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Claimed by the Kings by Loki Renard – Sample

Chapter One

Claimed by the KingsFeminine sobs filled a room swimming in wisps of smoke from the fires in the castle town below. Two tall masculine figures stood over Princess Elizabeth of Ammerdale, a beautiful young woman recently come of age whose hair was as red as the flames leaping near the ruins of the old castle gate.

“Don’t cry, dear.” A strong male hand descended gently on Elizabeth’s red-gold locks. “All will be well.”

The shivering, naked princess squeezed her eyes tightly shut and gasped a panicked little breath. There was good reason for her state; she had woken from a deep and dreamless sleep to find herself at the mercy of two dangerous men, each with an intimidating weapon drawn in the aftermath of battle. It would have been a perturbing discovery on its own had there not also been some… unpleasantness with her guards in the minutes following her waking. She was cowering on the floor having vacated her bed in an effort to flee, but there was no fleeing the force of fate.

King Milo Lionheart regretted the fact she had seen her personal guards wounded, but invasion was a nasty business at the best of times and they had refused to stand down even though the rest of the castle had fallen. His men had taken those brave souls away to tend their wounds, leaving Princess Elizabeth vulnerable and alone with him and his unlikely companion.

“Stop pawing the girl,” Ragnar barked gruffly. “We have yet to come to terms.”

Milo rose to his feet, leaving Elizabeth sniveling at his boots as he faced his unexpected ally—and anticipated rival. They had both planted boots and flags in the very heart of Ammerdale, the Middle Kingdom. Where Milo reigned over the northern lands, Ragnar was the king of the southern kingdom, as far as those lawless lands full of rough barbarian men could ever be said to be ruled by a king.

The two men could not have been more different in aspect and temperament. Milo was famous for his height, his shock of bright blond hair, and his strategic ruthlessness in battles. He had bright blue intelligent eyes, a handsome face that held wisdom and strength in equal measure, and a body that had been hardened by battle, but that was naturally agile in form. He was a young king, five and twenty years old, but he was an able and ambitious one.

Ragnar preferred to go by his unofficial moniker: Ragnar the Barbarian. He never wore a crown, preferring instead the furs of his ancestors. He was brave and he was bold, a powerfully built man with prominent musculature that was evident in every part of his body. His jaw was square and strong, his shoulders were broad, his chest was like a muscular barrel and was visible under the leather harness to which his shield was still strapped against his back. He had eyes of such intense brown that they almost appeared black, ringed with long dark lashes that were matched by the black stubble of his beard, which was just starting to see a touch of gray as he approached his thirtieth year.

“She is close to catatonic with shock,” Milo said to the barbarian. “There will be little to come to terms over if she is not clothed and fed.”

“Who will clothe her?” Ragnar grunted.

“And who will feed her?” Milo asked the second question in turn. Truth be told, they were in a rather curious standoff. Elizabeth was the unfortunate princess of a kingdom they had conquered at much the same time. Both campaigns had come to a head at the capital city, which had fallen in record time thanks to assault from all sides. There was no sign of the king of Ammerdale, just his daughter sleeping sky-clad in her bed at the top of the tower in which Milo and Ragnar now stood facing one another in victory.

“I will.” Their voices came in unison.

Milo let out a laugh at the situation the fates had put them in. “We have divided all the treasures and territories of this kingdom, but this one.”

Ragnar snorted. “This one cannot be divided, only taken.”

Both men fell momentarily silent, looking down at the girl whose life was at their mercy. Her pale curves and soft red flowing locks drew gazes of lust and pity. She was so completely vulnerable, and so entirely desirable. There was no doubt in Milo’s mind that he was looking at the true crown jewel.

“I will trade you the gold reserves of the northern mines for her.”

“No.” The word fell heavily from Ragnar’s lips. “You take the gold reserves. I’ll have the princess.”

Milo’s brow rose. He was surprised that Ragnar was turning down gold. The man had a known obsession with riches; barbarians always did. They found power in the material. Milo’s more educated caste understood more subtle forms of power. Ragnar was not stupid, but Milo expected him to be base in his desires as a general rule.

