2 comments/ 20426 views/ 13 favorites A Hunter's Touch By: ishke_riva Ishke at the Edge of the Universe Vol. 1: A Hunter's Touch I've lost count of the days. I woke up in the dark. All I could feel was the moist, squishy dirt against my face. After a few moments, I became aware of a dancing fire in the distance. I lifted my head, hair plastered to my cheeks and forehead, and scanned the horizon. Twenty-odd centaurs sat on their fat haunches around a campfire, roasting an unidentified animal on a spit. A rather large unidentified animal. I gulped and lowered my head back into the mud. I realized I was quite naked, gagged, and pitifully hog-tied to a small flowering bush. I began a quiet struggle against my bonds, vicious ropes that cut into the tender skin of my wrists. I rubbed one wrist so raw that I cried out into my gag, a cloth jammed into my mouth secured by another wrapped round my head. Although my cry was muffled, it was loud enough to alert one of the centaurs that I was conscious. I saw him leer at me over the fire. He had fierce blue eyes and icy blond hair mirrored in his long, braided beard. He stood and nimbly picked his way over the mud and brush to where I lay. I continued to struggle, which seemed to please him. Several other centaurs rose to their feet. The blond centaur flipped me over onto my back to see a circle of smug grins hovering above me. "What a prize, Magdolon," a centaur with coal-black eyes growled. "Those hips will bear you fine half-breed foals. They'll sell very well." "Let me have a go at her," a gaunt centaur with a greasy braid said. His eyes pleaded with Magdolon. "I want to have a try!" "Let me buy her from you," said the one with black eyes. "I'll give you all the meat I stole from the butcher in that last town. I'll throw in the girl I took, too." "Shut up, both of you," Magdolon said. "That girl was far too thin. I want healthy foals. This maiden will serve me well." He ran a rough hand over my breasts, stopping to pluck at my nipples. Although I was frightened I could not help the biological response--I quickly became aroused. My nipples stood obediently like two soldiers at attention and I felt myself become quite moist in the nether regions. The corners of his mouth turned up in a grotesque grin. I moaned and squirmed uselessly in the mud, trying to free myself. Magdolon chuckled. "I'm going to have fun with you." He slid his hand between my thighs. I cried out again and tried to shake him off, but the more I moved my hips from side to side and made muffled moans into the gag, the more lustful the centaurs looked. I rolled onto my side and got a full view of the area between Magdolon's legs--his male parts bulged and stood straight out, long and threatening. Far too large for me. "Get away, you two," Magdolon said. The other centaurs didn't budge as he plucked me out of the mud. I continued to moan and make muffled shrieks, which only seemed to excite Magdolon. He carried me to a grassy part of the plain, free of underbrush, and lay me on my stomach. I panicked as I lost sight of what was going on. I felt rough hands on my buttocks, first squeezing them and then pulling them apart. I continued to squirm as Magdolon ran a finger down my backside and along my cleft, collecting its juices. I heard him slurp on the finger, then felt it slide inside of me. I screamed into the gag. Suddenly, the finger slid out. "I said, get back!" I heard Magdolon rear onto his hind legs, then a loud THUMP as he presumably kicked his companions. They whimpered and galloped to safety. Magdolon returned, grumbling. I felt him kneel down over me. The heavy sweat of his equestrian body enveloped me. At any moment he would enter me and there was nothing I could do to prevent it. Just as I felt the tip of his enormous member slide inside me, I heard him scream. He fell backwards off of me. I squealed into my gag as someone hoisted me from the ground and threw me over his shoulder. Hot, wet liquid coursed down my face--was I bleeding? "Stop moving! I'm trying to help you!" A gruff voice whispered. I didn't have much of a choice--I became still and stiffened, trying to make myself easier to carry. The man picked up speed. It seemed like he ran for miles before reaching the edge of a wood. He placed me down gently on a bed of pine needles. Ouch--I was already sore down there! It was too dark to see him as he unbuckled his tunic and stripped, but I prepared myself for the inevitable. At least he had to be smaller than the centaur's horse parts. But he handed the tunic to me, then pulled a knife from his boot and cut my bonds. "Put that on," he said. He turned around so that I could dress. I sat there, quizzical. This was all happening too fast! "Well, put it on!" He muttered. "We haven't got all night." He tossed me a small leather pouch--my pouch! The one I had lost struggling with the centaurs when they kidnapped me! I pulled off my gag with trembling fingers. "Where did you find this?" I held up the pouch. The man glanced at it. "It was lying near you. I thought it might be yours." "It is," I said. Tears jumped into my eyes. "My journal, my figurine, the Trigger...I can't believe you--well, I can't go home without it!" But he wasn't listening. He was on the lookout. I stood on shaky knees and slid my arms into the tunic. It was long enough to cover me like a dress. I looked at him and he nodded, avoiding my gaze. "Let's go." He started off into the trees at an alarming pace. I did my best to keep up. "Thank you," I said as soon as I managed to connect my thoughts to my mouth. "Thank you for saving me from that--that vile--" "It's nothing," he said. "Just hurry." I trotted to keep up with his long-legged gait. He must have been ten inches taller than me, lithe and willowy. His feet barely touched the ground; he made almost no sound as he walked. A huntsman, no doubt. I clomped along after him, heavy and clumsy. "Where are we going?" I said, huffing and puffing. "Here," he said. I followed his gaze. To my surprise, a small cottage had appeared out of the wood. The man trotted to the entrance and pushed the heavy wooden door open. "Well, come on," he said with an impatient nod of the head. As visions of fairy tale cottages danced in my head, I joined him. Together we stepped over the threshold. The Hunter swung the heavy door shut behind us and we were engulfed by darkness. Suddenly a panic attack set in. What the hell was I doing? Fresh out of grad school with a Master's in Art History, I should have been working at a library or museum. I shouldn't be following a strange man into a dark house. I felt my breaths quicken, a cold sweat on my brow. A tiny light flickered a few feet in front of me, then burst into flames. A warm glow from a wood-burning stove cast itself over the coziest room I had ever seen. The man stepped back from the stove and threw his match into the fire. "Lie down," he said, and he gestured to the bed in the corner. A mattress stuffed full of hay, covered with a thick padded quilt and wool blanket. I wanted nothing more than to collapse on that bed and sink into nothingness. But I remembered my pouch. My journal! The figurine! The Trigger! My heart dropped down into my belly. I drew near the fire and fumbled with the leather pouch the Hunter had tossed to me. I first drew out this journal, the first 30-odd pages of which had been ripped out of my own doing several weeks ago. My anxious fingers then closed around smooth stone. Elation! I pulled a carved figurine no larger than my thumb from the pouch. Upon thorough examination, I concluded that the