Bonnie Princess Charlene
Copyright© 2026 by Omachuck
Chapter 1: Trouble!
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1: Trouble! - In Lazlo Zalezac’s Damsels in Distress Universe, Damsel Charlene Stewardess escapes from her captors and runs to a forge seeking help. Her two pursuers kill the village’s smith but are also killed. The smith’s wife and the Damsel use a grisly method to hide the bodies and then flee to the rumored safety of a warlord named Hastert. This stand-alone story will read better if you’ve read 'Pēteris' and 'Monica Mechanic'. The eleven chapter story is complete and will post Fridays and Sundays.
Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Fa/ft Consensual BiSexual Alternate History Polygamy/Polyamory First Oral Sex Violence
“Amadán! Fools!” Flora used an expletive handed down from a distant, forgotten Gaelic ancestor. The infuriated woman stamped her foot and spattered the blood still leaking from the corpse of her newly murdered husband.
In the evening shadows invading the village smithy, the feisty redhead stopped her tantrum and stood for a few minutes to take stock. On the floor, side-by-side, were the body of her dead husband with a sword sticking obscenely straight into the air and the body of his murderer whose head was dented in the exact size and shape of her smallest frying pan. Across the forge lay another body, throat crushed by the heavy hammer thrown by the late smith. A woman, apparently unharmed, was crouched in the corner.
The fight had been short and vicious. A dark-haired woman ran into the forge screaming for help. A man chased her with sword raised, and the smithy reflexively threw his hammer. While the smith was defending the woman from one man, a second entered the forge and skewered the unarmed smith. Flora, in the process of cleaning her skillet, struck her husband’s attacker across the face. Battle over in seconds.
Both of the invaders were dressed better than was common in her village. The woman they were chasing was so beautiful that whatever she wore didn’t matter. She was clearly a ‘cock burner’. Altogether, those observations indicated that Flora’s troubles were only beginning. Whether for the well-dressed corpses or for the fleeing beauty, someone would be coming! And that someone would not be inclined to mercy.
Flora walked to the woman, who stood shaking and holding a knife to threaten.
“Silly woman,” Flora told her, “I’m the least of your troubles, but you are a huge portion of mine. If rumors about cock burners are true, you’ve come to me with no survival skills, so if you wish to live, you’ll do what I say. Give me that poor excuse for a knife, and I’ll give you a better one – one of mine.”
“And quick - are these the only two, or can we expect immediate trouble?” Flora demanded, and after the woman held up two fingers, Flora continued. “Strip the clothes from that body while I get the other. But for your big teats, it looks as though his jerkin will suit you and maybe the pantaloons after we wash out the blood and shit. Set aside anything you find, as I suspect you wouldn’t recognize everything of use or value.”
“Who are you and why are you giving me orders?” asked the woman as she bent to strip the corpse of her former assailant.
“My name is Flora, and as you requested when you ran in here, I’m trying to save your life. I saw your type before, when I was very young. Having you around is almost as bad as having the plague.” Flora told her. “Saving my own life, too, truth be told. I meant what I said about the troubles.”
As she went about stripping the corpse of her husband’s killer, she asked the other woman, “Do you have a name, or should I just call ‘hey you’?”
Embarrassed, the woman responded, “So sorry. My name is Charlene Stewardess, but if I’m to be disguised, best to call me Charlie around others.” Then she continued, “What are we doing?”
Flora answered, “Once we strip these bodies, we’ll wait until nightfall and bury them in the town’s midden. While we wait, we’ll wash and iron their clothes and assemble whatever we can to assist us on our journey. Wait! I have a better idea. When the washing’s done, I’ll boil the leftover water and cook the meat from the bones, then take them to the midden. The hogs will finish them, and no unlucky chance would reveal their identity to be a problem.”
“You’re a cool one,” Charlene told her, holding back her bile.
“Smitty was a good man and a good husband,” Flora responded. “He died protecting me – and you. His death would be wasted if I didn’t try everything I could think of to stay alive. If he could whisper in my ear, he would tell me exactly that.” She frowned, “You’ll be the one to cut him up; I’ll mourn him later.”
“Metals are so scarce, how do you have enough tubs to do what we need?” Charlene inquired.
“My husband was a very good smith, a miracle worker with blades, and folks made sure he had the metals he needed to do their work,” Flora stated. “And I did washing for many in the village. Smitty crafted me a large tub for washing and another for rinsing. He put a pump here near them and the forge. Like I said, he was good man!”
She went to the worktable and began to sort the invaders’ various belongings. First, she opened the purses and spilled them out to count. “Not bad, we won’t starve for a while. These bullies had a lot more with them than I have buried under the hearth. We’ll each carry a purse in the event of a successful robbery,” she decided.
