The Feast of Blades And The Humiliation Of A Princess (Fantasy) (M/F) (Humiliation) (Domination)(Commission)

More than a thousand people were gathered that day. It was the Feast of Blades, and the fighting pit was full to capacity. Canvas sheets had been raised against the rain and the cold wind, the audience crowded the seats. Below, men and women prepared to fight and each one faced the very real chance of death.

Most of them were of the Tribes, the People of the Blade gathered each year to fight and do honour to the strongest amongst themselves. There were many tribes and they spent most of their time separate and dispersed across the land. But once a year, they came together. For one week only, they were united. All grudges forgotten, all wrongs forgiven. The strongest among them – and outsiders as well – came to challenge and fight.

The prize? Nothing less than an audience with the Lord of the Tribes.

Krall was his name. Sometimes called the Eagle or the Bear, he was a massive man with a mane of dark, rully hair. His upper body was heavily tattooed and he had a powerful build and a proud, cruel face.

It was said that he was one of the most powerful men in the world. Perhaps it was even true. Three years ago, he had united the tribes, crushing all resistance against his rule. Each tribe on its own was small, but there were many tribes and all of them now hailed him as their leader.

Krall had made it a tradition ever since his rise. The winner of the Feast of Blades would be granted one request, so long as it was within his power. Wealth? Simple. Fame? They already had it just for winning, but Krall would have their name shouted to the heavens in every town. Help of some other sort? Willingly granted.

Anything that was not against his personal code, Krall would provide. This was why warriors flocked to the Feast of Blades, for it was open to all tribesmen and outsiders alike. And all the while, the audience would sit and watch, bringing trade, money and wealth to the People of the Blade.

That time, there was a particular woman there who had caught Krall’s eye. She was a foreigner, of dark hair and pale skin. She fought with two blades and had already won several matches without any effort. He had watched her firstly with vague interest but as she had won, he had found himself more and more fascinated by her.

She had speed and grace and power, fighting with a two-bladed style that was most unusual.

She was fighting now, facing a man known to him. Uthgirt, a massive axeman from the tribes. Uthgirt was a scarred veteran, a winner of dozens of life or death clashes. Yet this woman was not merely holding her own, she was pushing him back!

Usually fights during the Feast of Blades were not to the death, but there always were a few accidents. The waty the two were battling, so furiously and so rapidly exchanging blows, he was half convinced that this was a match which could only end in death.

“You think she’s going to die?”

Krall turned, a woman was standing next to his chair. She had a slender build, but her arms were toned and strong. Her skin was naturally dusky, and further tanned by exposure to the sun. Like him, her upper body was a tapestry of tattoos, the art coiling and curling upon itself in dizzying patterns. They ran across her upper body and neck. Snakes encircled her chest, starting just blow her nipples and spiralling upwards towards her throat. She wore no top, but was adorned by a skirt of dried reeds which clung to her hips.

She was an extremely desirable woman to say the least. Her face was proud, her body strong. Both sexual and hardened by a life of trials. He remembered the feeling of her body pressed against his, her moan in his ear as his shaft penetrated her, made her moan and beg for more.

She was his wife. One of them. The most important one. The one who really mattered. The others were trophies he collected, but Tyalan was far more. She was a Shaman of the tribe, a magic-wielding woman with keen intellect and sharp eyes. She used him, just as she used her. Their partnership was one of mutual need and lust rather than love.

But they both understood that, and Krall was happy to let her do as she wanted so long as she remembered who was really in charge when it mattered.

“I’m afraid I was struck by your beauty and did not hear the question,” He said to her. She chuckled.

“My lord, you do like to tease. You say ‘’beauty’’ but I think you mean my hips and my chest.”

“Are they not the same thing?” He asked. “Who said that beauty was a thing merely of the face? Your beauty is evident elsewhere.”

“I prefer it that way,” she admitted. “My tattoos have meaning, just as yours do. But where yours arouse fear, awe or envy, mine merely arouse.”

Krall chuckled.

