Tales of
Erogenia
Based on the online comic created by J.E.
Draft.
Episode 1: The Snow
Princess
To
the reader: This story contains content of a violent nature along with sexually
explicit material. There is,
however, no violent sex. All
sex scenes depicted occur between consenting adults.
Chapter 1:
The Vow
Zenaria crouched low beneath the snow-laden
spruce boughs. She was cold and
stiff after more than an hour of waiting, but a single careless movement
would send a cascade of snow down her neck and almost certainly reveal her
position to the hunters. She
was well hidden, her raven wing hair and drab winter clothing blending in
well with the shadows of the spruce.
They were very close now,
close enough that she could hear their breathing and the crunch of the snow
beneath their feet. Just a few
steps more and then she would …
“Ahhh!”
The
compacted ball of snow struck the base of her skull, sending shards of ice
and snow down the back of her neck.
It didn’t hurt much, but the sudden shock caused her to cry out
in surprise and dismay.
“Gotcha!
Knew you’d be there.
You always hide in the most obvious
places. Stupid
girl!”
Zenaria leaped furiously
from her hiding place, her twelve-year-old face twisted in
anger. Facing her was her cousin,
Vander, her senior by six moons and someone for whom she had developed an
intense dislike.
Vander laughed at her and
then made a face, mocking her angry
frown. “What’s the
matter, princess, angry because one of your loyal subjects dared to dump
snow down your royal back?
Zenaria’s already red
face turned a darker shade of crimson as she realized that her reaction was
not at all appropriate for one possessed of royal
blood. Turning away she picked
up the wooden practice spear she had intended to use on her pretend
enemies. The incident was over
and it might have stayed that way had not Vander’s two older brothers
chosen that moment to show up.
What’s the matter,
brother?” Garrod, the older of the two
asked. He was nineteen and the
eldest. Zenaria knew him as an
arrogant lout who lorded it over those he considered his social inferior,
which included anyone who could not match his skills as a
warrior. Regrettably Garrod was
good. Very
very good. In fact there
had not been a young warrior like him within recent
memory. Even the battle-scarred
veterans were careful not to challenge
him. Fortunately respect for
one’s elders was something that was deeply ingrained in all members
of the Snow Leopard tribe and it was a convention that even Garrod
observed.
“The princess just
threw a hissy fit because I dared to dump snow down her scrawny neck,”
Vander sneered. “Now I expect
she’s going home to her mother.”
Zenaria looked around for
Preed, the veteran warrior who was in charge of the younger warriors in the
training exercise. She desperately
wanted a reason to get away from Zander and his
brothers. Nothing good could
come of being anywhere near them.
But Preed was nowhere to be seen.
“Is that so,
princess?” Garrod
asked. He was careful to use
her title, but made the word sound as if he was referring to one of the
scavenging dogs that followed the tribe.
“No, it is not so,”
Zenaria answered. She kept her
voice level, conscious of maintaining his dignity this
time. “I am looking for
Preed, waiting to continue my training.”
“You mean looking to
hide behind a real warrior?” Garrod sneered, losing little time in joining
his brother in mocking Zenaria.
Like any bully he was in his element when surrounded by an admiring
audience and ridiculing someone he perceived as a soft
target. And Zenaria was just
that. Bound by her duty to uphold
her honour as a Princess of the Snow Leopard tribe, she could not respond
without lowering herself to the level of her
tormentors. Instead she stepped
forward, intending to move away from Garrod and the
others.
“Uuhh!”
She almost slammed into Garrod’s chest as he stepped in front
of her. Stepping back she drew
herself up to her full five-foot-ten inches, raised her head and fixed her
brilliant amber-green eyes on Garrod.
“Get out of my way,” she
commanded.
“Ah, her royal highness
speaks,” Garrod laughed.
“What is the matter, princess are you frightened of my
manhood?”
“You have about as
much manhood as a gelding,” Zenaria retorted,
“and about as much courage as a
weasel.”