“Strange assortment of clothes. Theirs look good enough to wear to a warlord’s gathering, but your dress is plain and workaday.” Flora held up a dandy’s pants, then the other, “Orange! Who wears orange? These burgundy maybe – but really...”
“I think you are right about the gathering,” Charlene told her. “They were eating in the common room of the inn where I was staying. I had just come downstairs for breakfast when they saw and grabbed me. In the courtyard, they tied my hands and threw me across a horse. It was two hours before they stopped and let me get astride.”
“Both these swords are nice. They’re not Smitty’s quality, but will be suitable as spares. I don’t suppose you have any experience with them?” Flora was distracted and asked.
Receiving a negative, she continued, “Well I do. Some anyway. Maybe we should both dress as men. I had thought that a man and his whatever would be less obviously threatening than two men. Maybe we need intimidation. Their dress wasn’t all that menacing. I’ll need to think on that.”
She set fire to the row of kindling under one of the huge kettles, and the gloomy smithy brightened with the flickering of burning wood. “Smitty built this here because he liked it when I was working near him. It got very hot, but I liked it too,” Flora explained. “More than a few times, there was a different kind of heat.” She gave a sad smile and pointed to a thick pallet situated in a dark alcove. “You’d think we’d have lots of children by now, but it never happened. Too late now!” she sighed.
She turned and added to the burning wood in the fire pit and began to undress, her auburn hair only slightly lighter above than below. “Strip!” she told Charlene. “You’re about to become a washerwoman. You won’t get your dainty self burned by lye soap, because I use fancy stuff I buy from a traveling peddler. He only sells to one person in each village, so I have plenty of loyal customers.”
As she removed her clothing, Charlene placed each item into the first of the kettles. Flora showed her how to push the floating mass under the water, and then handed her the large paddle. She added her own garments and piled in those of the dead men. Pushing them under, Charlene asked, “How long before the water is hot enough?”
“First, we let them soak in the cold water to free the blood. We’ll rinse, then add soap and soak again, long enough for us to go inside and have our midday meal,” Flora replied. “Then we rinse separately in hot water to kill any leftover vermin, dunk them back in the cold rinse, and hang them up to dry. Too long in hot water will only shrink and fade them.”
“We need to get you away from here, so while we wait for the clothes to dry enough to iron, we need to start packing for a long journey. We have three days before customers begin bringing laundry. Best if we are gone tomorrow, certainly by tomorrow night.”
As they entered Flora’s dwelling, Charlene examined her closely with a Cassandra woman’s eye. Though not up to Cassandra’s standards, the small woman was still a standout, well-toned beauty. Tight butt and small, mouthwatering titties. After the violence, Charlene was surprised by the rise of amorous feelings – but there they were, and her juices were ready to run down her leg. She wondered if Flora would be interested.
Inside, Flora was all business. Ignoring the telltale odor, she had Charlene dress in Smitty’s spare trousers and jerkin. The Damsel was as tall as he had been, but much slimmer, although her breasts somewhat filled in for his muscles.
They ate a large meal of leftover pork and roasted root vegetables. “Might as well eat hearty. Only bacon, jerky, and salt ham will keep long enough for travelers with as far as we will have to run,” Flora explained as her attention began to wander around her hut, sorting through the items they would need as they traveled. Then she snorted, “I bet they left horses somewhere. Any idea where?”
“Actually, there are three,” responded Charlene, “Forgetful me! I was tied on one, but I ran when they let me down to pee. I got a little head start when they had to take time to hitch the horses ... I ran here when I smelled the fire and saw light.” She burst into tears, “I’m so sorry, Flora,” she sobbed, “I meant no harm.”
“Hush, Charlene Stewardess! If you must place blame, then blame his mother. She taught Smitty to respect and protect women. It didn’t take many lessons with a cane to his britches to get those points hammered in. No pulling pigtails for him!”
Charlene, still dressed in Smitty’s trousers and jerkin, wadded her hair into a cap and led Flora to the horses. Once they were in the smithy’s stable, fed and watered, Flora told her, “These horses will enable us to travel further, faster. BUT they will make us more memorable. At some point, we will trade them and the rascals’ clothing.”
The three horses made it easier for Flora to select the necessities for travel. A pair didn’t help all that much ... ah, but a packhorse enabled them to take at least one of everything needed.
Looking askance at the newly acquired tack, Charlene commented and let slip, “I’d heard that saddles on Chaos came without stirrups, but I didn’t realize how awkward riding without them is. No time or means to fashion some. Damnation!”
“If you mean those dangly things on each side, Smitty took a saddle like that in trade.” Flora told her. “It belonged to someone in General Sid’s army. ‘Cowboy’ he called himself. Saddle has a knob in front, too. Use that if you want...”