“Perhaps it is so,” He agreed easily. “Now what was your question?”

She gestured to the arena, pointing to the black-haired woman.

“You think that she will die?”

“I think…not.” Krall said.

“She is weaker than Uthgirt,” Tylana pointed out. “He has a larger weapon, better reach. She is faster, but only slightly. I think her chances are not good.”

“That is why you are not a warrior, my dear.” Kral said. “You are a fine Shaman, but you do not have the eyes of a fighter. You see the advantages of disadvantages, and think they are all. But I seem them only as one layer. It is true; Uthgirt might win. But I think she will best him for it matters to her far more.”

He looked down at the two warriors.

“Tell me, is there anything special about her?”

“You wish me to read her?”

“I did ask, didn’t I?”

Tylana shrugged.

“As you wish, my lord. Do you desire her?”

“I desire her,” Krall said. “I desire all things that I do not have. That is my ambition. Power, wealth, women. I want them all. It drives me, and I will never have enough.”

“That is true,” Tylana tilted her head, her eyes looking at him. “And yet one day, it will ruin you.”

If anyone else had said that, it would have been an insult.A challenge to fight, perhaps. But Krall just shrugged.

“It will or it won’t. If I am to die one day, I would rather die having been true to my nature. Every man dies eventually. When I do, it shall be with no regrets.”

The Shaman closed her eyes, muttering a soft chant. The air around her grew cold.

“Well?” Krall demanded.

“Her name is Vrasha.” Tylana said. “She is a swordswoman from distant lands. From Khol-Hon.”

“Khol-Hon? That is a name I have not heard in some time.”

“She is not of them anymore. In fact, she flees them. She has come here seeking something. Desperation drives her, but she is determined and strong. Not fearful.” “Can you say anything else?”

“Only my lord that she reminds me of you.”

“Oh?”

“She is absolutely determined to achieve her goal.”

Even as she spoke, the final blow was struck. Uthgirt’s axe clove outwards but Vrasha swayed to the side. It slipped past her by inches, but she did not hesitate. She hurled her body forward, twin swords lashed out and Uthgirt found himself caught with his throat between them. He hurled down his axe with a curse and the crowd went wild.

“Tylana.”

“My lord?”

“What was her buy-in?”

“Herself.”

“Hmmm, how very useful. Have an invitation extended to her, would you?”

The crowd cheered and bayed as Vrasha exited the arena. The darkness of the rest room draped over her like a cloak, and she sighed. She took hold of a cloth provided by one of the waiting aids and used it to dry the sweat from her face.

She was wearing a knee-length green tunic, her blades belted at her waist. Her dark hair tumbled down her back. That was another victory for her, but she would need to win more if she was to stand before the Lord of the Tribes.

At twenty years old, Vrasha could hardly remember the woman she had once been. Born a princess of the kingdom of Khol-Hon, her life had not been her own from the moment of her birth. She’d been raised a lady of the court, graceful and modest. Her ultimate fate had been marriage to some other kingdom. She would never rule on her own, and she had always known it. Not that she had ever minded. The life she had lived had always been the only one for her.

Until her father went mad.

He had always been a cold and imperious man, but his ambitions had swollen over the years. He wanted land and wealth and slaves, and intended to take them form the surrounding kingdoms by force. There had been war, a great and bloody war which Vrasha found she could not stand for. The pampered princess who had never known suffering had seen and felt the pain of others and found herself moved to intervene.

That was the day she became a soldier and a rebe. It had been two years since then. Two years of constant fighting, of slowly honing herself and becoming a killer. Others had joined her, and she now was at the head of an army.

Yet she was still outnumbered. Facing her father and her brother, two men who had been born and raised in the art of war. What she was learning by painful lesson, they had known for years.

She could not win on her own. So she had come here. Here to seek the aid of the People of the Blade, the only ones who might just be both ready and willing to help her turn the tables.

If she could win the fight.

If she could earn their respect.

If, if, if…

Vrasha felt more tired than she ever had before.

