The Princess Slave (Dirigible & Prurientelf)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Dirigible on 12-01-2010, 02:15:08</h2>
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				Title: <strong>The Princess Slave (Dirigible &amp; Prurientelf)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>12-01-2010, 02:15:08</strong>
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				Sammal had been a desert bandit before entering the service of Sheikh Hawluf, and he still cut a wolfish figure as he crept through the jagged rocks of the desert with his men at his back. He was lean and dark, his beard growing out in tufts from his jaw where countless scars lacerated his face, giving him a perpetual sneer and one milky eye. Dusty black robes were strapped tight to prevent folds of material flapping in the wind or catching on thorn trees and a scimitar sheathed at his waist, like those of the half-dozen men that followed close on his heels. Sammal paused atop a fold of weathered sandstone, and peered over the edge and out onto the sand where the shadows lengthened as evening drew in. His nostrils flared as he saw their prey stumbling through the dunes ahead, and his teeth gleamed dirty ivory as his lips peeled back.<br><br><em>Thirst. Aching. Pain.</em> Walking had becomes its own end for Princess Fatima. Her long, elegant legs struggled to take step after step mechanically, and she tried to ignore the dull ache of blisters on her feet, the knotted pain and fatigue in her calves and the sharper agony where cacti and sharp rocks had sliced through her billowing silk pants and cleaved the olive skin below. At least her garments were airy... even if they did little to shield her from the searing molten gold of the sun, or the creeping chill of the nights. She ran a dry tongue over cracked lips, peering half-blinded towards the horizon. How long had she&nbsp; been out here in the desert, far from the comforts of the palace she had called home? It felt like months... but surely must have only been days. Even so, she did not know how much longer she could go on...<br><br>Her mind drifted back to the terrible night she had escaped. Awakening with a terrible flash of prophetic insight as barefoot assassins slunk through the domes of her father the king's palace. Tongueless hired killers in black robes with gleaming steel blades moving through her quarters; the sight of a maidservant's scarlet blood scattered like rubies on the tiles; cruel hands pulling her from the cupboard she trembled in, dragging her by her glorious mane of ebon hair to the throne room. The king, dead at the foot of his throne; her uncle, Sheikh Hawluf perched where he had no right to be, leering at her and steepling his bony fingers. The dread she felt knowing that to steal the throne, he could need to marry into royal blood with direct line to her father... to marry her. The dank cells of the dungeon, picking the lock with skills she had acquired as a wild and adventurous girl. Flight into the desert.<br><br>A stone caught the toe of her sandal, and Fatima tumbled into the scorching-hot sand. Coughing, she struggled to rise... and by the time she had done so, dark figures had slipped from the landscape around her, forming a loose ring. Her uncle's men stood with their hands resting on the hilts of swords, their faces swaddled with veils and eyes hard. Sammal alone had his mouth and nose bared, and grinned at the noblewoman as she stood and realised she was surrounded.<br><br>“Ahh, the runaway bride,” he sneered, bowing in mockery. “Your highness... how rude of you to slip away just days before your wedding! Your uncle will be most relieved to have you back safe and sound. Although,” he added thoughtfully, scratching his chin casting his eyes over her. Fatima shivered despite the afternoon heat of the desert, realising how much skin her garb revealed; any man that had dared look at her like that while her father still lived would have been flayed. “There is nothing do say that we cannot have a little fun of our own before taking you back... take a little of that fight out of you, no?”