Milo’s reasons for wanting to take the princess as his bride were many and complex. In addition to being very beautiful, Elizabeth would make a very useful wife. She was well bred, connected to the kingdoms to the east and the west and he was certain once she settled she would make a suitable partner as well. It was said she had a talent for poetry and dance, and had been tutored in foreign tongues. Ragnar would not have use for any of those things.

“If it is her body you desire, you could find many wenches with lustful forms,” he said in an attempt to convince Ragnar to give up his claim to the princess.

Ragnar snorted again, looking at Milo with a dark gaze that Milo was starting to think did not lack as much intellect as he had previously imagined. There was a gleam in Ragnar’s eyes that was more than simple sexual conquest.

“I want a son from her womb,” he said bluntly. “She would do my bloodline proud. No amount of gold can buy strong progeny.”

Their reasons were different, but equally compelling. Under other circumstances, the better brawler would have simply taken Elizabeth for his own, but there was no way either of them could steal the princess. They were at the end of a long campaign and both armies were fatigued and ready to celebrate victory together. Triumphant mingling was already taking place in the castle below.

“What do you want her for, pretty king?” Ragnar barked the question at him.

The jest made Milo’s eyes narrow slightly. Ragnar was taunting him. Milo’s handsome features earned him favor with women, and admiration among men, but Ragnar was the sort of barbarian who thought good looks were tantamount to weakness—though he should have known better, for they both stood triumphant in the same space. The irony of the jibe was that Ragnar was also a good-looking man, though perhaps in a simpler, rougher way.

“She bears the blood of all four directions,” Milo said simply. “Whoever has her, has the ear of the continent’s courts.”

A derisive snort emanated from the barbarian. “A beautiful woman, and all you can think of is politics.”

“A political coup at your feet, and all you can think of is rutting,” Milo rejoined. “You are a walking cock.”

Now they were even in their jibes.

It was Elizabeth who settled the argument. Having laid practically silent aside from sobbing, and offered no resistance at all from the moment her bedchamber was breached, she suddenly came to life, much like a striking snake.

A blade appeared in her hand, likely having been secreted under the pillow she had been clutching for security. She lashed out at Milo and almost caught his boot with the sharp edge of the dagger. He jumped back a step and let out a cry of surprise. Ragnar laughed heartily at Milo’s shock, slapping his knee with raucous humor.

“She is too bold for you, pretty king.”

Milo cut his eyes at Ragnar. “Call me pretty king but once more and I…”

The princess slashed at him again, forcing him to once more evade her threat.

Ragnar’s laughter grew louder as the naked young woman squirmed around, her blade aimed at Milo, who was still much closer than Ragnar was—at least until the barbarian took one large step forward, reached down and wrapped his large hand around her ankle.

“I will save you, pretty… ho there!”

In an instant, Elizabeth had curled up on herself and stabbed the knife toward his hand, forcing him to let her go.

It was Milo’s turn to laugh at the bewildered expression on Ragnar’s face. He hadn’t expected her to attack him too, so it seemed.

“Too bold for your blood too,” he chortled.

They both stood back, looking down at their prisoner whose breasts and bright red flare of fur between her thighs were visible now that she had rolled onto her back and was holding the dagger in two hands.

There was a fierceness to her beauty now, but no real danger. She was like a spitting wild kitten, capable of sinking needle-sharp claws into a hand or finger and causing pain, but nothing resembling a match for the power of either of the men standing over her.

“Now, princess,” Milo censured her gently. “Put the knife down. We mean you no harm.”

Her lips parted and she spoke the first words she had uttered since their joint invasion. “Go boil your head.”

A snort from Ragnar drew her furious green eyes in his direction. “Rebellious wench,” he growled. “A good dose of the flat of my hand will settle her.”

Milo was inclined to agree. Elizabeth was young and impulsive. Discipline was important for high-spirited ladies of good breeding. She had doubtless been spoiled in her formative years. Her kingdom was a small, but rich one. Her father’s father had been a prince from the eastern kingdom, her mother a famously beautiful princess from the west. That made Elizabeth a central figure in a great many respects, spoiled and feted by three kingdoms.

Though ostensibly the invasion had been about expanding his lands and holdings, Milo had made his journey in large part for Princess Elizabeth. He was beginning to think that Ragnar had made the very same decision. Milo had ridden out from his home on the day of her eighteen birthday. It seemed likely that Ragnar had begun his invasion at much the same time. They had been in a race for conquest of more than mere territory, and now their quarry was between them, in reach and yet very much not in reach.