“You are Vrasha?” A woman asked, breaking into her thoughts.

The speaker was a tall woman with tanned skin. Tattoos wound across her body, and her chest was bare. Two snakes circled her breasts.

“I am Tylana,” The other woman did not wait for her to answer. “A Shaman of the People of the Blade. My Lord, Krall, has sent me to extent an invitation to you.”

“Krall? The Lord of the Tribes?”

“The very same. He wishes to face you in the arena. To fight you.”

“Why?”

She chuckled.

“You know how the Feast of Blades works, do you not?”

“Of course.” Vrasha said. “Anyone from anywhere can join and fight. The last man or woman standing is granted any request.”

“Indeed,” Tylana said. “But do you know what happens to the losers?”

“It depends on their buy-in,” Vrasha said. “If they offered money or an object of value, those things become property of the tribe.”

“And if they offered themselves?”

Vrasha felt her cheeks flush slightly.

“If they offered themselves, then upon their defeat they become a slave for ther tribes. They are forced to obey the commands of their masters until they earn their freedom.”

“That is correct,” Tylana said. “If they are a man, they will often be used as a soldier or raider. If a woman, they will normally be reserved for their body.”

“I know this,” Vrasha said. “Are you trying to worry me? I don’t intend to lose.”

Tylana grinned, though there was little humour in the gesture.

“As a woman, you would be used for your body. Chained down somewhere and fucked by anyone who desired it. Each day, you would be forced to drink foul tasting potions to prevent yourself becoming pregnant. An iron-collar would be placed around your throat and you would be humiliated and broken.”

“You’re still not telling me anything I don’t know.”

“I see. You must be a very bold woman to accept such risks. Or that fate may not seem so terrible to you.”

There was a flash of anger in Vrasha’s eyes as she regarded the Shaman.

“Do not accuse me of wanting that fate,” Shr growled. “I accept the risk because I must. It is no different than accepting you might die each time you go into battle. One can admit the possibility, but still choose to fight. Likewise here. There is something I need from your lord. Something I am willing to risk my dignity for.”

“Your strength of will is impressive. My Lord Krall has seen it, and he desires it. And you.”

“He wants to fuck me?”

“That is part of it,” She agreed. “But there is more. He wishes to own and possess you. To break you and humiliate you. To make you his, body, soul and mind.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“He did the same to me,” She admitted.

“You’re his slave?”

“No, I am his wife. But this is the way of our people. I sought a strong husband, and Krall proved to be exactly that. He forced me to submit to him after a great battle. An outsider like you cannot know how rare that is. For I am a Shaman, and my power is frightening to most warriors. Few would risk such a challenge lest I tear their soul from their body! But Krall showed no fear, and defeated me in spite of my best efforts.

“Now, I serve him and he wishes that you should do so as well.”

“Then he can keep wishing. I have no need for someone like that.”

“Even if they save your people?”

Vrasha felt a cold wave wash down her spine.

“How did you know of that?”

“I told you, I am a Shaman. Did you think the title was merely words? I know of you Vrasha. I know of your desires and your wants. I know how far you will go to protect those who put faith in you. Kral wishes to fight you. Just one fight. If you should win, then he will grant your request. If you should lose, your forfeit is paid to him alone rather than the whole tribe. Frankly, it’s a better deal than most get.”

“Why would I even think about agreeing?”

“Because you are good,” Tylana said. “But not that good. How many more fights before you start to tire and slow? Your chances of making it to the end of the Feast, even with your skills, are very low.”

“So you’re offering me one fight in place of many.”

“That is the bargain,” Tylana agreed. “One fight before you are slow and tired. I think it is better odds than what you are facing now.”

Krall was good. Vrasha had done her research. He was the best warrior in the tribes, and he’d beaten all challengers who tried to take his place. He was supremely confident, but then so was she. Vrasha had discovered upon turning to war that she had a talent for it. She was fierce and proud, and deadly with any weapon.

As deadly as Krall?

