It started with the pace. The wagon moved as fast as the horse pulling it, which wasn’t fast, but she still couldn’t be bothered to keep up. She walked beside it, then behind it, then drifted toward the tree line because something caught her eye. A bird, a flower, something she wouldn’t share with him when he told her to stay close.
He told her to keep her voice down because these roads belonged to no one friendly. She laughed, full-throated and ringing, just to show him she could make whatever sound she wanted.
He did his best not to engage. He walked ahead, scanned the road, kept his hand near his sword. That was the job. Protect her. Deliver her safely. She was a package he was duty bound to transport — even if the package had opinions about the route, the weather, the quality of the road, the distance between stops, and the fact that he hadn’t given her any attention in the last hour.
"I hope you realize that most men in this kingdom would consider it an honor to escort me. They’d make conversation. They’d ask how I was finding the journey. They’d at least look at me when I’m speaking to them, which you haven’t done since this morning, which I find astoundingly discourteous, in case you were wondering."
He said nothing. She continued in a huff.
"Is this some kind of oath you’ve taken? Silence until we arrive? Is that why they chose you? Because you're big and quiet and do as you're told?"
He adjusted the reins and kept walking. She made a frustrated sound behind him and he heard the pebble leave her hand before it hit the back of his head. When he turned around she was studying the sky with theatrical interest.
By midday she’d moved on to touching. Adjusting his cloak when it didn’t need adjusting. Brushing dust from his shoulder that wasn’t there. Squeezing past him on a section of road that was perfectly wide enough for two, her body pressing against his back, her hand resting on his hip for balance she didn’t need. She let it linger there. He felt the warmth of her palm through the leather and it stayed with him for a mile after she’d pulled it away.
She asked him if he’d ever escorted a woman before. He said he had. She asked him if they were all this unsatisfied with his performance. He didn’t answer. She told him she was beginning to think he’d been chosen specifically for his inability to be interesting, that perhaps someone at the court had said find me the most tedious man in the garrison and send him with the princess, and here he was, exceeding expectations.
He let it land. He let all of it land.
By evening she’d worn herself out. She climbed into the wagon without a word while he built a small fire and sat against the wheel with his sword across his knees. This was the dangerous stretch. Two more nights of open road before they reached the keep. If anyone was tracking them, this was where they’d come.
He sat with the fire at his back and watched the dark tree line and listened. The woods clicked and rustled with small living things. The horse shifted its weight. The wagon canvas rippled in a wind that smelled like rain coming from the east. He was thinking about the river crossing tomorrow when he heard her.
At first he thought she was in pain. A sound from inside the canvas, muffled and breathy, the kind that makes you reach for your weapon before you’ve fully registered what it is. He was on his feet before the second one came. By the third he knew exactly what he was listening to. She wasn’t hurt, but she was certainly loud. Loud enough that anyone within a hundred yards of this road would hear her.
He pulled the canvas back.
She was on her back with her traveling clothes pushed up to her ribs, one hand between her legs, head tipped back, mouth open. She looked at him. Her fingers kept moving. That same smile from the pebble incident crept across her face, like she’d been waiting to see how long it would take him to come looking.
"Do you have any idea how far your voice carries out here? I can hear you from the fire. Which means anyone on this road can hear you from a hundred yards out."
She arched her back slightly, watching him from under heavy eyelids. "Well. Now that I have an audience, so it seems rude to stop."
"This isn’t a game, your highness. I need you to be quiet."
"You’ve needed me to be quiet all day. I’ve been very uncooperative about it. I don’t know why you thought nightfall would change things." Her hand moved slower between her thighs, not stopping, not even pretending to consider stopping. "You can just go back to the fire. Pretend you didn’t hear anything. I’m sure you’re very good at pretending things about me aren’t happening. You’ve been at it all day."
He climbed into the wagon.
She opened her mouth to say something else and he took her wrist and pulled her hand away from herself and pinned it against the wagon floor. The gasp that came out of her was nothing like the sounds she’d been performing. Sharp and involuntary, startled out of her. She hadn’t actually believed he’d do it. The smile vanished. Underneath it her face was open and flushed and honest in a way he hadn’t seen all day.
"You have no concept of the danger we are in right now." His voice was low, his face close enough to hers that he could feel her breath coming fast against his mouth. "I have been out there keeping us alive since sundown, and you couldn’t think of a single better way to pass the time."
"You refused to talk to me." Her voice came out smaller than she meant it to. "You're escorting me, you should pay attention to me. What was I supposed to do?"