“I will sell my life dearly,” Elizabeth declared bravely.

“That won’t be necessary, darling,” Milo drawled calmly. “We’d both rather you kept it.”

“Put the knife down. Now.” Ragnar growled the order in a tone that commanded obedience.

Elizabeth kept her hands wrapped around the dagger, her eyes darting between them as her pale, perfect breasts rose and fell with every breath she took. Even in her resistance, she was beautifully fragile.

* * *

She had thought it must be a dream when two large men appeared in her chamber. Elizabeth still wasn’t sure. She could feel the floor at her back and the hilt of the ornate blade in her hands. They both felt real, but dreams could be vivid and surely there could not be two kings of opposing kingdoms arguing over her in the middle of the night? Had the war truly come so close to home? It had been raging on many fronts for quite some time. She had been cloistered away for several months in the tower, restricted to activities such as sewing and singing, and her father had forbidden any news be given to her. He did not want her to worry about such things, so he said. Some of her maids had whispered little bits and pieces to her, but she had never known quite what to believe.

Now she did not know if she could believe her own eyes—though she recognized both men from the tales that were widely told about them. The tall one could be no other than King Milo Lionheart. He wore the sigil of a rampant winged lion upon his chest and he was just as handsome as was told of in the songs the bards sang. If they had met under more refined circumstances, she would have been very pleased to make his acquaintance.

She met his blue gaze, saw in it desire and some good humor. It was enough to make her clench her thighs together, both to preserve what was left of her modesty and to hide the way her nethers were responding.

Her eyes darted from Milo to the other man, King Ragnar. She would have wanted her dagger at her side regardless of the time and place of their meeting. He had an air of rough danger that was palpable and he made her quiver in quite a different way than Milo. Now she met his dark gaze, she felt her body responding yet again. It was a forceful, primal reaction that had nothing to do with sense and everything to do with her animal form.

“You are being rather naughty, princess,” Milo purred. “Put down the knife and save more unnecessary unpleasantness.”

It was difficult to keep her eyes on both men, standing as they were on either side of her. Escape was impossible. She knew that she would be taken. She should lower her knife and accept her fate, but she could not. The excitement and the fear were far too great. Both these men, these proud kings were looking at her with a carnal hunger that made every part of her tremble.

She saw a glance pass between them a moment before Milo leaned toward her again. She swiped at him with the knife, a motion that made her roll toward him. In that moment of exposure, Ragnar’s hard hand came down across her bottom in a slap that sent a sudden shock through her body and a flash of heat across her cheeks. It was enough to make her grip on the knife loosen, and to distract her so that Milo could pluck the hilt of it from her hands, neatly disarming her.

He smiled down at her with warm triumph as her hands went back to cover her now stinging bottom.

“You are fools,” she hissed angrily, fear rising strongly as she realized she was now totally at their mercy. “A pretty boy and a bandit. I will not be had by either one of you.”

Milo shook his head at her, blond strands of hair falling into his piercing eyes for a moment before he pushed them back. “Now, princess,” he said in his cultured tones. “Be a good girl and mind your tongue.”

“I will not be a good girl, and certainly not for you,” she threw back rebelliously. “I was not raised to be some meek woman as you have in your countries, too afraid to speak or show themselves in the light of day. The blood of four royal houses runs in my veins. I…”

Her proud speech was cut short as the barbarian behind her sat down on the bed, took hold of her by the upper arm, and unceremoniously pulled her up from the floor and then over his lap. She found her naked body pressed against his leather-clad thighs and his iron slab abdominal plane. He had no pretty words for her. Instead his palm met her bare bottom as he started to spank her.

“What are you doing!?” She made the inquiry at the top of her lungs. Elizabeth had never been punished in her life. Being struck by the barbarian king was not only painful and embarrassing, it was utterly confusing. The physical sensations were powerful, a heat searing through her skin, making it feel hot and tight and an ache in the flesh below, the muscle of her bottom contracting sharply with every single slap.

“You pulled a blade,” Ragnar growled. “And you have an insolent tongue. This is punishment for both sins.”

