The Barbarian Queen [Pryde and Sigr]

[Pryde]

The Makashi tribe was not known for their pleasantries, even when dealing with highborn. They certainly didn't treat the coming of the prince as any kind of royal visit. No, the huge camp buzzed with activity like it always did, nobody paying the prince any special attention. In fact, he was barely noticed, as he was lead through the grisly encampment. He was already just another slave, and a a male on at that, making him worth less than any member of the tribe, and even less worth than many of the slaves. Two large women escorted him, but they didn't seem to pay him any mind either.

Fires were crackling, pots were brewing, axes were sharpened, and crates were carried back and forth by slaves, mostly male. The camp felt very much alive, like a bloated, black heart, beating to the rhythm of the daily routines. All of the women looked powerful, and many wore little clothing, exposing their toned, strong bodies. A few did take notice of him, and his fine princeling clothes and beautiful face. One tribeswoman, at least three times his size, stopped and grabbed his face. She held him by the cheeks, squeezing his face, mushing his lips into a duck-mouth. She seemed to ooze with sexuality, and licked her lips before she uttered something in a harsh, guttural speech. He appeared to have been the vocal point of a joke, because all around him the sisters laughed, even the guards who were leading him. One of the guards, however, snapped at the one who squeezed together the prince's cheeks, and the sister grimaced, but let go, and went on her way, after saying something else which caused yet more laughter. The guards pushed him onward, deeper into the camp.

The further into the camp they got, the worse the smell became. To the prince's spoiled nostrils, it could perhaps compare to the smell of a full latrine on a hot day. The sisters of the tribe didn't seem bothered by it at all. They actually seemed to revel in the dirth and filth of their home. Their bodies, unwashed, grimy with sweat, their hair fatty and unkempt. It also seemed like they didn't have much respect for the men that were here. On one occasion, they passed three women ganging up on a thin, naked boy. They were pushed him into the mud as they laughed, hitting him and roughly grabbing his manhood.

At the center of the camp, was the warlord's tent, which was huge compared to the rest. The stench was just as evident here, however, or perhaps even worse. He was pushed inside the tent, where Lagah, the Barbarian Warlord Queen, was waiting for him. At the time of their arrival, she appeared to be relaxing. She was in a state of undress, leather rags covering only one of her immense breasts. She was sucking on a meat bone when they came in. She spoke that guttural speech to the guards, and they left them, smirking to themselves. They knew what lay in store for the princeling. "Welcome," she said. Her Common tongue was harsh, the consonants very hard, and the vocals slurred. "To the tribe Makashi. The greatest tribe in the world. The greatest people in the world," she said, her voice grand and booming. She exuded an aura of strength, power, and charisma. She stood up, and walked over to him. He was only half her height, reaching her to her tummy. "Such a nice little lady your father has given me," she said, smiling down at him. She grabbed his face, her fingers grimy with fat from the meat bone, and turned his head this way and that, inspecting him. She seemed to like what she saw. "Since you are a lady? You no look like a man," she said, frowning at him.

 

[Sigr]

Tristan had heard stories about the barbarians, they prowess in battle, their crude but noble demeanor, their colorful traditions and sometimes even their lack of proper clothing, but he never heard anything like he was witnessing. As a royal boy, the tales had been sugar coated to the extreme, and now he was in shock, barely able to keep the pace of his escort. He had been afraid of the prospect of being tied to a barbarian, but this was outright terrifying. Even then, Tristan still had hope, as surely the leader of such women had to be someone noble, of better education.

His pointy slippers were already so covered in mud that may as well be brown, but the rest of his outfit still kept its original sky blue and white tones. Delicate layers of silk dressed him with some flowing pantaloons and a blouse, making the act of undressing him akin to unwrapping a gift. Tristan was aware of his condition, but if he was to show affection for their leader, sure he was to be paid with the same courtesy, and that calmed him.

A small yelp escaped his lips when one of the tribeswomen grabbed his face, speaking in their crude tongue. He had a good ear for languages, but that seemed more animal grunt than human tongue. Tristan did nothing, frozen still, as even if he wanted to resist, what could he possibly do against a woman her size? Soon enough the guards did their job, swatting the intruder away, a sign of relief that faded at the same pace they got further and further into the camp.

Tristan was covering his nose with the perfumed sleeve of his outfit, but no amount of lavender could hide that foul stench. He didn't kept looking at the same place for long, specially at the sight of abuse, making sure he didn't accidentally cause an offense. Where he noticed the huge tent, Tristan sighed relieved, only for more of the stink to fill his nose as he was walked in. The prince straightened himself, as getting ogled on was part of what he was educated for and made him felt at ease, specially hearing that their leader spoke common, even if it was a crude version of it.

Trying to seem humble, looking down had the advantage of averting his eyes from the enormous and bare breast the Queen was exposing. "I'm honored to be in your presence, oh great Warlord Queen Lagah" Tristan said, facing a sea of abdominal muscles, before she grabbed his face to inspect him. He could smell the fat on her fingers, smearing in his cheeks, and tried to answer. "W-We aren't as mighty as the Makashi tribe, no one is, but I'm still a man..." he didn't want to correct the Queen, but he still did, even if laced with a compliment. The special nature of his more intimate parts was still to be divulged, and it wasn't something to be discussed in public.