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Princess Slave (Dirigible &amp; Prurientelf)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>prurientelf</strong> on <strong>12-01-2010, 18:55:39</strong>
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				<div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=57807.msg2627841#msg2627841">Quote from: Dirigible on 12-01-2010, 02:15:08</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“Ahh, the runaway bride,” he sneered, bowing in mockery. “Your highness... how rude of you to slip away just days before your wedding! Your uncle will be most relieved to have you back safe and sound. Although,” he added thoughtfully, scratching his chin casting his eyes over her. Fatima shivered despite the afternoon heat of the desert, realising how much skin her garb revealed; any man that had dared look at her like that while her father still lived would have been flayed. “There is nothing do say that we cannot have a little fun of our own before taking you back... take a little of that fight out of you, no?”<br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>Princess Fatima was only dimly aware of how precarious her already unfortunate situation had become.&nbsp; The two days in the sun, even to one as comfortable in the dunes as her, had taken its toll and she was in a quasi-delirious state.&nbsp; Her parched tongue slid across her chapped lips as the words of the mercenary sunk in. <br><br>"Runaway bride?"&nbsp; She repeated sarcastically.&nbsp; "You bastards!&nbsp; Each of you will suffer an eternity in the nine hells for daring to even address me!&nbsp; Keep your hands away from me!"<br><br>The princess whirled to the left and right, feeling all the more exposed in her tattered nite-clothes.&nbsp; &nbsp;Seeing no visible gap in the mercenaries formation she simply decided to rush between the two smallest looking men, knowing it was a vain attempt but having no other ideas.<br><br>"Help me please!" she shrieked into the air as she bolted.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Princess Slave (Dirigible &amp; Prurientelf)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>13-01-2010, 10:12:13</strong>
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				<em>Help me, please... help me...help me...</em><br><br>The words drifted across the gritty white sand as if across a drumskin, echoing, resonating under the wind. Sharp ears caught that plaintive cry, ears that were close by and had been following Sammal's band just as they followed Princess Fatima, like unto a wolf that hunted a jackal that hunted a lamb.<br><br>Her uncle's men chortled mockingly as Fatima spun and darted, seeking escape. Rough hands darted out to grasp and fondle, alighting shamefully on her bare flesh or groping through the silk here and there. Sammal himself threw back his head and laughed with cruel gusto as she was seized by the elbows and forced down to her knees by two of the warriors. “Open her mouth,” he grinned at one of them, reaching for his belt. “I have always wondered how much cum a princess could swallow. Will she choke on five or six men's, or guzzle all seven like a good whore?”<br><br>Before he could carry out that vile experiment, though a shadow rose from the dunes behind them, silhouetted against the evening sun. With dust and tears in her eyes, Fatima could only see a towering, broad-shouldered dark form, and eyes like smoking agate that seemed to glow grey in the shadow. In one hand, a sword licked out like silver lightning; in the other, the edge of an axe glowed like the crescent moon as it swung. A skull split in two and a heart erupted in a shower of blood as two men went down, and then all was pandaemonium.<br><br>The princess was released and thrown carelessly to the ground by her captors as they reached for their swords. Shouting and cursing rose from the remaining men as they charged the new commer, who met them blade for blade with savage confidence.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Princess Slave (Dirigible &amp; Prurientelf)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>prurientelf</strong> on <strong>13-01-2010, 21:48:24</strong>
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				<div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=57807.msg2631976#msg2631976">Quote from: Dirigible on 13-01-2010, 10:12:13</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">Her uncle's men chortled mockingly as Fatima spun and darted, seeking escape. Rough hands darted out to grasp and fondle, alighting shamefully on her bare flesh or groping through the silk here and there. Sammal himself threw back his head and laughed with cruel gusto as she was seized by the elbows and forced down to her knees by two of the warriors. “Open her mouth,” he grinned at one of them, reaching for his belt. “I have always wondered how much cum a princess could swallow. Will she choke on five or six men's, or guzzle all seven like a good whore?”<br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>She felt the sand whipping around her thighs and dainty feet as the pair of men forced her to her knees.