The kingdom of Hollander simmered with rage three days after the Tournament of Swords, the air heavy with the stench of rotting corpses and the acrid smoke of pyres burning the fallen. King Henry Hollander, a titan of muscle and fury, stood atop the castle battlements, his burgundy doublet torn at the shoulder from a skirmish, revealing a chest matted with graying hair. His beard bristled as he roared orders, his green eyes blazing with a father’s wrath and a warrior’s thirst for blood. His daughter, Princess Jamie, had returned, ravaged, her emerald gown in tatters, her golden hair matted with dirt—but alive. She stood beside him now, her hazel eyes hollow yet sharp, her pale skin bruised from Robin Hood’s assault and the village women’s cruelty. Her beauty remained, a defiant flame—lips swollen, breasts heaving beneath a borrowed tunic, legs trembling but unbowed.
Henry had declared war. The outlaw who dared defile his blood would hang, his guts fed to crows, but first, the kingdom’s honor demanded a reckoning. A new contest surged in the valley below; a manhunt turned slaughter, knights and mercenaries clashing to track Robin Hood and his band, their swords glinting in the midday sun. Steel rang against steel, a cacophony of death punctuated by screams as blades sank into flesh. A knight in dented plate armor drove his longsword through a brigand’s throat, blood spurting in a crimson arc, soaking his greaves. Another fell to an axe, his skull splitting with a wet crunch, brains oozing onto the grass. The ground grew slick with gore, bodies piling as Henry’s forces carved through Robin’s men, each kill a step closer to the outlaw’s throat.
Robin Hood prowled the chaos, his lean frame cutting through the fray, green cloak stained with mud and blood. His chestnut hair hung in sweaty strands over a face hardened by survival—crooked nose, dark eyes glinting with feral glee, lips twisted in a sneer. His bow was slung across his back, a shortsword in hand, its edge notched from cleaving armor. He moved like a wolf, slashing a knight’s hamstring, the man collapsing with a howl as Robin drove the blade into his eye, a fountain of red bursting forth. His cock twitched beneath his breeches, the fight stoking his lust—he hadn’t forgotten Jamie’s tight holes, her screams still echoing in his skull.
Jamie watched from the battlements, her breath shallow, her body aching from her last violation. Her cunt throbbed, still tender from the broom handle, her ass sore from the rolling pin, but adrenaline surged, drowning the pain in a flood of heat. She gripped the stone ledge, knuckles white, as Henry’s voice boomed, “Bring me his head!” A horn sounded, and the hunt intensified, men dying in droves—throats slashed, chests caved by maces, limbs hacked off in sprays of blood. A mercenary with a scarred face gutted an outlaw, intestines spilling like wet ropes, the air filling with the coppery reek.
Then Robin struck. He scaled the castle wall with a grappling hook, his men drawing the knights away in a feint. He vaulted onto the battlement, landing before Jamie and Henry, his sword dripping crimson. Henry roared, swinging his broadsword, a massive blade etched with runes, but Robin ducked, the steel whistling overhead. Jamie lunged with a dagger snatched from a guard’s belt, her golden hair whipping as she aimed for his ribs. Robin caught her wrist, twisting it until she gasped, the blade clattering to the stone. “Missed me, princess?” he rasped, his voice thick with lust, his breath hot with ale and meat.
Henry charged, but Robin’s men swarmed from the shadows—three ragged outlaws with knives and clubs, their faces pocked and snarling. They tackled the king, one taking a fist to the jaw, teeth flying, another slamming a club into Henry’s knee, forcing him down with a bellow. Robin dragged Jamie back, her tunic ripping at the shoulder, exposing a breast, its nipple hardening in the chill. He threw her against the battlement’s inner wall, the rough stone scraping her back, and pinned her there, his body pressed tight, his erection grinding against her thigh through his breeches.
“You’re mine again,” he growled, his dark eyes locked on hers. He tore her tunic down, baring her torso—pale skin marked with faint bruises, breasts small and pert, trembling with her ragged breaths. His hands, rough with calluses, yanked her skirts up, revealing her cunt—pink, unshaven, still slick from fear and fight. He unbuckled his breeches, freeing his cock—thick, veined, the head a swollen purple, glistening with a bead of cloudy precum that dripped onto her thigh. Jamie kicked, her bare foot striking his shin, but he laughed, forcing her legs apart with his knee, the coarse hair on his legs chafing her skin.
He spat on his fingers, a thick glob that smeared over his shaft, and thrust into her cunt, dry at first, the friction burning as he stretched her. Jamie screamed, her voice raw, echoing over the battle below. His cock slid halfway in, veins bulging against her tight walls, the head buried, a faint sheen of her juices coating it as her body relented. He grunted, “Fucking tight still,” and rammed deeper, his full length impaling her, his balls—hairy, heavy—slapping her ass with each brutal thrust. The pain seared, her walls clenching, but adrenaline twisted it into a pulsing heat, her breath hitching as he fucked her against the stone.