detailed chess queen had been protected by my pouch's thick leather. Not a hair on her beautiful marble head, smooth breasts, or nimble fingers had been harmed. I was so relieved that I kissed the little beauty right on her tiny lips. When I looked up, my rescuer stared down at me. He did not seem amused by my excitement. Just very confused. "It's a chess piece," I explained, holding it closer to the fire so that he could see. "In my universe--where I'm from, it's very valuable." "I see," he said. But I could tell that he couldn't see. "You've never played chess," I said. I slowly realized that I was talking to a woodsman, not a scholar. "It's a game. There are lots of pieces kind of like this one, but they each have a different purpose. You use them to fight a battle." "A battle?" he said, still lost. I was too tired to explain. "Thank you again," I said, standing. It really was a marvel how tall and thin he was. I had to weigh at least as much as he did. How the hell did he carry me away from the centaurs' camp? I'm not sure any modern man I knew would be able to do that. The thought of the centaur camp sent me reeling. The entire ordeal seemed ages away. "I think I'll lie down," I said. And I did. But after lying awake for ten minutes, I knew I had to write all this down. I've been working away at the pages for hours as the Hunter sits in a rickety chair before the fire, stoking the logs. These people really know how to have fun. Yesterday I was writing in this journal from the comfort of my futon. My cat was curled up beside me. It was raining, a dreary waste of a day. I'm writing now in a cottage in the heart of a wood filled with medieval fantasy beasts. I want to go home. I don't remember falling asleep. I woke to the sound of the Hunter splitting wood. I rose from the bed, every inch of my body in protest. But I felt compelled to go outside and lend a hand. "Let me help," I said, and grabbed a smaller mol from beside the enormous pile of tree trunks by the cottage. The Hunter stepped aside and I swung the mol fiercely. The trunk he was about to split gave way to two perfect chunks. I kicked them aside and he prepared another trunk for me. "I grew up on a farm," I explained. "But it's been years since I've done this. Feels good." He looked confused again. "Did you marry into nobility?" he asked. "No, I went to college. Well, yes. Something like that." I swung the mol again. He allowed me to split several more blocks of wood before getting distracted by something behind the house. He got a wistful look in his eye and walked away. I watched him pluck a fistful of delicate white flowers from a bush and return to me, cheeks flushed. "Here," he said, and shoved them in my face. I backed away quickly. "Wow! That's nice, but--I'm allergic to flowers," I said. He lowered his bouquet, embarrassed. "What do you mean?" "I can't touch them or breathe near them. You don't wanna see what will happen if I do. My eyes swell up and get really red. I look like a snake." He tossed the flowers to the side, disappointed. "I thought you would want to braid them into your hair," he said. I laughed. "What kind of girl do I look like to you?" I swung the mol again, splitting the wood into more perfect chunks. Writing this now, I feel terrible. He was trying to be nice and I blew him off. But there are more important things to write about. Like how the centaurs came back for me. - I was lying on the bed while the Hunter went to get some water from the river. I had no idea how long he would be gone. If there's anything I've learned about these medieval universes, it's that a simple walk to get water could be five miles or more. I have trouble getting off the couch to walk to the Five-and-Dime for a frozen burrito. I languished in the Hunter's bed, really enjoying myself. I'd been in this universe for what seemed like weeks, and the entire time I had been sleeping in alleyways and haystacks in barns. I basically slept wherever I felt safe. Men in these worlds have no problem with snatching a woman and ripping off her bodice for a roll in the hay, whether she wants it or not. Although it is pure danger for me to travel alone, and although I am hasty to avoid any confrontations with these men, for some reason the thought of struggling against pure testosterone-driven muscle keeps me up at night with my hand tucked under my dress, moaning to myself. Is there something wrong with me? I was lying there on the Hunter's bed when I realized how good it smelled. It didn't smell like soaps or shampoo. It didn't smell like aftershave, something I've always associated with being an attractive scent for a man. It smelled like sweat and pure pheromones. Puzzled, I buried my face in the pretty patchwork quilt. I was toying with whether I would have time to start stroking myself before the Hunter came back when I heard hooves on the packed dirt outside the door. Luckily, my first instinct was to roll under the covers in the bed. The Hunter's bed is just a quilt over hay placed on slats low to the ground; I buried myself in the hay and pulled the quilt over myself. It seemed to lie flush to the sides of the bed, so it was doubtful that anyone would be able to tell I was there. I fashioned a little eye-hole and attempted to slow my breathing, but all I could think of was last night--Magdolon's throbbing horse parts casting a shadow on my vulnerable nakedness. I pictured Magdolon holding me down, sucking my tits viciously, biting my nipples until they bled. Thrusting himself inside me over and over as I struggled helplessly. His centaur friends taking turns tugging at my breasts as they stroked themselves. Lying in the Hunter's bed, I tried to control my breathing. I was terrified, but my body's automatic response was to become very wet and aroused. This was more terrifying than everything else. Through my eyehole, I saw Magdolon's sneering face appear in a window. He clopped around to the other window and got a good look at the place. Then he disappeared. I heard no hooves--nothing. Perhaps he had gone? BANG! He kicked in the door with his back legs. I almost gasped, but clapped a hand over my mouth to catch it. I heard his slow, heavy steps and waited to be discovered. I waited for the ensuing struggle. Would he throw me onto his back and ride off with me, or take me right there on the dirt floor? There would be no way to stop him, whatever he decided to do with me. Haunches stepped in front of my eyehole. Sweaty haunches. Soon those haunches would rest on my abdomen as he fucked me. "Hey!" The Hunter's voice! Magdolon whipped around and I could see the Hunter standing in his doorway, water bucket by his feet, crossbow raised. I lowered the covers, waiting for one to slaughter the other. Magdolon's voice had an effortless layer of sleeze over his attempt at charm. "My good man! I am looking for my woman. She was stolen from me last night and I have come to reclaim her." I risked a peek from under the covers. Magdolon stood with his hands raised in a surrender. He was so close to the bed that I could see flies buzzing around his tail. The Hunter stood at the door, crossbow raised and muscles flexed--ready to kill. "What would I want with a centaur woman?" the Hunter said, eyes aglow. Magdolon chuckled softly. "She was not a centaur woman, but a human. I won her fair and square in a bet," he said before the Hunter could protest. "She took something that belonged to me--a beautiful white figurine of a woman. She bet that she could outdrink me for it. The terms were that if she lost, both she and the figurine would belong to