Part 2 – Read Part 1 Part 3 here!
As the princess, whose name was Violetta, prepared for her pre-arranged kidnapping by putting some essentials into a cloth bag, she pondered again the reasons behind her taking such a drastic step to avoid arranged marriage.
She was a headstrong girl who’d got her own way throughout life. She had been educated in the arts, she played music, spoke another language (not his!) and had been allowed to immerse herself in books. She loved to hear tales of heroic adventures and romances and poetry about love and loss – she couldn’t bear the idea of a loveless marriage.
When ‘her’ Prince Dunston had visited the king to court her, his mother came in his entourage. A sour-faced woman, she was overtly pious and Dunston deferred to her in everything. She fussed over him at meal times, turning away dishes as too spicy for her son to eat, he didn’t ride because he was allergic to horses, (also dogs and cats) and his mother disapproved of reading, unless it was from the bible. Violetta could not envisage any happiness from joining his family in that far-flung country, so she’d racked her brains for an alternative.
Violetta had never considered running away to a convent because she knew she couldn’t live like a nun. She wasn’t troubled by the praying, or devoting her life to the service of her Lord – that would be a fair swap for avoiding marriage to that arrogant, weak mummy’s boy. No it was the touching she could not give up.
Violetta had discovered the secrets and delights of her body at 14 years old. She had long been worshipping the glorious temple at the juncture of her thighs. She’d learned ways to stroke and pleasure herself that had her sighing and weeping with delight, and wasn’t willing to give that up. Violetta could make the silken folds of her pussy moisten and weep with a fascinating slick coating which felt glorious to touch or massage into and around the tender flesh which swelled and expanded as her desire climbed.
Often she was carried away on throbs and pulses of climax which left her gasping and twitching. Quiet as she tried to be, she moaned and mewled with delight at their arrival, then disappointment as they slipped away, it was like trying to grip a fistful of sand. No, Violetta could have contemplated celibacy, but she could never give up self love, or consider it a sin. Hence she came up with the idea of being snatched away from her current life, before the marriage happened, so she’d screwed up the courage to visit the dragon in his lair up the mountain.
She remembered the power that came off the dragon in waves, and the fear that had gripped her core when she looked into his yellow eyes, their vertical pupils goat-like, masking his emotions. And yet … (Violetta’s pussy throbbed with warmth as she recalled this) there was an interest there, an appreciation perhaps … because he had made her feel aroused and it seemed to have been reciprocated. Was there a reason behind the fireside stories her people told of dragons stealing nubile women? Surely goats and sheep which roamed the hillsides were easier prey, with less repercussions, so what did powerful dragons WANT from young girls?
She closed her eyes and bit her lip while her hand stole under the heavy brocade of her robes, parted the linen of her underclothes and trailed through the red-gold curls of her pussy, already singing with delight. Her imaginings focused on him using the tip of his tail to drive into her sopping hole with delicious pressure she’d be unable to resist. The tail would twist within her, and then withdraw until she was nearly empty, before powering back into her. As Violetta’s fantasy of prehensile penetration played out behind her eyelids in glorious technicolour she stroked and tickled her womanly folds with increasing pressure. She tapped repeatedly with her finger on button at the pinnacle of her cleft. Her nub of pleasure throbbed and thrilled to this pinpoint stimulation until she began to pant and come, clutching her smooth thighs around her hand which stilled, then cupped her mons, trying to hold the pulses tight to her.
Oh the bliss, she sighed and sucked the fragrant juices off her fingers, then rearranged her dress. She hid a treasured leather bound book in the fabric bag along with a woven wool throw to wrap herself in at night, which got her thinking about the warmth coming off the dragon when she stood near him, pleading, a week ago. What would his scales feel like to the touch? Would she be scorched if she tried to touch him? Her whole body shuddered, but not with disgust, putting curiosity to one side she unlatched the door of her chambers, setting off in the direction of the stables.
A lady-in-waiting hastened after her, but Violetta did not wait or encourage her. She knew she’d be able to lose her escort once they were on horseback, no horse was as fast or as nimble as her roan mare (well no horse a lady was allowed to ride) and her court ladies had not been riding their whole lives as she had. It would be easy to get out of range as they rode, then double back to hide her bag and catch up with her companion as if it had been a game of tag all along. None of her ladies in waiting had any inkling of her plan, there was no-one she trusted not to fold once the dragon kidnapped her, to tell her father about her scheme. It was necessary that her family and courtiers thought she was dead after tomorrow; dragon food!
Nobody must suspect she’d made a deal to become the dragon’s plaything.