Perhaps she was…

“Very well,” She said. “Tell your lord that I will meet him in the arena. When I beat him, I want his help. I need his backing and his army.”

“You ask for much,” Tylana said, cocking her head to the side.

“Yes,” Vrasha agreed. “But I do not think he will deny me.”

“No,” The Shaman said. “I do not think so either.”

They met in the arena ten minutes after that. Vrasha with her two blades and Krall with his one. He was a powerful man, naked from the wait up and taller than her.

The crowd had grown silent. Tense. It was rare now that Kral ever bothered to fight himself.

Krall made the first move. He surged forward, his blade licked outwards. She swayed, evading it. One of her own cut to the left and he side-stepped. His sword curved around and she darted backwards. Krall was very fast, but he was wielding only a single sword. She had two and knew how to use them. She could come from twice as many directions, rapidly overwhelming his defences.

But he had strength. Using a two-handed grip, his blade was more powerful than hers. If they locked or clashed directly, he would force her back. So she danced and swayed around him, chaining strikes like bolts of lightning. Their blades whirled, blurring into webs of sparking steel as hits. Moments passed and they broke apart. Both were panting.

“You are very good,” Krall said to her. “Very good. I think there is not a warrior to match you in my whole tribe. Except for me, of course.”

“You are too confident,” Vrahsa growled. “I haven’t yet even begun to fight and you’re already wearing out. Why don’t you surrender now?”

“Surrender?” He laughed. “Woman, this is the first time I’ve been pushed in years!”

He roared suddenly and sprang, his blade lashed out but she turned it aside. There was a look of savage joy on his face and he spun, his sword cut for her throat. She’d ducked under it, rising with a stinging riposte which tore a thin line of red across his shoulder.

Blood! The crowd seemed amazed. Krall was the first to bleed?

The warlord’s laughter was thunderous.

“Yes!” He roared. “Finally, someone who can fight me! I was right to pick you out, Vrasha! I must have you! Once I have cast you down, you will serve me. Not only will you be my slave, but you will be my guard as well! With your skills on the battlefield, none will be able to match our combined might!”

“You think I would serve you?” Vrasha asked him.

“Eventually,” Krall answered. “But I am sure you would need to be trained first.”

“I would never submit.”

“I have heard that before. But truly, it is not such a bad life. You will have wealth and power and fame. It is true that you will serve me in all things, and I will use you and your body as I see fit, but beyond that, you will be above most others on the tribe. You will be respected for your skills. You will even give me children who will inherit those skills.”

“Never!”

She stepped forward, launching a sweeping strike which forced him backward. His blade rang out, meeting half a dozen of her strikes and turning them aside. He jabbed suddenly, but she flowed around it, stepping to the side. His left was exposed but when she tried to take advantage of it, his knee caught her in the gut. Pain exploded through her body and she turned her advance into an awkward roll which only just evaded the blade.

They circled again. Now they had both landed hits. Krall was fast and skilled. He relied on a mixture of training, instinct and intuition to meet her assaults.

But she refused to lose.

Her raven hair flurried around her as she swept inwards for another attack. He leapt to meet her, their blades hammered and metal screamed. In the space of a few seconds, dozens of strikes were traded, dodged or blocked.

When they broke apart this time, both of them were slowing. Fighting at this speed was a massive strain on a human body, and neither could keep it up for very long.

Krall chuckled.

“You are amazing,” He told her. “Never in my life have I been pushed this hard. You cut me. You actually managed to cut me.”

“Why do you sound so happy about that? Enjoy pain, do you?”

“No more than any other man,” He laughed. “But you don’t understand. I am the strongest warrior of all my people. For most of my early life, I fought in this very arena. I fought and killed and was threatened so rarely that the fights got boring. Do you know how many times I was even cut? Three times in my whole life. And all of them were when I was young and less skilled. This day you have pushed me farther than I have ever had to go before.”

“Why do you want me so much?” She asked.