me. She lost that bet." In hindsight, it was pretty bad idea to make that bet. I figured that horses couldn't metabolize alcohol. I was wrong. Maglodon drank like a fish. The next thing I knew, his band of equine rogues were ripping my clothes off in an alleyway, binding me tight, and throwing me over his back to ride off into the night. "Get out of my house," the Hunter said. Magdolon sighed charitably. "I would love to leave this...humble dwelling. But I'm afraid I smell something very familiar. It smells a lot like my woman," he said. "The scent seems to be coming from somewhere in this house. And I won't leave unless I take her with me." I heard several whizzing noises, then a grunt from Magdolon. He grabbed at his chest. I pulled the blanket back and was shocked to see arrow tips poking through between his shoulder blades. He stumbled to the side, then collapsed onto his haunches and rolled forward. The arrows pierced further through his body. I shrieked and jumped from the bed. the Hunter slammed the door behind him as I tried to run past him to escape. "Get in the bed," he grunted. I tried to duck under his arm, but he grabbed my shoulders and dragged me across the room. I kept screaming as he threw me onto the bed. "I'm sorry about this," he said, and pulled up the tunic he gave me to wear as I struggled and shrieked. He put a hand over my mouth. "Let me help you!" he said, but I was out of my mind. "Don't you get it? His friends will be here any minute. They'll know something is wrong. They'll smell you. We have to do this." I struggled harder, but he managed to flip me over onto my stomach and pull down his breeches. I saw a flash of Magdolon trying to rape me before, and screamed louder against his palm. "Trust me, I don't want this any more than you do." He took a deep breath and plunged himself inside me. I let out a scream that quickly became a moan of pleasure. What was this? I was being raped! Why was I enjoying it? But I was--I truly was. I rocked my buttocks against his hips. Couldn't he go deeper? He thrust in and out quickly, over and over. I strained to look back at him. His eyes were screwed shut. He didn't seem to be enjoying it. His hand still over my mouth, I let out another muffled moan. His cock felt just right as it slid into me, and every time it slid out I wanted more. That yummy friction was driving me wild, I was about to come-- Suddenly he exploded inside me. It felt like fireworks as we came together. He filled me up and I almost couldn't take it. I blacked out a little from the intensity, gasping for air. The Hunter pulled out quickly and wiped himself off on the blanket. I sucked air into my lungs and rolled onto my back, searching for words. "You....you--" "I'm very sorry," he said. Still naked, he leapt from the bed and tiptoed to the door. I stared...that body. He wasn't skinny at all--muscles laid tightly over bone...he looked like a god! He had the door cracked and was looking out into the night. He snapped it shut and returned to me. "They'll be here soon. Stay hidden," he said, pushing my head under the quilt. I heard a sickening sliding noise as he moved Magdolon's body to the corner. I raised the quilt a little and watched the Hunter shovel hay over the dead centaur. I lowered the quilt, shaking. The Hunter just simultaneously raped me and gave me the most unexpectedly amazing sex of my life and now he wanted to hide me like the ugly girl he pity-fucked? I felt like the most backwards person in the universe. I had always considered myself to be a feminist. Why the hell did I just enjoy what happened? Had this ever happened before? Was this why men thought rape was okay? As I reconsidered my affiliation with feminism, there was a rough knock at the door. I peeked from under the blanket and was rather disappointed to see that the Hunter was wearing his breeches again. He pulled the door open, crossbow at the ready. "Hello there...why the hostility?" I recognized the voice of Jorel, one of Magdolon's buddies. "You'll have to forgive me," the Hunter said. "Another centaur just came by, and he threatened to kidnap my wife if I could not produce some wench that he won in a bet." The other centaurs laughed. Wench? That bastard... "I can smell that our friend was here. And we are indeed looking for his human woman who was stolen from us," Jorel said. "Perhaps you have seen her? Large, supple breasts...wide birthing hips. She has a sensational body. None like it in the land." A Hunter's Touch "She sounds like a cow," the Hunter said. "Now if you don't mind, my wife is pregnant and feeling very ill. She needs her rest and you have disturbed her from sleep. Please leave." I saw one of the centaurs try to look over the Hunter's shoulder and pulled the blanket over my face. "Well...I do smell a pregnant woman in there," Jorel said. "Very freshly pregnant, in fact. Congratulations, good sir." I looked out again and saw the centaur clapping the Hunter on the shoulder and laughing. The Hunter did not budge from his offensive position. "Ah--very well, then. We'll be going. And do let Magdolon know that we've been by, should he return," Jorel said. The Hunter nodded and slammed the door in their faces. As soon as their galloping hooves were out of earshot, I sat up in the bed. "A cow?" I demanded, jumping to my feet. "You think I'm a--a cow?!" "Shh--hush, they'll hear you. And of course not," the Hunter said, pushing me back onto the bed. "Did you hear how they described you?" "At least that was somewhat complimentary," I said. "I got them to leave, did I not?" he said. I stopped short. "Yes," I said. "You have saved my life once again, and here I am berating you. This is three times now." "And an awful lot of good I've done you for it, as well," he said, sitting on the bed next to me. "I just raped you." "You tried to explain," I said. Why was I defending him? He did rape me, if only to throw off the centaurs' sense of smell. "Wait a goddamn minute...I'm not actually pregnant, am I?" He stood and went to his wardrobe, then drew out a vase full of leaves. "I'll make you a tea of these," he said. "These are the leaves of the Roilarmon Tree. They have magical properties. They reverse illness, mollify pain. They also prevent unwanted pregnancies." He filled a pot with water from a barrel by the door and placed it over the stove. I watched him with a strange feeling building in my belly. I wasn't quite sure what it was. What day is it? I woke up this morning to the sounds of the Hunter splitting wood again. I sat up in bed and looked around. Magdolon's body was gone. I joined the Hunter outside and volunteered my help again. We worked together for a half-hour or so before he determined that we had enough. He asked me a lot of questions that I found difficult to explain--like where I was from, how I met up with the centaurs, and whether I planned on returning to my home. He seemed more than a bit disappointed when I told him that I did plan to get home as soon as I could. I had to get back and feed my cat! "I'm from somewhere very different," I said. "It's what you call an alternate universe. The future of an alternate universe, to be precise." He gave me his confused look. "Are you married?" "Married? God, no. I'm fresh out of grad school. I'm a scholar." "A woman scholar?" "That's right." "That is a very different place." But he didn't sound resentful or mean. He just sounded awed. He was less of an asshole about it than lots of men at my school, including my professors. And I had an Art History degree for Christ's sake. My major was approximately 90% women