Elizabeth struggled to free herself, but he seemed to be infinitely powerful. Her naked form was no match for his muscle. He clamped an arm about her waist and she was locked in place, her legs flailing as she kicked and squirmed furiously.

“Unhand me, brute!”

Her words were met with a slap to her upper thigh. Elizabeth let out a shriek. She had not known that it was possible to feel such a sudden sharp bolt of pain. It was as though she could feel each place his fingers had landed individually.

“You are tender, princess,” Ragnar said, his large rough hand passing over her bottom and thigh, rubbing the spot he had spanked. “You skin is soft and your flesh is unaccustomed to chastisement. You should be more careful of what comes out of your mouth.”

She let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper. It was most frustrating and humbling to be pinned against the body of a powerful man who was insisting she show him respect and deference though he was nothing but a brutish invader.

He spanked her until the heat grew so great she was certain her bottom was swollen beyond all measure. Her body had ceased to be hers and only responded to him; his touch, the slaps of his hard hand, which set a rhythm that felt more primal than her own heartbeat. Her hips jolted with it, the hard little bud that usually hid in the folds of her womanhood becoming erect and grazing against his thigh with every single slap.

She was aware of Milo’s eyes on her. It would have been bad enough to have been spanked by a barbarian king, but to know she was under a debonair blue gaze, to be made to feel so very small and so very naughty made her feel thoroughly chastised.

Did he know? There was something in his eyes when she glanced at him briefly through her cascading hair that told her that she could have little in the way of secrets from such a man. It was difficult to put coherent thoughts together when her bare form was still being so thoroughly punished by the barbarian.

The liquid trickling between her lower lips was a concern. She had felt herself become damp before when gazing at particularly stimulating men, but she had never been this wet. It was as though some wicked imp had turned a pump on between her thighs and made desire flow from the very core of her.

As she had feared, the barbarian did not take long to notice her shameful condition. His hand slid from her hot bottom between her thighs. With little in the way of ceremony he pushed them apart and put her feminine mound on display, his fingers cupping her pussy.

“Look at her,” Ragnar said, his fingers holding her lower lips spread wide. “She is dewy as a lily on a spring morning.”

Elizabeth’s mouth parted in a gasp as he used the index finger of his other hand to stroke the insides of her lips, not quite penetrating her womanhood, but caressing it softly. He looked up at Milo with a wicked, carnal smile.

“What would you give to sink inside this pink heaven?”

In that moment, Milo would have given almost anything. His cock was like diamond and had been from the moment her reddened bottom had begun to bounce over Ragnar’s thighs. She was utterly exquisite, from her soft pale lips surrounded by soft reddish curls, to the inner aperture of her pussy. Ragnar had her inner lips spread so Milo could see the little thin barrier of hymen just past the entrance of her body.

Animal instinct was taking over, and soon all three of them would be beyond the sway of sense and reason.

“Give her to me,” Milo said. “And I will give you these lands. All of them.”

Ragnar chuckled softly and shook his head. “Lands must be defended. Subjects must be ruled. This one…” He palmed her bottom with his other hand and slapped her cheek lightly. “This is the only thing I am interested in conquering.”

Milo held back a growl. Every masculine impulse he had was telling him to draw his sword, run the barbarian through, and take Elizabeth for his own. He knew Ragnar had the same instincts. It was a credit to them both that they resisted those baser desires.

“There can be only one solution to this,” he said, using the last of his mental powers. “We must…”

“…share her,” Ragnar finished his sentence.

“Share her,” Milo agreed.

Elizabeth began to squirm again at hearing their decision, but Ragnar did not allow her even a moment of anything other than complete submission.

“She is more trouble than one man,” the barbarian said as he pinned her harder against his thighs and swatted her bottom harshly. “Stay!” He barked the order down at her.

She settled into sullen stillness, but for her hips, which could not seem to help their tantalizing dance.

“If we are to share her… who is to take her first?”

Ragnar let her lower lips close and rubbed his broad hand over her reddish mound. “I have little use for a virgin,” he smirked. “I do not think she will like being broken in by me. Your cock is more suited to novices, I am sure.”

It was a jibe that Milo was content to let pass without answer. He was not concerned about his endowment, only that the princess should feel his cock inside her first, that he should be the one to teach her what it was to be a woman in the arms of a man.