Robin’s hands gripped her hips, nails digging into flesh, leaving red crescents. His teeth grazed her neck, biting hard enough to bruise, the sting sharp against the musk of his sweat filling her nose. His cock pounded, relentless, the wet slap of flesh against flesh mingling with the distant clash of swords. Jamie’s mind churned—hate, shame, a flicker of unwanted arousal as her cunt slicked around him, betraying her. He flipped her, bending her over the battlement’s edge, her breasts pressed into the cold stone, her ass exposed to the wind. He spat again, a fat wad landing on her asshole, and forced his cock in, the head stretching her ring, halfway a grotesque sight—veins pulsing, slick with spit and her cunt’s juices, the base still framed by coarse brown hair.
She screamed again, her ass burning, the intrusion deeper than before, his shaft splitting her until his groin ground against her cheeks. “Take it, you royal slut,” he snarled, fucking her raw, each thrust a jolt of agony and heat, her hole clenching around him. His cum built, a hot pressure, and he roared, spilling inside her—milky white, thick, flooding her ass in spurts, dripping down her thighs in sticky, pearlescent streaks as he pulled out, smearing his cock on her torn tunic. Jamie slumped, panting, her body trembling, her mind a storm of defiance and violation.
Below, Henry broke free, his broadsword cleaving an outlaw’s head from his shoulders, blood spraying in a wide arc, painting his face red. He charged Robin, but the outlaw leapt to the wall’s edge, his men covering his retreat with a volley of arrows that thudded into shields and flesh. “I’ll fuck her again,” Robin shouted, vanishing into the chaos, leaving Jamie gasping, her holes aching, his cum cooling on her skin.
Henry pulled her to him, his massive arms trembling with rage, his beard brushing her cheek as he growled, “He dies for this.” But the fight wasn’t over. The valley still burned with slaughter—knights skewered on pikes, outlaws hacked apart, the air thick with death’s reek. Henry rallied his men, sending a dozen riders to hunt Robin, their armor clanking as they galloped into the woods. Jamie straightened, her hazel eyes narrowing, her breath steadying. She wiped his cum from her thigh, smearing it on the stone, a silent vow forming—Robin would pay, but not before she reclaimed her power.
Night fell, the castle a fortress of flickering torches and sharpening blades. Henry planned a dawn assault, but Jamie slipped away, her borrowed tunic replaced with leather breeches and a dagger strapped to her thigh. She descended to the barracks, where the surviving knights drank and cursed, their armor dented, their faces flushed with ale. Two caught her eye—a broad-shouldered brute named Sir Gavric, his black hair cropped short, his blue eyes glinting with hunger, and a leaner man, Sir Torren, his sandy hair tied back, his gray eyes sharp with cruelty.
She approached, her voice low, “Prove your loyalty.” They grinned, sensing her intent, and followed her to a shadowed armory, the air thick with oil and steel. Gavric grabbed her first, his hands massive, ripping her tunic to bare her breasts, nipples stiffening in the cool air. “You want it rough, princess?” he rumbled, his beard scratching her neck as he pinned her against a rack of spears. Torren circled, unbuckling his breeches, his cock springing free—long, thinner than Robin’s, the head pink and leaking a clear bead of precum.
Gavric lifted her, her legs wrapping around his waist, and freed his own cock—short, thick, a blunt weapon with a ruddy tip. He spat on it, a quick wad, and thrust into her cunt, still tender from Robin, the stretch sharp, his shaft halfway in a squat, veiny mass, slick with her reluctant juices. Jamie gasped, her nails raking his shoulders, the pain igniting her adrenaline. Torren stepped behind, spitting on her ass, his spit thinner, dripping slower, and forced his cock in, the head piercing her bruised hole, halfway a lean, glistening rod, her ring clenching around it.
They fucked her in tandem, Gavric’s thrusts deep and brutal, his balls slapping her thighs, Torren’s longer strokes stretching her ass, their grunts filling the room—Gavric’s low and guttural, Torren’s sharp and ragged. Her cunt burned, her ass ached, but the fight’s rush drove her, her body slicking their cocks, her breath a mix of moans and curses. Gavric’s hands squeezed her breasts, thumbs pressing her nipples, the pressure sharp, while Torren gripped her hips, his fingers bruising, guiding her onto his shaft. The armory echoed with wet slaps, the clank of shifting armor, the musk of their sweat and her arousal thick in her nose.
Jamie’s mind flared—rage at Robin, power over these men, a twisted need to reclaim her body. She tightened around them, drawing groans, their cocks pulsing. Gavric came first, his cum a hot, white flood, thicker than Robin’s, spurting deep in her cunt, coating her walls as he shuddered, pulling out to leave it dripping down her legs in creamy rivulets. Torren followed, his seed thinner, almost clear, shooting into her ass in quick bursts, trickling out as he withdrew, smearing her cheeks. They stepped back, panting, their cocks softening, glistening with her and them.
She stood, legs shaky, cum leaking from both holes, her tunic a rag at her feet. “Tell no one,” she hissed, snatching her dagger and breeches, dressing as they nodded, dazed. She returned to the castle, her body screaming, her resolve steel. Robin lived, Henry hunted, and Jamie burned—fucked, defiled, but unbroken. The series would blaze on, her violation a forge for vengeance.