and our professors were still misogynistic jerks. That's what I get for studying a subject that requires you to pore over Romantic paintings of odalisques and classical sculptures of sex slaves. "I was sent to your world by a very wealthy man who hired me to find things like that figurine and bring them back to my universe." "So...are you a witch?" I grimaced. Would he burn me at the stake if I said yes? This was probably the only way that he'd even begin to understand. "I don't mind if you are," he said. So I nodded. Sure, I'm a witch. We wouldn't have to get into the science behind the parallel universe generator that my boss, Dr. Belfast, built. That's good, because I have absolutely zero understanding of how it works. But when a rich old man approaches you with money and promises of using what people have told you is a useless Master's degree, you listen. And you do whatever he tells you. Belfast said I would be able to see things that I had always hoped to see in their modern, crumbling forms. I'd see ruins as complete buildings, artifacts as freshly painted masterpieces. I'd see famous, centuries-old works of art when they were brand new, perfect, the way they were intended to be seen. It was any historian's dream. And it has been a dream so far. But I do want to go home. Unfortunately, I can't. After digging through my pouch some more, I realized that my Trigger was not inside. It must have fallen out sometime between being captured by Magdolon and being rescued by the Hunter. Strangely, the figurine and my journal were still inside, but the Trigger could be anywhere. I need that little button to generate a wormhole that allows Dr. Belfast to tug me back to my universe. It's probably lost for good. And now I'm not sure what I will do. I told the Hunter about my predicament, and something I couldn't pinpoint flashed over his face. He just nodded and asked me more questions--what did my Trigger look like? How did I operate it? Where did I have to be to use it? "It works best if I'm somewhere high up, like a hilltop," I said. I scanned the area and saw a hilltop nearby, and noted it. If I ever found my Trigger, I would need to climb that hill before I could push the button to give Belfast the signal. I sighed. A glorified garage door opener was the only thing standing between this universe and mine. Another day. Who knows when it is? The Hunter sleeps in his own bed tonight, at my insistence. I have put him out for too long. He offered to share with me, but I'm not tired. And I know what will happen if I climb into bed with him. I'll fuck him. I'll fuck him long and hard in twenty different positions. I'll suck his dick and let him slide it inside me, and I'll beg him to lick me all over. I'll let him have me any way he wants. And that can't happen. Because if that happens, I may be inclined to stay here forever. I was writing in my journal earlier when the Hunter walked by. I could tell he was watching me, so I asked if he'd be interested in learning to read a bit. "I'm not much of a student," he said, but he sat down next to me all the same. I drew the alphabet for him as neatly as I could. He was a remarkably fast learner. He learned all the English letters within an hour. The housework was forgotten as we spent the day going through my journal. He did his best to sound out the words, and I did my best to be selective about what I let him read. No need for him to know the hairy details of what happened with Magdolon before I was rescued. It was almost dark when we realized we hadn't had anything to eat all day. The Hunter offered to go out and catch me a meal. I decided to go with him. I had never been hunting before. I have to say that there's nothing quite as invigorating as catching your own food. The kill made me squeamish, but the Hunter was patient with me. He showed me how to load a bolt into his crossbow and aim it. He showed me how to look for quail and a magical bird called the Coazquat'l that looked a lot like a big, fat turkey. But the Coazquat'l could fly, and it was vicious! Just as one flew at my face, talons outstretched, I leased a bolt deep into its abdomen. The fragile bird fell heavily to the ground, and the Hunter picked it up by its foot. He held it up to me and I took it gingerly. "You should be proud of that one," he said. "It's a beautiful bird. And the silver feathers on its tail are valuable." He plucked one and held it up to the light. It glimmered. "Now that's something I would wear in my hair," I said. He grinned and wove it into my braid for me. His hand brushed against my shoulder and made my stomach drop several inches. - So here I am, lying on the floor with a quilt wrapped tightly around me. I masturbated a few minutes ago, sliding my fingers inside myself as I closed my eyes and imagined being fucked by the Hunter instead of actually being fucked by him. And I'm cold. What have I done? This is a very strange situation, the likes of which I have never seen. All I could think about was the Hunter's warm bed with his warm body as I lay there shivering on the floor. I couldn't join him in his bed. I just couldn't. So I decided to search his small wardrobe for another quilt. I did not find a quilt. But I found something that greatly disturbed me. Three simple shift dresses were folded neatly on a shelf. They were beautiful. Tiny stitching, perfect craftsmanship. I held one up to my body. Whoever wore this dress must have been as tiny and nimble as a fairy. I furrowed my brow and carefully refolded the dress to place it back with the others. Did the Hunter have a sister? A cousin? A daughter? Then I opened a drawer and found another dress. Just as beautiful as the others, but torn and ripped apart at the seams. I turned it over in my hands to examine the tears and saw dark stains--blood. I gasped and dropped the dress on the floor. "What are you doing?" I shrieked and jumped around. The Hunter stood behind me, a wild look in his eyes. He grabbed the bloody dress from the floor and cradled it. I stepped back, shaking. "What is that? Is it blood? Where's the woman that was in it?" I managed to choke out. He stared me down. "Did--did you kill her?" I blurted out. "Are you going to kill me?" He didn't say a word, just stared at me. I continued to back away slowly. "Those are my wife's dresses." He said simply. "Your wife? You have a wife? Where is she?" I said. "She is dead," he said. "Kidnapped and raped by centaurs. They murdered her. I found her in that dress and couldn't bear to throw it away." He continued to stare at me with something like contempt. "Did you not wonder why I was there when the centaurs had you? I was in that pub. I saw what happened. And I followed them to free you. I hate centaurs. They are murderers, rapists, and thieves. I'll kill one on sight. They're all the same." He broke the gaze that held our eyes together and moved to the bed. "I buried my wife in her wedding dress, hoping that I might be able to get the stains out of the one she died in. It was her favorite." He put his face in his hands. "She was right; I was always hopeless with the washing." I was totally shell-shocked. I have never felt like such an asshole. "I'm sorry," I said. He didn't move, so I grabbed my journal and sat in a far corner of the room, trying as hard as I could to melt into a puddle and disappear. I wrote for what seemed like hours when the Hunter spoke. "What is that thing you are always scratching away at?" Surprised, I looked up and then followed his gaze to my ballpoint pen. "Oh, this? It's a journal. I use it to record my thoughts." "Record?" I