“Put her on the bed,” he said. “We will seal this now with blood and seed.”

Ragnar slid Elizabeth off his lap, adjusting her on the bed as if she were little more than a plaything. He was so much larger and stronger than her that resistance was utterly impossible. Where his large hands put her, she was forced to stay, lying upon her back between two strong men. To ensure there was not any further resistance from the young lady, Ragnar took a handful of hair under the back of her head and held her there as Milo put his hands to his waist and began to undo his belt.

This was a moment of trust between him and Ragnar. He would be caught with his pants down. If Ragnar was setting a trap for him, he was about to fall into it. Elizabeth’s red bottom drew his gaze and his mind; the curve of her hot cheeks and the wet gleaming red furred slit between them chased much of Milo’s customary caution out of his mind.

He did not remove any more of his armor than was necessary to free his cock, which sprung out thick and hard between the base of his mail shirt and the upper part of his leggings, which he had parted for the purpose.

“Let her go,” he instructed. “She will beg for this before she receives it.”

Ragnar snorted and stood up, moving to stand several paces away on the other side of the bed, his arms folded across his chest in a show of relative safety. If he were to try to attack, Milo would have ample time to respond.

Milo had no time to be concerned with Ragnar. His attention was locked on Elizabeth as she lay there looking up at him with an uncertain but lustful expression. At eighteen years of age, Elizabeth was more than primed for a man. Her virtue was famous. Though some suitors had tried to take her earlier, her father had been vicious in protecting her virginity. There were very unpleasant tales about what had happened to men who had pursued her in the past.

The King of Ammerdale was not there that night, however, and Elizabeth’s virginal womanhood was glistening with need. Milo could scent her arousal as he leaned down and knelt upon the bed, moving to lay beside her. This was not how he had imagined his first time with the princess, but he was as much a slave to the whims of fate as she was.

He pressed his lips to hers and felt her uncertainty there in the kiss. She was trembling, perhaps out of excitement, perhaps out of fear. He slid his arm around her, his large hand circling around the small of her back as he began to kiss her with a slow passion. She was hesitant at first as his tongue slid into her mouth and began to massage hers, but after a few moments she started to respond. Her mouth opened wider and her body began to melt against his, her soft breasts meeting the hard plane of his chain mail-clad body.

Milo cupped her ass, his cock stiffening all the more as she moaned into his mouth along with a little squeak of discomfort. He was sure her bottom was sore, Ragnar had been quite stern with her—and she had earned and needed every bit of it. Milo let his hand run over her cheeks as he continued to kiss her, feeling her relax more, start to moan as her hips began to move in a feminine gyration that was common to every aroused female from the lowliest bar wench to the most well-bred princess.

He lifted his mouth from hers, slid down between her thighs, and pressed his lips against her core.

“Oh!” Her feminine cry of surprise brought a dark chuckle from Ragnar.

Milo flashed a grin at both Elizabeth and Ragnar as his mouth settled on the petals of her pussy, his tongue teasing the folds to swollen life. She was wet, but he wanted to initiate her the right way. He wanted her to feel the pleasure of a man’s mouth on her quim before he split her with his rod.

She tasted most delicious, he discovered as the tip of his tongue not only traced the folds of her sex, but dipped deeper as well into the welling chalice between her inner lips. Elizabeth began to moan and buck her hips so forcefully that he clamped them between his hands and held her there upon his lips and tongue, working his gentle mouth magic upon her until she cried out with ecstasy and he felt a fresh flow of arousal running from deep within her.

He glanced over the pale writhing form of her body and saw lust written on Ragnar’s face. The barbarian’s eyes were locked on her face, which was flushed with pure arousal. She was looking back at the barbarian, her head tipped back, her chest pressed upward, tight nipples erect in the cool air.

Milo could resist no longer. It was a swift seduction by all parties as he slid up her body and pressed his cock to the entrance of her lips, leaving the thick head of it just outside the tight tunnel. Elizabeth let out another gasp and now her eyes were on him, bright sparkling green gaze locking with his as he held himself still with all the discipline he had in his body.

“Tell me what you want, princess,” he teased. “Would you have this cock inside you?”

