Maria N. Lang - Futanarium 1 - An Erotic Short Story Bundle

Futanarium 1: An Erotic Short Story Bundle

By Maria N. Lang

Copyright 2014 Maria N. Lang

Smashwords Edition

This book contains sexually explicit scenes and graphic language, and is intended for sale to adult audiences only. All sexually active characters in this work are of legal age (18 or over).

Content Warning: This bundle contains stories including various more or less dark kinks and BDSM themes. Some taboo, some less so. There is adultery, reluctant sex, impregnation and more.

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Amelia had always wanted to be taken away, shown another life than the plush and secure surroundings she was used to as a princess. She dreamed of vague, powerful beings, not entirely understanding her own desires other than the secret she kept most dear. She desired being a victim, something she never truly had been in her protected life at court. The uneasiness inside had long since grown from seed into full-blown tree inside her, and it was what had made her insist that her father bring her along on his campaign against the forest folk.

It was her fathers desire to expand their lands, and the large, western forests seemed ideal. The scattered tribes of wild elves, nymphs, dryads, centaurs and other, far wilder things were judged an easy enemy to keep at bay. They had been, until their champion had shown up around two years ago. Now, it would all come down to one last battle, one last clash. Man against nature. And here she was, confined to the royal tent.

She huffed, adjusting the corset she wore beneath her flowing, dark blue dress to breathe more easily, casting a glance around what had been her home the last few weeks. It was nothing like her quarters in the palace. Much of it was muddy carpeting, most of the mud luckily concentrated around the solid, wooden table her father and his commanders used to plan skirmishes and battles.

Here, her quarters were nothing more than a double bed, a closet and a large chest shielded from the rest of the tents interior by a dark red, heavy curtain. She blew a dark brown lock of hair out of her face, irritation contorting her otherwise pleasant features and poisoning her gentle, grey-blue eyes. The army had departed the camp, lead by her father, and she sat here, waiting.

She walked to the entrance for the seventh time to ask the same indignant questions to her two guardians that had begun to strain their manners after the second round. The two knights were condemned to guard a girl of 20 instead of participating in the battle, and they were fuming silently. She knew it, and in her frustration at being jailed inside the tent, she questioned them ceaselessly, regardless.

Who is she, anyway? she said, the question not directed at either of the knights. The aged, graying veteran replied.

We dont know, princess. A wild elf, as dangerous as any predator our lands can offer up, huntress by nature, but more cunning and clever than any queen lynx.

If shes so dangerous, why hasnt she been assassinated? she said, making no attempt to hide her petulance. She knew the answer, they knew that she knew, but she was a bored, spoiled child in a womans body.

Your grace, we are fighting seven and a half feet amazon elves, centaurs, nymphs so beautiful that merely laying your eyes upon them blinds you. Living trees, even. We cant get to her.

Why did you let it get to this, anyway?

We were... Careless, your grace. This champion wild elf united the tribes of the forest before we could react.

And why, exactly, does that mean I cant leave this tent, sir knight?

You know your fathers orders, your grace. The camp is crawling with soldiers far less noble than the people you are used to. It is for your own protection.

Amelias nose flared, her eyes sending needles at the knight. She had no retort, had had none the last seven times, but it did not stop her from clawing uselessly at the resolve of her guardians. She closed the flap of the tent with a huff, returning to the warm interior as displeased as before, but momentarily occupied by irritation rather than anxiousness.

There had been no news of the battle, and while her father assured the men that victory was certain, the tone had been different during command meetings. The forest folk fought in ways the veteran commanders had never experienced, and their army consisted of beings they had never been trained to fight. Civilization had never been in danger when faced with nature. Not until now. Amelia sat down on the edge of her large double bed, her knuckles whitening as she gripped the edge of it. Time crawled at snails pace.

***~~~***

She looked up from her angry attempts at sowing. A voice that broke through the low, droning backdrop of the camp had torn her away from her attempt at passing time.

Retreat! The king is dead! Flee!

Amelias hands slowly sunk to her lap, her eyes staring dead ahead at nothing. Tingling exploded in her chest, solidifying and working its way down towards her stomach. A column of shocking realization that nailed her to the bed and kept her breath locked in her lungs. The tents flap was torn aside, one of her guards stepping inside.

Princess!

No response, except for the girl breathing in, and then out mechanically. Her cheeks burned with powerless shock and adrenaline, knowing that she was in the path of a charging beast but finding herself unable to move from its path.

Your grace!

She finally tore her gaze from the nothingness, looking to the knight with wide, dismayed eyes. Her fingers first clutched, then let go of what she had been sowing. She kept looking at the guard for five long, silent seconds, before swallowing and then taking a gasp of breath.

Your grace, we have to leave. Pack what you need most, but do it quickly!

The knight offered a hurried bow, trained from a young age to show respect to his betters, and then exited the tent to join his fellow guard. She thought it was comical. Stupid, even. Her father was dead, they had lost the battle, and all he could do was bow? She picked up what she had been working on, examining it briefly before throwing it to the ground. How could someone unused to life without servants pack what she needed from a selection of belongings that could clothe and serve ten women for a month?

Even muffled by the thick, blood-red fabric of the tent, Amelia could make out the sounds of hopeless battle drawing closer. The tide of death was still far away, though. Far enough away that she could still spare a few more moments. She stuck a pale hand past a small stack of shirts, her fingers finding and tightening around a small scabbard. She had never used the dagger in her life, but her father had insisted that she brought it along. Now, she was glad. The cool, unfamiliar handle managed to let her feel just a little safer.

She could hear the guards shifting uncomfortably outside, growing more restless with every passing second. The various attempts at organization that had characterized the resistance she had heard had obviously broken down into desperate brawls as the few guards and the remnants of the broken army retreated through the camp. They could not afford to wait much longer, but she still had things to gather. Not just her own, but her fathers things. Seals, important documents, things of personal significance and memories were all thrown into the trunk she was filling.

Halt! Remove yourself, creature!

It was too late. The tone of the knights voice suggested that he was containing fear. Even inside the tent, she could hear it. Amelia froze in the middle of feverishly rummaging through documents and maps for anything she had to bring back, looking to the entrance of the tent.