“Because it is my nature,” he answered simply. “Ambition. Desire. I seek everything that I do not already have. The rarer and more valuable it is, the greater my will to attain it. You are one woman out of millions. A glittering jewel in a sea of coal. Where no one could touch me, you made me bleed. I must have you.”

They closed again, meeting in the centre of the arena for the final exchange of blows. Vrasha let loose a blistering series of strikes which hammered into Krall’s guard, forcing him back across the sands. A second wound was cut into his upper arm, a third light slice opened across his cheek. The pain did not slow him, in fact, it made him faster. Invigorated him. As she slowed, he saw his chance and launched an attack of his own. Vrasha traded ground for time, hoping that he would exhaust himself. Her swords felt like they were made of lead in her hands, but Krall was also tiring quickly.

She ducked to the left, Krall’s blade swept past her. Her own carved for his flank. The barbarian warlord managed to leap, her first strike slashed under him. As he came down, he hurled his sword at her! Vrasha swayed aside, but it bought him a few seconds.

Krall powered towards her, slamming a fist into the side of her face. Vrasha reeled back, pain exploded behind her skull. He tackled her, smashing her body against the wooden wall of the arena! The sudden impact ripped her weapons from her, and for a moment the world was dizzy and confusing.

When she could see again, Krall was standing above her, her own sword in his hand.

“Yield, Vrasha. You have lost.”

“Never.”

She took a deep breath, preparing to make a mad dash for her second sword.

“If you yield, I will grant your request.”

“What?”

“You have been a worthy foe,” he told her. “I have never been pushed like this. Not in my whole life. So in a gesture of respect, I will grant your request even though you have lost if you accept that defeat now.”

“What will happen to me?”

“You will be my slave, but I will save your people.”

“I surrender,” She slumped to the ground in defeat. She had no choice but to hope he had not been lying. “You win.”

The crowd went wild. Their jubilant roar seemed to shake the very earth. Krall raised his hands, basking in the glory of the moment.

Vrasha lay back in the sand, wondering what her life would be like now. The enormity of her defeat had not yet hit her, but it was about to in a way she never would have expected.

Krall reached down, his fist closed around the neck of her tunic. He dragged her up to her feet. Her legs felt weak. The sound of her defeat rang through the stands. It was the loudest sound that she had ever heard.

“Krall!”

“Krall!”

“Krall!”

The noise grew louder and louder.

He pulled Vrasha forward, still holding the neck of her tunic. His other hand gripped her upper chest. He pulled. Corded muscles bunched along his powerful arms and there came the sound of tearing fabric. Vrasha felt something cold spike through her spine as her green tunic was ripped in two, her naked body exposed under it.

The crowd went mad! Her arms rose to shield her chest, a strip of fabric wrapped about her breasts was all that maintained her dignity now.

“No!”

“Yes!” Krall said. “You are mine now in body and soul, and why would I not let them see what I possess? Show them your body! Show them everything!”

She backed up, but he followed. There was a hunger in his eyes, and Vrasha’s legs were still trembling. Krall snatched at the ragged remnants of her tunic and pulled them from her body. Then, before she could really react to that, he gripped the fabric wrapped around her breasts and pulled! The binding tore, and Vrasha’s breasts were exposed to the cold air of the arena.

Krall caught her and spun her, pinning her arms behind her back. Her naked body faced towards the stands. She struggled but his grip was like iron and he held her firm so that everyone could see her nudity.

The sound of the crowd washed over her, louder than anything she had ever heard. There were tears in the corners of her eyes and she wanted to beg them not to look, but her nipples were growing hard. Humiliation stole her voice, she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. All she could feel was the growing wetness between her legs.

This couldn’t be happening! She was a princess, a prince-

Krall shoved her forward suddenly and she stumbled, hitting the ground and rolling. The sand clung to her, her head was spinning and the crowd’s chanting seemed to fill her very bones.

“Krall!”

“Krall!”

“Krall!”

And Krall was loving it. Bathing in it. She watched as he tore aside his lower garments, exposing himself in the same way that he had her. His manhood was stiff and hard.