went to a Renaissance Faire once as a child. I remember asking the man in the blacksmith booth where his TV was. He had such a smug response. "What is this TV you inquire about, little miss?" That's why I almost accused the Hunter of being full of shit. But I caught myself--he wasn't full of shit. He really didn't know. "I write things in this book so that I won't forget them," I said. "Why?" "Well, I suppose I want to remember what's happened to me," I said. The Hunter grimaced. "Why would you want to remember the terrible things that have happened to you?" He said. I paused. What could I say? Even if I did explain, he would never understand. "There's peace in knowing what I've survived. That way I know that I can handle anything, because I have already encountered so much before." The Hunter's brow knitted together as he digested this concept. "I'll teach you to write, if you like," I said. "If I could write, the last thing I would do is to keep a book of memories." He sighed. I shrugged. Shrugging is not the most sensitive thing to do when someone is reminiscing about his young wife's death, but it was involuntary. I tried to pass it off as rolling a sore shoulder to work out the kinks in my muscles. This made me realize that my muscles were indeed quite sore. "I'm going to lie down now," I said, and I did--right on the floor in front of the fireplace. As my eyelids slid shut I marveled at the cozy warmth of the fire. The dirt floor was softer than I thought it would be. I would have fallen asleep instantly if my body had not begun to levitate. I opened my eyes to see that the Hunter had hoisted me from the floor and was carrying me to his bed. "No--don't--unnecessary," I sputtered, but as my head landed on his plush quilt I was helpless to resist. He pulled the heavy patchwork quilt up to my chin and I was suddenly surrounded by a level of safety and comfort I have never known. "I haven't been tucked into bed since I was a kid," I murmured. I had never felt so warm and cozy, like it was all over. Everything was going to be okay. I didn't even care about going home anymore. Not as long as I could stay right here in this bed, beside this man, waking up in the morning to split wood and curl up by the fire with my journal. I could continue that routine forever. The Hunter sat on the bed next to me and arranged the quilt around me, swaddling me. He was close enough that I could see the freckles on his nose. From this close, he looked like a teenager. Only his haunted eyes and slow, measured sighs revealed his age. Mid-thirties, perhaps. Maybe younger. It was tough to tell in the medieval worlds. Life was so hard here. He locked eyes with me. His warm brown eyes made my heart swell. I couldn't help myself. I pushed the blanket off and reached for him. At first he looked surprised, but did not resist as I pulled him toward me. I breathed softly into his neck, his breaths in my ear. I pushed the quilt away and he climbed on top of me. I could feel that he was already hard as a rock. My breaths quickened along with my heartbeats. I felt like my heart might burst out of my chest. With fumbling fingers, we each untied each others' tunics. Mine fell easily from my shoulders, but his fit him much better--it took some maneuvering before I could finally see his bare chest. Even though he was nearly rail-thin, he was all sinewy muscle and glowing golden skin that had an aura of heat soaked up from hours working in the sun. I kissed his chest and neck, his collarbones and face. From this close, I could see that his rough, dark five-o'-clock shadow was accented with gold and white hairs. I kissed those, too. I don't remember how I got his breeches off. I was a little preoccupied. I wasn't wearing anything underneath his tunic, so by the time he was naked I had already enjoyed several minutes of him playing softly with my nipples. They were so taut and stood so firmly at attention that I let out an involuntary squeal when he finally put one between his warm, soft lips. He sucked softly at first, but then his hands found my buttocks. This seemed to excite him more than anything else, as though he had no idea they were there. He squeezed them with vigor and sucked my breast for dear life. When he pulled away, there were bite marks. The pain was delicious. He sat back on his knees over me. Like an arrow, my eyes went straight to his cock. Not bad. He caught me looking and seemed a little embarrassed. I grabbed it. I don't think he minded anymore. In an instant, all my clinical thoughts about sex melted away. I didn't need lube. I didn't need for him to wear a condom. I didn't even want him to. I wanted to feel the warmth of him inside of me, the friction. I wanted to feel it all. I was already wet, already hot and I wanted more than anything for him to fuck me ragged. I've always been a missionary-only, gentle sex with plenty of kissing type of girl. In those quick seconds, I knew that everything would be different from now on. I felt like an animal. He allowed me to settle into the hay on my back and looked me straight in the eyes. "Is this okay?" He asked. I grabbed his cock and pushed it inside me. He gasped and fell on top of me as I ground my hips back and forth, moaning loudly. He grunted and hoisted himself up on his hands to get leverage. The questioning look in his eyes was gone. He pumped back and forth vigorously, grunting louder and fucking me harder each time he slid inside me. I felt my wetness all over his cock and my thighs as I squealed with delight. I could feel his tension mounting. If I didn't do something quickly, he would come and it would all be over! I wanted this to last forever. I pushed him off and rolled over so that I was on top of him. His eyes widened as I mounted him and leaned back onto his legs, my breasts swinging back and forth. I couldn't help it--a low, guttural moan escaped my lips and he grabbed my buttocks and pulled himself deeper inside me. I rocked back and forth, slowly at first, then faster. He cried out, eyes rolled back in his head. So I started bouncing up and down. He screamed. I'm not sure I've ever heard a man scream like that from sex. I've heard plenty of grunts and low groans, but nothing that sounded like his soul was abandoning his body like this. It only encouraged me. I bounced harder, my breasts bouncing along with me. He reached up and grabbed them, pulled me down to him, sucked on each of my nipples. He held me close to him for a moment before throwing me off and rolling me onto my stomach. I knew neither of us had much time left. We were exhausted and ultra-sensitive, each at the end of the rope. As soon as he pushed himself inside me from behind, I bucked up on all fours and pushed back against him as hard as I could. He screamed in ecstasy again as he buried himself inside me to the hilt. We both screamed so loudly that had we been in my apartment, someone would have called the cops. I felt him explode. All his warm, milky goodness filled me up and cascaded down my thighs as I shuddered at the peak of orgasm. We screamed together again. He leaned forward and pulled at my nipples as we trembled in unison. My legs and arms went numb. We moaned loudly in intervals, then softer and softer until there were no sounds left inside either of us. We collapsed in a heap on the bed, spent. I could hardly draw enough air into my lungs. I felt like I might pass out, and if his face was any indication, he felt the same way. As tired as I was, I was even more aroused. I took his hand and dipped it in the milky concoction of our juices mixed