It was a mistake and she
knew it the moment the words burst from her mouth, especially when he remark
was greeted by a gale of laughter by the men and boys who had gathered to
watch the confrontation.
“She got you there,
Garrod,” Vander chortled, pleased to see his older brother discomfited
for a change.
“Shut up,” Garrod
snarled. Then he whirled on Zenaria,
his features twisted with rage.
“You will soon see my manhood,
princess. As soon as you are
old enough you will be begging me to put it inside
you.”
“Neither you nor any
man will have me,” Zenaria returned.
Her comment was foolish in light of the sexually liberal attitudes
of her tribe. She might just
as well have stated that she was about to cut off her nose to mar her
considerable beauty.
Her remark elicited loud
guffaws from the surrounding male
warriors. “What, princess,
are you about to offer yourself as a Moon virgin?” Garrod asked
incredulously.
Well might he
ask. No
member of the Snow Leopard tribe had seen fit to take that drastic step within
living memory and Zenaria was not about to do it
either. But her next statement
only made matters worse.
“Only one who can best me in combat may have me,” she blurted
out.
At that moment a deep voice
interrupted. “What is going
on here? Why have you abandoned
your training?” A tall warrior
strode into view. In his mid-forties,
the warrior was still an impressive figure, his dark hair tinged with grey,
and his face marked with the ritual scars of
manhood. All of the young warriors,
even Garrod stepped back and eyed him respectfully.
Vander, however, could not
resist just one last jibe as he moved behind his older
brother. “Princess Zenaria
just pledged herself to the Path of the Snow
Leopard.”
Preed looked at her
sharply. “Princess is this
true?”
Zenaria shook her head,
the action freeing the single braid that bound her hair, sending the
“Tell me,” Preed
interrupted, pointing to one of the younger
warriors. He listened and a minute
later waved his hand dismissing the now dozen or so warriors that had gathered
around Zenaria. “The lesson
is over.”
“Princess,” he
said, turning to Zenaria.
“You had better come with me.”
Zenaria jogged through the
knee-deep snow behind Preed. Still
farther back she could hear the sniggering of Vander and the occasional forced
laugh from Garrod. They were
clearly enjoying her discomfiture.
They entered the winding
stockade. It was constructed
of massive tree trunks set into the earth in a spiral pattern so that anyone
entering had to wind his way into the settlement between two parallel wooden
walls set about five feet apart. It
was just wide enough for the passage of one of the two-wheeled carts the
Snow Leopard tribe used as its primary form of
transport.
Inside the stockade was
an open compound about three hundred feet
across. Lining the inner wall
were the dwellings of the tribe’s
inhabitants. Immediately to
Zenaria’s right was the longhouse where the unmarried male warriors
lived. To her right was a similar
building where dwelt the female warriors.
Father back were houses for those couples who considered themselves
lovebonded along with separate shelters for young boys and girls who had
left their parents for warrior training, but who were as yet too young to
engage in sexual activity. It
was in the one housing the maidens that Zenaria dwelt, but for the moment
she was not going there. Instead
she followed Preed toward one of the few buildings not set against the
stockade.
It was the largest building
in the compound, and the only one that was more than a single
story. Smoke from dozens of hearth
fires rose into the air. There
were a number of people about, going about their daily
routine. Some went to the well
for water, while
over in one corner a
Zenaria hardly noticed these
activities as she followed Preed.
He mind was awhirl. Why
had she blurted out such a stupid oath?
Self-imposed celibacy was the
last thing she wanted. She had
been quite looking forward to her first sexual experience and had already
chosen the lucky young warrior who would do the
deed. The very thought made her
still immature breasts tingle and created an ache in her
loins.
But they were there now,
standing in front of the palace, although “palace” might have been
too grand a term to describe a wooden structure only three stories high and
with a frontage barely thirty yards
across. Inside it was a bit more
impressive. The grand entry hall
was dug ten feet into the ground and large enough to house all of the adult
warriors in the settlement. The
walls arched into a high vault forty feet about a floor that was planked
with carefully sawn and polished boards.