 

[Pryde]

Prince Tristan's well-practiced pleasantries didn't seem to impress, or even phase, the hulking Barbarian Warlord, who was still frowning down at him with large, all-seeing eyes. The King had promised her royal blood for her to produce more wealthy blood with, but if he really was a man he wouldn't be of any use to her at all. Well, that would be an overstatement. Looking down at him now, she saw a whole lot of beauty in him, in his fair features, and whether he could give her children or not, he would definitely be a fun new toy to play with. In fact, she was growing hot blooded just looking at this perfumed princeling.

She grunted a command, and everyone else left the tent, leaving Tristan and her alone. "Hmm. You have very pretty lips. Do you know how to kiss?" She asked, and before waiting for a reply, she snatched him up off the floor and pressed her mouth onto his, the foul stench of her breath forced in between his lips. Her lips were thick and very large, almost enveloping the whole of his lower face, slobbering spit on him as she greedily ate at his face, hugging his body tightly against hers. Finally she released him. "When I give you love, you will thank me."

 

[Sigr]

Tristan wondered what was going on with the huge woman, but he didn't dare to rise his face to meet her eyes, not wanting to incur in some kind of offense, so he waited. Fidgeting under scrutiny he did his best to not move, and even if he was taught to pose, he feared the mockery of the ones around, so he stood still. Looking down he watched his soiled footwear with regret, the slippers once were so cute and comfy, but now they were wasted. He didn't have much hopes for the rest of his outfit either, as it seemed that would forever reek of that aroma that permeated everything, sticking to his clothes, to his soft hairless skin.

The Queen said something he didn't understand but whose meaning was clear, as the rest of her people abandoned the tent, leaving them alone. Tristan was growing bolder, but as he was about to talk, the woman made him a question. "Well I-Mphfffff!" his words cut short by the strength of the embrace, the voracity of the kiss. She tasted like meaty fat, laced with the sweet but disgusting smell of something rotten. He suspected that her food wouldn't be delicately spiced, but now knew that maybe wasn't even properly cooked or kept. His face was surrounded by that warm heat, her dense drool marking most of his visage. Tristan could feel every muscle as they were pressed against him, making him painfully aware of the disparity of strength.

Once released, he managed to stood by himself, even if wobbly, while he recovered his breath and did his best to not clean his face with the sleeve of his clothing. Said outfit was crumpled and already stained as she had hugged him against her. Her words echoed like a thunder, the tone strangely at odds with the content. "T-Thank you very much, my Queen" Tristan bowed, showing a grateful smile. They may be uncouth and savage, but they knew what love meant, or so he thought.

 

[Pryde]

"Good little boy," she said, ruffling his hair before she grabbed a handful of it, and pulled him, without concern for his comfort, deeper into the tent. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of burnt meat, on top of smells that really belonged in a latrine-pit. She dragged him over to her bed, which was really just a large pile of furs, before she threw him down onto it. The furs were soggy and wet, smelling of sweat and piss and cum, and it was otherwise incredibly filthy.

Above him stood the immense Barbarian, with a huge, thick, throbbing cock held in her hand, directed towards him. "Before you can be mine, I must mark you," she said, and within moments, a strong, yellow stream shot out of her cock, aimed right at him. The strong, acid-tasting piss soaked through his clothes and drenched him completely, from his hair to his feet. It was a part of their culture, to mark their property with urine, and the prince was now property, after all. The stream was thick and strong and powerful, dousing him like a shower. She sprayed all over him, though she spent a long time pissing right in his face. When she was done, she let out a sigh of contentment. "That felt good. Didn't it feel good, my little prince?" She asked, barking a laugh.

 

[Sigr]

Tristan felt proud of her acceptance, only to lament his situation a moment later. "Ah! Ow!" he yelped, hurrying his comparatively short legs to keep Lagah's pace, still losing a few of his blonde hairs in the venture. Feeling his world turn around, Tristan found himself in some kind of moist bedding, filled with acrid smells he didn't dare to identify, and whose only visible source could be the woman who now owned him. He wanted to mumble something about marriage, fearing the worse, wanting to keep proper etiquette, but froze livid at the sight of the massive tool shadowing him.

It was way too big, there was no way such a thing could- his worries quenched by an unending stream of warm piss, drenching him head to toe. It got all over his body and clothes, although she was so insistent on showering his face that he coughed and suffocated on it, unable to avoid getting some in his gasping mouth. His clothes were now completely wasted, reeking of urine and sticking to his lean figure. His hair was flat against his head, slowly dripping pee from the tips. Tristan was baffled before the animal behavior, and almost marveled that Lagah was able to even talk their language after such a primitive show.

Wanting to recover his composure, and trying to rationalize the show as a cultural oddity, Tristan nodded as an answer. "Thank you" he managed to say, not wanting to displease her, unable to know if he should get up from the bed or just lie in that cesspool.