together on my thighs. He watched me lick it from his fingers, a ravenous hunger in his eyes. "I guess I'll need more of that Roilarmon tea," I said. He laughed--a low, sensual sound. I've never felt like I could go again right after a long fucking session. This was a first. He wiped more of our juices all over me as I moaned, and then thrust back inside me. Well, I've gone and done it now. I am beyond infatuation. I watch him sleep. He snores softly. I smoosh his cheeks together. He stops snoring. I have to get out of here. I have paced back and forth around this house fifty times. I can't lie in bed with him because I can't keep my hands from exploring his chest, his stomach, his arms, his buttocks. I can't keep my lips away from his cock. I crave his touch. I want him to caress me, to take me. I want to feel his tongue all over me. We've already fucked three times in a row. Then I sucked his cock for about an hour, savoring the delicious taste of him. He explored me down below, sucking my clit like he was starved for it. The only reason we stopped is because I forced myself to get up. I have to break this now. I have to go home. Time to go. Just writing about him gets me flustered and hot. I had to start pacing again when I noticed that some of the packed earth floor in this hut looks freshly turned. A Hunter's Touch I knelt on the floor and dug with my fingers. Someone had definitely been digging in this spot a few days prior. Before long, my hand hit something hard and smooth. I pulled it out of the dirt and brushed it off--a small wooden box. Inside the box were three things: A tiny ebony comb with a flower carved into it, likely quite valuable in modern times, one green satin shoe, quite beautiful but covered in blood, and my Trigger. My mind raced. Why would the Hunter keep my Trigger in this box? Where did he find it? But most importantly: I could go home now! All thoughts were erased when I noticed a long red hair woven into the comb. I pulled it and it came loose. It was a lovely coppery color. His wife's hair. I examined the shoe. It was tiny. Her feet were much smaller than mine. She must have been beautiful--long, red hair; a delicate, spritely frame; glowing, milky white skin; big, green, luminous eyes that enchanted everyone who saw her. I envisioned her sitting beside the fire, working diligently at the tiny stitches on her dresses as the Hunter looked on with love and devotion. Laughing when the Hunter came home with a stained tunic, stripping it off his shoulders to wash, caressing his arms as he laid her down on the bed to make love. I felt sick. I replaced the shoe and the comb and buried the box, the Trigger on the floor beside me. It served as a reminder of where I belonged. I couldn't be this man's new wife. I didn't belong here. I am not sure why I took the time to write all this before heading home. Maybe I wanted him to wake up and stop me. Maybe I just wanted to get it all down on the page. Maybe I'm too heartbroken to move. I'm not sure if I'm more heartbroken for myself or for him. I guess I'll get going now. I couldn't leave without saying goodbye. As I finished writing my last entry, I turned to see the Hunter sitting up in bed. He was rubbing his eyes and squinting, and for all his muscles and sun-weathered skin he looked like a child waking up from a nap. "What are you doing?" His voice was sharp, and his body stiffened as he saw that I held the Trigger in my hand. I stupidly shoved it behind my back. "Nothing," was my brilliant reply. The Hunter was on his feet in an instant, but he didn't want my Trigger. He rushed to the hole in the floor, knocking me into the now cold wood-burning stove. "How did you know it was there?" He said in a strangled voice as I pulled myself to my feet and brushed away the soot. "Why was it there in the first place?" I crossed my arms and tried to look as though I wasn't worried he might strangle me. He dug the box up from its grave and held it as he stood, towering over me with eyes that burned. I couldn't meet their intensity, so I stared at the floor like a coward. "It's none of your concern." He stalked back to his bed. I got a flash of the sleepy child again as he crawled under his quilt and turned away from me. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't going to steal my wife's comb and give it to your rich old man." That hurt. I felt myself shrink. "Well you stole my Trigger!" I said. Why didn't you hand it to me in the pouch when you first found me?" "Because it wasn't inside the pouch," he said. "I thought it was some centaur weapon, so I kept it with me. I didn't put it in the box until you said it was yours." "Why didn't you give it to me then?" I said. I was getting angry. "Did you think it was valuable, so you decided to keep it?" "Of course not! I just didn't want you to leave yet! You would have just been captured by the centaurs again and I'd have to save you all over!" "What, captured by the centaurs after returning to my own universe where they don't exist?" I shot back. He seemed stuck. "I don't know why you have to go digging through my things! If I didn't know any better, I'd think you wanted to rob me and take everything of mine back to your universe while I'm asleep!" "I would never do that, I said. "I love you too much." The words left my lips before I knew I was thinking them. Once I realized what I'd said, it was too late to swallow them He said nothing, only huddled there for a moment, then turned back to me. "You said that you need that Trigger so that you can return home. Why do you have to do that?" He got up and approached me, eyes toward the floor. "I--I just do," I said. He wouldn't look at me. We were less than an inch apart. So close. I could see those little golden hairs in the scruffiness along his jawline. I wanted to kiss them again. Before I could say anything else, he surprised me. "You're the first sunshine I've seen in a long, long time," he said softly. He touched my cheek with the tips of his fingers. I felt everything inside my body liquefy, turned to warm cocoa. "I can't stay," I whispered. "I don't belong here." His face hardened. Tears in his eyes. "Come with me," I said. "You don't belong here, either." He looked at me strangely. "You can live with me in my little apartment. I can teach you to read and write. You can travel with me, see all the worlds in the universe!" He stepped back. "I can't do that," he said. "I don't know how." "I'll teach you! There's nothing for you here. And there's so much more to see. Please come with me. Be with me." I begged him for a while. There's no use going over it any more. It hurts too much. Because he said no. When I left, he was sitting on his bed holding his wife's shoe in his hand. I didn't start to cry until I'd shut the door behind me. - The only thing that kept my feet moving away from his cottage and toward the little hillock in the distance was pride. I had always had too much pride for my own good, but this was the moment I realized it. Every fiber of my being wanted to stop and return to him. But I did not. I will regret it for the rest of my life. Why do I fall in love with people who cannot give themselves to me wholly? I throw myself at their feet, expecting for them to return the gesture. They never do. And who could blame them? I am a fool. I hadn't gotten far when I heard hooves. Something inside me said, go up! I climbed a lot of trees in my life growing up on the farm, so I shimmied up the branches of the closest one I could find. But it was too late. They smelled me and circled the base of the tree--five