Rising from the floor was
a dais where stood two ornately carved wooden
thrones. They were both empty
now, one permanently so. It had
once been occupied by Zenaria’s father, Zennar, but he had been killed
in an ambush during an expedition into the Urtt
lands. The other throne was that
of Zenaria’s mother, Cirilia, but she sat in it only during a tribal
council. Zenaria and Preed walked
though the large chamber, crossing to the other side and climbing a stair
behind the throne to the second floor.
It was on the second floor that the queen of the Snow Leopard tribe
had her quarters.
Without hesitation Preed
led the way up the stairs to the second floor and entered a short
hallway. Just outside the door
were two young women. Neither
had yet experienced her moon and neither would have been a match for either
Preed or Zenaria, but they were all the guard the queen
had. Was she not safe in the
midst of all her warriors?
The girls looked
up. Both had been working skins
into lined winter boots and their faces lit up when they saw the two
warriors. “Preed,
Zenaria,” they smiled.
“Good morning,
maidens. Is the queen
within?”
“Yes, Preed,”
the girls giggled. Without further
comment they stepped aside and pushed on the
door. Preed leading and Zenaria
following, they stepped into the queen’s quarters.
It was a large room, and
one that Zenaria knew well. Against
one wall was a large wardrobe containing the various items of clothing befitting
a queen of the Snow Leopard
tribe.
Various weapons and animal skins decorated the walls and one wall
was given over to a massive stone fireplace, the only one of its kind Zenaria
had ever seen. A roaring fire
sent waves of heat into the room and the queen and her ladies wore only light
articles of clothing.
Queen Cirilia was seated
with three other woman of about her age before the
fire. Like the two girls in the
hall all of the women were occupied with some sort of craft work, although
Queen Cirilia’s particular effort was fashioning a leather grip for
a knife as long as her forearm. She
looked up with a brilliant smile as she spotted Zenaria, but it quickly faded
when she saw the look on Preed’s face.
“What is it, Preed?”
she asked getting to her feet.
Queen Cirilia was a magnificent
woman. She stood six-foot-three
and gave some indication of the tremendous beauty Zenaria would one day
become. Her gleaming obsidian
hair hung to her waist and was unbound, swirling around her hips as she
moved. Dressed only in summer
attire her taut belly was bare, her narrow waist accentuating large, perfect
breasts that swayed gently as she moved.
Covered by the softest doeskin, her nipples were clearly visible beneath
the brief coving that contained her
breasts.
Just twenty seven years
of age, her bonding with Zenaria’s father had been a love match and
neither partner had ever known another.
Zenaria was conceived when Cirilia was barely fourteen and then Zennar
had been killed. Cirilia had
never chosen another lovebond although she had not shunned what had seemed
to Zenaria to be an almost endless procession of
lovers. The look she had given
Preed spoke of more than just a casual acquaintance with the warrior, but
just now her gaze was turned toward
Zenaria.
“My queen,” Preed
began, “it appears that your daughter has made a most rash
comment.” He proceeded to
explain what he had learned.
Queen Cirilia turned to
Zenaria after Preed had finished.
“Is it true, my daughter?
Did you indeed promise to take the Path of the Snow
Leopard?”
Zenaria stood head
bowed. “It was not what
I intended,” she answered softly.
Then she raised her head and looked into her mother’s deep blue
eyes. “But yes I
did.”
“Then you have chosen
your path,” Cirilia replied, “and you must live with
it.”
Zenaria
nodded. Slowly, head still held
high, she turned and left her mother’s
apartments. Inside her mind and
body churned with emotion. With
one careless outburst she had changed her life forever.
Preed and Cirilia watched
her go, then Preed turned to Cirilia.
“My queen,” he said, saluting with his hand over his
heart. He turned to
go.
“No Preed,” Cirilia
said softly. “You
stay. Share the
warmth.”
Preed nodded, a wide smile
spreading across his features.
“Yes, my queen,” he answered.