&nbsp; She visibly stiffened at the suggestion she would behave like a good whore but if she were honest with herself, deep inside, a flash of curiosity flared inside her breast.&nbsp; She had heard her handmaidens talking of lovemaking with their mouths but such activities were beneath a noble sorceress such as herself.&nbsp; She looked up at the Sammal, lips quivering nervously.&nbsp; <br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=57807.msg2631976#msg2631976">Quote from: Dirigible on 13-01-2010, 10:12:13</a></div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">Before he could carry out that vile experiment, though a shadow rose from the dunes behind them, silhouetted against the evening sun. With dust and tears in her eyes, Fatima could only see a towering, broad-shouldered dark form, and eyes like smoking agate that seemed to glow grey in the shadow. In one hand, a sword licked out like silver lightning; in the other, the edge of an axe glowed like the crescent moon as it swung. A skull split in two and a heart erupted in a shower of blood as two men went down, and then all was pandaemonium.<br><br>The princess was released and thrown carelessly to the ground by her captors as they reached for their swords. Shouting and cursing rose from the remaining men as they charged the new commer, who met them blade for blade with savage confidence.<br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>A loud shriek escaped Fatima's lips as she felt the blood spray beside her.&nbsp; She leaped away, trying to get her bearings.&nbsp; A moment later it dawned on her that perhaps she was being rescued.&nbsp; 'He must be an agent of my father's!' she thought excitedly as she reached for one of the fallen men's scimitars.&nbsp; She certainly was no swordswoman like the one who visited Court earlier this year but her father had insisted she have some rudimentary training in blades and she all at once slashed at one of the men from behind, cursing them for the treason these men represented to her family.&nbsp; 
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: The Princess Slave (Dirigible &amp; Prurientelf)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dirigible</strong> on <strong>24-01-2010, 19:58:05</strong>
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				A sound that was half the roar of a lion and half a savage laugh erupted from the huge sand-crusted warrior. He was a bronzed giant of a man, Fatima saw as she blinked the dust from her eyes; towering, muscular, yet moving with an oiled smoothness as he swept his blades around to parry and hew. One of her uncle's henchmen swore and charged recklessly forwards, driving his shoulder into the man's chest; the attacker barely flinched, easily holding his ground with a slight sway of his sturdy legs, and bringing the pommel of his sword down to stove in the brigand's skull.<br><br>“I will feed the jackals well tonight,” he growled with a guttural, foreign accent as the man flopped bonelessly to the sand.<br><br>Feeling hot crimson droplets on her cheeks, Fatima snatched up the curved sword that had fallen from the fingers of one of the dead men. One of the soldiers had his back to her as he sidled around, warily watching for an opening in the outlander's defences. Neither her worn sandals nor the clinking jewellery that clung to and barely concealed her curves betrayed her as she lifted the scimitar and darted forward; she felt the resistance of leather, of skin, of bone under the steel, felt impact jolting up her arm and twisting it left and right as he thrashed and screamed. His knees buckled and he fell, rolling across the ground with a bloody trail, nearly tearing the sword from her grip and looking back at her with surprise in his dark, now clouding over eyes.<br><br>Sammal glanced back at her, scowling as he amended his tactical calculations. Only himself and two of his men left standing, caught between the uppity princess and the stranger who fought like a lion... things did not look good.
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				Title: <strong>Re: The Princess Slave (Dirigible &amp; Prurientelf)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>prurientelf</strong> on <strong>25-01-2010, 04:25:06</strong>
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				Fatima's voluptuous form slipped behind the bronze outlander keeping him between Sammal and his remaining forces.&nbsp; She wiped&nbsp; blood from her brow gripping the scimitar savagely a sense of dread growing inside her belly.&nbsp; She knew Sammal would attempt bribery or trickery to convince the new comer to join him rather than help the princess.<br><br>"Please...kill them.&nbsp; They murdered my family in a coup and serve my late father's younger brother.&nbsp; They are trying to force me to marry him so he can secure a new dynasty."&nbsp; She breathed hoarsely, still feeling as though her throat hung on a knife's blade.<br><br>"You deserve death!" She hissed at Sammal, glaring at him icily.&nbsp; 
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