centaurs, two of whom were Magdolon's buddies. "What do you think, Jorel?" said the biggest and nastiest of the bunch. "Who gets first round?" "I say the one who catches her gets her," Jorel said, grinning up at me. He pulled a rope from a bag strung across his shoulders and whipped it around his head. It flew through the air and caught my ankle. Did I just get lassoed by a centaur? The answer was yes. I barely had time to yelp before Jorel yanked me from the tree and caught me over his shoulder. His centaur buddies cheered as they tore the Hunter's tunic from my body. Jorel held my hands behind my back and bounced me on his shoulder, laughing. He bit at my buttocks and stuck his finger crudely inside me. I screamed, but one of the centaurs stuck a cloth inside my mouth and tied it around my head. "We won't have you being rescued this time," Jorel said. "I'm doing this for Magdolon!" "You're doing this for your cock!" one of the centaurs exclaimed, and they all collapsed into laughter that drowned out my smothered moans. "Everyone step back, she's mine first. Then you can do whatever you wish," Jorel said. He dropped me on the ground on my back. I squirmed to sit up, but he flipped me over and held onto my hands. He licked me between the shoulder blades and laughed. "Stop struggling, love. You'll hurt yourself. And I want to be the one to hurt you," he whispered. "Hey, wait," the big, nasty centaur said. He had a long black beard. His horse parts were already hard and very big. I screamed into my gag as he pushed Jorel aside and grabbed my waist. "I should have her first because I discovered Magdolon's body in his shallow grave. We wouldn't have known where to find her if I hadn't done that." He bent forward and bit my nipple--hard! I squirmed but two other centaurs helped him lift me up so he could lick and suck at my clit. "Get off!" Jorel pushed the big centaur, who lost his balance and fell over. "She's mine!" "Well maybe I should have her first," a dopey centaur said. "It was my idea to wait for her here. And I'll be the one to kill that woodsman who stole her!" He grabbed at me and pushed me to the ground, then mounted me and tried to put his throbbing dick inside me as I struggled. Jorel grabbed him by his hair with a crude knife in his other hand. I closed my eyes as I realized what was about to happen. I heard a strangled yell and a slicing noise. Hot blood rained down on me as I screamed. The dopey centaur fell off and I rolled to the side. "You bastard! Over a human woman!" another centaur screamed. He advanced on Jorel and grabbed him by the neck. I shuffled my naked body backwards, away from the scuffle. I couldn't believe it. They were all killing each other! The centaur with the black beard helped the angry centaur strangle Jorel. I heard a crack as his neck snapped. The other two jumped on the black-bearded centaur's back and started choking him. I took this as my chance to roll over to the Trigger and grab it with my hands behind my back. I pushed myself up with my legs and ran for it. They didn't chase me. They didn't even notice I was gone until I had almost reached the top of the hill. "Get her!" I heard one of them scream, but I was at the peak--I pressed the button and turned to see two of them gaining on me-- And an arrow to the temple took one of them down. He rolled down the hill as a well-aimed arrow hit the other centaur in the chest. He tumbled down as well. Behind them was the Hunter. He was running towards me with an outstretched hand. "I'm coming with you!" He said. He was smiling. I'd never seen him smile. He was two feet away from me. All he had to do was touch me and he'd be taken back to my universe, too. Everything went white, then black. We could have gotten to know each other. I would never replace his wife, but he might have learned to love me in a different way. I was pretty sure I already loved him. I could have been his sunshine. He was left standing there as the wormhole snatched me away. Just like that, he was gone. I would never be able to return again. Saturday, 21 September 2013 And that was it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my bed in Brooklyn. I had more energy than I anticipated--I threw the covers off and sprang to my feet. The hardwood had never felt so good under my newly grounded toes. I barely made it out of the bedroom before being greeted by Nietzsche, my fat ball of fuzz and mews. She howled and pushed against my legs, corralling me into the kitchen. "Oh God, Nietzsche! I forgot to leave you extra food. You must be starving!" I reached for the container that stored her food and poured her a generous heap. That's when I heard the voice. "You can tell a lot about a person by the size of her cat." I screamed at the top of my lungs. The container flew through the air, scattering cat food all over the linoleum. A tiny man with a neat white beard stood at the edge of my kitchen, hands behind his back, clear gray eyes smiling over thick spectacles. "Dr. Belfast," I said, clutching my heart. I thought I might die. "What are you doing here?" "I came to check on you, my dear girl," the old man said. "And to feed your cat, after it became clear that I couldn't expect you back anytime soon." He cast a judging glace at Nietzsche. "However, it seems that your self-restraint issues extend to the feline, as well. She could stand to miss a meal." "Oh," I said. My frazzled nerves began to calm. "Well, I found what you were looking for." I pranced back to my bedroom and grabbed the leather pouch. Digging in it, my heart felt like it would explode. "It was just in here! I swear to--" I turned the corner and saw that Dr. Belfast held the tiny figurine in his palm. "I am aware that you found it, Ms. Riva," he said. "What I am not aware of is how you entirely allowed your mission to go off the rails." "I don't know what you're talking about. I found the piece!" I said. I was indignant. He had to know how much I had suffered, how much I sacrificed to bring this priceless artifact back to him! He silenced my protests with a raised palm. What an instantaneous effect this man had on me. "You allowed yourself to become emotionally attached to one of this alternate universe's inhabitants," he said. "And you almost did not come back. I pay you handsomely, Ms. Riva. I don't pay you to be in the alternates any longer than you need to be. I don't pay you to fall in love. And I don't pay you to get gang-raped by medieval beasts." My mouth hung open as though on a faulty hinge. "What you just said was so hugely--so grossly un-feminist, insulting, degrading, that I won't even begin to dignify it," I managed to sputter. "Blaming the victim? As though I ALLOWED myself to be raped--" Belfast smiled knowingly and gazed at me over his ridiculous little spectacles. "You have to admit it. You enjoyed it. You are a strange one." He raised his eyebrows at me. I sputtered again. "You are a dirty, dirty old man," I said. "How do you even know what has happening to me in there? Do you have some sort of camera system set up? Do you have me bugged? What the fuck--" Belfast just chuckled and turned to go, waving me away. That man is ludicrous. A fool in a white lab coat. I don't know how he ever got funding for his mad scientist experiments, but no one talks to me like that! And they certainly don't get the last word! "Ms. Riva," he said, "I'd like to assign you a counselor. A 'shrink,' if you will, to help you diagnose whatever strange issues cause you to put yourself in these situations." "A shrink? I don't need a shrink!" I said. "I am a victim! I was