"Anything other than this."
"Well, this seems to have worked, so I won't stand for your lectures."
He held her gaze for a long moment. Then he reached down with his free hand and drew his sword from the scabbard. He drew it slowly. Slowly enough that she heard every inch of steel leaving the leather, that long clean whisper of metal on hide, and the sound did what nothing he’d said all day had managed. She went quiet. Completely, instantly quiet, her eyes dropping to the blade between them.
He reversed his grip. The blade pointed down and away from both of them. The hilt faced up, the leather-wrapped pommel dark and smooth, still warm from sitting against his hip at the fire.
"A knight has nothing if not his sword and his oath, and I will not betray my oath for stubborn royalty." He held the pommel where she could see it. "So have this. Since your own hand wasn’t enough."
Her eyes moved from the pommel to his face. Her lips parted but nothing came out. For the first time since he’d met her she looked like she didn’t have a response prepared.
He pressed the hilt against her entrance. She flinched hard, her whole body jerking, but his hand on her wrist kept her pinned flat. The leather was warm and firm and wider than her fingers. He watched her body resist it, her thighs tensing, her breath catching high in her throat. Then the resistance broke. He pushed it into her slowly and her spine lifted off the wagon floor, her free hand flying to his forearm, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks through his sleeve.
The sound she made was raw and thin and startled. Nothing performed about it. Nothing bratty. Just a desperate, cracked-open noise that he felt in his chest.
He worked the hilt deeper. Steady, controlled in a way that he could tell was making her unravel faster than if he’d been rough about it. Her hand moved from his forearm to his shoulder, then to the canvas above her, then back to his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. She couldn’t settle. Couldn’t find anything to anchor herself against.
"This is what you wanted all day." He pushed the pommel further and felt her whole body clench around it. "Every time you touched me. Every time you opened your mouth just to see if I’d react."
"I wasn’t— that’s not—" Her voice broke apart on a moan she couldn’t hold back. He twisted the hilt slightly and she cried out, her hand clamping over her own mouth a half-second too late.
"Quiet." He stilled the hilt inside her and waited. She whimpered, bringing her palm to her mouth, her chest heaving. "Unless you want whoever’s in those woods to find the princess like this. With a sword hilt inside you and tears on your face. Is that what you want? They'd do worse to you than me."
She shook her head. Tears were already running sideways into her hair. He resumed, slow and deep, and she sobbed through her fingers, her hips rolling up to meet each stroke like her body had decided to cooperate with him even if the rest of her hadn’t fully surrendered. He could feel her thighs trembling against the backs of his hands. He could hear the wet sound of the leather moving inside her between the ragged gasps of her breathing.
She whispered pleas into her palm. He didn’t ask her to clarify. He pushed the hilt deeper, held it there, and watched her body go taut as a bowstring, every muscle locking at once. She came shaking hard enough that the wagon creaked on its wheels, her back arched off the floor, the sound she made through her clenched hand barely more than a whimper. The quietest she’d been all day.
He withdrew the hilt slowly. She curled onto her side, breathing in ragged bursts, tears still wet on her face, her whole body twitching with aftershocks. He sheathed the sword. It slid back into the scabbard slick.
"Get some sleep." He released her wrist. There were red marks where his fingers had been. "Long day tomorrow, and I won't stand for any more tantrums."
He climbed out of the wagon, sat back against the wheel with his sword across his knees, and listened to the woods.
thinking about forced or coerced exhibitionism again... being groped or shown off in public without getting a say... being teased about how wet I get despite my horror and embarrassment... them getting more daring the more I get whiny and needy...
The Clearing. You’ve known about the place for months. A friend of a friend mentioned it at a party, half-laughing, as if she wasn’t sure she believed it herself. A spot in the woods outside town. Girls go there, she said, and men know to look for them. It’s not official. It’s not like there’s a signup sheet. You just go and wait for the worst to happen.
You laughed too. Called it a ghost story that suburban kids make up because they don’t have anything real to be afraid of.
Still, it stuck with you.
You went home that night and searched for it. Found a forum, then another, then a rabbit hole of firsthand accounts that made your face hot and your panties wet. Girls describing what happened to them in that clearing. How they walked in nervous and walked out ruined. That they didn’t see faces and didn’t exchange names. Hands just grabbed them from behind before they even heard footsteps.
At this point you’ve read every account at least twice. Some of them you’ve read while touching yourself, cumming with your hand over your mouth, imagining it was you on your knees in the dirt with a stranger’s cock down your throat.