Charlene couldn’t believe her luck.
The pair worked late into the night, Flora taking the skilled tasks of ironing and sorting, while Charlene took the bloody but unskilled tasks of dismembering and boiling the bodies. Following Flora’s directions, she took several loads of boiled meat to the midden where, each time, she added her stomach’s contents.
After the bones had been turned under the mess, and the midden’s swine began to feast, she returned to the smithy where Flora had prepared baths. The tubs were emptied and scrubbed, water boiled and emptied, then more water heated. ‘I can’t believe what I’ve just done and am about to do,’ Charlene told herself as she looked at the two tubs.
Each woman took a washtub and immersed herself up to her neck. After a blissful hour of silence, Charlene spoke, “Thank you, but why? This is so much effort for a stranger, especially one who got her husband killed.”
“I don’t want to hear it! I told you Smitty wasn’t killed by you. I know everyone in the village, and there’s not a man left I’d wish to pair with. Nor one able to stand against what’s likely to follow you. What I do want to hear is your story,” Flora demanded.
“It started because I want a baby. In my land, that’s not allowed unless a woman is selected and passes a test. This adventure is our test.” Charlene began. “If we survive and return, our Hero gives us a baby. This morning, my first morning here, I went down to my inn’s common room for breakfast, and those two grabbed me and threw me over a horse and bolted out of town.”
“This baby, is he special?” asked Flora, who was more curious about the baby than the all-too-common abduction.
“Oh yes, very special,” answered Charlene. “You might say the savior of our people.”
“Does that make you a princess?” joked Flora. “You’re a bonnie lass for a princess, not all airs like I’d expect. Bonnie Princess Charlene,” and she laughed.
“Hush up, you! They call such as we ‘Damsel’ – not princess. I’d scrub your mouth, but I’m not about to leave this nice water to cool,” retorted Charlene.
“Won’t happen soon,” Flora told her. “Smitty fixed it so we could have nice long soaking baths. He was saving up metal for a larger tub so we could share our bath. We’d have sold baths of an evening, but no one in the village takes baths ... even with sweet soap. They can smell their clothes but not the stink of their own bodies. Big tub won’t happen now.” They lapsed into a dozing silence.
Up before dawn, they hung the Smith’s sign upside down as notice that they were closed for the day, checked on and fed the horses, and then fed Flora’s chickens.
They drew and heated more water to wash before eating, and Flora presented Charlene with a decorated leather case containing a two-sided comb, a bronze mirror, a straight razor, tweezers, a small bar of scented soap, and other useful toiletries. “This was Smitty’s,” Flora told her. “I have one as well. You’ll need it while we travel.”
Then Flora showed her two of Smitty’s innovations. The first was a folding bench with a large hole in the seat.
“With no outhouses, the woods near a good camping spot can get very nasty. Smitty didn’t like having to squat to meet his needs, so this gets placed over a trench or wherever. There’s a special strap for carrying it on the packhorse. Makes it easy and fast to get it off in time of need.”
She handed the Damsel a long funnel and explained, “We both have one.” She hiked her dress and placed it over her pussy. “With this and a bit of cloth, we don’t need to get our butts wet when we pee. We stand and piss at a tree, just like a man.”
Charlene was astounded by the gifts. Flora’s continued kindness went against all she had heard about the brutish and selfish, might-makes-right behaviors on Chaos. Maybe she had been watching the wrong ‘romances’.
They ate a light breakfast and returned to bed. Cuddled in each other’s arms, they slept until mid-afternoon, then rose to make their final preparations. Flora freed all but four of her chickens. Two she killed and cooked immediately; two went into travel cages that would top the packhorse.
“Those breasts of yours need a tight binding,” Flora told Charlene. “Even so, you’ll make a top-heavy man. I think I let out enough on the vest and shirt. Let’s get you fixed up and dressed. Mine won’t need to be bound as tight, but I don’t want them to jiggle. It’s going to be hot for both of us though.”
For the first time, Charlene noticed Flora’s bow and quiver.
In response to her query, Flora explained, “I hunt and trap for the table. These boots were once a deer raiding my kitchen garden. I’ll ride with the bow strung in case of trouble. There are two more quivers on the packhorse along with Smitty’s bow, but it’s almost too strong for me to pull.”
Finally, it was moving into the dark of the evening, and they were ready. The village wasted no expensive candles much after sunset, and no one was awake to notice their quiet departure. It was another two days before village women toting their laundry noticed that the smithy and his wife were missing. Among the other mysterious happenings were the three men passing through in search of two others accompanying a young woman. Not having seen them, none of the villagers connected the missing smithy and laundress with the subjects of the riders’ search. It was not in their nature to volunteer information anyway.