kidnapped!" "I understand that this was your first mission and there were bound to be a few hiccups," Belfast said. "But you must understand that my background checks did not show you to have any mental issues. And there's nothing wrong with a little therapy," he said. "Especially when you need it." I crossed my arms. "I can assure you, I don't need it." Belfast looked at me strangely. "If you want to keep getting paid, I think you'll find that you do. You're a clever woman, and I'd like for you to keep working for me." He turned to leave, then turned back as if reconsidering something. "I may also have to assign you someone to accompany you on your missions. An assistant, if you will. Someone who will come with you on these journeys to make sure you stay on track. Someone to sober you up." He moved toward the door and opened it, then stopped himself again. "And perhaps I should share this with you after all. You almost didn't make it back. The universe you traveled to was slowly crawling to its edge. If you had stayed there several moments longer, you would have been trapped within it for all time." I frowned. "You never told me that was possible. That is a huge liability. That's why we should have contracts!" He shrugged as though it was nothing. "Every job has time constraints," Belfast said cheerfully. "Think of it as a deadline! Each mission will have one. Each universe has an edge, and you would do well not to stand at the edge of it." "An edge?" I said. "In terms of time, universes don't have edges. That doesn't make sense...is that some sort of euphemism?" He tut-tutted and stepped outside my door. I stuck my head out the door and watched Belfast step into the elevator at the end of the hall. "What about our universe? There isn't any edge to our universe! " I said. I didn't sound as sure as I wanted to. "I can assure you that you're wrong!" His musical voice chimed. He smiled. "If you keep working the way you are now, you will see it soon enough...good day, Ms. Riva!" He tipped his hat and the elevator doors slid shut. What a kook!...right? I felt Nietzsche rubbing against my legs and stooped to pick her up. "Poor, sweet kitty. Did you miss me?" I closed the door with my foot. Tuesday, 1 October 2013 It's been over a week, and he's still all I can think about. At night I stroke myself softly, dreaming of him inside me, sweat dripping down on me from his chest and shoulders, his brow wet with effort, staring into my eyes. Belfast hasn't contacted me yet. Not about another mission, not about the shrink, not about the assistant. Only one thing is for sure: the next universe he creates for me will be different. Even if he could send me back to the one where the Hunter lived, he wouldn't do it. I'm sitting on a bench in Central Park, staring out at the people walking by. People walking with their dogs, with their friends, their lovers. I don't belong here anymore. But I can never go back to that cottage. I'll never see the Hunter again. Maybe this is what Belfast meant. I feel like I'm sitting at the edge of this universe, legs dangling over. I can see the medieval forest below, the Hunter's cottage. But it's too far for me to jump. I close my eyes and I can see him outside splitting wood. He places the mol on his bare shoulder and wipes sweat from his brow. He looks up, but he can't see me. I opened my eyes. It suddenly occurred to me...I never asked his name. Preview of Vol. 2: Hand of the Prince When will Belfast start sending me somewhere other than the Middle Ages? Does he want me to get the plague? Does he want me to get executed for witchcraft? Better yet, if he doesn't want me to get raped (since it's so obviously my fault,) why won't he send me somewhere where the men aren't obsessed with rape? And where they're not allowed to do it?! At least he hasn't made good on his promise to hire an assistant for me or make me see a shrink. When he called me up this time, the only thing he asked was that I return the item he requested. That I can do. I just wish he didn't have to speak in riddles. "Bring me a painting made with golden fibers that hangs in the King's chambers," he said. "A moveable mural. Thank you, Ms. Riva." And he hung up. God... It was easier than I thought to find a job as a chambermaid in the palace. They mostly seemed to be looking for someone with no signs of Bubonic disease and a few teeth left. Unfortunately, compared to most of these women I stand out. I have all of my teeth, thank you very much, and I have a lot more meat on my bones. I spill over the dainty little dresses they give the maids. And I've received a lot of male attention for it. Most notably, from the prince himself. I have to admit that he's a stunner. Tall, fit, and blonde, his tunics fit him perfectly. I can see every muscle, every bulge. And I can't deny that I stared when I first met him. He definitely noticed me noticing. After that, I stopped cleaning chamber pots in the princess's quarters and was suddenly moved to the prince's wing. Few women worked here. He had footmen who handled most things for him. I was beating the dust out of a carpet out his window, considering what Belfast could have meant by a "moveable mural," when I heard the heavy wooden door slam shut. I whipped around. My dress simply wasn't made to hold breasts as large as mine; they popped loose and I found myself half-naked in the presence of the prince. "Oh sweet Jesus!" I said. The prince looked amused as he picked his way toward me. "What are you doing in here? You're not supposed to be here when we clean," I said, trying to cover my chest. The prince gawked at my breasts, a smirk on his face. A Hunter's Touch "My father is the king," he said in a low tenor that rattled my bones. "I can do whatever I want." "What is it that you want to do?" I said, trembling. But I already knew. I struggled for a few minutes as he tore at my dress, but I knew it was useless. There was no one else in this wing. The palace walls were stone. No one would hear me. Nevertheless, he clapped a hand over my mouth to muffle my cries for help. "I get what I want," he said. "From now on, this is your job." He tore at my dress again and it fell in a heap at my feet. He pulled my hands behind my back and wound a strip of my dress around them, then lifted me by my hips and threw me onto the bed. I wriggled around, trying to get to my feet, but he tore another strip off my dress and bound my ankles with it. "Save your energy," he said. "You'll need it." He quickly undressed as I flopped around on the bed, trying to get loose. Exhausted, I lay on my back and screamed. He ran over and clapped his hand over my mouth again. "Be quiet, love," he said. "No one will hear you, and no one cares. You're mine now." He bit my left nipple, a gleeful grin on his face, and reached for my clit. "But you're wet!" he said, and chuckled. He climbed on top of me and bit his lip, watching me squirm. "Get used to it, my dear," he said as he mounted me. He slid inside me and gasped with pleasure, his hand still over my mouth. I stopped struggling. He did feel good inside me. His cock was smooth and just the right size. It felt like silk. But no! I didn't want this. I struggled again. He seemed to enjoy it, grunting hard with effort as he pumped in and out. I heard the door creak open and we both looked over. A footman stared at us. "Mmmfff—elp—me!" I tried to cry out, but the prince just laughed. The footman shut the door quickly. I really was alone. The prince pumped me harder, moaning. He leaned down and licked my breasts as they swung wildly in time with his fucking.