“What are you doing?” She asked him.

“You knew the cost of defeat,” Krall told her. “You belong to me now. Your body belongs to me.”

“Yes, but not here! Not like this! Not with everyone watching!”

“Such things are no longer for you to decide,” He chuckled. “It will be hard for you at first, I understand. But you will grow to know your place and even enjoy it with time.”

He grabbed her and pulled her close; the heat of his body against her own sent waves of sensitivity racing across her skin. Krall once more forced her hands behind her back as she struggled, squirming against his grip. Her breasts pressed against his muscular chest, and arousal surged through her. She dampened it, forcing it down but something in her was responding to this. She felt hot, her womanhood starting to become moist. Fuck, was she really gettingt aroused by this nightmare? She felt totally helpless, overpowered and without an option! She was going to be fucked right here, publically, in front of hundreds of people!

Why was part of her enjoying this?

Krall used the tatters of her tunic to bind her wrists behind her back, tying a knot and pulling it tightly. Vrasha had never felt more exposed in her life. The crowd was chanting and cheering, a sense of crackling excitement had spread through them. This was far more than they had expected to see! The foreign swordswoman brought low and humiliated by their champion!

When he was sure she could not use her arms, Krall dragged her towards him again. Vrasha was breathing fast, panic, shame and arousal all mixing inside of her body. Krall took a moment to enjoy the sight of her body, his eyes flickering across her breasts, legs and centring on her womanhood.

One of his hands rubbed her pussy, stroking her lower legs with one finger. It sparked a fire between her thighs, and as she felt his digit slip inside of her, her face started to colour. He was fingering her, right in front of the crowd! Everyone was watching, enjoying the sight of her humiliation!

Her body was already sensitive, she could feel herself closing in around him as he explored her. Vrahsa’s arms were pinned behind her back, her legs forced open by Krall. With one hand, he explored her pussy while the other ran up the curve of her long legs.

His arousal was obvious. Vrasha tried to look anywhere else but at his cock, yet could not draw her eyes away. In moments, that would be inside her. She was going to be fucked here, in front of the cheering stands.

Krall forced her to her knees, his shaft moving towards her face. She could smell his arousal as his shaft inched towards her.

“Suck it,” He growled. “Pleasure me with your mouth.”

“I can’t-”

“If you care about your people, you will.”

She hated him then. Hated him in that sublime moments of helplessness and exposure. Yet something within her was awakening. The feeling of absolute defencelessness turned her on, being overpowered and used made her hot. She swallowed, trying to sort through the conflicting feelings.

Vrasha took his cock into her mouth. She tried to forget her situation. Kneeling in defeat being face-fucked by a barbarian warlord. Her, a princess of Khol-Hon! But then, hadn’t she sometimes dreamed of something like this? Long ago, before the days of blood and battle, hadn’t one of her fantasies been to be captured and used? A princess turned to a common whore?

She didn’t know. She felt confused, scared by the strength of her awakening feelings. Krall’s cock was in her mouth and she was sucking it, moving her head back and forth. Using her lips to pleasure the man who was humiliating her. The feeling was so intense. She could taste him on her tongue, feel the strain of her bound arms. The shame of her position. Her pussy was wet and hot, desire crackled inside of her. She was getting off to this and there was no way to escape that fact.

Krall grunted, Vrahsa’s tongue seemed to move on its own, playing across his shaft and teasing the head of his cock. She couldn’t believe she was doing this so willingly, but it was for her people. They were the only thing that mattered.

Everything was to help them.

When he had had enough, Krall pushed her back again and she fell, legs splayed on the ground. It gave him a good look at her pussy, and her face flushed red.

“That was good,” he told her. “Cocksucking was not a skill I expected a princess to have. Get much practice, did you?”

Her face reddened.

“No, I-”

“Ah, so you just have a natural talent. How fortunate for me. At any rate, it’s time to get to the main event.”

