and they would obliterate the murderer.
Both horses suddenly crumpled and fell, their legs cut out from under them. One of the guards was thrown under his horse, his back broken instantly. The other hit a tree and lay still, stunned or dead. As Salranna’s eyes tried to make sense of the scene, a shaft of sunlight caught a tripwire, just for a second: a gossamer strand stretched tight between two trees. Strong enough to still be intact: it was no ordinary substance.
As the other two guards galloped up behind her, an awful certainty filled her. She spun, searching, and picked out at least three more tripwires, not just ahead of them but all around.
“Wires!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, almost too late to save the remaining guards. They pulled up their horses just short of the trap, and slid down as she had done. An arrow plunged into one of their horses almost immediately, and it reared and raced for the trees. A second arrow missed the other guard’s horse by scant inches, the two guards behind it wincing. Tonalee ran over, falling and tumbling at Salranna’s feet: not hurt, thank the gods, but white-faced and incoherent. “She’s dead,” she kept saying. “Gwenian’s dead.”
The arrows stopped coming, then. She realized they were trying to tempt her out, make her run for the cover of the trees, an arrow already notched and ready to slay her when she did. She remembered the arrow that had sped past her, her sudden turn an instant before. The first arrow had been meant for her.
And then she heard them. Moving quietly, but not as quietly as elves. Humans, then. Bandits? They were closing in, and not just from ahead of them: from all around. Her sensitive ears heard at least five.
She spun to Dargadus and searched her saddle: Gods damn her luck: her sword was strapped to the other side of the horse.
“Get down, ma’am!” one of the guards urged her.