You’d never go yourself. You’re not the kind of girl who does things like that. You’re careful. Cautious. Always double-checking that you locked the door. Texting your friends when you get home safe. You don’t walk into the woods alone and wait to be taken by men you’ve never met.
Even if you can’t stop thinking about it.
About going somewhere and giving up control completely. Skipping all of the awkward "so what are you into?" conversations, and getting straight to someone grabbing you by the throat. Being used so thoroughly until there’s nothing left of you but raw sensation.
You finally go.
Just to have a look and see if it’s real. To satiate your curiosity. And you can always turn around and run if things get out of hand. That’s what you tell yourself.
You park at the trailhead as the sun starts to drop. The directions from the forum are specific, and you’ve read so many stories you basically know the way by heart. The woods are quiet. Golden light filtering through the leaves.
As you get closer to the point of no return, you remind yourself yet again that you could go back. You could go home and make dinner and watch porn and touch yourself to the fantasy instead of the reality. Just stay the girl you’ve always been.
But all those tiny reassurances feel hollow compared to the excitement of finally being here. Of a world opening up to you as the tree line thins out.
You step into the clearing.
It’s smaller than you imagined. A rough circle of grass surrounded by trees, private and enclosed. Late sunlight slants through the branches. It’s almost peaceful.
You stand in the center and wait.
Nothing happens. Five minutes. Ten. You start to feel foolish. The whole thing was probably made up. Some elaborate fiction for lonely people to jerk off to. You’re about to leave when you hear it.
Footstep behind you. Not on the trail, they’re coming through the trees.
You freeze, a scared doe that’s forgotten how to run, standing perfectly still, fists clenched at your sides, heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears.
The footsteps stop. He’s close. You can feel him there, just behind you.
"You came here on purpose?"
You nod. It’s all you can manage in the moment.
"You know what happens to girls who come here."
Another nod. Your legs are shaking.
A hand fists in your hair. Yanks your head back. You gasp, and then his mouth is at your ear.
"Then get on your knees."
You drop. Leaves and twigs pressing into your skin through your jeans. He keeps his grip on your hair, keeps your head pulled back at that sharp angle, and you still haven’t seen his face. Not that you’d look if you could. Even you know better than to make a mistake like that.
"Hands behind your back"
You comply. He lets go of your hair long enough to grab your wrists, and you hear a zip tie ratchet tight around them. Your pulse spikes. It’s actually happening. You’re in the woods with a stranger and your hands are bound and you’re so wet you can feel it soaking through your panties.
He comes around in front of you. You keep your eyes down. See his boots, his jeans, his hand working his belt open. He’s stroking himself slowly, already hard, and you watch as his cock dangles in front of your face.
"I own you until I cum. So open up, slut."
You open your mouth. He feeds himself in without ceremony, one hand gripping the back of your head, pushing deep enough that you gag. He holds you there. Your eyes water. Your throat spasms. Saliva pools around his shaft and drips down your chin.
"Breathe through your nose."
You try. It’s hard to think. His cock is thick and hot and alive in your mouth and all you can do is take it, let him use your throat.
He fucks your face with no tenderness at all. Long strokes that make you choke, that leave you gasping each time he pulls back. You’re drooling. Crying a little. Your arms ache from being pinned behind you. You wonder if he’ll ever finish. If you’ll be trapped here forever.
When he finally pulls out you gasp for air, chest heaving, and he’s already hauling you up by the arm, spinning you around, bending you over a fallen oak. Your cheek presses into rough bark. His hands yank your jeans down, your underwear, and then his fingers are sliding through the wet mess between your legs.
"Soaked," he says. Almost to himself. "Knew you would be. You sluts always are."
He pushes two fingers inside you. You cry out, hips jerking, cunt clenching around the intrusion. He fingers you roughly, carelessly, like he’s testing your limits. Finding out how much you can take.
"It’s usually the eager whores like you that end up here."
He says it with a laugh as his fingers withdraw and then the head of his cock is pressing against you, pushing in, stretching you open around him. He bottoms out in one long stroke and starts fucking you like you’re nothing, like your only purpose is to be a warm place for him to empty himself.
Your bound hands chafe against your lower back. The bark bites into your cheek and breasts. He’s gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, pulling you back onto his cock with each thrust, and you’re making sounds you’ve never heard yourself make. Animal sounds. Desperate, wordless begging.