She didn’t need to ask what the main event was. His cock was hard, covered in her saliva, the tip stiff with desire and lust. She swallowed, Krall knelt down between her legs. The very tip of his member pressed into her pussy. The crowd had gone silent, transfixed by this moment. Even Vrasha felt as if she were about to cross some threshold, that once this happened, she would never be the same again.

He thrust forward, the head of his shaft sinking between her lower lips. Vrasha moaned, the penetration whipped through her body like a wave of fire. Arousal surged, and she felt her lower body gripping him tightly. Shame washed over her followed quickly by pleasure as he started to find a rhythm. He was fucking her, the people in the stands cheering and baying. Vrasha moaned, his thrusts powered through her body, the motion causing her breasts to jiggle and shake. Pleasure flooded her. Krall was a hungry and demanding lover, his every move was intense and forceful. His hands gripped her thighs, positioning her body, holding her legs apart as he had his way with her. Vrasha’s back arched, her hips moving with him. Swaying back and forth as the two of them fucked.

They moved faster, a sort of desperation coming into them now. Vrasha’s body was aflame with senseition, her pussy was screaming for more. Krall’s cock filled her up, penetrating her with each thrust. His hands moved from her thighs to her breasts, gripping them greedily. His fingers played over her nipples, teasing her in a crude and clumsy manner that was quite unlike her own late-night touches or those of anyone else she had ever spent time with. She realised the difference, of course. To other lovers, she had been a princess. Someone dainty and lovely, beautiful but ultimately fragile.

Krall didn’t care about that. He didn’t see her as some glass statue which could he shattered, but someone that he could fuck again and again, with no thought to her status or her former station. She was his slave now, his whore if he demanded it. Nothing else mattered.

Vrasha’s body started to buck, a growing sense of pleasure building within her. She was moaning loudly, shamed and yet turned on by her predicament. Each thrust of his hips made her world spiral. The crowd watched, but she could not hear them anymore. She could still feel their eyes, though. Their gaze upon her naked body. The humiliation of knowing that each and every one of them would remember this moment for the rest of their lives. A princess’ defeat and degradation. It fired her body, made her nerves scream with want and desire. Krall’s thrusts made her whole form shake, her pussy clenching around him in need, and her clit burned with want.

She hit her limit, the climax bursting from between her legs. Pleasure washed through her and she moaned, heat and ecstasy raced through her nerves like they never had before. Krall came inside of her, his seed pouring into her pussy. As he withdrew, she lay with her legs spread, womanhood dripping.

“We’ll have to get you to drink something later,” He said to her. “I don’t want you pregnant. Well, not yet anyway. At some point, perhaps. Our children would be mighty indeed.”

She didn’t hear him. Her head was still spinning. Humiliation and post-orgasm satisfaction were battling for supremacy in her mind. She lay on the wet sand, her legs spread, and knew that this was only the start of her new life.

After it was done, she was taken from the arena. Her arms were bound behind her back by chains, the last tattered remnants of her tunic taken away. Krall put a collar around her throat, and used it to lead her out of the fighting pits. The crowd gathered, laughing and congratulating him on his victory. Vrasha was forced to march naked through them. Her breath caught in her chest, and she could still feel his seed leaking from between her legs. Hands trailed across her chest, touching her thighs and legs. Someone slapped her behind and the crowd laughed. It was shameful and humiliating and she couldn’t even defend herself!

She felt mortified, her eyes directed to the ground. She didn’t look at anyone as Krall tugged her along with the chain. Her hands bound behind her back, she had no way to cover her body. Everyone saw everything, as if they had not already. Passersby stroked her breasts, tweaking her nipples and making her gasp. Several slapped her ass, or caressed her thighs.

Her body felt hot and her legs were shaking. It became worse when some of them started to speak to her.

“I bet money on you, I hope you like your new life as a slave!”

“I bet we all get to use you soon.”

“Where’s all that pride now, bitch? You look much better in chains.”

Vrasha endured it all, feeling the words batter against her body as she was led from her place of defeat.