His hands were no longer holding her hips in place so she was free to wriggle and writhe. She did both, her wet lower lips spreading her desire over the head of his manhood, coating his glans with hot desire. He could have plunged deep into her at any moment, ripped through her hymen and satisfied himself at her expense, but he wanted to see the desperation in her eyes reach an even higher peak. He wanted to hear her sweet voice beg him.

“…please.” The word came so softly in between gasps that it was barely audible.

“Please what, princess?” He took hold of his rod in one hand and ran the hot head of it around the gleaming bud of her clit, rubbing around and around the tight little nub until Elizabeth could stand it no longer.

“Please put… it inside me…” She blushed so furiously, the hue of her face almost matched that of her hair.

The request was a very virginal one. She could not bring herself to so much as mouth the word cock, or even a more delicate term for his manhood, but there was no doubt that she wanted Milo’s rod with every part of her being. He slid it slowly down her slit, finding the dewy entrance once more. An expression of anticipation and perhaps even a little fear passed over her beautiful face. She was on the precipice of a transformation from maiden to woman and she did not know what it would bring. Elizabeth was beautiful, but she was so vulnerably desirable in that moment that Milo could not have held back even had he wanted to. His cock yearned to be buried inside her hot, tight chalice, to take the first strokes inside her virginal quim.

He eased forward, the flared head of his cock parting her soft, wet lips, slowly sinking into the uncharted territory of her oh so hot, clenching pussy. She let out a soft breath as his cock finally slid inside her, her body welcoming him with a wet embrace. The thin barrier of her hymen put up little resistance as he pushed forward in one firm stroke.

Milo saw her wince as the barrier gave way. It must have caused her some small measure of discomfort, but probably no more than the thrashing Ragnar had given her bottom. She certainly did not seem to want him to stop. Her hands reached for him, grasped his arms, and again he regretted the circumstances of their coupling for she could only take hold of chain mail and not feel any part of him besides the thick, hard flesh spearing deep inside her.

“To hell with it,” he growled, reaching down to his mail shirt. He pulled it up and over his head, baring his upper body in one decisive motion that left his torso bare to both Elizabeth and Ragnar. The barbarian could have him now with a single swing of his hefty axe, but Milo didn’t care. He wanted to feel her sweet body against his, her fingers on his skin, her soft breasts pressed against his chest as he laid himself over her and joined fully with her in slow strokes, his hips rolling with each and every thrust so every part of her tight, no longer virginal channel was pleasured.

Though she had been a virgin, there was no doubt that the princess had the orgasmic instincts of a highly sexed woman. As Milo made love to her, she clung to him for dear life, as if she were drowning in a sea of sensation. He felt every quiver and tremor in her body as though it were his body. They were joined so deeply he was almost certain they were one being; she moved with him as if she had made love to him many times before. Her innocence was still in her eyes, but there was nothing innocent about the way her hips gyrated and made her cunt dance around his cock, grinding in a slow, intense motion that made the cum roil in his balls.

He held back from the point of climax, wanting her to reach orgasm again. He was mindful of the barbarian still looking on. The man’s lust would have to be sated and Milo doubted Ragnar would spare Elizabeth another round. He would want to claim her cunt, and he would likely do it in a rough and untamed fashion.

With that in mind, Milo took hold of her firmly and rolled over so that she was atop him. Elizabeth let out a little squeal of surprise, her lips parting in a smile as she found herself looking down at him through a curtain of red hair. There was a brief moment of privacy in that moment, just the two of them locking eyes behind the red shades.

And then she tossed her head and ground herself against him, forcing her pussy down as deep on his cock as it would go and Milo groaned with the effort it took not to fill her then and there. She was a natural sybarite, a sexual siren who called to every part of him. Looking up at her, the curves of hip and breast accentuated by the position, he was in total thrall to her beauty.

She began to slide up and down his shaft, following the instincts and desires of her body. Milo knew it was a matter of strokes before he lost the battle with his orgasm, so he reached around her with both hands and spread her bottom cheeks. Her lubrication was flowing between her thighs and it was a simple matter to scoop a little of the warm viscous liquid with his middle and index finger and rub it against the bud of her anus.

She jerked against him, her green eyes flying wide open as he curled his fingers against the sensitive spot, locking her between his cock and his fingers. She could not grind any deeper against him, and moving back would mean pushing her bottom onto his digits.