You cum without warning, your whole body seizing around him. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. Just keeps pounding into you through the spasms, through the second orgasm that builds right on top of the first.
"One more," he says. "Give me one more and I’ll fill you up."
You shake your head. You can’t. You’re too sensitive and raw and broken.
"Yes you can."
His hand snakes around, finds your clit, starts rubbing in tight circles while he fucks you. The pleasure is almost painful. Too much. You’re crying now, really crying, tears and snot and drool smearing all over
"Come on. Give me what I want. Be a good whore."
The third orgasm rips through as if it had claws, and you feel him slam deep and hold there, feel his cock pump ropes inside you, feel the hot rush of him filling you up just like he promised.
He pulls out slowly. You feel his cum leak down your thigh. He cuts the zip tie, and your arms fall to your sides, numb and tingling.
You hear his belt buckle, his footsteps retreating back into the trees. And then you’re alone in the clearing, bent over with your jeans around your knees and your cunt full of a stranger’s cum.
Your mind is quiet for the first time. Like someone reached into your head and turned off the noise that’s been buzzing there for years.
You pull up your jeans slowly. Wipe your face with the back of your hand. Your legs are unsteady as you make your way back to the trail, back to your car and the rest of the world.
You sit in the driver’s seat for a long time without starting the engine. Your body throbs. Your wrists are marked. You can still taste him in the back of your throat.
You’ll come back. You know that now. You’ll come back next week, or the week after, and wait in that clearing for whoever shows up to use you.
Love being the shy girl who plays innocent in front of all your friends but is completely submissive and deranged during sex begging you to go harder and whimpering how deep it is while being choked until my face goes numb, making you tie me up, taking all your sexual frustration out on me. Just to go back to being sweet and shy once your finished.
Thinking about a Knight who has to take his Prince's virginity. It's not that he wants to defile him. (Though perhaps he has lusted after him a bit. But he would never act on it!) He would never willingly taint his Prince in such a way.
But perhaps they're under threat. The wrong type of men slipped past the guards- and they've got his Prince all tied up. But they're so merciful - they'll let the Prince go unharmed of the Knight will just do this one little thing! All he has to do is fuck his Prince's cunt, and he'll be safe. And his whole job is to keep him safe so- it's not that he wanted to do it.
But fuck...it's hard to not enjoy it. He's apologetic, of course. In fact, the apologies don't end the whole time. No matter how rough his thrusts gets. No matter how he grips him so roughly. He's so sorry. So sorry that he's using his Prince like a toy.
They never even said he had to cum inside. But when the men finally leave...all he can look at is his seed leaking out of his Prince's soiled cunt and apologize one more time.
I need someone to fuck me in the changing room of a store. I need him to make me squirt all over the floor while he fills my cunt with cum and then forces me to put my skirt back on but without panties. He’d then tell me that if a he sees a single drop of cum leak out of my pussy then he’ll have to fuck it back in in front of everyone <3
Are we gonna talk about how good it feels to present your holes?
Like when you stick your ass up as high as you can and pull your lips apart and you can feel it stretch your hole a tiny bit and it makes you ache so deeply and you can feel yourself getting so wet having your sensitive little hole all exposed for anyone to come along and shove their cock, fingers, tongue, or toys in
mm, i need to be fucked in a room full of people. i want to be sat between someone’s legs while they finger my cunt, everyone from friends to strangers watching. soon, i’m stretched out around a cock or a strap. folks are taking pictures, reaching out to touch me, waiting for their turns. and i’m just so eager to satisfy each and every one of them.
Date idea: I slip my fingers inside you, and you clench your pussy around them every time I tell you to. And if you don’t listen? I pull them out and spank you over and over until you decide to be a good girl for me again.
I’d love to be manhandled in little ways. Being so excited to get inside me that he just lifts up my hips and pulls me onto his dick. Gently grabbing my face to give me a kiss, covering my mouth when I cum because I don’t want to get too loud. Grabbing my wrists because my hands touching his chest are getting in the way, his hand pushing into my back when I arch it to help me. When I writhe underneath him and try to get out from under him and he just pulls me back to finish inside of me.. ugh
need a knight that protects me from every single little problem and is quite possibly the most loyal man in the royal guard
but when my duties are done for the day i find myself stripped naked and pushed to lay face down on my bed, whimpering into my silk sheets and biting my feather pillow as he fucks me hard and fast, taking out his frustrations about seeing me talk and giggle with my suitors all day when the only one who should be allowed to hear my angelic laugh is him <3