She was taken to Krall’s home. It was not a permanent home, for the tribes often wandered. Yet to call it a tent would also not be accurate, for if it was a tent, it was a tent-palace. A large structure consisting of multiple rooms, feasting areas, bedrooms and studies.

Her destination was the central chamber where someone had built up a fire. A large metal shaft was hammered into the ground deeply, and her arms were chained to it. Vrasha tugged, but had little hope of dragging it free without hours and hours of effort.

Then, Krall went through her belongings. Everything she had brought with her to the tribes, he had sent to his tent. A Vrasha watched, he burned them one by one. Her clothes, her papers, everything that she had brought was consigned to the flame.

“You will not need them anymore,” He told her. “From now on, you wear what I decree. All that you own will belong to me. You do not have the right to property, for that is what you are yourself.”

As his words unfolded around her, Vrasha looked to the ground. There were tears in her eyes again and yet, something deeper was there too. Arousal, desire. Was this really what she wanted? He was destroying everything that belonged to her, so why did it excite her like this? Make her tingle?

“You are not a princess anymore,” He told her. “You are not a soldier. You are a slave to be used as I see fit. You are property, and I will use you. I will fuck you, I will train you and punish you. The sooner you understand this, the happier you will be.”

He tossed the last of her clothes to the flame.

After this, he took her again. Without the crowd, it was different. Krall took his time to really explore her body. To find out what made her moan and cry out, where her pleasure was most intense. He learned what set her off, where she was most sensitive, and continued to use that knowledge until her whole body was shaking. Vrasha moaned and cried until her throat was hoarse.

As the hours wore on, her body started to reach its limits. He fucked her, he ate her out. He had her pleasure him with her mouth. Poured oil across her body and massaged it into her breasts and her chest. Passion and pleasure mixed and flared within her, fusing with shame and humiliation until Vrasha did not even know what she was feeling.

And then, when it was finally over, she slipped into an exhausted sleep. Krall grinned to himself, moving away from her. His body was strong but even he had been pushed to his limits by their session. Though he would never admit it to anyone.

He found her pleasing. Her skin was pale and her form more lithe than a woman of the tribes, but this had the allure of the exotic. The sound of her moans had stirred his blood, the feel of her body close to his had caused his passion to burn, He hadn’t felt like this in quite some time.

And her skill with the blade! Second only to his own. He had not lied when he said that he intended her to follow him into battle. Together, they would be unbeatable.

Once she was properly trained, of course. He was not a fool. He would need to ensure loyalty.

As he strode out of the central chamber, still naked, he found that someone was waiting for him. Tylana, his shaman and his wife. She looked up at him, eyes glittering.

“Did you enjoy her body, husband?”

“Indeed I did,” He grinned. “I think she will be very useful to us in the future.”

“You want me to train her?”

“Yes.” Tylana’s training would help to break Vrasha to her new role, and teach her how to make the most of her body when Krall wanted to enjoy it. “But I may watch the lessons.”

“Of course you will,” Tylana said. “You are a straight man, are you not? I am sure you will find them most enjoyable.”

He chuckled. She knew him far too well.

“Her people,” Tylana said then. “What is your intention there? Now that she has lost to you and surrendered, she has no power to compel you to do anything. Will you leave them to die?”

“Of course not.” Krall said. “I may be arrogant and ambitious and cruel, but I do keep my word. I told Vrasha that I would save them in exchange for her surrender and so I will. Send out the messengers. As soon as the Feast of Blades is over, we ride to war.”

“My lord, Kohl-Hon is vast and ancient and powerful.”

“That is correct,” Krall said.

“Were we to fight it, it would not be an easy war. Even if we win. One might say that it is far more costly than one slave-girl is worth.”

“There are those who would say that,” Krall nodded. “But those men are not master of the tribes. I am. I gave my word and my word is law. I told Vrasha that I would save her people and so I will. That is all there is to it.”

Tylana smiled, a strange look coming into her eyes.

“As you wish, my lord. As you wish.”

Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/v1nzaa/the_feast_of_blades_and_the_humiliation_of_a