Milo chuckled softly as Elizabeth whimpered adorably. He could feel her inner walls clutching him harder still and knew that he was having the desired effect. A hot blush was cascading over her body, a pink that rushed across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and over her breasts. Her breath came faster, a soft panting that brought with it a feminine moan that rose to a peak as she impaled herself hard against his cock and orgasmed profusely, her juices soaking his shaft as her nubile young body writhed atop him.

He could no longer hold back. His cum shot forth like a geyser, drawing a shout from him as it splashed deep inside Elizabeth, filling her tight cunt all the way to the brim until his seed came dripping out around his cock and he felt the warmth of his juices and hers combined upon his abdomen.

Elizabeth slid from Milo, panting, but she was not yet done. One hungry, lustful word came from her mouth, her beautiful green eyes sparkling with an otherworldly elegance as she intoned her desire.

“More.” Her tongue extended a little way and she licked her lips, her eyes locked on the second man. Milo watched with fascination as she extended a finger and crooked it toward the barbarian. Though she had been a virgin not minutes ago, her transformation into a sexual creature had been instantaneous. She was hungry for sensation, for pleasure, for men.

The barbarian was looming nearer. He seemed more dangerous than King Milo, and she was rather glad that Milo was still there. He was a moderating influence, a promise of some kind of safety as Ragnar began to discard his clothing. Unlike Milo, he did not go by half measures. He took the leather and furs and threw them from his body, revealing a broad, bulky form trammeled with muscle and scars from battles past. His skin was darker than Milo’s, both from having a natural olive hue from the southern climes and also from exposure to the sun that had beaten down on him.

When he removed his belt and his loin covering, Elizabeth saw the thick rampant length of his cock hard against his belly. There was thick dark hair curling about the base of it, two heavy balls swinging between his legs.

Her eyes grew wide as the phallic beast drew closer, capturing her attention. She found herself leaning back against Milo for some kind of reassurance, though it was not so much fear that made the butterflies in her belly take flight, but anticipation.

She spread her legs and gazed up at him with lustful eyes. Ragnar required no more invitation. He entered her with no fanfare, taking his rightful place deep inside her.

Elizabeth lay back upon the bed in elegant feminine surrender to carnal pleasure as the barbarian began to fuck her, his hands on her thighs pulling her on and off his cock. Milo rolled to the side and caressed her as she was taken by the second king, her cunt lips wrapped tight around his thick shaft as Ragnar worked her back and forth again and again. He sat back on his knees, his thighs creating an inclined plane that her spanked bottom slid across as he took total control of her body.

It felt to Elizabeth as if she were in another world, as if the two men had transported her, transposed her, transmogrified her. Rocked back and forth against Ragnar’s thick manhood, she moaned and writhed, her head falling back against the bed, her mouth kissed most thoroughly by Milo as her loins clenched and grasped at the thick root between them.

A second dose of seed was due to her, of that her body was absolutely certain. Ragnar leaned forward, spread her legs about his powerful hips and began to plunge harder inside her. She could feel his thick cock ravaging her tender walls, the last remnants of even the notion of virginity falling away under the pounding fury of his desire.

Such an erotic onslaught would have frightened her if she had not known Milo first, but in her heightened state of arousal born of having been filled with King Lionheart’s seed, she welcomed Ragnar’s rough animal desire, her hands clutching at his shoulders, her pale thighs wrapping around his waist as she lifted herself to him, their mouths meeting in frenzied kisses as the barbarian conquered her completely.

Elizabeth felt herself flying through sensations that crashed about her body, muscles tensing, quivering, burning for release. Ragnar’s rough approach to climax was an elemental experience that obliterated her consciousness for an ecstatic moment as a second orgasm powered through her body, accompanied by another flooding of seed. The barbarian held her tightly, his long thick cock locked deep inside her as it pulsed every drop in his balls deep into her welling wet chalice.

When they separated, she felt strangely bereft. She was glad when both Milo and Ragnar laid on either side of her, recovering their breath and senses for what lay ahead. Though they were still strangers to her mind, they were no longer strangers to her body. Elizabeth lay in her bed with their cum slowly trickling between her swollen lower lips, feeling more sated than she had known it was possible to feel. It was as though she had been starving for years, but not known it, and now she was fed.

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